Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Lord Commander Snow?

    Jon awoke in the cold, unknowing of where he was or how he had come to be there. His body ached, and there was the metallic taste of blood lingering on his tongue.

  He tried to think back to the last thing he could remember. His Uncle Benjen—someone had news of his uncle Ben. No, that wasn’t right. Something else happened and he needed to remember.

  He needed to sit up.

  Ghost—where is Ghost? And just like that everything came back to him in a flood of images and senses. The giant WunWun bleeding from many shallow cuts as he smashed Ser Patrik against the tower, his head a bloody mess. The blue stars adorning his cape had begun to bleed red from all of the damage done to the knight. For the watch ... the searing heat that pierced him between his shoulder blades before the world went black and the ground rose up to break his fall.

  Stick em with the pointy end… my bride, I want my bride back! Mine...Mine...Mine! 

 “I wish you were coming with us.” She said on the day that he gifted her Needle. Aye, me too. He remembered thinking. “Sometimes different roads lead to the same castle, who knows.” He’d said instead.

  Jon felt a single tear roll down his cheek at the thought of his most beloved sister. 

  His brothers stabbed him in the back and he should have died. In fact, he wasn’t sure how he was still breathing but now that he remembered there was a sudden urge to get up and do what he had meant to do the night his Brothers betrayed him. 

  There was a shuffling in the room, and when he opened his eyes, he found the Red Woman sitting beside him in his chambers. Ghost was on the bed beside him, his face resting on his front paws and his ruby red eyes were watching him intensely. 

  Jon cleared his throat, which felt like sandpaper and it burned as he tried to swallow. 

  “Lord Snow?” Melisandre said, sitting forward to help him sit up. “Thank R’hllor that you’ve returned.”

   Returned?

   “How long?” He rasped out.

 Melisandre passed him a cup of cold water and fixed him with a hard stare. “I told you to keep your wolf nearby, I warned you about the daggers in the dark.”

  Jon knew all of this, but that’s not what he asked her. “How long?” He repeated the question. 

  “Three days,” came her reply. 

   Three days… he had been trapped for three days. “I need to go,” Jon said, attempting to stand. 

  The Lady Melisandre's eyes shot up to meet his own. “Go? My lord, you can’t go… the war for the dawn, you know what comes for us. You are the Prince that Was Promised. You are meant to lead us into the Long Night.”

  Prince that was promised… Azor Ahai… He might not know much, but he wasn’t a prince, and he most certainly didn’t possess a flaming sword. The only woman he had ever truly loved by choice was currently running from a sadistic animal, and she was cut off from her Direwolf… and if he were to be honest, there’s no way he would sacrifice her to save these traitors from their inevitable death.

  “My watch has ended, and I mean to go and find my sister. Perhaps you will find a new place to focus your obsession once I am gone, the same way you did with Stannis.” 

  Ghost perked up and slunk off the bed, stretching like a cat, intent on following him. 

  “Stannis was not the Prince that was Promised. I read the flames wrong, but that doesn’t mean that you aren’t. The lord brought you back, Jon Snow… or Aegon Targaryen or whatever your name is, so that you can lead us to victory. Only you can bring the Dawn.” She said beseechingly.

  Jon stood there processing the words just spoken. “I’m sorry what did you just say?”

  “Only you can bring the Dawn.” Melisandre repeated. 

  “No, before that. What did you call me?” He felt his body tingle, as if trying to remember something that had been cut away from his memory. 

  “Aegon Targaryen… promise me Ned.” Melisandre’s voice came out as unfamiliar. Her Valyrian accent all but gone, and a Northern one took its place. In the back of his mind, memories long suppressed started to rise to the surface. 

  Something was there, tugging at the back of his mind… a truth that he had always known but somehow repressed. “My name is Jon Snow, I’m not a Targaryen. I know not what you’re trying to accomplish here, but I won’t allow you to use me as a tool for your own gain.” Before she could reply, he opened his door and pushed himself out into the cold wind.

  The yard of Castle Black was deserted save for the random Brother standing watch, but he could make out the sound of raised voices coming from the Shield Hall.

  Ghost nudged him forward, which was ironic because he wanted to turn the opposite direction. 

  “It’s not right!” He heard someone bellow. “He was our Lord Commander and you murdered him!” The same voice continued.

  Jon approached and stood silent outside the doors. Unsure of what he expected to happen, but not yet ready to reveal himself to those who were within. 

  “Aye, we killed him. But we did it for the Watch. Jon Snow would have been the end of us.” He heard another voice—Wick Whittlestick, Jon thought. 

  He remembered well what had happened and who was responsible. And he would return the favor before he left all of this behind. He had no more responsibility to the Night's Watch. He’d given them his life of his own free will and they repaid that sacrifice with a dagger in his back. 

  Once more, Ghost nudged him. Jon looked into the eyes of his other half and nodded his assent. “Come, boy.”

  With his scarred palm, Jon reached out and pulled the heavy oak door toward him, allowing the winter winds to announce his presence to the hall before he revealed himself to them. 

  The sound of talking ceased the moment he stepped through the door on the heels of Ghost. There was a clear division amongst the men of the Night's Watch. A handful of his older Brothers sat up on the dais, while the newest recruits, and a smattering of Free Folk stood united on the main floor. Every one of them looked as if they were seeing a ghost. 

  If he could find any humor in the situation he would have laughed, but he found none. He was like his Direwolf, tense and ready to snap the neck of the first person to approach him. 

  When it dawned on those present that the topic of discussion was standing before them, the hall went still. Jon cleared his throat and broke the tense silence.

  “Please continue, I believe you were justifying your reasons for committing treason. Feel free to ignore me while you finish.” 

  “How? We—we killed you! This isn’t right, you shouldn’t be here…” This time it was Bowen Marsh who spoke. 

  Jon ignored the feelings of betrayal and hurt that were bubbling up inside him, threatening to spill over. 

  “You’re correct, you did kill me, and no I shouldn’t be, nothing about any of this is right. But neither was murdering me in cold blood, or stabbing me in the back for doing what was right.”

  There were a few murmurs of agreement, but he had eyes only for the four men who thought themselves justified in their actions. 

  “I remember everything, I remember each time the knife was plunged into me, I remember seeing each of you, I looked each of you in the eyes while you acted out your conspiracy to murder me. This will serve as your trial, have any of you any last words?” The tone of his voice dropped infinitesimally, though the tenor suggested that he meant business.

  He did not see the red woman as she slid into the room behind him, nor the few men of the Free Folk who entered behind her and were now standing at his back, but he definitely felt them. 

  “You have no authority here, Your Watch ended!” Marsh cried, attempting to salvage the situation. 

  Jon arched a brow, “Those are shit for last words.” He began walking slowly toward the dais. 

  “Bowen Marsh, Wick Whittlestick, Lefthand Lew and Alf Runnymudd, you are guilty of treason for conspiracy to murder your Lord Commander. Your sentence will be carried out at dawn,” Jon turned to those who had been arguing in his defense. “Take them into custody and put them in a single Ice cell until it is time. And have someone fetch me the block.”

  He had no idea what the hour was, but he needed time to process everything that he’s been through. “Ghost, to me.” He called before turning and brushing past those who had gathered behind him. 

  While he had been in a rush to leave Melisandre’s company earlier, he had done so without his sword and the idea of being unarmored and unarmed made him feel on edge. He would not be caught without his wolf or his sword, especially not now. Not when he had a second chance to find his sister and keep her safe. Not now that he was free of his duty to the Night’s Watch. 

  After retrieving his sword and attaching it to his hip, he left his room once more and headed in the direction of the gate. He didn’t have a destination in mind, but he wanted to get away from the castle. Melisandre was there waiting for him, a midnight colored courser was by her side, already saddled and waiting for him, as if he had requested for her to have it ready. 

  “Thank you,” he managed to say gruffly. Jon wasn’t sure what else to say to the woman. She watched him like she expected something of him and he could not deny how unnerved it made him feel.

  “My Lord, might I beg a moment?” She asked, almost hesitantly.

  Jon nodded, the woman restored him to life, the least he could do was give her a moment of his time.

  “I understand that you have much and more to process, I shan’t pressure you about it. But I was hoping that you would allow me the chance to serve you. No matter where your path leads.” Melisandre pled beseechingly. 

  He grunted, not wanting to think about such paths. The only path before him would be the one that delivers him to Winterfell where he intended to carve out the heart of the man who thought to claim what was his, what has always been his…

  “You clearly can’t stay here once I’m gone, it won’t be safe for you no matter how powerful you claim your God to be. I have no intention to fill the role of this promised hero of yours, but I can take you to your Queen, wherever she went.” 

  “They went to the Night Fort after the mutiny, the Lady Selyse felt that it would be safer for herself and her daughter after Ser Patrek was felled by the giant WunWun and the Free Folk went on the defense. But she is not my Queen, and it is my wish to stay close to you, if you would have me.” The Red Woman explained. 

  He didn’t want to deal with these matters at the moment. He wanted to ride...he needed to get out of this castle. “Very well, if that is all?”

  Melisandre inclined her head, indicating that she had reached her conclusion and he was free to go. 

  Without another thought he hefted himself into the saddle and called for Ghost to follow. Within moments they were racing through the gates and away from Castle Black. He had no destination in mind nor purpose, he only needed to get free. And now with the wind whipping through his hair and the steady thud of his horses hooves beneath him, Jon finally found he could breathe.

  He did not go far nor did he stay away long, for as much as he desired freedom, he also had a thirst for blood. Ghost seemed to sense this, and every so often Jon would catch him glancing back in the direction they had just ridden from.

  “Is it almost time, boy?” 

  Ghost looked up at him and his ruby red eyes shone knowingly, so Jon turned his mount back and urged him to return. Knowing that as soon as the traitors were taken care of, he could leave once and for all. 

  The trip back to the Wall passed more quickly than he would have liked, and by the time the castle gates were pulled open, The sun was just starting to break over the eastern horizon.

  Out in the yard brothers were milling about, the block that he had requested was placed in the center of the training yard.

  The Free Folk, who were noticeably fewer before he went on his late night ride were now back en force and it was Tormund and Val who met him at the gates. 

  “Lord Crow!” Tormund bellowed as soon as he came into view. “When the Red Woman claimed she brought you back I refused to believe it. But fuck me, here you are.”

  Jon smiled at Tormund’s enthusiasm, but before he could respond, he was pulled into a tight embrace. 

  Jon grunted, his wounds were still tender. “Aye, they tried to take me out of the fight, but you know me… one way or another, I always come back.” 

  His words were meant for Tormund, but his eyes met the blue-grey of Vals who was watching them both with a reserved kind of calm. 

  “Lady Val,” he greeted.

  “Lord Crow,” she returned, averting her eyes. 

  The exchange was tense, and he felt a bit confused by her reaction, but he didn’t have time to ponder over it. 

  “Is everyone ready?”

  Tormund nodded, “The Red Woman had Leathers and Edd go and fetch the crows. Should be here any moment.”

  “Very well, I want to get this over with.”

  “You sound like you’ve got somewhere you’re going.” Tormund mused.

  “Aye, I mean to ride south for Winterfell, nothing’s changed.” 

  “Hmm, s’pose that makes sense. Ya’ think Mance will make it?” Tormund asked, scratching his beard.

  “I’m not sure, but I mean to put an end to Ramsay Bolton one way or another.”

  There was something eating at him about the letter sent by Ramsay Bolton, but with everything that’s happened in the time since it arrived, he hasn’t been able to dig too deep into things. 

  He would have said more, but just then the traitors, Marsh, Whittlestick, Lew and Runnymudd were being dragged out into the yard. 

  Jon stood as still as stone while he waited for them to come forward. Four traitors, four times he would swing his sword. He could have had them hanged, but no, they made it personal and therefore he would return the favor. 

  “Wick Whittlestick, you were the first to swing your blade,” Jon reached up and ran his fingers along the healing cut on his neck, remembering in perfect detail, the way the first dagger grazed across the flesh of his skin.

  “You will also be the first to answer for your crime. If you have any last words, now is the time to speak.”

  The former steward stared at him with wide eyes. Jon stared back, not giving an inch. “You don’t understand what you’ve done…” he accused.

  Jon nodded. “Aye, I allowed the freefolk to cross the Wall, and I will be riding south to involve myself with a conflict not of the Watch’s concern. I will thank you now for releasing me from the chains holding me here.” 

  He turned his attention to Leathers and Edd and inclined his head. On his cue, they pushed Whittlestick to his knees and just like with Slynt, Edd held him in place with a foot to his back. 

  Jon unsheathed Longclaw. “Wick Whittlestick, you have been found guilty of treason for conspiring and murdering your Lord Commander. I, Jon Snow, do sentence you to death by beheading.” 

  He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, “Mercy, Lord Commander…” Whittlestick pled.

   Now this sounds familiar…funny. The last person who was in this position asked the same.

   “The time for last words has passed.” He raised Longclaw and let her descend downward, parting the first of the mutineers heads from his shoulders. 

  Lefthand Lew was next, and he chose silence. Then came Alf Runnymudd, he would save Bowen Marsh for last, as his betrayal hurt the most. Jon could still picture him as the dagger was plunged into his gut, the tears that streaked down his face… No, there would be no mercy for any of them. 

  “Alf Runnymudd, if you have any final words, now is the time.” Jon said calmly.

  This time, the accused; Alf, met him eye to eye. “The watch takes no part in the realms of men, you broke your vow and the punishment for that is death.”

  Jon nodded. The brother spoke the truth, but the decision wasn’t his to make. Besides, saying some words was not a crime, not until the moment that he put those words into action and he left the Wall… it made no matter now though. 

  Alf did them all the credit of lowering himself to the ground and positioning his head upon the already slick block, and Jon once more repeated his crimes and his sentence before parting his head from his shoulders. 

  When it was finally time for him to face Bowen Marsh, the tears were already streaming down his face. Leathers pushed him onto his knees, and the sobbing grew more frantic. 

  “I don’t want to die,” Marsh blubbered, but Jon was numb. 

  “If those are your final words, so be it. Bowen Marsh, you are guilty of treason for conspiring to kill your Lord Commander. I, Jon Snow, do hereby sentence you to death.” 

  And without a second thought, Longclaw once more was hefted up high and then Jon brought her down with a bit more force than he had with the other three… the betrayal stinging worse from Marsh than it had with the others. 

  He didn’t stay to clean up, instead, he turned on his heels and unfastened the black cloak from his shoulders and passed it off to Edd. 

  “What do you want me to do with this?” Edd asked, unsure.

  “Wear it, burn it, give it away. I don’t care, the Wall and the Watch are yours now, my Watch has ended.”

  He left a stunned Edd without a second thought and called for Ghost before heading back in the direction of his chamber. There were many plans to make before he could depart for good, and he needed food and rest before he could do any of that.

A Girl is No One?

  She was in a rush, if Mercy didn’t make it back to the Gate in time for her rape, Izembaro would have her hide.

  After washing and disposing of the body that once belonged to the Lord Rafford… Mercy quickly made her way back, being sure to slink through the shadows, passing through the port and canals, using the thick grey fog that had settled to conceal her from watching eyes. She needed to be quick.

  The Gate was close. She was so close… 

   “Ned Starks bastard… I heard there was a mutiny. Betrayed his vows I heard…” Mercy heard one man say.

  “There’s war all over Westeros… dragons are stirring in the East and there are rumors of the dead moving beyond the Wall…” another one replied.

  She listened to the conversation of two Westerosi who had traveled as a part of the same company Raff had been traveling in from within the safety of the shadows. They had spoken up just as she was about to slip back inside of the Gate. 

  Mercy would have continued, but they said the name of a boy that Arya Stark used to know, one she used to hold more dear than all others. 

  She could hear the voice of Izembaro, speaking his lines, the laughter of the crowd as they watched the late King Robert Baratheon being gutted by a wild boar.

  “Stick em with the pointy end…” “All the best swords have names.”

  “Like Ice,” she remembered saying, “Does this have a name? Oh, tell me.” 

  “Can't you guess?” Jon teased. “Your very favorite thing.”

   “Needle,” they said together. The memory assaulted her all at once.

  And suddenly, a girl could not remember why she was there at all, she had come as Arya Stark, seeking revenge for her losses, looking for answers, help, allies and skills, all to avenge her family. But what has that cost her? 

  She turned away from the Gate and moved back through the shadows, through the cobbled lanes, past Ragmans harbor, the Armory, toward Nabbos bridge and then past Bruscos, before making her way toward the House of Black and White. 

  Without conscious thought Mercy was gone, and Arya Stark had returned. Arya Stark could not be no one, because Arya Stark did not care about names promised to the Many Faced God, names belonging to people whom had not harmed her family or loved ones. No, Arya Stark's enemies were across the narrow sea, and they had managed to take another person from her who had meant the world to her. 

  With cautious steps, Arya Stark approached the spot on the stairs that she had concealed her identity within. She thought back to that day… she had come with the intention to rid herself of the things that meant something to the girl she had been when she arrived at the House of Black and White. 

  The Kindly Man had challenged her to shed her identity to become no one, and she had, she rid herself of everything that she had collected throughout her travels, every memory she had saved; Salty’s fingerless gloves, her silver fork and floppy hat, the random silver and copper coins she had managed to save, she rid herself of the dagger she had gotten off the archer that the Hound had given mercy to. 

  Mercy… Arya Stark had given away all that she had that tied her to her own life, but not Needle. 

   Needle was Robb and Bran and Rickon, her mother and her father, even Sansa. Needle was Winterfell's grey walls, and the laughter of its people. Needle was the summer snows, Old Nan's stories, the heart tree with its red leaves and scary face, the warm earthy smell of the glass gardens, the sound of the north wind rattling the shutters of her room. Needle was Jon Snow's smile. He used to mess my hair and call me "little sister," she remembered, and suddenly there were tears in her eyes.

   The rock was still there… nine steps. She approached cautiously, being sure that no one was around to find her. When she was sure the coast was clear, she used her fingernails and the edge of the new dagger she had been provided, to pry the stone away from the steps. Once it was free, she reached her arm inside and wrapped her hand around the still soft leather grip of her sword and pulled it out from it's prison. 

  It was just as she remembered, long and skinny, though not quite the proper size for her much longer frame.

   It doesn’t matter, Jon gave me this.

  “I knew that a girl could never be no one.” A familiar voice said from behind her.

  Arya spun around and faced a man who Arya knew as Jaqen H’ghar. She narrowed her eyes, “Have you come to kill me?”

  Jaqen shook his head in denial and looked at her sadly.

  “How did you know?” She asked instead.

  “A girl can not be no one when her heart is still beating for Someone.” Jaqen said sympathetically.

  Arya was confused by this. What would Jaqen know about her heart? 

  “Is that what happened to you? You lost someone who meant everything to you, and so you killed the man you were?” For once she felt that they were getting to something.

  Something important...

  Jaqen watched her for a moment, contemplating her question and then his mouth curved upward in a sad attempt at a smile. It looked more like a grimace if she were being honest, but there was pain in his eyes she had never seen before. 

  “Once, long ago, a man was someone too. He met a girl who was as wild as a storm with winter in her veins. Her eyes were the color of Valyrian steel and she stole his heart and all of his senses. When he lost her, he lost the rest of who he had been, and nothing could have brought him back. After that, he wandered around for a time until he ended up in Braavos at the House of Black and White.” He answered her in third person, not willing to let go of all his training, not like she had. 

  Arya looked back up and met him eye to eye. She didn’t know why, but she thought that mayhap she could trust him. The way she had when she was still a ghost in Harrenhal. 

  “Is that why you helped me?”

  Jaqen smiled sadly again. “A girl does remind a man of the maid he had lost, and maybe that is why he gave the girl a coin. He wanted to keep her close, and away from harm. He wanted a girl to know how to protect herself.” He admitted quietly. As if admitting as much caused him pain. 

  “I’m going home.” She decided to tell him honestly. 

  Jaqen nodded. “A man can see.”

   “They murdered my brother, the only brother I have left, the only one who ever truly loved me as I am, and I mean to go and avenge him and bring his body home to Winterfell where he belongs.”

  Jaqen turned his head slightly, considering her words. “Winterfell?”

  This time it was Arya who nodded.

  “A man will come back to Westeros with Arya Stark, and he will help you get your vengeance.” He extended his hand out toward hers. 

   He wants to shake on it, as if they had just struck a deal. 

  She considered his hand a moment and then, hesitantly, she accepted. “Meet me at the Temple of the Moonsingers in the morning, I will find us a ship.”

  “At sunrise, a man will meet you there.” He promised and before she knew it, he had slunk back into the shadows.

  Arya Stark stared back at the House of Black and White for a moment longer and then, she too, stepped into the shadows and then she disappeared.

  The following morning, they boarded their ship just as the tide was starting to retreat, she had managed to pick enough coin purses to pay for their voyage and anything they might find that they had need of once they reached Westeros. Except, once Jaqen joined, he sought out the captain and spoke a few words. No coins had been exchanged, but the captain provided them with a cabin and made sure to send them their meals when the rest of the ship ate. 

  They were expected to dock in the Saltpans, ironic considering that is where she had departed Westeros at, but poetic as well. 

  When she wasn’t practicing with her sword, she spent her time planning her journey North. Arya was hoping that they would be able to switch ships upon their arrival, for one bound further North towards White Harbor or Eastwatch, though the former was more likely. If not, they would have to plan their journey over land. 

  At night, she would dream as the ship rocked and swayed with the movements of the waves. Her dreams were not unfamiliar to her, like most  nights, she would find herself running with an enormous pack of wolves at her back. 

  When she was smaller, when she had been on the move with Gendry and Hotpie, these dreams had confused her, but after her training with the Kindly man, when she had been trying to learn secrets he himself did not know, she recognized these for what they were. 

  Wolf dreams…

   As the days progressed, so too did her connection to her Direwolf. This night was no different.

   Nymeria was running, running towards something, towards someone…she couldn’t be sure. There was a pull, something summoning her.  Ahead, the sun was breaking over the horizon. East, she was running East. She sniffed the air around her, and she could smell a hint of salt, there were white birds that were calling loudly to one another, nothing like the black ones that followed her pack wherever they went, feasting on the corpses that were left behind by the men with metal claws and two legs like her girl.

  There was water… she had come this way before, once, long ago when her pack was much smaller, before she had pulled that body from the water, the body of the woman who once smelled familiar. 

  From far away, she could hear the call of her two brothers. The third one was lost, somewhere where she could no longer reach him. But the other two, the Angry brother and the Quiet brother that was their Alpha, were still with her. Every so often she would feel his mind brushing against her own, listening to the call of their smaller cousins; the ones she had made her pack. Whenever this happened, she could feel her angry brother too. 

  Weeks ago she felt her Quiet brother, calling out in silent anguish, a pain that she had never felt before sliced into her, into her back and stomach and then it was gone, and all she could feel was rage…not his rage, but his man’s. Days had passed, and she had found herself and her pack on the move. Her brother needed her. He needed her girl. She needed her girl, too. Her howl pierced through the early morning sky. A signal that they were getting closer. 

  Each night over the course of their voyage, Arya could see Nymeria and her pack as they moved through the woods, making sure to avoid travelers. The winds had been kind, and last night the captain of the ‘Wayward Maid’ informed them that he expected them to make landfall by morning. 

  Jaqen had long since abandoned their cabin and moved above deck. He did this every morning since they had set sail, retreating further into his mind than she had ever seen him go, with each day that passed. It felt like he was carrying a weight with him that he could not speak of, else it would surely drown him. 

  She dressed quickly and checked around the cabin for anything she might be leaving behind. Her coin purse was secured tightly to her belt, and tucked into her breeches for safe measure. Needle was attached to her hip, where it should have always been, and will be from now on. Beside the door, two sacks were placed. Arya grabbed them both before she exited the room, not sparing another look on her way up to the deck. 

  The air above was crisp, and she could see the outline of buildings in the distance. The small port town was nothing the history books would write about, but to Arya, the town was a major landmark in her journey to become who she is. Even if no songs would ever be sung about the town and its inhabitants, Arya would never forget any of it.

  Jaqen stood at the prow of the ship, his back to her, she approached and set their bags between their feet.

  “I appreciate that you chose to come with me, but I want you to know that I will understand if you want to return.” She said, voicing the thoughts that she had been mulling over since they left Braavos.

  Her mentor turned to face her, if he hadn’t been aware of her presence, he did not react as such. Instead he gave her a crooked smile. 

  “A man has not made this journey for Arya Stark. A man is doing this for himself, I too have business in Winterfell.” Said Jaqen.

  “A name? Who is it?” She wanted to know. There was no one left in Winterfell that she was aware of. 

  Jaqen shook his head. “There is a name, but hers was given to He of Many Faces long ago. I mean to pay my respects.”

  Something about his words nagged at her, but he could be referring to any number of people. Nevertheless, she would pay close attention to him once they reached her home.

  “How long do you think before we make anchor?” She asked, changing the subject.

  “A man does not think it should be long. Would Arya Stark like to practice while we wait?” He asked. 

  She nodded, there was nothing more to be done in the interim, and they could always break their fasts while she waited on Nymeria to arrive with her pack. 

  About an hour later, and three or more bruises, their ship made port and Arya could tell that much had changed in the past few years. The town that she had departed from was but a shell of what she could recall, there was hardly anyone moving around in the early morning. There were a few small boats, and two other ships that were anchored, but otherwise the town was almost empty. 

  Arya wasn’t sure if Jaqen had any news about the state of Westeros, she had never thought to ask him while she was serving as an apprentice at the House of Black and White. Knowing that any interest would translate as her clinging to her past, to who she had been born as.

  They would have been right, of course, to suspect her, that is. Now that she had time to reflect on the way she had reacted when she heard the news of Jon, she knew that she never would have let go. Somehow, Jon would have always been the one to bring Arya Stark back to Westeros.

  After thanking the captain and making their goodbyes, Arya and Jaqen set off in search of a mount that they could share. There would be slim pickings, but even with the damage, people would not abandon a town with shelter enough to cater to those who had been displaced since the wars had begun.

  Eventually, the two of them came across a young boy who was trying to raise enough coin to feed himself. 

  “Pardon me, I was wondering if you could help me.” 

  The boy looked at her skeptically. “If you can spare some coin for food, I’ll help as best as I can.” The boy asked, seeing an opportunity in her and Jaqen. 

  Arya smiled, remembering when she had been alone and starving in the streets of King's Landing after her father had been taken prisoner and their household either slaughtered or taken captive.

  Nodding, Arya pulled a coin from her pouch. “My friend and I are looking for a good horse that can get us closer to Harrenhal where we might find another.”

  The little lad’s eyes went wide, as if she had just asked him a question that only he could help her solve. “You’re in luck, I know just the horse!” He exclaimed, taking her by the hand and leading her towards the outskirts of the town. 

  Arya grinned like a fool at his enthusiasm, before she turned back to Jaqen and gestured for him to follow. 

  After about twenty minutes or so, the boy had brought them to a stall along the shore, near the bay. Off in the distance you could make out the mysterious Quiet Isle. 

  As they approached she could make out the voices of two men that she would know anywhere, and instinctively her hand went to the hilt of Needle. 

  “Whos in there?” Arya asked the boy, placing her hand on his shoulder and preventing him from going any further. When he looked back, she nodded toward the stall. 

  “The Gravedigger,” the boy said shrugging. 

  Arya wasn’t sure what to make of that but the little lad shrugged her hand off and made his way to the front of the stall where three men were standing.

  “I don’t care who she’s got, the Kingslayer, a lady knight… the fucking Queen for all I care, I’m not getting involved. I’m done with trouts, and wolves and lions and all the rest of those ungrateful cunts.”

  “But Ser, she’s going to murd—,” the boy facing him was about to say.

  “Pardon brother Gravedigger, I brought you someone lookin’ t’buy a good horse.” The boy said, pulling on the tall man’s dun-and-brown robe. 

  His cowl was up, so his face and head remained hidden, but Arya knew who she would find hidden behind the hood.

  Sure enough, having received the boys interruption, the “Gravedigger” turned around to reveal the face of the man that Arya Stark left a few miles away under a tree for dead a little over two years ago. Behind him, two figures stepped from out behind his shadow. The first was Thoros of Myr, the second, a face she had known only for a short time. It was his eyes that reminded her of who he was, otherwise all traces of the boy she had met while an “honored guest” of the Brotherhood without Banners was long gone. 

  “Lord Dayne of Starfall, Thoros of Myr, and Sandor Clegane. I did not expect to find you here, especially not in each others company.” She said, breaking the silence. 

  “Fuck my life.” The Hound grumbled. Behind him, Thoros of Myr grinned like a cat with a bowl of cream, and Ned blushed slightly, obviously remembering her from long ago. 

  “Arya Stark,” Thoros announced.

  “In the flesh,” she curtsied sarcastically. “What were the three of you discussing?” She couldn’t help but let her curiosity get the better of her. 

   The little boy from before tugged on her shirt, reminding her of why they had come. She knelt down and pulled another coin from her pouch. “Are you in a bit of a hurry?”

  “No, m’lady, just hungry. Is you gonna buy the horse?” He asked clumsily.

  “Mayhap, but even if I don’t, I would still like to pay you for such fine work. Take care of yourself, hmm?” She smiled and placed the two coins in the boys hands. 

  “I swear it.” The little boy said, tucking his earnings away into a safe place. He went to turn away but then he turned back and flung himself into her arms unexpectedly. “Thank you m’lady!”

  Before she could respond, he was off. Racing back towards the town. Arya turned her attention back to the other three and waited for one of them to answer her previous question. 

  The answer never came…

  “The fuck are you doing here?” The Hound growled out after a few moments of silence. 

  Arya gestured back in the direction of the boy who was now long gone. “Didn’t you hear the boy? I came to buy a horse. One strong enough to take me and my friend closer to Harrenhal. Is this something you can help me with?”

  “Nah’ I can’t fucking help you, now get the fuck outa here!” Sandor snarled. 

  Perhaps she might have flinched at such a response years ago, but the Hounds words conflicted with his eyes.

  Arya approached him cautiously. In some ways, Sandor was much like a wounded animal, and when she had abandoned him so long ago, he had been exactly that. 

  He did not flinch or back away when she laid her right hand upon his arm. He simply narrowed his eyes at her in suspicion. 

  “I’m glad you’re alive Sandor.” She admitted honestly. 

  Sandor Clegane had been on her list for a long time, but the last time she had seen him, he had been gravely injured. He couldn’t even remain mounted atop his horse, Stranger. All the anger she felt toward him because of Mycha and Lady, and for serving Joffrey, none of that mattered. He had been a horrible wretch of a man, with little honor, and no conscience, but he had cared for her when no one else had. He kept her alive and he helped her get Needle back from Polliver, and for that, she just couldn’t bring herself to kill him.

  “No fuckin thanks to you.” He grumbled. “Where tha fuck are you goin anyway? And where tha fuck you been?”

  Arya smiled, I’m headed North. I mean to bring my brother home.” 

  She stepped further around the stall where she could see a few horses hobbled and she chuckled. “I should have known that you would still have him.”

  Sandor grunted, “I got Craven too, she made her way back to Stranger a few days after the Elder Brother found me and brought me back from the Stranger's doorstep.” Sandor said, answering her unspoken question.

  Her eyebrows raised up at the mention of Craven, she hadn’t thought to ever see the horse again. 

  Sandor shook his head, “Not here, she’s on the isle. Thought she might appreciate a more relaxed life after everything that happened at the Twins.” 

   He’s changed…and for the better, Arya realized.

  “Much as I hate to rush this, we would really like to buy a horse. Do you have one that you can spare?”

  The hound grumbled and then held up a hand, indicating for her to wait and then he turned and made his way inside the large stall. While he was gone, Thoros approached, the same satisfied smile firmly in place.

  “Thoros of Myr, I hadn’t thought to find you here, and without the Brotherhood.”

  His face took on a dark tone and he reached for his skin for a drink. “The Brotherhood is no more, at least not as it was.” He admitted darkly. Before she could ask what he meant, Sandor returned with a beautiful midnight courser, not nearly as big as Stranger, but equally as impressive. 

  “He’s beautiful.” Arya crooned, approaching the horse.

  “He’s a horse.” Sandor said, pointing out the obvious. 

  Arya snorted, “Thank you for clearing that up. I’ll give you fifteen golden dragons for him.” 

  “Twenty-five.” Sandor countered. 

  The horse was worth more. “Thirty with a saddle.” She added for good measure, it was still a fine deal. 

  “Done, and I’m coming with you.” The Hound agreed. 

  Shocked, she turned to look at Jaqen, who had remained quiet throughout the entire exchange. He simply shrugged, not minding at all what decision she made.

  “Why would you want to come with us?” She asked, still unsure of his motivations.

  The Hound looked like it pained him to answer her question and he avoided it for a brief moment. But Arya could see Thoros and Ned sharing nervous glances between one another.

  “What’s going on?” She asked once more.

  “There’s upheaval in the Riverlands, someone is hanging Frey and Lannister soldiers, and taking travelers hostage. We were talking about it when you showed up, trying to convince Clegane to join us.” Thoros answered. There was more to the story, Arya was sure of that, but Thoros hadn’t lied, she was certain of it.

  “I can’t stop any of you from coming, but I can’t be responsible for solving the issues here in the south. I have business in the North and I’m in a bit of a hurry.”

  Thoros nodded and Ned looked relieved, but the hound just went back to where he had the saddles set up near his stall and grabbed the one he meant to put on the courser he was selling to her and Jaqen. She was about to go and help him, but there was a disturbance coming from the tree line and a tingle ran down her spine. Arya turned just in time to see a set of familiar golden eyes and grey fur emerge from the safety of the trees. 

   Nymeria…

  She was moving across the distance on impulse, years of being without her long forgotten. “Nymeria,” Arya choked, when they were just a few feet away. She stopped, remembering the last time they had been together. The rocks she had thrown at her just to make her run away. “I’m so, so, so, sorry girl,” she whispered, not really sure if Nymeria could hear her, she just needed to say it. 

  Nymeria never slowed however, and before Arya was prepared, her Direwolf had her pinned to the ground and was nuzzling against her. Nipping and sniffing at her. Arya cried tears of joy as she allowed her other half to take inventory of her, enjoying the opportunity to breathe in Nymeria’s familiar scent too. 

  She couldn’t say how long the two of them were there, rolling around in the grass like two children from long ago, but when Nymeria finally helped her stand back up, Arya found four men looking at her as if she had just gone half mad. 

  She glanced back at Nym, she was huge. In fact, she was as big as the horse that she had just purchased for herself and Jaqen. Arya grinned from ear to ear. “You’re quite the Wolf Queen aren’t you, girl? Where is the army you brought to help us conquer?”

  Nymeria glanced back at the forest and then nudged her in the chest. 

  She wasn’t sure what her Wolf was trying to tell her, but she was sure that Nymeria understood her, so she asked another question.

  “I know I sent you away. I will never be able to forgive myself for it, but I will never regret keeping you safe. I need you girl, I don’t want to be a lone wolf anymore. I need you to be my pack again, and I’ll do anything to earn my place back, but our brothers need us. I know you know that, I need to go to Ghost. Will you come with me? Will you help me avenge him?”

  Nymeria looked her in the eyes, as if she were searching her soul, and then she lifted her head and let out a long soulful howl. Off in the distance, more than a hundred other calls were raised back in answer, and far, far to the North, Arya heard two more, though one was more pronounced than the other.

   Is that you Ghost? Have you found your voice?  

  Arya couldn’t help but wonder… she turned back to Sandor and Jaqen. The former was just finishing with his own saddle and harness and was instructing Thoros and Ned to do the same with the other two horses that he had hobbled beside what she assumed were their own mounts. 

  Jaqen took the reins of the courser from Sandor and approached her. When he was in hearing range he smiled slyly.

  “A girl is full of surprises, and is more Wolf than girl perhaps?” Jaqen suggested in a knowing sort of way.

  Arya moved to take the reins and heft herself up into the saddle, but Nym quickly stepped in front of her and blocked her path forward. 

  “What is it, girl? Didn’t you hear me when I said we had to go help our brothers?”

  Nymeria huffed and crouched down, nudging her to indicate that she intended for her to ride with her. Arya arched her brow.

  “Um—Nym, I’m not sure that I’m supposed to ride with you like this…”

  Nym huffed and nudged her again, and Arya could tell that she was growing annoyed with her hesitance. 

  “Fine, but if I fall off, I’m riding with Jaqen.” Arya warned. 

  Nym nipped at her in annoyance, and braced herself, allowing Arya to take two large handfuls of her fur and heft herself onto her huge back.

When she was firmly in position, behind Nymeria’s back shoulder blades, her Direwolf rose to her full height and Arya could fully feel the strength and muscle under the thick layers of fur. She felt much more naturally at ease on her wolf's back, even though the idea was foreign to her. 

  Arya glanced back at her new rag-tag band of swords and smiled. “I hope you three can keep up.” Before she could give Nymeria her heading, she was already racing North.

To Go Forward...

  When the smoke finally cleared, Khal Jhaqo was there seated atop his mount. His bloodriders were stationed loosely around him, none daring to come any closer to Drogon than necessary. Dany could still recall the day that she had emerged from her tent to find that Drogo’s khalasar had disbanded and broke into many smaller khalasar’s, before they took Eroeh and raped and murdered her. She could still remember the vow she made as well. 

  Now that she and Drogon had broken their fasts on something more substantial than berries and contaminated water, Dany felt stronger and more clear of mind. She raised her chin high and called out to those who had come in search of her and their lost mount in their native tongue.

   “Fin yer tat vo zala tat vorsa, drop zohhe yeri arms, akka astat yeri purpose ha dothralat vi anna rhaeshi.” (“If you do not wish to burn, lay down your arms, and state your purpose for riding through my lands.”)

 In truth, she had no idea where she was, only that Drogon had clearly marked these lands and made his lair here.

  Khal Jhaqo’s chestnut colored stallion shifted nervously. Behind him, she could recognize the form of Mago pushing forward to address her. Daenerys smiled. 

   Dragons do not plant trees…remember who you are.

  She remembered now, just as she had remembered before, long ago on the Dothraki sea. “I am Daenerys Stormborn, Daenerys of House Targaryen, of the blood of Aegon the Conqueror and Maegor the Cruel and old Valyria before them. I am the dragon's daughter, and I swear to you, these men will die screaming.”

 “Step out of your beasts shadow silver witch and I will consider bringing you back to Vaes Dothrak to take your place among the crones as you should have done after you murdered your Khal.” Came the guttural reply of Jhaqo. 

  Drogon’s neck craned upward to get a better look at the foolish man who thought to talk to his mother in such a manner. 

  “Sagon gīda ñuha tresy, kesi tepagon zirȳ Perzys Ānogār ” she purred softly to her child. (Be calm my son, we will give them fire and blood.)

  Turning back to the Dothraki, Dany called back her reply. “Khal Jhaqo, yer took fin ki vo ha yer, anha zala fin ajjin anni.” (Khal Jhaqo, you took what was not for you, I want what is mine.)

   The bastard laughed long and low. “You are weak, I owe nothing to you. Whore!”

   Drogon let out a loud roar that shook the foundations of the ground. Again Jhaqo’s stallion shifted nervously in relation to Drogon’s close proximity, and then, out of nowhere, she heard the call once more. A single low note, long and sorrowful, coming from far to the north. The call of a wolf.

   In order to go forward, you must go back…

 Mago hopped down from his mount and said something to the other bloodriders who had come with Jhaqo and they all laughed. 

  “Māzigon, jēda naejot mōris bisa.” (Come, time to end this.)

   Without waiting for them to speak another word to her, she walked calmly toward the awaiting men that had once been sworn to her sun-and-stars. She didn’t even attempt to switch into their tongue this time. She knew they understood her well enough.

  “You mean to bind me with rope and drag me back to your sacred city. Know that I will go, but not by your command. I will go to take back what was stolen from me by you and the other weak men who abandoned me on the Dothraki Sea. As for you, Mago, and Jhaqo, you will never see the Mother of Mountains again, you will never bathe in the Womb of the World, your sons will never be the Stallion that mounts the world. Your name will die here as will those of you who do not swear fealty to me as your Khaleesi, right here, right now.”

   “You are a crazy bitch, we will not swear to you. A whore can not lead the Dothraki. You won’t go with us to the Dosh Khaleen? Fine we will make you our bed slave as we did that bitch Eroeh.”

  Jhaqo laughed as if he were incredibly funny. He wasn’t...yet Dany did not interrupt. Speaking Eroeh’s name was a mistake on his part. One he would not live to regret. 

  Dany smirked instead, as not to give away the fire that was burning in her. 

  Dragons do not plant trees…

 With every word that was spoken, Jhaqo got more and more confident that Drogon would not do anything. He was large, but not yet large enough to have carried that horse back to his island, she would let them underestimate the reach of his flames. 

   “What is it that the Dothraki say? A khal who cannot ride is no khal? What will your Khalassar do when you are no longer able to lead them from horseback?”

  Daenerys looked back to Drogon and reached to him with her mind for the first time, trusting that she could reach him without words or whip. His head stretched forward and rested against her shoulder in a rare show of affection. 

   “I would not loose those arrows if you intend to ride away from this in tact.” She warned.

   Mago jumped from his saddle and approached her, more confidently than could be considered sane. His hand rested on the hilt of his arakh, but she could see that he was unsure how to proceed. Behind him, Jhaqo’s other two bloodriders dismounted and moved to circle around their khal. 

  “Khal Jhaqo, I Daenerys Stormborn, last living daughter of House Targaryen, Khaleesi to the Great Khal Drogo, sentence you and those of your bloodriders to death.” She called her warning loud enough to carry across the distance to the remaining mounted warriors. 

  With a brush of her hand against the side of Drogon’s jaw, and a murmur of endearment, Daenerys turned her focus back to the Dothraki and gave her command. 

  “Dracarys!”

   Drogon reared back instantly, exposing his underbelly to the approaching enemy, and someone must have thought that he would be vulnerable because two arrows flew from the distance, only to bounce unceremoniously off of his hardened scales. Daenerys smiled as she felt the heat bubble up inside his chest and as soon as his flame was ready, Drogon unleashed it in a sickening torrent of black and crimson, first touching on the grass near their feet before encircling them in a wall of flame. 

  When Daenerys knew them to be trapped within, and she could hear the screams of Mago and Jhaqo, she moved inside the circle, unharmed by the kiss of Drogon’s flames. Though visibility inside the circle was minimal, the moment she walked through the flames and they took notice of her, their screams began anew. She continued on, passing through the ring, as the flames inched closer and closer to their intended victims. She did not falter or spare them a second thought, she just kept walking forward through the shadow of the flames until she was standing opposite of where she had been. The flames were now at her back, Jhaqo’s mount and the remainder of his men still watching on in horror, as she emerged, yet again from the flames without a single burn into the light. 

  When it was finally quiet, each of them dismounted and prostrated themselves in the grass, and she could hear murmurs of khaleesi being whispered amongst them. Drogon joined her moments later and extended his wing so that she could climb up and secure herself on his neck. Once in place, he rose up to his full height and screeched loudly, filling her with pride. 

  “Qoy anni qoy, tiholat rek anha tikh vo fail yer.  Tiholat rek asshekh yer zhorre made jin great stallion haj. Tikh yer dothralat ha anna? Tikh yer kill anna enemies akka fichat anna glory?” 
  (Blood of my blood, know that I will not fail you. Know that today you have made the Great Stallion strong. Will you ride for me? Will you kill my enemies and bring me glory?)

  From below her she could hear the call of forty or more Dothraki screamers. She was once more filled with pride, knowing that the fierce people that she had come to love as her own were once more hers. And not because she was the wife of some great man who thought to conquer villages to rape and enslave their people, or to demand tributes in his name. But because she had finally come into her own strength. Because she was strong enough to mount the world upon her own winged shadow.

   “Dothralat ma anna, rhellaya anna unite ei mahrazhi into ato khalasar! Jin jin chaf afis us tat iffi!” (Ride with me, help me unite all men into one Khalasar! Let the wind fly us to victory!)

  Drogon released another mighty roar, drowning out the undulating cries of her men and then he lept into the air, picking up the wind, and blowing the ashes of Jhaqo and his bloodriders away to be forgotten. Her riders were quick to mount up and set off in the direction that they had come from, no doubt, leading back to the bulk of what was once Jhaqo’s whole hoard. 

  Drogon flew in lazy circles overhead, in an attempt to not outpace those on the ground and after about an hour, Daenerys saw the visible outline of Jhaqo’s khalasar gathered further up ahead. 

  She gave the command to Drogon to drop lower and fly closer to her riders, which he did with enthusiasm. Together they flew low, so low in fact that she could almost hear the blades of grass brush against his claws as they flew overhead. Just behind her, on either side, she could hear her riders call their admiration and Drogon returned it with another call of his own. The only thing that could have made this any better would have been if Viserion and Rhaegal were here beside them. 

  It wasn’t much longer before she signaled for Drogon to climb once more. She needed to locate the largest tent so that she could land where all would be able to hear her words and answer her call to arms. When she finally spotted the area near Jhaqo’s tent she gave Drogon his heading and they immediately began their descent. 

  By the time Drogon was firmly on the ground, a large group of people had started to gather around the large tent of Khal Jhaqo. Two women stepped from inside and Dany suspected them both to be Jhaqo’s khaleesi’s. A few moments later the sound of hooves could be heard entering the camp and Dany knew that it was time to speak up. 

  “Dothraki! yer tiholat anna ven Daenerys Stormborn, khaleesi ki great Khal Drogo, mai tat stallion rek tikh  ato asshekh mount jin world! anha zin vo yeri dozgo!”
  (Dothraki! you know me as Daenerys Stormborn, khaleesi of the great Khal Drogo, mother to the stallion that would  one day mount the world! I am not your enemy!)

  There were murmurs of confusion going around but as soon as someone started, her forty lifted their arakh’s and cheered her on with pride. Dany could see the look of confusion on the faces of Jhaqo’s wives, and she knew that she owed an explanation so she gave them her full attention when she spoke her next words.

  “Khal Jhaqo ajjin driv, Mago ajjin driv! Anha killed eyak akka sent eyak irge tat ajjalani rhaeshi.” (Khal Jhaqo is dead, Mago is dead! I killed them and sent them back to the night lands.)

   She did not bother with carefully chosen words. The Dothraki were a hard people, and death came to all eventually. Still, it did not stop her heart from clenching when she saw realization dawn upon their faces. In the crowd Dany could hear her forty riders speaking the truth of what they witnessed.

   “Anha zin here tat qafat yer tat lajat ha anna, tat kill those fin zala tat tihat anna driv akka anna chomak she chains!” (I am here to ask you to fight for me, to kill those who want to see me dead and my people in chains!)

  Their answers came slowly, but Drogon used that moment to interject and he bellowed a huge breath of black flame into the air, which in turn made the entire camp fall to their knees. She smiled at her sons audacity but she would not take their choices from them. She hadn’t done so with her freedmen and she would not do so now.

  “Tikh yer dothralat ma anna? Tikh yer kill ha anna akka earn iffi akka glory kijinosi hake ki great stallion?” (Will you ride with me? Will you kill for me and earn victory and glory in the name of the great stallion?)

  When she finally went quiet, every able rider was rising from the ground and raising their arakh high into the air, and Dany knew that she had finally achieved what she had intended to do more than a year ago when she was just a lost girl, sailing away from Qarth with the intention of purchasing an army of slaves to retake the Seven Kingdoms. 

  She signaled Drogon to allow her to dismount, and he quickly lowered his neck until she was almost level enough to slide off. As soon as her feet were fully on the ground a group of her forty moved to surround her. 

  She would have to choose bloodriders, but she would do that once her khalasar was whole. And in order to do that she would have to go further back. All the way to Vaes Dothrak, it was the only way that she could go forward.

  After being escorted to the large campfire, she quickly gave orders to have a new tent put up for her, just in case Jhaqo’s wives hadn’t been given their own tent as Drogo had allowed her. But she was quickly assured that she would take the Khals tent and they would send people to tend to her needs.

  As much as Daenerys desired rest and comfort, she had a war to win, and she knew her people would be needing her soon. She passed on this information and sent her men to gather the other fighters so that she could give her instruction. She also ordered for a goat or horse to be brought to Drogon before the sun set. They had a long journey ahead of them and he would need as much food as possible to sustain them. 

  After all was said and done, and her khalasar had their orders, Dany allowed herself to be shown into her tent and for a bath to be prepared for her. Before excusing the girls who brought her water to bathe, she made sure to have them send for Jhaqo’s wives. They deserved some sort of explanation, and she wanted them to know that no harm would come to either of them or any khalakka’s that they might have born Jhaqo, nor did they need to fear being sent to serve in the temple of the Dosh Khaleen. 

  She understood that she could not supplant their entire way of life, but she would be the Great Khaleesi now. And just as she had refused to forego the temple of the Dosh Khaleen after Drogo fell from his horse, she would give Jhaqo’s wives the same courtesy.

  The following morning at sunrise, Daenerys emerged from her tent in a fresh set of riding leathers and her hair braided the way she preferred it. The women who had come to tend her even managed to fix some bells into her hair to mark her victory over Khal Jhaqo and his bloodriders, as well as her victory through the flames on the Dothraki Sea so long ago, there was one for her victory in Qarth, Astapor, Yunkai and finally for her victory in Meereen. 

  The camp had started packing up already, and Drogon was finishing what looked like another horse. Before walking toward him, Dany turned back and thanked her ladies one last time and promised that she would meet them in Meereen. 

  Drogon purred when she was finally near enough to greet him, and she couldn’t help but smile. She couldn’t remember the last time loving Drogon had been so easy, but she suspected that she finally understood why he had been so distant before. 

   That night back on her terrace, after she had gone to see Viserion and Rhaegal and they rejected her. They screamed for her to let them free and she couldn’t. Rather than comfort them, she had fled. The memory of Hazzea was still too fresh on her mind. But she had been wrong.

  Dany had forgotten who she was, she wanted to plant trees, make roots, but dragons need space to grow.

  When Drogon had come to her, she thought it was a sign. But when she reached for him, he recoiled from her as if there was something off putting about her. And there had been.
  She had allowed someone to manipulate her into locking away her children. She used the love and unwavering trust of her first born son to convince him to go into the catacombs and then she fed him so much that he grew tired enough to chain him.
  When she went in search of Rhaegal, she had expected him to be equally as willing, but he quickly proved her wrong. In the end, and after three days of failed attempts, they had been forced to throw a metal net around him and wheel him down in a cart. Rhaegal fought the entire way, and she lost no less than six men in the process. Still, in the end she had been able to subdue him with fresh cattle and then chain him as well.   
  This had been the first time she realized that she had lost Drogon, and then again on the second and then finally the third attempt, proving her men had been unsuccessful in capturing him. Daenerys knew for sure that she could no more control him, than she could free slaves and rule Seven Kingdoms at the same time. 

  Reports came in stating that Drogon had been seen flying north over the Skahazadhan toward the Dothraki sea. Even worse, he would not return no matter how much she had willed him to. No matter how much her heart had yearned to have him with her.

  She had called them monsters in the deep recesses of her mind, recoiled at the thought of what she had released into the world upon Drogo’s funeral pyre. It was no wonder why Drogon had abandoned her when he did. 

  She should have taken Daario’s advice sooner. A dragon Queen without dragons, is no Queen. And the masters had proved that they could reach her the moment they believed her children were not a threat to them anymore.

  Yesterday, when Drogon had burned Jhaqo she bore witness to the heat of his flames. She saw with her own two eyes how well men fared against a dragon's flame. The truth was illuminating, seven grown men were reduced to ash while the shepherd  was able to present her with the burnt bones of a small child. She had been deceived, no—she had allowed herself to be deceived. She knew that now, and she was ready to embrace her dragons blood once more. 

  After the events of the day before, their hunt together, their moment of fire and blood, Dany knew Drogon and she had reconnected in a way that was stronger than it had ever been before. The words were no longer required and she doubted she had need of the whip, the two of them were one.

  He lowered his head to her on instinct, and she quickly scrambled up and found her place on his neck. She had been gifted a whip the previous evening by one of her riders. A younger Dothrakan named Qohan and she thanked him graciously. She did not think it necessary, but she chose to keep this thought to herself at the time. It was out of respect for his thoughtfulness that she had it on display now. 

  Sensing she was in position, Drogon reared up and let out a roar that sounded like the world breaking and all around her she could hear the horses of her Khalasar neighing wildly. All around her, she could feel every pair of eyes in the camp settle upon her and Drogon, waiting for her final words before she departed company.

   “Qoy anni qoy! Asshekh yer dothralat ha jin city ki meereen tat fichat athdrivar tat kishi enemies. Anha tikh vo tikh flying ma yer, vosma anha tikh join yer she vilajero akka tikh hazze tat celebrate kishi iffi ma vorsa akka qoy! Hash kisha meet sille, kisha tikh tikh jin zhokwa khalasar jin earth et hash tih che tikh hash tiholat!” (Blood of my blood! Today you ride for the city of Meereen to bring death to our enemies. I will not be flying with you, but I will join you in battle and be there to celebrate our victory with Fire and Blood! When we meet next, we will be the greatest khalasar the earth has ever seen or will ever see again!)

  Her speech was met with a chorus of cheers and then she reached for the tether between herself and Drogon, telling him that it was time to go. Not just back, but North as well… perhaps to that blue rose growing from the chink in the Wall made from ice. 

  With a final battle cry from the both of them, Drogon hefted himself into the sky and turned North-East in the direction of Vaes Dothrak and the sacred city of the Dothraki. 

Chapter Text

|You know nothing Jon Snow|

  The next time Jon’s eyes opened, it was to the sound of a single horn blast, light was filtering in through the open window. There was shouting outside in the yard. And, if he closed his eyes just long enough, he could picture with clarity the scene outside the confines of his room. 

  He had been dreaming. Like most times, he dreamt of Winterfell, but this time it was a Winterfell of his past, rather than a Winterfell that was empty and abandoned. 

  Ned Stark sat before the heart tree, on his knees a dark haired babe was perched, he couldn’t have been more than a year, if that. “Your mother would have celebrated your first steps with a tourney, I’m sure. And your father would have no doubt indulged her.” His father said quietly to the boy who was babbling contentedly on his knee. 

  “Soon, Robb will be here, and I hope that you two will be like brothers, with nothing but love between the two of you. What do you think, hmm Aegon?”

 Even in sleep Jon questioned who his father was speaking to, wondered why he would call the boy Aegon and hope for him to be close with Robb.

  Robb was his brother, not this boys—?

  The image before him passed and this time his father was traveling beside a boy that was small in stature and a woman with dark hair and complexion. 

  “Wylla, how is the babe?” He heard his father ask. 

  “He’s calm M’lord, though I think His Grace misses the rest of his clutch.” 

  “You can’t talk about them Wylla, not even out here. It’s not safe for any of them if the wrong person hears.” His father chastised, then he added, “Pass him here, I would like to carry him for a bit.”

  The woman; Wylla did as she was bid and passed the babe over. 

  “Ned?” The smaller man with bright green eyes called, earning his father's attention. “I know that you want to keep him with you, but he shouldn’t be raised thinking he’s your shame, let me take him to the Neck, send for all of them, I’ll raise all three of them, I know Jyana will be welcoming.”

   His father fixed the man with an icy glare, “I promised my sister to keep him safe, and I will do just that. He is my kin, my blood! He’s—he’s all I have left of her.” His father's voice cracked and he watched as tears rolled down his cheeks… 

  “You don’t have to lose him, you don’t have to lose any of them,” the small man said once more. But his father's words from before were the only words that remained. “He’s my blood…”

   “He’s my blood,” his father had said those same words to him once, in fact, that was the last thing his father had said to him when he last asked about his mother's identity. 

  Jon thought back to the image of the babe his father had been holding, thought about his look, the dark hair and eyes and the name his father had given him. Aegon … and then he thought of that woman and how she had called him “His Grace,” and suddenly a conversation he’d had the day before with Melisandre came flooding back, assaulting his still groggy mind with images and words… “Jon Snow, or Aegon Targaryen, or whatever your name is…” 

  No…it's impossible...

  There was a loud pounding on the outside chamber. “Lord Commander,” the disembodied voice called with a hint of urgency coloring his tone. 

  Instinctively, Jon reached for Longclaw. Ghost though, lay as still as stone, not bothering to rouse at the sound of the disturbance coming from outside. Quietly, Jon stood from his bed and crossed the distance to his door, sword at the ready. 

  “What do you want?” Jon nearly growled.

  “It’s only Edd, m’lord. There’s um… there’s some people who just arrived, they are asking for Jon Snow. They look like some High Born, cept the woman— says she’s a Mormont, like the Old Bear. S’pose it could be—,” Edd was saying when Jon wrenched the door open. 

  He narrowed his eyes, “Did they mention what their business was?”

  Edd shook his head, “No, Lord Commander—,”

  “I’m not.” Jon corrected.

  “Your not?” Edd looked at him confused. 

  Jon sighed, “I’m not your Lord Commander.”

  Edd looked at him, mystified. “You said your vows, just like the rest of us, we elected you—,”

  “Aye, you did, I did, we all did. Yet out of everyone here, I alone have fulfilled my vow. I have lived and I died at my post. My commitment to the Watch ended when my heart stopped beating. I’ve already told you this.”

  “But what about the Others? What about the real war? How can you leave us at a time like this? You know that the wall will fall if it is abandoned in this state.” Edd said, trying to change his mind no doubt.

  Jon turned away from the entry and put Longclaw aside so he could ready himself to meet these visitors who had come seeking an audience with him. 

  “Edd,” Jon breathed out, exasperatedly. “I did everything I could, I moved the Free Folk South, outside the reach of the Others, I have made plans for a loan to be granted by the Iron Bank to help us with restoring the castles and feeding refugees, but even if I stayed, which I won’t, we cannot hope to win this war with the numbers we have. Someone has to go south, someone has to notify the rest of the realm about the real threat. I can’t stay here Edd, not after everything that has happened. But I promise you that I will never forget what’s most important. Hmm?”

  Edd didn’t look sold, but Jon knew that he could sense that it would be futile to continue to argue his point. At least Jon hoped Edd would. 

  “C’mon, lets go and greet these fancy folk who came seeking an audience with me. Ghost, to me.” He said, fastening his sword belt around his hips before making to the door.

  “And Edd, I’m no longer your Lord Commander. I told you this already, the Wall and the Watch are now yours, best get used to it.”

  He didn’t wait for his response nor his acceptance, Edd and the Watch would have to get used to the fact that they no longer had him there to solve their problems. 

  Ghost remained by his side, probably sensing that he himself was hesitant to walk about without the added security that his familiar provided. 

  In the yard, three figures were standing just inside the gate. He knew two of them from years ago, but if he was correct in his assumption, the two he knew should have died at the Red Wedding beside his brother. The third person among them, Jon couldn't reckon having had a single conversation with throughout his youth, nor could he ever recall him ever attending his father in Winterfell when the Northern Banners were called to meet. The moment that they spotted Ghost, they all stopped and stood to attention. 

  Jon approached, cautiously. For all he knew, they had been sent here by the Bolton bastard, and they meant him harm. 

  Ghost slowed , and stopped when they were a few feet away from them. “I heard that you’re looking for Jon Snow?” He greeted. 

  The smaller one looked back and forth between the group of them but the woman who Jon knew to be Maege Mormont stepped forward and greeted him herself. 

  “My Lord, might I introduce my travel companions and myself?” Her voice was gruff and to the point, much like the Old Bears had been. 

  Jon could tell the family relation right away. 

 “Please do, I would also like to know what brings you all the way here without sending word first.” He said, not wasting a moment.

  If the trio thought him to be too abrupt, they made no indication. 

  “We might need to speak somewhere more private if it please you, My Lord.” Maege replied. 

  Jon raised an eyebrow, this was the second time she referred to him as such in less than a handful of minutes. 

  After a moment of tense silence, the She-bear finally spoke. “Alright then, this is Galbert Glover, the Lord Howland Reed and I am Maege Mormont. We’ve met a few times over the past years.” She began. 

  “Aye, I remember you both. What brings you to the Wall, and with a crannogman at that?” He asked, gesturing for them to follow him toward the maesters quarters. There wasn’t a real reason for his choice, it just seemed like the best place to speak without being interrupted. 

  Seeing the rooms of maester Aemon after sending him away brought about a different kind of melancholy in him, though he had no intention to share this, he couldn’t help but to wonder about Sam and Gilly and the little monster, but mostly, he couldn’t stop thinking about Aemon’s advice. 

  Jon ushered his visitors into the room and in the direction of the table that had been cleared of the various books and scrolls that Aemon and Sam had been researching. Not wanting to delay longer than necessary, he jumped straight in. 

  “Alright, you wanted privacy, you have it. Now, if you don’t mind, what brings you North seeking out Ned Stark's bastard son?”

  The three glanced nervously back and forth between each other and then Lady Mormont pulled out a scroll from a hidden pocket that was sealed with the white Direwolf stamp of House Stark. This was his brother’s seal...

  “I don’t understand,” he said, reaching for the scroll. 

  A look of understanding crossed the face of each of them who had come all this way to deliver the last words of his brother, Jon imagined. Still, it didn’t make it any easier. 

  Ghost nudged him, encouraging him to get it over with. He was shaking, he realized. It felt like the weight of the world was written inside the page, and hidden behind his brothers seal.

  “You needn’t worry,” the man with the moss green eyes said to him. Something about him seemed familiar, as if he had met him somewhere before, though he couldn’t place it. 

  Jon nodded and broke the seal, unfurling the parchment to reveal the familiar scrawl of his brothers penmanship. A tear escaped, and dropped unceremoniously atop the page, just where his name had been printed. 

“This is the Final Will and Testament of His Grace; Robb Stark, King in the North & the Riverlands:

Written this 18th day of the 9th moon of 299 AC

 I, Robb of the House Stark, First of my name, King in the north and in the Riverlands do hereby name my brother Jon Stark, formerly known as Jon Snow as my heir. He will succeed to my throne in the event that I should fall in battle or perish without issue to carry on my line. 
  In the event that my sister Arya survived and is returned to her family, she shall be afforded all her rights as princess of the North.

  In regard to my sister, Sansa Lannister, formerly Stark. It is my will that she is hereby removed from the line of succession and holds no rights to Winterfell, the North, or the Riverlands, nor will any children she might produce from her womb, whether they be male or female.

  At the time of my Will, my two youngest brothers are reported to be deceased, murdered by the hands of Theon Greyjoy. Thereby leaving the Crown with no legitimate male heirs of my own or my father's seed.

  It is my wish that Jon Stark be formally pardoned from his post serving the Night's Watch, as he is needed for the continuation and future security of House Stark.

  I do swear, at the time of this writing, that I have not been coerced into these decisions and am of sound mind and body.

  Signed,
Robb Stark, King in the North and the Riverlands.

  Witnessed by,

  Lady Maege Mormont, of Bear Island

  Lord Jason Mallister, of Seaguard.

  Lord Galbert Glover, of Deepwood Motte.

  “The following pages are the formal request to the Night's Watch to pardon you and King Robb’s official document to legitimize you and name you his heir.” Lady Mormont said, standing to her feet and then she removed her battle axe and knelt, placing it at his feet, her action was followed by Lord Glover who did the same with his sword. 

 “House Mormont knows no king, but the King in the North whose name is Stark. I do hereby swear to be true and loyal, to give my counsel and my axe when called upon. And House Glover will stand beside House Stark as we have for thousands of years.” They both vowed.

  Jon sat there stunned, still processing what he had just read and heard, but then his eyes met the green eyes of Howland Reed and he noticed that the Lord of Greywater Watch did not share in their oaths and he couldn’t help but wonder why. 

  The words from his dream echoed back in his mind, ‘let me take him to the Neck…’ 

  “You were there?”

  The eyes of Lady Maege and Lord Galbart flashed to Lord Howland in confusion, and Jon remembered then that he had yet to bid them rise. 

  “Please rise, and I thank you for your oaths, but I cannot be your King. My sister is still alive and I mean to go and rescue her. If you would swear your Houses to her cause I will fight beside you. But I cannot accept what is and should be hers.”

  Jon returned his attention back to the Crannogman. “Have we met before, my Lord?”

  The man inclined his head. Yes. ..

  “Is there something that you came here to share, seeing as you have not seen fit to reaffirm your support for House Stark?” Jon asked, mayhap a bit darkly.

  Green eyes never wavering. Jon thought that the crannogman could see straight into him, and then he spoke. “I did not swear myself to Jon Stark because Jon Stark does not exist. And you already know this. I came here to fulfill a promise. Are you prepared to hear it all?”

  Jon swallowed once, his heart thrumming in his chest, reminding him that he was alive, that he was here, in the present. Knowing that his suspicions were about to be confirmed.

  He made his decision, “Yes.”

  Lord Reed nodded back and then directed his attention to the other two occupants in the room. “You might want to take a seat, what I have to say will take some time.” 

  They both took their seats and Howland began his tale. “Firstly, you are a Stark, let’s be clear about this. But you are also a Targaryen.” He said it with no preamble, no hesitation or resignation or even judgment. 

  “How can that be possible?” Lord Glover exclaimed.

  “I will tell you, but I need your oaths that what is discussed here will not be repeated unless decided upon by Jon…” Howland answered calmly. They both nodded, though he could see that they were skeptical.

  Jon remained still as a statue, he thought that perhaps the other Jon, the one before the mutiny might have been shattered by this news, but they had murdered that boy in the cold, stabbed him in the back and let his life’s blood feed the Wall.

  If that is what Aemon had meant, he thought for sure that this version of himself would be the Man. 

  “Please continue,” Jon urged, impatiently.

  Howland nodded, “Your mother was Lyanna Stark, Princess Consort to Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen. They were married in sight of the Gods on the Isle of Faces in a dual ceremony officiated by myself and the High Septon Maynard before the start of the Rebellion. You were born in Dorne at Starfall, you have a twin sister named Vallyria, and a younger sister named Daenerys who was born just at the end of the Rebellion. They call her Stormborn, but the storm was the rebellion that cost you three the lives of your mother and father.” He turned back to Lady Maege and Lord Galbart. “The Rebellion was built upon a lie. I know that this will be hard to hear, but the North must know the truth.” 

  Again they nodded, not really having anything to add to this story that was as new to them as it was for him. His father had refused to speak of anything regarding the rebellion. Of anything regarding his sister or his brother. The only things his siblings and himself knew were the details they had gleaned from books or whispered conversations between household guards or visiting bannermen, intent on reliving their glory days. He had even learned a bit more while King Robert had been in Winterfell.

  Howland turned his attention back to him and continued where he had left off. “Someone got to your uncle Brandon and convinced him that your father had taken your mother against her will. Knowing he was hot tempered, Brandon set out for King's Landing, intent on rescuing your mother and seeking retribution against the Prince. When your uncle and I finally arrived to the Tower in Dorne, I tried to explain what had happened, but fighting broke out and five of our men were killed in the process. Ser Gerold Hightower was gravely injured, though from what I understand he lived for a few years longer.” 

  The crannogman paused once more and then backtracked in his story. “Unfortunately, when your true father was summoned back to King's Landing, the kingsguard moved your mother to a secret location in the Princes Pass, to make sure that no one found the three of you. But, unbeknownst to the rest of them, your mother was already pregnant with your little sister and when she went into labor moons later, there was no maester available to help her birth Daenerys. Water was scarce and the conditions weren’t ideal for such a situation, and your mother came down with childbed fever. Daenerys was born early, nine moons following yourself and Val.”

  Jon’s head perked up when he said that. “Val?”

  Howland nodded, “Your twin, fair hair and skin, blue-grey eyes like your uncle Benjen’s. You have your mothers coloring but your father's facial structure. Your eyes are a mix between hers and his.” Howland explained, “While she has your father's coloring but your mothers look.”

  “If this is true, why have I never known of them?” Jon was starting to feel claustrophobic, not because his life had been a lie. No, he had realized that truth on the day he arrived at the Wall, only to find that Tyrion Lannister was the first person to be completely honest with him in his entire life. He felt this way because he had been amongst his kin this entire time without even knowing it.

  “Ghost, go and get the Red Woman, boy,” he urged his companion, ruffling the fur between his ears before opening the door to let him exit.

  “Your Uncle Ned thought that it would be less dangerous to keep the three of you separate, lest no one find you all in one place. Your sisters looked more Valyrian in appearance, and therefore could not have easily been passed off as his children without raising suspicions. But as your hair grew longer, your eyes darkened and the indigo in them became less obvious.” 

  “And my name?” 

  The door pushed opened behind him and two sets of feet were heard entering as well as the soft pad of four large paws. Across from him, all three of the Lord's eyes went wide. 

  “Your Name is Aegon Targaryen, the Sixth of your name, the true and rightful heir to the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. You are the Song of Ice and Fire, you are the prince who was promised, reborn amidst salt and smoke, chosen of R'hllor, nine hundred and ninety eighth Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, and the one who will lead us in the war for the Dawn.” Melisandre responded before Howland could. 

  He turned in his seat to face her, only to see that she had also brought Val with her and he understood immediately why Lord Reed had looked so stunned. 

  Val was his sister… somehow… she was his twin?

  He needed to know if she had known about this the whole time, if even she, had been guilty of deceiving him. 

  “Val, did you know about this?”

  Val swallowed, and Jon felt the anger bubble up inside of him. “Not all of it, I have always known that I was the daughter of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen. I was raised in Dorne for some time after you came North, but I don’t remember much. Dalla was never my sister, as I’m sure you have now figured out. She was actually Wylla, my—I mean our nursemaid, I suppose. I was separated from Daenerys and you before I could make a proper memory, so much of this is new to me. I don’t even know how Daenerys ever ended up in Essos. What I do know is; I was promised to marry a man named Beric Dondarrion. I was raised calling myself Allyria instead of Vallyria and when I got the chance to flee, I came North in search of Ser Oswell Whent and Arthur Dayne who Dalla—Wylla, believed had come North. I never knew you were my blood, I swear it, at least not until they stabbed you. That’s when the Red Woman came to me and told me what Mance had shared with her and Stannis. She told me that there was power in my blood and that I could help her bring you back. I felt like I owed you, I couldn’t let you die, not like that. Not without knowing the truth.” Val—Vallyria said, and he knew that she was being honest. 

  He still wasn’t sure about any of the extra stuff that Melisandre had added to his name and the reveal of his hidden identity, but it didn’t take a genius to deduce why his identity was kept a secret, the question is, was there any reason to maintain that same secrecy considering the current state of the realm? He highly doubted it, and he was no green-boy at any rate. 

  Lord Glover and Lady Mormont were still sitting there, glancing at random between both himself and Vallyria with new eyes. Like they were just seeing the two of them for the first time. He supposed that would be true insofar as Val was concerned. No one south of the Wall had ever laid eyes upon her save a certain select few. But they had seen him many times during the years of his youth, and never once paid so much as a glance in his direction.

  Lady Mormont must have caught him appraising their reaction because she straightened her spine and met his eyes. “I’m not sure how Ned managed to keep you a secret for so long, but now that I’m seeing you both, now that the truth is out, I’m not sure how someone hadn’t put it together sooner. By the Gods, you look just like her, both of you. And you,” she said, fixing him with a pointed stare. “I always did think, you were much too pretty to be Ned Stark's son. Always attributed your looks to your mother, the whole North thought you to be the child sired on Ashara Dayne.”

  He had so many questions, he couldn’t formulate them all. The boy in him was fighting to walk away, to hide his head in the sand, to cry that this wasn’t fair, that his Uncle had cast his identity aside, raised him in shame, denied him every opportunity to know his mother and sisters. But the man in him remained collected, reminded him that he would not have known about the things that truly mattered if he had been raised in some fancy southern court, being pampered and catered to. The man in him reminded him that not being Jon Snow, meant that loving his little sister the way he does isn’t wrong. 

  Even now, while he was sitting here amongst family and possible allies, all he could think about was Arya… 

  He stood from his chair and crossed the room and grabbed another, carrying it across the room for Val to sit in, and then gestured for her to join them. When she was settled, he took his seat and turned back to Lord Reed. 

  “Tell us everything, from the beginning. Leave nothing out. And when you’re done, we will make plans to take back the North and rescue my little sister from Ramsay Bolton and his father. And I’ll tell you all about where I suspect Rickon to be.” He said, remembering his Wolf dream of Shaggydog. 

  Lord Glover looked up and met him eye to eye, “You know about Lord Rickon?” He asked stunned. 

  Jon nodded, “Aye, Ghost has a connection to Shaggydog, his direwolf… But if you know that Rickon is alive, why are you here seeking me out?” He asked, confused.

  “The Lord of White Harbor has sent our Onion Knight, Ser Davos Seaworth, to fetch him from the island of Skagos.” Melisandre informed the group. 

  Jon’s head snapped back in her direction, but Lady Maege was the next to speak.

  “When we went to him to seek his support, he claimed that a boy named Wex, who had accompanied the Greyjoy boy Theon to Winterfell before it was razed by the ironborn; saw the little lordlings making their way north after the castle had been abandoned and the Greyjoy was taken captive by Roose’s bastard.”

  This was all news to him, more information than he’d had before, at any rate. Jon nodded. They would have time to revisit this topic, in fact, he was very interested in knowing what Wyman Manderly had planned for his little brother, but first, he needed to hear the rest of the story about his mother. 

  “We will get to all of that,” he turned back to the crannogman who seemingly held all the answers to the questions he wanted to know the truth of. “But first, I would like to know the rest of the story about my mother.”

  Howland nodded, and without so much as another word in protest, he set about answering every question Jon could think to ask.

  Howland told Jon everything, he told them about the tournament of Harrenhal, he told them of the Knight of the Laughing Tree, about how his mother had dressed in armor and entered the lists as a mystery knight to defend the honor of her father's bannerman...

  The story reminded him of Arya, of how she was always so quick to make friends and stand up in defense of those she felt were being treated unjustly. He was also reminded of her sneaking away to practice with a stick in the Godswood so that her Lady Mother wouldn’t catch and punish her for not behaving as a proper Lady should. 

  Lord Howland went on to describe to them, the depth of their father and mother's devotion to one another, and the lengths that Aerys went to, to ensure that the mystery knight was caught and punished for entering the lists and mocking him with the device that was painted on his shield. About how the king went as far as hiring sellswords to find and retrieve his mother when Lord Varys had revealed her identity. And how his father had rode out in search of them to bring her to safety. He told them of how he had found her, and with the help of Ser Arthur, Ser Oswell and a few more of his most trusted friends, they were able to dispatch the sellswords and bring his mother to safety. And once the story had come full circle, Howland pulled out a sack that he had been carrying and passed it over to both himself and Val— his sister, who had sat there in calm silence taking in his every word. 

  “Inside the bag, you both will find letters from your parents, written to you before Rhaegar rode for King's Landing upon the command of your grandfather, and before he fell on the Trident. There are letters from your mother, written to you three while she was alone awaiting your father's return. As for the Crown Prince, he continued to write to you both until he was felled by Robert Baratheon’s warhammer on the banks of the Green Fork, now called the Ruby Ford after the rubies from your father's breastplate were scattered by the blow that claimed his life. He hadn’t even known that your mother was pregnant with Daenerys before he left her and the two of you at Starfall with three members of Aerys Kingsguard. His knowledge of her came later, through a vision and he wrote to your mother and told her. He asked her to name the baby Daenerys, Dany for short, after your mother's favorite northern heroine, the Brave Dany Flint. You have an inheritance left for you in Winterfell. It belongs to all three of you, but you will need to take back Winterfell in order to claim it. And last of all, before your father was imprisoned by the Lannisters, he sent me this missive, it was meant for me to deliver unto you, in the event that something went wrong and he didn’t return from the south alive.” Howland Reed finished pensively, removing a folded piece of parchment from inside his furs. 

  Jon reached out and took the piece of paper from the man who had been the missing link to his past. It felt like it weighed a ton. The words written within, carrying all the weight of his universe. He wanted nothing more than to dig into it, to sate his curiosity and see for himself what his father, no, uncle finally deemed him worthy of knowing. But he couldn’t, not with so many strange eyes watching his every movement, his every reaction. 

  “I thank you all for coming all this way. For making sure that my brothers final Will is honored, even if I am unable to accept his decree and be made his heir. I would beg of you all, a bit of time, not just for myself, but also for my sister.” He said, taking Val’s hand into his own for the first time. 

  Jon knew that Val was not one to fall apart when it came to matters of family and the heart, but up until today, they were both orphans, with no true family to lean on. Now they had each other, and regardless of how differently they had been raised, he would make sure that she knew how much he needed her. 

  “What about the North?” Lady Maege asked, standing to take her leave.

  “The North will be avenged, starting with Rickon. I will go and retrieve him myself before we march on Winterfell. But first, I would like some time alone with my family.”

Chapter Text

|The Great Stallion|

  They flew for what felt like an eternity over the wide expanse of the Great Grass Sea. Drogon stopped long enough to rest, typically when the sun was at its hottest. They ate together most days, whenever he would hunt, he would bring a portion of meat back to her. He seemed to be growing. Before they started this mission, he could hardly carry a horse in his claws, but now he had no trouble with such tasks. 

  They strengthened their bond as well. It wasn’t easy, Drogon had been on his own for too long. Sometimes she was forced to ask herself if he was ever meant to be her mount at all. It seemed as if Viserion was the most inclined of her three children to respond to her wants, wishes and needs. Rhaegal had always been a bit more flippant than Viserion, and as much as she loved him, a part of her had known Rhaegal would never allow her to mount him. She had thought to mount Drogon, even back in the Red Waste, she always felt that Drogon would be the one she took as her own, but even as a hatchling he had flown to the beat of his own wings. He never had any interest in ownership, or weyr life, so when he came for her in Daznak's pit, it had been a shock to her that he let her mount him, after so many failed attempts to simply reach out and connect with him. 

  After the first three days, Daenerys stopped fearing that he would fly away and leave her. She spent most of their flight, leaned up against his scales, talking to him with her voice. After a few days, she could hear him purring back at her in contentment. Now though, she reached with her mind. 

  She realized after a few attempts, it wasn’t the words that Drogon responded to, but the feelings behind the words that he understood. Whenever she would prepare for flight, her heart would start to flutter in anticipation, in response, she could feel her excitement transfer into him and then they would be airborne. Likewise, whenever Drogon would become hungry, her mouth would water and her stomach would roll. 

  The two of them went on like this for days as they flew north-west toward the Mother of Mountains. She could not say with certainty that she was bonded completely to Drogon, but she did not fear him leaving her any longer. She knew that they would not be parted from one another ever again, at least, not as they had been. 

  They finally reached the sacred city of the Dothraki, eight days following her departure from her own khalasar, as the sun was setting. The city was near full, save for the Khalasar that had once been led by Jhaqo. 

  They flew as high as possible, and waited for the cover of dark to make their descent. Drogon found shelter inside a cave high above the Womb of the World. Her intention had been to wait for the night fires to start burning before she mounted Drogon once more and they made their way down toward the Temple of the Dosh Khaleen. That was what she had promised after all…to return on her own to the sacred city to face her fate. But as she watched the city, she noticed as a procession made their way toward the lake beneath the mountain.

  Without needing to be called, Drogon was at her side, purring in a low tone to gain her attention. She turned to him, thinking about the night that she hatched her children. She had been wrong, her children had never been stone. They had been as they always were, alive. It was her, who had changed, not her eggs. 

  Somewhere along the way, they, her family, had lost their ability to bond with dragons. They were as normal as everyone else, Jorah had proved that when she had asked him if her eggs had felt different to him. “What do you feel,” she recalled asking him. “Shell, hard as rock… Scales.” He had replied. “Heat?”... “No. Cold stone.” Jorah thought her unwell, but she had never felt stronger. She had burned all her weakness away on that bed of furs and pelts. And she had felt Viserion stir in his shell, he was alive, and so were her other two. 

  Mirri Maz Duur had deceived her with her clever words, but whatever else she had done, she sparked a flame within her that Daenerys had been struggling with since before her wedding to Drogo. Dragons thrive in Fire, and her own people built the most advanced empire the world had ever known through the mastery of blood magic. 

   The burns on her hands proved that she was not immune to the kiss of Fire, even if the burns she bares were the result of Drogon’s spilled blood. But only death can pay for life, and Drogo was already dying, all Mirri had done was prolong his wait, she simply separated his mind from his body and left her a mount to ride. Mirri had played herself though and as a result, Daenerys learned first hand that a full life can be exchanged for another… and the fire just so happened to favor her. Thus she stepped into a pyre to be reborn a dragon beside her children, allowing the flames to kill the naïve girl she had been and give birth to the Queen the world needed. 

  The last time that she had been in this city, the Dosh Khaleen had declared that her son, Rhaego, would be the Stallion that would Mount the World. But they had been wrong, her child had been Dragonborn, with wings and scales, if what the godswife had claimed was truth. 

  She hadn’t wanted to listen to it at the time, but eventually she found time to read up on the history of her house. In one of the books that Ser Jorah had gifted her as a wedding present, she learned that her son hadn’t been the first. Within the pages of the book, she learned of the children born to the wives of Maegor and the babes born to Laena Velaryon and Queen Rhaenyra before the start of the Dance. There could have been more, but they had not been listed. Still, that this type of birth phenomenon had been documented at all was enough to make her question all the things she thought to be true. 

  Still, she knew that the only way she could ever move forward with her life would be to go back down there and face her past. To show the crones the Stallion and the Khaleesi who mounts him. 

  Daenerys caressed Drogon’s dark scales and leaned into him soaking up his warmth. When she had her fill, she circled around and he dropped his wing and shoulder so that she could climb up and settle herself at the base of his neck. Before they took flight, she looked down at the Womb of the World once more and found that quite a few people had amassed below the mountain. 

  She thought about the vision that she had back in the House of the Undying; Beneath the Mother of Mountains, a line of naked crones crept from a great lake and knelt shivering before her, their grey heads bowed. This was the time, and Daenerys would follow the Dothraki’s belief that the first man emerged from the Womb of the World upon his stallion. Only this time, the stallion would be Drogon, and the khal would be a khaleesi. 

  Quickly, like an arrow, Drogon slid off the edge of the cliff and plummeted down the face of the mountain until he was just above the water and then, with skilled movements, Drogon unfurled his wings and leveled out just before they touched the water below.  He flapped his wings twice and then allowed the current to propel them forward until they were more than halfway across the lake. 

  Once the fire from the torches was more than a flicker in the distance, Daenerys signaled for Drogon to dive beneath the water of the lake and push them closer to the shore. Once they were close enough, Drogon erupted from the lake and bellowed a stream of black and red fire before coming to land at the edge of the lake. 

  She was soaked and heaving by the time the Dothraki realized what was happening, but Drogon was feeling especially confident, so he let out a strong bellowing roar. Once she was certain she had everyone’s attention, Daenerys lifted herself from Drogon’s neck and planted her feet firmly on his back, waiting for him to offer his wing for her to climb down. It never came, instead, he raised his massive head and bent his neck so that she could use his spikes for support. The two of them must have looked like quite the pair, standing before the Womb of the World, dripping and steaming as the water dried on Drogon’s scales. 

  “Dothraki, I am Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, Khaleesi of Khal Drogo, Khaleesi of Meereen, Yunkai and Astapor, Khaleesi to the Khalasar that once followed Khal Jhaqo, who now rides in the night lands with his bloodriders! I come to present myself to the Wise Crones of the Dosh Khaleen, I come to unite every Khalasar into a single Khalasar, I come to make the entire world one herd, and I will do so with Fire and blood!”  
  ( Dothraki, anha zin Daenerys Stormborn ki house Targaryen, Khaleesi ki khal drogo, Khaleesi ki Meereen, Yunkai akka Astapor, Khaleesi tat Khalasar rek once followed Khal Jhaqo, fin ajjin rides kijinosi ajjalani rhaeshi ma mae bloodriders! Anha jadat tat present myself tat ville crones ki Dosh Khaleen, anha jadat tat unite every khalasar into jin single khalasar, anha jadat tat make jin entire world ato herd, akka anha tikh tat ma ma vorsa akka qoy !)

  Most who were there looked at her and Drogon with wonder written across their faces, but there were others, the Khals who were here with their own bloodriders who looked at her as if she weren’t really there at all, a few stepped forward to get a better look. 

  “Khal Drogo is dead, by a Maegi’s hands.”
  ( Khal drogo ajjin driv, ki jin Maegi’s tat. )

  “I know, I burned his body myself and sent him to the nightlands.”
  ( Anha tiholat, anha burned mae khado akka mae tat ajjalani rhaeshi. )

  “You should have come back to the sacred city, you can not lead, your place is here, among the Dosh Khaleen.”
  ( Yer jif zhorre jadat irge tat sacred city, yer laz vo lead, yeri place ajjin here, among jin Dosh Khaleen. ) She knew the man immediately as Khal Moro, a man who had been present the day that she had been presented to Drogo for the first time. 

  “What you say is true, yet I am not Dothraki born and a Dragon is not a slave. You can no more chain me and lock me away than you could the air that you breathe. Just as you can not stop a stallion from running with his herd. I welcome all whom believe themselves strong enough to come and try to make me live among your crones.”   
  ( Fin yer astat ajjin tawak, vosma anha zin vo dothraki yol akka jin Zhavvorsa ajjin vo jin zafra. Yer laz vo alikh chain anna akka lock anna away than yer laz jin chaf rek yer breathe. Disse ven yer laz vo nakho jin stallion arrekoon running ma mae herd. Anha idde ei whom shillolat themselves haj enough tat jadat akka kis tat make anna thirat among yeri crones. )

  There was murmuring from the crowd that had pressed forward, but then Daenerys heard the sound of water and she turned to see the crones emerging from within the Womb of the World. Drogon must have noticed too, because he again released a bellowing roar and then he shifted so that she could dismount finally. 

  Daenerys feet touched the ground at the same moment the Crones of the Dosh Khaleen fell to their knees at her feet. As they did so, they chanted, and all around her, men and women fell to their knees. She hadn’t had to burn men and women to make them follow her, she had to show strength, and not cower under the pressure of what others expected of her. 

  They escorted her back at the head of the column, presenting her with the finest dappled grey mare that they had available. She wasn’t her Silver, but Daenerys could not deny how stunning she was. Unfortunately, she could not get attached to this mount, no matter how lovely the idea was… once she managed to get the Khalasar to ride for Meereen, her and Drogon would be flying ahead. 

  That night, she took up residence inside of Drogo’s old manse, with the silk tenting rolled back to allow the stars to shine down above her. The way that they had done on the night she named her son. 

    She sat among the three Khals who had returned to Vaes Dothrak, seeking peace under the Mother of Mountains, listening to their reports of the other Khalasars who were not accounted for. Khal Motho had ridden his Khalasar east, hoping to avoid a fight with Khal Pono, who at last word was also riding toward Meereen after leaving Selhoru. Khal Jommo on the other hand had heard about the Masters allying with the intent to remove her from power. Jommo had always been on the fence when it came to her, but he saw a greater reward in serving the Dragon Queen than siding with the slave masters. As for Khal Zekko, it was last reported that he and Pono’s Khalasar were in the areas surrounding Qohor around the same time. No word had reached them as of yet telling of whether there had been a battle between the two opposing Khalasars. In the end, it came down to around fifty-thousand riders that were unaccounted for. With any luck she would find them riding for Meereen upon her return. 

  She explained what she expected of them, what would be waiting for them once they made it to Meereen and then, she reminded them of the Promise that Drogo had made to her in the name of the Mother of Mountains. How he promised to give her son the Iron Throne and with it, the  Seven Kingdoms. How he promised to take his Khalasar west to where the World ends, and ride the wooden stallions across the black salt water, as no Khal had done before. How he swore to kill the men in iron suits and tear down their stone houses, and pull down their gods and drag them back to Vaes Dothrak to bow down beneath the Mother of Mountains. She left out the part about raping the women and making slaves of their children, her feelings on those matters have not changed and will not, not now nor ever. These men can learn to live in her new world, or they would burn holding on to their old world. The choice was theirs. 

  These talks lasted for almost two days, but eventually they reached an accord and the now united Khalasar of almost seventy five thousand riders were preparing not only their own people, but their now-freed slaves as well to ride for Meereen. 

  Along the way, the freedmen would learn basic fighting techniques, no longer would they sell their bodies or plow fields, they would learn how to fight and defend themselves. The crones and the elderly would remain behind, to look after the sacred city and to be there when others returned. Daenerys realized that she couldn’t undo their way of life, that is not how she had earned their love and respect as Drogo’s Khaleesi and that would not be the way she would command their loyalty as their new leader. But she would give those Khaleesi’s who had lost their Khals when they were still young the choice. 

  Those who wanted to remain to guide the herd, were more than welcome to do so, but those who wanted to know the world, those who were still strong enough to ride, and fight and care for the Hoard, they would not be forced into staying. She would break all chains, not just the ones that were visible to see. 

  Daenerys rode with them as far as the Gate of the Gods, upon her dappled grey mare, and once they had all passed through the Godsway, Daenerys reached for the link that tethered her and Drogon to one another. Her Khalasar watched on, and then when they heard the clap of thunder above them, and saw the green grass blow, even though the sky was cloudless and there was no wind, each of them looked up to see Drogon hovering overhead.

  She chose this moment to address the entire khalasar, to leave them with words that would carry their stallions on the wind, and make them thirst for the blood of her enemies. 

  She dismounted and passed her reins to Jommo, who had proclaimed her son as the Stallion that would mount the world, without looking back, and then she made her way toward where Drogon would land. When the dust settled, she was already mounted and ready to fly. 

  All eyes were on her, and for good measure, Drogon let out a long bellowing roar. She took this as her cue to address her Khalasar. 

  “A thousand years ago the Dothraki rode west and brought the continent of Essos to heel. A thousand years later, the Dothraki will go West once more, this time to a land covered by stone houses and false gods who do nothing to honor the land that provides for them. Only this time it will not be a mountain range that we cross, we will ride the wooden horses across the black salt water, we will kill the men in their iron suits, we will heal the land and conquer the Seven Kingdoms that were once my father's, and his father before him. We will kill the masters, we will end slavery of all kinds, we will break the wheel and with it, we will strike the chains from every man woman and child. Will you follow me? Will you bleed for me? Will you do what no other Dothrakan has done before you? Will you kill my enemies and conquer death by my side?”

  As one, her Khalasar lifted their arakhs into the air and the most beautiful battle cry left their lips, undulating along their ranks. She had never seen them more united than she had in this moment. 

  “Then ride with the wind, our conquest begins now!” Daenerys called out to her Khalasar proudly. 

  Drogon pushed himself from the ground, with a final thundering roar and a few flaps of his wings and then they were flying south west toward Meereen. 

  Just like before, she did not choose bloodriders, not yet. She would wait until they were united with the other twenty five thousand riders who were riding toward Slaver's Bay. She would wait until her own bloodriders were by her side to allow them to name their khas… this was their right, as the first of her Kos . 

  They flew well ahead of the Hoard, in fact she anticipated arriving a day or more before her riders, which was perfect because she meant to meet up with the other portion of her Khalasar before they reached the city. She also meant to have Drogon scout for Pono and Zekko. 

  They followed the same pattern that they used on their way to Vaes Dothrak, flying high and long, and resting when the day was it's hottest. Once they found the silvery waters of the Skahazadhan, Drogon followed it west toward his island which she had called Dragonstone, and then further west toward Vaes Diaf and the Painted Mountains, circling around so that she was flying south east on the way back to Meereen. 

  They came upon Khal Pono half a days ride north west of the Hinterlands, riding away from Borash down the Demon Road. Based on the size of his Khalasar, Pono had ran into Zekko on the way and had absorbed what remained. Rather than engage, Drogon flew on, back in the direction of Meereen. She could take him on, but they were close enough to her city that she would allow him to come closer. 

  Once she passed her khalasar, Daenerys signaled to Drogon and he flew around in a wide arch before settling down at the head of her column. At once her riders advanced toward her, with a spare mount for her to take. As she dismounted her dragon, she quickly filled her riders in on the events that transpired in Vaes Dothrak. When she was done, she finally looked up to see the men who had come to welcome her and she found the eyes of two of her Kos; Rhakaro and Aggo. She wanted to weep, but she held it together while they gave her the reports that the scouts had brought back about Meereen. 

  As it turned out, her own Khalasar from Meereen had set out shortly after she and Drogon flew away in search of her. On their way, the two groups of riders intercepted each other and quickly reformed to return back toward Meereen on her orders. Among them, Irri and Jhiqui had come as well, determined to find their Khaleesi and return her so that she could free Jhogo, and end the siege. 

  Once greetings were exchanged, Aggo, Rhakaro and three of her new riders relayed the information that they had gathered on the state of Mereen. As of two days past, three riders came back with reports that her two other dragons were seen flying over the city, a green one and a cream and gold dragon. 

  She knew immediately that they were speaking of Viserion and Rhaegal, but she couldn’t for the life of her understand how they managed to get free. Hearing this news changed her plans once more, she had hoped to remain on the outskirts of the city with her Khalasar until the rest of the Hoard joined up with them, or until Ponos Khalasar came upon them, but with her children lose in Meereen, she had no choice but to return for them. 

  She relayed all of this to her riders, and together they made plans to enter the battle when the sun was highest on the following day.

  After dining with her people and spending time getting to know some of the women and children, she allowed the same women who had assisted her before she flew to Vaes Dothrak, to help Irri and Jhiqui dress and braid her hair before she mounted Drogon under the cover of darkness and set off, intent on sneaking into her city to find out what had been happening in her absence. 

  Their flight did not take them long, and with the moon in front of her, she did not have to worry about being seen by the ships in the bay, nor the many different companies encamped outside the city gates. She sent comforting thoughts toward her child the closer they got to the Great Pyramid. She knew that Drogon could sense the rest of his clutch, and this was all she could do to keep Drogon from calling out to them, she could only hope that they could sense her as well. 

  They alighted atop her pyramid and Drogon scaled the roof until he was able to let her down safely inside her balcony. All around the city, huge beacon fires were burning and beyond the gates, the camps were in action, men were mulling about and night fires burned all over. There was also the smell of death and disease that carried on the breeze. Something big had happened, she realized with a sense of unease. Not wasting a moment, Daenerys moved away from Drogon toward the open doors to her chambers.

  Inside, she found an assortment of people convened inside her chamber. Ser Barristan, Grey Worm, Skahaz, Galazza Galare, the Tattered Prince, Red Lamb, Larraq and of course, Missandei. All of whom looked to have been in the middle of discussing battle plans.

  The moment she stepped into view, all talking ceased and everyone present dropped to their knees, Grey Worm and Barristan were the first to extend her this courtesy. She reached first for her scribe Missandei, who must have been beside herself over the previous weeks that she had been gone. Missandei came at once, wrapping her arms around her middle and murmuring words of adoration against her chest. 

  “Mysa, I thought that something happened to you.” Missandei sobbed. “I knew that you wouldn’t abandon us.”

  Hearing this broke her heart. “Of course I would never abandon you. I just wasn’t able to come back right away, but shhhh now, I’m here and we are stronger for my absence.” Daenerys said, attempting to comfort her. 

  In a stronger voice, Daenerys addressed the rest of her people. “Please rise, all of you and tell me what has happened in my absence, tell me about Rhaegal and Viserion, the slavers, Daario, Jhogo and Hero. Where is Hizdar and Belwas? What is the status of our Dornish guests?”

  A troubled look crossed the faces of her commanders and advisors, but they had been under attack, she did not expect to return to her city to find that all had been well. 

  Taking in a deep breath, she reconsidered her request. “Grey Worm, would you be so kind as to escort the Green Grace, and these other commanders to chambers within the pyramid. I should like to speak with Ser Barristan, yourself and Missandei alone and then we will reconvene once I have been brought up to speed.”

  Grey Worm nodded, “This one will see that it is done.” 

  Daenerys smiled back at her commander and then turned her attention to the others. The first of the new comers was an aged man with silver hair and sad eyes, who’s only remarkable adornment was a multi colored cloak that he seemed to wear proudly. She was sure that there was a story there somewhere. Skahaz was more than happy to comply and he bowed gracefully to her before falling in beside Grey Worm and the Green Grace, who simply murmured a standard greeting of, “Welcome home, Your Radiance,” before she too, moved toward the exit. 

  Ser Barristan and the man with the colored cloak exchanged a look and then, he also fell into step beside the commander of her Unsullied. When it was just herself and her two advisors, she allowed herself to find a seat. It was a few moments before anyone spoke, but it was Barristan who broke the silence. 

  “Your Grace, can I just say how happy I am to see you, unharmed and quite healthy, considering how long you were gone, and how unsuccessful we were at tracking you.”

  Daenerys raised an eyebrow at that. She did not ask him about how glad he was for her return or whether they had gone in search of her. “Yes well, my journey was not without hardship.” She said, thinking about her journey from Dragonstone, about Viserys words, about the blood on her thighs, about the bitter berries that seemed familiar to her. 

  Her womb had quickened, though she bore no living child… the fact that it had quickened at all meant that she had been wrong about her curse. But there was no time to dwell on such things, looking back would only leave her lost. 

  “I believe I asked you to tell me about my dragons, among other things, perhaps you can start there.”

  Barristan straightened his spine and addressed her straight on. “Your Grace, much has happened in the time since you flew away on Drogon. I’m afraid I’m not sure where to start.”

  She had been gone nearly a moon turn, she realized. No doubt, many things had transpired in the time since then. She decided to take it easy on her Lord Commander. “Very well, let’s start with Daznak’s Pit. Belwas?”

  “Alive, though if they had been successful and Belwas were a smaller man, he would have succumbed. The locusts were poisoned.” Ser Barristan replied.

  Daenerys nodded, she had known something was wrong with Belwas, but then Drogon landed and things got hectic. Still, she was glad that he made it out alright 

  “And Hizdahr, did he make it out of the pits safely? I did not see him in your council, is there a reason that he was not included?”

  Both Missandei and Ser Barristan’s reaction to the mention of her husband, made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. “What happened?”

  “His Highness, is under guard. It is my belief that he was behind the attempted poisoning of her Grace. His actions following your departure have only made me more convinced that he cannot be trusted.” Ser Barristan replied, Missandei nodded her agreement with  enthusiasm. 

  “Please, tell me everything, leave nothing out.”

  Grey Worm returned shortly after and the three of them told her everything. They told her about the Sons of the Harpy, about Grolleo being executed as repayment for the death of Yurkhaz zo Yunzak after he was killed, either from being crushed by Drogon or beneath the feet of his own fleeing slaves when her dragon arrived. There was no real way to tell for sure what the cause had been. They went on to tell her about the meeting that Hizdahr held with the Yunkish, the demand to have the dragons killed and how Hizdahr said he would consider their terms. Even after they had murdered Grolleo, siting blood for blood. They went on to explain how Hizdahr excused Daenerys council, including Missandei and his reasons for doing so. 

  Through it all, she listened with barely contained rage, but to learn that the Harpy had only become more brazen in the time since Hizdahr had been taken as a prisoner; She could hardly stop herself from calling Drogon back so that she could burn them all where they were camped. 

  “What about Daario and Jhogo?” She asked finally. 

  “The last that we heard, they were still alive and being kept as hostages. I suspect that Hizdahr let his accomplices know how much you favor the two of them.”

  She took a deep breath, “What else do I need to know?”

  “The Prince of Dorne is dead.” 

  Her eyes snapped up to meet the eyes of her Queensguard. “What do you mean, he’s dead? How could something like this happen?”

  The three of them paled, none more so than Messandei. Daenerys reached out and took the trembling hand of her scribe. “Tell me what has happened.” 

  “This one does not know what happened, only that he was burned by one of the Dragons and he did not survive his wounds. I stayed by his side the entire time. This one tried to comfort him, but he succumbed within days of being burned.” Missandei said, eyes downcast. 

  Daenerys looked to Grey Worm and Ser Barristan but she had no need of words, without prompting Grey Worm told her everything Missandei couldn’t.

  Prince Quentyn had come up with a plan to steal one of her dragons, armed with a whip and fresh meat, he thought to claim one of her children without her there to keep him safe. What a fool. 

   Beware of the perfumed seneschal, the Lion and Griffin, the kraken and Darkflame, the mummer's dragon and the sun's son…

  Quentyn was the Suns son… she perked up at the realization. “Tell me, who did the Prince of Dorne come with?”

  Ser Barristan looked confused for a moment. “He came with a few men from Dorne, and later on, we found out that he rode here in the company of the Windblown. The captain of the company was the one in the colorful cloak.”

  She chose to say nothing in response, she had no reason to assume that he was a dragon… let alone a mummers dragon. “The one who wanted Pentos in exchange for his help?” She asked, wanting confirmation.

  Ser Barristan only nodded. 

  Something didn’t sit well with her. “Where are my children now?”

  Missandei gestured for her to follow, back out on the terrace Missandei pointed toward the great black pyramid of Yherizan and then toward it's twin the pyramid of Uhlez. “They seem to have chosen new homes of their own.”

  She wanted to call them to her, but there was much more that needed to be said, before she could allow such reunions. “What’s changed in the last few days, aside from the Dragons?”

  “The Yunkish have begun flinging catapults filled with the corpses of those infected with the Pale Mare. We were preparing the offensive attack on the slavers. The dragons have been wreaking havoc on Slavers Bay for days. After claiming both pyramids and burning a prince, we managed to herd some sheep into Daznak’s Pit, all in an attempt to keep them from feeding on the citizens. The ships in the bay fly Meereenese, Yunkish, Qartheen, Tolosi and Ironborn sails. As of now, the attack is set for before dawn.”

  They spent the next hour going over strategy and positions. They discussed numbers and tactics and in the end, she chose to allow the strategy that Grey Worm and Ser Barristan had come up with. She ordered guards set on the assigned rooms of Galazza Galare until after the battle was decided. She would deal with Hizdahr after the battle as well, though there would be no second chance for him. 

  Daenerys then spent some time filling in her commanders and Missandei on her travels since flying away on dragonback, not leaving anything of importance out. She informed them about the support coming through from her Khalasar, which she knew would greatly improve their chances. She also told them about the other half of her hoard that would be coming from the north east and would be able to intercept the two legions encamped north of the Skahazadhan.

  After they were clear on their positions, Daenerys excused her commanders. She wasn’t sure how she felt about the promise that Barristan agreed to with the Tattered Prince, but if he kept his end of the bargain, she would do everything in her power to honor hers. The truth was, she was not sure how far back she needed to go, but her journey started in Braavos, and if she had to go backwards to Yunkai, Astapor, Qarth, Volantis, Pentos and finally Braavos, she would do so. As for the Greyjoy ships…only time will tell. 

  Her prophecies were piling up, Mirri’s and the House of the Undying, her treasons, her mounts, her womb, she has not forgotten any of them…Kraken and Darkflame… she would not allow anyone else to take her kind heart for a weak heart. Not ever again. 

  Once she was alone, she went straight for her terrace to find that Drogon had returned and was curled up beside the pear tree. Immediately, her mind went back to a different time when it had been Viserion laying curled around that same tree with his head resting above his tail. On quiet feet, she made her way over to Drogon and settled down beside him. 

  If anyone could reach the other two, it was Drogon. So she sat there, passing her thoughts and feelings through their bond, hoping that they could feel her presence, praying that they knew that she would never abandon them and she was sorry to have been gone for so long. She did her best to express the regret she felt for having chained them, and she vowed that she would never forget them again, she would never forget who she was, or how they had saved her. 

  She must have fallen asleep, because the sun was just starting to lighten the sky when Missandei came back to her to prepare her for battle. Back inside her chambers, her trusted friend sat her down and began to braid her hair, once she was finished with that she put all of her bells back in  place, they moved on to clothing after that. 

  There was a set of black leather riding breeches, and a matching silk undershirt laying on her dressing table which Missandei helped her into. Over her top, there was a fitted bodice that first tied to the inner portion and then strapped around her ribcage with thick leather straps that buckled at the front. The sleeves were long and were fitted at the wrist. 

  Next Ser Barristan entered and helped her into armor which consisted of a black gorget, matching pauldrons, vambraces and chestplate that covered her midsection to hip and then he secured a fauld around her hips that also covered the exposed portions of her thighs. The last touches were her boots which were of the same color and texture leather as her breeches and bodice and stopped just above her knees. Over her calves he attached a set of greaves that matched the rest of her armor. When he was finished, he stepped back to look her over, she turned this way and that way while he made sure her straps were secure. 

  “How does it feel, Your Grace?” Her knight asked. 

  “I wouldn’t know what to compare it to, Ser Barristan. I’ve never owned armor before, where did this come from?” She asked, still stunned that she was wearing it at all. 

  She didn’t fail to notice Ser Barristan and Missandei share a conspiring look, nor the small smile on her scribes face. 

  “Forgive us, my Queen, Missandei, Grey Worm, and myself have been speaking about having it commissioned for you ever since Daznak’s pit.”

  “This one knows that Your Grace will want to take part in the battle, and only wants for you to remain unharmed.” Missandei interjected.

  Daenerys was stunned by her thoughtfulness. “How were you able to get my measurements correct? And what made you choose this design?” She couldn’t help but ask. 

  A touch of pink colored Ser Barristan's cheeks and he briefly looked at his feet before he mustered up the courage to tell her. “Missandei informed me about the books that Ser Jorah gifted you on the day you married your Khal. She mentioned Queen Visenya being comfortable in both dresses and armor, so we put our heads together to come up with something similar that would protect you while on dragonback.”

  “This one is familiar with Your Grace’s measurements and I provided them for the armorer. Did he get them right?” Missandei seemed almost worried. 

   To ease her, Daenerys made a show of bending and stretching in off angles. As far as she was concerned, the only thing that was noticeable was the weight of the pieces, in comparison to her riding leathers that she was given by her Khalasar. 

  “I have nothing to complain about. I am honored that you value me so, and I swear to come back to you. Slavery will end today, you needn’t worry for me, Missandei. I am the blood of the dragon, and I’ve come to save all of my people from chains and servitude, with Fire and Blood if need be.”

  There was a brief knock at the door and then Grey Worm slipped in with something tucked under one arm.  

  “Your Grace,” Ser Barristan called, pulling her attention back to him. “I was wondering if you would like to see the finished look?”

  His question made her realize that she hadn’t fully seen the finished product herself, she quickly nodded. “I would like that very much.” She allowed. 

  Missandei once more approached and placed a black and red cloak around her shoulders, with a three headed dragon brooch that connected with the shoulder straps. She then crossed around and attached a long silver chain that diagonally crossed over her torso. When she was done, she bowed her head slightly and gestured for her to turn toward the mirror. 

  It took her a moment to fully take in her appearance. There were too many details to focus on all at once. Her armor, though she had originally believed it to be black, was inlaid with a smoky silver trim. Stamped into each piece was also the sigil of her House, etched in a deep crimson, as to not stand out too brightly against the dark color of the metal. The chestplate was similar, only differing in the Valyrian glyphs that were etched into the metal. 

  Protection runes… Missandei and Grey Worm must have come up with this. As she studied them, she realized that the runes were meant to not only protect her, but all Dragons. 

  Her cape was slung over one shoulder, deep as pitch, but underneath she could see the brilliant slash of crimson that were the colors of her family. She was truly touched by all of the thought that went into the craftsmanship. But mostly, because she understood the underlying meaning…

  They want her to come back to them because, somehow, she had become their home. Their house with the red door. And if she were in their place, she would have done everything to protect the home that was the only form of safety as well as the source of her fondest memories.

  “Ñuha Dāria,” Grey Worm called softly as he stepped to her side. “This one has, give one more.”

  He stepped closer and passed her an all black helm, that was scaled and shaped to resemble a dragon. The visor was open, to allow full range of sight, but the nose and mouth were protected. Surprisingly it wasn’t nearly as heavy as it looked, and with her braids in place, the helm fit securely. 

  As she stood there a moment longer, she was reminded of the fever dream she had of her brother dressed all in black armor and of how she attempted to pull back his visor, it was her own face that she had found staring back at her. 

  Just like then, she was going into battle, mounted atop a stallion as black as night, only this time, they both breathe fire. Before she could offer thanks, she heard the telltale signs of Drogon stirring out on the balcony, so she quickly turned to face them, removing the helm in the process. 

  “Drogon awaits me, but I want each of you to know, no matter what, we will be victorious this day. Look to the east and to the west before the sun reaches its apex. Relief is coming from both directions and when it comes, stay calm and listen for thunder in a cloudless sky.”

  At once, Ser Barristan and Grey Worm crossed their right fist over their chests and knelt. “Stay safe, both of you and go now, before the siege begins without you. Viserion and Rhaegal will be with you, even if you aren’t sure about them, do not fear them. They know our enemies better than we do, of this I am sure.”

  They did not stay much longer, each of them were needed by the gates before sunrise, and by her estimation was less than an hour away. Which meant that she also needed to be going. 

  “Missandei, lock yourself in my chambers, and do not let anyone in unless it’s myself, Ser Barristan, Torgo Nudho, or Marselen. Do you promise?” Daenerys knew that she wouldn’t be able to forgive herself if some misfortune found her while she was off fighting her enemies. Especially with the Sons of the Harpies still lurking in the shadows, and Ironborn raiders out in the Bay. 

  “This one will do as you command. I promise.” Missandei assured her. 

  “Very well, I think it is time to go. Drogon is ready.” She moved toward the door to the terrace and stepped out into the early morning air.

  “My Queen,” Missandei called, coming to stop just outside the doors holding what looked to be thick leather straps. 

  Daenerys looked at her curiously for a moment. “What is all that?”

  “It was Ser Barristan's idea, but seeing as how you have no saddle for Drogon, he thought that these leather straps would help you fly more securely. Both are supposed to go around Drogon’s neck and then one half will secure your hips and legs and the other will be slightly smaller to allow you to grip something other than his neck spikes. 

  Again, Daenerys was taken aback by how much thought went into this. “Would you be willing to show me how to do it?”

  “Of course, your Grace, but—um, will Drogon allow me to approach him?” Missandei asked, unsure. 

  Daenerys glanced back at Drogon and considered the question. She would have said yes almost immediately before he went wild, but now…the only way of finding out, was to ask. So she did. 

  Using their link, she sorted through the images and feelings, trying to make sense of how he would react. She turned back to Missandei and held out her hand for her to approach and pass her the leather straps. “He knows that you are important to me, you shouldn’t worry, and you don’t have to touch him if your nervous. Just instruct me, if that’s easier for you.”

  “This one can do that.” Missandei returned bravely. Her golden eyes shining with determination. 

   After securing the straps around Drogon’s neck, Daenerys climbed up into her normal place and then followed Missandei’s instructions, slipping her legs through the lower ring and settling it against the small of her back. Once she was sure the strap was in place, she pulled on the upper strap to create tension and then she tied off the excess leather so that she didn’t have too much leeway on the reins. She moved around a bit and tested how secure they were, only to move her knees to the outside of the straps and further secure herself in place. 

  “This is brilliant!” She smiled genuinely at her scribe. “I can’t thank you enough, but it’s time for you to go. Lock the doors, and stay away from the windows.”

  “This one will do as you say. Be careful, my Queen.” Missandei returned, before dipping into a deep curtsy and running back into the pyramid. Daenerys sat there a moment longer, atop Drogon, looking out over her city, and past the gates where men were being forced to fight for men too cowardly to fight for themselves. 

  She allowed all of her thoughts and feelings to wash through her, igniting the fire within her, and then, she signaled for Drogon to find his brothers so that she could see them once, before the fighting took place. She would not go into battle without seeing them again. 

Chapter Text

  They were making good time. With Sandor, Thoros and Ned deciding to travel beside them, came the added benefit of two extra mounts, which meant that they had no need of stopping anywhere near Harrentown or the castle it had been named after. 

  Still, it didn’t stop her from seeing the twisted black stone towers nor the huge blood red leaves that sprouted above the walls, indicating to all and sundry, the location of it's twenty-acre Godswood. 

  What Arya noticed right away was the fact that there were far fewer travelers moving along the King's Road. 

  “Tell me what I’ve missed in the time since we parted ways,” she said, turning to face the Hound. 

  It was Ned who urged his mount closer to answer her curiosity. As for the others, Jaqen continued to keep to himself, while Sandor stayed as far away from Nymeria and her pack as he possibly could. Thoros took a keen interest in Jaqen, he even attempted to talk to him on more than a few occasions, all to no avail. It never stopped him from trying though, and Arya had to admit, it was hilarious to observe.

  “I’m not sure when you disappeared, but shortly after the Freys and Lannisters betrayed your brother and the rest of your family, King Joffrey was poisoned at his wedding to Margery Tyrell. The imp was implicated as well as your sister Sansa, but she managed to escape before they could figure out what happened. Tyrion was placed in the Black Cells and was charged with Regicide and kinslaying, but when he went to trial he demanded a trial by combat.” Ned informed her. 

  “So the Imp is dead?” 

  She knew him to be a clever man, but Cersei would have blamed him even if he were legitimately innocent. She couldn’t imagine a scenario where Cersei would be satisfied with Tyrion living through a trial by combat.

  Ned shook his head, his silver hair falling into his eyes, he pushed it back and repositioned the hood of his cloak. “The imp escaped. Prince Oberyn chose to represent him against the Mountain and he managed to mortally wound him in the process, based on the reports we have heard. Only, before he could secure his victory over the Mountain, Prince Oberyn was swept off his feet and the Mountain managed to crush his skull with his bare hands.”

  Arya’s eyes went wide with shock, “The Mountain?” Gods, she wanted him to be dead.

  Ned shrugged. “In Dorne, there’s talk that Prince Doran was made a gift of his skull, but there is word that the Sandsnakes are not satisfied. There are even rumors that say the skull is much too small to belong to Ser Gregor.”

  “What else do these whispers speak of?” 

  “A dragon has returned to Westeros, accompanied by the old Lord of Griffins Roost, Jon Connington and at least ten thousand men of the Golden Company.” Ned didn’t look too confident. 

  “Impossible.” Arya decided immediately. “Tywin Lannister had the last of the dragons murdered. Rhaegar Targaryen died on the Trident, and Viserys Targaryen is dead, at the hand of his sisters husband. Last I heard of Daenerys Targaryen, she was conquering Slaver's Bay with the aid of the Unsullied, three dragons, and a company or two of Sellswords. There are no male Targaryens left.”

  Jaqen slowed his mount, interested in the topic, though he never interrupted or put forth his own opinion. Arya had a feeling that his interest was more related to the subject of freeing slaves and her three dragons. After all, the Faceless Men have a long history with the Dragonlords of Old Valyria, it wouldn’t surprise her at all if he’s keeping track of her to assess the potential threat both her and her dragons could become. She decided not to bring attention to him, she could ask him about it later, she decided.

  Ned continued on as if there hadn’t been a pause in their conversation. “Tywin Lannister is dead, what he may or may not have done nineteen years ago is irrelevant, when no one can verify the truth of this boy's identity.” He lowered his voice and glanced cautiously toward the Hound and Thoros. “When you found us in the Saltpans, we were actually discussing a sensitive matter with the Hound. Jaime Lannister is alive, and he’s been taken captive by someone who is hell bent on revenge.” 

  “Why should I care about Jaime Lannister and him finally meeting his justice? As far as I’m concerned this is justice finally catching up to him.”

  Ned glanced down, indicating that he was torn about what he wanted to say vs what he was able to say. She didn't like the idea of her being coddled, the implication that she was too gentle of birth, to hear hard truths and gory facts, was enough to send her spinning. Still she managed to keep her cool, while she waited for Ned to out with it. 

  “Because it’s your mother whose taken him.” Sandor barked back, no concern for her feelings could be detected in his tone. 

  Nymeria slowed, and then stopped. No command needed. Arya slid off her back and stood there a moment, lost. Ahead, Sandor, Thoros and Ned also came to a halt. Jaqen however, hadn’t moved far from her so when she turned to face him, she found him watching her for any sign of reaction. 

  “My mother?” Her words were a whisper, but she could have been shouting them at the top of her lungs for all the good they did her. 

  Thoros dismounted and was carefully making his way back toward her. “Sorry you have to find out this way, but what he said is the truth. Only, I don’t know if the person who has the Kingslayer can reasonably be considered your mother.” He said, attempting to comfort her, she realized.

  “My mother died at the Twins, I was there when the fighting started, we both were.” Arya said, gesturing toward the Hound, hoping that he would corroborate her story. 

  “Aye, we were there, there were no survivors.” Sandor said from atop Stranger.

  “Couldn’t say whether or not that be the case, but I know what I’m saying is true. I would rather save you the details, but if you would know the tale, say so now.” Thoros acquiesced. 

  “Spare nothing. If my mother lives, I would know every detail so that I might find her and bring her home with me. And if she wants the Kingslayer dead, I’ll gladly aid her.”

  Thoros grabbed tightly to the reins of his horse and gestured for her and the rest of them to follow him off the road to a shaded area where they could have this discussion. All the while, Arya could feel the knots twisting inside her stomach. She knew deep down that the answer was one that was familiar to her, but she couldn’t understand how that would be so.

  They started off in the wrong place, electing to fill her in on the most current transgressions of her “Lady Mother” and then they moved the story backward stopping when they got to the part where they had discovered her mother. 

  By this point, Arya had no need of them to explain what had happened, she could remember it as if it were days prior. 

  She had been having a Wolf dream, Nymeria was searching for food, her pack was smaller then, but they had been attracted by all the bodies that were littering the banks of the Trident after the mutiny at the Twins. Nymeria was about to select a random corpse to gorge herself on when she picked up the scent of someone familiar to her. 

  Arya remembered Nymeria splashing noisily into the shallow water before pushing herself out into deeper water, fighting to reach the body that was slowly moving down stream. She remembered Nymeria clamping her jaw around a pale white arm, she even remembered shaking it to make it move, but there had been no life to be found. Her wolf struggled but eventually she managed to drag the body up onto the muddy bank of the river. The body still bled, but it felt familiar to her, so she willed it to rise and eat and to run with her pack, but her pleas were futile. And then, just like that, she remembered the horses, and the men, and Thoros…

  “You brought her back?!” Arya exclaimed, not sure if it was hope or horror she was feeling. Nymeria let out a soft, mournful cry, mimicking the pain that had blossomed within her heart. 

  Thoros shook his head, and looked up sadly toward Ned, who also wore a look of extreme sadness on his face. “I’m sorry, m’lady but I did not. She was too far gone when we found her, after your wolf pulled her from the water and we arrived. Though, Beric insisted that I try, I could not.” He explained.

  “Then help me understand what you’re telling me, and why aren’t you two still with the Brotherhood?”

  Thoros uncorked his wine skin and drank deeply. When he looked up and met her eyes once more, Arya could see that this had been haunting him.

  “After I refused, Lord Beric chose to bestow upon your Lady Mother his own lifes flame, from which I could not return him from. Your mother had been gone too long, My Lady, she’s lost all that was her, and all she has is vengeance.” Thoros explained, though it seemed more like a plea. 

  “Where is she?” 

  Arya knew death, she almost gave herself to him willingly, but Jon had called her home, he saved her from forgetting. But her mother didn’t have that. She thought that she was alone, that she had nothing, but that wasn’t true.

  “My Lady, you don’t understand. She’s not the same.” Ned warned.

  “I understand completely. Beric told me everything, he told me that every time he died and was brought back, something was left behind. Each time, he remembered a little less of his previous life. He set off from Blackhaven a young man who was betrothed to your aunt, Allyria Dayne. By the fourth time he had been brought back he could hardly remember what she looked like, by the sixth time, all he had left was his duty to keep the king's peace. If this is who my mother is, if this is who she’s become, then I need to go to her and help her. None of you seem to understand why Lord Beric did what he did, but I do.” 

   “What the fuck are you talking about?” The Hound grumbled.

  “ I asked Thoros if he could bring back a man with no head, even when I knew that he couldn’t. Later on, I was informed that I was to be ransomed back to my brother and I was worried that my mother and brother wouldn’t want me. When I explained this to him, he said; “I do not have the power to give you back your father, no more than Thoros does, but I can at least see that you are returned safely to your mother's arms.” So you see, he was keeping his word to me, and I need to go and find her.”

  “There’s no convincing you otherwise?” Ned asked, reluctantly.

  Arya shook her head, “Not a chance.”

  They camped where they stopped, Nymeria’s pack made securing the perimeter much easier. So they all settled down for the night, knowing that if anyone approached, they would not get very close.

   By her calculations, they were about a sennight south-west of the Twins. And after talking some more with Thoros and Ned, she learned that her mother and those of the Brotherhood who remained in her service after Thoros left, were last rumored to be in the areas surrounding Riverrun.

  From where they were currently located, there was no need to use the Crossing, so long as they stayed on this side of the Trident. But again, that all depended on where her mother had taken up residence. Which, unfortunately meant that they would be moving further west toward Raventree Hall.

  Jaqen remained vigilant throughout the night, watching the flames in their campfire until it burned down to little more than embers. She was curious to know what plagued his mind, but she didn’t ask. 

  They traveled for two more days before the landscape became more familiar to her. And then she began to notice the changes that Thoros and Ned had been warning her about.

  Every so often, they would cross paths with a large oak tree with two or more corpses hanging from the limbs. It was easy enough to see that these men were associated with Houses that participated in the betrayal of her family. Frey and Lannister alike, they all received the noose.

  They settled in near High Heart that night, and Arya spent the night thinking about the old woman that Tom Sevenstreams had sung for her in exchange for her dreams. 

  She thought hard, trying to recall the song that reminded her of sadness, loss and grief. She thought about the dreams that the crone had shared with them, in payment of Tom’s song and she wondered what significance they had held at the time. Ironic, considering the length of time that had passed since the last time she had been here. She wondered what became of the old crone…

  Nymeria’s pack was pacing around the base of the hill, but her direwolf stayed beside her at all times. Ned and Thoros were preparing their meal, Sandor had already settled down for some rest after seeing to Stranger. So it was just herself, Nym and Jaqen to pass the time away. 

  Finally noticing that they had a bit of time, she made her way over to Jaqen who had settled himself just below the ring of weirwood stumps, not intending to go any closer. She settled herself down beside him, and the two of them sat there quietly for a while. When he made no move to break the silence, she finally spoke. 

  “What is it about this place that makes a man so withdrawn?”

  Jaqen said nothing for a few moments and then turned to look at her. “A girl can feel the sorrow that stains this hill, can she not? The trees are a scar that was left behind. Proof of the loss and the destruction brought on by men who wished to cut away that which could not be explained and did not fit within the normal constraints of their world. A man knows death, he has given it's gift many times, but this place reeks of murder, not mercy.”

  Arya thought long and hard about that, and it was true, this place was drowning in sorrow. But she had never seen Jaqen so affected, his answer held truth but not a complete truth. He was keeping something from her.

  “I came here once when I was traveling with the Brotherhood, before I came to find a man in Braavos. There was a man, his name was Tom and he played the lute. When we came, there was an old crone who had hair as white as snow, and she was very small with blood red eyes. I think she lived here, or somewhere nearby. Anyway, when we came she asked Tom to sing her “Jenny’s song” and he sang to her a sad version of Jenny of Oldstones that I hadn’t recognized until now. I thought it was familiar…” her thoughts trailed off as she noticed Jaqen take keen interest in the topic. 

  “Can you tell a man about this song you thought you remembered?” Jaqen asked.

  “It was about long twilights and the death of king's. It was both sad and sweet, and it made the old woman cry, it said that Jenny resides within the halls of her ancestors dancing with their ghosts.”

  Jaqen's breath hitched in his chest. “And does a girl remember where she first heard this song?”

  She nodded. “Winterfell, the night King Robert arrived to ask my father to serve as his Hand.”

  “Hmm…” Jaqen said in answer. She could see that this too, had affected him greatly. 

  Behind her, Nymeria approached, and the hairs on the back of her neck rose up. Jaqen too, had noticed something and sat straight up. 

  “There are people approaching.” They both said in unison. Nymeria let out a low growl, and a few moments later her pack let out a call. 

  “Easy girl, we want them to come. If they are who we think they are, they can take me to her.” She placed her palm against Nymeria’s face and rubbed, assuring her that they would know soon enough if they were Lannister men or the new Brotherhood, following who once was her beloved mother. 

  Sure enough they were there, five in total. She recognized a number of them from before, namely Harwin who was leading their group. 

A few minutes after they came into view, Nymeria’s pack also made their own appearance. 

  By now, Sandor, Thoros and Ned were alerted to the presence of riders and decided to join them as they waited. Thoros stepped forward and met them a few feet in front of their camp. 

  “Ser Harwin, you seem rather shy of company, what are the five of you doing all the way out here?”

  Harwin glanced over Thoros shoulder back in her direction, but she had managed to obscure her appearance by stepping into Sandors shadow. Her Direwolf however, was another matter altogether. There was no hiding her. 

  “We heard talk that a group was riding through the Riverlands with a huge wolf, with descriptions of persons who the Lady might be interested in. We came to see if it was true, ‘tis all.”

  Arya stepped out from behind Sandor. “Aye, What you heard is true, but why would your Lady be interested in my companions?”

  Harwins mouth fell open in shock, “M’lady, thank the Old Gods and the New that you’re alive.”

  “The Gods have nothing to do with it, I’m alive because I learned to kill better than those seeking to kill me. The only God who aided me in my time of need was Death.” She stated matter of factly. 

  His four companions bristled behind him, she knew their faces but could not recall their names. 

  “I haven’t the time to sit here catching up with old friends of my family, if you mean to take us to your “Lady,” let us be away then.” 

  Harwin looked a little apprehensive now. “It will be a few days ride and we will need to collect your weaponry before we go, her Ladyship demands it.” He pointed his chin toward Sandor and Thoros. “Especially of them two, she won’t want the Hound to come to her unbound either.”

  Arya snorted, “We won’t be giving up our weapons, and you will not be binding Sandor up in chains nor rope, we will come to your “Lady” as we are or we can find her on our own. As it turns out, I too, am seeking an audience with the woman you serve and I am most eager to meet her. You can take us as we are, or you can face the wolves at your back and Nymeria will take me where I need to go, you choose.” She didn’t have time to sit and debate. 

  Not waiting for his response, she turned and made her way up the hill to retrieve her packs. She vaguely heard the sound of someone dismounting and steel sliding from its sheath but she wasn’t bothered by it, Jaqen was down there and if it was Harwin or one of his men, they wouldn’t survive the first swing. 

  Sure enough when she came back down, she noticed that there was a man on the ground and Nymeria was standing over him. “You must have thought I wasn’t serious, is that it? I assure you that I’m quite serious. We will not be disarming ourselves, and my companions are not here to pay the price of your “Lady’s” vengeance. If she wants me, fine. I will gladly go, but my men will escort me and they will do so in tact, is that understood?”

  Harwin glanced back and forth between his companions and the one on the ground, and then back to her and the three men who were now standing behind her. Nymeria let out a low rumble to confirm their terms. When he found her eyes once more, he nodded once and dismounted to help his companion back to his feet. 

  “Nymeria, to me.”

  She came unwillingly, and crouched low for Arya to climb up and get in place on her back. Once she was settled, Nymeria rose back up to her full height and called out a long howl to her pack. She was telling them to remain alert, Arya could hear it in her tone, and feel it in the way she held her gait, her wolf was ready to pounce on anyone who meant to harm her girl or those who her girl had made her pack. 

  They set off a while later and rode south west of their location, deeper into the Riverlands than she had originally intended to go. This was necessary, she kept reminding herself. Once she saw to her mother, she could continue north. The Wall wasn’t going anywhere, her brothers murderers would still be there when she arrived, and Nymeria would alert her if something happened with Ghost. At least she hoped that Nymeria would. 

  They camped periodically, never allowing either group to take complete watch over the others. Eventually Harwin managed to work up enough courage to approach her. She could see by his expression that he felt a little bit of anxiousness to speak to her. Much had changed over the past three years since she was last in their company, for both of them. More than anything, she was no longer the little Arya Underfoot that was constantly getting into something or running from Septa Mordane’s lessons. Nor was she the little girl who still harbored hope of finding her family alive and in tact. Those days were gone, as was summer, and all that remained of her was Arya Stark, the last surviving child of Eddard Stark and Catelyn Tully, the only Heir of Winterfell and Lady of the North. She would not consider crowns and futures not yet written, only the facts. She would address the rest once she has  her brothers bones and has taken back the North from those who betrayed Robb and the rest of her family at the Twins. 

  “M’lady has changed.” Harwin stated the obvious. 

  “Aye, that’s what happens when one year moves on to the next and then repeats itself twice more. We all have I suspect, mayhap some more than others?”

  She hadn’t  meant to sound curt in her reply, but the conversation seemed rather tedious, surely there was something more productive to speak of rather than observations easily made by anyone who had known her for any length of time in her youth. She was a woman grown now, for at least a year at this point, and she herself noticed the changes every time that she went to wash and was forced to unbind herself around her chest. 

  When she was a girl, she often times heard her father's men whisper of how much she looked and behaved like her aunt Lyanna, and she wondered if she too had ever thought to cover herself and dress like a boy? She wondered if her aunts path would have been a different one if she maybe would have. If Prince Rhaegar still would have taken her if she had been dressed more closely resembling a boy. Things could have been different if the war would have never happened, if Robert Baratheon had never been named King, and her father had never been called to serve as his Hand. 

  Harwin blushed at her words, clearly not expecting her to speak as such. “You speak true, yet the change in you is alarming for one such as myself. As I have only known you as a girl, I fear M’Lady will not recognize you.” 

  Arya turned her head to peer at him curiously. “Why wouldn’t she? I’m not yet the age of my brother when she sent him to the Wall, the whole north knows that we looked like twins, just like my father and aunt Lyanna if the whispers are to be believed. I still look like that girl when I see my own reflection. If your “Lady” cannot make those connections then she is not “the Lady” you think you're meant to serve.”

  They talked a while longer, and eventually she excused herself to go and check on Jaqen and Nymeria who had taken up some strange sort of friendship. She supposed it made sense, Jaqen was the only one, aside from Sandor that Arya was sure would not sell her or allow harm to befall her for their own benefit. Even Thoros and Edric she couldn’t be so sure of. Their previous allegiance to Beric and the Brotherhood and their plans to ransom her for their cause was enough of a reminder that she had been expendable. 

  The next morning they once more packed their things and continued on to the south-west. Eventually the hills gave way to more forests and the lands became more absent of towns and people to work them. On the fourth night of their journey Arya came to recognize the area that they had come to. They were taking her back to Beric’s Hollow Hill. 

  Her heart was beating hard in her chest, and suddenly she was that little girl again. The one who was forced to hide while her family was slaughtered, while she, inturn, was forced into inaction. Now it was fear, fear that once more, she could come this close to her heart's desire, only to have it ripped away from her before she could ever actualize its existence. 

 There were torches marking the area around the hill and there were likely scouts in the trees as well. There was also the chance that Gendry was still with them, he had been when she left him all those years ago. Arya wondered if staying had been all that he had hoped it would be, and whether or not knighthood was everything he ever dreamed it would be. She didn’t begrudge him his choice, not any more. Had he come with her, who knows what would have happened with him. Her brother had been betrayed and murdered, and she had wanted him to give up a brotherhood for the chance to die at a wedding. Whatever happened to him, she hoped he was well. 

  Nymeria slowed, and then Jaqen did too, followed by Sandor and finally Ned and Thoros. The opening that led under the hill was before them. 

  “Harwin,” Arya called, earning his attention. “Dismount and tell your lady that she has visitors. Tell her that we demand to see the Kingslayer and his companions before we come any closer. Betray me, and my wolves will be the first to break their fasts this evening.”

  Jaqen chanced a glance in her direction and she shrugged. “I don’t want to go in there blindly. If this isn’t my mother, I would rather go in knowing what to expect. We do not know how many people are down there.”

  “A man was not passing judgment on a girls decisions, merely curious about her approach.” Jaqen replied slyly.

  Arya felt herself grin. Jaqen was far from worried, which kept her calm in turn. But her other companions were as high-strung as the pairs of Lannister and Frey men that they had seen strung up by their necks throughout her journey to locate her now resurrected mother.

  She watched as Harwin and his other four companions dismounted and made their way toward the mouth of the Hollow Hill. Over the past few days she came to learn their names. The one that Nymeria had pounced on was Named Mudge, then there was Jack-Be-Lucky, Beardless Dick and lastly Lem. She remembered liking Lem when she had still been with the Brotherhood. He was a soldier through and through and he was quite loyal to Lord Beric, though she had also smashed his nose with a tankard before she knew that Harwin was not his prisoner. His nose never did heal properly. Arya chuckled, thinking of the memory. It was Anguy she liked the most, he had shown her how to shoot an arrow properly, and he was always kind to her, though he had not been in the company of either Thoros or Harwin. 

   After a few moments of waiting, Arya nudged Nymeria to allow her to dismount, her companions followed her example. They did not have to wait long before movement could be heard coming from the mouth of the cave. 

  Behind them, Arya could sense a portion of Nymeria’s pack approaching the four of them, forming a protective ring around them, Nym never budged. 

  The first person to exit from outside the hill was once again Harwin, followed by a boy whom she had never before seen. He was bound in fetters, his clothing was disheveled and he had clearly been mistreated. Next came the largest woman that Arya had ever seen before in her life. Her hair was discolored, with what looked like blood and dirt, but what was visible was clearly light in color. The last person, who was chained to the woman in the middle was unmistakably Jaime Lannister, though he was short his sword hand and less talkative than he had been back in King's Landing. 

  After them, a group of people filed out of the mouth of the Hill, both female and male alike. Arya leaned closer to Sandor. “Do you know who the people with the Kingslayer are?”

  Sandor studied them for a moment, “Aye, I know who they are. The boy is Podrick Payne, he was the squire of Tyrion Lannister. The woman is Brienne of Tarth. From what I understand, she was the one your mother charged with bringing the Kingslayer back to King's Landing.”

  Arya nodded her understanding. The group approaching halted a few feet away from where they were standing. Whether it be due to the pack of wolves who were warning them to not come closer, or because they did not trust her intentions she couldn’t say. 

  “M’lady, you asked to see the Kingslayer and his companion, here they are. Now, if you wouldn’t mind turning over your weapons, our Lady would like to see who has come.” Harwin called across the distance, as if this were some sort of parlay. 

  “You misunderstand my intentions. If your Lady would like my attention, she must also come to speak with me.” She gestured to her pack. “As you can see, Nym isn’t too keen to let my companions and I go much further, and I’m inclined to agree with her. Also, I’ve already informed you. We won’t be dispossessed of our arms.”

  A man stepped out from the crowd, he was at least six feet tall, likely taller. His hair was black as night and his eyes were piercing pools of deep blue. Gendry… she would know his bull headed arse anywhere. 

  “Arry—Arya, is that really you?” His voice sounded as if he could hardly believe what he was seeing. Had their situation been different, she might have returned his enthusiasm. 

  Thoros stepped forward. “Lady Stoneheart, we have come on our own accord, and brought with us your daughter, the Lady Arya Stark. Would you stand in the back of a crowd, or would you come to see the truth of my words for yourself?”

  There was a slight rustle at the back of the group, but slowly, a hooded figure emerged and broke away from the rest. Nymeria lifted her lip into a silent snarl and Arya was momentarily taken aback by her reaction. 

  “What is it you want here?” A voice rasped out from beneath the cowl of her hood.

  She did not have to consider her words. “I came to bring my mother home.”

  At the sound of her voice, the head beneath the cowl cocked curiously to the side. Then the figure straightened and lifted a pale white arm to pull back her hood. Arya’s pulse quickened.

  Harwin moved forward to assist the woman Arya believed to be her mother, but she was not prepared for what was hiding under the robe. The woman they had claimed as her mother had long bone white hair that was thin and stringy, her skin was as pale as milk, and it looked like it hung loosely on her frame. She had long gashes that ran across both cheeks, where it appeared she had rent her own flesh in agony. The true horror was the angry gash in her throat that had never had the chance to heal, this was the wound that took her life, they had cut so deep that the bone was visible, it was a wonder she could speak at all, Arya realized. 

  This was not her mother… the body surely had once belonged to Catelyn Tully, but this was not her mother… she recoiled on instinct and her reaction did not go unnoticed. 

  The woman cackled, in whichever manner she could, and then she pressed a hand to the gash on her neck and addressed Arya directly. 

  “You have my daughters wolf, but my daughter is just a girl. You have my daughters voice, but you are not her. My daughter would never choose to ally herself with the men who played a role in murdering her father.” The last bit was hardly audible, but it was enough to deliver the damage that had been intended. 

  Her mother could not differentiate between the years that have passed with the night she was murdered. She would never accept that the woman standing in front of her was actually her daughter. Rather than argue this point with her mother's corpse, she asked a question of another type.

  “Tell me, what reason do you have for capturing Jaime Lannister,  Brienne of Tarth, and Podrick Payne?”

  “They broke their oaths to her ladyship and are waiting to face their trial.” Lem answered, stepping up to her mother's other side. 

  “What oaths were these? And were these oaths not released when the Frey’s slit her throat and threw her in the Trident?” Arya returned. 

  “The Kingslayer swore to never take up arms against her Ladyship nor those of her blood ever again. The Lady Brienne swore to bring the Kingslayer to King's Landing and return with the Lady Sansa and yourself, only she wasn’t aware that you weren’t in the custody of the Lannister’s at the time. Ser Jaime broke his oath when he took up arms against your great uncle Brynden Tully at Riverrun and threatened your uncle Edmure in order to take the castle. As for the Lady, she switched her loyalties. When our Lady demanded his head for her broken oath, she refused.”

  Arya raised her eyebrow in question. “Your reasons lack logic.” 

  “How so?” Harwin returned.

  “If you tasked Lady Brienne with returning Ser Jaime to the Capital and she did as much, it is hardly her fault that neither myself nor Sansa could be found. Especially in my case, considering the fact that I was outside the Twins the night my mother and brother were betrayed by the Freys and Boltons. The Hound did what none of you would do. He attempted to bring me safely to my mother and brother.” She turned her attention to the Kingslayer. 

  “Ser Jaime, please, can you recall where you were when you found out that your son was murdered?”

  The look on his face turned sour… he still hasn’t gotten used to people openly referring to Joffrey as his son… she would not be so kind as to allow him to pretend otherwise. 

  He cleared his throat, but he never looked up to meet her eyes. “I was on the kings road riding for King's Landing.”

  Arya nodded. “Was Sansa in the Capital once you arrived?”

  Both Jaime and the large woman shook their heads vehemently. It was as Arya suspected. 

  “I demand you release them from the charge of breaking this oath. You cannot hold them responsible for my demise when I clearly still live. Why is the boy in chains beside them?”

  “He is a Lannister sympathizer just like the Lady and the other one. She was dressed and armored in Lannister gold and she possessed a Lannister sword. Seems like she jumps from one service to the next when it suits her.” Harwin answered.

  Behind them all, Arya randomly glanced toward Gendry who was standing beside two girls. One was close in age with him, the other slightly younger. She could see by the look on his face that a part of this didn’t sit well with him. 

  Arya snorted, she was getting annoyed by all the theatrics. She hated the Lannister’s for all that they had done to her family, but Jaime was not Tywin Lannister, nor was he Cersei. The truth was, it had been her mother who started this war when she chose to abduct his brother for a crime he was innocent of. If she had been in Ser Jaime’s place, she would have moved heaven and earth to secure her siblings health. Ser Jaime acted with honor when he confronted her father. If he had not, she would have been an orphan much sooner. And at the end of the day, Ser Jaime’s name was not hers to give, nor was it her mothers. 

  “What is a girl going to do?” Jaqen whispered closely into her ear.

  She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth in concentration. “A girl is going to give her mother three names in exchange for three lives.” 

  Through her periphery she could see Jaqen smile. “You believe the Lion deserves your mercy?” 

  “Not at all. But his life is not mine to take, nor is it my mothers.” She said, repeating the words that she had just thought moments before. 

  “Ser Jaime, at Riverrun, did you kill my kin, or harm their people? Did you torture my uncle into turning the castle over?” This had been the second charge, and she wanted to clear him of each before she made her deal. 

  “I did not, not physically. Mayhap Edmure's pride was hurt but I laid not a hand upon him. I offered him room at Casterly Rock, for both himself, his wife, and his son as well. I promised to get him out of Walder Frey’s dungeon and see him reunited with what was left of his family in exchange for the peaceful surrender of Riverrun.” Ser Jaime confessed.

  “And the Blackfish?” She asked.

  “He escaped through the river gate. He was not found within the castle when they surrendered.” He answered without hesitating. A truth. All of it.

  It was as Thoros had said. There was no reason to pass such a sentence upon these people other than vengeance. Arya finally stepped forward, breaking away from the rest of the group, but Nymeria stayed at her side with every step she took to move closer.

  “Your charges hold no weight. I demand that you unchain them and release them right now.” 

  Her mother's corpse peered at her in contempt, “You think to make demands of me, girl? You do not command here. Why would I release them?” Her voice rattled and wheezed through her fingers as she attempted to rattle her.

  “Because they are not our enemies, and their lives are not yours to claim. Death will grant you three others in exchange for the lives of these three, but you must release them.” Her voice had lowered so much it was similar to soothing. 

  The suspicion was still written clearly on her face. “Our enemies?” 

   Arya was mere steps away from her now, though she was aware that this person in her mother's skin was not the woman who had tucked her in at night, she felt only fondness for who she had been, even when she thought she wasn’t good enough for her standards. The woman who she had been, loved all of her children fiercely, and Arya was sure to never forget that again. Without a second thought, she reached out and placed her palm against her mother's mangled cheek and stepped in to hug her for the first and possibly the last time.

  “Aye, our enemies. When the snow falls and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. Father told me when we were in King's Landing that we had come to a dangerous place, that we couldn’t fight a war amongst ourselves, that we must band together, protect one another. He was going to send us home, but then he was betrayed by Littlefinger and the City Watch. Three names I will give you, mother. In exchange for three innocent lives. Say them and I will give them to you.” She pulled back just slightly, and before she went too far, she stepped up on the tips of her toes and pressed her lips against her brow, just between her eyes and then she stepped out of her mother's reach and toward her three prisoners. 

  Those who were present stood tense, Lem looked like he had been ready to pull his sword when she had gotten too close, but her mother's hand was held out to stop him from making a move. The other hand went up to cup the cheek that her hand had just been touching a mere moment before, as if in shock. 

  A few moments passed and then Lady Stoneheart nodded her head toward the three prisoners and turned, raising her cowl and walking back toward the Hollow Hill. 

  Arya stared after her for a moment before motioning for Harwin to unbind the Kingslayer and his two other companions. When she turned back, her mother’s corpse was disappearing back into the mouth of the Hill. Moments later, she heard wailing. The sound was lower than one would expect, but to Arya it was as loud as a war horn, and it pierced her right through her chest. 

  “Ser Jaime, I ask that you not depart just yet, you owe me a debt and I intend to have your help collecting it. Your companions will remain as well.”

  Arya did not bother turning to wait for him to confirm his understanding, instead she brushed past everyone, past the group that had come to greet her, past the two girls standing beside Gendry, past Gendry himself, even when he reached to stop her. She kept going, following the path that she saw her mother go, Nymeria ensuring that no one would stop her. 

  Underneath, the earth was exactly as she remembered it. She found Lem helping her mother up into the chamber that Lord Beric used to rest within. Quietly she approached and excused him. She could see that he hadn’t wanted to let her take over, but he stepped aside all the same. 

  When it was just the two of them, her mother quietly moved over to a dark corner piled with furs. Arya just stood there and watched. Her mother had realized that she had forgotten someone important to her. And what was more, that person was still alive. It was understandable that she would want to withdraw. 

  Softly, she made her way over and sat down beside her. Nymeria stayed close to the opening, making sure they were undisturbed. 

  After a few more moments, Arya finally broke the silence. “I cannot stay long, my path takes me North. What names would you exchange for the three you have given me?”

  Her mother did not answer right away. She seemed to be studying her with watery eyes, accounting for every change, and every similarity. Perhaps that was just what she wanted to believe, but there was a part of Arya that wanted to believe she knew what her mother was thinking in her long moments of quiet. 

  “Arya?” Her mother croaked.

  She reached out and took her mother's hand in her own. “My hair has been cut many times since father was killed, but aye, it is truly me, mother.” A single tear streamed down her face. She willed her emotions in check. 

  “You’re so beautiful… so beautif–,” her voice cracked.

  “Shhh, it’s okay, don’t waste your words on me. I need names. I assure you, mother I came the moment I heard that you were here. I understand what is driving you, I just want to help. Maybe I wasn’t perfect like Sansa, but this is something that I can do. I can avenge our family. Let me help you. Give me your names.” 

  After a moment, her mother nodded. “Walder Frey, Roose Bolton, Petyr Baelish.” Her mother croaked out at last. 

  Arya nodded and repeated the names her mother had offered. “Walder Frey, Roose Bolton and Petyr Baelish. So you will it, and so it shall be. Will you accompany me to see this work done? I cannot take care of Baelish immediately but once I have his location he will meet the god of death, rest assured.”

  Her mother said nothing but she nodded once more. 

  “Good, we will leave on the morrow. Ser Jaime will aid me in this endeavor. Being that he was successful in Riverrun, we will bring him back to his army and they will return to the Twins to celebrate their victory. That is when I will strike. I think you should like to see what I have in store for the Lord of the Crossing.”

Chapter Text

  By the time Vallyria excused herself from Aemon’s study, the sun had already dipped beyond the horizon. There would be no leaving the Wall tonight. They would have to depart at first light on the morrow. 

  Throughout the day, Edd had seen fit to send meals to both him and Val so that they would not have cause to leave, and he was truly grateful to his friend for it. Things between himself and Val had started off slightly tense, but after he got to know the whole story, learning her perspective became much easier.

  At first, he found himself at a loss for words. His whole life had been a lie. His very identity stolen from him, yet he couldn’t bring himself to be angry about it. Sure, there was a part of him who wished for Lord Stark, just so that he could scream and rage. But to what extent? What would it change? Could it bring back his mother? Would it change the way the realm viewed his true father? Probably not… yet he would have known his sister—sisters. Maester Aemon could have known that he wasn’t alone, Gods Daenerys wouldn’t have had to live in essos on the run...

  Then he had to decide how he felt knowing that Jon Snow was never who he was. He hadn’t existed at all, and he couldn’t decide if he felt more lonely knowing that he could shed Jon Snow's identity like a new skin or less. Who was he if he wasn’t Jon Snow? Who was Aegon Targaryen anyway? 

  He had played heroes with Robb when they were still boys, many times he had called out that he was the Dragonknight or Ryam Redwyne, while Robb would play at being the Young Dragon or Florian the Fool. Never once had he thought to be the conqueror...

  Then there was the matter of finding out that his aunt was actually his mother, he had honestly believed that knowing would ease his burdens but the truth was the opposite. He had wanted for his whole life, to know his mother. Only to find out that she was gone, yet she had been so close all along. 

  Val on the other hand felt nothing about the revelation aside from the joy of knowing that she had more siblings. She had apparently been raised hearing stories about Lord Stark, and how honorable of a man he was. And after she was promised to Lord Beric, she and Wylla fled Starfall for the North, intending to learn all she could about her mother's home and their father's prophecies. 

  He still hadn’t looked through the bag of letters Howland brought him. He wasn’t sure he was ready for that, at least not yet, not here on the Wall where he was betrayed by his brothers. He would not give the Wall his tears in addition to his life’s blood. Instead, he tucked his treasure beneath his arm and made his way back to his chambers where he intended to pack what little belongings he had to his name and then make his plans for departure. 

  Rickon was on Skagos, he knew this because Ghost often tracked Shaggydog and Nymeria. He used to track Summer too, but now he couldn’t feel him at all. It reminded him of when he had been separated from Ghost by the Wall itself. 

   Are you out there too, Bran? Are you lost beyond the Wall? Could Ghost find you if we went looking? 

  For some reason he thought that Mayhap Ghost could. Things were changing though, Nymeria had been with him while he was gone, Ghost too. He still hadn’t shared this information with anyone, but he hadn’t left after his body died. Somehow he remained with Ghost. He raged with Ghost for three days, and he felt as his Direwolf mourned for the loss of his physical touch. The entire time though, Nymeria and Shaggydog stayed linked with him too. 

  Now that he was back, he could feel Ghost’s mind constantly. It was as if the two of them were one. His movements were with purpose, his vision acutely focused, Ghost’s hunger was his hunger, too. And with that came the knowledge that Nymeria was coming North. He didn’t know when she would be here, but Ghost knew that she was coming and that was good enough for him. With her coming, and the addition of Robb’s will also came the necessity to find Rickon, and he had all the information he could need to retrieve him. 

  Tormund, Leathers, Vallyria, Melisandre, and Howland, would all be riding for Eastwatch on the morrow, along with himself and Ghost. From there they would sail across the Bay of Seals and with any luck, they would arrive within a fortnight on Skagos. From there it would be a matter of tracking Shaggydog and recovering his little brother. 

   Yes, he thought. Rickon was still his baby brother. The fact that he was no longer Jon Snow didn’t change that. The question was, could he be Jon for Rickon? He wasn’t sure that he could. 

  He thought once more about Aemon—his uncle's advice. The irony of his words...had he known as well?

  “Egg had an innocence to him, a sweetness we all loved. Kill the boy within you, I told him the day I took ship for the Wall. It takes a man to rule. An Aegon, not an Egg. Kill the boy and let the man be born." The old man felt Jon's face. "You are half the age that Egg was, and your own burden is a crueler one, I fear. You will have little joy of your command, but I think you have the strength in you to do the things that must be done. Kill the boy, Jon Snow. Winter is almost upon us. Kill the boy and let the man be born.”

   The realm needs an Aegon, not an Egg. The same was true now as well. The realm needed a king not a bastard hiding up in the North, and his pack needed an alpha. No… he could not be Jon Snow, not even for Rickon or Arya. They both needed someone stronger to lead them, and Jon Snow knew nothing. 

  Ghost looked up at him then, as if he sensed the finality in his decision. Aegon smiled back, for the very first time and then he rose from his seat and went for his door. 

  On the other side, Melisandre stood, poised to knock. Rather than question her, he stepped back and allowed her entry.

  “My Lady, I was just coming to seek you out.” He greeted.

  Melisandre moved toward the fire and stood there a moment before she turned back to face him. “My Lord, I've come to speak to you about your plans.”

  Aegon raised an eyebrow. “Very well, what would you like to say?” He gestured for her to take a seat, and then returned to his own seat beside the hearth.

  “You mean to travel to Skagos, do you not?” She asked. 

  “You know that I do. Please, Melisandre let’s not dance around each other. If you wish to come with me, I concede. You’re right, I was kept alive for a reason. And you are a part of that reason. I would be foolish to cast you away from my side after what you did to bring me back to myself.”

  At his confession Melisandre raised a questioning brow, but she did not ask for more details, to his relief. “I had not expected you to be so amenable, I must confess. But there is more I need to share.”

  Aegon nodded.

  Melisandre straightened her shoulders. “I was speaking with the one you call Leathers, and he mentioned that the word Skagos in the Old Tongue means Stone.” She began hesitantly.

  “I’m aware, apart from being raised as a bastard, Lord Stark was thoughtful enough to provide me with a formal education. Skagos is a part of the Northern kingdom as much as they hate it. They also use to trade dragonglass with the Watch long ago, which means that there is a volcano on the island somewhere. What are you getting at?”

  Melisandre’s eyes brightened as she listened to him speak, and she looked almost overjoyed for the first time since Stannis departed the Wall. 

  “I’ve been wrong about many things, my Lord, I’ve interpreted the flames incorrectly but I hope that you will believe me when I tell you that, since you’ve returned, my visions have become more clear. I thought that Stannis was the Prince that was promised, but he can’t be. I thought that he would wake dragons from stone, but he could not. It was always meant to be you.” Melisandre started.

  Aegon sat back in his chair and studied her a moment, not quite sure what this would lead to. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger.

  “I’m not sure that I’m following.”

  Starting over, the Red woman attempted to clarify. “I thought that the stone dragons were on Dragonstone, but that was a misinterpretation. Dragons thrive in Fire, and since Dragonstone is a volcanic island and has been known to be the home of the Targaryen dragons of old I assumed that the visions meant Stannis. But the dragons aren’t stone, they are sleeping on Stone. On Skagos my Lord.” Melisandre explained. 

  “How does this help us Melisandre? I don’t have the time to search an entire island for a dragon that might or might not be sleeping there. What happens if I don’t have enough dragon blood in me to claim one anyway? Did you bring me back just to watch me burn? I’m not fireproof, or did R’hllor forget to show you when I burned my hand?” He removed his glove and bared his palm to her for good measure. 

  “Not burned, you were kissed by the flames, marked by R’hllor. You shall wield Lightbringer with that hand.” She said confidently. 

  “This wouldn’t be the sword Stannis has would it? Because I already know that his sword is a fake. Only dragonglass and dragonsteel can vanquish the Others. Only fire can stop the army of the dead, and Stannis sword holds no inner flame. Maester Aemon left me a bookmark in the Jade Compendium about Lightbringer. The Red Sword of Heroes, isn’t it?”

  If the Red Woman couldn’t be honest with him, he had no use for her and he had been no stranger to her arrogance. Admitting this would cost her personally. But then, he would respect her far more if she put her pride aside. He did not have to wait long for her reply.

  “My Lord is correct, Stannis’ sword is glamoured. I won’t lie to you. I have made a great many mistakes since coming to Westeros, but all of them brought me here to you. So that I could be here in your hour of need, and I won’t apologize for any of it. We’ve all made mistakes, perhaps myself most of all, but I’m not mistaken in this. I asked R’hllor to show me Azor Ahai and he only showed me Snow. Now he shows me you, wielding a flaming sword with dragons flying overhead. You’ve seen this yourself, haven’t you?” Melisandre asked, knowingly. 

  He had, standing atop the Wall, armored in black ice... “Very well, what would you have of me?” He asked, rather than confirm her theory. 

  “I think I already have it. Be prepared Jon Snow, the Skagosi will ask much of you, and your journey will not be without hardship.” Melisandre answered cryptically. 

  “Will you send me the Lady Maege and Lord Glover on your way out?” 

  The Red Woman rose from her seat and curtsied before making for the door. “Melisandre…” he called making her turn back. 

  “Jon Snow is dead. Murdered by his brothers. You’ll address me by my true name from now on.”

  Melisandre nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. “Of course, your grace.” And before he could correct her, she was gone. 

  He didn’t have to wait long for Lady Maege and Lord Glover. Howland Reed also joined them, which he was glad for once he had realized that he forgot to mention him to Melisandre. As soon as they had made themselves comfortable he didn’t waste any time jumping into things.

  “Thank you everyone for coming, there are a few important matters that I feel we must discuss before I take my leave on the morrow.”

  “Of course, Jon, what can we do for you?” Howland responded.

  Aegon swallowed, already knowing that he would have to nip the ‘Jon Snow’ situation in the bud now. 

  “Firstly, Jon Snow was Lord Eddard Stark's bastard. He was also murdered almost five days ago by his Brothers. I know that this makes no sense to you, but I will not be referred to as Jon Snow any longer. You all heard the truth from Lord Howland. My mother was not kidnapped and raped, my uncle Brandon rode to rescue her based on the words of a liar. It is my intention to use the name my mother bestowed upon me the day I was born.”

  All three nodded their heads in understanding, but he held up a hand to let them know he was not finished. 

  “The North is in danger, and not from within or from the south. I do not expect you all to take my word for it, but what I have to say will not be said lightly. The Others are real, the army of the dead is real, and they march on the living. You may have noticed men and women walking around, those people are from North of the Wall.”

  “You let the wildlings through?” Lord Galbart clarified. 

  “Aye, I have. And the new Lord Commander has instructions to continue to do so until there are no more living on the North side.” Aegon answered, deadpan.

  “How do you expect the other Houses to take that news?” Lord Galbart followed up. 

  “I honestly don't care how they choose to handle it. The Gift and the New Gift belong to the Night's Watch. There are nineteen castles along the Wall that need to be manned, and the Watch is failing. It’s been failing. Ever since my brother marched the North down South we’ve gone unaided and unheard by the Houses of the North. So they will have to get used to the idea of sharing land with the Free Folk. Better them living here than fighting in an army that doesn’t need to sleep or eat. An army that is intent on ending the lives of every living person in this world.”

  “You do understand that no one will ever believe that the Others are real?” Lord Glover asked.

  “Yet you came here to ask me to become Jon Stark and allow you to crown me your king. Surely there was a reason that you thought me worth the risk if you’ve come all this way of your own accord?”

  Lord Glover glanced nervously at his feet, “You speak true, but the Others have been gone for—.”

  “Almost eight thousand years. I’m aware.” Aegon finished for him, but he didn’t stop there. 

  “Let me assure you, I did not grow up with a fascination for Old Nan's stories, or believing in grumpkins and snarks. That matters little anyway, because they are real and they are coming. I declined your offer earlier, because I cannot take what by blood belongs to my brothers. Nor will I support an independent North,” he said, holding up his hand to silence them before the protests began. 

  “The North is too weak to stand alone in the coming war, we’ve lost too many fighting men, and not enough of our women are trained in combat. Rickon is hardly eight name days, he can’t be your king. As for Arya, she has never wanted to be a Lady, and I have no idea what that monster Ramsay Bolton has done to her. I won’t ask this of her, and none of you will either. That leaves us with one choice. One that Robb never considered, I’m sure.”

  Maege straightened her back. “And what option would that be, my Lord?”

  He hated that it had come to this, but the only way to defeat the army of the dead was to unite the Seven Kingdoms once more. Whomever was sitting on the throne in King's Landing, was clearly incapable of leading this realm through the Long Night. Melisandre was right; being Aegon Targaryen meant embracing his birthright. 

  “I mean to announce my claim to the Iron Throne, and I will need each of you to support me, not just in the South, but with the Northern Houses as well. I already have the support of Alys Karstark, and after I retrieve Rickon and take back Winterfell for him and liberate Arya, I will make it known officially. In the meantime, I would like for Lord Reed to accompany me to Skagos, if it’s not too much to ask, my Lord?”

  Lord Howland did not seem surprised at all by his request and nodded his assent. With that settled, Aegon turned his attention back to Lady Maege and Lord Galbart. 

  “I have a request for you both as well, if I may?” They both nodded and he began to lay out his plans. 

  “While we are away, I would ask you both to contact those Houses, whether they be great or small, who are still loyal to House Stark. The last I heard, Stannis was slain in combat by Ramsay Bolton, but I have reason to believe that the letter I received was meant to draw me out. Therefore, I believe that Stannis Baratheon is still marching on Winterfell and if he isn’t, he’s made camp and is preparing to attack. If we time it right, we might be able to enter the battle alongside him and capitalize on the strength of his armies. Once you have made contact with these loyalists, make your way toward Winterfell. And keep a watch out for Ghost or Nymeria, they will let you know where you need to be.”

  “Nymeria?” Lady Maege inquired.

  Aegon nodded, “Aye, Arya’s direwolf. She will be there, likely before we are. She’s both light and dark grey with golden eyes, when you hear her pack, don’t panic. She commands more than a hundred by now and they are coming for their mistress, not those who are loyal to her pack.”

  Maege smiled fondly. “Your brother Robb had a special relationship with his wolf as well.”

  “I do not doubt it, I’m sure we all do, or would have at any rate.” He replied, clearing his throat, not wanting to dwell on those that they have lost. “Not to rush this conversation, but Ghost needs to go out, and my day will begin quite early on the morrow. I will send word here once we reach Skagos. To keep you abreast of our movements, it’s at least a fortnight to Winterfell once you ride south, depending on the weather, so travel safely and I will see you both soon enough.”

  All three rose from their seats and bid him awkward goodbyes. None of them sure how to address him now that he made it clear that he would be pressing his birthright. Still, he could go without formal titles for just a bit longer. ‘My Lord’ was much easier to swallow than ‘Your Grace’. 

  Before heading to the door, Aegon grabbed his cloak and called for Ghost to follow, and together the two of them followed their company out into the cold. 

  Ghost didn’t stay out long, he had hunted the day prior and he had been spoiled all day by Edd. But Aegon suspected that he intended to hunt once they were well on their way toward Eastwatch. 

  He slept fitfully that night. Ghost had linked up with Nymeria once more, but she had turned her pack in a different direction. Something about going to find help. But she was still coming. Somewhere in the reaches of his mind he was calmed by this fact. 

  Dawn came early, or at least it felt that way but Aegon was ready to go. He made sure to take a look back at the room that he had been occupying one last time and then he closed the door behind him. 

  Everyone was ready and assembled in the yard when he and Ghost arrived. Even Edd was there waiting to see him off. 

  “You’re really gonna leave us?” Edd asked one last time. Aegon couldn’t say he blamed him for trying. 

  “Aye, I must. The Wall won’t be enough when the Walkers come, you know it. I have to do this, and don’t worry, as long as you don’t break the Wall while I’m gone, everything should be fine. Hmm?” He smiled fondly back at his friend, then reached forward and pulled him in for a tight hug.

  “You have my advice, let them through if they come. You hear me? Every life that is claimed on the North side of the Wall is one more body to fight in the army of the dead. And until we have more men and weapons, we have to do our part.”

  Edd nodded, “I know, the dead are coming, you don’t have to remind me of what’s at stake. Just hurry up and do what you have to do so you can come back to us, you’re gonna come back, right?”

  Aegon couldn't help but smile sadly. He tightened his grip on Edds shoulder and said the only words that he could think of in that moment.

  “I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men. I pledge my life and honor to the defense of the living, for this night and all the nights to come. Those vows did not end with my death. Those vows transcend every lifetime. For as long as the true enemy exists, I will always be here to fight beside you, Brother.” Aegon vowed once more, leaving out the part that would bind him to the Wall again for another lifetime. 

  His horse was already saddled, and Longclaw was firmly fastened to his belt, his sister waited patiently atop her own mount as did Melisandre. Aegon sought out Tormund and Leathers, “Are you two ready to go?”

  They were standing beside two sturdy garons, speaking in the Old Tongue when they heard his voice. “Little crow! There you are, thought I was gonna have to go and get you myself. Har!” Tormund bellowed across the distance. Perhaps a bit too loudly for the time of morning. 

  “Shut up,” Aegon shot back. “Get on your horses so that we can be on our way, we have a long ride ahead of us.” 

  “Fuck off, you might have conquered death, but you’re still just a pretty little black crow.” Tormund said with a wide grin. 

  Aegon mounted up, it was going to be a long journey, at least it wouldn’t be boring. “Did you bring anything to drink by any chance?”

  Another wide grin came with the addition of waggling ginger eyebrows. “You can bet your pretty feathered arse I did.”

  Aegon rolled his eyes, “Very well, let’s be on our way then, shall we?” He looked over his group once more and found Howland beside Val, and then he kicked his heels into his mount, pushing him toward the open gate, then turning him East toward the sea.

  They traveled by land for almost nine days before Eastwatch came into view. Each night of his journey Ghost reached out to both Shaggydog and Nymeria. On quite a number of occasions Aegon thought he caught him baying silently at the night sky. Soon boy, soon you will see your pack…

  The weather had been biting but the Red Woman was sure to attend her night fires every evening when they would stop to rest. Ghost hunted every few days, he even brought down a stag almost a week after they departed Castle Black and before he ate, he managed to drag it's carcass back to their camp so that the rest could eat with him. 

  Lord Howland was an anomaly, truly. For the most part, he kept to himself but Aegon often found him in the company of Val and Tormund. While they were riding the crannogman would for the most part ride solo, but his lips never stopped moving. When he finally had the chance to ask him about it, Howland explained that he had the ability to talk to trees and modify the terrain through his gift. When he had asked for more information, Howland went on to explain that it was how his ancestors were able to move and hide Greywater Watch. He explained that his gift didn’t have the ability to move them from one destination to the next in the blink of an eye, but it did allow them to travel more swiftly and unseen by unwanted eyes. 

  They stopped briefly at Eastwatch and Aegon took the opportunity to send a raven back to Castle Black to check on Gilly's babe and let Lady Maege know that they arrived safely and would be sailing by the end of the day. Alys had agreed to keep the babe while they traveled, and some of the other women in Moles Town agreed to lend their support as well. Either way, Val would be retrieving him the moment they sailed back from Skagos, as they agreed to meet back up on the Kingsroad. 

  On his way from the Rookery he ran into Grenn and Pyp in the yard, and it was clear that they had heard about the mutiny. Still, neither made mention of it and neither did he. Aegon suspected that Edd had sent a raven telling them everything they needed to know. 

  They spent a little while longer catching up, and visiting with Ghost, who couldn’t get enough of their rubs and scratches but too soon, they were saying their goodbyes so that Ghost and he could make it to their ship before it departed without them. 

  The Bay of Seals was often times treacherous to cross, and the captain had warned them if the weather turned, he would be returning them back to the mainland. Luckily, Melisandre claimed that their voyage was blessed by R’hllor and he had no cause to dispute her words. 

  They landed on the rocky beaches the following day, only having found it after seeing strange lights coming from the island during the night. He remembered learning about this when he was still a boy, studying with Robb under maester Luwin’s watchful eye. They said the lights were meant to lure sailors to their deaths, but not theirs. 

  The chill reminded him of his time beyond the Wall, but it held a bite that stung his cheeks and seeped beneath his furs. After everyone disembarked, he called Ghost to him and motioned for everyone to follow.

  Aegon didn’t have to give Ghost his commands, his wolf knew why they had come and soon he was off chasing a link that only he knew to follow. Rather than chase after him, they made their way away from the beaches toward the mountain fastnesses where the House of Magnar was known to reside.

  Getting word from the mainland to Skagos is nigh on impossible. So his group was well aware that they were coming unannounced, which is why he asked Tormund and Leathers to join him on his journey. Tormund, because he knows how to deal with people like the Skagosi, and Leathers because he speaks the Old Tongue better than anyone else he’d ever met aside from Wun Wun. If by chance the Skagosi happen to find them before Ghost finds Shaggy, having someone around to translate could be the difference between life and a second death. 

  By the time Ghost returned, they had been walking for what felt like hours but based on the position of the sun, hardly an hour had passed. Aegon stopped walking to give his wolf a chance to approach and he noticed a pair of brilliant green eyes staring at him from the tree line. Ghost had found Shaggydog, but his brothers wolf was not ready to welcome him nor his companions. Even with Ghost’s apparent ease around him. Aegon wouldn’t force it, with Shaggy nor Rickon. Instead, he continued walking, allowing Ghost to lead the way toward their destination. 

  They walked until they heard the first snap of a twig being broken inside the forest, the first sign that someone other than Shaggydog was watching them. Ghost stopped immediately and he did as well. 

  The first person to exit the trees was a tall man, similar in height to Hodor, though it was definitely possible that Hodor had some inches on the man currently standing in his path. Four more men stepped out of the trees, following the first, all of whom were dark of hair and dressed in thick black shaggy furs and seal skins. 

  “Come no closer .” The Skagosi warned in the Old Tongue.

  Leathers stepped forward, hands raised as to let them know he meant no harm. He had been appointed as the lead speaker for their group, so Aegon stepped aside to let him complete his assignment. 

   “Peace, Magnar, we mean your people no harm. We come with a purpose and will leave as soon as we have achieved our goal.”

  “You leave when we say you leave.” The Magnar countered.

  Leathers nodded. 

  The Magnar then fixed Ghost with a curious stare. “White Wolf is yours?”

   Leathers shook his head and gestured back toward Aegon. “The white wolf is his own, but his other half is this one. He comes seeking the black wolf and the little pup who belong to one another.”

    Aegon listened, though his own understanding of the Old Tongue was limited, he was able to pick up the gist of the conversation. Apparently they had been expecting the white wolf after the mutiny. 

  Leathers turned back to him. “The Magnar wishes us to follow him.”

  “Back to his camp? Does he know where Rickon is?” Aegon asked. 

  Leathers swallowed and then glanced back at the Magnar once more. “It’s not as simple as that. He said that the boy who comes with the black wolf belongs to his people. That they have hunted together and shared shelter for many moons, and they do not wish to send him back to the mainland. They said he is theirs. If you wish to see him fine, but they won’t part with one of their own unless you can prove through a sacred trial that you are strong enough to care for their prince.”

  Aegon turned and faced the Magnar. “Tell him that I did not come to ask for him to be returned. He is my blood and I am going to take him home. No one here can stop me. Tell him that I will do whatever it takes to earn this trust, but I will not play games with him or his people. I want his blood oath that when I’ve completed this trial my brother will be given into my care.”

  Leathers related his words and the Magnar grunted his response. Then, without ceremony, he turned and began walking away. Melisandre slid up beside him. 

  “Are you prepared, Your Grace? They believe that you will be going to your death, without having heard first their conditions.” She asked in a low tone as they followed the Skagosi.

  Aegon huffed. “It doesn’t really matter what their conditions are, does it? The fact is, you believe I have some destiny to achieve on this island, my brothers wolf has been calling for Ghost since the night Jon Snow was murdered, the Others are marching on the Wall and if there really are dragons sleeping on this island somewhere, and somehow, I’m meant to wake them I owe it to the realm to try, do I not? I’m not so naïve as to believe we can defeat the Others as we are.”

  He still had not read the letters from his parents, nor the letter from Lord Stark. What he knew of the prophecy, he knew from Val. Including his family’s obsession with returning dragons to the world. The irony was not lost on him that mayhap they were wrong and dragons weren’t ever really gone, they had just broken their bonds with his kin.

  Melisandre said nothing for a moment. He understood that she was not one to warn him away from this path. She only meant to share the visions she herself had seen in her fires. 

  Aegon took pity on her. It must not be easy to go from a king who hung on her every word to a King who kept her at a distance at all times. 

  “Does your God have any advice to give? Have you any information that can help me in this journey?”

  Melisandre smiled knowingly at him. “All you need is already inside you. But when you enter the lair, you must leave your wolf behind. You have spent your whole life growing from a chink in a Wall of Ice, but Dragons also thrive in Fire. You are both, Aegon Targaryen. Yours is the song of ice and fire… this is the only weapon you will need. Kill the boy… be the dragon.”

   Kill the boy…be the dragon.

  There was a part of him that felt the building inferno a little more every day, but Ghost was—it was indescribable how closely linked he was with his wolf. No matter what Melisandre counseled, a part of Ghost would follow him into the Seven hells if this is where his path led him. 

  “Thank you, my Lady. I will keep your words in mind while I undertake this task. I would also ask that you keep your fire burning for me.” 

  He would never turn his back on the Old Gods, but it could not hurt him to have the favor of more than one deity. And whether he willed it so or not, the Red God certainly did seem to possess a keen interest in him. 

  They did not walk for long before they came upon a set of winding stairs cut crudely into the side of a mountain, leading up to a huge stone arch that opened the way up inside. 

  From the ship, one would have never guessed that the Skagosi had developed such skill at crafting and working stone, but the structure was truly awe inspiring.

  It was here that Shaggydog finally came out of the woods and approached them for the first time. Ghost stepped up, placing himself between his brother and Aegon, which in turn blocked Shaggydog from Vallyria and the rest of his party. 

  “Fuck me, how many wolves do you Starks fuckin have?” Tormund grumbled somewhere from the back of their group. 

  Aegon suppressed a chuckle, not wanting to lose eye contact with Shaggy. Gingerly, he reached out for his packmate, his palm open and exposed. 

  “It’s okay Shaggydog, it’s only me. You know who I am, I’m with you every night.” 

  His words seemed to register as Shaggy narrowed his eyes and cocked his head to the side. After a moment Ghost backed off, though his hackles remained raised in silent warning and when Shaggydog had determined it clear, he slowly took a step toward Aegon’s outstretched palm. 

  He knew that Shaggydog was curious, but also cautious as well. His brother had been too long without his pack, and it would be a small miracle at all if he remembered anything about Aegon before he had left for the Wall. But Shaggy would never forget Ghost, and if nothing else the small fact that Ghost remained the Alpha of his littermates would make all the difference in the world. 

  Once Shaggydog took in his scent, Aegon took another step forward and turned his hand to scratch him under his chin.

  “Hello Shaggy, you’re huge!” He complimented with a smile.

  There was a sneaking suspicion that Rickon was watching this whole exchange, and Aegon didn’t want to disappoint. All young boys want to know that their growth has not gone unnoticed.

  Shaggydog pushed himself up against Aegon and then nipped playfully at Ghost before turning and bounding up the stairs, following the Magnar as he went. With nothing more to distract him, Aegon motioned for the rest of them to follow and then they continued up the mountain. 

  The climb was not easy, the further they went, the more the wind assaulted them, though after climbing the Wall, it wasn’t anything that he couldn’t handle. Melisandre never once seemed bothered by the cold, and Howland was well bundled beneath his furs that he hardly felt a chill. Val never complained, even though he could see the tip of her nose turn pink from the cold. She seemed to thrive in it, love it even, so rather than waste time or body heat fussing over their wellbeing, Aegon kept his thoughts to himself as they climbed. 

  Once they reached the stone arches that had been carved into the mountain cliff, the Magnar led them into a large cavernous chamber that seemed to be the central location inside their keep. All around the room were more walkways and doors leading to other places inside the mountain. The air was surprisingly warm to Aegon's amazement. Though the furniture consisted of stone tables and benches. There were furs placed around the chamber and quite a number of stone hearths, but nothing of note to qualify this as a proper keep. 

  His eyes sought out the Magnar, now that they were here, he wanted to know his task and he wanted to see his brother. 

  “Tell the Magnar that I would like to see the boy who comes with the Black Wolf.” He said, calling out for Leathers to translate. But before he could form the words, a woman called out from somewhere at the back of the room. 

  “What business do you have with the little prince?” The woman asked.

  “Step forward and I will tell you. I won’t speak with a shadow.” Aegon replied, not showing any sign of fear or weakness. 

  Shaggydog quickly sprinted off in the direction of the woman’s voice and then he saw her. Stepping out of the shadows with a babe sat upon her hip. Dark brown matted hair, dark eyes. The woman was tall. “Now do you see me?”

  Aegon nodded.

  “Answer the question, what business do you have with my boy?” The woman repeated. 

  “Your boy? I’ve come here for my little brother. You can keep any child born of your blood. I have no claim on none but the one who shares the same blood as me.” Aegon said, curtly. 

  “You ain’t no brother of the little prince. I’ve met em’ both. The oldest one is dead, and the cripple was headin’ beyond the Wall last time we seen him. He told me to take the boy to safety and that’s what I’ve done. That makes him mine, I’ve had him longer than his own mother did. Not sure who you claim yourself to be, but you and your company can get back on your ship and go back where you come from, take that kneeler who came before you when you go.”

  “You met Bran and Robb?” Aegon couldn't help the sudden emotion that bubbled up at the mention of his brothers. 

  The woman’s eyes studied him cautiously. “What you say your name was?”

  “I didn’t. My name is Aegon Targaryen, but I was raised as Jon Snow. I was at the Wall when Winterfell was sacked and Robb went to war.”

  Realization crossed over her face. “They was s’pose to take the little lordlings to you at the Wall, but those two others… the ones who came from the south must have convinced the Little lord to go beyond, without you.”

  He was going to reply that he didn’t have any knowledge of what she was referring to, but he was interrupted by the sound of a door opening from the side of the room, and the sleepy figure of a young man emerged.

  The Magnar called out to the boy in the Old Tongue, but he paid his elder no mind. He had eyes only for Ghost, who in turn had his eyes fixed solely on the boy. 

  After a moment, he arrived at the side of the woman that Aegon had been conversing with and she put a protective arm around his shoulder. “Osha, who are these people.” He asked in the Old Tongue, leaving Aegon to guess what was being said. 

  Osha… he assumed that this was the name of the woman who had laid claim to his little brother. She looked nervously between the child who Aegon now realized was Rickon and himself. 

  “This man comes with the white wolf you have been speaking of. He wants to take you back to the mainland, back to the big castles and the fighting.” Osha explained back in the Old Tongue. 

  Leathers stepped up and translated for him. “That’s not why I’ve come. I would thank you now to not tell my brother lies before I have the opportunity to explain myself to him.” Aegon nearly snapped, which in turn made Shaggydog bristle at the hostility in his voice. 

  Before anyone could say anything else though, Rickon stepped out of Osha’s grip and approached him cautiously. Ghost came close and then sat down at his side. The look on his little brothers face was one of confusion, then hope, then anger, and then confusion again.

  “Father?” Rickon nearly sobbed, and in that moment Aegon felt his heart break. It had never occurred to him that he might still look like Rickon's last memory of Lord Stark. For a moment, he almost lost his resolve to kill Jon Snow.

  Aegon dropped to one knee and held out a hand for Rickon. “Com’ere, Rickon. It’s alright.” He assured, not confirming or denying Rickon’s question. 

  Slowly Rickon approached him and stepped inside of his reach. “I know you.” He said, reaching out to brush his hand  over the scar crossing over his eye. His accent was thick, from his many years speaking the Old Tongue, but his memory was sharp. “The bird..?” Rickon’s head tilted to the side. 

  Aegon was trying to think of what he was saying and then he recalled the day at Queenscrown. Rickon’s hand went to Jon’s neck and saw the scar where Whittlestick had tried to slash his throat, then he walked behind him and touched him where the dagger had pierced him between his shoulders. 

  Did he feel it too? Was Rickon as attached to Shaggy as he was to Ghost?

   “Rickon, I’m not your father, I’m sorry. But I am your brother. Do you remember Ghost?” Aegon asked him, once he was standing in front of him once more. 

  “He is the white wolf. We are all the same pack.” Came Rickon’s sure reply. 

  “Yes, we certainly are. All of us, Rickon and a pack is strongest together. Do you remember the day that we came home with Shaggy and Ghost? It was me and Robb who found them and convinced your father to let us bring them home. One for each of his children. Four boys, including Ghost and two girls for Sansa and Arya. Do you remember them too?” Aegon asked, hoping to build a connection with his little brother. 

  Rickon’s face fell infinitesimally and there was a deep anger inside him that Aegon knew all too well. “They all left, even you left too. First you and father and after, mother left and Robb followed. Bran sent me away, he didn’t want me and Shaggy either… Only Osha stayed with us.”

  Aegon tilted his chin up to meet him eye to eye. “Rickon, I’m sorry that no one was there for you when you needed them to be. I’m even more regretful that I was not able to stay with you when no one else could. I can’t bring any of them back, but I’m not going to ever let you be alone again. And if Osha is a part of your pack she is welcome to join us, but I need to bring you home.” 

  The Magnar spoke up then, disrupting the moment between the two of them. “The man with white wolf speaks too soon. This one will stay here with his clan unless you pass the trial. You Southerners forget the guest right and the traditions of the First Men, but we Stoneborn do not. Young prince stay unless you prove strong enough to take care of him.”

  Aegon understood enough of what was said to comprehend the context of the conversation. “I have already agreed to your conditions. And my time is limited, so if you insist on this course of action then let us get this over with.” Beside him Ghost bared his teeth in a silent snarl and Shaggydog’s hackles raised. While Leathers translated his words back to the Magnar who laughed. 

  Rickon was watching their exchange cautiously. “You go into Stone?” 

  Aegon looked back at his little brother and mussed his long auburn hair fondly. “I’m not sure what that is supposed to mean, but yes, I suppose I am. Do not worry though, I will return for you.”

  The look on Rickon’s face went from confusion to fear and then anger. He whirled around and stared down the Magnar, and then Osha who tightened the babe she was holding closer to her side.

  “No! You can’t send him, the white wolf is my pack, you can’t take them too!” Rickon howled. 

  Shaggydog turned toward the object of his boys anger and a low, threatening growl came from his chest. A warning, Aegon realized. They were both defending him… he needed to get control of the situation. He wouldn’t stand for people being hurt because his little brother wasn’t shown how to control his emotions. 

   “Rickon, you shouldn’t worry, your brother has agreed and you knew that this would be his price.” Osha tried explaining in the Old Tongue, but his brother wouldn’t hear it. Shaggydog started toward the Magnar and the woman, and on instinct Aegon reached for Ghost with his mind. 

  It took him a moment, but when his vision focused, he made Ghost lunge, catching Shaggy off guard. The two of them rolled across the floor, Shaggy snapping and biting at Ghost, but his wolf was no stranger to dangerous foes. He deftly dodged his dark brothers attacks and angled himself so that he could lock onto the underside of his neck and pin him to the ground the next time he reared back. 

  Shaggy lunged again, so caught up in the moment that Ghost was able to clamp his jaw around his hind leg and send him spinning on the hard stone floor. Aegon pulled his mind away from his wolf in that moment, knowing that the next time Shaggy lunged, Ghost would have him submitting to him and sure enough, Rickon was standing there wide eyed as Ghost locked his teeth around his black brothers throat and threw him to the ground, pinning him down and exposing his underbelly to injury. 

  Aegon quickly moved to grab his little brother, taking him in his arms and sweeping him up in a protective embrace while Rickon wailed uncontrollably. He was scared to lose someone else, he had been spending so much time in his wolf, just as an attempt to connect with his pack, that he and Shaggy had almost become one and the same. Their moods were as linked as Aegon’s were to Ghost. And no one had been here to help him. 

  Those present stared open mouthed at the two brothers as Rickon cried out all his fears and worries into Aegon’s shoulder. For his part, he allowed the tantrum to continue until he felt Rickon go limp and his fists stopped flailing. It was then that he approached the two wolves and lowered them down onto the ground between them. 

  “Listen Rickon, I know you are worried that you will be alone if I go into Stone. But I promise you that you won’t. The Magnar and the Lady Osha care about you and they want to know that you will be safe with me. I respect that. But you know what? You don’t have to fear for me, because I know a secret that they don’t. Do you want to know what it is?”

  Rickon looked up at him with puffy red eyes and nodded. Aegon smiled down at his little wild brother and then pulled him in so that he could whisper into his ear. “The Old Gods favor me, and I will always come back for those that are my family. And you, little pup, are definitely my family. Hmm?” 

  His brother pulled back and assessed him, weighing his words against his fears, deciding whether or not he could be believed. His little hand came up and traced the scar over his eye once more. “You promise, you won’t let Stone keep you?”

  “I do, and if you want, you can go with me as far as possible, and when you can’t go any further, Ghost and my sister Vallyria can stay with you until I return for you all.” 

  Aegon turned to summon Val closer. Rickon watched him curiously, his eyes bouncing back and forth between himself and his sister. When she was standing beside him, Aegon made his introduction. 

  “Rickon, this is my sister, from my mother. She is also your family, would it be okay if you got to know each other? She too, has not had her family for a very long time and I suspect that she is just as anxious as you are right now.”

  Reluctantly, Rickon nodded and reached out his hand and pulled her down so that she was seated beside the wolves and the two of them. 

  “Rickon, I need to speak with the Magnar and then I’ll be back, sit here with Val for a moment. I swear that I won’t go into Stone without you.” 

  His brother looked skeptical but he nodded and allowed Aegon to stand from where they had been seated, leaving him and Val to get to know one another. Rickon might not know her as his sister, but they too shared a blood connection and right now, the pack was short a few members. He only wished that there were wolves enough for her and Daenerys whenever she made it back to Westeros but that might never be the case again. 

  Walking back toward where the Magnar stood beside the woman Rickon had called Osha, Aegon sighed. It was clear why they were concerned with his fitness to care for Rickon. Any person who didn’t understand his little brothers bond with his wolf would be a threat to him. On Skagos they could contain Rickon’s abilities, but back on the mainland? South of the wall, people still considered those with the ability to warg or skin change as abominations. 

  “How did you do that—that thing you did with your wolf?” Osha asked, tightening her grip on the babe.

  “I think you already know the answer to that. How long has he been like this?” 

  “Since the little princelings brother and mother went south, maybe longer. Got worse after Lord Bran sent us away. He’s been inside his wolfs head on and off for more than a fortnight though. When he manages to stay awake long enough, he talks about the white wolf with eyes like fire. The one who brings the wolf with wings.”

  “He needs to come home with me, I know that you have been caring for him for longer than I’ve been present in his life, but his bond with Shaggydog is going to consume him without an alpha to help tame his urgings. I will do this task that you have set for me, but first I would like to see this Kneeler you spoke of, if you would be so kind as to send for him.” He turned his attention back toward the Magnar.

  “From you, I would know more about my task and how long you expect that it should take.” Osha translated his words back to the Magnar and then she summoned someone to go and bring the Kneeler to them. 

  About an hour later, Aegon was unstrapping his sword belt and handing Longclaw over to Val for safe Keeping. The Magnar said that he could not enter Stone armed, that if he should pass this test, no weapon would be there to solve the problem. Apparently failure meant death, none had ever returned from a failed attempt at this sacred rite. This had been the reason for Rickon’s reaction earlier… he realized.

  In place of his sword, the Magnar gave him a curved dagger made of Dragonglass and a long barb tipped whip that looked like it had been passed down amongst their people for generations. Melisandre warned him that the further into the mountain he went, the hotter it would become, so he removed his cloak and doublet as well. The last thing he was given was an unlit torch for when he was on his own inside Stone.

  Once he was all set, he walked back to Rickon and extended his hand out for his brother to take. “I’m ready to go, are you still willing to take me? I fear I cannot do this alone.”

  His words seemed to give his little brother courage because he stood up and straightened his back. “I’m ready.” He turned to address both wolves. “Come on Shaggydog, Ghost. We gotta take our brother to Stone, he needs us to be strong so he will come back to us, so don’t run off.” Rickon warned.

  Aegon chuckled quietly to himself. His little brother would make a fine Lord when the time came to take control of the North. All he would need is a little patience and to be reintroduced to his lessons and maybe someone to help him master his ability and give him a reason to not hide away inside his wolves mind.

  The Magnar led the way through the massive cavern that they had built their fastnesses from. The passage ran through the heart of the mountain in what seemed to be a straight line. Any incline or decline was so minute that it hardly registered as significant. Eventually the tunnel opened up revealing a rickety rope bridge linking one mountain pass to the next. 

   “This is as far as we go, you must take the bridge into Stone, and from there you must follow the path that will bring you to face your trial.” The Magnar said, blocking the path ahead so that Rickon would not attempt to pass. 

  Aegon turned back to his little brother, then found Val and Melisandre and Leathers. “You all know what I require. This shan’t take any longer than need be. Keep your fire lit and if Rickon should have need of an answer, you will give it the moment you have one. No matter what happens, are we understood?”

  “You have my word, Your Grace. The little prince will not be alone while you are gone, and I will make sure all his curiosities are tended.” Melisandre returned. 

  “Do not be cruel to Ser Davos, but do not tell him more than necessary. I can’t know his mind until we know more of Stannis. And send word to Castle Black for Edd and Lady Maege if you would.”

  The Red Woman nodded her assent. “I will take care of all that you ask. Remember, you are the song of ice and fire. Only you can wake the dragon from Stone.”

  Lastly, Aegon knelt down to address Rickon one last time. “Remember what I told you, I will always come back for you. If you get worried, find Val, or the Red Woman, they can help you, and make sure you can find me. But I want you to have faith in Ghost as well, he will be the first to tell you if I need help, won’t you Ghost?”

  Ghost jerked his head to the side at the mention of his name and then he nipped at Rickon lovingly, signaling for him to come away from the bridge so that Aegon could begin his mission. 

  Before he went, Shaggydog approached and whined against his palm, relaying all the things Rickon refused to give voice to. Aegon reached out for his brothers black wolf and ruffled the fur behind his head. “Don’t worry boy, we’re a pack and I’m coming back so that we can find Nymeria.”

  At the mention of her name a shiver went down his spine and both wolves lifted their heads and called out long and loud. Not so much Ghost, but the fact that he never made a sound never stopped him from calling out to his pack regardless. Rickon found him and he could tell that he could sense the same thing as their wolves. Nymeria was calling out to them, letting them know that they were not alone, and somehow the message was well received as Aegon watched his little brother physically relax. This was a sign, one that confirmed that all would be well. Before he changed his mind, Aegon turned away from his group and braced himself for what was to come. 

  The way across the rope bridge was treacherous, and more than once it occurred to him that he might be blown off by the force of the wind. He was at least three hundred feet above the ground, with nothing to ensure that he would not be sent falling to his death. The ropes held though, in spite of what Aegon had believed and soon he found himself across the gorge, standing at the entrance of a natural cavern that was hidden within the mountain peak. 

  Inside the air was humid and it stank of sulfur and smoke, but he had expected nothing less from the inside of a volcano. There were many smaller caverns and tunnels that branched off the path that he was walking, but the Magnar had been clear. He should stay on the same path no matter what. His warning hadn’t mattered anyway. He could feel somewhere inside him the thread linking him to his destination. A pull that overrode every other thought or curiosity. 

  Inside the mountain, there was nothing that moved, save the occasional bat that managed to find a dark crevice to occupy, still he journeyed on. When it started to become so dark that he could not see in front of him further than a few feet, Aegon pulled out the torch that the Magnar had given him and used some flint to light it before continuing on in his descent. 

  After a while, the path began to widen and the walls began to take on a new appearance. Where once they were black and rough, now they were veined in a shining black rock that he knew to be obsidian. This confirmed the inventory records that Sam had uncovered in the library at Castle Black. And if there was indeed a dragon’s lair somewhere inside Stone, that would explain why they had long since stopped their trade of glass and unicorn horns. 

  The heat did indeed rise, the further he descended, but for some reason Aegon found it tolerable. Something he was sure would have been impossible in his first life. Fire and Blood those are the words of his father's House, yet Aegon knew that Winter was Coming. Perhaps it was his mother's blood that allowed him to acclimate to both environments the way that he can, or perhaps it's due to R’hllor restoring him to life and his fire is burning within him as Melisandre had claimed. He couldn’t say either way, but as he continued on, he felt a sense of calm wash over him. 

  He was close… very close. Aegon closed his eyes and listened to the silence. The hairs on his arms and the back of his neck began to rise. The heat inside the cavern started to grow and further up, he can hear the faint thrumming of a beating heart.

  Reflexively his hands closed around the dagger and the whip that the Magnar had given him and then he thought better of it. Melisandre had claimed that he already had everything he needed inside of him and the hand he burned would wield Lightbringer. Instead of grabbing the whip, Aegon removed his leather glove and tucked it into his belt.

  He took a moment to examine his old scar… ice and fire… this time, when he reached, it was for the dragonglass dagger. He slid the sharpened edge across his palm and then resheathed it, allowing the blood from his wound a moment to well up. Then he pulled the whip and he uncoiled it. Running his hand along the lower strands, careful not to mangle his hand on the sharp barbed tips. 

  Fire and blood…  

  Aegon took his next step toward the entrance of the cavern he felt calling to him. Rather than using his own eyes, he used his senses, in one hand, he held the torch, in the other the whip. His palm continued to spill blood which was either absorbed into the floor or the leather of the whip. 

  His foot brushed against something hard and he heard it scrape across the stone floor. And then he heard something else. Aegon’s eyes opened, and in front of him was nothing but a black wall. He looked down to see what he had disturbed and he found the remnants of melted horns and bones. There were quite a few bones that he could not recognize, but if he had any inclination of what he was seeing, it looked as if the Magnar and his people were sending animals down here whenever they could manage it. There even appeared to be some that could be human. There were hollow stone pieces strewn around the chamber, but this did not surprise him in the slightest. Especially given what he expected to be lairing down here. 

  Aegon turned in a slow circle searching for the source of the disturbance but was met by the same black wall as before. And then the heat was above him and he slowly angled his head upward. 

   Old Gods, do not abandon me in this time of need. R’hllor give my second life a purpose. 

   He dropped the torch and slowly stepped back toward the exit. He wasn’t going anywhere, but he couldn’t make contact while his head was craned upward. 

  The dragon's eyes were pools of pitch that mirrored the shadows it’s large body cast around the chamber, and his scale was black as coal. He was enormous. What Aegon originally thought to be a wall was in fact the dragons massive body. He had no idea how to proceed… but for some reason, neither did the dragon in front of him. 

  His massive jaws opened wide, and his black teeth shone like daggers, though far larger than his entire body. But instead of spewing flame through his open mouth, his tongue snaked out, like it was tasting the air. Aegon felt something shift and he dropped the whip and took a hesitant step. 

  The dragon reared back and let out a warning screech, so he paused and considered another approach. Everything he had learned about dragons in his life either came from Arya or his limited studies with maester Luwin, but over the journey from Castle Black, Melisandre told him of everything she had ever heard or read or seen in the flames.

  It was because of this that he knew that there has never been a warg who was able to share the skin of a dragon…but Aegon wondered if it was impossible or whether it was just never before attempted. He had never forced himself into Ghosts mind, yet he found that his wolf invited him in willingly. Both species were creatures born of magic, and are incredibly intelligent and free thinking, as long as Aegon respected that he couldn't imagine why one should be impossible while the other can be actualized.

  He raised his palm outward, in the same manner that he had done earlier with Shaggydog. This time though, he also reached out with his mind. There was a familiar thread that Aegon knew would lead him back to Ghost, and through Ghost, he would also find Shaggy and Nymeria, but Melisandre told him that he needed to leave Ghost behind, so Aegon turned his mind away from that thread and continued to reach until he felt the first touch of flames brush back against his own consciousness, testing it's boundaries the way he was trying to do in turn.

  He decided to begin his introduction here…start slow. “I’m not here to harm you or take what is not mine,  I come because I need you. Because someone told me that it was my destiny to find you and reintroduce you to my kind. The truth is, I would not come for such trivial reasons, I came for my brother, and because the gods saw fit to return me from death in order to fight a war against the Others.”

   The heat in his mind increased, and Aegon felt something shift on the other end so he kept talking, kept sending his thoughts toward the thread that was building in its intensity…

  “The men on this island require that I enter your lair and interrupt your slumber, as do the gods, both of this land and from lands far away. Either way it would seem that you and I were meant to cross paths. For I cannot bring my brother home to his pack if I fail to return from my journey to find you.”

  The dragon stirred, both physically and against the bond and then he felt it brush back against his link. “You smell different and look different from the ones who have tried before you. Why is that?”

  The voice was not spoken through words, but Aegon could sense the intent. “My blood is both of this land and of lands long gone from our world. My mother's blood has ruled these lands longer than any other and my father's blood United the lands of Westeros into a single Realm.”

  The dragons massive head pushed forward, its huge black eyes looked like two giant pools. “Yes, I can see it in you. The blood of winter and fire… if I accept you as my rider, what would you do with the power you would wield?”

   Aegon didn’t have to consider his answer. “I would bring fire and blood to those who would harm me or my loved ones. Including the Army of the Dead. I would claim my birthright and unite the realm under a ruler who will put focus on what truly matters. I would take my loved ones home.”

   The dragon was so close now that Aegon could smell the sulfuric stench permeating out of it's massive maw. “That's all? You would not seek more power? Conquer cities? Force people to do your bidding? Why stop with Westeros?”

  “I don’t crave power, I reach for it now because without someone to focus the realm on what is truly important, the rest of humanity, the remainder of all life upon this earth, will be forfeit. We will all be mindless slaves if I don’t step up and take back the throne that my family foolishly squandered away.” Aegon explained.

   “As I said before, you smell different,” came the dragon’s reply. Without warning the dragon’s giant black snout was pressed against his palm allowing his blood to smear over his rough scales. When the dragon pulled away, Aegon could see a tint of crimson and indigo tinting it’s eyes before they settled on a vibrant, almost poisonous green. Colors that definitely had not been there before. When he looked back at his hand, it was no longer bleeding, his wound somehow appeared to be cauterized and it took on a rough scaled texture. When he clenched it, however, it felt as it always had, as if it had never been injured in the first place. He stared back at the dragon in wonder...

  It lifted its head and sucked in a deep breath and released a roar that sent stone crumbling from above his head and then it clambered around toward where Aegon had just been standing, revealing the wall that it had been blocking, which as it turned out was not a wall at all, but the entrance to its lair. He took a step forward on impulse, but the dragons thoughts brushed through his mind without warning.

   “Come, let us go hunt and find your brother. They will follow.” He felt a nudge at his back and turned on impulse, only to find that the dragon had lowered its head and wing to allow him to climb up.

  With a deep breath, Aegon braced himself for what was to come and then he moved to climb up the dragons massive wing. “I’ve never done this before, where am I supposed to sit?”

  “This will be a first for us both. Move up my neck and grip my spikes tightly.” Images of past riders flashed through his mind, showing that even long ago, this was how it was done.

  Following this example, Aegon did as he was bid and once he was sure that there was no better place to hold on to he gave the dragon his all clear. 

  Up they went, it’s massive wings gripping at the side of the inner cavern before it's feet dug into the walls and then they were climbing up into the darkness. Far faster than when he had taken the trip down, and then the cavern leveled out and Aegon found them clambering toward an opening in the face of the mountain, somewhere near the summit. “If you fall, you will die. Do not fall young dragon.” And then they were diving, wings tucked in tightly at the dragons side. Aegon leaned forward, moving with the force of their fall, allowing the dragons head crest to shield his face from the merciless wind that would be sure to knock him from his seat atop the dragon's neck. 

  The heat of this great creature radiated off of it in waves, shielding him from what Aegon was certain would be cold shock. Without warning, giant wings pulled away from its sides and spread wide catching the current and pulling them up quickly into a level position and then, somewhere high up above he saw for the first time, the cause of the lights that were seen from the deck of the ship that had brought them to the island. 

   “Is there a name that you are called? I have no wish to offend, but I keep thinking of you as the dragon. Is there something you prefer.” 

  “Your kind love naming things. There is no need for ones such as us to take a name, our way of communication is not dependent on verbal commands. But the ones from before did give me a name. Fools though they were. To think I would kill my kind for no other reason than hunger? No hatchling could ever sate my hunger… I was tending to the weyr… I was cutting away the infections brought on by Wyrms who still lair in the volcanic formations across the known world. I removed those of my kind that did not possess the strength it would take to survive.”

   Aegon thought he understood what the dragon was trying to explain… “You were a gardner, you culled your herd to protect them, and they named you Cannibal. That is what you’re trying to tell me, isn’t it?”

   The dragon let out a loud bellowing roar, that was followed by a series of shrieks that sounded like claps of thunder against the whipping winds. When he looked up again the bright lights turned into diving shapes that were chasing after them. His eyes went wide in shock. “How many are there?” 

  “There’s no way to know, my kind thrives in fire. I suspect that there are many still warming the earth's core, but there are more than a few here, lairing beside me. Or they were lairing beside me.” Came the reply. 

   “What will happen to them now? If you fly with me into battle, will they remain here without you?”

   The Cannibal banked right in a wide arch, turning them so that they could circle the island in search of prey. “They will come when called upon, and they will stay out of sight as they have done for many years before your arrival. We are not like our brothers who came from their old home, we were birthed by the earth's fires right here in this realm, before the ice came and froze most of the continent. We do not each choose an individual rider. We chose collectively one of your kind worthy to lead us. You are the first of your kind to be chosen of my kind since the first time the Others came, bringing death and winter in their wake.” 

   Their conversation was cut short by a sudden dive and then he felt the heat of Cannibal’s flame surge up it's throat, right before a stream of black fire erupted from its jaws and engulfed a huge mountain ram that was slowly trying to make its way down the mountain slope. Before it could tumble downward, Cannibal swept down and snatched it's burning carcas off the mountainside and then angled back toward Stone where he could hear the calls of the other dragons reaching out for their leader. 

   “Your wrong, you’re their leader, they are calling for you.” Cannibal replied, answering the thoughts he hadn’t spoken aloud. 

  What Cannibal was telling him went against everything he had ever learned about dragons. How could he command an entire weyr? Dragons only took one rider at a time, based on all the information he had ever learned about his father's ancestors and their own dragons.

   “You might never mount another dragon in your lifetime, I can’t see a reason that you would need to while I yet live, but the weyr will answer your call, just as I will answer your call. Now come, let us find this little one you are so desperate to bring back to your lair.” The tone that reverberated through Aegon’s mind made him think that the Cannibal thought it ridiculous that he would lair anywhere aside from where the dragon's laired, which made Aegon chuckle.

   The flight back took no time at all, but instead of circling around and flying back to Stone, Cannibal alighted atop the mountain that linked the Skagosi to Stone, then slowly, it pushed itself down and into the outer yard, dropping the still steaming carcass of the Ram that it had been clutching inside it's talons, so he could stand steadily on its own feet. 

  Once they were on level ground, Aegon waited for Cannibal to lower his head, and then he jumped off, earning a loud roar that shook the mountains foundation and caused debris to slide down the cliff face and gather in the outer yard. 

  Within moments, the doorways were full of bodies. The Skagosi had come out in numbers to witness the dragons of Stone come out for the first time in what must have been hundreds of years. 

  He found the Magnar standing beside the woman Osha and beside them, Val, Rickon, the Lady Melisandre and the rest of them. Rickon did not even take a moment to register the scene before he came bursting out into the cold, Ghost and Shaggy close on his heels. 

  Cannibal reared back at seeing the two Direwolves and puffed black smoke. “You humans keep strange pets, what are these hairy things?”

   “They aren’t pets, they are familiars. You said I smell different, it’s because I’m a warg. So is my brother… the Red Woman believes that it's the blood of my mother, combined with the blood of my father that made it so I could wake you from your slumber inside Stone. Ghost is just as much a part of me as you are, please do not eat him or his pack. I fear what might happen to me if I lose him.”

   Cannibal rumbled lowly. “Don’t be ridiculous, you’re a dragon. Nothing will happen to you. I won’t eat them, but they must hunt for themselves.”

  Aegon chuckled. “You needn’t worry, I do believe my wolf prefers the taste of fresh blood.”

   Cannibal shivered through their bond at the mere thought of raw meat. “How archaic.”

   Aegon chose to ignore the barb aimed at his wolf, he also did not point out that if the situation called for it, Ghost would happily hunt for Cannibal. Instead he asked something else.

  “If I enter the mountain with the others, will you still be here when I return?”

  “It’s possible, though I’ll likely return to my lair. Call for me, or reach through our link. We are bonded now, there is no distance that can separate you from me or me from you, as long as you don’t go North, beyond the Ice Wall. Our bond cannot penetrate the magic that keeps fire and ice from mixing.” Cannibal responded. 

  That was as good an answer as he was like to receive, and even though the thought of Cannibal leaving made him worry, knowing that he didn’t have to traverse Stone whenever he wanted to make contact, was a small comfort. 

  With one last glance back in Cannibal’s direction, Aegon made his way back over to Rickon and he pulled his little brother up into his arms and mussed his auburn curls again. He could see the worry written all over his face and the tracks on his cheeks where tears had been allowed to dry. 

  “Were you terribly worried about me?” Aegon asked. 

  Rickon nodded his head in confirmation and then buried his face in between Aegon's shoulder and neck. He could feel the calming storm of his little brothers emotions and he pulled Rickon tighter into him.

  “Hey now, I told you that I would be back, I promised you I would. Did Ghost stay with you?”

  It took him a moment to respond, and when he did, his voice was no more than a mumbled whisper. “He did, but then we heard the dragon and I thought that you got hurt. After, Ghost started pacing and then you were here.” Rickon sniffled.

  Aegon started walking toward the Magnar and the rest of his people. “Is that really a dragon?” He heard Rickon mumble.

  Aegon nodded his head. “It is. The Cannibal actually. He’s been in Westeros a very long time, and maybe on our way home, I can tell you everything I can remember about him.”

  Rickon pulled back so he could get a better look at Aegon's face. “You mean it? I get to come home with you and Ghost? With the pack?”

  Aegon smiled genuinely.  “Aye, and Nymeria too. But we have plenty of time to work out the details. First I need to speak with the Magnar and Osha and you need to get some rest. After, we can make plans to sail home to the mainland.”

  Rickon mulled over his words for a moment then nodded once. “Can I bring Black Horse?”

  “Black Horse?” Aegon questioned.

  Rickon nodded enthusiastically. “My horse! Magnar gave him to me, and I want to bring him home with me.”

  “We can get you a horse on the mainland Rickon, it would be much easier than transporting it across the Bay of Seals.”

  Rickon’s face crumpled. “But, Black Horse is my friend, just like Shaggydog.” 

  Aegon could see that this was something his brother had quite convinced himself that he couldn’t live without. 

  “You mean that you can see through his eyes like you do with shaggy?”

  Rickon’s eyes went wide with realization. “You know?”

  “I do, I see with Ghost’s eyes sometimes. And if I try really hard, I think I can see with Cannibals eyes too. Have you been keeping this a secret?”

  “Maester Luwin and Osha said not to tell anyone. They said that it’s not something people like and that someone might make me feel like an outcast.” Rickon confessed. 

  Aegon nodded his understanding, all the while he rubbed soothing circles into Rickons back. “Sounds like not having someone to talk about it with has made you sad. But you’re not alone, I know a few people who can see through the eyes of other animals. A few who live among the Freefolk, and Arya too. When we get her back, she and Nymeria can help you and shaggy. Hmm? But for now, if you need to talk about anything, you can talk to me, or Val, or even Tormund. They will know how to listen, they will know how to help.”

  “Okay, but—what about Black Horse?” Rickon asked, not letting go of the original question.

  “I can’t very well leave Black Horse here without you, can I?” Aegon chuckled. 

  His little brother squeezed him tighter, “Thank you! Can you let me down so I can go tell Shaggy and Black Horse the news?”

  “Sure thing.” Aegon said, smiling. He set his brother down a few feet away from the entrance of the Fastness and ruffled his unruly locks before turning back to the assembled group. 

  “It would seem that I’ve passed your trial, perhaps we should speak about the conditions of my brothers return?” 

   “I have called the other leaders and their clans to come feast the White Wolf. Come and I will treat with you.” The Magnar said, beckoning him within. 

Chapter Text

  That night, Arya made camp beneath the Hollow Hill, in the company of the Brotherhood, who had chosen to follow her mother as well as the two who were currently traveling beside her. 

  Gendry had tried many times to get her alone long enough for a conversation, but she didn’t have words for him. Not with everything else that was going on in her life. The two girls who Gendry had been standing beside when they arrived, watched Arya with scrutinizing eyes. It didn’t bother her though, let them stare. 

  After her mother had given her the three names she’d requested, Arya excused herself to go and speak with Jaqen and the rest of them. Namely Jaime Lannister. She wanted to get the measure of him, figure out what to expect from him once they arrived at the Twins. 

  She found the three of them huddled together around a fire, Ser Jaime and the Lady Brienne were hardly speaking and the other one looked as if he was torn between the two of them, not sure who he should be more loyal to. All three stood, the moment they saw her approach.

  “Please, don’t stand for me. I haven’t come for that at any rate.” Arya said, motioning for them to all sit back down. 

   The Lady Brienne shuffled nervously on her feet, and Ser Jaime watched her skeptically, but neither moved to reclaim their seats. Arya moved toward the fire and sat, hoping that they would take the hint and join her. Ironically, it was the younger boy who joined her first. 

  Rather than wait for them to figure out the next move, Arya broke the silence. “Tomorrow, the four of us will ride for the Twins. I’m not asking for your compliance, it’s not negotiable.” 

  They both sat the moment she was done, and she could see the look of disbelief on Brienne’s face. “Forgive me, my Lady, but how do you expect us to help you gain access to the Twins?”

  Arya fixed her with a pointed look. “In truth I don’t need you or your friend. I only need the Kingslayer. But, since I saved all three of you…” 

  “Since you saved all three of us?” Ser Jaime interrupted cynically. 

   She looked at him and smiled wolfishly. “They will stay with my mother and the rest of the Brotherhood, while you escort me and my friend inside the Twins as members of your army. Once we are inside, you only need to do what you would have done following your victory. You will write to Lord Frey, letting him know of your success, and to inform him that you will be coming yourself to discuss the crowns business with him. I want every one of his sons and male kin in attendance. This will be how you will repay your debt to me.”

  “And after that?” The Kingslayer enquired.

  “You will all be free to go your own separate ways…” she paused, wondering what path the Kingslayer would choose, so she decided to ask.

  “Tell me, Ser Jaime… where will you go once you’ve fulfilled your obligations to me and my family?”

  He looked at her for a moment, confusion flitted across his face. This man was not the man that she had met long ago in Winterfell, he was not the man that had brazenly attacked her father in the streets of King's Landing. He seemed beaten, broken, and mayhap a bit lost.

  “The truth is, I’m not sure why you even bothered saving me. I suppose if I truly do survive I don’t have any idea where I’ll go. I’m not going back to King's Landing, that much I’m sure of. I suppose Casterly Rock is always an option, but I’m positive that my Uncle Kevan plans to send Cersei back to the Rock, at least he will try to, once her trial is over.”

  This caught her attention. “Trial?”

  The Kingslayer nodded his head forlornly. “My sister armed the Faith Militant and arranged for Tommen’s new Queen to be taken into the Faiths custody on charges of lewdness, fornication, adultery and high treason while she was visiting the Great Sept on Maidens Day. Unfortunately for my sister, accusations were also made about her, in regards to the paternity of our sons among all her other misdeeds and she too was taken into the Faiths custody. Last I heard of her, she needed a champion to fight for her innocence, one that must be a sworn member of the Kingsguard, naturally she thought to summon me, but after learning many unsavory truths about our personal circumstances, I declined.” His eyes moved in the direction of Lady Brienne and then he added, “And then I was approached by Lady Brienne and the rest is history… she betrayed me to save Pod from your mother's wrath, all because he was foolish enough to befriend my imp of a brother and care enough to go in search of him and your Lady Sister.”

  Arya took a moment to process his words, she had heard nothing about the state of King's Landing aside from the fate of Joffrey Baratheon and of course, the royal envoy who had sailed to Braavos to meet with the Iron Bank. She certainly hadn’t expected Ser Jaime to confess that he was at odds with his twin. The truth was, Cersei was still on her list, and once she sees to Jon she has every intention to come back south for the lioness and her henchmen, Ser Ilyn. 

  “What would you say if I told you that your sweet sister is on my list?”

  The Kingslayer looked at her confused. “Your list?”

  “Cersei, Joffrey, the Mountain, Ser Ilyn—,” she paused as Ser Jaime’s eyes went wide. “Meryn Trant, Raff the Sweetling, Amory Lorch, Dunsen, Chiswyck, Polliver, there were more. Valar Morghulis.” She shrugged.

  The three of them stared at her open mouthed for a few moments before Ser Jaime finally spoke up. “What does your list mean for Cersei?”

  “I have offered her name to the Many Faced God, her life is forfeit, it’s simply a matter of time for her. And no, there is nothing that you can do to save her from her fate.” 

  Arya never broke eye contact with him, she was not the scared little girl that had been forced into running. The same girl who went to the Great Sept of Baylor expecting to see her father be pardoned from any wrongdoing, even after he had been betrayed. 

  Arya had never mourned the girl who Yoren killed in the streets of Flea Bottom, nor the girl who died again in the tunnel beneath the Lords Tower as it burned along with the town by the Gods Eye. Whatever remained of that girl after Harrenhal, the Brotherhood and the Twins was sacrificed in Braavos, across the salt sea, surrounded by mists and thick fog. 

  “What am I supposed to say about such a confession? I wish I could hate you for wishing ill of my twin, but I’ve come to realize that she is the worst part of me. I understand the need for closure, you certainly deserve it. I have no intent to return to her either way. Perhaps you should find a way to champion the faith, you might get to cross her name off sooner than you thought.” 

  Arya stood and nodded, he hadn’t lied. Cersei must have betrayed him as well… “Be ready to depart at first light. I’ll be sure to have someone bring you all your personal items. And someone will come to bring you food.”

  The Kingslayer shared a nervous look between the Lady Brienne and herself. And then took a hesitant step in her direction. “Lady Arya?”

  She raised a warning brow at him. “Just Arya, or did you forget that your family saw fit to give away my family’s ancestral seat?”

  Ser Jaime stopped and ran his good hand through his dirty golden hair. “Of course, my apologies, I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  “You didn’t. I just prefer to not be so formal, I’m just Arya.”

  “As you wish, just Arya.” He grinned lopsidedly at her. Too familiar…

  “Was there something else you wanted to say?”

  Ser Jaime looked down, as if he were finding his courage, after a moment he looked up and met her eye to eye and nodded. 

  “I have your father's sword, I mean, we have your father's sword.”

  Arya felt her knees go weak and for a moment, she almost felt the world as it spun off its axis. “You have my fathers—how?”

  “My father, he was a terrible person and he always wanted Valyrian Steel for his House. After Ser Ilyn,” Again he paused at the mention of Ilyn Payne and then she saw as realization dawned on him as to why the mute man was on her list.

  “Please continue. After Ser Ilyn?” She wanted to hear what he had to say more than almost anything else in the world, especially in that moment. 

  “After Ser Ilyn was commanded to execute your father, the sword was allowed to remain in his possession. At least until my father defeated Stannis’ army on the Blackwater. After, my father commissioned Tobho Mott to have the sword melted down and made into two almost identical blades. One was gifted to me, which I then gifted to Brienne when I charged her with finding and protecting my good-sister, your sister, Sansa.”

 “And the other?”

  “The other was gifted to Joffrey at his wedding feast. The same day he was poisoned and died. I carried it with me when I left King's Landing.”

  She thought about this… his words still rattling around in her brain. They had decapitated her father and then did the same with Ice. They had broken it into two, could they put it back together? 

  “Did you rename the blades?” 

  All the best swords have names… like ice..? 

   “Joffrey and Brienne have renamed them.”

  “And..?”

  “The larger of the two is Oathkeeper. For the oaths that we both swore to your mother. The smaller of the two was named Widow's Wail.”

  Arya nodded once, she couldn’t speak. Instead, she turned away from the three of them and made her way out into the night air. If she fell apart, she would do so in a place where no one could hear her pain. 

  Nymeria fell in beside her immediately, and then a few more of the smaller wolves joined her. Arya didn’t walk far, just inside the tree line until she came upon a huge oak tree that she could disappear behind. She was still sliding to the ground when she felt the first tear fall. 

  Westeros had taken everything from her… her father, her brothers, Sansa… it even claimed Ice. The only thing that it’s given back are Nymeria and her list. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell, but she was the only one left of her pack. 

  The burden seemed much heavier in this moment, the pain almost insurmountable. 

  “A girl seems like she is drifting.” Jaqen said, announcing his arrival. 

  Arya quickly wiped away the tears that were lingering. “Sometimes a girl feels like she might.” She confessed weakly.

  She felt him lower himself to the ground beside her, but he didn’t reply right away. 

  “A girl is allowed to feel the weight of her burdens. A man can see, and a girl seems unsure in her path.”

  Arya shook her head, denying his implication. “I’m not unsure, I just need to be reminded what the goal is. What happens when I have no more list? When I have avenged my family and killed all those who have wronged me or them? Will I become like my mother? Have I already? I feel as broken as my father's sword.”

  “A man cannot answer these questions, not all of them. But he might be able to help a girl understand the situation with her mother.”

  “She can’t stay as she is, you don’t have to tell me this.”

  Jaqen turned to her, a remorseful look on his face. “A man is sorry that a girl must lose her mother twice. Every day that she remains here, is another day that she suffers.”

  Arya knew a part of this as well. “It’s not really her anyway. Everything that was my mother, died at the Twins. All that she is now, is agony and pain and vengeance. I know that I must end this curse of a second life for her, I just can’t bear the thought that she will hate me in death and curse me for a kinslayer. I don’t want to disappoint her again.”

  “A girl will not. A girl will give her mother three names, and He of Many Faces will ask for many more. Even Death cannot abide by the breaking of Guest Right and he has asked for justice to be served.”

  Arya lifted her head to look in Jaqen’s direction, shocked by this confession. “All of them?”

  “All of the ones who took part in the mutiny.”

  “Very well.” She sighed. “We have quite the journey ahead of us on the morrow. Perhaps we should find a place to get our rest.” 

  “A man will find a girl in a little while, the night is yet young.”

  Arya nodded and then got to her feet, “Come Nymeria, let’s go find a place to bed down. You can keep watch.” Her wolf huffed, but got up and followed anyway, and the two of them made their way back to the Hollow Hill. 

  The following morning the entire group saddled up and prepared to ride north toward the Twins and Pennytree Hall where Ser Jaime was last with his armies. Though given the length of time he had been with the Brotherhood, Arya was certain that the Lannister Army was already moving toward Riverrun if they weren’t there already. 

  The Brotherhood gave their word that they would not play vigilante on the way, this way they could move about without head hunters attacking them on their journey. It was bold enough that Ser Jaime went missing and would be returning with more men than he had when he went awol. 

  The two girls who had been with Gendry the previous day would not be traveling with them, and a few of the children as well. However, Gendry himself had been armored and mounted before almost everyone else. It was Jaqen who had pointed him out to her.

  “A man has noticed the blacksmith watching a girl’s every move.” Jaqen said, half way through the day following their departure.

  Arya snorted, “The blacksmith can continue to watch. I don’t have the time to deal with him.”

  Jaqen arched a brow. “A boy was once like family to a girl, or has she forgotten that she gave a man his own name in hopes that he would grant her three lives in exchange for one?”

  Arya felt her mood sour. “A girl has not forgotten. And a boy did not want to be Arya Starks family, no matter how  badly she wished it to be otherwise.” They dropped the subject after that. 

  Five days following their departure from the Hollow Hill, they received word that the Lannister Army had indeed made camp near Riverrun. So, Arya quickly used her ability to skin change and found two ravens that she could use to send a message off to Jaime’s forces and another she could send to the Twins letting Walder Frey know that they will be coming to discuss their victory and the expectations of the Crown. 

  Once they got near enough to Riverrun, Arya, Jaqen and Ser Jaime would separate away from the main group to go meet up with the rest of the Lannister forces. Arya would pose as a camp follower, while Jaqen would take up the identity of a Lannister Captain. From there they would travel with the bulk of the forces toward the Twins. 

  The night before they parted ways with her mother and the rest of the group, Gendry finally managed to catch her before she entered her tent.

  “Arry wait, why won’t you speak to me?” He called to her, as she was attempting to brush by him. 

  She stopped immediately and straightened her spine. She wasn’t angry with him, she just knew that look in his eyes, the one that spoke of regret, and longing. She had nothing to offer him, not comfort, not solace… all she had was her list and her mission, and Nymeria. 

  “I have a lot on my plate Gendry and not enough time to rehash what happened years ago. You chose the Brotherhood, I chose pain. I don’t wish to speak of the roads that we could have taken, I don’t need the reminders. My memory serves me well enough in this regard.”

  Gendry looked as if she had struck him with her reply but Arya couldn't allow herself to feel bad about being so blunt with him. 

  “We were friends Arya, you even asked me to be your family...”

  “Aye, we were friends. Perhaps the only true friend I have made since leaving Winterfell. As far as being my family, I was a foolish little girl who thought that she could get back what was lost, but I killed that girl at the Twins, the night I watched my brothers armies be slaughtered. What’s left of my family are wolves and walking corpses. You sure that you want to be a part of that? I think not. You made the right choice, staying with the Brotherhood when you did, because of that, you’re still alive.”

  He didn’t speak after that, at least not right away. “Let me make it up to you, let me come with you this time. You shouldn’t trust the Kingslayer, or the Lord of the Crossing. Or…”

  “Or Jaqen? Or is it Lord Edric that you’re against?” She raised a questioning eyebrow at him. 

  Gendry's cheeks reddened. “Don’t you think it strange that he’s been lurking around you ever since we left King's Landing with Yoren all those years ago?”

   Ah, so it was Jaqen...

  She had no need to consider the question. “I don’t. A man has protected me almost as well as the Hound did while I was traveling with him. He has taught me many things, and stood beside me when I had no one. He even protected you when you were determined to smith for the Lannister’s at Harrenhal, or have you forgotten?”

  “No, of course not,” 

  “Gendry, I’m not the little girl that you remember from so long ago. I don’t need you, or anyone else to protect me. I wish you would just say what it really is that you came here to say, so that I can go and get some sleep.” She said with exasperation.

  He seemed taken aback by her words and for a moment Arya thought Gendry might forget the whole thing and walk away but he surprised her yet again. 

  “You’ve never needed anyone to protect you. You want to know what I came to say, fine. I came here because I wanted to know why you won’t speak to me, I wanted to know if there was something that I did to make you hate me. I came because—because I wanted to apologize for Jeyne’s cutting looks in your direction.”

  “Jeyne? So that’s her name… and why should I care about her? As for the rest, I think we have already addressed those points. If there’s nothing else.” She said, moving to step passed him but his hand caught her arm and before she could react he spun her toward him and pressed his lips to hers. 

  Arya felt her whole body stiffen and her hand reached for the dagger at her waist. Gendry's lips were soft and careful. He didn’t do any more than press his mouth against hers, but still, it was a violation. She waited for his hands to slacken and with careful movements she slid the dagger from her belt and positioned the tip at his throat.

  He pulled away when he felt the sharp metal tip, his brows creased in confusion, but all she could feel was indignation at his audacity. “I’m sorry, I just…”

  “You assume too much, never touch me without my permission ever again.” To back up her point, Nymeria stepped out of the darkness and a low growl blossomed inside her throat.

  Gendry stepped back on impulse, a horrified expression on his face, whether the horror was a result of his own actions, or her reaction to his behavior, she couldn’t say. 

  “Arry—, I didn’t mean to.” He said, attempting another apology. 

  “That’s not true,” he corrected himself, shaking his head. “I have wanted to kiss you ever since Acorn Hall, and I have regretted not doing so ever since. I can see clearly that you never saw me in such a way now, but I needed to know… I thought that maybe if I showed you how I felt, then maybe you wouldn’t hate me so much for not leaving with you. For not wanting to smith for your brother. You wanted me to be your family… but you were the closest thing to a family I had ever known. I wanted to be more than a play cousin, or close friend. I just didn’t know how to be both… a lowborn bastard apprentice, and the family of a highborn Lady who was planning to go and find her blood. You may have never looked down on me, but I still remember you thinking you weren't good enough for them. I know you feared being reunited with them because you had killed men and your clothing was dirty and your hair a mess. I remember the stories you told me about your brother Jon and how he was sent to the Wall, because your mother never liked him and wouldn’t allow him to stay after your father rode south to be King Robert's Hand.”

  Arya listened, of course her young mind hadn’t been able to grasp such concepts when she was slightly older than ten name days, she never even once thought about Gendry in such a manner. But a part of her realized that she had known. That she had seen the same look in his eyes back at Acorn Hall that she saw in his eyes just moments before he kissed her. It did not excuse the fact that he had assumed that he could kiss her without invitation, but she could understand his urgency. Nothing lasts… if she had understood this four years ago, Jon would have never made it out of her bedroom and she would have never gone south with her father. 

  Her posture relaxed a little and she gestured for him to follow her over toward the fire burning beside her tent. Once they were sitting, Arya took the time to clarify the extent of their relationship to him. 

  “Listen Gendry, I was a little girl back when we traveled together, it never occurred to me that you harbored such feelings for me back then. The truth was, you reminded me of Jon and I felt safe knowing that you were close. But that’s it, My feelings for you were that of a little sister. I can see now, why you decided to put distance between us. I asked something of you that would have been unfair. You deserve to be respected as an equal not as the bastard smith who Arya brought home. It was selfish of me to expect you to give up the chance to be apart of something rather than to expect you to go back to serving someone of higher birth. But the biggest issue here, is your feelings for me. I can’t be what you think you want. I’m not meant for such things, and even if I was, the only person my heart beats for is gone. My life is bound to his, in both this world and the next, I hope you can understand that.”

  Gendry looked crestfallen by her admission, but not angry. “Have I met him?”

  Arya shook her head. “Never.”

  “Would there have ever been a chance for me and you?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve loved him since the first day I was born, and him me. Even though I have only recently come to recognize these feelings for what they are. Now that he’s gone, I can’t put them aside.”

  Her answer didn’t seem to satisfy him, but he did not push her further. After that, they both sat outside her tent for a while longer. Arya asked him about the girl Jeyne, and Gendry told her about how her and her sister are running the Inn at the Crossroads, and have been taking in orphans who have been displaced by the wars. Based on his confession earlier, Arya quickly deduced that the girl had been jealous of her and Gendry’s past. 

  For his part, he did not deny it, though he would not admit that the two of them were more than friends. He apparently expected her to believe that he was too modest to admit such things. Like she would just forget the boy who had challenged her to whip out her cock and take a piss.

  When they finally parted company, it was on a more positive note, and Arya found that she was glad that he finally managed to corner her into speaking with him.

  The following morning, Arya dressed and made sure that the face of Mercy was carefully tucked away. Rather than find a new mount she waited for Jaqen to come to her and together, she and he went in search of the Kingslayer. 

  The ride for Riverrun passed in silence, but just before they entered the camp, Ser Jaime pulled his mount to a stop. 

  “Is something the matter?” Arya asked him. 

  Ser Jaime shook his head, “It's not that, but I do have something that I need to tell you before we go any further.”

  Arya nodded, “Go on.”

  Ser Jaime sighed deeply, and then ran his good hand nervously through his golden locks that were now clean and clear of dirt and grime. “Back at the Hollow Hill, you recited your list of names. Ilyn Payne was among them.”

  Arya could see where this was going, “He's in your camp isn’t he?”

  The man’s brows creased in suspicion. “How did you know that was what I was going to say. It could have been anyone else from that list of yours.”

  “Your facial expressions gave you away, both then and now. Why do you care that he is on my list anyway?” Arya asked.

  “Because,” Ser Jaime sighed, “after I lost my hand, I thought I had nothing to look forward to. Then Lady Brienne reminded me of why I became a knight in the first place. Once I returned to King's Landing, everything had changed. I found myself inside the White Sword Tower, and flipping through the White Book, which chronicled the deeds of the members of the Kingsguard. Only the Lord Commander is meant to write in the book. When I got to my page, I realized that the last person to write in the book was Ser Barristan Selmy.”

  He looked as if the memory still pained him, but his words were filled with nothing but truths. So, rather than interrupt, she nodded to confirm she was listening.

  The Kingslayer continued. “The passage was quite short. I can still see the words that were written as clear as day. Ser Jaime of House Lannister. Firstborn son of Lord Tywin and Lady Joanna of Casterly Rock. Served against the Kingswood Brotherhood as squire to Lord Summer Crakehall. Knighted in his 15th year by Ser Arthur Dayne of the Kingsguard, for valor in the field. Chosen for the Kingsguard in his 15th year by King Aerys II Targaryen. During the Sack of King's Landing, slew King Aerys II at the foot of the Iron Throne. Thereafter known as the "Kingslayer." Pardoned for his crime by King Robert I Baratheon. Served in the honor guard that brought his sister the Lady Cersei Lannister to King's Landing to wed King Robert. Champion in the tourney held at King's Landing on the occasion of their wedding. There was nothing that mentioned the real reason I murdered my king. And I realized for the first time that I would have to finish the rest on my own, but what could I write that would trump or negate what was already written in the hand of Ser Barristan the Bold? I lost my sword hand, and for a time I believed that I had lost my identity. My father gifted me with one half of your father's sword, and it was wasted on me. No matter how badly I wanted to be Arthur Dayne, at the end of the day I could no more wield with my left hand than I could regrow my right hand. To spite my father, I gave the sword to Brienne and the rest was history. At least until I was sent to the Riverlands by my sister.”

  “Why would a man’s sister send him away so soon after the loss of their father?” Jaqen intoned for the first time since Ser Jaime began. Arya thought it odd that he held such a keen interest in the soiled knight. 

  Ser Jaime looked at him, slightly confused by his question, she suspected that it was more due to the fact that Jaqen spoke at all, rather than it being due to the actual question. 

  “Because I allowed my brother to escape his death sentence and in doing so, I gave him the means to murder our father. Without Tywin Lannister, Cersei asked me to be Tommen's Hand and I refused, I’m a soldier, not a politician.” Ser Jaime explained. 

  Jaqen gave a curt nod but otherwise remained silent. 

  “So, you were sent here by your sister and Ilyn Payne was assigned to your detail…” Arya supplied.

  Ser Jaime inclined his head in confirmation. “And along the way I found myself awakening to some sad truths. Like the fact that I could no longer claim to be a soldier without my sword hand. I was too proud to allow anyone to see me struggle, my reputation with a sword would mean nothing if people found out that I was no longer capable of holding a proper sword with my left hand. But Ser Ilyn was there, he could not write, he could not speak...the Mad King saw to that. But he could wield a sword just as skillfully as the next person. I’m grateful to the man for sticking with me, and never taking pity on me. I even understand why you put him on your list, but I just want you to know that, Ser Ilyn did not kill your father out of hate, or foul play. He was following his orders, because that is what he has always done. Surely you can see who the real threat to your father was in that situation.”

  Again with more truths, she had much to consider. On the grand scale, Ser Ilyn had never gone out of his way to harm herself or her family, but then again, it could be argued that all the rest of them were simply following commands. Just as it could be argued that Ser Gregor and Ser Amory were following the orders of Lord Tywin, on the day Elia Martell and her children were murdered for their association to the crowned prince, Rhaegar.

  “I will consider your words, but I make no promise. If you want him to continue to draw breath, make sure he steers clear of me and in turn, I will make sure to do the same.” Arya finally agreed. The three of them continued on, slipping into the Lannister Camp before the sun fully broke over the horizon. 

  The commander's tent was easily found, situated in the heart of the camp. Even with Ser Jaime having gone awol, his subordinates would still make sure that his pavilion was prepared for him at all times. 

  They encountered a few men on their way through, but Arya said nothing. Instead, they allowed Ser Jaime to do the talking and eventually they would move on.

  After surveying the camp, it was clear that they had been preparing to march again, which meant that the Kingslayers raven was received and they would not have need to tarry long outside of Riverrun. 

  When they were finally inside the privacy of the commander's tent, Ser Jaime caught the two of them up with the current state of the camp. As it happened, the Lannister forces were ready to move out at his command, they had merely been awaiting his arrival following his missive. 

  By Arya’s estimation, it would take a few hours at best for everyone to be packed up and the first column ready to move out. So, once she had Ser Jaime’s full report, she took up a spot on the kingslayers cot and settled herself in for a nap. Knowing that the rest of the time that was spent in this location, Ser Jaime would be in the company of his lieutenants and Jaqen getting caught up to speed and putting on false airs for the benefit of those still loyal to the Queen. 

  She slept lightly, with Needle tucked tightly in her grip. By the time the camp was ready to move, Arya was already awake and ready to go. There had been a part of her who wanted to stalk through the camp beside the Golden Lion and Jaqen, but she had chosen the role of camp follower, and she knew that it would not go unremarked to see a young girl at Ser Jaime’s side. In fact, to see any girl or woman beside him would likely raise suspicions, so she had decided early on that she would pretend to be one of Jaqen’s followers. Which is why, when it was time to ride out, she was hefted up into the saddle in front of her mentor. 

  Over the following week, they made great progress toward the Twins. Each night she would find herself going over her plans, even though they changed every time. The biggest part, of course, was getting the Lord of the Crossing alone long enough to repay him for his treason. 

  On their third week following their departure from Riverrun, the Twins came into view. A dread chill passed over her, reminding her of the atrocities that had been committed against her family on those lands. Her determination to end the lives of the men who had violated her pack and the Gods only hardened.

  There were many people heading to the Twins, including the newly installed Lord of Riverrun, Emmon Frey, who fell into step beside the Kingslayer as they neared the western tower that would allow them access to the main keep. 

  “The old man called all of us back, said he wants to celebrate our victory over the Tully’s and the Starks, now that Riverrun is finally under our control. He said that he wants to feast to the Lannister/Frey alliance. He’s even thinking about taking another wife.” Lord Emmon was speaking animatedly to Ser Jaime, who looked like he wanted to be anywhere other than where he was. 

  Arya, on the other hand was quite eager to hear what was being said. If what she already knew of the Lord of the Crossing was to be believed, he had already taken eight wives and each of them was reported to be younger than the last. This was information that she could use to her advantage. 

  They were met at the gate by a number of men, who quickly informed Ser Jaime and the rest of the incoming Frey’s that Lord Walder would be receiving them in the East Tower at sundown to feast their victory and welcome them officially. 

  Much of the Lannister Army was to remain encamped outside, but there were quite a few Lords of the Westernlands and even some from the Riverlands who had entered with them and were given quarters in the Water Tower. 

  Arya used her training to the best of her ability while all of this went on. Remembering how her time at Harrenhal had turned her into a grey mouse, with the ability to conceal herself in all the many dark crannies, crevices and dark holes of the castle, allowing her to go unnoticed by the mighty men who could trample her under their feet if they thought that she was in their way. 

   Every hurt is a lesson, and every lesson makes you better… Harrenhal had been painful, so much was true, but it had also seasoned her. Those lessons, followed by the lessons she had received from the Brotherhood, the Hound, and the House of Black and White, would serve her well now. 

  When the Lord of the Crossing sent word to them that the celebrations would begin soon, Arya slipped into Mercy’s skin and quickly dressed in a plain serving gown that she had managed to steal while she moved about the keep. Ser Jaime and Jaqen already knew not to question her whereabouts, as they would not be seeing her during the first part of the feast. 

  The first person to find her was one of the Walders who was either a son or a grandson to the Lord of the Crossing. She feigned ignorance when he asked her where she was heading, and told him that she had gotten turned around while she was heading to the kitchens. 

  He eyed her lustily for a moment, and for a moment she considered pulling him into a dark alcove and ending him there and then but she thought better of it. Instead she allowed him to conduct her toward the kitchens, saying nothing while he groped at her along the way. 

   Before departing, she observed him speaking with the head cook, his eyes darted back and forth between herself and the cook before he went on his way. Shortly after she was informed that she was requested to serve the High Table which included the Lord of the keep and his honored guests. 

  Mercy made no attempt to question her orders, and silently joined the other women in completing their tasks. While they worked, the women spoke of the prisoners who were still residing within their cells. Edmure Tully who had been returned by Lord Emmon, the Greatjon Umber, and Marq Piper. The women spoke about how they expected Lady Roslin and her son to be leaving for Casterly Rock when the Kingslayer departed, along with Lord Edmure, though most believed that the Lord Frey would likely fight him on this. 

  She had no way of knowing what condition the aforementioned prisoners would be in, but she would not be leaving any of them behind when they left. 

  When it was finally time to begin the feast, Mercy had all the information she could possibly need. She made sure to keep the poison she brought with her close to her person. She intended to add it into the wine that would be served to the Frey men in attendance after the feast was well on its way. Ser Jaime was aware and had been informed to not consume anything other than water during the feast, and these orders were passed down to his own men who had been permitted to attend the “celebrations.”

  There were so many Frey men seated in the hall. All dressed similarly in varying shades of blue or silver grey, matching the colors on their banners. It wasn’t hard at all to differentiate between those who were not of Frey blood and those who were. 

  Up on the dais, the Lord of the Crossing was seated in the center, with his heir sitting to his right followed by his own heir, Ser Jaime sat on his left, followed by his own high lords, and the lords of the Riverlands. 

  Mercy played her part, being sure to keep her eyes downcast as to not draw unwanted attention. While she moved about the room, pouring wine for all the people seated at the high table, she listened closely to the conversations taking place. 

  “Three more were found hung about a fortnight past. Been there a while from the looks of it.” She heard one person say. 

  “Father said that things have been quiet for almost a moon turn, you sure that you have your information correct?” Another asked. They were talking about her mother's vengeance, yet none seemed to know who it was that was hunting men throughout the Riverlands. 

  Further down the table another conversation is taking place and Mercy found herself inching closer so that she could hear what was being said. 

  “Stannis Baratheon, they say that he’s camped west of Winterfell and he intends to take it back and award the castle to some wildling princess...” 

  “The Bolton’s hold the North, and almost all of the Houses have sworn them allegiance, ‘specially now that his naturalized son has married the Stark girl. The one that was s’pose to marry Elmar...” 

   Calm as still water… Mercy had to remind herself. 

  Her heart was thrumming wildly in her chest. This was the first that she had heard about the current state of the North since her arrival from Braavos. She had known about the Bolton’s taking residence at Winterfell, but she had heard nothing about someone pretending to be “Arya Stark” also being in Winterfell. Her eyes searched for the eyes of Ser Jaime. He had told her nothing about any of this, had he known? She was once more pulled from her thoughts as Lord Walder stood from his chair and called the room to order. 

  Mercy made her way from the dais and through the servants door. It was time. The poison she had chosen, took quite some time to take effect. Long enough to allow Lord Frey to get through his speech, and long enough for Arya Stark to make a speech of her own… she would save the Lord of the Crossing for last. 

   “The War of the Five Kings they called it, bah! There was only one King who truly mattered, and together, with the aid of the Crown and his Lord Hand, we Frey’s, aided by the Bolton’s were able to bring justice to our enemies. A boy King who played at war, filled with the arrogance of his grandfather and his bitch of a mother, we showed them all what happens when you break your word and renege on a promised payment. Family…Duty…Honor… the last living Tully rots in our dungeon, and the Starks rot in the earth! Do you know why?” The old lords voice had risen to carry across the hall. A chorus of “Ayes” called back. 

  “That’s right! Our success is a result of our words. “We stand Together!” And as long as we stand united with the crown, all of our enemies shall fall to our swords and for generations to come, the combined words of our alliance will be remembered and those who would rise against us will know what happens when; The Freys and the Lannisters send their regards.” Lord Walder looked to Ser Jaime and in a lower tone she heard him say, “We’re not too different, you and I. The two Kingslayers, heh?” 

  Ser Jaime recoiled away from the comparison, clearly taken aback by the situation. “Careful, I’ve killed men for saying less. Don’t be so foolish to assume that what you did here at a wedding feast was anywhere near as justified as my reasons for killing Aerys Targaryen.” 

  Mercy continued to pour the wine while the Old Lord traded words with Ser Jaime. Her attention was drawn away so she could observe the other serving women do the same. Each time a Lannister knight or a Lord from the Riverlands was approached, he would ask for water or Ale in its place. 

  They were a greedy bunch, so they never questioned why the others were so insistent on avoiding the wine. She assumed that most people would be hesitant to drink or feast with the Frey’s after her brother was betrayed here. Indeed, the Lords of the Riverlands looked like they would rather be anywhere other than here. 

  “You’re not one of mine?” The old lord pulled her from her thoughts when he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her toward him. “You’re too pretty to be one of mine. I bet your honey is nice and sweet, heh?”

  He wasn’t interested in her reply, so Mercy blushed slightly and dipped her head in subservience. A few seats down, she spied the same man from earlier eyeing her and the Lord of the Crossing and she quickly excused herself to continue pouring wine. 

  The merriment continued for quite a few hours, and while they drank, they danced and flirted, making their heart rate increase and allowing the poison to circulate through their bodies. Eventually many of Lord Walder’s guests excused themselves from the celebrations, in fact, most the Lannister men and some of the men from the Riverlands were all but gone. All aside from Ser Jaime. 

  His decision to stay was shocking to her, but something about him had started changing. He looked tense, toasting to the downfall of her brother and his men, now he just looked like he was waiting to see what would happen. 

  Mercy looked out to see the position of the moon, trying to gauge how long it would be until the poison started kicking in. Soon. With a last look toward Jaqen and the Kingslayer, Mercy had made her decision. 

  She made her way down the steps and picked up a glass that had only water in it. At the same time. Jaqen stood from his chair and so did Ser Jaime. All eyes were focused on the two men in Lannister colors, making their way to stand beside the Lord of the Crossing. 

  “My Lord,” Mercy began. “I wanted to come in person to congratulate you and yours on your clever defeat of House Stark and House Tully during the Red Wedding.”

  Lord Frey narrowed his eyes suspiciously and sat forward in his chair. “Why should I care for your thanks? Who are you to come into my Hall thinking to make toasts, Heh?”

  Mercy smiled like a cat who just trapped it's supper. Behind her she heard a cough, and then another. “Please forgive my manners,” her hand reached up and pulled back the face of Mercy, revealing her true identity. 

  “It was all very clever, inviting the Starks and the Tully’s here to celebrate a long awaited union between your two houses. Offer them bread and salt, mayhap.” Arya Stark said, moving slowly toward the dais. She could see that her words had the desired effect, but she had no intention to allow him the chance to interrupt her monologue. 

  “It must have been awful to have a northern fool, spit on the likes of House Frey. After all, they were the ones who came here seeking to use your bridge. Asking for men to rise in yet another rebellion against the crown in under twenty years. Of course, House Frey stayed out of that conflict as well. And now, House Tully and House Stark are all but extinct, while House Frey has more than enough heirs to populate the whole of the Riverlands. Well done!” She clapped her hands mockingly a few times. 

  All around her, the coughing continued, including those sat to the left of their Lord. “There’s one problem though. Especially for those of you who participated in slaughtering a mother of five and her son while they were unarmed at a wedding feast.”

  One of the Frey heirs stood abruptly from his chair. “Who the fuck does this bitch think she is?” He sneered before a violent cough shook through his body. 

  Arya looked in the direction of the disturbance and she granted the weasel looking man with a chilling smile. “My name is Arya Stark. Second born daughter of Eddard Stark and Catelyn Tully.” 

  Many chairs were heard scraping across the floor, but by now there was no way that anyone would be able to take more than a few steps in her direction. 

  “How did you get in my Hall. Black Walder, Lothar, cease her!” The Lord of the Crossing screeched, but none moved upon his command. 

  “You killed my brother, you murdered my mother. But you left a wolf alive. You do know what happens to the flock when you fail to kill the entire pack?” Arya took two steps up toward the dais. 

  Walder Frey could do nothing as she approached, noticing how Ser Jaime and Jaqen stood silently behind him. 

  “You—you can't be! Arya Stark is in Winterfell…”

  “Is she? I’ll be sure to send her your regards.” Arya mockingly returned. 

  Lord Walder tried to stand but Jaqen placed his hand upon his shoulder. “Let me go!” 

  Arya Stark turned around to face the rest of the Hall. “I’ll tell you what happens. Wolves are predators, we hunt sheep, eat fish and man alike. If you truly wished to remain safe, you should have culled the entire pack, ripped us out root and stem. Leave one wolf alive, and the sheep will never be safe.” 

  Men began grabbing at their throats, blood spilling from their noses and lips. The sound of glass breaking as many pitchers of wine and ale were dropped all around, echoed throughout the room. 

  “I want you to know that I was here that night, right outside those doors when you shot my brothers wolf full of crossbolts. I heard my mothers piercing wail from outside the grounds. Even as Northmen were being slaughtered by their own men. But the North Remembers.” 

  By the time she turned back around, most of the male Frey’s in attendance were either collapsed upon the ground or scratching at their throats in an attempt to find air to breathe. Arya moved around the length of the table, stopping at the last of Lord Walders heirs who was straining in his chair to catch his breath.

  “Shhhh, I’ve come to offer you mercy. You would like that, wouldn’t you?” She crooned sweetly.

  The Frey in question struggled to nod his head in confirmation. Arya reached out and caressed his cheek gently. And then she bent down and kissed him sweetly on his forehead. “He of Many Faces has heard your plea and he has asked me to grant you mercy.” Before he knew what was happening, Arya had unsheathed her dagger and slid the sharp edge across his throat. Holding his head to her chest as his life’s blood sprayed all over the Lord's table. The next one tried to fight her gift of mercy, but the longer that it took her to end them one by one, the weaker the next one became, until all that was left was a sputtering Walder Frey, who had been forced to watch the entire ordeal without a trace of poison touching his cup. Mercy had been careful to make sure he lived to see the end of his male line. 

  Lord Emmon was the last one that Arya gave the gift too. He begged the longest as well, but in the end, it hadn’t mattered in the least. No Frey would ever rule Riverrun, nor would they ever control the Riverlands. She would find a way to make sure that they passed to someone worthy of them. 

  When it was finally time to give the gift to Lord Frey, Arya sought out Ser Jaime, who had watched with astonishment as she methodically plotted and carried out the mass murder of the entire male population of a single House.

  “Ser Jaime, I do believe that there are men in the dungeons, men belonging to the North and the Riverlands. If you would be so kind as to have some of these fine men of the Riverlands help you free them from their cells and escort them here, we should be done here in moments.”

  The Kingslayer reluctantly nodded and gestured for Lord Tytos Blackwood and Lord Jonos Bracken to follow him out of the Great Hall. Once they were gone, and the only sound that could be heard inside the chamber was the low moans of the remaining Frey’s who had yet to succumb to the effects of the Long Farewell, Arya turned her attention back to Lord Walder. 

  “What will you do? You want me to beg, heh?” Spittle flew from his mouth as he trembled. 

  “Did begging work for my mother, when she pleaded for my brothers life? Judging by how deep the knife cut into her throat, I should think not. No, you won’t beg, you won’t even matter in a few moments. Do you know why?”

  The Lord of the Crossing said nothing…defiant in his last moments. Good.

  “Winter has come for House Frey. And I, Arya of the Houses Tully and Stark do sentence you to die, for the crime of violating Guest Right, and refusing to serve your Lord Paramount loyally and faithfully, as was your duty. If you have any last words…”

  For a moment, Arya thought that he would try to explain himself, she slowly pulled Needle from her boot.  Stick em with the pointy end! Needle was Robb and Bran and Rickon, her mother and her father, even Sansa. And then her Stark grey eyes met the clouded runny eyes of the Lord of the castle. Before he could speak a word, Needle pierced him through the chest, she applied a little more pressure, and then she felt it as Needle pierced through muscle and flesh until it plunged through his blackened heart. She came in close, intimately close... and she watched as the light faded from his eyes. “Valar Morghulis.”

   Arya stood there a moment, allowing his hot blood to spill over her hand, for a moment she considered bathing in it. Jaqen said nothing, when her eyes found his, he merely arched an eyebrow back at her. Slowly, she came back to herself as she pulled Needle from the now dead body of the Late Lord Walder Frey and wiped the blade on the arm of his tunic. 

  As she circled the hall, she noticed how many of them had clawed at their flesh in the same manner her own mother had done when they murdered Robb. But where she thought she would find happiness she only felt nothingness. There was no satisfaction to be had, only the knowledge that this was justified. But what would that matter, with none but her left to celebrate this victory. Her mother would not be restored to her as she was, nor would her father, her brothers, or Jon. If anything, her mother would just find someone else to blame and this would only continue. 

  Perhaps this is the reason she feels so empty… because now that the Freys are gone, she will have to also say goodbye to the woman who used to be her mother, and this time, it will be for good. 

  Ser Jaime arrived shortly after and surveyed the scene. She must have looked frightening, standing there, covered in blood, and not caring at all. He approached her slowly, “Arya—we found the prisoners and they are being tended to by some of the servants we found hiding out in the halls.” He began.

  Arya nodded, she was still numb, but it was good to know that they had found the Greatjon and the others. “And my Uncle Edmure?” 

  Ser Jaime nodded. “He wasn’t happy to see me, I promised him that he would go to Casterly Rock and his wife would join him after giving birth, but somehow Emmon kept him from being sent to the Rock while I was gone. He is unharmed.”

  “Very good.” A thought occurred to her. “Do you have my father's sword still?”

  Ser Jaime nodded. “What are you planning?”

  Arya looked around. “Heads, pikes, decorations.” Her voice was emotionless, but she meant every word of it. She would leave the message herself. 

  The knight looked curiously around the Hall, “That is a lot of work, are you sure that you want to do the honors?” 

  She surveyed the scene, I could easily cut down fifty men on a battlefield. Why should taking fifty men’s heads be any different if she was using Valyrian steel? 

   “That is why I asked for your sword, which one is it that you carry?” Arya asked.

  Ser Jaime looked as if she had cut him with her words. “It’s not my sword,” he mumbled under his breath, then more loudly, he said, “The sword I carry is Widow's Wail, the smaller of the two that were forged from your father's sword.”

   “Widow's Wail.” She tested the name on her lips. “I suppose that will do, considering her duty. This task will be done in my mother’s honor.” She held out her left hand for him to pass her the sword. 

  “I’ll need some help lining them up and if you could find me some spikes. I would also like for someone to send word to my mother that she can approach.” 

  Hesitantly, Ser Jaime unsheathed the sword that lay on his right hip. It’s blade was foreign to her, Ice had been a smoky grey and so wide that all of one and half of the second of her Lord Father's hands were the same size as the blade. 

  She somehow was reminded of the red comet that blazed across the sky following the execution of her father... “The Red Sword,” the Bull named it; he claimed it looked like a sword, the blade still red-hot from the forge. When Arya squinted the right way she could see the sword too, only it wasn't a new sword, it was Ice, her father's greatsword, all ripply Valyrian steel, and the red was Lord Eddard's blood on the blade after Ser Ilyn the King's Justice had cut off his head. Yoren had made her look away when it happened, yet it seemed to her that the comet looked like Ice must have, after.

  Looking at it now, she realized that she had been right. The comet and her father's sword were one and the same. She wanted to ask more about how it came to look like this, but there would be time for all that later. Once she had the sword firmly in her grasp, Ser Jaime moved back toward the door and spoke some words to someone who was standing just beyond. 

  When he came back, he quietly began helping Jaqen lean the bodies of the fallen Freys over their benches. Arya took a moment to get a feel of the red leather and cherry wood grip. The gold cross guard was hideous, she would run Lord Tywin through herself if he were here, for nothing other than his lack of taste. Yet she could not deny the feeling of the sword in her hand. It was a true long sword, though the grip was easily long enough for her to hold it with two hands. 

  Unlike Needle, this wasn’t a sword she could grow out of, but this sword was not hers. Her family had lost this sword when they lost her father. She turned away from Ser Jaime and Jaqen and she made her way back to the dais, where the lifeless eyes of Walder Frey stared blankly out across the hall. 

  Without a second thought, Arya reached across the table and grabbed him by the front of his doublet and pulled his body across the table, allowing him to hang partially from its surface. Briefly, she thought she heard movement behind her, but she did not stop to see what was going on. 

  She took a moment to gather herself and then she murmured the words that she knew were waiting to be uttered. “Valar Dohaeris.” Valyrian steel cut through meat and bone like soft butter on a warm day and then the head of Walder Frey hit the steps of the dais and continued to roll, until it came to rest beside a wicker basket that had been conveniently placed behind her. 

  Arya Stark went on in this manner for longer than she could recall. Each time, she would pause and take in the appearance of the next man she meant to decapitate. She was determined more than ever to finish this task herself. 

  By the time the sun started to rise, she was still there, taking heads. Her arms were sore, her muscles burned, but she forced herself to continue. Arya had worked herself into exhaustion, but the need to present the heads of those guilty of betraying her family superseded every other thought or emotion she could process. 

  Three and twenty to go... or was it five and twenty to go? Or were those the numbers of the heads she had already claimed? 

   She had lost count as she moved on to the next body. A hand reached out and calmly stilled her movements, and she nearly went on the defensive. When she looked up, Arya found the empathetic face of her mentor. 

  “Would a girl allow a man to assist her?” He asked her in a slow, unassuming manner.

  “I’m almost done,” Arya said shakily. The truth was, she had no idea how many more heads she needed to take, how many more times she would need to swing the sword. “I need to finish…”

  “A girl has done an admirable job, but there are other matters to attend. A girl's mother and her sworn swords approach, and there are many men inside the castle asking to see the one who awarded them their freedoms.” Jaqen explained. 

  Arya just stood there for a moment, allowing the information to register. Minutes later, Arya passed Widow’s Wail, hilt first over into Jaqen’s care. “The pikes?”

  “They are outside the Hall, you will find them as you exit.” 

  Arya nodded, then she turned and walked back toward the dais where Walder Frey’s head still lay, half submerged in a pool of blood that had come to gather around the base of the stairs leading up to the High Table. She moved about as if in a daze, and before she knew it, Arya was exiting the Hall, dragging a basket of severed heads behind her. 

  There may have been quite a number of audible gasps as she made her way out toward the western gate. She briefly noticed the sound of footsteps following behind her, nor the scrape of wood, scraping against the grey stone floor. When she finally made her way to the drawbridge it opened without prompting. 

  Outside she could make out the shape of riders moving toward them. Her mother had come. When she turned around to look for a pike, she found that Ser Jaime had followed her out into the grey morning mist. He held out a pike for her to take without uttering a word. The simple back and forth between the two of them, him reaching out to pass her a new pike after she secured each head with the sharp point and then shoved the other end into the ground was sort of cathartic. 

  Many men and women funneled out of the castle while the two of them worked in silence. Some of whom were the wives and daughters of the men she had executed hours previous. Others wore the colors of House Blackwood, House Lannister and House Bracken. But what was missing, Arya realized, were the wailing and muffled cries of wives and children and loved ones, who were helpless to save the ones who Arya had already claimed. 

  Eventually, a tall man approached and picked up a pike and then moved toward another basket that had made its way outside the portcullis and was now sitting beside the first. The man was haggard in appearance, his long dark hair was streaked white, and where once he had been muscular and athletically built, his skin hung loose and held no warmth. She knew him immediately. The Greatjon had survived… she wanted to smile at this small victory, but she couldn’t. He offered her a wan smile that never reached his eyes, but she knew, even without words, that he felt as responsible as she did to see justice served. She would not begrudge him his closure. 

  By the time her mother and the Brotherhood finally reached her, at least four others had made their way over to help them along in their task. There was one among them that seemed out of place, but as long as he was helping, Arya would not question his motivations. 

  The mounted men and knights in her mother's company halted a few feet away, their mouths hung open in shock. Her eyes scanned those who had come, Thoros, Edric and Gendry were not among them. She saw the cloaked figure of her mother riding near the middle of the column, her cowl pulled forward to cover her face. And then they were dismounting. 

  Footsteps behind her, alerted her to someone approaching and she found the Greatjon standing at her back, armed with a heavy pike. Beside him, Lord Tytos and Lord Jonos of the Riverlands, escorted a man who was more than double her age with the same Tully auburn hair that reminded her of her mother, at least before she had been pulled out of the rivers of the Trident. 

  Ser Jaime stood off to the side, covered in dirt, grime and bodily fluids, yet he had never looked more fulfilled than he did, standing there with the rest of them in that moment. Somehow, over the course of their journey, he had stopped seeming like an enemy to her house and started to seem more like a comrade in arms. 

  When she turned around to take in the scene, she found all of the men who had been prisoners, including her uncle Edmure on their knees. She stood there stunned into silence. 

  The Greatjon looked up and met her eye to eye. “My Princess, you have my thanks and my eternal loyalty. Not only for freeing us, but for avenging you’re brother; our King and setting the atrocities that were done on us to right.” 

   The rest of the men who had been freed, spoke their own words of fealty. Arya didn’t know how to respond, she did none of this to earn the gratitude of the men who survived the cells and dungeons of House Frey. She had done this in truth, because she couldn’t allow her mother to kill three innocent people. 

  “Please rise, all of you. Let us put aside normal traditions and celebrate amongst ourselves the freedom that each of us has been granted. My brother is still gone, as are your kin and bannermen. The atrocities committed in these halls have been paid, but there are others who need to answer for their part in the betrayal of House Stark, House Tully, and every other northerner or riverlander who died or was taken prisoner at the Red Wedding.”

  She turned her attention back to the group of riders and she found her mother moving in her direction. Her head upturned, a sinister smile stretched across her face when she beheld the visage of Walder Frey. A shiver passed down her spine, reminding her that her duty was not yet done. 

  “Come, would you like to enter with me?” Arya said, looping her arm in her mothers and turning her away from the mounted heads, toward the Twins. Arya wanted to show her the entire image from atop the wall. 

  She was bone tired from all she had done in the past few hours, but her mother was living on borrowed time and Arya wanted to make the most of the time that they have left. 

  She came reluctantly, her head swiveling to look back at the new gallery of Frey’s now adorning the walls outside the Twins. Arya made no move to rush her. “I think you might like to see the entire image from atop the Walls.” Her mother came more willingly then. 

  They hadn’t gone too far when her mother stopped in her tracks and pressed her hand to her throat. “Olyvar…” she croaked, raising a skeletal finger to point at the boy who had been helping her earlier.

  Arya looked at the young man who was being approached by a small woman with dark hair and a pretty face who was carrying a babe on her hip with the same Tully hair as her mother, brothers and uncle. 

  “He’s a Frey...Rob—squire…” her mother’s voice rasped out, cracking in the middle.

  “Was he there? Did he betray Robb too?” 

  Her mother looked at them for a moment, as if she was struggling to comprehend something and then she turned them away, and dropped her head as they continued to move toward the gatehouse. Arya, however, did not miss the way that her mother's corpse trembled as they walked, not from fear, it was realization and grief that evoked this reaction. She saw it in her mother's lifeless blue eyes, just before they turned away. 

  From high above the Western Castles ringwalls, Arya watched her mother take in the image down below. There had been far more Freys inside the hall than she had originally thought. But all of them were there, faces upturned, blood streaming out of their ears, eyes and mouths. 

  The crows would come and feast on them all eventually, and soon their bodies would feed Nymeria’s pack. 

  When her mother had finally had her fill, Arya conducted her back toward the Water Tower, where she had taken up a room. Plus, this way she could keep an eye on all the women who had lost their brothers, uncles, cousins and sons. 

  Her mother watched her cautiously, as if trying to make sense of the state of her. But Arya already knew how this was going to go, she had given her mother much more than she had bargained for, by this alone, her mother could trust that she would keep her word, and avenge their family. 

  She began unlacing her dress and moving toward the wash basin, only to feel her mother’s shaking hands helping her. Understanding her intentions, Arya stilled and allowed the part of what remained of her mother to care for her. She allowed her mother to help her bathe, and she even sat still while her mother washed her much shorter hair. When she was done, Arya retrieved her breeches and tunic and she even thought she saw a hint of a frown pass over her mother’s face. Secretly Arya smiled inwardly at the familiarity of such a gesture. 

  After they were done, Arya excused herself and went in search of Ser Jaime, her Uncle Edmure, Jaqen and all the rest of them. 

  As she moved about the castle, everyone paused and moved aside to allow her to pass and as they did so, Arya realized that they were all frightened of her. Of what her judgment upon them will be, or when she would exact such a price at all. 

  She, in truth, had not thought that far ahead, but she did not blame innocent people for the sins of their kin. And she knew that the only woman used to plot her family's demise was the woman that her uncle Edmure had married. And the deception was not of her design. 

  Arya found Jaqen just inside the Great Hall, watching women and men cleaning up the mess that she had left behind. “A girl should have rested.” He said in that knowing way of his, never taking his eyes off the people busy cleaning. 

  “I want to settle things now, before we move through the Eastern Gate on the morrow. Where is Ser Jaime?” 

  “A man saw him outside the Western Castle Gate not long ago. He said that more of his men were approaching.” 

  Arya nodded and turned her attention toward a young serving girl who was passing by with two buckets of clean water.

  “Excuse me, I was wondering if you could tell me where I might find the Lady Roslin and her brother Olyvar?” 

  The girl looked around as if she hadn’t been sure who Arya had been speaking to, and then she curtsied deeply. “Pardon, m’lady, I didn’t know you was speakin t’me.”

  Arya smiled, “Please, it’s no problem, I assure you. What’s your name?”

  “Ma—Mary, m’lady.” The girl stammered. 

  “Please call me Arya. Can you help me find Lady Roslin?” 

  Mary nodded. “Would you like me to go and get her?”

  “That won’t be necessary. It would please me if you would show me to where she is, if it’s not too much trouble.” 

  The girl curtsied again and excused herself momentarily to go and deliver the clean water, then she returned in all haste. 

  The remaining Freys, who consisted mostly of women and small children had taken up residence in the Western Castle, as far away from the slaughter as possible. The Lady Roslin was found in the lower audience chamber speaking with who Arya assumed was her kin. The boy Olyvar was beside her, helping to calm some of the smaller children. 

  Arya stood there, among the shadows for just a few moments observing them. “What will happen now that they have taken our home?” One of the little girls asked. 

   “Our home has not been taken from us, we have merely paid our debts.” Came the Lady Roslin’s reply.

   “Are you going to leave us and go to Riverrun with Lord Edmure? Can we come too? What if she makes us leave?” Came more frantic voices.

   “It makes no sense to worry over such things at the moment. By right of conquest, the Twins belong to House Stark. It’s her lawful right to decide, but no matter what, we will find a way to stand together. We are a family, after all.” It was the boy Olyvar this time who spoke. 

  Arya hadn’t considered all of the implications of her actions before hand. She hadn’t realized that by eradicating almost the complete male line of a house, she would be responsible for putting it all to rights. She chose this moment to step into the light. 

  “I was hoping that all of you would allow me a few moments to address your concern.” She stepped closer on hesitant feet. At one point she had been scared and unsure of her place in the world too. If she could help to ease their fears, at least insofar as where home was, she very much wanted to try. 

  The Lady Roslin stood immediately and her brother followed. Arya nodded toward each of them. “It would seem that I’ve left you in a unique position, Lord Olyvar?” 

  At her words, his eyebrows rose in confusion. “Lord Olyvar?”

  “You are the oldest surviving Frey of male birth, are you not?” Arya countered.

  “I, I believe so, but I’m not sure why that matters. My family is responsible for committing treason. My claim means nothing now that you’ve taken vengeance for my fathers treason.”

  Arya approached, “A son is not responsible for the sins of the father. And as I understand, you were quite fond of my brother and he you. Tell me Olyvar, did you play any part in the murder of my brother and the violation of guest right?” 

  Olyvar Frey shook his head in disgust. She could see that there was pain in his eyes when she mentioned her brother. “Why did you help me, earlier, with your family?” Arya wanted to know his reason. 

  “Because what my father, my uncles and all the rest of them did, there was no justice in that. No honor. King Robb wanted to make amends and they deceived him. And for what? My sister was not shamed into marrying Edmure, she was quite taken by him, and he, her. They deserved a worse fate if you ask me.” 

  Arya nodded. “If you could bring me the books, all of them, and the maester. We will go through the sums and determine the value of this keep and what the cost of it's upkeep are. I will not take this keep from your kin, but neither will you go on to inherit these lands and or its titles. Olyvar, you will continue on as the steward of this keep for the time being. Lady Roslin, I assume that you will want to go to Riverrun with my uncle, but that will have to wait. House Lannister is still inside the castle, and I haven’t the time to go and settle that matter at the moment. So, my uncle will have to wait to go and reclaim the castle that he recently gave away. While you are all here, he will serve as the temporary Castellan of this keep. As for titles, currently a Lannister sits the throne, and the North is a kingdom at war. There is no Lord Paramount, but I would ask that you hold the trident, and swear fealty to House Stark, and to me as the new Lady of this keep. At least until a second child is born to you and my uncle and has come into his or her age of majority.”

  At the last part, her eyes went wide. “You mean to give the Twins back to us?” 

  “Not really, but one with Tully and Frey blood, possibly one that I can foster, should and will eventually rule these lands, it’s only right that the castle stays with it's blooded kin, I truly doubt I shall ever stay more than a single night within these halls.”

  If they had been shocked by her decision, they hid it well enough. “I’m sure we can work out the details at a later time. Do you know where I might find my uncle Edmure?”

  Lady Roslin rose from her seat and gestured for her brother to remain. “He has gone to speak with the other men who were held in the dungeons. They were last seen following the Kingslayer through the gate.”

  Arya followed along, and soon enough they were passing back through the outer Western Gate. It didn’t take her long to find her uncle, who was accompanied by the Greatjon and a few others. Some of whom Arya had never seen before. 

  Once they noticed her approach, the northmen and the riverlords immediately bent the knee, save her uncle Edmure. Among those kneeling were the Lady Brienne of Tarth, Arya stood there stunned for a moment by their reception. 

  “Please rise, all of you. I’m not here to hear your vows of fealty. I merely came to speak with my uncle and inform you all of my plans for departure.” Arya gestured for them all to rise. 

  Slowly, they all stood but most of them mumbled words of admiration toward her, regardless of her protest. 

  Her eyes sought out Ser Jaime who was standing at the back next to a man who must have come with the arrival of his other men. And then she looked once more for the blue eyes of Lady Brienne and the one they called Podrick Payne, standing beside a man who could hardly support his own weight. “Does your friend require a maester?”

  “Ser Hyle is recovering, but a bed and a maester would be much appreciated,” Brienne allowed. 

  Arya nodded and turned back to her good-aunt . “Would you please help my company?”

  “Right this way,” The Lady Roslin agreed, motioning for them to follow her back inside. 

  “I do believe the great hall is cleaned by now, would you all, please follow me inside so that we might finish this discussion.” Arya said, inviting everyone back inside the castle. 

  On the way back through, she stopped to make sure that the gate was left open to allow her pack to move through to the Eastern Castle and beyond, in preparation for her early departure on the morrow. 

  The hall was in fact clean and clear of any evidence indicating what had happened there mere hours previous. Most of the men who had followed her back inside looked at the room with apprehension.

  “It’s only a room and some stones. The castle didn’t commit the crimes, the greed of ambitious men did. Please, if you all would join me, much needs to be settled before I take my leave of you on the morrow.” She said, striding into the room. 

  Jaqen was where she had left him, waiting just inside the room, perched against the wall. As if he had knowledge that she would be returning. Once everyone settled, Arya began with the important things. 

  “A Lannister still sits the Iron Throne as many of you know.”

  “A Lannister still sits in these halls…” Her uncle Edmure grumbled aloud. 

  “Aye, a Lannister also sits inside these halls. A Lannister that kept his oath to my mother, a Lannister who paid is debt to House Stark, a Lannister who freed each of you from the dungeons of House Frey. I do not expect any of you to like him, but you won’t hold animosity against him for a crime he had no part in plotting.” Arya explained, an edge to her voice. 

  Her uncle had the same hateful and judgmental look to him that her mother would present whenever Jon was nearby. “He threatened me, he made me surrender Riverrun.”

  “I heard about that, it was Tom o’Sevens wasn’t it? Ser Jaime had him sing you a familiar tune. You loved it so much that you were all too happy to turn over your ancestral home, forcing our uncle Brynden to flee through the River Gate?” She countered. The truth was, she had no intention of humiliating her uncle, nor would she allow him to berate her guest after he chose to willingly help her avenge her people. She couldn’t help but wonder if her brother Robb found Edmure so insufferable. 

  “I mean to go and take Riverrun back!” Edmure’s voice took on an accusatory tone. 

  Arya raised an eyebrow. “Firstly, I did not invite you all here to discuss the matter of Riverrun, but while we are visiting the topic, you will do no such thing.”

  “Excuse me? I’m sorry but, I’m the Lord Paramount of the Riverlands, I don’t need anyone’s permission to reclaim my home and the seat of my power.”

  “The seat of your power? House Tully swore fealty to House Stark, during the war of the Five King's, did they not? Which means that as a Stark, the last known Stark to be alive, I outrank you, dear uncle. Not to mention the fact that you have no armies, no power, and no claim as the Lord Paramount. The kingdom my brother was given is broken, our home is being inhabited by vile men who violated the Guest Right. Until they are put down, you will remain right here. You will serve as Castellan of the Twins alongside of your Lady Wife until I can come back and settle things here.” 

  Her uncle looked as if he wanted to protest, glancing back and forth between where she sat and where the rest of the Riverlords were seated, hoping for some support, but none came. Their conversation, however, was interrupted by the arrival of her Lady Mother’s cowled figure, who was being escorted by Harwin and Lem. 

  Arya stood at once and offered her chair to her mother, but no introductions were necessary, if the look on everyone’s face was any indication.

  A man stood up, the man who she had seen standing beside Ser Jaime outside. “Pardon, my Lady, but there are other survivors from the Red Wedding. They were sent North to Greywater watch from Seaguard. The Lady Maege and the Lord Galbart Glover were sent by your brother, King Robb to deliver his plans to take the Moat back from the Ironborn. They also traveled with his final will.”

  Arya was caught off guard at this bit of information. “I’m sorry, but who are you, my Lord?”

  The man in question stepped forward and bowed. “My name is Lord Jason Mallister of Seaguard. I was taken prisoner in my home by the Freys after the Red Wedding. My son Patrek was with your brother when he was betrayed. I’m here because Ser Jaime arranged for his men to escort me here after the Freys were called back by the Late Lord Frey.”

  From behind her, her mother croaked out one word. “Jon…”

  Arya spun around on instinct at the sound of her brothers name, the moment her mother caught sight of her expression though, her own expression turned sour. “What about Jon?” She nearly demanded.

  “Your brother made him his heir. If he fell with no son of his own seed, Jon Snow was to be legitimized and named King of the North and Riverlands.” Lord Jason explained. 

  Arya was torn between the information she had just been given, and the look of disgust on her mother’s face. 

  “Sh—she is trueborn. Arya is Robb’s heir.” Her mother’s voice cracked. 

  A round of aye’s returned her mother’s sentiments, but this conversation was pointless. “It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters so long as Roose Bolton and his natural born son hold the North. Especially when the Northern houses all believe that they have me in their custody.”

  Many heads turned to meet hers, different degrees of confusion, anger and rage were painted upon their faces. But it was Ser Jaime who explained to the room what happened, as well as the identity of the girl who the North believed to be her. Jeyne Poole…

  They all continued to speak at length, touching base on key issues. While her uncle Edmure could not claim to be the Lord Paramount of the Riverlands, he would still be serving as Castellan, which meant that he held the Twins. Lords Blackwood and Bracken agreed to temporarily put their animosities aside to help her uncle govern their lands and finish with the harvests before the snow began to fall in earnest. 

  Ser Hyle would be staying on in the Twins to continue healing from his ordeal with her mother and the Brotherhood without Banners. When the castles maester finally arrived, Arya asked for the Lady Roslin and her brother Olyvar to join them, and she suggested to Edmure that he should spend some time saying goodbye to her mother. Afterward, Arya sat for what must have been hours, going over the books, accounts and active incomes of the Twins. 

  The Late Lord Frey may have taken more than his share of wives, but his coffers were almost bursting. While she had no need of so much gold, she also understood that most of this would go a long way toward rebuilding the Riverlands come spring. She could not travel with such sums, so the only thing she could do was leave it all behind and request that detailed accounts be kept moving forward. 

  Her good-aunt was more than capable of running the household and taking care of the upkeep of the Twins, so after they had come up with a schedule to allocate funds and the monetary costs for the coming year, Arya excused herself to go in search of her mother. Time was running out for both of them. 

  Ser Jaime was waiting for her, just outside the Water Tower, Widow's Wail in hand. Arya paused the moment that she realized what he was holding, but before she could ask what was going on, he dropped to one knee in front of her. 

  “Arya Stark, I know that I do not deserve your trust, I know that what I’m about to ask is a lot to consider but I have had a lot of time to think about what will come next for me. I can’t go back—Going back will only undo what progress has been made for me. I would swear you my sword, but this sword does not belong to me. So I’m swearing one half of your father's sword to you. I will shield your back and give you Council should you so will it, I would give my life for yours if need be. At least until you have taken back your home. I swear it by all the gods, Old and New.”

  Arya stood there, stunned. “Ser Jaime—I’m not sure how to respond.”

  He looked at her lopsidedly for a moment, and then a mocking grin graced his face. “You’re supposed to say—”

  “I know what to say…” she huffed. Still kneeling, he raised a brow at her in challenge. 

  “Fine! And I swear that you shall always have a place beside my hearth and meat and mead at my table, and I swear to ask no service of you that will bring you dishonor. I swear this by the Gods, Old and New. Please rise, Ser Jaime, we have a long journey ahead of us, I hope that you are better prepared for the North this time around than you were last time.”

  Ser Jaime rose from where he was kneeling and stepped aside to allow her to enter the tower, but before she passed, she held out a hand for him to pass her Widow's Wail. “I won’t be keeping it, but I was hoping that you might allow me to show it to my mother one last time.”

  He seemed to understand, and he nodded. “It’s no problem, I know where I can get another. I will see you in the morning.” And with that, he left her to her own thoughts.

  Back inside her room, she found her mother nestled into a chaise by the fire. Setting the sword aside, Arya unfastened her sword belt and placed it beside Widow’s Wail and then she crossed the room to sit beside her mother. 

  The two of them said nothing for a while but eventually her mother’s hand came to rest inside of her own. While they sat there, Arya played back all of her childhood memories of her mother. The way that she would fuss over her messy and ruined dresses, or how she would spend what felt like hours brushing the tangles from her hair after bathing. She remembered the look on her mother’s face after Bran’s fall and how she had refused to leave his bedside for weeks afterward. 

  It hurt that the two of them did not have more happy memories with each other, but she could not blame her mother for their strained relationship, the truth was, Arya had pushed her mother away. They were equally at fault, still, Arya would remember these moments for the rest of her life.

  Without conscious thought, Arya moved to rest her head upon her mother’s lap and after a few moments, her mother’s hands came up to stroke her hair, reminding her of a simpler time. She could not say how long they stayed like that, but at some point, Arya felt the dampness of her tears upon her mother’s thick black robe. 

  “It’s time.” Her mother croaked, looking down at Arya with her large Tully blue eyes. The only thing that remained of her mother in truth. 

  Arya rose from where she had been laying and reached out for her mother to join her. She knew what her mother was referring to, but she could not speak the words. Instead, she ushered her mother over toward the bed and the two of them laid down, side by side. For a while, Arya lay there, trying to memorize everything about her mother that remained. The shape of her lips, how beautiful and auburn her hair once was. The way she would smile secretly at her father whenever they thought no one was watching. Arya saw everything though, that’s how she had earned her name, Arya Underfoot.

  “I miss him,” she found herself confessing to the parts of her mother that remained. “I miss all of them, but I miss father the most.”

  A tear streamed down her mother’s cheek and she nodded. Arya sat up and kissed her mother tenderly upon her mangled cheeks and then she reached for Widow's Wail. “This was father's sword, did you know?”

  Her mother simply shook her head.

  “When Ser Ilyn carried out Joffrey’s command, I was in the crowd, and I watched as Ice was used to carry out the king's justice. Later on, all I could see was the image of Ice, covered in his blood.” 

  A pale white finger came forward and gently stroked over the deep red and smoky grey surface of the blade. And then her mother looked up to meet her eye to eye. 

  Arya straightened her spine and then, her mother pulled her close and placed a kiss upon her brow. Her free hand came up to hold the wound at her throat. “He’s with you, and so is Robb and Bran and San—Sansa and Rickon. I am ready.”

  No mention of Jon, but then again, Arya hadn’t truly expected her mother to mention the other half of her soul. If this were her real mother, the circumstances would have likely been the same. 

  Her hand tightened around the hilt of Widows Wail and Arya pulled back, away from her mother’s grip, and angled the sword so that it would pierce her straight through the chest. When Catelyn Tully-Stark finally closed her eyes, it was with a smile on her face. Arya applied some pressure and exhaled deeply as she felt the blade separate her mother’s flesh and pierce her heart. 

  She held her mother’s corpse close to her for a while, and eventually the tears began to fall in earnest. 

Chapter Text

  Drogon flew her west, back in the direction of the Painted Mountains, back toward Khal Pono and her own riders. It had taken much convincing on her part, for Viserion and Rhaegal to remain behind to protect her people and their armies. She had eventually turned to Drogon for help and while she couldn’t understand the way they communicated, she could feel their worry that she would not come back. 

  Daenerys blamed herself for this, she should have never locked them away in the first place. If I look back, I am lost… she would never lock them away again, nor would she fault them for being what they’ve always been. Dragons…

  She came upon her Khalasar an hour or more west of Meereen, just on the outskirts of the Hinterlands. The main portion of the hoard was encamped slightly north of their current position and as she came closer she quickly realized that Khal Pono and his riders had closed the distance and both Khalasars were preparing for battle. 

  “Ivestragī zirȳ rȳbagon ao, se dakogon hen aōha sȳndor,” (Let them hear you, and run from your shadow.) Daenerys said, leaning in for her child to hear. Drogon happily obeyed and let out a roar so loud the world sounded as if it were breaking. 

  A smile lit up her face as she saw horses panic and start to rear back, in their attempt to flee. Drogon tucked his wings and angled them downward until his form was visible beneath the cover of clouds and then he unfurled his wings and the loud clap they made was like thunder upon a cloudless sky. As his winged shadow crossed over more than three quarters of Pono’s Khalasar, Daenerys searched for Pono and his bloodriders. 

  There would be no reason to waste countless lives if Pono would agree to follow her, which she didn’t expect him to do, but it was still worth the effort. She finally found him and his bloodriders near the head of his column and Drogon let out a jet of black flame as he turned in that direction. 

  They settled down, halfway between her Khalasar and Pono’s and she and Drogon waited for them to get within hearing distance before she spoke loud enough for every Dothrakan to hear over the sound of their horses hooves. 

  “Khal Pono, lay down your arms and join your Khalasar to mine, I shall name you my Ko and your riders can be the first of your khas. Refuse me and I will challenge you for the right to lead them myself.”

   “Hold your tongue silver witch, I do not believe your cursed promises, we will never follow a demon with silver hair and a gilded tongue.”  Came Pono’s guttural reply. Behind him, his riders released a battle cry that promised blood and death. 

   So be it…

  She glanced behind her, only to find that her own Khalasar was forming up not far from where they are. Turning back toward Pono and his own hoard she gave her final warning. 

   (To fight me will mean your death, but I will not deny you if that is what you and yours wish. But to your Khalasar I say this, if it is blood you want, blood awaits you outside the gates of Meereen! If the great stallion calls for battle, a battle I can promise you, with riches and idols to return to the Gate of the Gods, but the Sacred City has already bent the knee to me, the Dosh Khaleen have already blessed me and the mighty stallion that I have claimed as my own.) Drogon let out a battle cry of his own this time, that brought a smile of satisfaction to her. 

   (Know that if you raise your arakhs against me, it will not be just myself and Drogon that you will face, but the joint Khalasar of one hundred thousand Dothraki riders who have all pledged themselves to me. Think hard and think fast, because when the battle begins, those who fight for Khal Pono will die beside him.) 

  She did not stay to hear or see what followed, instead, she reached out to Drogon and he lept into the air with a few flaps of his wings and within moments she was airborne and flying toward her riders. When she was close enough, Drogon set down ahead of them and she called loudly for them to hear. 

   (When you enter battle, surround Pono and cut him off from the rest of his Khalasar, I want him and his bloodriders. As for the rest, kill all who refuse to lay down their arms. I do not want fifty thousand riders slaughtered on this day, the real battle is being fought outside Meereen.)

   At the lead of the Khalasar was Aggo and Rhakaro and they both raised their arakhs in response, which was followed by the other twenty five thousand riders at their backs. 

   (Then ride, and let us kill the last Khal who thinks to conquer what the Stallion has already claimed!)

  Once more Drogon took to the skies, but rather than fly ahead, he soared above and she watched as her Khalasar rode out before her. And then, she waited for the familiar sound of metal clashing against metal, and the familiar thrum of Drogon’s excitement, whenever blood was being spilled in his general vicinity. It didn’t take long at all and then, like a shooting star, her son was bursting through the sky, seeking out the source of his excitement. 

  Unlike the stealthy ways that she had managed to claim Yunkai and Meereen, there was no way to claim a hoard of fifty thousand riders peacefully. There was no way to convince Pono’s riders to lay down their arms and choose her. Such a thing was next to unheard of, aside from her seventy five thousand riders that she earned in Vaes Dothrak. And the only reason that had gone over so easily was simply for the sake of the Crones and their rules concerning the spilling of blood within their sacred city. She had used their own traditions against them, emerging from the womb of the world upon Drogon, the way the first man had done thousands of years ago. 

  She decided to use Drogon to lay lines of boundary for the bulk of Pono’s Khalasar. Flying low, Drogon let out a torrent of flame, which caught the stalks of grass and quickly created a wall that blocked the left flank of Pono’s riders from engaging her own. Then she passed over and did the same on their right, causing them to funnel in more closely. 

  As their foes converged, Drogon flew overhead and let out a stream of smoke which cut off the rear of Pono’s Khalasar from the portion that was at the front. All around, she could hear horses shrieking and steel clashing as man and horse clashed together inside the walls of Drogon’s living flame.

  She saw Pono and his bloodriders at the center of the battle, surrounded by about fifteen of his men and a handful of her own riders were heading in his direction. She would need to be the one to end this, she knew. 

  Her son knew as well, because he did not wait for her to give him his heading, instead he angled himself around and flew toward the object of her attention, landing down with a loud thud, and whipping around with his tail, taking out six of the riders who were attempting to protect their Khal. 

  A lone rider came thundering toward her and Drogon, arakh raised and prepared to slash, but her son reacted on instinct and his neck stretched out and his jaws clamped down around him. There was a sickening crunch, where Drogon’s jaws clenched around flesh, and the definitive sound of bones crushing before the dead and broken body in question was tossed into the air with a forceful snap of Drogon’s neck, followed by a loud bellowing roar. 

  Daenerys fixed Pono with a menacing glare. (Khal Pono, I Daenerys Stormborn, Great Khaleesi of the Grass Sea, of Essos, Yunkai, Astapor and Meereen, sentence you to death.)

  “Dracarys.” And without a second thought, Drogon’s black and scarlet flames erupted from the pit of his throat, engulfing the remainder of the riders who were trapped within the wall of flames that Drogon had created to lock them in. When he ceased his inferno, Daenerys climbed from his shoulders, slipping out of the leather straps that secured her hips and legs in place, and she slid down from his back, waiting for the smoke and flames to clear. 

  She looked back to Drogon and signaled for him to take flight, and alert the rest of the Khalasar that the battle was over and victory this day belonged to them. 

  Once the smoke cleared, she found the soot streaked faces of more than forty thousand Dothraki prostrated before her, arakhs presented in sign of respect and adoration. Behind her, more than twenty thousand of her own riders stood triumphant, and she knew that she had done what no man had done before her. She had finally united the Herds of all Khalasars into a single Khalasar.

  Drogon once more landed behind her, and she quickly climbed atop his neck and secured herself into her straps. The sun was nearing its apex, and the battle of Meereen was likely in full swing. There was no time to celebrate this as a victory, the real battle was calling them. 

   (Blood of my blood, I will not demand your braids this day, we have no time to loot the battlefield for spoils and riches. The true battle was not fought here, Dothrakan against Dothrakan, it is being fought outside of Meereen. My sons and my unsullied are there, fighting to break the chains of slavery. The Greatest Khalasar Essos has ever seen, or will ever see again is riding with the wind to meet you there. Will you take up your arakhs and regain your honor by killing the masters? Will you earn those braids that I’m allowing you to keep? Will you give death to my enemies?) She roared like the dragon she had been born to be.

   At her back, twenty thousand riders took up her battle cry and slowly, the hoard before her raised their arakhs in answer, meeting the challenge that she laid before them all. 

   (Time is not on our side this day. Choose your mount, and ride with the wind to carry you East. Gather your bows, ready your steel and know that when next you see my stallion's shadow, our fire will be your fire!)

   Like a wave, more than sixty thousand men mounted their horses and hefted their weapons into the air, once more Drogon let out a roar that shook the foundation of the earth and with a bit more force than he normally used, they leapt into the sky, heading in the direction of Meereen and her other two sons, whom she could tell, Drogon was anxiously trying to return to. 

  She flew ahead of her Khalasar and settled Drogon down upon a hill where she could take in the battle that had been going on since dawn. Her Unsullied were engaging a Ghiscari legion near one of the trebuchets. Out toward the Bay, Rhaegal was reigning fire down upon enemy ships who were simultaneously being rammed by ships flying the standard of a Kraken.

    The Greyjoy’s…  

  In the distance, the sound of low rumbling was faint, but she could feel the hum of hooves beating against the earth. 

  Viserion flew over the battlefield, catching corpses as they were being flung toward the city with the intent of infecting her people with the Pale Mare. She wanted nothing more than to have Viserion incinerate the men who were in charge of those war machines, but there were innocent people down there, her, people were down there and Fire did not discriminate. 

  Off toward the eastern side of the camp, men were fighting. One trebuchet was already disabled, and a second was being disabled by Ser Barristan, who she could see atop her Silver. Drogon stirred beneath her, ready to engage the enemy and join his brothers, bringing the masters fire and blood. But her Khalasar was close, she could almost hear their calls. Further to the East, a cloud of dust was growing closer. 

  Her eyes roamed over the battlefield where she found two sellsword companies who were supposed to be allied to the masters, fighting each other. Someone had clearly switched sides, she couldn’t help but wonder who. 

  Upon the walls, she found the Stalwart Shields, who were tasked with defending the Eastern Gate, The Free Brothers, who had been assigned the North Gate, the Brazen Beasts who had been charged with the protection of the Walls themselves, and finally the ranks of her Mother's Men defending the South Gate. 

  She can hear them now, a shrill cry coming from the north east, where two Ghiscari legions were stationed near the mouth of the Skahazadhan, whom were also locked in battle with a group of the Free Brothers. They will be completely surrounded, she could only hope that they were smart enough to lay down their spears and shields. Their training would compliment her ranks of Unsullied in wars to come. 

  She reached for that tether that connected her to Drogon and through him, to Rhaegal and Viserion. “Tell your brothers that we are coming to them. Fly for the river first, disable the weapons, do not harm those who do not try to harm you.”  

  Drogon didn’t hesitate to push himself from the edge of the hill that they had settled down upon. And with the thrill of battle thrumming through both of them, her son released an ear shattering screech that would make a lesser man’s ears bleed. There was no doubt that those below had heard him announce himself before they saw his massive shadow pass overhead. 

  Drogon climbed however, moving outside of the range of any projectiles that were surely being catapulted. Viserion reacted to his call immediately, surging upward and then whipping around in a wide arch before snapping his barbed tail into the support of one of the trebuchets and calling out his own delighted roar back to his brother. 

  There was a loud cracking sound heard out in the bay, and then bronze and green flames were lighting up the hulls and decks of ships bearing the flags of Qarth and Tolos. She couldn’t help but smile as her child easily darted in and out of the path of flying projectiles, his form was swift and nimble, though he had clearly not grown as big as Drogon had in the time that they had been separated. They were nearly three years old, and they should have all been the same size, she could not afford to dwell on the ways that she failed them however.

   If I look back, I am lost… she could only make sure that they never saw chains nor bars ever again. 

  Daenerys fixed her attention toward her destination, where she was sure her Khalasar would be coming from, and sure enough, just as Drogon was preparing to make his descent, they were spotted not too far away from where a Ghiscari legion was locked in battle with her own. 

  If things went to plan, her own men knew that Drogon and she would be coming, so the only people who should be surprised would be the armies fighting for the masters. 

  As the screams of her Dothraki grew nearer, she noticed some of the Ghiscari soldiers become aware of the threat riding straight for their backs. It was at this moment that their formation started to break, and she signaled for Drogon to dive. 

  The wind whipped at her face as she tucked herself into Drogon’s neck, it’s force whistled past her ears but her heart was hammering and together the sound reminded her of war drums. 

   Trumpets were blowing along the Skahazadhan, warhorns answering from the walls of Meereen. A ship was sinking in the river mouth, afire. Dead men and dragons were moving through the sky, whilst warships crashed and clashed on Slaver's Bay. 

  Daenerys could see them from her vantage point atop Drogon and she could hear the sounds: the crash of hull against hull as ships slammed together, the deep-throated warhorns of the ironborn and queer high whistles of the Qartheen, the splintering of oars, the shouts and battle cries, the crash of axe on armor, sword on shield, all mingled with the shrieks of wounded men. Many of the ships were still far out in the bay, so the sounds they made seemed faint and far away, but she knew them all the same.

  This was the music of slaughter...

  From the east the sound of drumming rolled across the parched plain. A column of mounted men flashed past the Harridan, flying the blue banners of the Windblown.

  As the trebuchets launched another volley of corpses, Viserion caught one burning body just as it began to fall, crunching it between his jaws as pale fires ran across his teeth. White wings cracked against the morning air, and the beast began to climb again. The second corpse caromed off an outstretched claw and plunged straight down, to land amongst some Yunkish horsemen. Some of them caught fire too. One horse reared up and threw his rider. The others ran, trying to outrace the flames and fanning them instead.

  Her son wanted to join his brothers, the moment he saw Viserion release his flame onto those wingless corpses.

   Only a few more moments, my son. But hold your fire, we mean to scare them, not burn them all!

  From all around her, she could hear the trumpets of war sounding across the battlefield, as her men reformed beneath the walls to further protect her city. The mounts of the masters were doing little to cooperate with the commands that were being shouted at them, while Ser Barristan routed his attention toward another of the trebuchets that were still standing. 

  Now that the Ghiscari Legions were larger than the size of ants below her, she focused her attention on the incoming horde. Soon enough, the two legions were starting to break near the ends of each formation, and this is where she focused Drogon’s attention.

   Don’t let them break, we want them surrounded. 

   Her son answered her with a long ear shattering roar and when they were no more than thirty feet above the ground, Drogon released his black and crimson flames, creating a shield wall that no Lockstep legion could hope to defend against. 

  As soon as his flame cut off their escape to the left, their careful training meant little. The ones closest to his flames were not quick enough to jump out of their path, those behind retreated, knocking into the men at their backs and their sides.

  In front of them, the Free Brothers took advantage of their panic and began to thrust their spears at their enemies, making escape even more difficult as they tripped over their fallen comrades. 

  Drogon banked around and released his fire upon the right flank, repeating the same action that left them scrambling the first time. And then her Dothraki were there. Seventy five thousand screamers, flooding over the landscape, bows drawn and arakhs raised, prepared to win glory for their Khaleesi. 

   “Kill no man who puts down his weapon. Show no mercy to those who do not!” Daenerys screamed out her wishes over the thrum of Drogon’s great black and scarlet lined wings and then she turned her attention back toward the slavers camp, to the largest pavilions and she made her decision. 

  Her son didn’t need her to tell him where to go, instead he turned on instinct and made his way in the direction of the Masters. A huge battle cry erupted from down below as she passed over the battling armies on the ground. 

  She could make out the form of Marselen, who was leading a group of freedmen that had just broken through the Long Lances like a rotten stick. Her Unsullied were advancing toward the Harpy's Daughter. 

 A sellsword company being led by a man Daenerys assumed to be Bloodbeard and two Ghiscari legions were stationed around the trebuchet, preparing to defend it. 

  However, she could also make out the shapes of mounted knights, forming around the back of the defenders, and once the fighting began, they too, would be enveloped on both sides. 

  Daenerys decided to take no chances and Drogon beat his wings and propelled himself forward, then he whipped his body around, taking out the top of the machine in a sickening crunch, before Viserion swooped in and lit up the ground surrounding both companies. 

  From somewhere across the battlefield, Daenerys heard the sound of someone calling her name, but there was too much chaos for her to locate the voice in question. 

  Drogon banked west, just in time to see Rhakaro and Aggo crest the battlefield in front of another sixty five thousand riders and he let out another call, welcoming his mothers Bloodriders. 

  The Masters tried their hardest to infect her city, but huge as they were, the Yunkish trebuchets did not have the range to throw their grisly burdens deep into the city. Most of the dead were landing just inside the walls, or slamming off barbicans, parapets, and defensive towers. 

  Seeing this, Daenerys signaled to Drogon for Viserion to put his attention toward the inner city and she turned back toward the pavilions of the Masters, giving Drogon permission to allow the fire to flow from him. 

  The main Yunkish camp lay to the west, between the walls of Meereen and the warm green waters of Slaver's Bay. Two of the trebuchets had risen there, one beside the river, which was now down. The second was opposite Meereen's main gates, defended by two dozen of Yunkai's Wise Masters, each with his own slave soldiers. 

  Between the two great siege engines were the fortified encampments of two Ghiscari legions which were currently engaged between two walls of flame and two separate armies. 

   Dracarys! Daenerys called aloud to Drogon, and he did not hesitate, bringing ruin to the camp and their pavilions. Before they even knew what had happened, Drogon had lifted them high up into the sky and she tightened her grip on the leather straps, and then they were diving through the sky, the last trebuchet directly beneath them and then, before she could give him permission, his black flames were dancing along his scales, licking at her armor, warming her up, both inside and out.

  Drogon slammed into his self made wall of flame and then she heard it, as the wood broke and splintered beneath his claws in a cloud of broken beams and soot. 

  When the dust finally cleared, two dozen masters, and more than a few armed slaves stood slack jawed and cowering before the massive heaving form of her winged shadow. 

  They could do nothing as her unsullied formed up around her back, and her Dothraki formed at their backs in turn. Screams could be heard from all around, but the battle as far as she could tell, had been won. 

   “Put the masters into chains, and bring them inside the city. Those who wish to continue to fight, give them the sword.”

   White flags were being raised up on the bay, the ships that were not burning had given up, clearly realizing that they had no chance against the might of more than sixty ironborn ships and Rhaegal’s flames. 

  Drogon roared so loud, even her own men took a step back, and then the twin calls of her other two sons sounded back in answer. A few moments later, Rhaegal and Viserion landed close to her and Drogon. Her men moving quickly to give them space. 

  Her Dothraki wasted no time, dismounting to seize the forms of more than two dozen masters and tying them, one and all to the saddles of their own horses. While Rommo and the other Mercy Men or jaqqa rhan were already moving around the battlefield cutting the braids of fallen Dothraki and removing the heads of their fallen enemies.

  As the battlefield was brought to order, six men moved toward her as a group. All of which were covered in blood and grime. But she would have known most of them by sight regardless. 

  Ser Barristan was leading her Silver through the crowd, her coat covered in black soot and smeared with blood but she had lived, as had her old knight. The person beside him was none other than Daario Naharis and on the other side, she found Jhogo. 

  Before she realized what she was doing, she undid the leather straps around her legs and hips and Drogon lowered his wing, so that she could dismount. 

  Feet firmly planted on the ground, she rose to her full height, only to find Ser Barristan kneeling low in front of her, followed by Daario, Brown Ben Plum, Ser Jorah, who was still here, fighting in her name, no matter the number of times she had sent him away from her. The Tattered prince was also there, his cape was bloodied, and his armor was dented, but he looked no worse for wear, from what she could see of him. 

  She approached Ser Barristan first, reaching out to him and helping him stand back on his own feet. “Please rise, it should be me, kneeling to all of you. For what you’ve accomplished on this day. Meereen owes its freedom to all of you.”

  Ser Barristan stood and squared his shoulders. “My Queen is as gracious as she is fearsome, yet it was you and your children that gave us the strength we needed to win the day. It was our duty and an honor to fight for you.” 

  Daenerys nodded and turned her attention to Daario, who smirked suggestively at her before she turned her attention to Jhogo. “Blood of my blood, I feared that we would be separated from one another. I am sorry that I left you for so long, but I had to go back, to the Mother of Mountains, before I could return to you.”

  Jhogo merely smiled at her greeting and stepped forward to clasp arms with his Khaleesi in a sign of respect, before taking his place beside Rakharo and Aggo who were now standing at her back. 

  “People of Yunkai, Qarth, Meereen, Astapor, Tolos and New Ghis, and Dothraki! Many have fought and lost their lives on this day. Many with the intention of returning Meereen and the rest of Slavers Bay back to slavery. Hear me now, and know that while I breathe, Slavery will no longer continue. No man is better than the next, no man has the right to own another. From this day forward, all men women and children will train beside each of you, free daughters will marry your sons and free sons, your daughters. All men, women and children will labor beside one another as friends, family and equals. All work will be paid for with coin, not with the blood sweat and tears of the less fortunate. Your choice is simple, follow me, help me create a better world where little boys and girls can walk safely, without fear of being stolen and chained and abused. Help me build a world where free men and women learn to fight and defend themselves without being beaten or mutilated or forced to murder an innocent child or animal to prove their worth. Help me create a world where pretty little boys and girls aren’t forced to sell their bodies for the benefit of an entitled master—” 

  Her words were silenced by the sound of bells ringing within the city. When she looked up, she could see smoke coming from the Great Pyramid. Though she could not be sure where it was inside the complex it was coming from, one thought burst into her mind. 

   Missandei…

  She turned to her people, a look of apology on her face, but Barristan seemed to understand. “Go, we will be right behind you.” He said. 

  She hesitated. On dragon back, she was virtually impossible to harm, but she would be of no use alone. She chanced a glance back in Drogon’s direction and within a moment's time, she knew what to do. “Come with me,” she said, earning an apprehensive look from her white knight.

  “Are you certain that he will allow it?” Ser Barristan questioned skeptically. 

  She did not have to ask Drogon, she already knew his response. “Come with me now, we have no time for this. I thought that you were bold?” She said, challenging him. 

  Without so much of a second thought, Daenerys moved back toward Drogon and she climbed up his wing. When she was in place, she reached out for her knight and helped him into place behind her. “Hold onto his spikes, and do not let go.” She called back, just before Drogon leapt into the air and turned in the direction of her pyramid. 

  “Who was charged with holding the city?” She asked, once they were airborne. 

  Ser Barristan leaned closer to her and then he yelled loud enough so that she could hear him above the wind. “Skahaz and the Brazen Beasts were left in charge of the cities defenses. There are a hand full of Unsullied remaining inside the Great Pyramid, mostly stationed around Hizdahr, to make sure that he remains in custody.” He explained.

  The only thing that she took away from this was that Hizdahr was in the pyramid, and they had no idea if the Harpy had access to him. Sensing her distress, Drogon propelled them forward, angling toward her personal balcony where she knew Missandei was locked inside of her apartments. It took no more than a handful of moments to reach the terrace, and without so much as a second thought, she was unbuckling her straps and sliding from Drogon’s neck. 

  “My Queen,” Ser Barristan called out, just before she could pull open the doors leading into her apartments. Daenerys looked back to her white knight. “Perhaps I should go in first. Just in case there’s an enemy close by.”

  She merely shook her head. “There is a fire somewhere inside the pyramid, and Missandei has locked herself inside. No one is in my apartments aside from her. But I will need you to help me find Hizdahr.” She said, holding off to enter her rooms until Ser Barristan was at her side. 

  Inside her apartments, there was a light cloud of smoke that was filtering under the doors, leading out into the main corridor outside of her chambers. Missandei was nowhere inside her audience rooms, so she quickly moved to her sleeping chambers. Calling out for Barristan to go and locate Hizdahr and find where the fire was coming from.

  Inside her rooms, she found her scribe curled up inside a window seat, where the air was still clean. 

  Noticing her presence, Missandei jumped up from her place and ran to her immediately. Daenerys opened her arms and pulled Missandei close. “Are you well? Did anyone try to get into my rooms?” She pulled back and studied Missandei’s face for any sign of distress. 

  Her scribe shook her head. “This one did as you said and locked the doors. No one came to your rooms.”

  This didn't make any sense to Daenerys, “Do you know where the fire is coming from? Did you hear anything at all?”

  Again, Missandei shook her head. “I smelled the smoke, but I do not know where the fire is coming from.”

  Daenerys nodded. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.” She needed to go and investigate for herself. If anything, Drogon was just outside and he could reach her on any of the outer balconies. 

  Missandei looked hesitant, but she returned to her place at the window and Daenerys moved toward her outer chamber and into the hallway beyond. 

  The corridors were smoky, but not so much so that she could not see, so Daenerys pressed on, moving toward the stairs that would lead her down to the next level. Just as she reached the lower landing she heard the sound of swords clashing and she inched carefully toward the door. She wished desperately that she had a weapon of her own, so that she might be of some use, but when she reached to her hip, all she found was the whip that Qohan had gifted her before she journeyed back to Vaes Dothrak. 

  And then it occurred to her, she might not know how to use a sword, but she knew well enough how to use a whip. Carefully, she undid the fastenings at her hip and gripped the handle and coil of her whip, and quietly, she made her way out into the corridor. Daenerys found Ser Barristan, sword drawn, facing off with one of Skahaz’ Brazen Beast. This one wore the mask of a hyena. It took her a moment to understand what was going on as she took in the scene in front of her. 

  Three men lay dead, all of which wore the mask of the Brazen Beasts. The door to Hizdahr’s rooms was slightly ajar and the smoke was coming from within. Just outside the stairwell, she noticed two of her Unsullied laying in a pool of their own blood, throats slit. They had been betrayed from within. 

  Her whip uncoiled in an instant and she turned toward Ser Barristan and Hyena and just as the Brazen Beast lifted his sword up to slash at her Knight, Daenerys let her whip crack and she watched as it snapped out and wrapped itself tightly around the wrist of Hyena. Ser Barristan used the distraction to strike the assailant across the head with the hilt of his sword, knocking him out. 

  She didn’t waste a moment, moving for Hizdahr’s chambers, pushing open the doors, and moving toward the fire that was burning atop his table in his solar. Quickly, she called for Barristan and ordered him to find something heavy enough that he could use it to smother the flames, and then she continued further into Hizdahr’s apartments. 

  Daenerys found him in his sleeping chambers, he was sitting up at the foot of his bed, clutching at a wound in his chest and she rushed to his side without a single thought for her own safety. 

  His eyes went wide once he realized that she had returned, but when he attempted to speak, blood stained spittle came out. “Relax Hizdahr, someone is coming to help, just don’t stop fighting.”

  Confusion flitted across his face. “Why?”

   Why? Why would she want him to die like this? “I'm not sure I understand why you think me uncaring, but I do desire that you live, so don’t die. That is an order from your Queen.”

  Movement was heard coming from the outer chambers and Daenerys looked up to see who had come, only to find the Green Grace and a handful of her unsullied, lead by Grey Worm. The Green Grace didn’t hesitate rushing to Hizdahr’s side.

  “Can you heal him?” Daenerys hadn’t realized how much she cared, but now that it was obvious who had been betraying her, all she could think of was how desperately she wanted him to live. Not because he was her husband—no, she wanted him to live because he had given Meereen ninety days of peace when everyone else was struggling to figure out who was responsible for the rise of the Sons of the Harpy. She knew now though...

  When the Green Grace finally was able to look away, Dany could see that his chances were slim. “I will need space to work, and someone to help me move him to a table where I can examine the wound.” Daenerys nodded. “I would also ask that your soldiers clear the area so that I can tend to him.”

  “I’ll clear everyone except myself and one of my Unsullied, you may not be a threat to him, but he is still the King.” 

  While Daenerys was certain that Hizdahr was safe in the care of Galazza Galare, she had also been foolish enough to believe the words that had come from the mouths of all her advisors. Hizdahr would not be left alone without someone there to make sure that nothing nefarious transpired. 

  The Green Grace nodded, and Daenerys turned her attention toward her soldiers. “Move the King to a cleaner room, and I want three men posted outside in the halls and one more inside the room at all times. Someone find me Ser Barristan.”

  Her Queensguard showed up almost immediately, his breathing labored as if he had been running. “You asked for me, my Queen?”

  Daenerys nodded and then gestured for him to follow her back to her rooms where Missandei was still waiting on her. Once she was sure that no one could overhear, she stepped in close. “I want you to gather your men discreetly. Once you have those that have earned your trust, I want you to go and find Skahaz and bring him to me.”

  “Skahaz?” Ser Barristan questioned. 

  She raised a brow at him, curious that her white knight thought to question her command. “Skahaz, and I would like him brought to the throne room.” 

  Ser Barristan nodded, albeit reluctantly and once he saw her into the safety of her chamber, he bowed once more and excused himself. 

  Missandei was pacing the floor, eagerly waiting on news, but stopped the moment that her golden eyes came to rest on her Queen. “Mhysa, did you locate the source of the fire?”

  “We did, someone tried to kill Hizdahr and hide it by setting a fire. The Green Grace is tending to him now. Would you be willing to help me bathe and dress so that we can receive our guests in the throne room?” She returned, moving toward her rooms. 

  “This one will get your things together.” Missandei replied moving to complete her task. 

  An hour later, she was bathed and dressed, her hair was newly braided and any soot that was left over from the battles was long gone. Missandei had chosen a black dress with crimson embroidering, long sleeved with a plunging neckline. Her dragon crown was placed atop her head, nestled between her braids. She kept her jewelry minimal and a soft pair of matching sandals were provided for her. She smiled brightly, and released a contented sigh the moment that she felt them on her feet. It had been far too long since she could enjoy such comforts. 

  A knock at her outer door, drew her attention. “You may enter.”

  A moment later, Marselen peaked his head through the door. “Ser Barristan asked this one to tell her Grace that everyone is in Throne Room.” 

  Daenerys smiled warmly at Missandei’s brother. “Thank you Marselen, I’ll be right there.” She stood from where she had been seated and her scribe fell into step beside her. 

  “Later, I’ll have Irri and Jhiqui here, if you would like to spend some time with your brother, I think we can manage.”

  Missandei blushed prettily, she was going to be a beauty when she finally came of age. Daenerys couldn't deny her desire to keep Missandei safe from people who would mean her harm. She might not be of her blood, she might not be more than five years younger than herself, but Daenerys knew that she would burn the world for Missandei. 

  “This one thanks you. Your Grace.” Her scribe returned, a beaming smile on her face that Daenerys easily returned. 

  Their conversation remained casual as they moved through the marbled halls of her pyramid and once they approached her formal throne room, Missandei entered first to announce her. 

  Daenerys did not wait long, just long enough for her scribe to stand in her place and then she entered. Missandei did not miss a beat, her voice ringing out loud and clear for the entire room to hear. 

  “You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the Mother of Dragons, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Conqueror of Qarth, Astapor, Meereen and Slaver's Bay. Rider of the Winged Shadow, he who is the Stallion who mounts the World; Drogon, the Rightful Queen of Westeros, Queen of the Andals, the Rhyonar and the First Men, and protector of her realms.”

  Daenerys came to stand in front of her bench just as Missandei was finishing and when she was done Daenerys sat down, letting the room know that she was in Queen mode. As she looked around the room, she noticed the faces of Brown Ben Plumm, as well as Ser Jorah, there was a dwarf that was missing a nose with miss matched eyes who stood beside another one, only this one was female and looked quite a few years younger than the male beside her. The one that they called the Tattered Prince was also there, though he had clearly fought hard if his appearance was any indication. Her bloodriders were already standing on the stairs that led up to her bench, with Unsullied standing at the base of the stairs and around the room. Grey Worm and Ser Barristan stood on either side of her, prepared to cut down any threat, and Missandei stood to her left, just in front of where she sat. 

  She also noticed the ironborn among the crowds, and the two dozen masters that had been captured standing in chains and heavily guarded by her Dothraki screamers. Skahaz stood beside Daario, who was watching him closely, but there were very few Brazen Beasts within the room that she could see. 

  Daenerys reached for Drogon who she suspected was lounging somewhere above them on her balcony and he answered her back with a resounding roar that let everyone know that he was close by, should she have need of him. 

  “People of Meereen, of Astapor, Of Yunkai, Tolos, and New Ghis. Today has proven a trying day, but the trials are not yet over I am afraid. You see, within these walls my people reside and as their Queen, it is my duty to see that they are kept safe and are cared for. Yet many of you here, sought to infect them with the Pale Mare, to invade their city, sack their homes, and place those that I have already given freedom to, back into chains. You came with war machines, intent on killing my dragons, you use deception to attack innocent people for daring to reach beyond slavery…” Missandei translated to the masses as Daenerys went on to list their many treasons against her people.

  “I tried to give you a choice, each of you have heard my terms. End slavery, break the chains, pay your ex slaves a fair wage, and I will leave you all to manage your own affairs. Continue, and I will bring you fire and blood. My husband, argued for a different solution. “Slavery will never return to Meereen, but Yunkai and Astapor would continue on as they always had, without my interference,” as well as a hefty gift of gold to the Wise and Good Masters, as many of you remember, I am sure. A deal that was sealed when Hizdahr and I were married. I actually agreed to this, something that I am firmly against, but I did this to save the lives of my people. Yet now I am informed that five hundred ships sail for Slavers Bay as we speak, and someone has tried to murder the only ally you had within this city.”

  “Will you burn us without a trial, the way you did in Astapor when you stole the Unsullied and that pretty little scribe who is still serving. Do you pay your Freed Slaves?! How can we even know for sure that it was not yourself who meant to kill your lawful King?!” One of the masters called from the back of the room. 

  This only confirmed what she already suspected. Daenerys narrowed her eyes and then turned toward Skahaz mo Kandaq. “Because the only people who had access to the pyramid while we were busy putting an end to this siege were a handful of my Unsullied and the Brazen Beasts. Unfortunately, when Ser Barristan and I arrived, the Unsullied that were stationed outside his chambers had been killed and there were quite a few men of the Brazen Beasts found trying to flee the King's chambers after having set fire to his personal correspondences.” 

  Up until that moment, Skahaz had been nodding along in agreement, but the moment that he realized that she was not merely defending herself but making a direct accusation against him and his masked army his face paled and he started glancing nervously around the room.

  “You should know that we managed to take Hyena alive and he had many things to speak of once he managed to wake up, seneschal.” 

  There was shuffling around the room as quite a few men were apprehended and brought to stand beside Skahaz. “Tell me, have you always been the Harpy? Working from the shadows, intent on tearing away the higher nobility of Meereen. Did you see in me, an unseeing pawn? One who would be easily manipulated into helping you rise above those who once looked down upon you. I’m told that the Harpy began attacking the moment that you convinced my Queensguard to detain his Grace. Was that another ploy to make him seem like he had been conspiring against me and my rule?” 

  She could see that her words had made Ser Barristan shift uncomfortably, no doubt he was concerned that he had done something to displease her. 

  “Your Radiance must be mistaken, I have been a most loyal servant. I have only sought to help you succeed, to help you destroy your enemies.” The shavepate began, falling to his knees before those assembled. 

  Daenerys waited patiently for him to finish his public mummery. When he was done she addressed the entire room. “I was once in the position of passing judgment against a man who believed that his actions were in service to me. I had him executed for murdering my enemy before he received a fair trial. I thought that I was justified, because justice is justice, and all men, women and children deserve to be treated equally. Had this man been my enemy who also killed an enemy, my judgment would have been the same, so I chose to repay his crime in the same manner he had taken upon himself to do. I executed him, my ally, one of my freedmen without first allowing him a fair trial. “I will match injustice with justice.” I told myself. I will not make this mistake twice, therefore, tomorrow at sunrise you, and the other masters here, will stand trial in Daznak’s pit, where the citizens of Slaver's Bay will have a chance to be heard by one and all, and where proper evidence against you will be presented. For most of you, your crimes were witnessed by many, and your justice will be similar to the justice you offered the innocent people you placed in chains.” 

  Daenerys turned her attention to Grey Worm, “Please see that these men are placed in a well fortified dungeon and that there are no less than fifty men guarding their cells. Then, if you would take as many men as you will need, I would like you to have the people on this list also brought to the dungeons to await trial tomorrow. However, come back to me, I have a special task for you and Daario to undertake on my behalf.” She spoke in a low tone, so that only he could hear what she was saying. 

  Grey Worm nodded, straightening his back, he turned and motioned for his men to gather the prisoners and carry out their duties. Before he left he turned and bowed, “This one will do as his Queen say and I will return soon.” Daenerys smiled in spite of the situation at the commander of her unsullied. 

  Missandei waited a few moments and then announced the next matter of business. “The Lord Victarion Greyjoy of the Island Pyke, requests an audience with the Queen.” Daenerys nodded and Ser Barristan motioned for him to approach. 

  The Kraken Lord was a tall man, with long dark hair that was starting to turn silver from age. His chest was broad, but his build was lean, he definitely looked like the dangerous sort. Beside him, a man with skin the color of pitch approached. He too, was a tall man of at least six feet. His hair was pure white and he wore it around his face like the mane of a hrakkar and as they drew nearer, Dany could faintly make out the outline of yellow and orange flames that were tattooed on his cheeks and brow. 

  A foreboding chill passed over her spine, but Daenerys kept her Queenly mask firmly in place. “Lord Greyjoy, I must admit that I am shocked to see an ironborn captain so far away from Westeros, and defending my people at that. Please tell me, how can I repay your bravery? And please share with us, what brought you all the way to Meereen.”

  The man in question did not seem like a man who was easily taken by flattery so Daenerys took it upon herself to get right to the point. There were many people standing inside her throne room, all of whom deserved her attention. 

  “I have come to offer an alliance to you, and along the way I managed to acquire a few gifts that I believe will aid you in transporting your armies to Westeros.”

  Daenerys arched a brow at his presumption. “What makes you believe that I intend to sail for Westeros?”

  “The Iron Throne, and the fact that you still consider it yours by right. Unfortunately there’s another woman who holds the same belief, and if my memory serves correctly, her father was the one who ordered his men to slaughter your brothers children.” The Iron born captain answered bluntly.

  Ser Barristan took a step forward and reached for his sword. “Watch your tongue, Greyjoy. This is the Queen you are speaking to.” He warned. 

  “I’m aware of whom I am speaking to, old man. I wasn’t aware that I said something untrue.” The Iron Captain challenged back. 

  “That’s quite enough.” Daenerys warned them both, silencing the argument before it ensued. 

  “What Lord Victarion says is the truth…” a deep voice sounded from the back of the room, where Ben and Jorah were standing. There was movement, men and women moving aside to make way for whomever it was approaching. After a few moments, the dwarf with the missing nose appeared at the bottom of the steps that led up to her bench. 

  “And who might you be?” Daenerys asked cautiously, but before he could answer, Ser Barristan did the honors. 

  “Tyrion Lannister, the imp of Casterly Rock, last born son of Tywin and Joanna Lannister. What brings you before the Queen?”

  Ser Jorah cleared his throat and Brown Ben gestured for him to approach. “I was a gift, for the Queen, actually. I was always coming here, I’ll have you know.” He paused long enough to glare at Ser Jorah from the corner of his eye. “Unfortunately, I was supposed to be in the company of some other people, also seeking an audience with the Dragon Queen.” The dwarf made a show of bowing low in her presence. 

  “Tell me Tyrion, is there a reason that I should not have your head removed from your shoulders and sent as a gift back to your Lord Father?” Daenerys couldn't help but ask. 

  “Well, you certainly have all that you would need to see the job done. But if I am to be honest, my father would have no need of my head, and sending it would win you no favors from him. You see, before I left Westeros, I murdered my father while he sat on the privy. I doubt that the only ones left to mourn me would be my wretched sister and my idiot brother, who both happen to believe that I also murdered their oldest son who was as mad as your own father, if not more so, if what they say is true.”

  “You are not helping your case…” Daenerys warned. In the back of her mind, her warnings were ringing as clear as a bell… Kraken and Darkflame… Lion and Griffin… the Suns Sun and the Mummers Dragon… Three of six were standing in front of her, yet she could not simply condemn these men to death, merely because Quaithe had warned her about them. Quaithe…a woman who she could not even prove exists. 

  “Very well Lord Tyrion. Your head is safe for today, and while I am eager to hear about your journey, I do believe that Lord Victarion has the floor.”

  “Please excuse my interruption.” He said, stepping back to allow the conversation between herself and Lord Victarion to continue. 

  “My Lord, while you are correct in your assessment of my list of priorities, I regret to see how you showing up here with just under a hundred ships will help me to transport my armies to Westeros. Furthermore, since when has the Iron born taken any interest in the affairs of the Seven Kingdoms or who sits the Iron Throne? What sort of alliance are you seeking?”

  “The only kind of alliance that makes a difference anymore, an alliance of marriage. I will help you transport your armies and I will pledge my fleet to you, if you will accept my offer of marriage, and when the time is right, you will help me destroy mine own brother who means to claim the Throne for himself and enslave all of Westeros.” The Iron captain explained. 

  Daenerys was the slayer of lies, yet this man wasn’t lying to her. He was not being honest with her, but he was by no means lying. “You must not have heard that I am a woman already married.”

  The Iron born captain scoffed at her pronouncement. “Aye, you’re married to a man who is destined to walk in the halls of the Drowned God. I was here just a while ago when you announced to the room that there was an attempt on his life. If his situation was not dire, he would have been here beside you. Nay, you will soon be freed of this burden, and when that time comes, my offer stands.” 

  There was no measure of tenderness in his tone, no hidden desire burning in his gaze. He addressed his offer like a business transaction, yet Daenerys could clearly see that he did not enjoy dealing with her one on one. Even more so, he did not like that she sat in a position of power over him. 

  Daenerys cleared her throat, trying to buy herself some time. “I see. You will have to forgive me, but until such a time, it would be ill received to agree to such an alliance while my husband yet lives. Let us revisit this topic in the future, should your predictions prove correct.” She turned her attention to the dark priest who stood beside him. 

  “Tell me, what brings a Red Priest for the Lord of Light to my city, allied to a man from Westeros who follows his own set of gods?”

  The priest in question took a single step forward and bowed lowly in respect. “I was sent here by the High Priest Benerro of the Red Temple in Volantis to offer you my help and guidance.”

  “Your help and guidance? What guidance could you possibly offer me?” Daenerys returned, skepticism heavily lacing her tone.

  “You are Azor Ahai reborn, you woke dragons from stone, and struck the chains from slaves all across Essos. You are meant to save humanity from the Long Night that is returning to snuff out your magical fire. The high priest believes that those who die, fighting in your name will be reborn anew. And that even Death shall bend the knee to you.”

  Daenerys wanted to laugh at how ridiculous he sounded. Death would no more do her bidding now than it had when she begged the maegi to return Drogo from his final ride. She said nothing in response though, she did not trust this man, nor did she trust this iron suitor. 

  She leaned toward the two men in question and offered them both an impassive smile. “I thank you both for coming all this way to bring your help and support. It has been a long day for all of us I’m sure and I have many more petitioners to speak with before I might retire. Please stay inside the Pyramid tonight and I promise that we can continue these discussions in the coming days.”

  Obviously sensing that this conversation could not continue any further, both men bowed respectfully and one of her Unsullied escorted them from the main hall, toward rooms that had likely been made up, just in case others were invited to stay within the city. 

  Once they were gone, Daenerys allowed for Missandei to continue announcing each petitioner. The next one to approach was the Tattered prince, who as it turned out, kept his word and freed both Jhogo and Daario from the Yunkish camp. While he did not mince words, his terms were not negotiable. He wanted Pentos, and he would not settle for less and with her not having been present when Barristan made the pact, Daenerys had little choice but to honor the agreement. 

  Before she dismissed him, she made sure to arrange a private audience with him on the following day. 

  The next petitioner was Brown Ben Plumm, followed by a few of his men from the Second Sons and Ser Jorah Mormont. She had not left things on good terms with Ben, before she had gone missing atop Drogon. In truth she had been shocked to see that he and his company had defected in her favor. Still that did not mean that his treason for Gold hadn’t stung her.

  She watched in calm silence as he approached the bottom of the stairs. As soon as he was in position, he dropped to one knee, his men following suite behind him. Even Ser Jorah followed suite, and even though she had banished him more times than she could count… the fact that he was still here, bleeding in her name only proved that she had unjustly punished the man who betrayed her, yes… but who had also saved her more times than she could recall. 

  “Your Grace, we came to swear our swords once more in your name, and to beg your forgiveness for our deception. The Second Sons are yours, now and always, and we always intended to remain faithful to our Queen.” Ben Plumm called up from his bended knees. 

  “Please rise, friends.” Daenerys called back. “It gladdens my heart to see you hale and hearty, all of you, truly. And while I must admit, it was a blow to lose you and your brave men, seeing you out there, fighting in my honor today, warmed my heart. I am lucky to be able to consider you and your men as friends.” She returned, not voicing the feelings of betrayal or the insecurity that she felt, knowing that his actual loyalty followed the gold price. 

  It had been another hour before she was able to finally end court and retire to her chambers in the company of Ser Barristan. She dismissed Missandei right away, as promised, and sent word for Irri and Jhiqui to be brought to her in a few hours. She still had to wait for Grey Worm and Daario to return so that she could make her plans in regards to the Kraken and Dark Priest. 

  “What do you think Lord Tyrion wants?” Ser Barristan asked, gaining her attention. 

  She didn’t really know the answer to such a question. “I wouldn’t know, as I know little to nothing about the man. You would know much better than I, I assume.”

  “Will you speak with him in private?” 

  Daenerys peered at her Queensguard through the corner of her eye and considered his question for just a moment. “If you’re asking me if I trust him or his motivations, the answer is no. But I have no reason to not sit down with him and at the very least, hear his story, and learn how he ended up in the company of Brown Ben Plumm and Ser Jorah Mormont, fighting against an army of slave masters and their conscripted armies.”

  She could see that the mention of Ser Jorah made her old knight uncomfortable. She placed a comforting  hand on his shoulder. “You’re right for not wanting him in the city, or anywhere near me, but if I continue to send away a man who is more than happy to die for me, the only men I will have serving me are men who mean to betray me. I don’t know if I can ever trust him the way that I once did, but it would be less than honest for me to pretend that I am not glad that he stayed to fight for me.”

  They entered her room and she made her way over to her audience chamber and she poured herself a goblet of cool water, Ser Barristan quietly followed behind her. She had many things on her mind, but only one thing kept playing back on constant repeat over the past few days. The call of the lone wolf and now, with the ironborn captain she was also thinking about the blue rose growing from the chink in a Wall made from ice. 

  Before she could dig into that, a knock announced the arrival of Grey Worm and Daario, who she had been waiting on. “We will continue this conversation in a moment.”

  Daario entered her chambers with all of the swagger of a man who thought to have a claim on them, but he paused when he noticed Ser Barristan standing at her back. “So this is a formal summons.”

  Daenerys sighed and rose from her chair. “Captain Naharis, it pleases me to see you alive and unharmed.” As she spoke, she moved toward a chest where she had placed his precious ladies. The Dothraki arakh and the Myrish stiletto that he had left in her care after agreeing to be a hostage for her in the Yunkish camp. 

  When he saw what she was doing, he moved immediately to take them back into his possession. Daenerys stepped back instinctually, there was something right about returning his ladies back to him. Something final about letting go of what she had still held onto in his absence. Whether or not he realized what was going on here was irrelevant, because she knew. Daario was her past… if I look back I am lost…  

  Daenerys moved across the room, placing some space between herself and Daario which was not lost on him. When she was back near the chair she had been sitting in before they entered she began to explain the reason that she asked them to join her. 

  “I have reason to believe that the Iron born are hiding something. I was warned not to trust him, as well as the Red Priest that he brought with him. He came here looking to make a pact through marriage, and yet he commands a fraction of the ships I would need to move my armies to Westeros. He would not be so confident if he did not think he had the upper hand.” Daenerys explained.

  As expected, Grey Worm said nothing, he merely nodded as she laid out their orders in detail. “So you want us to sneak aboard his ship and look around?” Daario asked dubiously. 

  “Why not allow me to slit their throats and you can claim his remaining ships by right of conquest?” He asked, following up the previous question. 

  “Because, it would serve my interests better, to arrive in Westeros with a shaky ally rather than on the heels of a known enemy.”

  “This one will go,” Grey Worm announced. 

  Daario sighed and brushed his thumb over the stiletto now securely fastened at his hip. “I suppose that means that we better get going.” His tone was reluctant, but she could hear the teasing lilt in his voice when his eyes met her own. 

  Daenerys couldn't allow herself to lead him on, so she nodded once. “I believe that would be for the best. Try not to kill anyone, and if you find anything suspicious, take this horn and call for me, I will mount Drogon at once to come to you, should you have need of us.” She spoke to both of them, not wanting Daario to read too much into her words. 

  Grey Worm crossed his fist over his chest in a show of respect and bowed at the waste. “We will return soon, my Queen.” He turned immediately, not waiting for Daario and made his way to the door. Reluctantly, Daario smiled coyly and jogged after him. 

  When they were gone, Daenerys slumped back in her chair. “Is something the matter, My Queen?” Ser Barristan asked from somewhere behind her. 

  Unable to speak, she simply shook her head. “I have just come to realize that some things were never meant to be.” She shook her head, clearing her mind of those types of distractions and focused on the distraction she had been most eager to lose herself in. 

  “Ser Barristan, what can you tell me about blue roses?”

  “Blue roses, your Grace?” She could hear the curiosity in his tone. 

  “Yes, have you ever seen one?” She clarified, not quite ready to share her reasons. 

  He hesitated a moment and his face turned sad, the way it always would, whenever he would speak of her brother Rhaegar. When he finally managed to find his voice, he confirmed her suspicions. 

  “I have seen them before, Your Grace. Once, at the tournament of Harrenhal. Your brother, he crowned the Lady Lyanna with a laurel of winter roses, just after he defeated me in the final joust.”

  For some reason, whenever the Lady Lyanna was mentioned Daenerys found herself eating up whatever information she could glean from the conversation. In fact, it was fair to say that she knew more about the Lady Lyanna at this point, than she did of her own Lady Mother. No one ever spoke to her of the Late Queen Rhaella, no one aside from Viserys and even he had stopped speaking about her after a while. Except of course when he thought to blame her for something else she hadn’t intended to ruin. 

  The same could be said about her own father. She knew far more about Rhaegar than she did King Aerys. Even when she had been among the Undying ones, they had given her the title; daughter of death. Yet when she asked them to help her understand, it was Rhaegar that she had seen falling into the waters of the trident. Not her kingly father who was being betrayed by the young knight who had sworn to defend her father with his life. 

  Daenerys wasn't sure what the connection between herself and her brother Rhaegar and his Northern Love entailed, but she had a duty to uncover the truth. “Lyanna Stark? You’ve mentioned her before, you claimed that my brother loved her?”

  Her white knight sighed, feeling the burden of his past memories weigh on him. “Indeed he did. And the realm bled, all for the sake of his love of her. But do you think that would have stopped your brother?” His tone suggested that he still held regrets, but that he also still held affection for her brothers memory. 

  “Do you believe what the rumors claim? That Rhaegar stole the Lady Lyanna against her wishes and then raped her?” Daenerys knew that he didn’t, but there was a part of her that needed to hear him confirm it one more time. 

  “Your brother was—he was not prone toward acts of violence, rage or lust, especially given your father's actions toward your mother.” Her old knight paused for just a moment, deciding on how best to continue. 

  “His passion consisted of playing his harp and trying to care for his people. Until the day he met the shewolf of Winterfell at Lord Whent’s tourney. But for him to simply abscond with her? Well, let us just say that I never took the Lady as the type to just be taken without putting up a fight. Before her, any display of emotion that wasn’t tied to grief was almost unheard of, but when we rode south after the tournament, I saw your brother smile on more than one occasion, though his secrets remained his own. When we rode for battle on the Trident in 283, I rode beside a man who was in love, a man who was only fighting to protect his family. Not a man who was looking to cover up a mistake. Your brother claimed to have married the Lady Lyanna, but when the war was done, and Rhaegar was slain by the hand of Robert, her older brother; Lord Eddard, rode out in search of her, only to find her dying of a fever, hidden away in some tower in Dorne. Without her to fill in the blanks, I’m afraid that no one will ever know the truth of what truly happened between the two of them.”

  Daenerys sat back in her chair, disappointed by the way that the story ended. There had to be more to it… “How long were they missing, before my brother was summoned back to the Red Keep by our father?”

  Ser Barristan straightened his back and began to pace back and forth a time or two before he answered. “To be honest, no one is truly certain. Your brother left Dragonstone shortly after Princess Elia gave birth to her second child, but his ship never docked in King's Landing. Your father had ordered his pyromancers to burn wildfire along the castle battlements and walls, all in an attempt to ward off the winter chill. Come the fourth moon, 282 AC, the heir to Winterfell was outside the castle gates, demanding that your brother come out and die for abducting his sister. Unfortunately, it was not your brother who answered his challenge, but the knights of the Kingsguard who were sent to give him your father's reply. You see, your brother hadn’t been back to the Capitol since after the tournament. When your father summoned Princess Elia from Dragonstone, it was discovered that the prince had departed Dragonstone with the turning of the new year, along with six of his closest companions. It was believed that they were riding for the area surrounding Harrenhal or the Gods Eye. Which is where we assume that the two of them crossed paths.”

  “So, it’s possible that they had been together from the beginning of 282 AC until when, when did he come back to the Red Keep?” Dany felt like she was making progress. 

  “After Lord Jon Connington lost the battle at the Stony Sept, which if my math is correct, was somewhere close to fourteen months later. Still, Ser Gerold had been sent to retrieve him and Rhaegar didn’t arrive until after the fifth moon 283 AC.”

  Daenerys absentmindedly began to worry at her lower lip… there was more than a year and a half of time that had passed while her brother was absent, and it all revolves around Lyanna Stark and blue roses… 

  “Where do blue roses grow?” She questioned, rather than the question she was burning to ask.

  Ser Barristan watched her with interest, but if he was curious about why she was so set on discussing this topic, he never mentioned it. “As far as I know, the only place they grow is in Winterfell, my Queen.”

  “Winterfell…not the Wall?” His answer surprised her. 

  This time, she could see the confusion that her question caused. “The Wall? No, Your Grace, as far as I know, nothing grows at the Wall aside from Ice. Why do you ask?”

  Daenerys sat back in her seat, playing all of the information that she had just learned back, over and over again inside her mind. “Don’t you think that it’s strange that my brother and the Lady Lyanna were missing for more than a year, nearly two years and yet, as far as the realm knows, they never conceived a child?” She stopped speaking long enough to meet him eye to eye. 

  “I keep receiving information that makes me believe that this may not be the case at all.”

  Ser Barristan knit his brows together in confusion, so she asked yet another question.

  “What is the sigil of House Stark?”

  “A grey Direwolf on a white field.” Came his automatic reply. 

  Daenerys nodded, remembering the call of her northern wolf, “And didn't you tell me that Lord Eddard Stark was one of the most honorable men you’ve ever known, aside from my brother.”

  This time, Ser Barristan nodded, “I did, Your Grace. He spoke against sending an assassin to kill you and your unborn child when no one else would. At the risk of his own life and the threat of ending a life long friendship.”

  “And have you ever wondered why a man who has more reason than anyone else in Westeros to want me dead, would argue for my life? They say that he fathered a bastard, do you believe this?”

  “I admit, I’ve never seen Lord Stark’s natural born son. All that I know about the boy is that he came back with Lord Stark from Dorne. They say the boy looks northern, more so than almost all of his trueborn children, save the youngest girl. And word has it that he went to the Wall when his father rode south to be Robert's Hand.” As soon as he finished speaking, his eyes went wide with realization. The implications of her questions were finally starting to dawn on her old knight. 

  She decided to come clean… “Ser, I saw visions in the House of the Undying. I saw my brother, revealing the name of his son to a woman I believe to be Elia Martell… Aegon, what better name for a king?... I saw him again, dying in the waters of the trident, his breastplate caved in from the blow of a mighty war hammer, I saw a blue rose, growing from a crack in a Wall made of ice. When I was lost out there on the Dothraki Sea, I heard the call of a lone wolf coming from somewhere to the North. My nightmares are of me running from the cold, toward a house with a red door. The door is Fire...it’s safety. Everything that you just shared with me only raises one question, and that question revolves around related things…blue roses...the Wall...the North...wolves howling… Lyanna Stark… Bride of Fire. Ser Barristan, I am supposed to be the “Slayer of Lies,” and I’m telling you, I think my brother has a child somewhere, most likely a son, growing up at the Wall, I need to go to him, I think I’ve always needed to go to him.”

  They sat in silence for what felt like an eternity to her before Ser Barristan finally found his voice. For the most part, he just stood there stunned by the information that she had unloaded upon him. 

  “Forgive me, but what does this mean for Lord Victarion and the Volantene fleet that our reports claim are still sailing for the Bay? How can you fight the conflicts that are still ongoing here in Essos, if you intend to go back to Westeros?”

  This reminded her of the time when her white knight wanted her to accept Prince Quentyn rather than marry Hizdahr… she supposed that he thought the Greyjoy offer was one she should seriously consider…

  “Lord Victarion will not leave Slavers Bay alive if he means to betray me. Of that, I will know soon enough. As for Volantis, we will have need of their ships to transport the rest of my Dothraki, Unsullied, freedmen and the newly acquired Ghiscari legions from New Ghis to Westeros. I’ll be sailing with at least twenty ships, when I set out, among them will be the Windblown. I will take care of the Volantene on my way, and the remainder of those ships will be sent back to Meereen to be prepared for the journey west. For now, Missandei, Ser Jorah, Daario, and Grey Worm will remain behind, along with the Lannister dwarf, and help put the city to order, and they will set up the ruling council here in Meereen, which I will fully outline before we depart. 

  “We?” Ser Barristan asked, looking for clarification. 

  Daenerys nodded, “You and I will fly ahead on Drogon, with Viserion and Rhaegal. We will deal with the Volantene fleet first. Once that is settled, we will make a few stops before flying West, one in Volantis, I would like to get the measure of this Benerro and the Triarchs behind their black stone wall, then we will stop in Pentos so that I can pay my debt to the Tattered Prince and to Illyrio Mopatis, after that we fly for Dragonstone for a rest before we continue North. I expect that we should arrive within two or three moons of the rest of the fleet.

Chapter Text

  After Aegon’s success in Stone, the Magnar arranged a hunt and a huge feast was planned as soon as Clan Crowl of Deepdown and the Clan Stane of Driftwood Hall could arrive to celebrate “the man who came with the white wolf.”   

  Aegon, in truth had been anxious to leave the island, but he was in no condition to refuse the people who had sheltered and cared for his baby brother for the past however many years. And to just rip away his brother without a proper chance for closure would hardly make him better suited to assume his care.
 
  Especially after all Rickon has lost… the thought hurt his heart. 

  While he had been undertaking his mission, the Magnar provided the rest of his party with rooms and meals, so before Aegon spoke with him, they provided him with the same courtesy. 

  That night, after Rickon fell asleep on a bed of furs, snuggled between Ghost and Shaggydog, Aegon finally had his first chance to speak with the woman Osha and the Magnar, whom she was married to. He was joined by Val, Tormund, Leathers and Ser Davos Seaworth, who technically served Stannis but for now, was not someone Aegon saw as an enemy. Melisandre and Lord Howland opted to stay close to Rickon while he spoke with their host. 

  For the sake of secrecy, Aegon allowed the Magnar to refer to him as “the Man Who…” though things got more complicated every time Ser Davos referred to him as “Lord Snow.” Still, Aegon managed to keep his urges in check for the time being. It did not matter to the clans on Skagos who his father was, or that he was the heir to the iron throne. It only mattered that he was able to show strength and lead properly. And with the Great War approaching, Aegon would need the help of all men, not just those living on the mainland. He would also need the dragonglass that was inside Stone.

   They sat around a long table back in the main hall, some roast of sorts was set out and a Skagosi ale was served alongside it. Aegon hesitated to eat of the meat that was provided, but was more than happy to accept bread, salt and drink. The woman; Osha, watched him with keen interest, but she never remarked on his choice. 

  Thinking better of things, he decided to take a serving and then he asked. “What type of meat are you serving?” 

  All around the table, everyone laughed, as if they had been expecting such a question. Aegon felt his cheeks redden but he held their gaze.

  “The men caught a few Elk the night before last with the help of Shaggydog. Did ya think he would feed you our own kind?” Osha asked, suppressing her mirth. 

  Aegon took his first bite then and chewed slowly. “Wouldn’t be the first clan to dine on the flesh of men. I’m not one to judge, I just prefer to not partake myself.” Came his reply after a few moments. 

  The Magnar waited for Leathers to translate and then he roared with laughter. “The men born on mainland believe what they want. The only cannibal on island come from Stone! We never eat our own, Dragon claim Skane, Stoneborn protect Dragon!”

   Leathers translated the Magnar’s words and again Aegon felt foolish. He should have known better than to believe the words written by some maester who likely never set foot on the island nor exchanged words with it's people. 

  After plates were cleared, Osha filled him in on everything that had happened in the time since she was taken into his brothers service. The arrival of the Northern Houses to Winterfell, the two children who came from the Neck to be companions to Bran and Rickon. Aegon had deduced that these were the children of Lord Howland Reed. But if his suspicions were correct, Lord Howland had not been aware that his children were now beyond the Wall with his little brother Bran, but he was clearly aware now and yet he still hadn’t thought to clarify the matter with him. 

  Aegon owed Osha everything…yet he knew not how to repay her. He had every intention to bring his brother home, and in doing so, he was essentially taking her child from her. Then she started to tell him about the reasons for crossing the Wall and moving south. How she had warned Bran and Robb that the true fight was to the North, not the South the day Robb called his banners and prepared to march for King's Landing, and how Robb would not hear her. 

  It reminded Aegon of the day that Lord Stark beheaded Gared, of the Night’s Watch and how he spoke of the Walkers and their return. His father believed that the real threat had been Mance Rayder and the masses of Free Folk assembling North of the Wall, as did his uncle Ben and the Old Bear. None of them had taken the time to ask themselves why so many tribes would come together with a singular purpose. Not even he had, not until he witnessed a dead man come to life, or when he saw the sacrifices and the slaughter first hand while on the Great Ranging. 

  They could have been prepared by now, the Wall properly fortified, but even the honorable Eddard Stark could not be convinced of the true enemy. And if he couldn't, why should anyone else believe? 

  There has to be an easier way… 

   What Aegon found astonishing, however, was the willingness of the Stoneborn to believe the tales that Osha had shared. It moved him so deeply that he found himself sharing all that he had seen himself. And most of what had inspired him to allow the Free Folk through the Wall. 

  The Magnar listened as Leathers spun the story in the language of the Old Tongue and when Leathers finished, the Magnar recited an old prophecy back to them.

    “When winter comes, Stone will again breathe light. From across the Salt, Fire will give life back to Ice. Far from home a black wolf will mourn for his white brothers plight. They call for the son who was promised to fight. The one to wield the sword that will end the Long Night. The white one brings the one who must face the darkness, alone and unarmed, his trial must begin, and if he is chosen, the key will come from within. What was once hidden in ice will answer the call of the glowing lights. In order to succeed he must take his first flight.”

  This time Osha translated. “The Magnar says that for many years the Stoneborn have waited for one of their blood to come and harness the power that resides inside the mountain. Every time the winter is announced, men from all over come to complete the trial, believing that they are the promised warrior, meant to slay Winter and calm the storms. But it was not until Rickon started speaking about the White Wolf that the Stoneborn came to prepare for your arrival. When your Wolf showed up and Shaggy greeted him openly, the Magnar knew that the time had come for the trial once more.”

  So just like the Red Woman, the Skagosi had their own prophecies… it explained the presence of human bones in Cannibals lair, as well as Rickon’s intense fear that he wouldn’t return. No one ever had. 

  While they were on the topic, Aegon told them all about what it looked like inside the mountain, he told them about the dragonglass and how Sam had found old inventory records, documenting trade between the Skagosi and the Watch. Trade that included dragonglass. 

  The Magnar acknowledged that there were many caves where they could access the glass and that he would gladly talk to the other Clan leaders once they gathered in the coming days to celebrate Aegon's success.

  The following days were spent with Rickon, refamiliarizing himself with his little brother and allowing him to get to know the new man that he had become in his second life. Aegon didn’t bother hiding his scars from Rickon. As far as he was concerned, there was no need. Rickon knew where they were, as if he had experienced his mutiny first hand. 

  What troubled him, was not the fact that Rickon knew, or could see them. It was the implication that Arya could have felt them too. And if she had, did she understand in the same way Rickon had? Aegon hoped for her sake that she was spared such a fate. 

  His little brother did his best to distract him, asking all manner of questions about the Wall, the Free Folk and of course, Cannibal. But he never asked about his mother or their father after the first day when he confused them. This perhaps was the hardest thing for Aegon to accept. 

  The idea that most of his brothers anger was wrapped around his feelings of abandonment in addition to being displaced made Aegon all the more determined to be there for Rickon. He would not be able to help him know his mother, but he could make sure that his little brother knew the truth of what transpired, and he could fight with all his might to give back, at least in part, a portion of what was lost. Even Arya… she would need Rickon too, and together, the three of them could heal each others darkened hearts. 

  Twice more over the following days he took flight with Cannibal. The first time, the dragon had insisted upon it. They flew over the island during the day, getting more familiar with their link. Aegon shared with him images of the night that he died and how Ghost had been his salvation. It was in Aegon's opinion, vital that Cannibal knew why his wolf was so important to him. 

  In turn Cannibal explained their connection further, how it was possible for Aegon to connect with the rest of the weyr. The link worked like a hive, starting with the Oldest among their ranks, which Cannibal was. From there the hive branched down based on age. The youngest among them remain to protect the lair, and block the passageways to the earth's core. With the bond now secure between himself and Aegon, the hive was now open to Aegon as well. And once they fully merged through his ability to warg, they would not need riders, because they would be connected through the mind. 

  It was a lot to consider, and obviously something that Aegon would have to work on. As of now, the heat he felt whenever his mind was linked to Cannibal was still quite new, and it made him feel disoriented afterward. But with enough practice he suspected that it would feel less like an inferno and more like an embrace.

  The second time he flew with Cannibal, was after hearing Rickon and Vallyria talking about the first night of their arrival. Rickon was telling them about his dreams and how after, the lights atop stone appeared. Aegon too, had wondered about this, not quite understanding how sailors wouldn’t see the shapes of dragons flying in the skies. So that night he called Cannibal to him and asked him to show him how the lights were made possible.

  As they climbed into the sky and began to circle Stone the first light was seen. Light blue against the black, then again on the opposite side of the mountain a bright golden burst illuminated the mountain. On and on it went, as if there was some melody playing, and the lights were the pre-composed symphony. Once they were close enough, Aegon saw what he hadn’t seen before. Hidden amongst the many crevices and cliff edges were numerous openings that allowed the other dragons to enter or exit through. 

Cannibal explained that when the red comet crossed the sky some of the hatchlings woke and began using the openings to light the way for him to find them. But that had been years ago, at least three, if his math was correct.

  He still had no idea how many smaller dragons were lairing inside the mountain or what they looked like, but after learning all he could about them, he supposed it was better to think of them as a whole rather than as individuals. 

  At the feast on his final night the Magnar and the other Clan chiefs celebrated his success and drank in his honor. Their host told them about his request for dragonglass and why it was so important for the mainland. They also spoke of war, and the fact that Rickon would be leaving them to go and fight to take back his home. 

  Many of them declared Rickon a worthy Magnar for the North to one day follow, and they even shared stories with him about the many successful hunts that Rickon shared with their boys. It was clear that his little brother was well loved by the people of Skagos, which made taking him away from them even harder than he had originally imagined. 

  The following morning Aegon and his company prepared for departure. The Clans pledged to begin shipping dragonglass to the mainland as long as the Watch sent boats to retrieve it. He knew that Edd would gladly agree to these terms, and if Aegon had to, he would see to it that House Manderly provided the vessels to make the journey. 

  As they prepared to board the ship that would take them across the Bay of Seals, Aegon waited for Rickon to arrive with his horse. Shaggy and Ghost had made the journey without them, and he expected that their intent was to hunt before setting sail. The rest of his travel companions were already getting settled aboard the ship, save Ser Davos and Val. 

  He was just getting ready to check in with Ghost when he heard the excited laughter of his brother followed by the sound of other mounted men approaching and then Rickon called to him. “Brother, look! Come and meet Black Horse.”

  He turned around expecting to find a black pony only to find that his brother was riding what appeared to be a shaggy black goat with a long horn protruding from it's head. Beside him Val chuckled. 

  “There will never be a boring moment with this little one, will there?” She asked, her fondness for Rickon was clear. The two of them spent quite a bit of time together over the past few days. Rickon was told by the Skagosi that he was a man, and as such, he was determined to prove to her that he could hunt and trap and take care of her just as well as she could help take care of him.

  Aegon shook his head, “Not one. I fear that he has a long road ahead of him before he fully settles back into the normal constraints of life.” He confessed, though he couldn’t find it in himself to deny the charm of this little wild storm.

  Val smiled, “Even then, I suspect that he will be the only High Lord to ride a unicorn in place of a War Horse.” Together, they moved to greet Rickon and Black Horse.

  As they neared, Aegon noticed the Magnar had also come, along with the other Clan chiefs, all riding atop their own unicorns. He counted them as they approached, shocked by their numbers. 

  The only other time he had seen one, was when he was with Ghost and they had seen Shaggy hunting here on Skagos. It was the same night that he realized where Rickon was, how he knew to come here in search of him. 

  The Magnar dismounted and helped Rickon down as well. Osha stood behind him, prepared to translate. Aegon offered his hand in greeting and the chiefs all stepped forward to make their own thanks and what he assumed were also farewells. 

   “Stoneborn voted and we will follow man with White Wolf to mainland and into war. You have destiny, Stoneborn stay with little prince. We will kill his enemies so man can fight.” The Magnar said in the Old Tongue and Osha relayed the words in the common tongue for him. 

  Aegon stood there stunned for a moment, unsure how to proceed. “I’m not sure of how to give thanks to you and your people, but we will not forget any of what you’ve done for Rickon or for the North.”

  Rickon walked over and grabbed his hand, then he grabbed Val’s too. “Come, let's go home. Nymeria is coming, Shaggy and Ghost want to leave.”

  Aegon peered down at his little brother and smiled. “Aye, I suppose we better be on our way then. Won’t you show Ser Davos how to get Black Horse situated?”

 Rickon glanced between himself and Davos and then the Magnar before running over and hugging the Magnar tightly. “Promise you will come?” He asked the Magnar, who nodded.

   “Stoneborn come behind black wolf, we will see you at Winterfell young prince.” The Magnar promised his little brother. 

  Osha stepped forward, and placed a tender kiss to her husbands cheek and Aegon stepped back to give them some space. Apparently she decided that she would be going with Rickon back to Winterfell, and she would be taking her child with her. While he was unsure in regards to having a babe so young in a war camp, Osha was of the Free Folk, and their children were typically born in transit. Gilly had given birth hours before the mutiny at Crasters and then was forced to walk through the Haunted Forest until they reached the Night Fort and then further until they came upon Castle Black. If the journey had been perilous for a babe so small, the little Monster had been the exception to that rule. If Osha believed that bringing her babe with her was for the best, then Aegon wouldn’t argue for her to change her mind. 

  After Osha said her farewells she and Rickon made their way toward Davos and the three of them helped to board Black Horse onto their ship followed by Ghost and Shaggydog. 

  “We sail in a few days, you take care of my woman and prince. Skagosi bring rest of herd with them.” The Magnar said in the common tongue, surprising Aegon. 

  “The heard?” Aegon responded, shocked by the fact that he had been using a translator the entire stay on the island, when apparently there had been no reason to. 

  Noticing his confusion, the Stoneborn had one final laugh at his expense. The Magnar nodded, and pointed back toward the other Stoneborn, still sat atop their mounts. “The Heard… we bring them all when Stoneborn come to mainland.”

  The Magnar was talking about the unicorns… he was intending to bring the unicorns to Westeros. There must have been upwards of two score, all broken and ready to be ridden. They ranged in sizes and color, some were clearly older than the others, but the one thing they had in common was the long ivory horn that protruded from their head. A tool that would no doubt be useful during a mounted charge. All Aegon could do is give his thanks and promise them that they would find a warm welcome when they arrived at Winterfell. 

  After that, all there was left to do was raise anchor and set sail. Osha, Rickon, Val and himself all stood together on the deck as the current pushed them away from the shore, watching the island shrink, the further they went. When it was hardly larger than a speck in the distance, Rickon turned back to him and lifted his arms, indicating for Aegon to pick him up. 

  Aegon did so happily, and together they walked below the deck. “Are you sad to leave?” 

  Rickon thought for a moment and then shook his head. “No, Osha is coming, and Nymeria is coming home too.” Then he thought about it some more. “Will your dragon come?”

  He didn’t have to stop to consider the answer. “Aye, the dragons will come. They wanted to come today, but I wanted us to go home together. When the time is right, I will send for the dragons too. Would that be alright with you? To have Dragons in Winterfell?”

  Rickon pulled back and assessed his expression. “They won’t burn it will they?”

  Aegon's brows creased. “Not unless they have to, but I can’t see a reason that they would. Winterfell is our home, the dragons will know that and they will want to keep us safe. What makes you ask?”

  “They burned Winterfell and we had to hide in the crypts with father and grandfather… Bran said we had to be quiet and we weren’t allowed to leave. When we finally did leave, everything was ruined and maester Luwin was hurt. Someone cut him and left him in the godswood. Osha said that she had to give him mercy, so Hodor took us away after Bran promised that we would go find you at the Wall.” His little brother said, relaying the events that led up to their escape after the castle was sacked.

  Every time he learned something more about the events that transpired after he took the Black another piece of him hardened. His family had been stretched too thinly, they had suffered for too long. What was more, he couldn’t even promise that it was over. Not until he got to Winterfell and avenged his sister. Not until Ramsay Bolton and his traitorous father were drawn and quartered. He had half a mind to give them both over to Sigorn and his clan, make them pay for daring to claim his sister, for daring to claim what they had no blood ties to. 

  Aegon sighed and then he looked Rickon in the eye. “I wish I could promise you that all the bad things are past us, but the truth is, there is more to come. Bad people have Winterfell, they might even have Arya but that is why we are going home. Cannibal will come and so will the rest of them, but I want to win this without risking any dragons and without risking Winterfell, I don’t know how Winterfell was burned before, but I swear to you that I will do all that is in my power to ensure that it doesn’t happen again.”

  “Good.” Was all the response Rickon gave and Aegon decided not to push him any further on the matter. They had a long journey ahead of them before they joined up with Lady Mormont and Lord Glover and mayhap even longer before they were able to secure Winterfell. For now, all he wanted was to relax with his little brother, Ghost, Shaggydog and Val. 

  The journey from Eastwatch toward Winterfell was long and while they traveled, Aegon had the opportunity to test and strengthen the link between himself and Cannibal. Even though The dragon remained on Skagos with the rest of the weyr, Aegon and Cannibal we’re constantly linked. 

  Sometimes, when he would find himself mulling over a particular thought or problem, Cannibal would insert his opinion without warning, often times startling him in front of other people.

  The first time it had happened, Tormund was beside him and he nearly jumped out of his saddle. That night he had been the subject of many jokes and much teasing, that he still hadn’t fully lived down. 

  Leathers remained behind at Eastwatch, word had reached them about a group of Free Folk moving south through the Haunted Forest from Hardhome and he wanted to be there to see them safely through the Wall and toward the Gift. After, he would wait for further instructions at Castle Black. 

  The Lady Maege and Lord Glover met them on the King's Road, just after they crossed through the New Gift, with more of the Free Folk from Moles Town and some others who had arrived following his departure of Castle Black. All and all, the Lady of Bear Island seemed to be well at ease in their company, even Val seemed to get along with the she-bear. 

  Based on the information they had received while at the Wall, most of the Northern Houses were already in position. Stannis himself had taken camp in a Crofters Village just west of Winterfell, that was surrounded by the dense forest of the Wolfswood. 

  The best way to access that location would be to head west and go through the mountains, but assuming that the Bolton bastard would engage the Baratheon armies where they camp, it could prove better to set up their own camp to the North-East of Stannis. Then, they could allow the Bolton men to pass and attack them from the rear as they go. 

  To Aegon's recollection, there was an abandoned tower north of Winterfell where Rickon could post up and wait. But the idea of leaving him alone with only Shaggy and Osha for protection made him feel anxious. If the Skagosi managed to arrive on time, then the idea of leaving him temporarily wouldn’t be so bad. 

  Black Horse had proven himself an exceptional mount, his footing was always sure, and he navigated the snowy landscape with ease. Though his own mount was no stranger to the north, he wouldn’t have minded having his own unicorn to conduct him from Eastwatch to Winterfell. 

  He was very careful with these thoughts, as he had quickly learned over the weeks following his departure from Skagos, Cannibal listened to everything and he had no desire to offend the dragon.

  Their group numbered four thousand, mostly made up of the Free Folk, a few hundred men from Bear Island, and a few more of the mountain clansman who had not marched with Stannis. Alys Thenn also managed to round up some of the common folk from her father's lands to march beside them. The rest of their loyalists were either already mixed in with the Bolton forces or they would meet them there. 

  The numbers were not ideal, but the Free Folk brought another advantage with them… skin changers. There were quite a few, most notably was Borroq and his boar who was as large as a bull, and thrice as dangerous. Of the others, there was Briar, who came across the wall after Aegon left for Skagos, she brought with her a shadowcat that stuck to the outskirts of their camp, and Grisella whose familiar was a goat. Some of the others took more traditional familiars, like birds. But the one changer that he did not see was Varamyr Six-skins who as Aegon could recall, wore the skin of six different animals. One of which was a giant snow-bear, the only others that he knew of were Orell's eagle, a one eyed wolf, and a shadowcat. Though at the time, it was just the she-bear and Orell's eagle that Aegon had known about. 

  Without Varamyr, the bulk of their aid would come down to Nymeria and her pack who were steadily racing north. He could only hope that they made it in time. 

  They were about a week North of the abandoned tower, when a group of riders was seen coming in their direction. Aegon slipped into Ghosts skin, and motioned for Rickon to do the same so that they could go and investigate together. 

  It was his hope that the more involved with scouting Rickon was, the easier it would become to help him master his emotions. There was much more to sharing his wolf's skin than simply experiencing his anger and bloodlust. Shaggy was born a predator but Rickon was not, his little brother needed to find a way to separate the beast from the boy. 

  In the case of Ghost and Shaggydog, Ghost was the alpha, and therefore Shaggy had no choice but to bend to his superiors will. This behavior eventually translated into his relationship with Rickon, because his little brother saw Ghost and Aegon as one and the same. Because of this, strengthening their bond was much easier when the wolves were involved, as Shaggy had left more of a mark on Rickon than the opposite. 

  The two wolves moved silently through the trees, as silent as could be. Listening for anyone who could be hiding, and observing the group of travelers. The first thing that he noticed was the familiar scent of one of them. Someone who had recently been at the Wall, then he heard the faint sound of voices, and Ghost inched his way closer to the tree line. 

  When he was close enough, he could make out the three figures easily. Ghosts eyes found Shaggy and then, Aegon slipped out of his wolfs mind. It was the banker who had gone in search of Stannis and one of Stannis’s men and a girl who was covered by a thick cloak. About an hour later, Ghost and Shaggydog reappeared with the trio in toe. 

  They had set up camp and Aegon was currently inside his tent with Rickon, Vallyria, the Lady Melisandre, Lady Maege, Lord Glover, Ser Davos Seaworth and Lord Howland when the three of them were escorted in. Aegon had been going over some details when the banker cleared his throat. 

  Lady Melisandre tapped him on his shoulder and whispered lowly into his ear, “Your Grace, I believe the banker has brought someone for you.”

  Aegon looked up and saw the long thin frame of Tycho Nestoris, a man who had traveled south with Stannis and a cloaked figure who was hiding just between the two men she was traveling with. 

  “Lord Commander, what a pleasant surprise. I was on my way back to the Wall to bring you a gift for His Grace.” Tycho began. 

  Aegon raised a questioning brow. “A gift? What gift could Stannis offer me?” He made no mention of the fact that Stannis would not be the next king to sit the iron throne, though he could see Melisandre shift uncomfortably at the mention of Stannis. Ser Davos was still unaware that he was the true heir, a fact that he hoped to keep concealed until after Winterfell was in Stark hands. 

  How he planned to break the news, was a different matter entirely. The idea of having Cannibal come, specifically to break the news definitely appealed to him though. He doesn’t have the patience to argue birthright, when his own superseded any claim short of his father's or his brothers. 

  The banker shifted to the side and motioned for the cloaked figure of the girl to step forward. “His Grace, King Stannis sends you your sister, Arya Stark.” Nestoris said with a beaming smile. 

  Suddenly, the air dropped ten degrees inside his tent. Aegon's whole body went stiff at the mention of his sister's name. The person in question hesitated where she stood, eyes downcast, she said nothing, she made no attempt to reconnect. 

  “Leave us.” He nearly snapped. All the possible scenarios of what could make her behave in such a manner were running through his head, torturing him where he stood. 

  Everyone stood where they were, rooted in their spots. “I said leave us, all of you!”

  When it was just himself and Arya, Aegon finally spoke. “It’s alright, no one is going to hurt you. Arya?” He approached her slowly, but his words seemed to make her tremble. 

  “Please, let me see your face, little sister?” He nearly begged. 

   This time she recoiled from his proximity. He reached for her hand, but something was off. It felt too soft, as if she had never done a days hard labor in her life, which he knew to be untrue. His little sisters hands were rough and calloused from all the times she snuck into the Godswood to practice sword fighting with sticks, or when she would sneak the bow and practice striking the target when no one but he was watching. 

  Aegon's brow furrowed, “I won’t ask you again, remove your hood.” He was losing his patience. Arya would never cower away from him, whatever game this girl and Stannis were playing at, he had had enough of it. 

  “I’m sorry, please don’t be mad, m’lord. They said I couldn’t tell the truth, they said that they would kill me if anyone knew the truth.” Came her mumbled reply. 

  The moment she spoke, his whole world collapsed but he held firm, he did not ask her to reveal herself to him. The silence was so thick it could be cut with a knife. After a few moments, she slowly reached up and removed her hood. 

  The girl was small with long dark hair, but she kept her face downcast, still afraid to meet his eyes. 

  “I have no intention of harming you, but I need you to let me see who you are.” Aegon reassured, though he was still annoyed by all of the theatrics. How had this timid girl ever convinced people she was his sister? 

  After a moment, the girl lifted her head to reveal a pair of brown eyes. She would have been pretty, had the tip of her nose not turned black from exposure to the cold. He had been gone from Winterfell for more than four years, yet this girl would have been familiar to him, even if everything else had slipped away. 

  “Jeyne Poole—.” He growled through clenched teeth. The idea that she had been pretending to be Arya infuriated him. This girl who had tortured his little sister alongside Sansa. Who had called her Horseface, and would neigh and mock her whenever she was near. The same girl who had sent Arya crying into his arms, on more occasions than he could count, had also convinced the North that she was the daughter of his honorable uncle.

   She flinched at the sound of his voice. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I never wanted to pretend, but they made me. They said I was going home, but then they told me that I had to say I was Arya. I didn’t want them to hurt me. I didn’t want them to send me back to Lord Baelish neither.” The girl sobbed.

  Aegon stepped back, allowing Jeyne some space. There was clearly more to the story than he was aware of, but he wouldn’t get anywhere with her while she was still frightened. So before he sent for someone to find her a tent he asked the only question that he could think of. The only one that mattered to him. 

  “Jeyne, I need you to answer one question and then I’ll have someone escort you to find a place for you to rest.” She nodded. 

  “If you were the one Ramsay had, where is Arya? If the Lannister’s had her, why would they send you in her place?”

  It took her a moment to reply but eventually she found her voice. “They never had her. The day that Lord Stark was arrested, Arya was with her dancing master. The Lannister’s had everyone rounded up, but Arya managed to get away. I was with Sansa until the Queen made me go with Littlefinger to his brothel. No one seen Arya or heard anything about her since then.”

  Aegon nodded and stepped to the entrance of his tent. On the other side, he found Val who had refused to leave him. When their eyes met, he knew that she had heard the entire conversation. She said nothing, but her eyes were wondering if he was alright. He gave her a half smile, it was honestly more than he believed himself capable of. 

  “Would you mind bringing Jeyne to get settled? I need a moment before we reconvene.”

  “Sure thing, but don’t brood for too long. Otherwise I’ll send Rickon in here after you.” Vallyria returned.

  He understood what she was doing. Reminding him not to give up hope, not just for himself, but for Rickon too. Right now, everything depended on their pack reuniting. If Arya was lost to him, surely Nymeria would sense that and by extension, Ghost and Shaggy would as well. 

  When he was all alone in his tent, he didn’t bother holding back the beast that had taken root within him while he had been sharing his wolf's skin. The part of him that died with her on his mind, ‘My bride, I want my bride back! Mine…mine… mine!’ Arya had become his over those three days, his and his alone. She was his tether, his life line, his very anchor… and as long as he was without her, the beast in him would never rest.

  He fell asleep with thoughts of Arya heavy on his mind, so it was no wonder that Ghost had managed to link him with Nymeria. 

   She was rushing, her pack was at her back. There were two packs now, those with two legs and long metal claws as well as her smaller grey cousins. Her brothers needed her, they were in a rush. She could smell home, the crisp scent of pine and snow, she hadn’t smelled this scent since the last time her pack was whole. Her brothers were coming too, the Black one and the Quiet one. She could smell them. She wanted to call out to them, but she did not want the others who burned her home to know that they were coming. Her pack was on alert though, and soon they would be feasting on the corpses of the enemies of her pack. They were almost there, almost whole. All that was missing was her other brother, the one with silver fur and yellow eyes. The one that smelled like earth and warmth, he wasn’t gone, not like the Grey brother who loved to run or the smaller grey sister who was taken before she knew what it felt like to run and hunt. Her silver brother was out there, just cut off from the rest of the pack, the way the quiet brother was, before he came back to them. 

  Aegon tossed in his sleep as his dreams shifted, and now he was in Ghosts skin, as he and Shaggy stalked through the Wolfs Wood.
 
  The smells were different, mixed among the smells of earth and forest, were the scents of man and fire and waste. The other men were closer than his man originally thought. He continued to run, this time east toward the grey stone house that his man once lived in. Shaggy and he stopped just inside the boundary of the forest where they remained concealed from the eyes of their foes. In the distance, his ears picked up the sound of horses and common hounds who were baying loudly at their masters commands. His lips pulled back over his teeth in a silent snarl, he wanted to engage, to rend and tear the flesh of those who would think to harm his pack. 

   Aegon's eyes opened to find Rickon asleep beside him. The camp was still busy, though not nearly as busy as it had been before Tycho had shown up with Jeyne and Stannis’ man, so it was easy enough to deduce that the sun had started to set. They had lost precious hours while he had hidden himself away in his tent, sulking over the sister that he had lost, found, and lost all over again in a matter of moments. 

  If what Ghost had shown him was true, they would have to break camp early and force march their assembled troops in order to reach Stannis in time for the battle. 

  His eyes found the sleeping form of Rickon, he couldn’t take him into battle, he could not risk him in such a manner, but with Shaggy and Ghost so far ahead of them, he also couldn’t risk leaving his little brother until after the Stoneborn arrive. He could only hope that they weren’t far behind him and his group. 

  As quietly as possible, Aegon slipped out of his tent, in search of Lady Maege and the other Northern Lords who had come seeking his help. He found Melisandre first, standing in front of the central camp fire. As soon as she felt him, she turned to greet him. 

  “We must ride soon, your Grace.” Her voice was low and grave. 

   Aegon grunted, “Aye, Ghost and Shaggydog have gone ahead. The Bolton forces ride for Stannis camp.”

  Melisandre nodded, “The Flayed Man will not fly over Winterfell for much longer, have you decided when we leave?”

   Aegon looked up into the sky, “We ride before first light, but we will break into two fronts, a small contingent will escort Rickon to the abandoned tower just north of Winterfell, the rest of us will ride hard for Stannis’ camp and envelop the Bolton men from the back, cutting of their escape.”

  “And the dragons?” 

  Aegon shifted uncomfortably. He knew what she was asking, but he was not sure that he was ready to sentence men to death by dragonfire, at least not without giving them the opportunity to bend the knee and be sent to the Wall instead. 

  “Cannibal will come only if I’m sure that I will need him. I do not intend to expose him if I don’t need to. Though, I might have to bring him or one of the others to guard Rickon now that Shaggy is off with Ghost scouting.”

  “I would advise you not to delay in that, would it not be easier to transport the young prince there yourself and leave him there in the care of one of the weyr?” Melisandre countered. 

  “Dragons are not pets, nor are they child sitters. At any rate, I have never asked Cannibal to carry another person, nor am I sure that it is wise. We will ride hard for the abandoned tower.” He said, finalizing his decision. 

  “As you command, your Grace. I suspect you will find the others in the tent of the Lady Mormont.” Melisandre acquiesced.

  Aegon nodded, “I would like it if you joined me,” he said, gesturing in the direction of the She-bears tent. 

  Melisandre looked shocked by his invitation, and in truth, he was as well, but there was a part of him that thought that mayhap he had misjudged her upon their first meeting. Ever since she had restored him to life, she had been different, changed almost, and a part of him hoped that was because she no longer had to use glamour to do her Lords work. 

  Aegon was not a follower of the Red God, but the Red Woman believed in him, and somehow, that belief gave her the power to pull him from his wolf and place him back in his own body. A body that she had somehow claimed was preserved by the magic weaved into the foundation of the Wall. “A dragon raised from ice.” She had claimed, the day they finally spoke about his resurrection. 

  She quickly turned away from the fire and fell into step beside him. “How have things been with Ser Davos?” He asked. 

  The Red Woman looked at him with furrowed brows. “The Onion Knight and I have never been of the same mind, I believe you know this. However, he has never had a reason to question my loyalty to Stannis. As of now, he believes that we are acting on his King's behalf, but I don’t believe it will matter in three days time. Stannis has his own judgments to face.”

  Aegon didn’t know what to make of that, but battles were bloody affairs. “I was thinking that he could stay with Rickon and Osha at the tower, while they await the Stoneborn.”

  “A wise plan, the Onion Knight is no use to you in battle. His strength is in his ability to inspire trust and faith in the people he himself believes in. It would do you well to try to keep him close to you once the dust settles.”

  As they approached Lady Maege’s tent he could hear voices coming from within. He cleared his throat, but it was the Lady Melisandre who called out. “My Lady, the Lord Commander has come to have a word.”

  Inside, the talking stopped and a moment later the She-bear brushed aside her tent. Behind her was Val and Tormund. “Your Grace, is everything alright? We thought you would be unavailable for the rest of the evening.”

  “Be at ease, nothing is amiss, I came to let you—well, all of you know that we will be breaking camp before dawn comes. The Bolton’s are moving on Stannis, and if we rush our pace, we might be able to intercept them before the fighting is over.” Aegon explained. 

  Maege opened the way for him to enter, and he gladly accepted her invitation. Vallyria looked up as he entered and her expression said what she was thinking...What’s changed?  

   “Ghost and Shaggy are out scouting, the Bolton’s are moving, and from where we are if we don’t leave soon, we will arrive too late.”

  After that, Tormund excused himself to go and ready the Free Folk, while Aegon and the others went over plans once Lord Howland and Lord Glover joined them. He did not tarry long in their company, because he had left his little brother back in his tent and he did not want Rickon to wake up alone. So after they all knew what was expected, he excused himself. 

  Luckily, Rickon was still fast asleep when he returned, so rather than wake him, Aegon set about packing what little belongings he could not leave behind and then he laid himself back down beside his brother. They had a few hours before they departed and Rickon could use the rest. 

  While he lay there, he let his mind reach out to Cannibal, intending to appraise him of all that was happening. 

  “Is it time to come?” His dragons thoughts flashed through his mind. 

  “Mayhap, how long would it take you to reach Winterfell?” Aegon thought that this was a valid question. 

  He felt Cannibal searching his mind for images of the landscape, of both the route he had taken after leaving Skagos and memories of his childhood and what he called home.  

  “We could be there by morning if it is your wish.” His dragon finally answered. 

  “Tomorrow night, I would like you and at least five others to come find me under the cover of darkness. You will need to land as quietly as possible, and remain concealed from other people.”

  “You wish for us to protect your blooded kin?” 

  “I can’t allow something to happen to him, and I can’t be in two places at once. I need to know that nothing will happen to him while I’m away from him. I hope that you don’t view this as an abuse of our bond.” Aegon explained. 

  “If this task is what you wish of us, we will find you tomorrow after the sun sinks into the earth.”

  “Cannibal?” Aegon called through the link.

  “Yes, young dragon?” 

  “Have the Stoneborn left the island already?” 

  Images of the men and their mounts sailing from Skagos on ships that they had hidden in a cove on the other side of the island passed through his mind. “The Stoneborn left only a few days behind you and your chosen.” 

  Aegon smiled, knowing that this was great news for his little brother. “I am thankful for your help. I will be traveling further south, but I would like to keep the link open between the two of us. Would you mind?” 

   He felt Cannibal scoff through their link which he thought odd. “I forget sometimes how young you are in comparison to one as old as myself. We are always linked, young one. The only thing that you have yet to experience is the full bond with the weyr. It is up to you when you fully embrace them, for now they will come through my command, but the young ones are anxious to know their commander.” 

  Just then it occurred to him. If the dragons guarded the vents, and Stone was considered one of them, was it possible that there were more dragons across the known world?

  “You’re starting to think bigger, indeed there are more of us all over, across the Shivering Sea, there are dragons born of ice, and beyond the Smoking Sea, past the ancestral home of your forefathers they lurk beneath the Shadow. There are even more vents here in the lands of Westeros. Would you like me to summon them as well?” 

  “Gods no!” His heart was racing, he had just asked his mount to come with five other of his weyr and he had agreed like it was nothing, that alone was six dragons. If there were more across Westeros, and they somehow were summoned, how many would answer his call? He couldn’t even conceive what that would mean for the rest of the realm. 

  “Sorry, I only need six, including yourself.” Aegon clarified. 

  “As you wish, was there anything else?”

   Aegon thought about it… “I suppose not. Tell the weyr that it won’t be long.” He did not have to elaborate, Cannibal knew that he meant the link. If he had any clue of what it would be like, Aegon assumed that it would be similar to his alpha link with Ghost. The main bond would take precedence over the bond of the weyr, but through his bond, each mind was like a burning window, that responded to the thoughts or commands of the alpha. When he finally merged consciousnesses with Cannibal, each window would light up to merge with him in turn, his thoughts would become their thoughts, his vision would become their vision, what one saw, they all saw collectively. No wonder why my blooded kin thought themselves as Gods among men…

  He fell asleep with thoughts of flying still on his mind, but he woke in time to ready himself for their journey. After his sword belt was fastened at his hip he moved toward his little brother.

  “Rickon, it’s time to wake up.” He said, shaking him just a bit. His little brother took a few more attempts before finally opening his eyes. 

  “Shaggydog and Ghost are coming back.” Was the first thing he said, though his voice was still thick from sleep. 

  “That’s a good thing, we can meet them on the way. Come, it’s time to leave, if you were with the wolves then you know that Nymeria is close. If we want to get there in time, we have to be quick about it.”

  Rickon didn’t need much convincing, he quickly rose from their shared pallet and moved to put on his boots. “Egg?”

  Aegon looked back at his little brother and smiled, “Where did you hear that name from?”

  Rickon shrugged, “It's easier to say than Aegin” his accent was so thick, it sounded pathetic and adorable on his tongue.

  “Why not just continue to call me brother?”

  “Sometimes people call you Aegin and it gets confusing, you don’t want me to call you Egg?” Rickon asked. 

  “If it’s easier for you little brother, I don’t mind at all, though I do love when you call me brother, can we make a deal?”

  Rickon nodded enthusiastically, making him chuckle in turn. “You can call me Egg as long as it’s just you and me, and when other people are around, just call me Brother. That way we both get what we want. Is that something you can agree to?”

  “I guess that’s okay. Can we eat before we go?” His little brother replied, his mind already moving on to the next subject. 

  Aegon moved to ruffle Rickon’s deep auburn locks, “Aye, I expect Osha is already waiting with something for you to break your fast on. Let’s go.”

  As suspected, Osha was waiting for both Rickon and himself with a ration of bacon and some bread. They ate their fill, and Aegon helped Rickon wrap the remainder of his meal up and store it so that he could eat it later on if he got hungry. 

  After retrieving his mount, and checking with everyone else, he and Rickon moved for the front of their column, beside Vallyria, Lady Maege, Lord Howland, Lord Glover, Melisandre, Tormund and all the others. 

  Those who weren’t already mounted would be staying behind to pack up the camp and would meet them later on. He was just about to give the command to move out when someone announced riders approaching from the north, and minutes later, the Stoneborn came riding into their camp upon their shaggy horned steeds. 

  Rickon and Osha were both elated to see the Magnar and the others, though the Skagosi did not look like they had rushed in the slightest. Aegon suspected that this was in part, due to their chosen mounts. After observing Black Horse over the past few weeks, he was certain that Rickon could have cut this journey by nearly half if he was traveling among other unicorns as opposed to horses. 

  Osha quickly caught the Skagosi up to speed and told them of their intended destination, and shortly thereafter they started on their way south. 

  They stopped thrice on their journey, after having pushed their mounts as long and hard as possible. By evening, they could go no further without risking injury or loss of life. Luckily, they were less than a days ride from the tower and Stannis camp in either direction. Before he called for Cannibal he went in search of Rickon to inform him of their plans. 

  He found his little brother in the company of Ser Davos and his sister and Gilly’s little Monster. They were having a bite to eat, and Rickon was animatedly telling them a story.

  Gilly’s boy had grown quite rapidly over the past months since Sam and his mother departed. It occurred to him that his second name day would be approaching in the next couple of moons. He hoped that Sam, Gilly and Aemon reached Oldtown by now. 

  “I hope I’m not interrupting an important conversation, I was hoping to steal away our young Lord for just a moment.” He said between a break in Rickon's story. 

  All of them looked up at the sound of his voice and his siblings quickly invited him over. “I came to talk about what will happen when tomorrow comes.” He addressed the group, but his eyes settled on Rickon. 

  “You’re going to find Ghost and Shaggydog, and then together you’re going to find Nymeria, right?” His little brother interjected. 

  Aegon nodded. “Aye, that I am. You won’t be going though, instead the Magnar, Osha, and Ser Davos and Lord Howland will be bringing you to an abandoned tower just north of Winterfell. The dragons will be coming, and they will keep you safe until it’s time to bring you home. I want you to be brave, and promise you won’t forget what I told you. Can you do that?”

  “You always come back for your family.” Rickon recited his promise back to him.

  “That’s right.”

  “Can I go with Shaggy? I mean, like you go with Ghost?” He asked hesitantly.

  Aegon thought about it. He didn’t really have a way to stop him either way, but he would hope that Rickon would avoid the battle. “I can’t stop you from sharing your wolf's skin, I only ask that you wait until you reach the tower and the others can protect you better. And if things get too hectic, it would make me feel better knowing that you called Shaggy back here to you. Can you do that?”

  Rickon put on a brave face and nodded his head in agreement. Aegon smiled and turned to face Ser Davos. 

  “I hope you don’t mind, but since you had already volunteered to escort my little brother, and since your talents are better suited off of the battlefield, I was hoping that you wouldn’t mind chaperoning my little brother on the morrow and sitting out of the battle.”

  The Onion Knight did not seem insulted in the slightest. “I thank you kindly. As eager as I am to see my king, I would be more of a liability in a battle than an asset. If my king wants the support of the lord of White Harbor, it’s best that I make sure nothing happens to our young Lord.”

  Rickon looked at him curiously, and Aegon knew it was only confusion between the different titles bestowed upon either himself or Aegon whenever Ser Davos was around. Still, he made no mention about it, and soon they went back to telling stories to one another. He chose to stay a bit longer and while they traded tales, Aegon reached for Cannibal. 

   “I’m ready for you to come.” His mount claimed that his kind were too formal, still the lack of a greeting felt odd to him. 

 “We should be there soon. Worry not, the young ones and myself are flying so far up that only another dragon would be able to see us. Make sure that you have a large enough clearing for us to make landing, otherwise you could find yourself short some trees.”

   Aegon stood from where he’d been sitting and excused himself to go in search of a proper place to land. On his way, he remembered that Lord Howland had mentioned his ability to speak to the trees and he wondered if this skill would come in handy, so he stopped to speak to him as he went. 

  As it turned out, Lord Howland was more than happy to assist him in finding a proper space, though, considering Cannibals size, a proper space would depend on the size of the other dragons that would be coming along. 

  From what he could remember of the Wolf’s Wood, the closest clearing would be the Long Lake, or Torrhen's square and both of which were too far for him to easily access. The crannogman however did not seem concerned at all and after asking a few questions, mostly about the number Howland went in search of the oldest tree he could find. 

  The tree in question was an old Ironwood that was as big around as the Whitetree beyond the Wall. Aegon watched in silence as Howland cut his palm and embraced the tree like it was an old friend. At first, nothing seemed to change, and then after a moment, the ground beneath his feet began to shift. To the naked eye, the scenery looked unchanged, but he could feel the earth expand and raise. All around him the forest started spreading apart creating a large hill. Once his task was complete, the crannogman moved down the hill and repeated his work twice more. By the time he was done, the clearing he created was enormous, but Howland assured him that the woods would return to their natural state once the dragons were no longer in need of it. After, it was merely a matter of waiting for them to arrive. 

  On the way back to the camp Aegon finally addressed the matter concerning Bran and the Lords two children who were last reported to be in eachothers company. The crannogman took the time to explain that his children had gone to Winterfell to offer oaths of fealty to Robb and to help Bran deal with his fall and the changes that came with it. 

  “What changes? I mean, I know that Bran lost the use of his legs, and could feel nothing from his waist down, but how could your children help him?” Aegon asked.

  “There is a cost, a toll, that must be paid for all magic. Earlier, you saw me cut my palm and offer it to the trees, as payment for a favor. In return, the forest moved aside to create space for your dragons to land. Your brother fell from a tower and rather than die, he paid for his life with his legs. As such, his gift was given as a payment for his sacrifice.”

  “You will have to explain what you mean. The last time I spoke with my brother, he wanted to go south and become a member of the Kingsguard. He woke up to find that he would never be able to see those dreams come to fruition.”

  Lord Howland nodded. “When my son and heir was still very small, he came down with Greywater Fever and we feared that we might lose him. He was always smaller than Meera and much more introspective. When the fever finally broke, Jojen told me about the three-eyed raven and how he was given the gift of greendreams. Through these dreams he was able to see visions of the present and the future, including the day that he will cease to live.”

  Aegon had heard about these kind of dreams from Old Nan and some of the woods women from beyond the Wall. “He is a greenseer?”

  The Crannogman shook his head. “He is not, Jojen has greensight but he cannot do what your brother can, as he is not a Warg, and therefore he cannot speak with Weirwoods.”

  “Are you a greenseer?” Aegon asked.

  “I’m a seer of sorts, but my magic comes from our blood link to the Greenmen. However, we are moving away from the topic.”

  Aegon nodded. “Please continue.”

  Howland took a moment and then he continued his explanation. “My son came to me shortly after Bran recovered from his fall and he told me about a dream that he had. “I dreamed of a winged wolf bound to earth with grey stone chains,” he told me and then he added...“It was a green dream, so I knew it was true. A crow was trying to peck through the chains, but the stone was too hard and his beak could only chip at them.” I’m no stranger to hearing the words of the Old Gods, and even though I was loathe to let him go, I immediately sent him and my daughter to Winterfell.”

  “It didn’t worry you when Winterfell was burned and they didn’t return?” Aegon couldn’t help but ask.

  Lord Howland looked out across the camp, his expression was full of self-condemnation. “I could have commanded them to stay, but that would not have changed my sons fate. Eventually he would have found a way to fulfill what he believed his dreams were pushing him toward. If my son went beyond the Wall with Lord Bran, I don’t expect that he thought he would be returning. Sometimes, there is a greater purpose that pushes us along our paths. For example, you were murdered and brought back to life so that you could wake dragons and unite the realm against the greatest threat the world has ever known… If someone would have told you this before you rode for the Wall four years ago, would you have believed them? When you first heard about the Others, did you believe right away? Sometimes we all must sacrifice in order to serve a greater purpose. Jojen believed that going to Lord Bran was his, and my daughter believed it was her duty to go and protect them both.”

  He said nothing for a while, unsure how to respond to such a confession. Unsure of what it meant for Bran to be so important to the greater scheme of things that he would have to travel beyond the Wall just to learn to see .

  “Can you find them? Through the trees—if we are successful, and Winterfell is won, would you be able to speak to the Weirwood and find them?” He hated that he sounded so desperate, but if Bran could Warg and Greensee, which Aegon suspected his little brother capable of, especially the Warging bit, and if Howland has the ability to speak with trees and hear their words, why should finding Bran be so difficult?

  The Crannogman looked up, a contemplative expression on his face. After a brief moment their eyes met, deep grey to moss-green and for a moment the small Lord looked almost hopeful. 

  “I have not tried, if I’m being honest. But assuming that they have reached their destination beyond the Wall, yes, I believe I could.” Then his brows furrowed, “I’m curious, have you never attempted to speak to your brother through the trees? It’s obvious that you are a warg, and based on your ability to bond with a dragon who has never accepted a rider before, you’re a strong Warg. Have you never heard the trees speak before?” Howland enquired.

  The question took Aegon through a loop, and he was momentarily sent back to a time long ago when he was moving through the Frost Fangs with Qhorin and his other brothers. 

   ‘A weirwood stood out in the middle of the woods. It seemed to sprout from solid rock, its pale roots twisting up from a myriad of fissures and hairline cracks. The tree was slender compared to other weirwoods he had seen, no more than a sapling, yet it was growing as he watched, its limbs thickening as they reached for the sky. Wary, he circled the smooth white trunk until he came to the face. Red eyes looked at him. Fierce eyes they were, yet glad to see him. The weirwood had his brother's face. Had his brother always had three eyes?
  Not always, came the silent shout. Not before the crow.’

 He had been Ghost… 

     “Once, a long time ago, I was on the great ranging beyond the Wall, I was assigned to Qhorin Halfhand, and we were going to investigate the movements of  Mance Rayder and the rest of the Free Folk. I was dreaming, or at least I thought I was, but I was actually Ghost.”

  Aegon went on to tell him about his memory, in as much detail as possible. When he was done, the small man looked more hopeful than he had since this whole conversation had started. 

  “The fact that your brother was able to reach out to you before being trained with a tree is remarkable in and of itself. Your own greensight appears to be active while you inhabit your wolf. I also suspect, now that you have formed your bond with Cannibal, you will also begin to experience dragon dreams as well.”

  Suddenly he was glad for his three days with Ghost, without them, he would still know nothing of the power flowing in his veins. Before then, he had rejected their bond out of fear. Whenever he heard talk of skin changers and wargs, it was always scorned and looked down upon. He had grown up believing he was a bastard, born of lust and sin. He didn’t want to have the taint of being a beast added to his list of crimes against humanity too. 

  Howland chuckled. “Try not to beat yourself up about these things lad, has your wolf ever brought you ill fortune? Has he ever made you do something heinous?”

  Aegon shook his head. Ghost had only ever brought him luck. The only time that he never felt himself was after his wolf returned to him North of the Wall. 

  Aegon had noticed his mood starting to sour, he had been itching for a fight, struggling with the choice that Stannis offered him. To forsake his vows, become a Stark, marry Val—his actual sister… 

  The Night's Watch was voting, at Stannis’ insistence to elect a new Lord Commander, and he was to be the key to the north, unless he rejected Stannis’ offer.

   The only problem that he had was the fact that Lord Stark had never thought to give him his name on his own. He had always affirmed their blood ties but never called him Stark. Of course at the time he had thought it was because he was a bastard and his father's shame. Now of course he knew differently.

  The whole situation made him tense and restless, he didn’t realize how much so until his spar with Iron Emmett. After he took the blow to his temple, and he was sent back to the day Robb reminded him that he was a bastard and proceeded to inform him that he could never be the Lord of Winterfell. He had attacked Emmett and somehow blacked out…

  Later, he thought that it was because he was torn over the fact that he was never allowed to reach for what was supposed to be his brothers, but also, because he knew that he wanted it. He just didn’t want it from Stannis... It wasn’t Robb who was haunting him or Emmett that he had wanted to hurt, it was the Lady Catelyn who had been haunting him, reminding him that he didn’t belong, that he had no place in Winterfell.

  Once he realized that accepting Stannis’ offer meant tearing out the heart of Winterfell, it’s heart tree… in sacrifice to the Red God he was even more conflicted. This battle eventually took him from beneath the Wall out into the yard and through the tunnel.

  He was struggling with his identity, torn between his duty, and what others expected of him or needed him to become. He had no idea what he even wanted, how could he be anything more than who he knew himself to be? 

  Mayhap the worst part of it all was how badly he wanted it… maybe not Val specifically, but he wanted Winterfell, he wanted a family, to know what it would feel like to hold his own son in his arms. He might have even taken Val if there was no other choice, but somehow those wants turned into hunger, and that hunger had made him want fresh meat and hot dark blood. This was the first time that Ghost’s thoughts had influenced his own. 

  “I have never felt shame about my connection with Ghost, I just wasn’t clear about what effect embracing such a gift would have on my Brothers opinions of me. They already accused me of being a traitor for killing the Halfhand and joining with Mance Rayder and the other Free Folk. Even though my actions were the result of my superiors final command. If I openly acknowledged my ability to warg my wolf, I worried that it would’ve been one more reason to have me killed, or worse.”

 Lord Howland listened patiently to all that he had shared and then he explained his perspective to Aegon. 

  “People tend to mock what they don’t understand and or cannot possess, why do you think everyone wanted to be a Targaryen? They rode Dragons, and no one mocks a dragon. Direwolves have been gone for generations, the last known skinchanger was Brynden Rivers and the realm called him a sorcerer. Because he used his gifts to listen and watch people, rather than believe second hand information.” He paused long enough to glance up toward the sky, and when he started anew, he met his eyes straight on. 

  “The Gods chose you to communicate with all races and species, to unite them all, because the threat is real, Your Grace. It’s not a curse, it is why you were born and raised in grief, and sent to the Wall. Because you needed to see more than anyone else. It is a lot to take on, but you are not the brooding young man that your Uncle use to write to me about. Have you read his letter yet?” Lord Howland asked him, kindly.

  It shamed him to admit that he hadn’t. Not because he dreaded what was written inside the scroll. He didn’t. He just wasn’t sure that he should do it currently. There was a strong urge for him to wait, to read them all once he was back behind Winterfell's grey walls. In a place where he would be safe enough to share his words with his siblings. “Not yet, but I mean to. I just prefer to do it once I’ve returned Rickon home.”

  Howland nodded. “I won’t press the matter any further. I do think you should know though, your uncle, Lord Eddard was always proud of the man that you grew to be. When you are ready to speak about him, or about any of this, I would be glad to assist in whatever manner I am able.”

   “We are close.” The heat brushed against his mind

   “If you would like to stay, I don’t see a reason for you to leave, but they are approaching.” Aegon said, alerting the crannogman to his dragons proximity.

  “That isn’t necessary, Your Grace. I’ll be heading back to camp. Would you like me to pass any message along?” Lord Howland said, declining the invitation. 

  He thought about it a moment… “Perhaps it would be wise to see if my sister and brother would be willing to come. If I’m sending the dragons to stay with Rickon, it might be better if they have knowledge of them.”

  Howland nodded, “I will be sure to pass along your words and see that they know where to find you.” 

  After that, Aegon turned back to the clearing and awaited the arrival of his weyr?

   “That sounds about right… though it can be said that the magic of your birth gave these five life. They are quite eager to meet you.” His dragon intoned.

  Through the link he felt with Cannibal he felt the presence of not five but a whole. Like a shining light, burning  in the darkness. If he tried hard enough, he could faintly see the outline of more links. Instead he focused on the flame that was closest, the one that was just as focused on him.

  Aegon felt them across the bond before he saw them with his own eyes as they all came to land and move far enough away for the next to find a place to touch the ground. 

   “The magic of my birth? Are they of an age with myself?” Aegon asked, trying to gain perspective. 

   “The red comet will come to herald the King, and he will be the one to slay the season. With Fire and Blood, winter will come and he will be born again amidst Salt and Smoke. He alone can call the dragons from Stone, and he will be the prince who was promised, the last hero to end the Long Night.”

  “What was that?” He had never heard these words composed in such a long manner.

   “Not all of it is prophecy, young dragon. The red star bled across the sky the night you were conceived, and again the day you were born. What followed was a bloody war that lasted almost a year. And then, at the end of the comet’s cycle, the third head of the dragon was born. Three years ago the comet bled once more, and three dragons were hatched in the desert after your sister woke her inner dragon. Once more, hatchlings were born on Stone as well. And while she is blood of your blood, she was not the one reborn nor could she have roused me from my Lair. Your sister is not you, she desires power because she believes it will mean she is safe. She wants to help people, but not all people can be helped. And eventually, mankind’s desires will win out. Her intentions are pure, but her path will lead her to darkness. You are chosen because you understand the power you have been given and you hesitate to reach for it as a first choice. You would risk yourself, before you would risk others who are innocent of wrongdoing. We chose you because there is a balance of both winter and fire inside of you. Because if at some point the dragonfire becomes too consuming, you will have winter to temper your flames. That is why, young conqueror.”

   Aegon opened his eyes to the sound of a giant thunder clap, followed by a few more that were buffered by the first. It took him a moment to take in the entire scene but never in a million years would he have thought this to be his reality. 

  The first of them was a deep crimson with bronze horns and black whorls. The next was a deep green with golden wing membranes and deep indigo horns, spinal crest and wingtips and it's eyes were golden with emerald flecks. Then there was another that was deep grey with silver and blue whorls, it’s eyes were silver shot through with bright blue. 

  The last two were equally as stunning, and unique in appearance to the other three. The first of the final two was a blue so dark it appeared almost black, but it’s eyes were a brilliant shade of cerulean blue with bright violet flecks. It’s scales shone like they were covered in crystal, but only so much as they allowed the deep blue undertones of it's scale to become more prominent. Aegon thought that they reminded him of the inky blue black leaves of the ironwood trees. Which was ironic because the last dragon he was able to study was the exact image of the weirwood, blood red eyes and membranes, horns, spinal plate and tail spikes, and scales as white as bone with a frost like shimmer to accent them. 

  Each of them were truly impressive, though beside Cannibal, they all looked like mere hatchlings. Not that he looked much differently to them, he was sure, but the size difference was immense. 

   “Would you mind my asking how old you are in comparison to Balerion the Black Dread? Were you really already lairing on Dragonstone when my ancestors arrived from Valyria?”

  Images of the past, passed through his mind. Images of the volcano before the freehold settled the island, then again once more after they worked their magics and built the island fortress that would have been his seat in a different lifetime. At least until it was time for him to sit the iron throne. 

  Cannibal was still young when his family first landed with their Valyrian dragons. Only slightly older than the five who had come with him from Stone. Balerion was already old but he was bred specifically for the heat of his fire not for speed or dexterity. 

   “The Dread was much older than myself when he made his journey from the lands of Fire. And he would have lived longer still, had that foolish girl not allowed him to take her back to the Smoking ruin of their past home. There is no Gardner in the Old Land to cull the weyr, to contain the spread of the wyrms. The curse left behind was still quite new and they were not prepared to face what was awaiting them.” Cannibal went on to narrate through their bond. 

  He thought about all that he had just learned, and then he asked something else. “Does that make these dragons around the same size as Vhagar and Meraxes around the time of conquest?”

 “You seem to know the histories quite well, young one, so you already know that Meraxes was larger than Vhagar when the three young dragons set off from Dragonstone with the intention to unify the realm. Meraxes was born the generation before her rider was born and Vhagar, just before her own rider. These hatchlings are of an age with Vhagar to be sure. Though these dragons are born of this land and their blood is not tied to your kin through the same means as your sisters dragons. Our blood is tied to this realm and so is yours. This is why we chose you, because of the balance.”

   Their conversation was cut short by the arrival of his twin and his little brother. Both of whom stopped at the tree line.  

  Aegon gestured for them to hold their position and once he had their word he turned back to face his weyr. The six of them watched him with interest, the younger five looked as if they were fighting to stay in their spots. 

  With his mind, he reached for the burning light and then he spoke. “Not sure how to do this, but I hope that all of you can hear me. I would like to introduce my pack to all of you and that could be difficult if you can’t hear what I’m saying.”

   Aegon felt the bond expand and brighten, and then it was as if a door finally unlocked and he heard a faint click. The heat was immense, but not so much so that it burned, instead it felt like the kiss of the sun after a week of storms. Welcoming and vital. Without a second thought, Aegon pushed through the door and suddenly he was bombarded with images of dragons flying and singing and contributing to the Weyr… “Family.”

  “Yes, family!” Aegon confirmed with enthusiasm. And as an extra measure he added images of Ghost and Shaggy and his last memories of Summer and Nymeria. He followed up with images of Arya and him when they were younger, Sansa and Bran, even Robb and Lord Stark. “My pack is small right now. But I hope to see it grow once more. For now, I have only these two and I asked you here to help me protect them. Especially the smaller one.”

   Aegon turned and beckoned Vallyria and Rickon forward, his little brother must have been watching him intensely, because no sooner did he give the sign that it was safe, Rickon was racing toward him, with not a hint of fear in him. 

  Cannibal turned and clambered off to one of the other rises that Lord Howland had created and then he blasted the earth with dragonfire before circling around the now blackened spot a few times before finally settling down and covering his snout with a portion of his tail. He looked like a cat, if such a comparison were possible, only Cannibal was the size of a mountain. 

   “The small one smells like winter and wolves, why does the girl smell like you and not the boy?” The collective asked, inching their heads toward Rickon who stood amongst them with a stunned expression. 

  “Egg, how come so many dragons came?” Rickon intoned at the same time. 

  Aegon chuckled, realizing Rickon was not like to give up on the name any time soon. The collective cocked their heads at the sound of the name. “Egg? Does the hatchling not know that you are a young dragon and not an egg?”

  “He’s not a hatchling, he's a pup and no, he doesn’t mean that kind of egg. He says Egg instead of my true name, Aegon. My people prefer to name things, and the name they gave me is too hard for him to say.” He then focused his attention toward his little brother.

  “They have come, because I asked them to come and keep you safe when I depart in the morning. You remember, right?”

  Rickon nodded and then he turned in a slow circle, taking in the scene before him. “Egg, I don’t think they will all fit in the Godswood.”

  At that, he heard his sisters laughter as she came to stand beside him. “I quite enjoy that little beast. He might look like his Tully mother, but he’s got the North in him something fierce.” Vallyria confessed. 

  Aegon couldn't agree more, in truth. His wolfs blood ran strong, stronger than even Robb’s or his. In fact, the only person in their pack who could likely rival Rickon’s wolfs blood would probably be Arya. The thought gave him hope, for surely if Rickon could survive without the rest of his pack for more than a few years, Arya could too. 

  “Perhaps not the Godswood then? Mayhap they could nest here and at the Tower while we are here. That way they don’t have to go far.” Aegon said, responding to Rickon’s earlier statement. 

  His little brother looked at him and then back at the dragons and then back at Aegon and Vallyria. “Won’t they get cold? There is no mountain here, not like Stone…”

   “Just because he can not see, does not mean that one does not exist. There is infact a vent, just beneath your grey-stone house. We are not unfamiliar with it. If that is where you wish us to go, we will do so once you have reclaimed your stones.” Cannibals thoughts brushed through their link unannounced .

  “Your understanding of the earth's geography, far exceeds our own, especially in regards to the location of the vents. I will share what I can.” Aegon responded.

  “Worry not little brother, the dragons know all of the best caves and tunnels that they can use to stay warm, ones that will not take them too far away from us.”

  This answer seemed to satisfy Rickon’s curiosity, but Val seemed to have questions of her own. “Was there a reason you asked me to come along with Rickon?”

  There was...he just wasn’t sure how to approach the topic. Not with her, and certainly not with the collective, yet he had no choice.

   “I know that the weyr has no need of more than one rider, my question is, could Vallyria also ride one of you? I know that the dragons my ancestors rode only took one bonded rider at a time, and since I can link to the whole I am linked—bonded to the entire weyr. Would this mean that none of you will ever know what it feels like to have a rider,”

   The question seemed to confuse the collective and none answered back. He did not ask the question aloud because he did not want to get her hopes up if it was impossible.

  The deep grey dragon approached Vallyria and sniffed at her, it’s tongue flicked out and tasted the air. “This one is promised to another… she will fly.”

   “What do you mean that she is promised to another? Another of our weyr?” Aegon said, forgetting to speak through the bond. 

  Val stared at him for a moment, as if he was going mad. “Um—King Crow, are those years at the Wall starting to catch up with you?”

   “Not of our weyr, but her mount comes. We can transport her if it is your wish, but she will never understand flight until she is united with the one she was promised for. Bonding is an idea, the reality is, our blood calls out to each other, just as hers tastes incomplete. If she flys, it will be your commands that move us. Where would you like us to take her?”

  “It was a curiosity of mine, and something I thought important to know. Would the same rules apply for my little pup?”

  “They smell different, but he is chosen by you, we would do your bidding regardless. Your chosen are safe with your weyr, Aegon.” The collective replied.

  “I’m not mad, I just forgot that I was speaking through the bond with the dragons.” Aegon explained, turning to address his sister, now that he had answers. 

  “I asked you here, because I wanted to know if they would allow you to fly with one of them. I also wanted to know if you would want to. But, I was informed that you are promised another mount. Not of this weyr, but that your promised mount is coming.” 

  Val stepped back, stunned. “You must be joking. Sure, we are twins, but you died and came back to life. I have a taste for the cold… nothing nearly as exciting as being a Warg, a promised hero, and the first man to ever ride Cannibal. Let’s not even mention the fact that you let the Free Fol—.”

 “I get it,” Aegon interrupted, not allowing her to finish her thought. “But you are the one who told me about our father's prophecies, and you know that the dragon must have three heads. Rhaenys and Aemon are gone. That leaves you me and Dany. She hatched her dragons, I have apparently woken them from Stone, you are not any less special Vallyria.”

  His sister narrowed her eyes at him and then glanced back toward the other dragons and then down at Rickon who was staring up at them, observing them as they spoke. 

  Finally she responded. “Alright fine, what did your weyr? say when you asked?”

  Aegon grinned. “I knew you would be interested. They said that once you are united with your mount, you would know what it truly feels like to fly, but that as one of my chosen, and as blood of my blood they would gladly transport you and Rickon if that was my wish. Ultimately, this was my greatest concern. Having a way to protect you and Rickon from harm.”

  Vals face softened. “You don’t have to torture yourself over my safety, Aegon. I know how to defend myself, and our little wolf here is as fearsome as the North will ever breed them.”

  Rickon beamed at her praise. “Egg, does that mean me and Val are gonna fly?” He said, calling their attention toward him.

  Val looked at him too and then arched a brow in challenge. They thought that they were putting him on the spot, but there was no way that he would put them in the sky without him to be there the first time. 

   “Would there be anyone interested in transporting my pack? Just for a brief flight.”  He asked through the bond. 

  The grey dragon, who still hadn’t moved craned it’s neck forward and it’s silver and blue eyes focused on him intently. “This one would be happy to transport your chosen, Aegon.” 

   Aegon approached the dragon who was easily the size of Winterfell’s Great Keep and was nearly twenty years in age. “You were born when we were born?” 

  “We all hatched the first time the red star bled. We all sang the song of ice and fire until it burned it's way through the heavens and disappeared for another age. We fought for the right to come with our alpha. You brought back the magic that we needed to hatch, so to us, you are more than our commander.”

  “Vallyria was born under the same star, moments following myself. And she would be very thankful to you if you would accept.”  He reached out and rubbed his palm over the Deep grey and blue scales on its snout. “This one has agreed to fly with you and Rickon.” 

  Val and Rickon approached cautiously. “You’re certain?”

  Aegon nodded. “Aye, he would be honored to transport you.” He made sure to catch her eyes before he explained that these five dragons were born on the day that they were born. That they were extremely attached to serving their commander and their alpha because of the closeness of their bond with him. 

  “Have you named any of them?” Val asked. 

  “None. They believe that names are not necessary. We are linked through the mind, and my thoughts through that bond will reach them all collectively when I need to communicate. Naming them would be easy enough, but it feels slightly wrong, now that I know their feelings on the subject.” Aegon explained. 

  The grey dragon lowered it's wing and neck, indicating that His chosen were free to clamber up. “It is not an offense to give ones such as us names, only unnecessary overall. If it is your wish to name us, as you have with the alpha, we would accept them as well.” 

  “I shall think about it.” He replied, moving aside to show his sister and brother how to climb up and where to sit.

  “Are you not intending to join us?” Val enquired. 

  “I’m not sure that I can, I’m bonded to Cannibal.” Aegon confessed, slightly saddened by the fact that he wouldn’t be able to fly with them. 

   “I said that I couldn’t see a reason that you would need to, but I can see one now. Your bond is to the Whole, and I have been alive too long without a rider to play transport for your chosen. If the young ones are willing to bear this burden in my place, I see no reason for complaint. It will not harm or damage our link if you join the younger ones in flight. Fly with your pack and the weyr, young dragon. I will not abandon you.” Cannibal inserted his thoughts before he could dig deeper into the matter. 

  All at once the five younger dragons began to purr lightly, clearly delighted by the idea of flying with him. Without a second thought, Aegon reached for the grey spikes of the dragon he was standing beside and he positioned himself so that Val could take the front, and Rickon the middle space between them both.

  “How do we keep from falling off?” Vallyria asked, unsure.

  “You hold on to it's spikes and don’t let go. Lean into its turns, not away. Trust that they will not allow you to fall.” Was Aegon’s response. He was no expert on flying, but of what he did know, this was the best he could do. 

  “Are you both ready?” He asked once he found his own grip and when they both nodded back Aegon reached through the bond and gave the all clear. 

   With three giant steps, the grey dragon pushed itself from the ground and spread it's massive wings, pulling them from the earth, they climbed into the sky. 

Chapter Text

  Daenerys awoke with the sun, and also to the sound of Irri and Jhiqui discussing which of them should be the one to wake her. 

  She smiled into her pillow, listening to the familiarity of her two handmaidens fuss over their duties. “Fair morning Irri, Jhiqui. You may stop worrying about waking me, I am already awake, as you can see. Is there a reason that both of you have come so early?” She called from beneath her linen sheets. 

  “Unsullied and Captain Naharis returned, Khaleesi. They say they need to speak with you, now.” She finished hesitantly. 

  “Thank you, Jhiqui, please show them to my solar and inform them that I shall be there shortly.”

  Jhiqui nodded and then excused herself to go and see to her task. When she was gone, Daenerys turned her attention toward Irri. “Would you mind giving me a hand with dressing and my hair?”

  “Of course, Khaleesi.” Irri acquiesced, moving at once to bring her a robe to wrap about her naked form. 

  About an hour later, Daenerys was washed, dressed and prepared to face the many tasks that would no doubt, consume her morning and most of her afternoon. A plate of figs and honey as well as some nuts were thoughtfully left for her in her solar, along with a chilled pitcher of lemon water. 

  She quickly moved in the direction of her table, where Daario sat, playing with his stiletto, while Grey Worm stood, in his usual “all business” way. 

  Daario looked up and smiled as he saw her enter and then stood as she came to a stop in front of them both. “My Queen, I hope that we did not disturb your rest.”

  She resisted the urge to roll her eyes, instead she smiled curtly and addressed Grey Worm. “I take it that your mission was a success and you’ve seen all that you need to see?”

  Grey Worm wasted not a moment answering. “This one did as his Queen commanded.”

  “And. . . can Lord Victarion be trusted?” Daenerys asked, getting right to the point. 

  “Well, that would depend on which answer you plan to give the man in regard to his offer of marriage.” Daario intoned.

  “Please spare me all of the suspense, Commander and just tell me what it is that I need to know.” Daenerys cut back, losing her patience. 

  At that, his eyebrows rose curiously, no doubt he had been expecting her to speak with him more gently. He would likely be expecting much and more in the days, weeks and months to come, if all went to plan. 

  “We found a horn. . . great big thing, looks like it came from a dragon far larger than your three. It was banded in what looked like red gold and Valyrian steel that was engraved with runes we believe are also in High Valyrian. It was being guarded by three of the Iron Captains thralls, big lads who claim that they were expected to blow it upon the Captains signal.” Daario explained. 

  Daenerys had never heard of such a horn before. “They told you this?”

  Both Daario and Grey Worm nodded. “We bring back woman, men say she sleep in same cabin as Captain. We also bring back these Thralls? And we have them in dungeons.” Her Unsullied Commander went on to explain. 

  Something about this horn made her nervous, a foreboding chill crept down her spine at the thought of what such an item could mean. “Where is this horn now? 

  “The Unsullied are bringing it here, to your Graces chambers as we speak. It is rather large and we did not want to risk anyone finding out that it is within the pyramid,” said Daario. 

  Daenerys nodded. “Very good, I think I should like to see this horn very much, especially before I can proceed with the Ironborn Captain moving forward. You both should make sure that our “guests” are secure and I would also appreciate it if you would put extra security on the other two at all times. . . and also, I would like more men guarding my rooms and all the passages leading to them until we have this matter sorted.”

  “At once, My Queen.” Grey Worm responded, bowing his head in respect before he excused himself to go and see to her orders. 

  Daario, however, lingered. . . “Is everything alright, My Queen?” He asked, taking a step in her direction. Daenerys retreated toward the table that held the figs and she plucked one from the plate. 

  Feigning ignorance, Daenerys took a bite and then she moved toward her terrace where she was certain that Drogon was resting. She took her time chewing, all the while, she could feel his eyes burning holes in her back. Finally, and with great reluctance, Daenerys turned back to face him, happy to find that he had not followed.

  “Daario,” she paused, knowing that her attempt to end things with him the night before, obviously had not been received as clearly as she had hoped. “What is it that you are truly asking? Is everything alright with my people, or is everything alright between the two of us?”

  His sly smile returned instantly, misunderstanding her intent entirely. “I thought that the meaning was implied?” He husked back at her. 

  This time Daenerys did roll her eyes. “To think that I actually worried for you this entire time that you were in the Yunkish camp. . .” she muttered to herself. 

  Daenerys sighed, suddenly more than ready to have this conversation done and over with. “Captain Naharis, as far as I am aware, my relationship with that of the Stormcrows and their commander are indeed “alright.” As for our personal relationship, I regret that I must inform you that it has run its course and now is at an end.” 

  She could not afford to allow him to maintain any hope of being romantically involved with her. 

  Daario’s expression went from hopeful and flirtatious, to confusion in an instant. “Have you taken another lover then?”

  Although his question was not asked with malice, Daenerys wanted nothing more than to slap him in that moment for his presumption.

  “Careful with your tongue, Commander.” She warned, her inner dragon roaring with incredulity. 

  “I mean no offense, My Queen,” Daario apologized, both hands raised up in surrender.

  Daenerys sighed and waved him off. “I hope that you can understand my position, it was never my intent to end things so abruptly, Daario.” She said, allowing compassion to color her tone. “My time here in Essos has come to an end, at least for now and that also includes our time together.” She tried explaining in as kind of a manner as possible. 

  She was not fool enough to believe that Daario truly loved, her; Daenerys of House Targaryen. But the last thing she needed was for him to betray her out of jealousy. 

  “So, it isn’t that you have taken another lover, you’re just clearing the way for one, once you’ve conquered Westeros. . .” he said, sulking. Though Daenerys could tell that Daario was just trying to make light of this new reality. 

  “This decision has nothing to do with potential suitors, Daario. Though now that we are on the subject, you and I both know that you would have never been considered an acceptable option for King and Consort. But the truth, it’s actually more simple than that. At least for me.”

  “And what would that truth be?” Daario asked, his interest was genuine. 

  “I want to be a mother. Of more than my dragons and that, is something that you cannot give me.” 

   Three heads has the dragon . . . the ghost chorus yammered inside her skull with never a lip moving, never a breath stirring the still blue air. . . . mother of dragons . . . child of storm . . . The whispers became a swirling song. . . . three fires must you light . . . one for life and one for death and one to love . . . Her own heart was beating in unison to the one that floated before her, blue and corrupt . . . three mounts must you ride . . . one to bed and one to dread and one to love . . . The voices were growing louder, she realized, and it seemed her heart was slowing, and even her breath. . . three treasons will you know . . . once for blood and once for gold and once for love . . .

  She was still working on these things, but one thing she knew. . . her mount to love was waiting for her across the Narrow Sea.

  Her answer must have confused him, if the look on his face was any indication of the thoughts running through his mind, though, eventually he recovered. “How can you be so sure that I can’t, and more importantly, do you honestly believe that I care about being your consort or King? I stood aside so that you could marry Hizdahr, I don’t care about some pampered Lord from across the sea, I just want to be beside you. Let someone else attend court at your side, while I keep you warm through winter.” 

  Daario stepped closer to her then, his voice had dropped in volume but he pled on, “I care about you, I pledged you my sword, my heart, and my life. Have you forgotten already?”

  Daenerys scoffed at the ridiculousness of his argument. “I cannot take a foreign lover to Westeros with me Daario, especially when I myself have not been there since after my birth. Furthermore, why would you ever find contentment in such a role?” 

  Daario shrugged, “I am not a proud man, I have admitted this many times. Is it too much to allow me to stay beside you and help you reclaim your birthright? To—to love you. . .?”

  “I have not forgotten your vow, nor will I. Your life is your own Daario. Just as every man, woman and child that I have freed, holds ownership of their own lives in the new world that I am trying to build. Your sword can better serve me here, in Essos, protecting my people and enforcing the laws. As for your heart, I promise to cherish it always. However, my destiny holds a shifting shadow and my third mount awaits me.” Daenerys said, hoping that her words cleared up any lingering hope he was holding. 

  “What does his Radiance, the Noble Hizdahr zo Loraq think about all of this? Does he even know that you’re planning to leave Meereen?” Daario asked, trying his best to startle her, however, he had chosen the wrong topic. 

  Her shoulders straightened and she swallowed back the lump that was forming in her throat. “His Radiance, my Consort, did not survive his wounds and he passed late last evening.” She said, a warning in her tone. 

  “I have made arrangements for a full ceremony to be prepared in his honor, with the Green Grace. This is yet another reason that it would please me for you to remain here while Meereen is returned to a state of peace. Also it would help to stabilize the Bay until my reforms are firmly in place. Missandei and Grey Worm, as well as a handful of others will also remain here for a short while to help organize the fleet and get my sails painted. Grey Worm and my Bloodriders will stay and organize my armies and with any luck, I will be departing, along with Ser Barristan within the week.”

 “So soon. . .?” His voice was full of shock.

  Daenerys once again, found herself nodding. “The longer that I delay, the harder sitting still becomes.”

  It was true, and yet. . . for the longest time, all she had wanted was stability, a place to call home and create memories like the ones she still carried from her childhood long ago. But ever since she started to remember. . .ever since she began her journey back. . .a restlessness grew inside of her that she could not shake. 

  Every day, the need to fly only grew stronger. 

  Last night, long after she had left Hizdahr in the care of the Green Grace and she had sent Barristan to look into something else before he retired, she dreamed that she was flying over a forest that she had never seen before. The trees were unlike any that she had ever seen here in Essos. Both thick and densely packed together, their great green peaks were capped in white. Everywhere she looked, the forest went on for as far as her eyes could see and whenever the wood gave way and the ground below came into view, it was covered in a whiteness that she had only ever heard about from her old bear whenever he spoke about his home. . . Snow.

  Perhaps it had been an effect of the conversation she’d had with Ser Barristan about her brother Rhaegar, and the significance of the blue rose from her vision inside the House of the Undying, that could be to blame for her dream of flying over snow covered landscape and deep green forests. Her heart yearned to be there now, more than it had ever before. There was something pulling her there, pulling Rhaegal there, too. She could feel how restless he was through her bond with Drogon. 

  She looked up and met him eye to eye and then she smiled kindly at her ex-lover. “Don’t look so forlorn, there will be other women after I’ve gone.”

  He smiled back sadly. “But who could ever compare to the Dragon Queen?” 

  And that was it, all that she had ever been, or would ever be to him was “The Dragon Queen.” “I’m sure that someone will come along, perhaps more than one, you are a man who fights for beauty, and you’re also a man who simply loves to fight. I have no doubt that someone will make it into your bed after I’ve gone. It is my sincerest hope that you will continue to fight for Meereen, Daario. Fight for this beautiful new world and know that, even though it was not meant to be for us, does not mean that this is goodbye. I will return for my people, all of them and I count you among the ones I wish to see the most.”

  Daario smiled one last time and bent his knee to her in respect. “I shall do as you command, My Queen. And perhaps. . .one day our paths shall lead us back to one another. Until then, the Stormcrows and myself will remain where you command and our swords will always be yours. If peace is your desire, we shall keep the peace until you return.”

  “And I swear to you that you all will be rewarded for all that you’ve done for me and my people, Commander Naharis.”

  Daario rose to his feet and smiled one last time in her direction. “Is there anything else that my Queen requires?”

  Daenerys shook her head, knowing it would be for the best if he left now, allowing things to stand as they are. The truth was, she was needing to get on to her next appointments soon. “That will be all for now, please see that no one else finds out about what you found aboard the Greyjoy ship. I’ll be convening court at midday if you care to attend.” 

  “I will see to it, My Queen.” Daario assured, nodding once more before he too, excused himself, leaving her with just enough time to go and greet her son before the rest of her morning was consumed with matters of state. 

  As expected, Drogon was lounging lazily upon her terrace, his form nearly covering a quarter of the surface. He was laying with his eyes closed, the early morning sun shone directly upon his black and crimson scales, heating what was already fire made flesh. The burns on her palm only proved that his blood burned hotter than common fire created by man or element. 

  As she reached out and ran her now, healed palm over Drogon’s snout, she couldn’t help but to remember the story Doreah had told her about there having once been two moons that once lit up the night sky. One of them eventually wandered too close to the sun however, and cracked from it's heat. From inside the moon, a thousand thousand dragons poured forth and they drank the sun's fire. And even now, after all these years, she couldn’t help but to wonder if there was any truth in this. 

  Drogo had been her sun and stars, but his fire burned out too soon. . . perhaps she was also a moon. . . would she birth a million dragons? Could she see that her House and their power not only returns but also thrives? 

  Drogon began purring from somewhere deep within his chest the moment that her hand came into contact with his heated scales. She could feel the low vibration of his contentment as she stepped in to sit within the circle of his neck and tail. Once she was settled, her son readjusted so that he could cover her behind his big blocky head, this way they had the appearance of being completely alone. 

  Daenerys chuckled at her needy child and leaned forward to press her forehead against his neck. “I know that it’s just been the two of us for a while now and readjusting isn’t easy. If it makes you feel any better, I hardly slept myself.”

  Drogon huffed at her excuse. 

   “No? Fine, well what did you and your brothers do last evening? Don’t think that I didn’t see the three of you flying toward the catacombs after the sun set.”

  This time, Drogon perked up at her thoughts and suddenly he was moving, stretching like a cat, leaving her still sitting where she had been before he had abandoned her. “Care to explain how I ended up down here by myself?”

   Her son turned in a slow circle and then he paused to look at her curiously, cocking his head to the side with expectation showing in his crimson orbs. 

  Slightly annoyed, but mostly intrigued, Daenerys found herself standing up and moving out of her son's way, only for him to take a step toward her and drop his neck and shoulder, indicating for her to climb up so that they could fly together. 

  For a moment she hesitated. . .but then Quaithe’s voice whispered familiar words in her ear. . . Remember who you are. . . the dragons remember, do you? Before she knew it, she was bracing onto his neck spikes and settling herself into position. “Sovigon.” Daenerys whispered both through the bond and aloud. Within moments they were freefalling from the terrace of her apartments, plummeting toward the ground with such speed and confidence that all Daenerys could do was hold on and trust that her son would never let her fall from his back.

  As they leveled out, twin calls were heard coming from the distance and then both Rhaegal and Viserion were flying at their backs. It did not take long for Daenerys to figure out where they were taking her, as all three of them came to land at the entrance to the Catacombs, where she had locked her two sons away not long ago. 

  Drogon dropped his neck to let her climb down and once her feet were firmly planted on the ground, he nudged her with his snout to go inside. She honestly hadn’t thought to come down here ever again, especially because both her dragons no longer resided within this forced prison. Being here now only reminded her of the shame she felt at having locked them away in the first place. Still, there was obviously something that her children wanted her to see down there, so she would go. 

  Down she went, deep into the belly of darkness. No wall sconces had been brought, no torches were lit either. There had been no need as far as her people were concerned. What remained was deep, empty and almost cold. Though she could not see more than a few feet in front of her at a time, she relied on her children’s proximity to help navigate her to where they were going. 

  Eventually her feet brought her to the bottom of the long stone stairs where the chamber leveled out and it was then that she saw Viserion slink past her and move toward the back of the cavern where she had once chained him.

  Drogon’s tongue forked out to taste the air and then he released a jet of flame, catching what looked to be an old carcass that had never been fully consumed. Once her eyes adjusted to the light, she could see where the chains that once held her dragons were now melted and laying useless upon the ground. She searched the darkness for Viserion, but she had no luck finding him.

  There was a faint sound of rocks crumbling from up above and then Daenerys caught a flash of cream and gold disappearing into a sort of nest that had been carved out of the stone that made up the pyramid above. “Drogon, can you take me to Viserion?”

   Her son nudged her forward and then he lowered his neck for her once more, allowing her to climb up. When she looked around to find Rhaegal, she realized that he hadn’t come down with them. She should have known that he would not return, especially not willingly. 

  Within moments, Drogon was climbing the wall of the cavern, using the same holds that Viserion had created when he had broken free and decided to create a nest of his own. It didn’t take them long to find their way, and when Drogon leveled out, they found Viserion curled protectively in a circle, his head resting upon his tail. 

  Something about his position made her hesitate to come closer. Drogon lowered his neck, indicating that she should climb down, so she did. As soon as she was once again on her feet, her son backed out of Viserion’s nest and clung curiously to the wall, where he could keep an eye on them both. 

  She was in unfamiliar territory for the very first time, when it came to her dragons. She wasn’t sure how to even proceed, now that Drogon had basically removed himself from this situation. 

  Viserion watched her closely, but the air around him became less charged and she felt herself relax, if only just a bit. 

  “Viserion, is there a reason that you three wanted me to come down here? Is there something that you’re protecting up here?” She asked, her voice echoing off of the ceiling above them. 

  Her son blinked and just like Drogon had earlier, a low rumble, similar to the sound of purring could be heard coming from deep within his chest. Daenerys took this as a good sign and moved toward her child, murmuring words of love and reassurance to him through her mind, not really sure if he could understand her the way that Drogon could, but seeing no harm in trying at the same time.

  When she was close enough, she crouched low and waited for a sign from him, one that told her that he trusted her enough to allow her to be there. There was a part of her that dreaded what she would find hiding behind her son, but she reminded herself quickly that she would never fault them again for being what they were born to be. 

  Somehow, this thought must have registered to her son because his molten gold eyes burned brightly in her direction and then he shifted up on his hind legs, moving his body so that he could trade spaces with her. She watched him closely, reaching for him as he passed, wanting nothing more than to hold him the way she had when he was still a mere hatchling. 

  Viserion continued around her and nudged her briefly with his snout, in the direction that he had just been occupying. She had been so distracted in her assessment of her son that she had forgotten entirely that he had been hiding something from her. A brief flash burst from his maw as she turned her attention toward his nest and then she gasped in shock at what Viserion had illuminated. 

  There, nestled amongst charred bones and other debris, were six dragon eggs, each one different from the next. Her son—no, her daughter? Had lain a clutch of eggs while he—she had been in captivity. 

  “By the Fourteen gods of Old Valyria, Viserion!” Daenerys couldn't help but croon at her child. 

  Behind her, she could hear her dragon purr back in response. With hesitant steps, she moved to take a closer look, being sure to move no faster than Viserion was comfortable with. 

  The first egg that she took note of was similar to Viserion with silver and bronze scales with black flecks. The second reminded her of the sunrise, red with orange and pale yellow whorls. The third was a more golden shade of yellow, with violet whorls and black flecks, the mixture was stunning, though she was made even more curious about the factors that determine the markings of each egg. Viserion’s fourth egg was cobalt blue with frost-like  flecks, the fifth was storm grey with pearl flecks and the sixth and final egg was a deep purple that had black undertones highlighted with silver whorls and gold flecks.

  “What are we supposed to do with six hatchlings Viserion, we are supposed to be leaving to go home in less than a week.” She asked aloud, stretching her hand out to rest upon the egg that looked the most like Viserion’s. 

  Her child chuffed and circled back around so that both of them were on either side of her clutch. The flames that Viserion had released a few moments before were still burning beneath the eggs, licking up their sides and keeping them heated the way Daenerys had done when she was still just, normal.

   Her child’s eggs were warm, the same way that hers had been, the day that she had finally awoken from her fever dreams, the day that she realized that a maegi’s life had enough worth to see her reborn within the flames of Drogo's funeral pyre. 

  Carefully, Viserion nudged one of her eggs with her nose and it rolled noisily away from the rest of the clutch and settled at her feet. Daenerys picked it up, weighing it in both hands. It was the deep purple egg.

  “What would you like me to do with it?” She asked, still unsure on how to proceed. 

  Viserion repeated her previous actions and knocked another egg out of her nest and waited for Dany to pick this one; the golden yellow egg, up as well. 

  They were not small, nor could they be considered lightweight, and if Viserion kept at it, she would have no use of her arms and therefore she would be unable to even mount Drogon. This detail did not deter her child in the slightest, and as soon as she had picked up the second egg, the third came behind it. 

  “Viserion, I think you want me to bring them out of here, but I cannot carry all six of them and manage to mount Drogon too.” 

  Just then, Drogon stirred behind her and she could hear him moving closer to Viserion’s nest. Daenerys reached for the third egg, but the sight of her tokar pooling around her knees gave her an idea, so she quickly unfastened the length of fabric from around her body, leaving her nearly bare save for the small amount of silk that covered all of her intimate parts. 

  Whatever. . . it’s not like she hadn’t been naked in front of her people before, and it wasn’t as if she would be stopping in the main plaza for her first audience, before going back to her apartments. 

  As soon as she had her tokar laid out, she began to gather the eggs onto the fabric. She secured them each individually with a knot within the folds of the fabric. Once she was sure that they were all safe to be moved, Daenerys gave a last look back at her child. “I’m going to fly with Drogon and I’ll bring them to the pear tree for you.”

  She should have known back then that Viserion would be different from the other two. But at least her child could come and nest with them until she was able to come up with a way to secure them for their journey. 

  Viserion stretched her neck and sniffed at her six precious bundles that Daenerys had now secured around herself so that they hung like a large babe, slung around her neck and shoulder. When she was content, she moved her attention back toward her mother and she gently nudged her shoulder, rubbing her warm cream and gold scales lovingly against her cheek and Daenerys reached up and caressed her daughter with love and respect, and even a bit of melancholy due to her guilt at having ever locked them down here. 

  “It’s time to go, but before we do. . . I want you to know that these little ones will never know what chains feel like. I will never make the same mistake, ever again.” The rumble in Viserion’s chest grew slightly louder and Daenerys smiled one last time at her children before making her way back over to Drogon and climbing atop his back so that they could return to her terrace. 

  They found Rhaegal standing attention outside of the doors that led into the catacomb, at the sight of Viserion’s eggs, Rhaegal nudged Drogon toward the open air, almost as if he wanted him to hurry and bring the eggs to safety. Her mount didn’t hesitate, with two rushed steps he launched them from the ground and then used his powerful black and crimson wings to lift them high into the sky, his destination was a straight shot from where they were coming from. 

  Within moments, Drogon had settled himself back down upon her terrace and he immediately dropped into position so that she could climb down. Once she was clear, Drogon launched himself back into the sky and circled the top of the pyramid, eventually taking his position upon its apex. Daenerys used this moment to move toward her pear tree where Viserion would typically lounge, soaking up the sun while her brothers played over Slaver's Bay. 

   Slaver’s Bay. . . she would see that the name was changed before she departed Essos. She couldn’t very well liberate hundreds of thousands of people and end slavery in it's entirety, while also neglecting to address the ugliness of a name such as the one that the bay currently held.

  It didn’t take her long to unfasten her tokar and free the eggs from within, though now that she could see the wrinkles that her knots had caused, Daenerys knew that she had no choice but to change entirely. Viserion landed behind her, and Dany quickly moved out of her way so that she could make herself comfortable. 

  “I’ll be leaving you for now, but I will also be setting guards outside to protect your young, please do not burn them unless you are sure that they mean to betray us.” 

  She craned her neck upward and saw Drogon watching them from high above. “Thank you for taking me to find them. I won’t be long, there are some things that I have to take care of before the trial at midday. Preserve your fire, I shall have need of you and your siblings before the sun sets.”

   Drogon raised his wings menacingly, a signal that he would be prepared and Daenerys left them there, hoping that Rhaegal would come to join them up here where she could spend time with all of them together. 

  She found Missandei waiting on her just inside her solar. “Mhysa, Ser Barristan was looking for you. Grey Worm said that you were here, but when we came, you were not here.” Her scribe didn’t have a moment to take in the state of her before she started filling her in. Daenerys waited patiently for her to finish, once she had Missandei gave her a good look and then she turned a pretty shade of pink from embarrassment. 

  “As you can see, I had an appointment with my children that left me in quite a state. Would you mind helping me wrap this about myself so that I can go back to my rooms and change. Then we can summon Ser Barristan.” 

  Missandei nodded and set to work without hesitation. While she arranged her tokar, Dany enquired about her evening with Marselen and in turn Missandei enquired about Hizdahr. When she was decent enough to leave her solar, her and Missandei made their way back to her apartments so that she could change into something more appropriate for a trial and to hold her audiences. 

  Outside her rooms, she found that her guard had already been doubled which reminded her that there was likely something inside waiting for her. Dany turned to her scribe, “Missandei, I need to warn you that there is something within my chambers that I can’t have anyone find out about. At least not until I know more about it. I will also need a few guards stationed outside of my solar, and two outside on my terrace, near each of the doors.” 

  Missandei eyed her curiously, but did not question what Daenerys was saying to her, instead she nodded as they entered. 

  Her chambers were exactly as she had left them, which could only mean that the horn had been placed in her sleeping quarters. Like a moth to a flame, Daenerys moved on instinct alone, Missandei following her closely. 

  She was not sure what she had been expecting but what she found was an enormous black horn that was larger than her by at least half a foot, it’s surface was shiny and smooth and it was banded in metal and gold. She had never seen or heard of such a thing before but it let off a dread chill that permeated throughout the entire room. Still, she could not stop herself from getting a closer look. 

  Etched into the bands were glyphs that could only be in High Valyrian. “Missandei, have you ever seen anything like this?”

  She could read the glyphs herself, as High Valyrian was the first thing she had learned to read and speak after the Common Tongue, but Missandei’s understanding of languages, dialects, grammar and the like was unparalleled, especially in someone as young as herself. 

  Her scribe stepped out from behind her and approached the horn on it's opposite side. Carefully studying it, from the mouthpiece to the large bell opening at the end. She reached out and pointed to the first glyph she saw, “This one is it's name.”

  Daenerys nodded. “I am Dragonbinder.”

  Missandei merely smiled shyly. “Indeed, Your Grace,” her scribe confirmed. 

  “No mortal man shall sound me and live. . . Blood for Fire and Fire for blood. . .what do you think it means?” Daenerys asked, studying the horn in as much detail as possible. 

  “This one does not know, Your Grace, but the horn feels. . . wrong? If that makes sense. What do you feel when you touch it?” Missandei asked. 

  “I haven’t touched it yet.” Daenerys confessed. She was trembling from just being in its presence, it’s name alone left her mind reeling from all of the implications. Yet the horn seemed to be calling her to it. As reluctant as she was, she knew that she would need to speak to the Red Priest and the Ironborn Captain before she did anything else. 

  What she wouldn’t give to have Quaithe’s advice right now. This whole situation with the kraken and his dark flame was confusing her, she thought back to the Undying ones and her first glimpse of the Iron Captain.

  Her silver was trotting through the grass, to a darkling stream beneath a sea of stars. A corpse stood at the prow of a ship, eyes bright in his dead face, grey lips smiling sadly. A blue flower grew from a chink in a wall of ice, and filled the air with sweetness. . . . mother of dragons, bride of fire . . .

   On the one hand, she was certain that Lord Victarion was meant to be one of her three suitors. . .which was odd in and of itself being that she had wed Hizdahr. Perhaps she was only meant to wed the man but not bed him? The idea did not sit well with her in truth. 

  Bride of fire. . . Mayhap there was something she could do. . .

  “We should prepare for the day.” Daenerys said, changing the subject. “Perhaps something more suitable to a Queen who is leading her people through unrest. This tokar won’t do, neither will a silken dress.” 

  Missandei nodded and moved through her rooms toward one of her many wardrobes. “This one believes she knows the perfect solution for you.” 

  A while later, Daenerys was dressed in black leather breeches, similar to the ones that she wore into battle, along with a matching tunic that was detailed in silver thread around the seams. Missandei also managed a silver belt that was embellished with dragons that matched her shoulder chain. Once she was finished, Daenerys moved to get a look at herself in a mirror, what she found was the Warrior Queen, Visenya, or what she imagined her ancestor would have looked like in leathers rather than silk dresses. She looked sure and confident, a true Dragon Queen that her ancestors would find pride in. 

  “When did you find the time to have these made?” Daenerys asked, wondering how she suddenly had so many appropriate outfits for riding. 

  “This one started working on them when we decided to have armor made for you. Does Her Grace not like them?” Missandei answered. 

  Dany turned to address her scribe directly, her eyes wide. “Are you kidding? I love them. It’s just, I suppose that I forgot how nice it is to not have to wear dresses all of the time. After Qarth my wardrobe changed from the riding leathers of the Dothraki to silk dresses and tokars that were more befitting of my rank and station.”

  It was silly, now that she thought about it. Visenya had been comfortable in both, why would it matter whether she was dressed in silk dresses or leathers? Why would such a thing have any bearing on whether or not she would be a good ruler? 

  A knock on her door alerted them both to Ser Barristan, who as far as she knew, had been looking for her to report his findings from the previous night. 

  Missandei blushed at her praise before going to allow Ser Barristan entry into her apartments, allowing Daenerys a final moment alone in her room with her reflection and the ever present Dragonbinder. 

  Now that she was alone with the horn, the tug was even stronger so Daenerys approached, thinking to just touch the metal bands and not the actual horn. Alas, she should have known that whenever blood magic is involved nothing was that simple. 

  The bands were warm, like Drogon’s scales and she could feel the magic thrumming throughout the Horn. A part of her wanted to be afraid, but she too was a dragon, no mere mortal to be sure, and the writing on the horn clearly states that no mortal man may blow the horn and live. But Daenerys was no mortal man. . . she was the blood of Old Valyria, the bride of fire. She had walked into the flames of her husband's funeral pyre and lived. The fire belonged to her, and it flowed freely through her blood.

   Perhaps this horn was no threat to her at all, and perhaps it was. Either way, this was a problem for another time, she had no need of a dragon horn at the moment. What she was in need of was more difficult to obtain. . .she needed answers. 

  Ser Barristan waited with Missandei back inside her main rooms. “Your Grace, I came to report back to you what happened after I left you last night.”

   Daenerys nodded and moved toward a round table stationed near the doors that led to the other part of her terrace. “Tell me, is the Seneschal innocent?”

  Barristan shook his head. “It was as you believed. After the Green Grace left the Great Pyramid, she met with Reznak mo Reznak and informed him about Hizdar’s passing. After that, we watched him closely as he moved about the city.” 

  “Tell me, where did the Seneschal go after he learned about Hizdahr?” 

  “He stopped only once before returning to the pyramid. It was at a brothel near Daznak’s pit. He only stayed a few minutes but the real find came after he departed the pleasure house. It was revealed that the man he met with was one of the Brazen Beasts that worked with Skahaz.”

  “Go on,” Daenerys prompted. 

  “My men and I followed him to his next destination and then to the next destination. Each time, a new runner would exit and move on to the next location. Within an hour, we had located five safe houses and I had men watching each of them until I was able to organize more men to go in and bring Reznak into custody.”

  “And is it done?”

  “It is, Your Grace. We managed to arrest more than twenty men, only losing three of our own. Among those in custody, four were among the ranks of the Skahaz, the rest were found with the mask of the Harpy among their possessions. The houses that they were found in, also contained more evidence that suggested that these had been places where the Sons of the Harpy met.”

  “So were Skahaz and Reznak working together then?” She couldn’t help but wonder. The two of them had hardly ever agreed on anything. That the two of them would conspire against her as allies was even more puzzling. 

  “I don’t think so, Your Grace. From what evidence we have gathered and from the confessions we have acquired, the Seneschal and His Radiance were more closely allied than Skahaz and Reznak mo Reznak. In fact, it’s highly possible that Reznak was the true reason that the Sons of the Harpy stopped attacking for ninety days upon your deal with Hizdhar. In fact, whenever something worked favorably for His Radiance, the Harpy remained calm, while whenever there was upheaval, for example, after I had Hizdahr placed under guard, the Harpy lashed out. What is equally as interesting is that it was Skahaz that counseled me to not trust Hizdahr, and implied that it was he, who poisoned the locusts with the intention to remove you from power. It looks as if the only innocent one in this entire situation was Hizdahr. Skahaz and Reznak are both guilty of perpetuating eachothers treasons.” Barristan finally finished. 

  “Where is Reznak now?” 

  “He is in chains, alongside his harpies.”

  “Very well, I would like him and his harpies to be escorted to Daznak’s pit along with the Wise, Good and Benevolent Masters when we convene there at midday.”

  There was more to all of this she was sure, but something about all of this still troubled her. Ser Barristan had no doubt acted in what he believed to be her benefit while she was missing from the city. Not only as the Lord Commander of her Queensguard, but also as her Hand in some unofficial capacity. As such, he had taken up the position of ruling while she was gone and Hizdahr was under guard. But rather than follow his own instincts, he took the council of two Meereenese nobles that Daenerys herself had placed a measure of faith in. He had ordered Hizdahr under arrest, promised the Tattered Prince Pentos, even after she had declined his request. He had opposed her union to Hizdahr, instead encouraging her to accept Prince Quentyn as it would be seen more favorably in Westeros. . . the fact that he was a legend with a sword and was utterly dedicated to her cause was enough to convince her to keep him by her side, but she was starting to wonder just how effective he was at advising her. . . There was still a part of her that was livid with him for the deal he made with Tatters, but the other part of her recognized that he was short on options and the alternative was allowing the Windblown to fight for the slavers and possibly losing one of her bloodriders and Daario. She would need to find time to speak with Barristan about all of this, but for now she would keep her thoughts to herself, at least until they were safely back in Westeros. 

  “As you command.” Her white knight paused, clearly weighing what he was thinking in his mind. 

  “What is it that troubles you, Ser Barristan?” 

  He flushed and then shook his head. “Tis nothing. I was just curious about where you went earlier when I came looking for you.”

  Daenerys smiled, thinking about her early morning treasure hunt with her children. “Perhaps you would like to see.” She stood and moved toward the doors that lead back out to her terrace, Ser Barristan followed her dutifully. 

  Outside, the air had warmed even more and she knew that her daughter was likely still curled around the pear tree sleeping and soaking in the kiss of the sun's heat. The two of them moved across the surface of the large terrace in relative silence but as they neared, Daenerys slowed so that she could explain to him what to expect. 

  “Last evening I saw Drogon fly off with Viserion and Rhaegal, so this morning Drogon took me to see where they had gone. Has there been anything different that you’ve noticed about Viserion lately?”

  Ser Barristan shook his head, “Nothing Your Grace, but I would not be the best person to judge. No one has been near them since they’ve been free of their chains save yourself and Prince Quentyn. . .” 

  She winced at the mention of the Sun's son. It still smarted that he had dared to attempt stealing one of her children. Even more so, she would have to send word to Dorne of his fate. This would not be an easy road for her, but for now she had the others that had come in the Dornish Princes company and they had the answers as well as the proof that she would need once she returned. 

  “Worry not Ser Barristan, I am sorry that the Prince lost his life, but he should never have gone into my children’s lair in the first place. Nevertheless, that has nothing to do with why we’ve come.” Ser Barristan nodded, though she could see that he was still troubled by the incident. She continued with her explanation, “You see, Viserion managed to melt the chains that I had put on her and she created a nest high, away from where anyone but Viserion and Rhaegal could access it.” 

  They were just rounding the corner where she could see the cream and gold of Viserion’s scales shining in the sun. Barristan paused, obviously not expecting to find her children lounging outside of her apartments. Even Rhaegal had come and was now perched a few feet away, watching the bay with scrutinizing eyes. 

  Viserion perked up as she saw them approach and chirped loud enough to rouse her brother from his watch, while Drogon still perched atop the apex of the pyramid, like he was the true King of the city, and perhaps he was. 

  “I’m sorry, my Queen, but did you just refer to Viserion as female?” Barristan finally managed to ask. Daenerys nodded her confirmation proudly. 

  “I thought that they were all male,” he countered. 

  “As did I, but I should have known better, Viserion has always stood apart from Drogon and Rhaegal. Still, I would not have known at all if they hadn’t gotten free. As it turns out, I believe that Rhaegal may have burned Prince Quentyn because he and Viserion were protecting her clutch.” She couldn’t help but smile, thinking of the six eggs that would one day hatch. 

  “Excuse me, but you’re saying that Viserion laid a clutch of eggs while they were locked away?” Again Daenerys found herself nodding her confirmation. His face grew quite serious all of a sudden, “Your Grace, you understand how valuable Dragon eggs are, surely? They have to be protected.”

  “Indeed they do, which is why I have ordered Unsullied to guard my apartments both inside and outside.” She paused as they grew nearer, considering her next words carefully. 

  “I’m going to ask Jorah to guard them personally. At least until we depart for Westeros. I wanted to make sure you are aware of my decision, as well as my plans to speak with him later on.”

  Ser Barristan looked skeptical. “It is not my place to question your decisions. . .”

  “But you think I might be making a mistake.”

  “I would never presume—.” He looked appalled at her presumption, and even more so by the fact that she had been correct in her assessment. 

  Daenerys raised a hand to silence him, “Nonetheless, I understand. But that is why I won’t be asking him to guard me personally. I however would like to explain my reasons, if you would hear them?”

  “Of course, Your Grace.” 

  They had finally reached her daughter and Viserion rose willingly from her place beneath the pear tree, to allow her mother to come closer. Viserion paid little mind to Ser Barristan as he too approached her clutch of eggs. Even still, Barristan did not come any closer than necessary. 

  The look on his face was priceless, “Six, Your Grace? Did your own clutch not consist of only three?” 

  “They had been collected by a source that Illyrio has in Asshai, if his words are to be believed. I have no way of knowing, in truth whether or not they all came from the same clutch. But I know of no rule that dragons can lay only three at a time. Then again, I have no way of knowing whether this is one clutch or two for that matter.” 

  Ser Barristan nodded, and so she continued. “As I was saying, in regard to Ser Jorah. The reason I want him to guard them is due to the fact that he protected my own dragons when they were still only eggs. You see, without him, I likely would never have hatched them and Viserys would have likely lived a little longer. My dragons trust Jorah, even though he betrayed me, he has also loved me. My children sense that, and they remember when he guarded them before and after I hatched them. I believed my eggs to be stone, petrified after centuries of going unhatched, yet still people thirsted for them. These eggs are not stone, of that I am sure and because of this, I hesitate to take them from Viserion, yet they cannot remain unguarded. Especially if for some reason Viserion must leave and I am unable to be here.”

  She could tell that even though her reasoning was sound, he was still skeptical of Jorah's loyalty. “Will you allow for me to be present when you speak with him?”

   “Of course, in fact I would like you to remain by my side throughout this morning's audiences. I have Lord Tyrion coming to meet with me first.”

  Ser Barristan nodded and took another hesitant step toward where she was knelt down, beside Viserion’s clutch. “They really are quite remarkable. I assume you plan to bring them with us when we fly for Westeros?” 

  She didn’t even have to consider her answer, ever since Viserion had revealed them to her she had been busy thinking of the best way to transport them, while also keeping them warm. “I couldn’t possibly leave them behind. I just need to figure out a way to transport them without placing them in danger.”

  “Perhaps you’ll allow me to assist you. We still have a few days before we can depart.” Ser Barristan offered.

 She would have accepted, but just then Missandei appeared to announce her first appointment. “I would appreciate any assistance you can provide.” She said, standing. 

  “It would seem that my first appointment has arrived. Shall we go?” 

  “Please,” he said, gesturing for her to lead the way. 

  Before moving back to her solar, she reached for her daughter and scratched at the scales just under her chin. “You can fly if you like, I won’t be far.” Viserion purred, and then headed back to her spot beneath the pear tree, causing Daenerys to chuckle fondly at her child. Rhaegal inched closer and sniffed at her curiously and she decided to give him a little attention too, before she was forced into meetings the rest of the afternoon. 

  She could tell that what Rhaegal wanted the most was to leave, he was nervous and antsy. Even now, with her paying him attention, his eyes never left the bay. “Would you like to go and fly with me and Drogon tonight?”

  His bronze colored eyes focused on her, and he chuffed, and she felt a thrill pass through his scales as her words registered to him. “Very well, tonight we will go and fly, and scout ahead for our journey in a few days time. For now look after your siblings and the young ones.” 

  After that, they headed inside where Missandei was waiting to allow Lord Tyrion access. Ser Barristan stood sentry beside the doors that led back out to her terrace. On the other side, two Unsullied were also stationed. 

  “Missandei, please show our guest inside.”

  “Of course, Your Grace, right away.” Her scribe said, just before she hurried off to retrieve the man in question. 

  A few moments later, the same man from the throne room the previous day was escorted into her room. He did not appear nervous in the least, in fact, he walked as if he owned the room. Daenerys could respect that. It was no use showing fear in the presence of a dragon, if he had, she likely would have lost any interest in his story. 

  “You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the Mother of Dragons, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Conqueror of Qarth, Astapor, Meereen and Slaver's Bay. Rider of the Winged Shadow, he who is the Stallion who mounts the World; Drogon, the Rightful Queen of Westeros, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, and protector of her realms.”

  The small Lord bowed respectfully after her scribe announced her. His appearance was curious. . .with two mismatched eyes, one black, one green and his hair a mixture of pale yellow and black. Perhaps the most curious thing about him though was the battle scar that he wore across his face that had claimed the lower half of his nose, as well as the fact that he had come in the company of Brown Ben Plumm. 

  “Thank you Your Grace for agreeing to meet with me so soon, I can imagine that you are quite busy with all that is going on here in Meereen.”

  Daenerys watched him curiously, not quite understanding what could have convinced the son of Tywin Lannister to come to Essos, seeking an audience with her. Surely there are easier ways to condemn oneself to death than to poke a sleeping dragon too early. 

  “Tell me Lord Tyrion, what convinced you to travel to Meereen?” She asked, cutting straight to the point.

  The dwarf cleared his throat in an attempt to compose himself and Daenerys gestured toward the chair across from her. “Please, have a seat. I am sure that your journey was long and you’ve had quite the adventure.” 

  Quickly, Tyrion Lannister moved for the offered chair and climbed into it. Once he was settled he cleared his throat once more and began his tale. 

  He told her about the state of Westeros at the time of his departure, the death of the Usurper and the ascension of his nephew Joffrey to the Iron Throne. 

  Parts of this, she had already known from Ser Barristan but still she listened. Eager to learn anything she could that she didn’t already know from another perspective. 

  He went on to tell her about how his father and two other lords betrayed Robb Stark, who had been named King in the North at a wedding feast and as a result he and his mother along with a great portion of his army were slaughtered.

   Daenerys wasn't sure how she should feel about this. On the one hand, she didn’t begrudge the Starks for wanting vengeance against the Lannister’s for betraying Lord Stark, but on the other hand, a Stark being named King in the North was in itself treason as the last true king in the North had bent the knee and sworn fealty to her ancestors in perpetuity at the time of conquest. Still, she kept these thoughts to herself as she continued to listen to Lord Tyrion tell the rest of his tale.

  “I’m most curious to know why you ended up killing your father.” She commented after listening to the long tale of the War of Five Kings that followed the death of Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark.

  As it turned out, after the event that killed Robb Stark, Robert Baratheon’s oldest son and heir was killed at his own wedding by a poison known as the Strangler and how after, his sister, the Dowager Queen accused Tyrion, resulting in a trial where he demanded the right of Trial By Combat and the ability to name a champion. 

  Daenerys listened to all of this, to the details of said trial, where the Prince of Dorne challenged the man who murdered her brothers wife and two children and of how Prince Oberyn allowed his grief over the loss of his sister to cost him his life. Then he told her how the Spider who had supposedly once been loyal to her own father, aided the Kingslayer in helping Tyrion escape his death by the royal executioner, and how before leaving the city, he found his father and lover after having just made love. How he strangled her with his own hands before he went in search of his father and of how he unloaded a number of crossbolts into him before fleeing back through the secret tunnels underneath the Red Keep. 

  After that he explained how Lord Varys had been waiting on him and helped him escape the city by securing him passage aboard a ship sailing for Pentos. Of how he had drank his way across the Narrow Sea, locked inside a small cabin aboard a small ship bound for Pentos. Though he’d had no idea where he was going or who would be receiving him until the moment he was released from within the confines of the wine cask that he had been shoved inside of the moment that the ship had made port. As it had turned out, he had been delivered to the manse of Illyrio Mopatis. 

  Many thoughts were running through Daenerys mind upon learning that there was a link between her father's old Spy-master and Magister Illyrio who had arranged her marriage to the Dothraki. 

  “And then what happened? How did you go from the hospitality of Magister Illyrio to a Yunkish war camp, allied to Brown Ben Plumm and the Second Sons?”

  Tyrion straightened then, and a smile crept upon his face. “I was hoping that you would ask me this. As it turns out, it is quite the interesting tale.” He began, and then he launched into the second half of his story. This one, clearly more fantastical than the previous. 

  This time, more pieces of her puzzle began to fall into place, and Daenerys listened shamelessly as he narrated his journey across the Disputed Lands of Essos and of how he ended up as a slave, conscripted to fight in the Yunkish army after being abducted by none other than Ser Jorah Mormont. 

  The irony of the entire tale, as far as the dwarf was concerned was the fact that Jorah took him with the idea that she would thank him for such a gift, when the truth had been much more simple. He had been sent by Magister Illyrio and Lord Varys to advise Daenerys once she made her way to Volantis and to a man named Griff who had conscripted the Golden Company to fight in her name. This same man also, apparently had been raising a young man that called himself Young Griff, in secret.

  “Why would this Griff need to raise his son in secret if he is a sellsword? Your story is not making sense.” Daenerys eventually asked.

  “Ah, that is a very good question. One I asked myself over the many moons that I traveled alongside the two of them and their mismatched band of companions. You see, the man Griff was once known in Westeros by another name, Jon Connington, the young ambitious lord of Griffin's Roost, who was also a close companion of your brother, Prince Rhaegar,” 

  This detail did not go unnoticed by Daenerys. A Lannister traveling in the company of a man associated with griffins. Her warning sounded on repeat in her mind, while Barristan stood silent at her back, never once did he interrupt. 

  “And why would a friend of my brother be associated with a sellsword company that refused to support my brother Viserys when he approached them some years past? They mocked him and called him the Beggar King. They would no more help him than they would myself, so why would a man whom you claim was loyal to my brother choose to ally himself with them when he could have come to serve the true king while he still lived?”

  Tyrion lifted a brow in surprise at her revelation, mayhaps he had not heard of the treatment of her brother, but still, it made no sense that friends of her brother would choose not to support her father's chosen heir. 

  “My Queen, I cannot speak for the state of the Lord of Griffins mind, nor can I claim to know the reasons for the choices he made. But I do believe if I had been in his position, I might have waited to join up with you and your brother too. You see, the boy, Young Griff, is not actually his son, he is the trueborn son of his best friend. A boy that the world believes dead. He’s your nephew.”

  Daenerys world crashed. Her nephew? “I have no living nephew, your father saw to that on the day that he and his men sacked King's Landing and your brother killed his king. Have you forgotten what the Mountain did to my brother's wife and his young children?”

  The dwarf shook his head in answer, “Sadly, Your Grace I have not. It is a conversation I was confronted with, quite a number of times just before I was forced to leave Westeros. My father ordered Ser Amory Lorch and Ser Gregor Clegane to scale the walls outside Maegor’s Holdfast where Princess Elia and her children were being kept. He claimed that they had come to Robert's side too late and that they had to prove their loyalty, so he ordered Rhaegar’s children slaughtered. Ser Amory found the Princess Rhaenys inside her father's rooms, hiding under his bed. They say she kicked and fought and screamed so much that Ser Amory had stabbed her half a hundred times. The fate of Elia and the babe she was feeding was crueler still. It was said that she was breastfeeding when The Mountain found her inside the nursery and snatched the young prince from her arms, dashing his skull against the wall, killing him instantly. When I asked my father why he ordered the death of Princess Elia, he claimed that he hadn’t, but he hadn’t ordered that they leave her alive either. He said he hadn’t thought much of her at all until after he had been presented with her body and the bodies of her children. He claimed that he hadn’t been aware of the beast that he had in Gregor Clegane at the time. In the end, my father called the two babes Princess Rhaenys and Prince Aegon, and the newly crowned Robert, along with the rest of the realm just took him at his word. . .a babe, who to my knowledge, my father had never laid eyes upon. How he was able to positively identify the babe still makes me wonder.”

  “And yet you are sitting here now, telling me that the same boy who had been at his mother's breast at the time of the Sack of King's Landing is also the same boy who is claiming to be my brother's son?” 

  Lord Tyrion straightened his shoulders. “To be clear, the boy made no such claims. I figured the truth out on my own,” a very self satisfied smile came over the dwarfs face just then.

  Daenerys was interested to say the least, so she bid him to continue in his tale. He described to her in detail, the layout of Illyrio’s manse and even the serving girl who had claimed to have served the King when he had been residing inside the Magisters manse. And how within days of his arrival, they had departed on their journey towards Ghoyan Drohe in search of this Griff who he claimed was a sellsword, as well as an exiled Westerosi noble. Who was different than other sellswords, due to the fact that he “had a young son that he dotes on.”

   “I admit that I spent much of that journey drunk on whichever wine the lord of cheeses thought to offer but I still remember our many conversations. For a time, everything seemed to circle around Your Grace, how you were in need of clever, cunning advisors to surround yourself with, once you set your sights on Westeros. The Cheesemonger believed that you were preparing to make your way toward Volantis, where Griff would be waiting, along with the men of the Golden Company, to escort you, your Unsullied, Dothraki and Sellsword companies across the Narrow Sea. However, just before we reached Ghoyan Drohe we were met by two men who were sent by Griff to retrieve the items that Magister Illyrio had brought with them, along with myself. It was here that I realized that something with the Magister was off. I had asked him how Griff managed to get the Golden Company to break their contract with Tyrosh. He said that “Some contracts are writ in ink, and some in blood.”  But would say no more. When I asked why the Golden company would support the last scion of House Targaryen he said. “Red or black, a dragon is still a dragon. When Maelys the Monstrous died upon the Stepstones, it was the end of the male line of House Blackfyre. And Daenerys will give the exiles what Bittersteel and the exiles never could. She will take them home.” This time, Ser Barristan stirred and Daenerys chanced a glance backward in his direction. 

  “Is there something that you would like to add, Ser Barristan?”

  Her White Knight looked uncomfortable at having drawn her attention, but with any luck, he was following her line of thought. He did not disappoint when he did finally speak. “I hope my Queen will forgive my interruption but something about this whole thing feels off. And that is not to say that I believe you to be lying, my Lord,” Ser Barristan said in difference to the little Lion and then he returned his focus on her, “But if we are to believe what Lord Tyrion is saying, why would the Golden Company not have fought for your father when Robert Baratheon was fighting his rebellion. Did you not just tell us how the Golden Company all but spat in your brothers face when he petitioned for them to enter contract with him?” Daenerys nodded at her Queensguard and turned back to the Dwarf of Casterly Rock with a raised brow. 

  “All of what Ser Barristan says is true in regards to the Golden Company. Tell me, if they were always so eager to fulfill this “Blood Contract,” that Magister Illyrio speaks of, why then was it necessary to sell me to my Dothraki husband for an army that could help my brother take back the Seven Kingdoms. Knowing that the Dothraki would never sail across the black salt water? Knowing that the Dothraki were a warring, nomadic people and in the event of my husbands death, I would have been expected to live out the rest of my days in the Temple of the Dosh Khaleen. I’m finding much of this hard to believe if I’m being honest. Tell me, did the Magister mention my wedding to Khal Drogo?”

  Tyrion Lannister looked across the surface of the desk to meet her questioning gaze. “He did, in fact. He mentioned how your brother was obsessed with claiming you for himself. Mad that he was forced to sell you for an army. And so, on the night before you were to be wed, Viserys attempted to steal into your rooms to claim your maidenhead. Illyrio claimed that if he hadn’t had the foresight to place guards at your door, Viserys actions could have undone years of careful planning.”

   Years of careful planning. . . She had only lived in Illyrio’s manse for a year. . . yet Illyrio eluded to multiple years of planning. Inside, Daenerys was raging. With every word Tyrion Lannister spoke, she was fighting a battle to not mount Drogon and fly for Pentos to burn him in his manse. 

  And yet the lion had more to relay. “I did find it odd that the Magister was so dedicated to serving his Queen when he confessed that he hadn’t even expected you to survive the Dothraki, yet there we were, traveling at a torturously slow pace down the Valyrian road that led us into the heart of Andalos and further still to the little Rhoyne. Along the way he sung your praises to be sure, a Queen who had once been timid and weak, who died in the Dothraki sea and in her place, the Mother of Dragons was reborn in Fire and blood. I must confess, I wasn’t convinced that you had truly hatched Dragons until the moment I saw the Cream and Gold one flying over the war camp.”

  “I see.” Daenerys said, sitting forward. He had revealed more than perhaps he knew, but she wanted to hear the rest before it was time for her next appointment. “I don’t mean to rush you, but I would like to hear more about this so called nephew of mine and how you came to discern this truth for yourself.” She saw him eyeing the pitcher that had been set out for her earlier, so she offered him a drink. 

  Immediately his eyes lit up, and within moments Missandei had poured them both a glass of lemon water. Daenerys waited until He had his glass in hand before she drank from hers, not wanting to be rude. Only his expression soured the moment that he realized that it was no more than water. 

  “Were you expecting something else, my Lord?” Daenerys asked, suppressing  a smile. 

  The dwarf straightened and took another drink of his water before placing the goblet back on the table in front of him. He gave a half smile that was little more than a grimace before replying. 

  “Not at all, Your Grace. I was merely hoping, or preying as it were, that it would be wine. At any rate, I am quite thankful for such a lovely refreshment on such a hot morning.”

  Daenerys nodded, “You were saying, about this Young Griff who is the son of Griff, who isn’t actually his father at all, because he is the son of my brother, that didn't actually have his head smashed by the Mountain nearly eighteen years ago? Please correct me if I’m mistaken.”

  “You seem to have the general idea.” He said, itching absentmindedly at what remained of his nose. “Ah yes! So, after many days of traveling beside the river I awoke to find I was alone in the traveling coach. Outside, the Cheesemonger was speaking with two men who were later introduced as Ser Rolly Duckfield and a man named Haldon who was a half-maester. They were exchanging information, and Illyrio was giving over the six chests that he had brought with them. They only spoke a little about the man Griff, but Illyrio did mention that there was a gift inside one of the chests for the boy. Candied ginger I believe. The Cheesemonger claimed that the boy was always fond of it, which I thought odd, surely the man hadn’t spent much time with a sellswords son, given all that he had been busy doing in your graces favor over these past many years. Still, I paid it no mind until I saw how pained he looked at not being able to be present at the boys wedding. Though he did promise on the hands of his dead wife to see us all again in Westeros.”

  Again she was caught by surprise. “I was not aware that Magister Illyrio intended to make the journey to Westeros.”

  “He said that your brother promised him a seat on his Small Council as the Master of Coin, but whether or not you intend to honor that, he means to be there to support you. Would you like to hear the rest of the story?”

  She inclined her head in answer and he immediately continued as if there had never been any interruption at all. 

  “Over the following days we rode together toward Ghoyan Drohe until we finally reached the banks of the Little Rhoyne. It was this lad that I first beheld, lithe and well made, waving a wide-brimmed straw hat at our incoming party in greeting. He had a lanky build and dark blue hair that matched his dark blue eyes, I thought him to be no more than fifteen or sixteen.”

  That alone made no sense, if this boy was in fact her brother's son, he would be older than her. Nearly twenty at the end of the year if her math was correct. 

  “And then what happened?” She couldn’t stop herself from asking. 

  “We set sail almost immediately for Volantis, where we were expected to meet you there. Over the course of the journey, I got to know Griff and his crew, who, by the way, refused to reveal anything about themselves to me, but among them was a knight who tutored Griffs son in the way of martial arts, a septa who was handsome to be sure but not as chaste as the Maiden, an exiled not-knight-or-Lord who just to happened to have knighted the man who was instructing his son in the ways of war, two people both born in Dorne that returned to the Mother Rhoyne and a Half-Maester who was instructing the boy on the histories of the known world, geometry, sums, Languages such as High Valyrian, the languages of Tyrosh, Myr, and Pentos, as well as the trade talk of Sailors. We were both learning the language of Old Volantis together and we even learned some of the Meereenese tongue before I was intercepted by your own, Ser Jorah Mormont. At any rate, after I spent a bit of time observing the boy at his lessons it occurred to me that his education was better than most noble born children from the Seven Kingdoms, it was here that things started to click into place. His eyes were not the same shade of blue as his father, sometimes they appeared almost black by the lamplight and in the light of dusk they looked almost purple with long lashes to frame them. He was graceful with a sword and the entire group seemed to gravitate around him. As if he alone was the center of their universe. It was while we were sailing through the heart of the Sorrows that my theory had been confirmed.”

  By this point, Daenerys was nearly on the edge of her chair, and likely for reasons completely separate of the imps own excitement. With every word spoken, her conviction to end Illyrio was hardened into something ten times stronger than Valyrian steel. It was true that before the situation at Daznak’s Pit, she was against conquering Pentos for this Tattered prince, how could she? Illyrio had cared for her and Viserys both, he had gifted her with three dragon eggs, and helped to keep Robert's assassins from locating them. . . but the truth was much more complex than she had believed. 

  Daenerys and Viserys were pawns. . . they were disposable to people like Illyrio and Varys. . .and if what Lord Tyrion was telling her is true, this whole scheme was some elaborate plan to get rid of herself and Viserys so that this boy, who was supposedly her nephew, could return to Westeros and claim her father's throne. 

  “I’m dying to hear the rest of the story, please, you cannot simply stop there.” Daenerys said, feigning her most naïve tone. 

  The dwarf ate up her mummery and awarded her with a huge smile of his own, no doubt he truly believed her enraptured. 

  “We were still sailing through the Festival City of the Chroyane when we neared the Bridge of Dream, as Griff liked to call it, when he announced that there were stone men ahead. Keep in mind that I had my suspicions already about the boy and his true identity, but it was when Griff ordered the boy to escort his septa to her cabin and to remain there with her that everything fell into place. “Lad, take Lemore back to her cabin and stay with her.”  The boy looked upset at this and he replied, “Lemore knows where her cabin is, I want to stay.” Then his septa looked at him and said, “We are sworn to protect you.” In as soft of a voice as she could muster. There had of course been some more discussion about his fitness to defend himself and the rest of us, including why it was appropriate for me to stay while he was being sent below. I knew this was the perfect time to press my theory so I went for it. “You’re a dwarf,” the young prince reminded me with scorn. I turned to him and replied, “My secret is revealed. Aye, I’m less than half of Haldon, and no one gives a mummers fart whether I live or die. You, though. . .you are everything.” After that, we passed beneath the Bridge of Dream while the stone men mostly paid us no mind. Within moments, I had my confirmation when the young lad rounded on me and demanded an answer to what I meant when I said that “he was everything.” So I explained to him the difference between the value of his life vs. the life of someone like Yandry or myself. “If the stone men had taken Yandry or Griff or our lovely Lemore. We would have grieved for them and gone on. Lose you, and this whole enterprise is undone, and all those years of feverish plotting by the Cheesemonger and the eunuch would have been for naught. . .isn’t that so?” As expected, the boy looked to Griff and said, “He knows who I am.” And if I hadn’t known before, I definitely did then.” He finished, that same self-satisfied smirk returning to his face. 

  Daenerys supposed that if she had been in his position, she too would have felt smug at having figured out such a precious secret. Yet she was fuming. . . the imp claimed that they were supposed to be waiting for her in Volantis. “So then what happened? You said that they were expecting me in Volantis. Where is he now? You also said that this young boy was supposed to be getting married. . . was he promised support by the triarchs of Volantis for marrying one of their daughters?”

  At her words, the dwarf eyed her curiously. “You haven’t figured it out yet? He intended to ask you for your hand, unite your claims and retake the Seven Kingdoms together. But all he had to offer you was a chest full of clothing and his name along with his birthright. I advised him to not come to you empty handed, expecting you to say yes to a handsome face and surrender a dragon to him in the process. I explained that everyone knew who you were, and as such your claim could not be contested, but he possessed the birthright. I advised him to present himself to you as an equal rather than a young boy who had nothing else to offer You. Now, seeing that he never arrived, I can only assume he took my advice and set sail for the Seven Kingdoms to begin the second Targaryen Conquest.”

  She was floored, for a number of reasons. But mostly due to the presumption of these men to think that she could be sold more than once for a single throne. She bit back the string of curses that were itching to spew from her mouth, and instead she focused on the subject.

  “He has the birthright?” She seethed. “Tell me, Lord Tyrion are you truly as much of a fool as you appear to be? What proof that this boy is my brother's son do you have other than an assumption? How did you become so convinced of an impossibility that you, yourself just described to me in more detail than I have ever known? How did a babe who was reported to be feeding at his mother's breast go from being murdered by a savage dog, to being raised in secret by Rhaegar’s supposed best friend, who had been exiled by my own father for losing a battle during the rebellion?”

   Her words must have shook him because he looked at her with wide eyes. Daenerys would not back down though. She was not upset by the idea that there was someone else out there with likely a stronger claim than her, she was upset by the fact that people were willing to flock to him because he was male, whether or not her blood claim could be contested, they all just expected her to stand aside for a male claimant. . . but where was this supposed nephew when she and Viserys were running from one safe place in search of another, all to keep the Usurpers assassins at a distance. All until Jorah told Varys that she was expecting her son, and the wine merchant came with his poisons to murder her and her unborn babe. 

  “Forgive me, my Queen. I thought that you would be happy to learn that you have family still living.” The imp stuttered almost nervously.

  “Oh, do not mistake me, I’m highly interested in the idea of my brother leaving behind a child that Westeros knew nothing about, but I have no such proof that this Young Griff is the very child that I have been hoping for.”

  Her words puzzled him, which was the desired reaction. She would not speak of her blue rose at the Wall, or her lone wolf. At least not until she was certain that they were real. 

  “I apologize if I left some details to be desired, it was not my intent. But as it turns out, there is an answer to the questions you’ve raised.”

   I’m sure there are. . . the question is, will I believe the answers as readily as you did? “Very well, I should like to hear these answers.”

  He cleared his throat and absentmindedly he reached for the water goblet and drained it’s contents before he placed the goblet back down with a grimace. “I did enquire about how he managed to escape the Red Keep, as no one would believe that it was possible for him to have survived such an ordeal, and Jon Connington explained that Varys was able to switch out the Princess Elia’s child for a child born in the lower parts of King's Landing. A boy with fair hair and skin like your brother, to match the appearance of the young prince. Knowing that the royal family would not be safe, Varys convinced Princess Elia to switch the children to safeguard the succession. The Princess Rhaenys was known to court, but the babe had only been there a few moons and he was mostly with his mother. So when the Mountain came to do my Lord Father's bidding, it was actually the changeling that had his head dashed against the wall. The real prince had been smuggled out of the city and sent across the Narrow Sea for safe keeping.”

  Daenerys nodded. Something still felt wrong with this explanation. “Tell me, Lord Tyrion, were your father and Lord Varys in each others confidence?”

  “No, my father hardly trusted the Spider.”

  “Did Lord Varys expect that the Mountain and Ser Amory would be scaling the walls of Maegor’s Holdfast?”

  “I could not say for certain. I was just a boy still. I hadn’t ever left the Rock at the time of Robert's Rebellion.” 

  “Then it's arguable that Lord Varys had no way of knowing that the City would fall to your father. Why then would he prepare for an eventuality that would cost the lives of all aside from my brother Rhaegar’s only son. Even more so, why save a child that had legally been removed from my father's line of succession? Varys was no friend to my brother Rhaegar, Ser Barristan told me of the Tourney at Harrenhal. Of how my brother was calling a Great Council and how Lord Varys whispered to my father that Rhaegar was plotting against him. Why would Princess Elia trust the Spider with my brothers only known male heir?”

  “I’m not sure that I understand what Harrenhal has to do with the Sack of King's Landing.” Tyrion admitted nervously. 

  “I would wager that everything is connected, my Lord. And it seems like a stretch to believe that Varys would have the foresight to predict that this changeling would be rendered so unrecognizable that not even your brother who was kingsguard could identify the babe who was found feeding at his mother's breast.” She turned to address Ser Barristan. 

  “How was Princess Elia when she came to court after my father called her from Dragonstone?”

  “The Princess was scared, she avoided court and your father every chance she could. As a result, she and your brother spent most of their time on Dragonstone, following their union. Prince Rhaegar did not trust your father's council, nor the sycophants he surrounded himself with. Lord Varys was among those who he did not trust.”

  Daenerys nodded, “And is it your belief that Princess Elia would have allowed Lord Varys to take one of her children while condemning the other to a cruel fate?”

  Ser Barristan looked saddened by the choice of topic, but he shook his head in answer. “The Princess almost died birthing Princess Rhaenys, and again when she birthed her son. As a result, she was fearsome in their presence. She refused a wet nurse for both children, wanting to care for them herself. She trusted no one with them, save the Queen, Prince Rhaegar or her own Ladies in Waiting. She would have never allowed the Spider to take her son. The idea is almost laughable.”

  Daenerys returned her attention to the little Lion seated across from her. “I want you to understand, my Lord, that I am not opposed to finding out that my brother has a living son, I’m opposed to welcoming a mummers dragon into my circle. Even more so, I have every reason to suspect that there is a mummers dragon presenting himself as a trueborn dragon. Until I meet him, I refuse to get my hopes up about it. Am I to understand that I would have found you in the company of the Lord of Griffin’s had things gone to plan and I met you in Volantis? Provided that Jorah never thought to present you to me here in Meereen?”

  “That was the plan, but the gods have a way of making things happen in their own way. Ser Jorah found me in a pleasure house in Selhorys and stole me in the night.” 

  After that, they spoke some more about his journey with Jorah after having crossed each other's paths. And of their journey to Volantis where they earned passage to Meereen on a ship called the Selaesori Qhoran, courtesy of a woman known in Volantis as the Widow of the Waterfront, who was once a whore, but married a Triarch.

  “Interestingly enough, the Widow asked me to deliver a message to you on behalf of the slaves of Old Volantis. She asked me to tell you that they are waiting, and to come soon.” 

  They set sail two days later on a ship that was bound for Qarth. The Widow claimed that the ship would never make it to their desired destination.

  The dwarf claimed that more than three-fourths of the crew were followers of the Red God and among them was the Red Priest; Moqorro. “Each night after we set sail from Volantis, Moqorro held night prayers for the followers of the Red God above deck. It had been more than a week following our departure that I spoke with him personally for the first time.”

  “And what did the Red Priest have to say to you? Why are they so interested in finding me?”

  “Two different questions with one answer. . . In Volantis the High priest spoke of prophecies. I asked Jorah to translate and he said, “ Daenerys stands in peril. The dark eye has fallen upon her, and minions of night are plotting her destruction, praying to their false gods in temples of deceit. . . conspiring at betrayal with godless outlanders. . .” The prophecy went on to describe an ancient hero that would come and deliver the world from darkness. A hero that they clearly believe to be you. . . The Mother of Dragons. Moqorro was no different, though I won’t deny that the man has magic of his own. His gift of foresight cannot be questioned.”

  “What is it that he saw that convinced you of his gifts?” She asked, more eagerly than she mayhap should have. 

  “He knew that we would not be going to Qarth, he spoke of a man with one black eye and ten long arms sailing on a sea of blood, and yesterday, he presented himself to you inside your throne room with that very same man after just having slaughtered countless men out there in Slaver's Bay. And then there was his talk of dragons. . .”

  “Dragons?” She asked, arching a brow. 

   “Dragons. . . Dragons old and young, true and false, bright and dark. And me. A small man with a big shadow, snarling in the midst of all.”

  “I see, and then what happened? How did you become separated?”

  “After weeks of sailing, a massive storm came just as we were crossing the Gulf of Grief and I believed that the priest had been swept overboard during the worst part of it. We were adrift for more than nineteen days before a slave galley found us. After that we made our way here to Meereen where we were sold to a slave master from Yunkai.”

  Daenerys breathed in a deep breath and relaxed back in her chair, fingers crossing over her lap. There was no denying that the man had been on quite a journey in the time since he departed Westeros. She had learned much and more from him over the course of this conversation than she had ever imagined she would. 

  “It would seem that you have been through quite an ordeal, just to come and meet me. I would like to extend my hospitality to you and your friend Penny. . . is it? At least while you remain in Meereen.” 

  Tyrion Lannister nodded. “Thank you, Your Grace, that is very kind of you. But you said, while I remain in Meereen? Does this mean that you have decided what to do with me?”

  She had—or at least she thought that she had. “I do not blame you for your father's ambition, nor for his sins against my family, but neither can I let my guard down around you. . . Still, I cannot deny the benefit of keeping you near me, especially given that your sister is all but ruling the Seven Kingdoms from my father's throne. Unfortunately, Lord Tyrion, you’ve arrived at a time where I am unable to make an investment in such relationships, as I intend to fly for Westeros in less than a week. I do however see the value of keeping the legal heir of Tywin Lannister close at hand. You are not my prisoner, but neither will you be allowed to leave the Pyramid. I will speak on this regard with Ben Plumm myself. For now, you will remain here, with my advisors, and you will catch them up to speed with the situation in Westeros while my new ships are made ready for the voyage. You will journey with my fleet to Dragonstone when they are ready to sail and I will meet all of you there. If you do this with no issue, we can discuss what comes next, however, betray me and I will not think twice about feeding you to my dragons.”

  A knock at her outer door alerted her to the arrival of her next appointment and she stood, signaling to the Lion Lord that their time had come to an end. 

  The dwarf followed her lead and bowed respectfully. “I would like to thank you for your time once more, my Queen. And for not choosing to feed me to your dragons the moment I revealed myself to you.” He paused. 

  “If I might ask, what are your plans for Ser Jorah? I know that you ordered him to leave and threatened his life if he returned, but the man clearly worships you.”

  “I don’t believe that is any of your business, but since you asked and have been more than forthcoming with me I suppose I don’t mind answering.” Daenerys responded and the dwarf nodded.

  “I never had reason to doubt his loyalty until the day that the pardon he received from Robert Baratheon arrived in the hands of a freed Meereenese boy. A pardon he earned for selling my secrets to the Usurper, secrets that almost resulted in the death of my son. Though, at the time I think I could have found it in my heart to forgive him. . .yet when I confronted him with the pardon and demanded answers, he never even owned to his actions. . . Instead he whispered words like. . . but I loved you. . . I protected you. . . never the truth. I loved him too. . . perhaps not the way that he believes he loves me. . . but he was home to me. How can I keep a man like that by my side?”

  “You can’t, if I am being honest. But you should know that Jorah never received a pardon from Robert for that service. In fact, I would wager that the pardon in question was one sent by my father with the intention to do exactly what he knew it would do. Derail you and delay you from setting your sights on Westeros, by separating you from your strongest advisors. He knew, probably with the assistance of the Spider, exactly how to accomplish this. And that was to sew doubt and destabilize you. I agree that what he did was wrong, and you wouldn’t be wrong for not trusting him. However, he would never make the same mistake twice and if he has the choice of when and where he will meet his death, it will be fighting against those who mean you harm. That is all I have to say about the matter.” The dwarf bowed once more and moved toward her outer doors. 

  “Thank you, Lord Tyrion.” Daenerys called to him one last time before he disappeared through the door, suddenly grateful for his conversation. He had given her much to think over in the days and weeks to come. Things that she would be sure to never forget. 

  The next people to enter were the two Dornishmen who had accompanied Prince Quentyn to Essos on his father's foolish errand. Ser Gerris Drinkwater, and Ser Archibald Yronwood, both of whom were mere shadows of the men she remembered from before she fled on Drogon. She could see that the loss of Prince Quentyn weighed heavily on them both. 

   Good, a touch of humility will serve them well in the future. . .

  The two of them were not only mourning, but they were clearly frightened. This much was obvious, especially when they caught sight of Rhaegal as he clambered past the open doors of her terrace.

  As it happened, the two took his presence as a threat and revealed to her in detail what had led them to go down into the catacombs to confront her two dragons in their lair. This also included details that were yet not known to her white knight. The Windblown and The Tattered Prince had made a deal with Prince Quentyn to help him steal one of her dragons. If the Prince was successful, he would help the Tattered Prince claim Pentos. . . if not, no one would ever know any wiser.

   Wrong. . . because she now knew better. . . and she would not forget this during her meeting with him. 

  After they were done, Daenerys explained what kind of position that their actions had put her in with the Prince of Dorne and she explained to them that they would be expected to explain this to Prince Doran in person once they arrived. She would not be feeding them to her dragons, but they would not be returning to Dorne without her, and as such, they would be sailing with her and the Windblown when she leaves in a week's time.

  Her meetings went faster after that, each piece falling into place as she went. With Tyrion, she learned about the deceit of Illyrio Mopatis, which worked in the Tattered Prince’s favor. And after that the Dornishmen told her something that would work in her favor. 

  Ser Jorah came after her meeting with Prince Quentyn’s compatriots. . . 

  “I thought that I sent you away?”

  “You did, more than once, my Queen.” Ser Jorah answered, eyes downcast.

  “Yet here you are. . . I went missing for more than a moon turn, yet when I returned, I find you bloody and wielding a sword in my name?”

  “I would do so again. . .as long as I have breath in my lungs.”

  She believed him, every word. “And yet you betrayed me. Why should I trust you to not do so again? How can I even consider it when you cannot even tell me the truth? When you cannot even accept your part in all of this?” 

  He did not even bother denying it. “You’re right, I should have told you everything. Many, many times. . . and yet, I was never sure how to.” She could see the truth of his words easily enough, but it did not wash away the pain. That he was able to show a measure of humility though was a good sign, so she decided to give him one last chance to be honest. 

  “So tell me now, did you inform Lord Varys that I was pregnant?”

  “Yes. . .”

  “When?”

  “After your handmaidens confirmed it. . .”

  “And did you know that Varys intended to inform the Usurper?”

  “I did. . .”

  “So you were aware that Robert would be sending that wine-merchant to poison me and my unborn child?”

  This time Ser Jorah paused before responding. “I was given orders to watch you and to report your progress back to Illyrio, who would then report it back to Lord Varys. But I swear to you, the Spider never actually wanted you harmed. That day, in the market, I received word from him saying that Robert had hired an assassin and he ordered me to keep you safe. He wanted you watched, not harmed.”

  Daenerys tucked this new information away and asked another question. “And the pardon that you were granted? Why not use it when you received it, rather than staying by my side?”

  “I never actually received one. After the Wine merchant attempted to poison you, and your brother threatened you, I turned my back on returning to Westeros without you. Robert died just shortly after and it wasn’t until we were in Meereen that Ser Barristan was given that scroll.”

  “I know. . .”

  “You know?” He parroted back, confused. 

  “Lord Tyrion explained everything to me earlier. Including his Lord father's machinations to destabilize my support system and keep me so distracted that I would forget about Westeros for a little longer.”

  They discussed things a while longer and then Daenerys got on to the real reason she called him to speak with her. Her Dragons clutch of eggs that were in need of a trusted guard.

  At first he had been confused, but once she explained the reason for her decision he was more inclined to accept this new charge. 

  She could see easily enough that he was unhappy she wouldn't be allowing him to guard her, but he was also more than honored to guard the dragon eggs for her and Viserion. 

  Even more so when Viserion greeted him happily, as if he had been gone for far too long. A part of her agreed with this sentiment, though Drogon refused to come down from his perch up high, which only confirmed that her son had not yet forgotten his actions and therefore, neither would she.

  By the time Missandei came to announce that the Masters were moved to Daznak’s Pit and the Stadium was nearly full Daenerys had cleared a good portion of her appointments from her agenda. The rest, including her meetings with the Tattered Prince, Moqorro, the Ironborn Lord and the remainder of her Council would have to wait until the following day, or days to speak with her. 

  Daenerys rode her Silver down to Daznak’s Pit, her head held high, with her silver bells tinkling with every step of her mares hooves. Rakharo and Jhogo were just behind her, as was Ser Barristan and two of his squires, followed by Greyworm and a company of Unsullied. Drogon flew in circles above them all. 

  She was not surprised to see that all of Meereen had shown up for the trial of the slave masters and their co-conspirators. She was sure that something like this had never before happened in Slaver's Bay, but Daenerys was all about creating memorable moments that will be whispered about for generations to come. 

  A podium had been set up near where she would be conducting trials, and down below, all of the Good, Wise and Great masters of Slaver's Bay were chained by wrist and ankle to one another. Behind them, the soldiers that worked their war machines and those who refused to surrender their arms after the battle was won. 

  The trial was meant to allow the citizens of Meereen and her freedmen a fair chance to try and convict those who meant their trial, so Daenerys had ordered her Unsullied to find someone willing to represent and assess the destruction done onto not only the city but the people as well. 

  A builder stepped forward and testified in regard to structural damages, to family homes, businesses, sick houses, market places and many other issues. 

  The Green Grace also came forward to speak on the condition of the citizens. Both living close to the walls where the bodies of the dead were being catapulted into the city, and those living further away, more close to the Pyramid. She testified that the infirmaries were becoming over full from the attacks inside the city from the Sons of the Harpy, and those who are newly showing signs of being infected by the Pale Mare. 

  The real blow had come when the Green Grace confessed that there was no known cure to combat the plague and soon, those infected would spread their sickness to the cities water supply and other communal areas. Her best recommendation for those who were currently feeling ill, would be to set up a sick camp outside the wall with clean water and fresh air, and to allow the sickness to run its course. The dead, she counseled her to burn, as a mass grave could likely infect the soil while fire would cleanse it. 

  In addition to her testimony, Daario, Brown Ben Plumm and the Tattered Prince and Tyrion Lannister, all testified against the masters and told of their orders and treatment, and the fact that they were openly selling slaves outside of Meereen, which was a violation of the peace treaty that allowed them to come to her city in the first place. 

  In the end, the citizens called for their execution and Daenerys was not likely to deny them. So long as these people lived, men women and children would constantly live in fear of being forced back into chains. . . And as long as slavery was left unchecked, Daenerys could never truly leave Essos.

  She decided that all executions would be held at the same time, so after the trial for the masters was concluded, Skahaz and a handful of his Brazen Beasts, who were also implicated in the attack on Hizdahr, as well as some lower nobles who were implicated along with Skahaz in trying to overthrow the Meereenese nobility were placed on trial for their crimes. 

  After Skahaz, came Reznak mo Reznak and the twenty Harpies that had been brought into custody the previous night were all brought out in chains. 

  The first witness was a bruised and battered man who Daenerys knew to be the man in the Hyena mask from the day before. The one who had been fighting Barristan outside of Hizdahr’s apartments. 

  His testimony was pretty straight forward, highlighting the events that transpired with Hizdahr, who had given the order and how many times they had acted in a manner that went against their Queens laws. 

  Barristan testified next, about what happened following her departure, the events that led up to Hizdahr’s imprisonment and the conversations and council he received from Skahaz. This testimony was a bit longer than the first, but necessary to prove that Daenerys took the murder of Hizdahr seriously. 

  The Green Grace once again testified to Hizdahr’s character and personal motivations and of the personal relationship between Skahaz and the former King of Meereen. She told of how Skahaz was never willing to compromise with Hizdahr and was constantly pushing for the opposite of what was in the best interest of the people of Meereen. She also testified that Reznak was one of Hizdahr’s closest advisors and only sought to help him succeed. 

  To counter this, Barristan again took the stand and spoke of his investigation the previous night, and of how they followed Reznak and his web of Harpies from safe house to safe house and how that eventually led to the arrest of twenty men who were all associated with the Sons of the Harpy. 

  Once again, the people of Meereen were calling for justice, and this time, when she sentenced these men to death, the people of Meereen cheered with joy and satisfaction. 

  To honor Hizdahr, and those who were lost during the battle, whether to the sword or the Plague, the Green Grace asked for forty-eight hours of mourning before any sentences were carried out. 

  During this time, Daenerys listened to her council in regard to the Pale Mare and what the best way to remove it's threat from the city would be. In the end, the Green Grace had come up with the easiest solution but also one that would leave a mark on Daenerys heart. Nevertheless, Daenerys gave Galazza Galare the green light to oversee these preparations while the city took the requested time of mourning to honor the dead and dying. 

  The following days were spent in meetings, not just with her council, but also with the leading commanders who were now in charge of the Lockstep Legions of New Ghis, the ex slave scholars who taught the noble children in Meereen. She met with the Green Grace and several of her pupils who had begun studying as healers, as well as her own mercy men or Jaqqa rhan and midwives among the many. 

  Her goal was simple in theory. She wanted to implement a new council that would rule Meereen in her absence. She had listened to the people, to their fears that the economy would crash without their normal trades of human flesh for the fighting pits. Or the training of whores in the ways of the seven sighs in Yunkai, or the training of Unsullied in Astapor. She heard all of these things and more, yet she did not see why these things had to change. . . not entirely. 

  Brothel owners would pay handsomely to have their women trained in the way of the seven sighs, and the Unsullied were a formidable force. The issue that she had was not in their training, it was in the fact that they were forced into these decisions. As far as she was concerned, Yunkai could continue to train bedfellows, Astapor could continue to train men and women in the art of war, but no longer would slavery be a part of those cultures. 

  As for Meereen, there were a number of trades that could be practiced here. Scholar houses, the trade of olives, copper and oil, among the many other things Meereen had to offer. The fighting pits could remain open for gladiator sport that did not require the loss of life. Daenerys was hoping to propose all of these things when she wrote out the new set of laws that those who lived within the newly named “Bay of Dragons” would have to abide by after she set out for Westeros. 

  On the third day following the second battle for Meereen Daenerys mounted Drogon and she called for Viserion and Rhaegal to follow her. The three of them flew over the city and then made their way toward the camp that had been set up to house the sick and dying. Her Unsullied were stationed at every entrance around the trench that had been dug around them. This way they could monitor the ebb and flow of those afflicted. 

  She set down just outside the camp and went in alone, not worried for her own safety. The Green Grace had been right, there was no cure. Even with the open air and access to clean water, those that were already sick continued only to get worse. While the citizens who reside within the city continued to thrive once the buildings that were touched were cleared and burned to control the spread of contamination. 

  The camp was huge, and there were thousands still infected, though no more than four or five thousand, the idea that she could not save them was like a festering wound that ate at her each night as she looked out over the city from atop her pyramid. The Unsullied walked through with linen strips covering their mouths and noses, never touching anyone or anything, but whenever they would come across her, walking without any precautions wrapped about herself, their eyes would bulge and they would make in her direction, only for her to wave them off. 

  She was the blood of the dragon, these illnesses could not survive the fire within her blood. And so she continued on, stopping every once and a while to speak with a dying child, a mother, a brother or orphan. No matter who they were, if they called for her, she would stop and offer whatever she could. 

  By the time she had walked through the whole camp and made it back to the entrance she came from many people had gathered along the Walls of the city. But more than a few hundred came, along with Ser Jorah, her bloodriders and the Red Priest, Moqorro. Seeing him there only made her sad, knowing what was coming. 

  Daenerys turned back to face those who were inside the camp and then she called for her children. 

   Three fires must you light. . . once for life. . . and once for death and once for love. . . that is what the Undying ones told her.

  She did not turn away from her people when realization came, instead she walked back into the camp and called the children around her. 

  Some of their eyes screamed Why? While others were more than ready for their suffering to end. And finally, once the prisoners from the trial had been brought into the camp and chained to the posts that had been placed there for them, Daenerys stood and sentenced them all to death. 

  “Masters of Astapor, Yunkai and Meereen, you have been tried and found guilty by the citizens of Meereen, they ask for your lives.”She turned to Skahaz and Reznak and repeated their crimes and their sentences as well. “I, Daenerys Targaryen, the first of my name, Queen of Meereen, Yunkai, Astapor, and the newly united Bay of Dragons do sentence you to death by dragonfire.” 

  She then turned her attention back to the people who were ill-fated to share in this sentence. “The Green Grace has spoken to all of you. You know that there is nothing that can be done to see you and your loved ones back to health.”

  There was murmuring among the crowd, but the general tone of those who were strong enough to walk was somber, resigned. 

  Daenerys fought back the sobb that threatened to break free from her chest. But was momentarily distracted when she heard the voice of the priest Moqorro begin preaching his sermon for the Red God.

   Many of those gathered began to listen to his words, words that they had no doubt heard many times over the past few days from the many followers who were among the slaves captured and sold by these same masters she was about to sentence to death. 

  High above, her dragons lent their voices to the voice of Moqorro and Daenerys felt a tingle wash over her.

   “Dracarys.”

  She pulled one of the children close to her and pressed a kiss to his brow, just before the emerald and bronze of Rhaegal’s flames washed over them. The masters screamed the longest, but not even they could keep Drogon’s flame from reducing them to ash in a matter of moments. 

  Daenerys stayed there, inside the camp as the tents burned one by one, as the wailing of the sick and the dying were added to the song of her dragons before dying out one by one. Throughout it all, Daenerys wept. 

  Fire and Blood were the words of her house, yet the reality of burning thousands of innocent people hung heavy on her heart. Her tears turned to steam on her cheeks as the combined fires of her children consumed everything around her. 

  When all was finally quiet, Daenerys felt a heavy thud behind her and then a rough nudge at her shoulder. She looked down to see the little boy that she was clutching in her arms, only to find that he had long been reduced to ash, along with the remainder of her clothing. 

  It was Rhaegal who had come for her, purring loudly to gain her attention. Two more thuds were felt and then Drogon and Viserion were there too and before she knew it, she was being enveloped in a cocoon of black, jade, and cream scales. Her children’s songs were flowing from their chests freely with the intention of calming the storm of emotions flowing through her like a raging inferno.

   She could not, for the life of her, say how long she stayed there, wrapped in the fiery, scaled embrace of her children, but when they finally stirred, the sun was a streak of crimson on the western horizon and her Dothraki were circled around the charred remnants of the sick camp and trench that she was still inside of. 

  Viserion and Rhaegal backed away first, leaving just herself and Drogon there on the ground. His big crimson orbs never stopped watching her. Eventually, she stood and clambered atop his back and positioned herself at the base of his neck. “Let us go home.”  

  Even in her mind she sounded defeated and a part of her thought that her son felt this too. Within moments he had lept from the ground and he was flying them over her army where she could see her bloodriders and Ser Barristan waiting for her to emerge. Viserion and Rhaegal called down to her chosen and once they saw her flying atop Drogon’s back, a loud undulating cry rose up from her riders. 

   The Unburnt. . . if only they knew that she wasn’t. Only when there was a trade involved. . .

   They touched down upon her terrace moments later and Daenerys slid without hesitation from Drogon’s back. She was covered in soot and tears and she was very much in need of a bath. So without a second thought Daenerys made her way over toward the pool and walked in until she was completely submerged up to her chin. 

  The water was cool and inviting, a sure reprieve from the heat of her children’s fire and the kiss of the Meereenese sun, but Daenerys could find no comfort. Not tonight, not after she burned more than a few thousand people who were innocent of any crimes against her or others. So rather than linger, she quickly washed the soot and ash from her hair and body and then she made her way back out of the water. 

  Missandei was there, with a large linen towel, waiting for her as she emerged from her private pool. She must have been watching everything from up here and had seen when she and Drogon landed. 

  “Would my Queen like something to eat?” She asked in a hesitant voice. 

  Daenerys had no words, so she merely shook her head. Missandei frowned at her refusal, but she just could not bear to eat. She wanted to be alone, and she found her gaze drifting back toward her pear tree, where Viserion was lounged around the fire pit that Jorah had ordered made for her. A place where she could keep her fires lit while also not managing to set the pear tree afire. 

  Missandei seemed to understand what she needed and she released her hold. “Go. This one will bring you whatever you need should you need it.”

  Daenerys half smiled back at Missandei, she was truly thankful that her little scribe knew her so well. “Thank you for understanding. . .” her voice came out as no more than a whisper, but Missandei heard her anyway. After that she was heading back in the direction of her children. 

  When she reached the pear tree, she reached up and plucked a pear from it's branches and then she moved to settle herself back down beside Drogon and Rhaegal. Viserion had taken it upon herself to rekindle the flames beneath her eggs and then settle herself down so that her snout was near enough that the flames would occasionally lick at her scales. Her body however was sprawled lazily beside her brothers with one wing outstretched to shelter Daenerys from the breeze that was coming off the bay. 

  She awoke some time later to find that the sun was just starting to rise. This would be the fourth day since she returned. Though the events from the previous day still weighed on her, Daenerys knew that she would have to put it behind her. 

   If I look back. . .I am lost. . .

  She spent a few more minutes with her children and inspecting Viserion’s eggs at her insistence and then she wrapped the linen towel tightly around herself and excused herself in favor of her chambers.  

  Back inside, she found her empty bed and the giant Dragonbinder horn that was still concealed from the rest of the pyramid. It reminded her once more that her days here in Meereen were drawing to a close and she would have to speak with both Moqorro and Lord Victarion today, if she hoped for the Iron Fleet to be ready to sail in three days time. 

  Irri and Jhiqui were still asleep in their attached rooms when she went to find them and Daenerys almost hated disturbing them, alas her hours were numbered and her tasks were many. 

  She dressed in all black, the only form of color in her wardrobe consisted of the silver in her chains and some smoke grey around the seams. Aside from that, the Violet of her eyes shone like two gemstones in contrast to the dark material she had wrapped herself in. Her days of donning her floppy ears and Meereenese tokars were past her. 

  The mood inside the pyramid was somber and outside, the city was as quiet as a crypt. Daenerys found that she too had little joy inside of her, especially after the events of the previous day. 

  She had always been one to rise early, so it was no surprise that most of the pyramid was still locked away for at least another hour. Inside her solar, she found a basket filled with scouting reports, so she set about going through each of them herself. 

  So far, all was well. Her Dothraki scouts who were patrolling the hinterlands found no sign of enemy troops moving over land, and the rest of her Khalasar was nearing Meereen and would be there in no less than two days. 

  As far as her new fleet, the tallies put their number at around two-hundred and seventy, including fifty-six ships owned by the Iron Fleet. She would still need the five-hundred ships sailing from Volantis, or as many of them as possible, if she had any hope at all of getting her fighting forces to Westeros. 

  She was called from her reports by a light knock at her door, “My Queen, I bring important news.”

  “Enter,” she called at once. 

  Grey Worm entered and behind him came Barristan, Daario, Rhakaro and Jhogo. Each of them wore an expression that did not bode well. “Tell me, what is going on?”

  “The Volantene fleet was spotted, they intend to block the bay.” Ser Barristan said, his tone grave.

  Daenerys stood, “I’ll need someone to help me into my armor.”

  Grey Worm stepped forward, as did both of her bloodriders. “This one will help his Queen.”

  “Your Grace,” Ser Barristan protested. “Would it not be better to let them come closer?”

  “Ser Barristan, I am only a young girl, and it is true that I have never fought a battle over the water before, but tell me, how many battles have you fought that weren’t on land?” 

  That shut her white knight up, but she immediately felt terrible for speaking to him that way. “I apologize, Ser. Mayhaps we should summon the Ironborn Captain to hear what he has to say about our Volantene guests.”

  The time had come, there was no getting around speaking to either of them and if anyone understood how battle went aboard a ship, it would be the Ironborn Lord. 

  “Should we summon him to the throne room?” Daario asked, saving Ser Barristan from the trouble. 

  Daenerys considered this for a moment, her thoughts trailing back to Dragonbinder. “No, in fact, I would like you to send the Red Priest to me first. Ser Barristan and Grey Worm, I would like you both to stay, and summon Ser Jorah as well. 

  “At once, My Queen.” Daario replied, bowing at the waist and then setting off to go and collect the priest. 

  She could see that her white knight was nervous. “Ser Barristan, know that you may speak your mind.”

  He sighed and smiled at her fondly. “Please forgive me, I know that you are doing what you believe is necessary to protect the people. It is just hard for me to trust in people who are known for their less than honorable deeds.”

  “Honor is a beautiful dream Ser Barristan, but honor will get us all killed. I cannot protect my people through honorable means, not if my enemies lack that very same honor I am fighting to maintain. An enemy is merely a hero, fighting for the other side. In this situation, I am the Villain, trying to crush a way of life that many and more people grow rich off of. I mean to end their way of providing for their families. Even though from our side, I am defending those who are dying in service of the men who mean to sell and enslave them. Either way, someone must lose. If I must employ vile men to destroy more vile men, so be it.” 

  Another knock on her outer chamber and then Daario was announcing the Red Priest; Moqorro. And as she waited for Missandei to show him in, Dany mentally prepared herself for the topic she was going to broach with him. 

  The Red Priest was a tall man, well over six feet. He had shocking white hair that sprouted from his face and bright red and orange flame tattoos that sometimes looked yellow and red. . . no doubt this was a glamour used by his faith and also marked him as a slave bought and trained by the red temple. With him, he carried a huge iron staff that was wrought in the shape of a dragons head. His robes were black, lined in gold trimming, and skin as dark as pitch.

  “Mother of Dragons, how can I serve you, my Queen?” Moqorro asked in greeting. 

 Daenerys couldn't help but tread carefully with him. If everything that Tyrion had said to her was true, the man had the gift of sight, which meant that he likely knew that Dragonbinder was in her possession. 

  Fixing him with a pointed look, Daenerys decided to get to the point with all haste. “Thank you for coming. Moqorro, is it?”

  The priest nodded. 

  “I want to apologize for keeping you waiting over the past few days. My schedule has been rather busy, and I’ve had many matters to look into before I could meet with you.” She began.

  “I came here to serve you, it is to be expected that one such as myself should wait on the champion of R'hllor. Have you found the answers that you were seeking?”

  Daenerys regarded him skeptically, “What do you know?”

  “I know that you have the Dragonhorn in your possession, and I know that you fear it’s power. I know that the dragon must have three heads and that currently a pride of Tigers and a herd of reluctant Elephants are planning to blockade the Slavers Bay. And I know that the Iron lord has a role to play in all of this.” 

  “Is that why you failed to inform me that the Horn was in his possession? I wondered why a priest who claims that he is here to serve me, would aid a potential enemy in stealing one of my children.” She responded tersely. 

  “Not steal, my Queen, serve. He will help you to destroy your enemies and he will find a glorious ending to his journey.”

   A glorious end? “How did he come by this horn in the first place. I can’t imagine Harren Hoare sitting idle on a horn like this while Aegon and Balerion lit Harrenhal up like kindling. How would Ironborn Reavers come into possession of such a magical device?”

  The dark priest smiled menacingly. “He retrieved it from your enemies, sailing out of Qarth. One that's called Pree. ”

   Pyat Pree. . . The House of The Undying. . . “ And you know this, how?”

  “I have seen his fate in the flames, just as I saw his blackened hand and saved him with R’hllors Fire.”

  She was curious. “So, R’hllor grants you visions and you are left to interpret them. I’m not sure how willing I am to leave my dragons fate up to your personal interpretation. Forgive me, but you might be chosen by your God, but you are still just a man, and men have been mistaken many times. What makes you so certain of your visions?”

  “Because I have seen you in my flames, saving the world from the darkness, fighting beside a man dark of hair who’s sword hand was kissed by R’hllor. His right hand will wield Lightbringer, and it was this man, who brought me here to you. I have seen you both, battling over a boiling  blood-red sea, as you defeat the agents of the Great Other. You must go west with him, my Queen. Your true purpose is North not East.”

  “If I don’t heed your council, what will happen to the triarchs that are sailing on Meereen?”

  The red priest turned toward a lit brazier and studied the flames for a moment. “The Tiger will fall, as will the Elephants who come with them, but at great costs. They armed their ships with weapons that can easily remove your dragons from the sky. Those who have no rider are at risk, would you chance losing one of them?”

  “Why should I trust you? How can I know that this horn won’t cost me one of my children anyway?” Daenerys asked with steel in her tone. 

  “It is not myself that you should trust, Daenerys Stormborn. You must trust in our Lord, and the message that he is trying to deliver unto his chosen.” The Red Priest Moqorro replied. 

  Daenerys was having none of that. “You will have to forgive me, but you are the only one here who follows R’hllor. I am a Dragon and Dragons follow neither Gods or men. Everything I am, all that I’ve achieved or attained, I’ve done through my own power, not through the blessings of some deity that has never made himself known to me.”

  His expression was almost patronizing yet he did not take offense. “And yet you stepped into a pyre, woke dragons from their stone shells and never once, did the Fire claim you. R’hllor has chosen you. He has blessed you with his Fire so that you might cleanse the world of the non believers and so that you and your children can slay the Great Other.”

  “The Great Other?” She had never heard of such a being. 

  “He is the natural enemy of R'hllor who is fire and light and life. His name has never been uttered, he is the God of Night and Terror, the champion of darkness and death. And his agents are busy at work doing his bidding, building his army of cold thralls, praying to their false idols for your ultimate failure and downfall.”

  She would not be swayed. Daenerys knew that her magic came from herself, from the belief that she could make impossible things happen and her people's belief in her to see them safely out of harm's way. With every triumph, she had adopted a new title, a new bell, and more followers than she could individually name. When she had stepped into Drogo’s pyre, there was no god present to see her safely through the night. Only her inner dragon telling her that a death can pay for her life. And so she made the trade, believing only so far as the fact that she was not a man, or a woman. She was a dragon, and Fire cannot harm a dragon. 

  She made sure to look him in the eye when she spoke. “Nevertheless, if such an enemy exists I swear I will meet him on the field of battle. And it will be my belief in the abilities of my children that will see us through, not the false hope in some god who may or may not exist. I thank you for your time, Moqorro. I hope that you will keep your fire lit for me in the hours to come. And if you truly are here to serve me, and not yourself, say nothing of our conversation to anyone.”

  “As you command, Your Grace. Is there anything else that I can help you with?” Moqorro asked knowingly. 

  “There is, I would like you to ask your god for his favor. I intend to have the Ironborn lead the battle on the water, and since I know that you can call upon R’hllor to grant favorable winds, I would ask that you do so once more. I would think that the fire I provided last night will suffice” 

  Moqorro smiled a menacing smile that sent shivers down her spine. “Worry not, my Queen, R’hllor has seen the fate of your enemies himself and he will see you to victory, one way or another.” He returned, bowing respectfully before leaving her. 

  When he was gone, she looked back to Ser Barristan, “I would like to go back to my chambers, I’ll take the terrace and I’ll go alone.”

  Her white knight nodded. “Do you believe him, Your Grace?”

  “I think that he believes what he says, so it’s hard not to want to believe his words. Yet I know that visions are fickle things and often times come down to interpretation. I was warned not to trust him, yet I do not believe he means me harm. This only means that I can’t trust in his interpretation of the things he sees in the fire.”

  “What will you do?” Ser Barristan asked, though she could tell he was hesitant to do so. 

  “I have not decided, call for Lord Victarion. I would like to meet with him regardless of what I decide to do with the horn. I will be back in an hour.” She said, before making her way out onto her terrace. 

  High above the bay, Drogon, Viserion and Rhaegal flew in intricate circles, each of them dancing around one another. It was like they somehow knew that war was coming to the bay once more. But without the presence of trebuchets and scorpion bolts flying it was stunning to behold. 

  Ser Jorah stood beside the fire pit guarding Viserion’s eggs while she was away and he only looked away from his charges when he heard her approaching.

  “Ser Jorah,” Daenerys greeted. 

  “My Queen, how do you fair this morning?” Her old bear returned. 

  In spite of everything he had done, he would always be that to her. But her forgiveness would need to be earned. This task that he was overseeing for her was a good start, the fire pit though, an even better one.

  “I am well, thank you. Has Viserion been gone long?” She knew that what he was really asking was; how was she after she sentenced thousands of people to death the previous evening. Still, she could not bear to talk about it, not yet at least. 

  “Not long, Your Grace,” came his gruff northern reply. 

  She smiled at the familiarity of it. “I wanted to thank you for having this fire pit installed for the eggs. Viserion certainly seems more comfortable flying now that she knows that she can keep them heated by her flames.”

  “It was nothing, Your Grace. I was happy to do this for her. Once you told me where you found them, I sent people to cut the stones around her nest to use for this pit, stones that have survived the blast of Viserion’s heat already.”

  “Still, it was very thoughtful.” Daenerys allowed. 

  “It was my pleasure, my Queen.”

  “I hope it is not too much to ask, but I would like you to stay armed and armored Ser. I would like you to guard my child’s clutch today, until Viserion and myself are both here.”

  “Is something happening, Your Grace?” Ser Jorah asked with worry in his tone.

  “The Volantene fleet has been spotted blocking the Bay of Dragons. . . And I might do something risky.” She said, biting her lower lip like a 

nervous child, adding in the last part as an afterthought.

  “And you believe someone will try to take the eggs?” Ser Jorah questioned, straightening his shoulders and standing to attention. 

  “I cannot know for sure, but I trust no one, not even my own, not in this.” She could only hope that he understood what she was saying. 

  “Worry not,” he said.

  Daenerys nodded her head and turned back in the direction of her rooms, back in the direction of the dragon horn. 

  Her chambers were as she had left them, her bed still untouched from the night previous, her curtains drawn to conceal the item that she had been housing there for the past few days. 

  No one had followed her, but she made sure to secure the door behind her now that she was here.

  “Valyria’s first daughter comes seeking the Mother of Dragons, just as the Kraken and Darkflame. The Pale Mare is gone, as is the Sun's son, but people still seek to claim what is fire made flesh. Claim the horn with blood, Daenerys Targaryen.” 

Daenerys turned to find the masked form of Quaithe standing just outside of the shadow being cast by Dragonbinder.

  “But I don’t need to Bind Drogon to me.”

  The Shadowbinder’s eyes shone like starlight but her voice was calm and steady. “Not for the Winged Shadow, but you’re other two aren’t bound to a rider of their own. You must bind them to your blood, you must neutralize the threat.”

  “What about the Kraken? The priest believes that he is meant to ride one of them.” Daenerys hurriedly asked. 

  “And ride one he shall, but never as a bonded rider. Remember the House of the Undying. . . bride of fire. Remember who you are. . .  A dragon is not a slave, nor do they bow to gods and men. All men must serve, and all men must die.” Quaithe replied cryptically. 

  “How will I know what to do? Is the Ironborn Captains fate tied to my own?” 

  “I must go Daenerys Stormborn, trust in yourself and in the blood of your children. Not in the council of men, not in the Lion, or Griffin, the Kraken or Dark Flame, you are fire made flesh, and the bride of fire. Do not forget my warnings, remember the undying. Find the Maege.”

  And just like that Quaithe was gone and Daenerys was once more alone in her chambers with the horn.

  You must bind the horn to you with blood. . . Blood for Fire and Fire for blood. . . Quaithe’s words continued to echo inside her head. 

  Out on her balcony she could see her children soaring high above, without a second thought she reached for the tether that linked her and Drogon to one another. She did not have to wait long for him to respond, and within moments he was settling down on the terrace near her open doors. 

  She had no way of knowing if she was on the right track, but she had to believe that this was the correct course of action. 

   “I need your help, my son. The battle is not over, and there are enemies armed and intent on killing me and you and your siblings. If they succeed they will sack the city, kill my chosen and steal your sisters eggs.” 

  Drogon’s scales raised, like the hackles on a dog and a low rumble started in his throat. She took this moment to motion for him to press his head through her balcony doors where Dragonbinder was waiting on her. 

  She could not remember the last time that she had one of her dragons inside of the pyramid with her, aside from the catacombs, but with careful movements, she had no doubt that Drogon could fit most of the way through her double doors. 

  Absentmindedly she couldn’t help but wonder if the Red Keep and Dragonstone were built to accommodate a dragon's size. . .

   The moment Drogon caught sight of the horn, his lips pulled back to show his teeth and she could feel the fire building within his chest. He wants to destroy it. . . She realized just before he breathed out his flame. 

   “Drogon no! We need it!” 

   Her son regarded her skeptically, so Daenerys explained. “If we do not claim the horn, the slavers from Volantis will be able to hurt one of us. I can not communicate with your siblings in the same manner as I can communicate with you. This horn will only strengthen that bond. And after they are defeated, you can fly me to Valyria and we can toss it into Balerion. But first, I need a favor from you. . . We need to claim the horn, Blood for Fire and Fire for Blood. It needs my blood and yours. Will you help us?”

   Though she could see that he was not thrilled he did not back away so Daenerys took this for acceptance and went in search of what she would need. 

  A crystal bowl to catch her and Drogon’s blood so they could mix, and a vial to collect the remainder of the blood once the deed was done. Lastly, Daenerys looked around her chamber until her eyes settled on a small knife that she used to open letters. The blade was sharp, but the dagger itself was too small to be considered an effective weapon, which is why she didn’t carry it on her person. 

  Without a second thought, Daenerys crossed the room and retrieved the dagger and then she approached the horn. Before she could reconsider her course of action, she slid the sharp edge against the meat of her burned and now scarred palm, pressing down just hard enough to break through the skin and draw her blood to the surface.

  She turned back to Drogon, unsure of how to pierce his scale, but noticing her own blood, her son craned his neck around and bit into the cartilage around his wing, where one of the spears from Daznak’s pit had found purchase so many weeks ago. She knew what his blood would do to her if she allowed it to make contact so she carefully placed the bowl on the ground so his blood could mix with hers and when she was sure that she had enough, she thanked her son for his help and turned back to the horn. 

   She had no idea how to claim the horn, but when she had touched the bands the first time, she could feel the heat radiating off of them in waves. Dragons themselves were beings born of magic, and if this horn was the product of the ancient kin of her children then there was already a blood connection between her and the Horn. It was the bands she needed to convince. 

  Her heart was thrumming rapidly inside of her chest, but Quaithe’s words continued to echo in her mind. “Flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood, I claim you in the name of House Targaryen, no mortal man shall sound you and live, but I am no man, and dragons do not answer to gods.”

  Her words were spoken aloud, and even as she said them she knew them to hold weight. Once again, she carefully lifted the bowl and began to pour the hot blood over the words that had been etched into the metal bands. She made sure to leave enough in the bowl until she had Victarion standing before her. As her hands came into contact with the Red Gold and Valyrian steel, she spread the blood so that it bathed the bands in crimson. Immediately Daenerys could feel the magic of the horn begin to work. 

  Where once she had felt only dread in its presence, she now started to feel a kinship to the dragonhorn. The metal of the bands began to heat up even more so than it had the first time she touched them, and just when Daenerys thought the heat was becoming too much to bear, she noticed the glyphs on the horn begin to change. No longer did the red-gold band say Dragonbinder, instead it read Stormbound . 

  The Valyrian Steel glyphs also started changing as well, where once the warning stated that a mortal man would die if he blew it; it now said Fire for Flesh, Fire for Blood.

  It was done, Daenerys did not have to call the red priest back to her in order to know that this was the case. The horn now gave off a sense of kinship and Daenerys knew that the magic of the horn was bound to her, and her alone. 

  With little else to do, Daenerys moved back toward her terrace and in the direction of her solar thanking Drogon through their bond as she went. On the way, she stopped to ask Ser Jorah to move the eggs to the other side of her terrace near her rooms where no one would be able to see them. Once he had confirmed that he would do as she bid, she went in search of Grey Worm and Ser Barristan so that they could move the dragonhorn to just outside of her solar. 

  Once they were gone, she bid Rhakaro to go and track down Daario and help him escort the three thralls that they had taken from Victarion’s ship back to her solar as well. Each of them, save Rhakaro, regarded her skeptically, not quite sure what her plans would consist of, but Daenerys did not deign to explain the thoughts running through her mind. 

  Now that the horn was hers she needed to move fast, she wanted to meet the Volantene fleet as soon as possible so that they didn’t have time to create a full wall by locking their ships to one another. 

  The Iron Captain came first and was ushered into her solar by Marselen, who wore a grim expression. The Lord Victarion looked more annoyed than anything, likely for having to wait so many days to gain a private audience with her. 

  “Marselen and Jhogo, I would like you both to stay, at least until Ser Barristan and Grey Worm return.”

  “This one will do as his Queen commands.” Marselen returned, nodding his head in respect before assuming his position at her right side. 

  Jhogo said nothing, he merely rested his hand on his arakh and moved to her left side, opposite of Marselen.

  Daenerys took a moment to get a good look at the Iron Lord. He was quite tall, similar in size to Drogo though not of the same build. The Ironborn Captain was broad in the chest, from his many years aboard a ship, she assumed. He came clad in mail and armor, with his golden Kraken cape attached at his shoulders. His hair was long, long enough for a braid. . .and flecked with streaks of grey, denoting his many years on the sea. Still, she couldn’t be sure of how worthy he was of any bells, nor could she be sure of his worth as a potential husband and consort. 

  “My Lord, thank you for coming to meet with me on such short notice.” Daenerys began. 

  “I had expected you to call for me sooner, I admit. Now that you have been relieved of your legal husband, have you considered my offer?” He said, moving right to the point. 

   “My Lord, I might remind you that you are in the presence of a Queen. Be careful with your tongue.” Ser Barristan warned, as he stepped through the doors that led to her terrace. 

  “Ser Barristan the Bold, I heard that you were dismissed from your duty by that Lannister brat. I must admit, it was quite a shock seeing the Dragon Queen has accepted you into her service after you bent the Knee to the Stag.” Victarion returned, hoping to get a reaction from her Queensguard.

  “Our Queen is as gracious as she is wise, and has forgiven me for my past actions and inactions. Might I also remind you that it was you who convinced your father to join Robert's Rebellion at the end, and it was also you who followed your brother Euron’s plans to rebel against the very rule you fought in favor of seven years later. Why should Queen Daenerys believe that you will remain loyal to her cause? Did you not murder your last wife?” 

  Her gaze was drawn back to the Ironborn Captain who was looking at her white knight with hate. “I think that is quite enough from the both of you.” Daenerys interjected. “You have raised some valid points, Ser Barristan. And I must admit, the reason I have called you here, Lord Victarion, is to get a measure of how trustworthy you actually are.”

   At her words, Victarion Greyjoy looked at her with new eyes. “What reason have I given you to mistrust my intentions?”

  “It is not so much of a reason as a what, my Lord. Tell me, why did you sail from Westeros in search of me? Tell me true, or I shall know you for a liar.” Daenerys warned. 

  Something in her tone must have convinced him that she meant business because the defiance that shone in his eyes moments before seemed to dissipate some. “My brother Euron sent me here to offer you his hand in marriage and to ferry over your armies with the ships that I brought with me. He also gave me a horn that he found in the Smoking Sea, meant to bind your dragons to his will.”

  “Yet when you introduced yourself in my throne room, you offered your own hand and not the hand of your brother. Why is that?” Daenerys couldn't help but ask.

  “My brother cares not for you, nor does he care to help you gain what was stolen from you. He means to make himself a god, and in order to do that, he wants your dragons. He has stolen the salt throne, and murdered my oldest brother through the employment of an assassin with no true face and yet he gives it away in the same breath. I want what should be mine by right, and I want to end Euron once and for all. If you would accept me, I would kill your enemies and bring you home. I thought that a far better deal than the one my brother offers.”

  “You mention a horn, one you say he claimed that he found in the Smoking Sea of Valyria. . .”

  The Ironborn Captain nodded his head infinitesimally . “I have it aboard the Iron Victory.”

  Daenerys cleared her throat and motioned for him to follow her out onto her balcony. “Actually, my Lord, it is in my possession. As are the Dusky woman as you so like to call her, and the three thralls whom you have charged with sounding the horn on your signal. Tell me, did you truly believe me so foolish as to trust an Ironborn raider and a Red Priest blindly?”

  The captain looked as if he hadn’t quite processed what he heard her say, but the sight of the horn was all the evidence that he needed. “The Red Priest must have betrayed me—,”

  “On the contrary, he sung your praises when I questioned him this morning. He told me of the glory that awaits you, that we share a destiny, and that if I fly my children into battle against the slave fleet of Volantis, we will prevail, but at a cost, possibly one of my children, possibly myself.”

  Victarion listened in silence and Daenerys decided to lay all of her cards on the table. She told him about the House of the Undying and of the corpse that was all but promised to be her husband, though she did not mention that his life will end in flames. He would learn this lesson soon enough. 

  “What is dead may never die. My brother thought to kill me when he sent me here to you. He thought that if the Dusky woman didn’t kill me first, the maester would take up the task. But all of Euron's gifts are poisoned, just as he intended for me to blow that cursed horn myself. I fed the maester to the Drowned God and after, the woman wouldn’t dare. R’hllor blessed me with his favor, healing my hand and granting me new power that will allow me to defeat my enemies. I don’t fear the visions you had in some warlocks temple.”

   “I fear that you are mistaken, what is dead will always be dead, no Drowned God, Old God, Seven Gods or Red God or Many Faced God can change that. Nevertheless, you sailed your ships here, and even though you did so with the intention to offer me an ultimatum rather than free and honest aid, and because of that I owe you my thanks. From what I know of your brother Euron, he is a dangerous man who poses a threat to not only my children, but to Westeros as well. I will not consent to your terms, Lord Victarion. I have no intention to marry you, and even more so, I have no intention to be made a widower for a third time. However, I will give you the chance to earn your place by my side, I will allow you the chance to claim the horn and bind one of my children to you, but I have conditions. I will be close by when the woman bleeds you, and I will only allow one person to blow the horn for you, not three.”

  A sudden gasp was heard from behind her and she knew that the person in question was none other than Ser Barristan.

  The Ironborn Captain did not look pleased by her terms but she would not be swayed. No matter who blew the horn, save herself, she thought, the result would be the same. . . No mortal man could sound the horn and live. No man who was not fire made flesh could seem to claim the horn. 

  “Let me be clear though, a dragon is not a slave. My children are not mindless beasts, and they are not subject to obeying the every whim of their riders. If you force one of my children to do something that they are not keen on, it will only end in your peril, Horn or no horn. Targaryens have been bonding with their dragons for centuries without a horn and my bond with them runs deeper than the bond of a rider. I am their mother, you would do well to remember this.”

  “Your beasts did not seem to have any issue heeding your commands last night. As for the thrall, I thought to save them by lessening their individual burden, if you will only allow for one, I accept.” Daenerys nodded and gestured for the Dusky woman to be brought forward from within her solar. 

  “I will leave you here to attend your business, know that my men are guarding the terrace and I will not be going far. As for the horn, we will take care of that once you have addressed your fleet and prepared them to sail, we will meet the slavers on the water by the time the sun starts to set. Oh, one last thing, my children are no beasts. . . You would do well to guard your tongue in their presence. They are more intelligent than men and they won't hesitate to use you to break their fasts.”

  With that, Daenerys turned on her heel and made her way back to her solar to call her council and prepare for the Volantene fleet that might never touch the shore. 

  Most of her people were already there, Daario, Grey Worm, Marselen, Blood Eagle; who was now in charge of the Brazen Beasts. The Green Grace, Tatters, and some of the newly appointed commanders of the Lockstep legions of New Ghis, the Long Lances, Brown Ben Plumm and all of her Kos and their newly appointed Khas. Even Rommo was there with his newly appointed mercy men. 

  Missandei immediately called the room to order the moment that she was seen entering and Daenerys quickly got to work explaining what was going on. Ser Barristan, though clearly not comfortable with her decision to use the horn, took the floor to arrange battle formations with the other leaders. 

  In the end, it was decided that the Unsullied and the Ghiscari legions would hold the walls and blockade the gates in case the enemy made it onto shore and past the Dothraki Calvary who would be defending the port, the Skahazadhan and any other place that the Volantene could land their troops. The Second Sons, the Windblown, the Mother’s Men and the Stormcrows would all sail with the Iron Fleet. The Brazen Beasts would be stationed within the city, along with Yunkish and Ghiscari men who would be under the command of a Unsullied, chosen by Grey Worm himself, and these men will maintain order inside the walls. 

  Once everyone had their orders, they all left to see them carried out, leaving her alone with Missandei and her bloodriders. 

  “I don’t expect that the Volantene will make shore, but just in case they do, I want you to go with Jorah and protect Viserion’s eggs. Right now, they are the only things that I worry about more than all of you. Because if something happens to my children or myself, people will stop at nothing to claim and hatch these eggs. Promise me, if this happens, you will convince Ser Jorah to take you North, to the Wall where you will go seeking the son of Eddard Stark.”

  Missandei looked at her curiously. “Eddard Stark? This one does not understand, your Grace. How can a stranger keep them safe, why do you trust him?”

  How could she answer such a question honestly? “I don’t know that I can trust him, but I have a feeling that he’s the only one who will make sure that they are cared for. If I fall, I believe that he is the only one who can hatch them.”

  “Is this why you want to go back to Westeros so badly?” Missandei asked. Her intuition would serve her well in the years yet to come.

  “One of them. . . I don’t know why, but there is a connection between me and the Wall, blue Winter Roses and a great wolf. The only thing I can connect it to is the Natural Born son of Lord Eddard Stark. Jon Snow. . . Will you do as I’ve asked you?”

   Missandei nodded. “This one will find this, Jon Snow, if you do not return to do so yourself. I swear it.” 

  A weight lifted from her chest, “Good, now go to my apartments and lock the doors. Do not let anyone aside from Ser Jorah or myself  enter. I will be there soon to get into my armor.” 

  Before Missandei could make a move, Daenerys pulled her closely and enveloped her in a tight embrace. If she died today, Missandei would be the closest thing to a human child that Daenerys would ever experience, and she loved her young scribe fiercely. 

  “Don’t die, my Queen. This one still needs you.” Daenerys could only hold her tighter when she heard Missandei’s words. 

  “And I need you too, now go and do what I’ve asked.” She returned, fighting with her emotions. 

  When Missandei was gone, she made her way back out to her terrace where Victarion stood waiting. The Dusky woman approached and passed her the vial filled with the blood of Victarion, and quietly she excused herself to be escorted back to the rooms she had been assigned. 

  Daenerys watched her go, and discretely she switched out the vial containing Victarion's blood for the one that held the mixture of her and Drogon’s. 

  She closed her eyes and sent her thoughts up to her children. “I’m sorry, Rhaegal, Viserion. Whichever of you responds, just know that this is not permanent. Just know that it had to be done, and know that I will never allow someone to claim and enslave you for good.”

   Turning back toward the Iron Lord, Daenerys fixed him with a pointed look. “I have given orders to my men, now it is time for you to do the same. Ser Barristan will escort you to your ship and Drogon and I will meet you there. Once your men have bent the knee to me as their rightful Queen, I will allow you to have your chosen sound the horn.”

Chapter Text

|Lady of the Twins| -Princess of the North

  The following morning, Arya slipped beyond the Eastern Gate to finish preparing for her journey north. She had slept as long as her body would allow, after she cleaned and cared for her mother's corpse properly. The way she had been taught when she was trying to become No One. It had only been two moons at most since then, but for some reason, that path seemed as far away as Jon Snow’s smile and her father's rough northern burr. 

  She had said her goodbyes to her uncle Edmure in private, after she tasked him with having the Silent Sisters prepare her mother's bones so that she could be laid to rest in Winterfell. But even in this, he was nearly defiant, declaring that “Catelyn Tully should be honored with the same rights as every other Tully Lord or Lady that had come before her.”

  Arya would not be swayed. “My mother was born a Tully, but she died as a Stark. Her bones will go back to Winterfell so that they can rest beside the statue of my Father, my grandfather and my uncle Brandon, if and when I’ve reclaimed Winterfell.”

  Currently, it was his wife and her brother that stood before her now. All around them, she could see that many of the remaining women and children had gathered around the outer bridge that linked the Twins on the east and west side of the Trident. 

  Unlike the day before, where they had looked at her with fear and uncertainty, today their eyes shone with gratitude and a bit of admiration. She had no doubt that their lives under the late Lord Walder Frey were less than tolerable. Though she hoped that with time, and with the proper person to lead them, even from the position of Stewardship, things would turn around for them. 

  The two Frey’s in question approached alone, a few servants stood at the back holding what seemed to be two chests. 

  “Thank you both for packing supplies, but I think we have all we need.” Arya said, greeting them both. 

  Both Olyvar Frey and his sister shared a nervous glance between one another and then her good-aunt nodded, signaling that he should continue. 

  “Forgive us, but we have not come with supplies, but rather something that we believe you wouldn’t want to depart without.” Her brothers old squire replied, a look of sadness and compassion burned in his blue-grey eyes. 

  Arya took a step toward them both and smiled warmly. “You needn’t worry about my reaction, I promise that I mean you no harm.” Both of them nodded. “Would you care to show me what you’ve brought then?” 

  This time when he stepped forward he presented her with a small chest that bore no mark or decoration. “We found this in the chamber of our father last night, and we thought that at the very least, we should return whatever we could.”

  The way they spoke. . . Finishing each other's sentences when one or the other was unable to find the right words made her anxious and sad at the same time. Anxious to know what they had brought, and sad because it reminded her of Jon, which also reminded her that she had delayed long enough. 

  With a shaky hand she reached out and undid the clasp that held both halves of the box closed and then she lifted the top, allowing the morning light to illuminate the compartment before she peeked inside. 

  Though she had not seen her brother before the mutiny, Arya knew that this had once belonged to him. For no one else would have ever donned a crown that resembled the crown of the Winter King's. She hadn’t even known that he wore a crown at all, the last time she saw him, it was with Greywinds head sewn to his shoulders. The crown had been there too, but it had been dark and she had been too haunted by the events that had transpired to take note of such a detail. 

  While she gazed down at her brothers crown, four servants approached with two chests that were similar in design to the one that held Robb’s crown. A pull at her chest had her heart pounding, she knew without being told what was inside the chests. Nymeria stood at her side, a mournful whine accompanying her presence. 

  “He was a petty, cruel man. He kept them because he wanted to deny your brother the right to rest with his ancestors. The Queen requested the fur of his direwolf, but my father would not part with any of it. He kept the pelt and the crown in his chambers as trophies.” Roslin explained. 

  Arya could only nod, not trusting herself to speak. 

  “We’ll take good care of the Twins and the Riverlands while you’re away.” Olyvar added. 

  “Of that I have no doubt.” Arya replied, sure that they would keep their word. 

  “What should we do if someone should come seeking an audience with my late father, or seeking to cross the bridge?” Roslin asked. 

  Arya thought about it a moment. “No one should be allowed to journey north without my written approval, I care not how long they must camp here, as long as you do not allow anyone to pass before you have heard from me. As for the rest. . . Tell them that the North Remembers what happened when Walder Frey violated guest-right. . . Tell them that winter has come for House Frey, and that a pack of wolves will never rest when there is still prey to hunt.”

  They exchanged a few more words before Arya was left to finish her preparations. As it happened, what began as a mission to avenge her brother with the assistance of her mentor and a few accomplices, had now become a full on movement. Ser Jaime, she had suspected would follow her, after swearing himself to her the previous night, but she had not expected the Lady Brienne to do so as well. 

  In truth, she intended to collect her father's sword and then free the woman and her two companions of her obligation to her mother, but the Lady Knight would hear nothing of it. She even went as far as stating that until all of Arya’s enemies were defeated and she was safe behind the walls of her ancestral home, that she would not be released from her vow. After that, Arya was hard pressed to accept her oath, and so, she again swore to accept Lady Brienne into her home, and to keep a place for her at her table and at her side, and to ask no task of her that would bring her dishonor. 

  More oaths followed, many of the men who had followed her mother also chose to follow her north, as did Thoros, the Hound, Ned, and even Gendry. 

  A part of her wanted to send Gendry back to Jeyne, but she knew that sending him away would do nothing, he would merely wait for them to depart and then he would follow from a distance.

  She knew him, even now. He was as stubborn as a bull, and once he had made his mind up, little could be done to sway him. It was his argument that decided things though. . . “Once, a long time ago, you asked me to come with you to find your family and I declined. This time though, you have no brother to go and find, you still need a family. I could be your family. . . If—if you’ll still have me.”

  There was nothing else she could say. . . and so she nodded her acceptance. 

  The Greatjon was already beside his horse when she was finally ready, as was Lord Jason Mallister of Seaguard, who had decided to see her safely north. “I wasn’t there to defend my King, but I can make sure you make it home.”

  The last person to approach was Ser Jaime, followed by a handful of Lannister captains. Word had reached them about the Baratheon claimant that was intending to reclaim Winterfell. 

  Though she held nothing against Stannis Baratheon, she understood that House Lannister and by extension, their bannermen, would see it as their duty to remove Stannis from the board. Still, she couldn’t be as sure of their loyalties as she was of their commander. 

  It was Jaqen who suggested that a portion of the Lannister troops be allowed to journey north with them, while a portion would remain under the command of her uncle Edmure, and could be used to keep the peace in the Riverlands, as well as take care of any stragglers who thought to escape from the North once they arrived. While a smaller group would make their way back to the Capitol to report what had taken place in the Riverlands. 

  The decision wasn’t one that was easily accepted, but in the end it was decided that about a third of the Lannister Army would remain while the other two thirds would follow Ser Jaime North to support Arya of House Stark in reclaiming her ancestral home. 

  The plan was sound, and once the captains who lead the Lannister banners, bent the knee and swore their fealty to Ser Jaime as the true heir of Tywin Lannister and Casterly Rock, Arya allowed herself to feel a little more at ease. 

  Soon enough, she sat atop Nymeria and the rest of the wolf pack filled the dark places inside the trees, while a company of around thirty five hundred men sat mounted atop their horses, awaiting her command to head north. 

  Arya glanced around, taking in the Riverlands one last time, and then, with hardly a word spoken, Nymeria took her first step toward home, down the long road that should have eventually led her back to Jon. 

|Darkstar|-I am of the Night.

  The North was unlike any other place he’d ever been, the land was old and unforgiving. The people scarce, and the terrain was rough from what appeared to be the movements of a moderately large host. 

  Under different circumstances, Gerold would have never traveled this far from Dorne, or from his own seat of power, but after the situation with that Lannister whelp went to shit, he’d had little choice but to make himself disappear before Doran had the chance to send someone after him. 

  His first stop had been Starfall. Only to find that Allyria, his “cousin” was long gone. The castle sat nearly empty save for the steward and Castellan who had been left in charge. None would tell him where she was, nor how long she had been gone, but she was the least of his problems. In fact, without her there to stop him, his purpose had become much easier to accomplish. 

  With his younger cousin Edric off squiring for the Lord Beric Dondarrion somewhere in the Riverlands, no doubt hoping to earn his spurs and the right to wield the ancestral blade of their House. There was no one there to stop him from seeking out Dawn for himself. There were no rules that said only an heir of the main branch can wield her, so why shouldn’t it be him? 

  Arthur had squandered away his right to wield her, but not Gerold. No, he would put the rightful king on the throne that should have been his for the past eight and ten years. 

  He moved with purpose through the great Keep of his ancestors after that, heading for the Great Hall where he knew that Dawn would be waiting. His cousin would have to wait a while longer to earn the right to wield her. Winter was here, and Darkstar was of the night. This was not the time for a Sword of the Morning. 

  He was done awaiting honors that should have gone to him years ago. His noble cousin Arthur had not deserved her either. He fought like most men wanting to be heroes; with honor. And it was his honor that cost him Dawn. 

  Gerold was not prone to such follies, and honor would not be his downfall.

  There had been no question in his mind whether or not Doran had sent people in search of him. They likely started at High Hermitage and then moved on to Starfall. He had considered this as well while he had been busy planning his next move. 

  Anyone with any sense at all would likely assume that he took a ship East toward the free cities, but they would all be fools. 

  There was a reason that Doran feared him, and it had nothing to do with his skill with a blade. It was the one thing that could undo all his clever years of plotting and scheming behind the scenes from the Water Gardens. And Gerold was certain he kept this information to himself. Even with his failed attempt to rid the realm of the Lannister brat. 

  It had everything to do with the fact that Gerold had been the very person who revealed the location of the Tower of Joy to Lord Stark when he had ridden through the Red Mountains of Dorne looking for his sister Lyanna Stark. As such, Gerold knew the secret that Doran was trying so desperately to cover up. And all due to the misplaced idea that Arianne or Quentyn would one day be in a position to claim a throne that he felt was owed to his sister, the Princess Elia Martell.

  He couldn’t help but scoff, even that was a lie. He knew most of the truth, thanks to his involvement with Lord Stark, combined with the truth of what had been hiding inside that tower, protected by three members of the Kingsguard. 

  Almost eight and ten years had passed since then, and with a Lannister currently occupying the Iron Throne, and Dorne playing the Game for their own gain, Gerold knew that if he hoped to survive this, his path led him in only one direction. 

  North...
 
 To this frozen sea of grey capped mountains and white earth, dotted by thick green trees and wide open space. All in search of the true heir to the Iron Throne, in search of the man whom the whole realm believes to be the bastard son of Lord Eddard Stark.

  He had sailed from Starfall to Oldtown before he bought passage on a ship that would end up sailing him back around Dorne and then north toward White Harbor. Once he’d reached the White City of the North, he bought passage on a trading galley headed for Eastwatch by the Sea where he’d intended to purchase a horse and ride for Castle Black. 

  However, the situation at the Wall had been nothing at all how he’d imagined. There were people everywhere, most of whom were bundled up in thick grey and brown furs. While those dressed in black were clearly among the minority’s share. He had come to find out shortly after arriving that “Jon Snow” was no longer the Lord Commander on the Wall, that somehow, he’d been freed of his vows and he was currently marching south toward Winterfell. 

  The people, who he had come to learn were actually wildlings from south of the wall spoke of Jon Snow like he was some sort of god. No one had an ill word to speak on his name, though none would speak a word as to why they felt this way. 

  After he was given proper clothing and a spare mount for the journey he set out once more in search of his king. He would deal with the specifics of how to break the news to him at a later time. . .

  From what he had gathered from the men and women at the Wall, Gerold was no more than a week behind “Jon Snow,” who was traveling among a group of wildlings, Northmen, and Skagosi. 

  The fact that the man that Gerold had come in search of had managed to unite three factions of people who had been known to war among each other for centuries, only proved that he had made the right decision in coming north. If he could convince these men, then surely unifying Westeros wouldn’t be such a challenge? 

  Before sailing North, Gerold had seen “Jon Snow’s” call for aid, and he was also aware that the Baratheon claimant; Stannis, was attempting to retake the north by getting rid of the Bolton traitors. If he had any hope of reaching them before all three met on the battlefield, he had little choice but to ride hard and rest in the saddle. 

  The North had been freezing, but the clothing that the men of the Watch provided him had done wonders to assist him in keeping somewhat warm, and the further he got from the Wall the chill became less aggressive.

  Five days south, he came across the first signs that a large host had encamped there. He’d slept there that night, but rose early the next morning, changed his saddle over to the other horse and then he set off once more in hopes of reaching them before too much more time passed. 

  By his estimation, he was traveling at nearly double their speed, based on the number of abandoned campsites that he’d passed since then, so he knew that he had to be closing in. 

  It was early morning on the eleventh day after departing the Wall that he knew that he’d reached them. He could hear the sounds of men breaking down their camp from a distance, so rather than stop to rest, he spurred his mount on until the three of them were riding into a half abandoned camp. 

  There were no banners flying, and from what he could tell, this was not a proper camp at all, only a resting point. There were tents all around and men and women were moving about, some tending to cook fires, others packing up, he gathered at once. 

  A tall man in heavy furs stepped out of the largest tent that was situated at the middle of the camp. Beside him stood a boy no older than eight or nine name days, with deep auburn hair and bright blue eyes that locked on him immediately. The boys eyes narrowed, and he said something in a low tone to the older man beside him, and then the two were joined by a woman and two more men before they approached him.

  His instincts warned him that reaching for Dawn would be foolish on his part, but he could tell that these people did not trust him and if he ever hoped to find his king; offending these people would not help him in that regard.

  So instead of reaching for his sword, he reached up and pulled away the scarf that had been covering his face and then he lowered his hood for what must have been the first time in moons. 

  One of the men paused the moment Gerold revealed himself, his green eyes shining with something that Darkstar could only describe as recognition. “Lord Dayne, is that you?”

  Gerold knit his eyebrows together in confusion, attempting to place the face of the man who seemed to have recognized him. “I am he, but pray tell, who are you?”

  The man, who was short in stature, stepped forward without hesitation. “My name is Lord Howland Reed, and we have met before. Many years ago.”

  Recognition came back to him in an instant. Memories of the Tournament at Harrenhal and the Lady Lyanna, and also of the day that Lord Stark rode south in search of his sister after the Rebellion had finally ended.

  “Then you know why I have come.”

  The smaller man looked at him knowingly and then smiled. “Might I introduce you to the young prince, Rickon Stark, Lord of Winterfell and future Warden of the North?”

  The young boy looked up at him curiously, appraisingly. . . All the innocence of youth was long gone from him, as his cool blue eyes weighed Gerolds worth. “Why have you come?”

  Gerold was quick to reply. “I’ve come to find the man you call “Jon Snow.” I’ve come to swear him my sword, to protect his back and shield him from harm. My name is Ser Gerold Dayne, though I prefer to go by Darkstar.”

  The crannogman looked at him with cool green eyes that seemed almost ageless and knowing. “So you are the new Sword of the Morning.”

  Not a question.

  Gerold thought about it. “Nay, winter is here and with it comes the darkness. I shall fight through the night and help my king to bring back the dawn. I am the Sword of the Evening.”

  “There hasn’t been a sword of the evening since the days of King Vorian Dayne.” The crannogman responded knowingly. 

  Gerold nodded. “A shame, that. No matter, I shall do plenty to make up for lost time, and lost titles.” He fixed his attention back on the young Lord. 

  “My Lord, if you don’t mind, I was hoping to speak with your. . .” Cousin? Brother?

  The little Lords eyes narrowed in frustration; though Gerold wasn’t quite sure what he had said to offend the boy. “My brother has already left, if you’re hoping to catch him you’ll need to hurry. He’s more than an hour ahead of you by now, and he’s riding fast.”

  The crannogman explained further. “His Grace rides for Winterfell, or just west of Winterfell actually. If you hope to catch him, you will need a new mount and something to eat. You can’t very well wield that blade if you have no energy once you reach him, and you’ll have need of that sword before the day is through, of that I have no doubt. I’ll ride with you, and perhaps with some luck, I can help you recover lost time. 

  There was some conversation between the older man and the young Stark, in a tongue that was unfamiliar to him, and then the boy nodded and turned back to meet his eyes. “Swear a vow right here, that you mean my brother no harm. A blood vow.”

  In his hand he held a dagger that had been made from a material similar to shiny black rock and he held it out for Gerold to take. Before he reached for it though, the boy spoke in a warning tone once more. “I will know if you’re lying.” His cool blue eyes narrowing predatorily. 

  Gerold didn’t need to prove himself to this kid, nor did he care to, but If he was ever going to make it back home, his only hope was the son and heir of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. And this boy was the only obstacle standing in his path. He reached for the dagger and knelt before the young boy. 

  “I swear by all the Gods, Old and New, that I mean neither your brother nor any other of your blooded kin any harm. And I swear that I will protect him with my life.” As he said the last part, he slid the sharp edge of the knife against his palm and then passed it hilt first, back to the young Lordling. 

  The boy accepted the dagger satisfied, and then nodded before he made a vow of his own. “And I swear to you, if you’re lying, I will let Ghost and Shaggydog eat you alive.” He slid the dagger over his own palm and then he clasped their two bloodied palms together, joining their wounds in some kind of blood ritual that was meant to seal their agreement. A ritual that left Gerold both shocked and curious of how a boy so young knew of such practices. 

  Seemingly satisfied, Lord Rickon turned his attention back toward Lord Howland. “Ride quickly and with speed, Egg is almost there.”

  The crannogman nodded, “And you as well, My Lord. I shall see you during the Hour of the Wolf in no more than a few days time. And worry not, all will be well.” He said cryptically back to the boy.

|Arya Stark|- Princess of Winterfell, Queen in the North?

    It took them nearly a moon turn to reach the boundary of Torrhen's Square, every day the air grew colder and the snows continued to fall in earnest the further north they rode. 

  Each night, Arya would take the time to slip into the mind of Nymeria so that she and her pack could scout for signs of troop movements and possible encampments where Stannis might be stationed. 

  There was no way that she would be able to move past Winterfell unseen, so she was determined to blend her host with either side and turn the battle in her favor. 

  Almost a week south of Winterfell, Arya finally found out why Lady Brienne had been so determined to follow her. . . Stannis had used sorcery to murder his brother Renly during the War of Five King's, and her mother had vowed to not hold Brienne back from taking his head in payment of his crime. 

  Arya listened in silence as she got to know more about the events that led up to the moment Brienne of Tarth swore her sword to her Lady Mother. There was no denying Brienne had offered Stannis Baratheon’s name to the God of death, and should he take a wound in battle, it would mean little to Arya to allow Brienne to swing the sword, but just like with the Hound, Arya would afford Stannis a trial to determine his guilt. 

  Though she could see that Brienne was hoping for her to be more accommodating in the matter of Stannis, Arya could not just allow Brienne to take Stannis life without first being given a fair trial. 

  Her father had named him the true heir to the iron throne after all, and while it was wrong to use dark magic to kill your kin, Renly was guilty of usurping his brothers claim. A claim her own father died to protect. . . Her heart was torn. 

  Lady Brienne also presented her with the other half of her father's sword, but Arya chose to allow her to keep it for now. Valyrian steel was rare, and quite effective in battle. And while she could certainly wield Widow's Wail, Oathkeeper was a much wider and slightly longer blade than the one Ser Jaime had given to her. 

 She had thought to return Widow's Wail to the Kingslayer after the last night in the Twins, but her sworn sword had refused. “I have no right to that blade, and even less of an ability to wield her properly. You should keep it, maybe one day you can have it returned to its original condition.”

  There was a part of Arya that wanted to argue that this sword was no longer Ice, that it no longer belonged to her father, but she could not deny how, right, the blade felt in her hand. She still had Needle, and she would always love the sword that Jon had gifted her, but she could not deny the fact that she had long since outgrown the blade. 

  A few hours south of Torrhen’s square, Nymeria and her pack picked up the first signs of Stannis camp, and further to the East, there were signs of another army moving in his direction. 

  From what she could gather, Stannis army numbered somewhere around six thousand, while the army that was riding toward him was almost double the size. Some of whom were flying the banners of House Manderly, Cerwyn and Riswell alongside the flayed man of House Bolton. 

  Arya had never participated in open battle before, sure hand to hand combat was familiar to her, as was fighting in closed spaces with sword, dagger or staff, and from long distances with a bow, but she had never led men into battle. 

  Her wolf blood urged her to rush in and slaughter their enemies, but her father's voice echoed in her mind, urging caution and cunning. “A wolf's strength is it’s pack, but he only survives the winter because he is patient and cunning… Be strong enough to stand alone, be yourself enough to stand apart, but be wise enough to stand with your pack when the time comes.”

  Arya found herself staring back at the men and even the woman who had chosen to follow her all this way. She saw Jaqen, sitting atop his black charger. The Hound, who had been there beside her through almost everything, and Gendry who had been with her since she left King's Landing so many years ago, with the naïve hope of a little girl, who dreamed of being reunited with her favorite brother.

  The Greatjon sat astride a warhorse that he found at the Twins, his massive great sword was returned to him as well, and it sat strapped to his back. He had recovered much of his weight in the past moon, though, from what Jaime had told her, he was still a shell of his former self. Still, he would grace them all with a song every now and again while they traveled north, and on occasion he would tell her all about the time he had spent in service of her brother; his King. 

  There were so many people who had chosen to follow her, but right now, Arya was sure that it was she, who should be following them. 

  “We’ll stop and allow the horses to rest before we continue on.” She said, turning to Brienne, then Jaime and Thoros. 

  Jaqen saddled up beside her. “Does Arya Stark plan to share what she knows?”

  Arya looked at Jaqen for a moment and then she slid from Nymeria’s back. “We should speak with everyone. I need some advice on how we should proceed.”

  Her mentor gave her a measured look and then he nodded before he went in search of the people she would need to consult. 

  A while later, Arya sat around a small fire, surrounded by battle hardened men and one battle ready Lady in arms. The Greatjon listened to her description of the terrain with care. “Aye, I know the place. It’s a little to the north east of Torrhen’s Square. There’s an old abandoned crofters village that is situated between two lakes. The larger of the two has three islands and one of them is home to an old Weirwood. Did you see any banners among the Baratheon camp indicating which northern Houses have declared for him?”

  Arya nodded. “There are quite a number of banners bearing the standard of the Stormlands, the Florents of the Reach, some from the Crownlands, such as House Velaryon. But there are also banners bearing the standard of House Glover, Umber, Flint and Norrey to name a few.”

  “And could you tell who rode under the Bolton banner?” The Greatjon asked, trying to get a better picture of what they would be up against. 

  Jaqen moved closer to the giant of a man and listened with interest, and Arya wondered what had caught his attention.

  Breathing in a deep sigh, Arya explained what she’d seen through the collective mind of Nymeria’s pack. “Stannis camp is no more than two days north of us, but the Bolton forces are moving in his direction. They are mostly mounted, and he brings hounds with him. Among the Bolton loyalists I spotted Frey, Karstark, Umber, Ryswell and Manderly banners. They seem to be at an equal distance from Stannis as our own forces. The question is, how should we engage them, and should we choose a side?”

  The look she received from the Greatjon was sharp enough to flay her where she stood. “Choose a side—Between a man who worships a foreign god and uses blood magic to murder his kin, or the people who violated guest right, and betrayed your brother and mother?” he scoffed aloud. 

  Arya’s eyes flashed to Thoros, knowing that he too, was a follower of the Red God. Only when their eyes met, he simply shrugged and smiled at her lopsidedly before he uncorked his wine skin and took a deep pull of his spirits. 

  She turned back to Lord Umber. “Excuse me, my Lord, but either way it goes, one faction will triumph over the other. I would sooner assist the Baratheon claimant against the Bolton’s than I would assist the Bolton’s against Stannis. As it stands, there are Umber and Karstark banners on both sides, so I’m clearly not the only one of northern blood to have had this thought.”

  The Greatjon stepped back, a shocked expression on his face. “Forgive me, but for a moment, you reminded me of your aunt Lyanna…” he said, smiling wanly. 

  Jaqen looked at him curiously before shifting on his feet. Arya cleared her throat, thinking his reaction curious, but not wanting to let sentiments distract them. “Be that as it may, it does not help us decide on a course of action. Does anyone else have any input?”

  This time Ser Jaime stepped up and pointed to a place on the map. “This is Torrhen’s Square?”

  “It is.” Arya confirmed. 

  His eyes drifted back toward the Greatjon. “You said that the area Stannis is encamped is an abandoned crofters village. What else can you tell us about the land? If it were you and you were being forced to defend it, how would you prepare?”

  The Greatjon seemed to understand what Ser Jaime was asking and he approached the map once more. 

  “The village is no more than three days ride from Winterfell, which means that we will have to hurry if we intend to get there before the Bolton army. If I were Stannis, I would use the frozen lake to lure in my enemy.”

  Jaqen looked interested. “And how would a man do that?”

  The Greatjon let out a booming laugh at Jaqen’s expense. “I s’pose you Lorathi ain’t never had to survive a real winter… but if you’re gonna do it, ya’ gotta start by weakening the ice in intervals. Carve holes a few feet from the bank, wide enough to not make it collapse right away, as you get closer to the center, your holes grow closer to one another. In the center, you put something worth going after… then you let the snow do the rest.”

  “And what would be worth going after for House Bolton?” Arya asked. 

  The Greatjon shrugged. “They’re already coming, so I’d wager that they want Stannis.” 

  All around, many agreed with the Greatjon’s assessment. “So we stay away from the lake. What about our approach?”

  Ser Jaime leaned over the map once more. “We should split our forces. One half should ride around Torrhen’s Square to the west, and then turn north east and approach from Stannis’ rear. With the Bolton army moving in from the east, it would be best to allow them past before cutting off their retreat, so the other half should approach the village from the south. This way, Stannis and the Bolton forces will clash first and our forces can capitalize on the added bonus of a chaotic battle.”

  Arya found herself smiling at the plan, though she could see that many present wanted to hear it in better detail. So they spent the better part of two hours going over every possible detail they could think of, including who would be going in which group, and who would be in command of whom. 

  Arya was shocked to see Ser Jaime take the initiative, if someone would have told her so many years ago that the Kingslayer would be standing at her side, helping to plan battle strategy, she would have told them that there was a better chance of her one day being named Queen. Now though, both things were absolutely possible. Especially if she was the only living child of her father's seed.

  Throughout their journey, Arya had observed the camaraderie that grew between the Hound and the Greatjon, so it was no surprise when Greatjon offered to lead one group of men, while the Lady Brienne and Jaqen agreed to lead the other.

   What did end up surprising her though, was when Ser Jaime offered to ride with the Hound and Greatjon, and split the Lannister forces between both parties. 

  They planned for as long as possible, but by the time the sun started to wain, Nymeria was up and pacing and Arya knew that it was time to go. 

  Thoros and Jaqen led the brotherhood and the other half of the Lannister forces on the path to the south, along with Gendry and Ned. While Arya decided to ride with her pack. The fighting would be chaotic, and there was no way that she was going to remain mounted once the blood started to spill. Plus, if Nymeria was correct, Ghost and Shaggydog were close by and she knew that they would have a better chance of finding Nym if she was able to run and fight alongside her pack. 

  The group stayed together until they reached Torrhen’s Square and then they split to either direction as planned. They were less than a day away from Stannis and if they intended to get there before the Bolton’s, they had to make a rushed pace. 

  Nymeria’s footing was sure and swift beneath her gait, and they moved with ease through the Wolf’s Wood. Her pack called out in intervals, signaling their position to their alpha, but Nymeria never responded. Something told her that Nymeria was trying to keep her proximity concealed from their enemies. 

   They ran hard for what felt like forever and just before first light, Arya could hear the sounds of men moving through the trees, and further on, people stirring from sleep in a panicked rush. 

  They were close, and with any luck Nymeria and she would arrive just after the Bolton’s began their attack. 

  Once more, all that Syrio Forel had taught her went racing through her head. Swift as a deer. Quiet as a shadow. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Quick as a snake. Calm as still water. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Strong as a bear. Fierce as a wolverine. Fear cuts deeper than swords. The man who fears losing has already lost. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords.

  She closed her eyes and reached out with her senses. “Nymeria, can you show me something that I don’t already know?” She asked, thinking back to her lessons with the Kindly Man. 

  Bright spots lit up in her mindseye, first only a few and then there were more than a hundred, each letting off different sensations, scents, images, sounds. And then, just before she pulled back into her own mind, she heard something unfamiliar. Something that was louder than the crash of hooves upon the earth, and it was moving fast. In the next moment all the wolves in Nymeria’s pack were all tuned into the disturbance that was moving from the north west toward Stannis encampment with speed. 

  Before she could determine the cause of the disturbance, Nymeria picked up on two scents that she would know anywhere. “Pack, pack, pack!” Without warning, Arya was vaulted from Nym’s mind and she felt her familiar pushing herself even harder, toward the battle, toward their enemies, toward Shaggydog, but most of all, Nymeria was racing toward Ghost, her Alpha and the other half of her soul.

  They had entered Stannis camp moments later and chaos reigned all around them. Off in the direction of the lake, a mounted charge was racing toward a massive weirwood that was nestled on an island just in the center. Loud cracks and the sound of breaking ice could be heard as man and beast went plunging into it's frozen depths.

  Men were clashing steel against steel and Arya couldn’t make heads or tails of the melee. The Greatjon and his party entered from the west, catching Stannis’ loyalists by surprise, but before they could react, the Lannister forces were already upon them. 

  Nymeria continued North, in the direction that she had sensed Ghost and Shaggy coming from, but they were forced to detour when a boar, the size of an aurochs came bursting through the trees, taking man and horse with him. 

  “Nym, tell your pack to give that beast a wide berth, I think that it’s with your brothers.” This time, Nymeria let out a long and commanding howl and Arya knew that it was a direct command to avoid the big boar rampaging through the camp.

  An arrow whizzed past her, missing her by inches and Arya rolled carefully from Nym’s back as she dropped out of it's path. The moment her feet were on the ground, Needle was out and she was parrying the first swing that was aimed at her. 

  Her assailant was someone she had never seen before, but he was wearing the flayed man of House Bolton on his surcoat and Arya felt a rush of adrenaline hit her as she crossed another foe off of her list. 

  His movements were clumsy and almost predictable. He swung his sword in a wide arch that Arya easily sidestepped, circling around him and tapping him on his side with Needle. When he turned aboutface, she had already unsheathed Widow's Wail and slid the crimson blade up between his rib cage and into his heart in exactly the same manner that the Hound had taught her so many years before. 

  Before she could process, she was moving through the camp, dispatching any who dare come seeking her attention. 

  All around her, men were clashing and animals were screaming. The ground continued to shake beneath her feet, only this time, it felt as if the earth was about to split underneath her. 

  The wolf pack was everywhere ripping anyone who raised a weapon against them and those who had come north with them to shreds without remorse. Her heart was racing in tandem with her wolves. 

  Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a flash of bright white and she turned to where she thought it had been, only to come face to face with a huge man with hair that burned as bright as the sun. His eyes were bright blue and there was a moment of recognition on his face before he deftly dodged a blow that was coming at him from the right. 

  She had no time to process any of this, but the moment that he had seen her face, it was as if he recognized her somehow, and he decided in that same instant that she was not his enemy. 

  Behind him came more men and women, all dressed in heavy pelts and furs. Wielding all manner of weaponry. A giant eagle swept down from the sky and clawed viciously at the face of a Northman before rocketing back up and out of the reach of men. 

  Skinchangers. . . There were more here than just herself. Arya could sense them, she wasn’t sure how, but she knew that there was a second army that brought skinchangers with them. 

  Another man came rushing toward her, this time he wore the standard of House Florent of the Reach. Fools. . . Men of summer have no business in the north, not when winter is coming. She cleared her mind and anticipated his first move, blocking his strike with ease. The moment he noticed that her blade was Valyrian steel, she was on the attack and all he could do was backstep and block. She might have enjoyed this exchange and mayhap she would have toyed with him before ending him in another time, another place. But, while the chaos of battle was ringing all around, all she could do was dispatch him and move on as quickly as possible.

  “Valar Morghulis,” she whispered. Before driving Needle into his neck the moment he left himself open to her attack.

  Nymeria was once more at her side as she moved toward the lake. Brienne, Jaqen, Thoros and Gendry had finally arrived and she could see the tall woman dispatching Bolton and Baratheon men at arms with ease. 

  Men were gathered around a single man, doing their best to defend him, Arya could only assume that it was Stannis based on the way Brienne was focused solely on him.

  Hounds were heard snapping and snarling, but her wolves showed them little mercy, and their own bloodlust fueled her on. A man dressed in the standard of House Karstark came barreling toward her, only to have his swing blocked by the gigantic longsword of Jon Umber. The moment their eyes locked, all the color drained from his face. 

  Arya turned and dashed toward the larger of the two lakes, where two men were tied to the trunk of a massive weirwood. Her movements were instinctual, as if the tree were summoning her there and she could do naught but obey. 

  Ravens flew over her head, cawing madly. Tree, tree, tree. Behind her, another thunderous crash was heard as a man that was at least fourteen feet tall came bursting through the trees, scooping foes from the ground and sending them hurtling a few feet in the opposite direction. Behind him, came a thundering battle cry as hundreds of men and women rushed into the fray. 

  A man who was cloaked in the pelt of a white snow bear was facing off with a man wearing the sigil of House Karstark. Arya ducked beneath the wild swing of a sword being wielded by a man with moths adorning his cloak, only for her to spin to the left, kicking his knees out from beneath him before she used Widow's Wail to end him once and for all.

  She hadn’t realized how effective wielding two weapons was until now, but with Needle in her right hand, acting as an elongated dagger, and with Widow's Wail in her left hand, she fought like her swords were extensions of her arms.

  A horn sounded from within the trees, and for a moment Arya lost track of where she was and who was who, as men began trying to make a hasty retreat back in the direction of Winterfell. 

  Another flash of white and black had her spinning on her heels, only to find two men facing off against one another. From this distance, the only thing she could make out were their characteristics. One was dressed all in black with dark hair and pale skin. The other, towered over his opponent, with lighter brown hair and he looked like he had come from somewhere in the south. 

  On instinct, Arya’s heart started to thunder in her chest and she started forward on shaky feet, wanting—no, needing to cross the distance. The battle was long forgotten, all that she could focus on was the man who looked like her beloved brother, even if she knew that such a thing was impossible. 

   Movement and then a moment of pain caught her by surprise as the sound of an arrow flew past her, grazing her arm. When she looked back in the direction of her distraction, there was no one there. Without delay, Arya turned back to the man who reminded her of Jon but he was no longer there, the man who he had been fighting was lying dead upon the earth, his head separated from his body laying just a few inches away from where he had fallen. 

  Feeling dismayed, Arya scanned the woods in search of more enemies, but those who they had been fighting had either fled, were laying on the ground dying or they were laying down their arms. 

  Brienne stood near a tall man with a gaunt face, who she assumed to be Stannis Baratheon. The Greatjon stood beside two  men who were wearing the sigil of House Manderly, a woman who wore the sigil of House Mormont, and the same man she had seen earlier, wearing a snow bear as his cape. 

  Another arrow whizzed past her, only this time, when she turned there was a woman standing behind her wearing all white, her hair was a honey blonde and her eyes were a bluish grey. Her bow was raised and she had another arrow already notched, but Arya could see that the weapon had not been aimed at her. Following the archers line of sight, Arya’s eyes narrowed in on a man wearing the sigil of House Frey. 

  She hadn’t realized that there were more of them here in the north, but it didn’t matter now. This one was laying upon the ground with an arrow through his throat, choking on the last vestiges of air that his lungs still managed to breathe in. 

  “Lay down your arms, I am the one true King, Stannis Baratheon, and I demand to speak to your commander.” A man bellowed from within the crowd of soldiers gathered around Brienne and Ser Jaime.

  Arya was called back toward the large lake where Brienne and the rest of her men and some of the others who had come late were gathered in a large crowd. 

  Nymeria padded up beside her and Arya knew that she had no choice but to present herself before the Baratheon claimant. Before she went, she turned back, but the woman was gone and Arya was left feeling like something important had happened without her even knowing what it was. 

|The Sword of the Evening|- I am of the Night.

 By the time they had finally caught up with his king and their host, the sun had claimed the sky for a few fleeting hours of daylight. And even though the young boy said that his brother was more than an hour ahead of them, it had taken them hardly any time at all to catch up. 

  His rational mind wanted to believe that it was due to the fact that they were a much smaller group, racing after a much larger host. But the crannogman had kept his own company since they departed, only speaking when he needed to give direction. Other than that, he continuously hummed to himself and a part of him understood that it was him that they had to thank for catching up with the king so soon. 

  It wasn’t the largest host he had ever seen, but not since the time of dragons had a sight such as the one before him been seen south of the wall. Gerold could hardly believe his eyes, there was a giant, a real life fucking Giant among his King's host, not to mention two enormous wolves walking among the men and women. 

  They moved quickly through the ranks, some people watched him suspiciously, he assumed due to the color of his hair and eyes. Others paid him no mind when they noticed who he was traveling beside. 

  His king stood beside a charger that was as black as night. His cloak and attire were almost the same shade as his mount and his hair was just as dark. In complete contrast to his twin, though he still wasn’t sure how much the crannogman had told him of his true parentage. 

  A voice he hadn’t thought to hear amidst an army of men and wildlings called him from his thoughts. “Gerold—is that you?” 

  He stopped dead on his heels and spun around immediately. “Allyria?”

  “Val—Is everything alright?” came a deep northern voice that he could only assume belonged to his king. 

  He looked at Allyria in surprise before mouthing the words Val? to her before he turned back to address his king. Who, as it so happened, was standing a few paces behind him. 

  “Howland? I thought you were going to the tow—I thought you were going with Rickon?” He said after considering the presence of a stranger. 

  Gerold cleared his throat, “My apologies, I am the reason for this change in plans. Though I can assure you that Lord Howland only offered to escort me because I have come specifically to find you, Your Grace.” Gerold took this moment to drop to one knee and unsheathe Dawn, laying it before his king's feet. 

  “Is that Dawn? Oh Gods,” Allyria groaned. “Ned is going to lose it when he finds out that you’ve claimed her.” 

  “Vallyria?”

  “Oh, sorry. Aegon, this is Ser Gerold of House Dayne, Lord of High Hermitage. . . Sword of the morning?” she finished.

  So he knows and so does she? This makes things admittedly easier. . .

  He looked up to find his king looking down at him curiously. “Is that really Dawn?”

  His twin laughed. “Aegon, he’s still kneeling.”

  “Oh, um—right, please rise. There’s no need for such ceremony, I wear no crown and hold no throne.” 

  He was humble. . . Not a bad trait, but one that could be exploited by the wrong person or people. Something that i'll have to watch out for in the future. If he accepts me.

  Gerold rose as his king commanded, but he passed Dawn into his hands rather than placing it back in it's sheath. “It is indeed Dawn, but I am not the Sword of the Morning. I sailed from Dorne with her attached to my back after reading your message and call for help. You swore to be the sword in the darkness and I wish to swear to serve at your side, as your shield. If winter comes and the darkness with it, then it is a time for men who serve the night. Another Sword of the Morning will come after I am gone, but while I live I will be the Sword of the Evening. And if you allow me, Your Grace. Together, we can bring back the Dawn. I will protect your back and give my life for yours if need be. The last man that wielded this blade served your father and your mother. Let me serve you until such a time that you have no more need of my sword.”

  The King took the sword from his grasp, but his grey eyes remained locked with his own. Beside him, his twin, the woman Gerold had called his cousin for nearly her entire life looked between the two of them curiously.

  “Can you wield it?” His king asked him in complete seriousness. “She’s quite a large blade.”

  “If it would not offend, Your Grace. I would be happy to show you, and allow you to determine for yourself if you prefer.” 

  “Aegon is fine, but I’m afraid time is short. However if what Vallyria has told me is true, I suspect that your younger cousin Ned might want the opportunity to test your skill.” He held the blade up and carefully examined the metal. The way it shone in the morning light made it almost translucent. “They say it is made from a fallen star and that she chooses the person to wield her. Do you believe she chose you?”

  “If she hadn’t, she would not have been strapped to my back.” He said without hesitation. 

  Not many people knew the reason that only certain men of their House could wield Dawn, but the truth was with the sword. Once the sword was placed back on the mantle in Starfall, it was fixed there. As if it was a part of the castle itself. Only the person meant to wield her could take her from that mantle. If he hadn’t come for her, no doubt, Ned would have eventually become worthy, he may even still, but not before Gerolds time was done. 

  Seemingly satisfied with his answer, his king passed Dawn back into his care. “It would be my honor to have the Sword of the Evening guarding my back and protecting me from harm. Come though, it’s time we make haste. The pack is close and they are bringing a distraction.” 

  Everyone aside from him seemed to understand what that meant while he stood there a moment longer processing king Aegon’s words. Vallyria approached, taking pity on him. 

  “Come on, what is it you call yourself these days? Darkstar?” She said teasing him. 

  “You laugh, but do not deny that the main branch has treated me and my kin like the black sheep. . . why should we be compared to the Daynes of Starfall for all time?” He said, making sure she understood why he feels a kinship to the darkness. “Stars come out at night, do they not?”

  “Indeed they do,” she allowed, punching him lightly before stopping to mount a beautiful silver-white mare with deep grey spots on her hind flank. “I was merely teasing you at any rate. Go on, he’s quite anxious to get there in time, and Borroq won’t be able to keep his beast calm for much longer, not with so many wolves around.” She said, gesturing toward his king.

  “Wolves? I only saw two when I arrived.” He said. 

  “Aye, but not those two, though their presence alone is enough to make him nervous. It’s the pack that I’m speaking of. C’mon, Aegon will explain it to you as you ride.” She said, pushing him toward his own mount.

  The cold weather suited her, she seemed much changed since the last time he’d seen her. Though he couldn’t quite recall the last time that had actually been. Lord Stark could have raised her here all along and no one would have seen the dragon in her until it was too late. She should have always been here. . . He couldn’t help but think to himself as he made his way over to his horse.

  “Follow my lead.” The king said to him before kicking his heels into his mount and urging it forward, off the beaten path and in a south-western direction through the dense Wolfs Wood. 

|Arya Stark| Heir of Winterfell.

  By the time Arya finally made her way over to the place where Stannis was being held, the fighting was pretty much over, though most of the wolf pack was still scattered, the giant man that she had seen was nowhere in sight and most of the men and women who had come to the battle from the north side were nowhere to be seen. 

  Most of the men who had been encamped here were on their knees—at least, those who weren’t actually northmen were on their knees. Those who were, were gathered around the Greatjon, asking him all manner of questions excitedly. 

  There had been some confusion in regards to the men dressed in the colors of House Lannister, but she could hear the Greatjon as he quickly informed them that the Lannister men had come to help bring “Ned’s Girl” home. There was confusion on many of their faces when he said this, but she shook her head silently in his direction. There would be time for explanations later, but Winterfell was still at least a three day ride from where they were, and hundreds of men, if not more, had already fled back in it's direction and Winterfell was nearly impossible to lay a siege to. 

  She closed her eyes and connected with Nymeria. “Go hunting, kill or injure any Bolton you or your pack encounter. Do not let them leave the woods. Steer clear of that pig. . . I have no idea where it went, and I won’t have you hurt before we find your brothers.” A chorus of wolves answered her command at the same time and Arya opened her eyes once more to find the same ginger man that she had come across during the fighting, staring at her in a knowing way. 

  Not knowing what to say, Arya turned her attention back to the matter at hand. Standing in a loose circle, were a number of men that had accompanied her north. Brienne stood in the center of them all, golden armor gleaming in the waning light, chest heaving, with Oathkeeper leveled at the throat of her sworn enemy.

   The moment she stepped inside the circle, the men surrounding them stepped back and Stannis cold blue eyes narrowed on her. She must have looked frightening, covered in dirt and blood, but the Baratheon claimant looked no better. There was a arrow protruding from his thigh and his chest had a large gash across it. 

  “By what right do you think to take me as your captive and deny me medical help? I am the true King, you should be on your knees.” He said, sneering at all of them who were present. 

  Arya arched a brow, considering his words. “The north knows no king, but the King in the North whose name is Stark.” Came the voice of a woman Arya could remember from long ago. 

  She wore a green doublet and brown riding leathers, though she was armored in patched ringmail beneath her layers. Her hair was graying and she was short in stature but she wielded a nasty looking mace that had clearly seen battle. Maege Mormont. . . Her eyes went wide as she searched around for Lord Mallister, only to find him speaking to a man wearing the sigil of House Glover. 

  The crowd around them parted once more and a woman wearing long red robes entered. Where she had come from, Arya couldn’t say, but Thoros seemed to recognize her at once. 

  It was Stannis who seemed the most shocked to find this mystery woman among the remnants of his encampment. “I left you at the Wall, why have you come here? Where is my daughter?” He demanded of her. 

  Arya’s mind blanked out the moment he mentioned the Wall, however. This woman had come from the Wall? Had Stannis seen Jon? Did they know the truth of what happened? Was this woman there when Jon was betrayed? The questions kept coming as her mind raced. Without thinking, Widow’s Wail was at her neck. 

  “That is enough!” Arya snapped. All eyes locked on to her. 

  “Stannis of the House Baratheon, my sworn sword has accused you of Kinslaying, and Kingslaying. She claims that you murdered her King, Renly of the House Baratheon through some dark magic. She asserts that a shadow, wearing your face, snuck into his tent and slew him with a shadow blade. How do you respond to these charges?”

  Stannis looked at her, and then to Brienne with shock written on his face. “Renly was no king, just a boy who was crowned by his lover, who was a pawn to his overly ambitious grandmother. Aye, I slew him for his treason. I was his king and he was in open rebellion against me, Robert's true heir.” Lips pulling into a sneer as he looked at her and then to Brienne with disdain. 

  Jaqen, and then Gendry and Ned approached and stood at her side. “Be that as it may, kinslaying is a crime against the gods and as a member of your brother’s Kingsguard, it is her lawful right to sentence you to death for your crime. A king should be a pillar for his people. Leading them by example, and by your own words, and your example the realm has fallen into chaos.” Arya determined. 

  “And who are you to pass a sentence against me?” Stannis spat. 

  “She is Arya of the House Stark. Last born daughter of Lord Eddard Stark and the Lady Catelyn Tully, you dumb cunt, or can’t you fucking tell by the presence of these damn wolves?” The Hound answered, approaching from the opposite side. 

  Arya simply glared at him. If I was in need of your input, I would have asked! But before she could speak, the woman who had come from the Wall turned slowly and looked at her with eyes as red as the ruby at her throat. 

  Men and women all around stared at her with shock and confusion. “That’s impossible! I sent Arya Stark north to Castle Black not more than a week ago. . .” Stannis exclaimed. 

  Arya arched a brow at Stannis. “A week ago, I was crossing through the Neck with thirty-five hundred Lions at my back, a group of outlaws and my wolf pack. I can assure you that you most certainly never sent me anywhere, nor could you have.” She asserted. 

  The breeze began to stir and a flock of crows flew from the branches of the heart tree in the center of the lake. “Tree. . . Tree. . . Tree.” They called out. 

  The ginger man stepped forward. “Yer names Arya Stark? You got a brother you call Jon Snow and a little brother?”

  Arya nodded, I had two little brothers. Bran and Rickon. And. . .” Her heart sank, trying to say the words. “And I used to have a brother named Jon Snow, but someone took him from me.” She glared at the red woman, who looked back and forth between her and Gendry. “I have questions for you, about what happened at the Wall. But first, who is it that you have tied up to that weirwood?” She said, gesturing toward the island in the middle of the lake. 

  “My brother, Theon.” A female voice said from somewhere among the crowd. 

  Theon only had one sister that Arya could recall, Asha Greyjoy. Her heart started to race as another name was added to her list. 

  “Arya. . . The tree, come to the tree!” The wind seemed to whisper all around her. How could the wind know her name? 

  All the while, the red woman watched her knowingly, as if, she too, could hear the winds' demands. 

  “What’re ya gonna do with the Southron King?” The wildling man asked her. 

  Arya shook her head. “I did not pass the sentence against this man. This decision is not mine but if I have a choice in the matter,” she paused and looked to Brienne who nodded her assent. “I would ask that you bring him to the tree, where most things of importance are done in the north.”

  There was a loud chorus of “Ayes,” from both the wildlings and the Northmen which made her wonder what Stannis had done to them. 

  “Very well, I’ll take him to the tree.” Brienne agreed, sheathing her blade and hauling Stannis up from the ground. The ginger man looked at her with wide eyes and Arya wanted to chuckle. When he turned back to her, his face was serious. 

  “You are from beyond the Wall?” She hadn’t meant to say that first, but she was always an impulsive and curious child. 

  “Aye, we are of the Free Folk.” He replied. 

  “I suppose there’s a story that would explain how you ended up so far south then?” Arya countered. 

  “There is, but. . .” He paused considering her for a moment. 

  “But?” She added to break the silence. 

  He shook his head, “I probably should allow you to finish yer’ business with the king o’ the kneelers, but I was just wonderin why ya ain’t gone after yer brother yet?”

  Arya looked at him confused, and then she noticed that the red woman was still watching her with curious eyes. Realizing that she still had Widow's Wail leveled at her, she took a step back and lowered her weapon. 

  “What do you mean, my brother?” Her heart started to thunder in her chest. 

  The wildling man looked at her confusedly and then the red woman, who chose that moment to finally speak. “Not the Black Wolf, the White Wolf. He hunts men without their skin while we are speaking of false king's and different roads. . .”

   “You speak of Ghost? Nymeria will find him and they will come to me.” Of this Arya was certain. 

  The red woman smiled knowingly but then shook her head. “The one you call Jon Snow. He hunts the flayed man in the woods.”

  The forest began to spin and her knees were starting to grow weak, but Jaqen took her by the arm, steadying her before she could fall. “How? He was murdered. . . I—I heard about it all the way across the Narrow Sea.”

  "Could you bring back a man without a head?" Arya remembered asking. "Just the once, not six times. Could you?" She had her answer then, as she stared back at the red woman, remembering the way that Thoros had reacted to seeing her here among the camp. 

  “He’s been on a rampage ever since he came back, we thought he was about to tear the north apart looking for you. Har!” The wildling chuckled, slapping his thigh. “If King Crow knew ya would be here,he woulda let that Bolton cunt run a bit longer! Har!”

  Arya turned on her heels. “Nymeria, come. I need you girl. . . He’s here. Jon is here, we need to go and find him.”

  “Arya?” Ned called. 

  Not turning back, Arya began to sprint East, toward Winterfell. “Don’t kill Theon! Bring him to Winterfell, as for Stannis, let Brienne take his head, she passed the sentence. Anyone who does not surrender, put in chains. I’ve got to go!” She shouted back loud enough for them to hear.

  They called out to her a few more times but her mind was focused on one thing and one thing alone, Jon. She was going to find her brother. 

Chapter Text

  By the time Aegon landed with his sister and brother, it was well past the hour of the Owl. They had flown over the Wolf’s Wood, up toward Long Lake, and then back down the White Knife, before they turned back west and passed over the abandoned tower where Rickon would be traveling toward, come dawn. 

  The grey dragon paid careful attention to his thoughts, and when they were close enough to the moors outside Winterfell, he had even lent him his eyes, so that Aegon could see what was happening on the ground below. 

  He had been momentarily taken aback by the experience. One moment, he had been struggling to see the details of what was going on down below and in the next he could see every little detail with absolute clarity.

  Out past Winterfell's walls, there were quite a number of mile markers set up in huge X’s, attached to them were the flayed corpses of northmen, Aegon could only assume. Further out, inside the shelter of the Wolf’s Wood, Aegon could see shapes moving through the trees. Further still, was a large encampment that had set up around a large lake, in what appeared to be an abandoned village. This was where he assumed that Stannis had decided to make camp. 

  When he finally slipped back out of the grey dragons skin and into his own they had been approaching the clearing where the other dragons awaited. 

   “I suppose names would be easier than referring to you all by color. Do you have any names that you prefer?”

  The grey dragon eyed him curiously, “The concept of a name is foreign to ones such as ourselves. Whichever title you assign, I will answer to.” 

   Aegon considered it's response for a moment. “You’re the color of storm clouds, shot through by lightning. Would you accept the name Stormfyre?”

   The grey dragon straightened his body and tilted its head toward him curiously. “Will you say it in your own tongue?”

   “Stormfyre,” Aegon repeated, this time out loud.

  At the sound of the name the grey dragon’s eyes, which were already impossibly bright pools of silver and blue, became almost entirely blue. Almost in the same way that Cannibal’s eyes had turned indigo and crimson after touching his bloodied palm. 

   “This one accepts and finds it worthy. I will answer to the name you have chosen.” Came Stormfyres reply. 

  Aegon smiled. Four more to go…

   He turned his attention back to Val and Rickon who were waiting as patiently as possible to attack him with questions, so he started in their direction. “On the morrow, you will see Rickon to the tower we passed by. Once Winterfell is secured, I will send for you all. I want one of you to remain with him until he is safe behind Winterfell’s walls, and I am there to take him.”

  “We will stay with your chosen. Just as we will remain with you should you find that you are in need of us on the morrow.”  This time it was the collective that replied. 

  Aegon reached for Rickon and hefted him up into his arms. Beside them, Val was beaming and he couldn’t help but return her joy. 

  “Flying is—it’s unlike anything in the world, is it not?” He asked, hoping to get her thoughts. 

  She looped her arm into his free arm and nudged against him. “It was truly amazing. I can only imagine what it must be like for you, considering your bond.”

  Aegon nudged her back, “You will get to experience it too, I’m no more special than you are Val, you’re a warg too. I know it with every fiber of my being, Ghost knows it too. You just never had the chance to find your own wolf. I have no doubt that when your mount finds you, the bond you’ll share with each other will be just as magical.”

  “You said that they will allow me to fly with them though?”

  He could see that she was trying to hide her enthusiasm. “They would. Are you thinking of staying with Rickon and the Little Monster?”

  His sister furrowed her brows at him. “Sometimes you say the stupidest things... In what world would I allow you to go into battle without me there to watch your back? Especially now that I know you suffer from a hero’s complex and the inane idea that people will act with honor, just like our dear Uncle foolishly taught you. You are a fool, or you were anyway, don’t start behaving as such now.”

  Aegon snorted. “Ah, there you are. For a moment I feared that the dragons and Rickon had stolen you from me.” Aegon teased.

  “I’m too young to steal Val!” Rickon protested from the other side, causing both himself and Vallyria to burst out in laughter. 

  Aegon fixed Rickon with a serious look, “You’re almost a man grown, surely you could handle Val?”

  Rickon blushed. “I can take care of Val, I know how to hunt. She could stay and be the Lady of Winterfell. I don’t have to steal her. Do I?”

  “Don’t listen to our brother Rickon, of course you don’t have to steal me. What makes him think I would let you out of my sight anyway? Except for tomorrow, I’m going to watch his back, but after that, when Aegon has to go south, I won’t be going anywhere, just like we discussed.” Vallyria consoled their little furious wolf and Rickon seemed to relax.

  “Why am I just now hearing about plans the two of you made without me?” Aegon couldn’t help but ask. 

  Almost immediately, two sets of blue eyes focused on him. It was Rickon who answered. “Everyone keeps saying that you’re a king. They said that you are going to go and take back the throne from the Lannisters and the Baratheons, I thought that meant that you would be leaving me just like Mother and Robb.” 

  Aegon could already tell where this conversation was going. “And the thought made you worried that you would be left behind again?”

  Rickon nodded against his shoulder. “Val told me why you have to go, and I understand, but I was scared that it would mean that I’ll be left alone again, and—and the bad people will come back and try to take Winterfell again.”

  “And Val promised to be your pack and guard your back while I’m away in the South, didn’t she?”

  His little brother scrunched his face up, “She said we can protect each other.”

  Val blushed, “What? He’s quite convincing. And besides, I happen to like the North more than I like the South. You're going to have your hands full enough, I thought it might be better for me to stay with the pack.”

  Aegon couldn't help but to smile at that. “When we take back Winterfell, I’ll write to Sam and have him send back Dalla’s son. By then he should have reached Old Town. I know how hard it was for both you and Gilly to make this decision. I suspect that Gilly may even harbor ill feelings against me for making her leave her boy.”

  Val squeezed his arm and smiled warmly at him. “It will be nice to have Dalla’s boy back, but I’m equally as fond of that little monster. Gilly will forgive you, and maybe in time she will learn to understand why you did what you thought you had to do. Don’t start beating yourself up about these things.”

  “Aye, I’ll do my best.” He said, as they arrived outside her tent. “Sleep well, the morning comes early, and we will ride out before the sky starts to lighten.”

  “And you, dear brother.” Her attention turned toward Rickon and she reached out and ruffled his hair before planting a kiss on his forehead. “You’ll be fine until the dragons bring you to Winterfell?” 

  Rickon looked at her for a moment and then he looked back to Aegon.  “Is Storm going to fly me home?”

  Aegon considered his question. “I would like it very much if he did, but if Shaggy comes back and you would prefer to ride with Black Horse and the Magnar, I don’t see why that wouldn’t also be fine.”

  “Okay, if Shaggy comes back, I’ll come on Black Horse.” Rickon decided immediately, and then he turned back to Val, more seriously he added, “You’re gonna keep our brother safe? No one will stab him in the back?”

  “I swear it, little wolf. As long as I breathe, no harm will befall our brother.” Val promised. 

  Rickon nodded and then with a last glance, Vallyria ducked back into her tent, leaving him and his little brother alone to walk the rest of the way to the tent that they shared. 

  Inside, their furs had already been set up, a small snack of bread and dried meat was waiting on a makeshift table, along with a skin of mead. Aegon, instead went for the water and drank deeply, then he washed his hands and removed his sword and doublet. 

  “Egg? Do you think we’re going to find Arya?” Rickon asked, his voice cutting through the quiet that they had settled into. When he turned to face his little brother, he found him inching closer to him, atop the furs. 

  Suddenly his heart started to thump a little faster, he had no idea how he was supposed to answer. “Honestly, I don’t know, Rickon. I want to believe that she is alive and that she will be with Nymeria, but I’m scared to hope for anything so grand as all of that. Especially after Jeyne came to us and it turned out that she had been the one who the North believed to be our sister.”

  He could see immediately that these were not the words that Rickon had been hoping for. “Rickon, you’re allowed to be angry, or hurt. The truth is, I’m both angry and hurt too. But don’t give up on her, at least until we have Nymeria back. If anyone can find the missing members of our pack, it’s our wolves.”

  After that, the two of them spoke about little things. Rickon told him about how the Stoneborn have trained him to use a bow and spear. Aegon promised him that he would teach him the sword as soon as they weren’t marching any longer. They talked about warging and what it felt like the first time it happened. They even spoke at length about Borroq and his boar, whom as it turned out, Rickon was quite interested in meeting.

  His little brother had been quite enamored by the fact that there were more people like them who could connect with their animals, he just didn’t quite understand why Ghost and Borroqs bull weren’t more friendly toward one another. 

  “Because to Ghost, Borroq’s bull is a worthy meal, and to Borroq’s bull Ghost is his enemy. They don’t attack each other because we have managed to keep them apart.”

  “But you’re taking Borroq to battle with you?”

  Aegon nodded, “Aye, and Grisella and Briar too.” 

  “How are you gonna keep Ghost and Shaggy away from them then?” Rickon asked, clearly concerned for the safety of everyone’s familiars. 

  “Because our enemies will be busy attacking us, and Ghost and Shaggy will be busy attacking them. It’s not certain that one of them won’t be hurt, we can only hope that our familiars know who the real enemy is on the morrow.”

  Rickon yawned and stretched his body out, rolling onto his side and snuggling into his chest. “Will you say bye to me before you leave?” He asked sleepily. 

  “I swear it. And I will not rest again until you are safely beside me, behind Winterfell’s walls.” Rickon nodded, contented by his promise and within moments, he was fast asleep, Aegon followed shortly behind him.

  The following morning, an hour or so before dawn, Aegon and Rickon shared a rough farewell, no matter how fine he had seemed the night before, it was clear that Rickon was not okay with being left behind. It was only when he reminded him that soon Ghost and Shaggy would be with him that his little brother relented and allowed him to finish preparing for departure. 

  The Magnar and Osha were there to see to Rickon as Aegon mounted up, and said his final farewells. “Rickon, I cannot go do what must needs be done if I am worried about you. We are not far from the tower, and by the time night falls, with any luck, I will be calling for you to come home. The dragons will be close by, and if something should happen, they will not hesitate to burn the Wolfs Wood to protect me. You know that I’m coming back for you, don’t you?”

  Hesitantly, Rickon nodded and wiped roughly at the tears still streaming down his face. “I know—I, I just don’t want you to go!”

  “I don’t want to leave, but I must. A man must always do what he can, when he can, to protect those who need him. And the North needs us, little brother. They need both of us to fight for them…” He paused a moment, “You’re still going to join Shaggy right? To fight beside Ghost, and look for Nymeria aren’t you?”

  His little brothers eyes went wide once he realized that he had indeed asked if he could come. “I forgot!”

  Aegon smiled back at his little pup. “Aye, you must’ve. Hurry and pack your things so that you can get to the tower and then join me. Ghost, Shaggy and I can’t win back our home without you.” 

  After one last tight hug, Rickon was running back toward their tent with a thankful Osha on his heels, prepared to help him pack up before they went in search of the abandoned tower. 

  Val, the Lady Maege, Lord Glover and the rest of their host, including Tormund, WunWun, Borroq and a few others were all mounted up and waiting for him to join them.

  “You ready, King Crow?” Tormund bellowed, clapping him roughly on the back. 

  Aegon grunted. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  Vallyria looked him up and down, checking that his boiled leather was in good enough shape. She had opted to wear white, which he found interesting, as black was the typical color that she had dressed in while they had been marching, though he couldn’t deny how well the color did to blend her in with the white landscape. For some reason her hair looked impossibly silver in contrast to the white leather she was now wearing. The blue-grey in her eyes was more grey in this lighting. . . She was a perfect blend, he imagined, of what was their father, and what was their mother, though he had no idea what either of them looked like. 

  “Looks like white has always been your color.” Aegon said, a sad smile forming on his face, remembering  the final time he spoke with Robb in the courtyard of Winterfell; of how the snowflakes had been melting in his auburn hair. 

  Val arched her brow at him questioningly, which made him want to explain. “I don’t merely wear black because I was a man of the Night's Watch, I have always preferred the color over every other. Before I left Winterfell with uncle Benjen, Robb had remarked that the next time he saw me, I would be all in black. I responded that Black was always my color.” 

  He couldn’t help but smile lopsidedly at the memory. “Aye, well as touching as all that is, Black is indeed your color, and mine, but so is white. And it just so happens that it’s the safest color to wear for what’s ahead of us.” His sister scolded him playfully. 

  They rode hard for what felt like hours, all in an attempt to beat the sunrise. All Aegon could do was tune into his connection with Ghost as they rode, hoping to glean any information that he could from Nymeria and the movements of her pack. 

  She was closer to Stannis than he was, of this he was certain, and he could feel Ghosts own excitement at the thought of being able to fight and hunt with his packmate. Though he still couldn’t get a bead on her exact location, nor what had taken her so long to come north. 

  Of what he did know, Nymeria’s pack was more than a hundred strong, and they moved like they had been trained in the art of hunting. 

  Over the time that they had been separated, Aegon was able to keep tabs on almost all of Ghosts littermates, so long as the Wall did not stand between him and them. And he knew that Nymeria and her pack of grey wolves were no stranger to the taste of human flesh, and as terrible as it seemed, this was exactly the kind of distraction that he was hoping for. 

  They stopped only once to let the horses drink from a stream and rest before they continued on and began their journey through the dense trees that made up the Wolfswood. The fighting would be thick, and many of their horses were likely to die in the process, which is why Aegon wanted to make sure that they were as hydrated and rested as possible before they crossed swords on two fronts. 

   It was while they were stopped that Lord Howland had found them, accompanied by a man that Aegon had never met before. He had just slipped from Ghosts mind when he heard Vallyria speaking candidly to a man dressed in black. At first he thought that someone from the Wall had come looking for him, but the moment he spotted the sword strapped to the strangers back, he knew that this stranger had come a long way. 

  As it turned out, this very selfsame stranger happened to be called Ser Gerold Dayne, a cousin to Ser Arthur. And even though he had never had the pleasure of being introduced to his father's best friend, Ser Gerold had a look about him that seemed almost familiar to him. 

  He held all the classic features of House Targaryen, the silver hair and the deep purple eyes. The only thing that was different was the deep black streak that shot through the front of his hair. Though people have described his father and grandmother as having soft features, Ser Gerold possessed a naturally cruel look to him. Though when he spoke, Aegon could tell that he was absolutely sincere in his words. 

  He hadn’t bothered asking how Ser Gerold had come to know his identity, it didn’t matter to him in the grand scheme of things. In fact, as soon as Winterfell was back in Stark hands, the rest of the Seven Kingdoms would be finding out about his hidden identity. 

  After introductions were made, and Aegon had picked up a sworn sword, they quickly mounted up and rode straight for the Wolfswood. Ghost and Shaggydog knew their heading and so, Aegon and Val, along with Ser Gerold, Tormund and all the rest put their heels into their mounts and followed both Direwolves into battle.

  |Sam the Slayer|

  “I’m not brave, I want to be—but I’m mostly just scared.” Sam found himself confessing as he followed Alleras and Pate through the lower levels of the Citadel. 

  “What we’re doing, doesn’t require you to be brave. We need only get the books out of the forbidden section before the Ironborn make it here.” Pate said, trying to calm Sam's wildly beating heart. 

  “But why would the Ironborn want to raid the Citadel? I’ve never known them to care about what the Maesters write in their books.”

  Pate sighed, “It's not the Ironborn who care, it’s their leader. He’s been busy since his exile, and the Citadel holds more than just books.”

  “H—how do you know about the Ironborn?” He might be scared, but he was not an idiot. 

  Pate paused and looked him up and down for just a moment. “I’ve been here for a while, and Lord Leyton has been preparing for their attack since before you showed up.” He sighed. “Are you going to help us get what we need or would you like me to grab some ink, parchment and a fresh quill so that you can start writing your first book?”

  Of course Sam knew that he was being facetious, but he was right. There was no time for him to stall them with his many questions.

   It was times like this that he missed Gilly the most. Whenever he was feeling self conscious, or scared, Gilly inspired him to be brave for her and for her boy. But Gilly was gone, across the Narrow Sea somewhere. . .

  That had been an accident too, when Marwyn departed, he took the same ship that Sam and Gilly sailed from Braavos on. Sam had been so enraptured with the Glass Candle, and meeting Alleras and Pate that by the time he remembered Gilly and Mance's son aboard the Cinnamon Wind, they had been gone almost a sennight. 

  Had he not sat in wait of the High Seneschal for so long, he would have definitely made it back to the Cinnamon Wind before they could be convinced to sail for Essos. But now, a part of him was glad that Gilly and little Aemon were far away from Oldtown. If for no other reason than the fact that he wouldn’t have to worry over her safety during an attack on the scholar's city.

  They hurried along the dark corridors of the great library, Sam scurrying behind them at as fast a pace as he could muster. 

  The three of them had all but emptied Archmaester Marwyn’s chambers of everything that Alleras claimed too important to leave behind and were currently headed for the restricted section that was only accessible if you possessed a specific key, which as it turned out, Pate claimed to have possession of. 

  Sam resolved himself to not judge the man for stealing from Archmaester Walgrave, especially because the old man wouldn’t be likely to live through the sack, and even if he did, he probably wouldn’t remember to look for it. 

  “This key is said to open every locked door inside the Citadel, but we won’t be searching behind  every single door.” Pate said as they made their way through the darkened passages. 

  “Then how will we know when we’ve found the right door?” Sam couldn't help but ask. 

  Alleras eyed him knowingly with his onyx colored eyes. “Trust me, you will know the door when we reach it.”

  All Sam could do was nod and follow along. The Citadel went deep into the earth, deeper than what he had originally believed, and high above them, the library was lined by shelves and iron links that were placed horizontally along the rows to keep the books in place in case the building came under attack or a natural disaster struck that could rock the foundations of the conclave. 

  Hanging from the ceiling was the largest astrolabe that Sam had ever seen, and there were shining mirrors placed at random all around the interior. Whenever the moonlight hit them, Sam thought that they looked like the stars that lit up the night sky, and briefly he wondered what constellation the Citadel had been so focused on.

  When they finally stopped, Sam stood before a large ironwood door that was locked in place by a crude looking iron lock that oddly matched the huge key that Pate had clutched tightly in his grip. 

  “Wh—what are you hoping is behind this door?” He asked, feeling his nerves start to fray. 

  “What brought you to the Citadel Samwell?” Pate returned. 

  “I was sent here by the Lord Commander to—to…”

  “To learn all you can about the Wight Walkers and how to defeat them. We know all about it, what do you think we were doing the day that you arrived? We were learning about your journey. Now come on, if we’re going to make it out of Oldtown before the Ironborn attack we have to hurry now.” Pate said exasperatedly. 

  The key fit into the lock and for a moment, Sam feared that it wouldn’t work, but soon after he could hear the sound of the locking mechanisms click as they slid into place, and then Pate was throwing his elbow into the door to get it to open. 

It took all three of them, and as the door swung inward on it's hinges, a thick layer of dust was swept up as the wood scraped against stone. Indicating to the three of them that the door hadn’t been opened in quite some time. 

  There was no doubt that this room held secrets that someone intended to keep locked away. And while the scholar inside him was itching to rush in beside Alleras and Pate to dig through the ancient treasure trove of written and hidden text, his father's voice echoed in his head, and his neck began to itch, remembering the way his father had mocked him for wanting to become a maester in the first place. 

  “Close the door Sam and grab one of those trolleys. We’re going to be taking quite a number of things with us.” Pate said from across the chamber. 

  Not knowing what else to do, Sam went in search of a cart that they could use to take their finds with them. “Um, out of curiosity…how do you suppose we will explain all of this if someone catches us?” He asked nervously once he returned. 

  Pate looked up to him with a serious expression on his face. “Leave that up to me, I’ll be going out first to make sure the path is clear. There will be a carriage outside of the main gate. When the hour chimes ten times. You both will walk out the front gates and load everything into the cart. From there we will travel to Horn Hill so that you can check in with your family and we can get proper provisions before we go north.” 

   Wait, they are going north with me?

  Pate's voice had somehow taken on a foreign lilt, similar to the way that the Braavosi would speak when he and Gilly had been stranded across the Narrow Sea. Rather than question him, Sam set about arranging the many books and scrolls that Alleras, and Pate were gathering. 

  “Sam, did you bring everything with you?” Alleras asked, just as he was approaching a table that held two more glass candles, similar to the one that had been inside Archmaester Marwyn’s chamber. 

  “Huh? I didn’t come with much. Just the things that Maester Aemon brought and this old horn—.”

  “Perfect, make sure you hold on to that horn.” Alleras said, cutting off his train of thought. 

  It took them some time to make sense of what was being kept here, but after a while, Sam realized that this room contained many books on religion and the Gods. Namely ancient gods from all across the known world, there were maps of Westeros; including maps of the North, far beyond the Wall.  There were maps of Essos, both pre and post Doom. 

  Scrolls which contained information on the worship of gods, and how to draw power from people's beliefs and sacrifices. A dread chill crossed over his spine at the implications, especially when he thought back to the Lady Melisandre, and how she was known to burn men alive to appease her god. 

  “Why do you suppose the Citadel would be interested in drawing power from hypothetical deity’s?” 

  Both Pate and Alleras turned to him with wide eyes. “What makes you ask?” They intoned at the same time. 

  “Well, there are a bunch of scrolls here…” Sam started. 

  “Sam, you are a genius. Help me load everything from this table onto the cart. And if there’s anything else you found worth saving, grab that too. It’s almost time to go.” Pate said, moving quickly about the chamber. 

  Sam did as he was bid, and before he secured everything that they were stealing, he went back and grabbed the remaining two glass candles from the chamber. On a shelf beside the candles he found a book that outlined the ways that Dragonglass can be used medically, and before he could think twice, Sam grabbed that too. 

  “Wait here for two minutes, then send Alleras out, then you follow behind him a few moments later. No matter what you see or hear, keep moving. If I don’t make it to the cart by the time it’s loaded, keep going and I will catch up with you.” Pate said one last time before he slipped through the heavy ironwood door. 

  His heart was hammering in his chest as he silently counted the passage of time, and then when he was sure he should go, Sam pulled the door open and peaked out into the empty corridor. After a moment, he emerged all of the way, pulling the cart behind him. 

  If I get caught what will I say? My father is going to kill me for sure if he hears that I helped two acolytes rob the Citadel. 

  He couldn’t stop himself from worrying as he moved along the hall toward the lift that would bring him to the ground floor. Alleras was already there waiting for him, his spear was at the ready and his Goldenheart bow was slung across his shoulder. 

  “Come now, the path is clear but it won’t be for much longer.” Alleras warned, just as a loud crash was heard from somewhere out beyond the walls of the Citadel.

  “What about Lord Leyton? I thought that he was working on a plan to defeat the Ironborn.” Sam stuttered. 

  “He is, or was. But not one coming from within the city. He thought that their longships would come from the port.” Alleras said, helping him to pull the cart faster. 

  Outside, he could hear the screaming of men and women as projectiles sailed from the sky.  And the timepiece was busy tolling the hour. Maesters cloaked in their grey robes scurried from one building to the next, paying little attention to the two of them. 

  “Hurry Sam the Slayer. The Ironborn come, and soon the port will bleed red.” Alleras warned. 

 Sam did as he was told, and together they loaded the contents of the cart into the wagon and Alleras hopped into the back, retrieving her bow in the process.

  “What about Pate and Leo? Wha—what about the things we brought from Marwyn’s tower?”

  “Come on Sam, everything is already here. We need to go, and you need to drive the wagon.” Alleras warned. 

  After that, everything happened quickly. The bells of the Citadel started to toll, and all around him he could hear the city coming to life. They took the river road toward the cobbled bridge that would carry them over the Honeywine. In the distance he could see that there were longships closing in around the mouth of the Whispering Sound. Near the mouth of the port, he could see fires burning, and sailing down the river were more than a score of longboats that the Ironborn must have used to sneak into the city. 

  The city watch was so busy rushing toward the port, that they failed to notice the Ravenry go up in flames. He could only hope that Pate made it out of there before the attack came. Alleras kept a keen eye on the road for anyone who might try to stop them, but with all the chaos, they hardly looked out of place amidst all the people running about in terror. The hardest part was making it through the gate nearest the Starry Sept, due to the sheer number of people who had gathered there to pray. 

  The moon was high in the sky by the time they passed through the gates and Sam finally breathed out a sigh of relief. Even though Pate had yet to make his appearance, he couldn't help but to be thankful that they had managed to escape the chaos for the most part. 

  “Keep up the pace for a while longer, once the stone walls are out of sight, we will slow down and find a place to take shelter.” Alleras instructed, putting his bow away at last. 

  There were so many questions he wanted to ask but he just didn’t know where to start. 

  Why do they call you Sphinx? When did you decide to go north with me? 

  How did you know about the horn? 

  What was the deal with Pate and why was he acting so strange? 

  Why did they need the things that were locked inside that room? 

  But he asked none of those questions. Instead he pulled his own sack of belongings closer and he urged the horses onward.

|Aegon|

  They rode hard, following the path that Ghost and Shaggy led them down for another hour or more, and then they broke into two groups as they had planned. The bulk of their group would ride for the Crofters Village while a small portion would ride for the moors outside Winterfell. There was little doubt that some would flee the battle and seek shelter behind Winterfell’s double walls. 

   Not if I have anything to say about it. They will have to make it out of the Wolfswood first… Aegon chuckled darkly to himself, imagining Nymeria and her pack hunting Bolton loyalists. 

  “Something amuses you, my King?” Darkstar asked from beside him. 

  Aegon nodded. “Aye, I was just thinking about the hunt.”

  His sworn sword looked confused. “The hunt?”

  He couldn’t stop the beastial smile that formed on his face. “Aye, the hunt. What happens when men realize that they are outnumbered and have no chance at winning?”

  “They throw down their arms and surrender, or they flee and regroup.” Darkstar replied without a moment's hesitation. 

   Aegon nodded his agreement. “And what do wolves do when there is prey to be found?”

  Realization passed over his face in an instant and he shook his head. “I see, and would it be too bold of me to inquire why this excites you?”

  Aegon thought about his question for a moment and then he turned to Vallyria who was riding at his other side. When she noticed him, she merely nodded. Turning back to Darkstar he fixed him with a hard stare, “I am a warg. Assuming that you’ve spent your life in Dorne, you likely have never met someone with my abilities. But to be brief, I have the ability to share the skin of my wolf, who in turn has the ability to connect to the rest of his pack through a hive link. I cannot control the rest of his pack, but he has the ability to communicate to the whole, and I have the ability to connect through his alpha bond.”

  If his confession had shocked Ser Gerold, he didn’t let on at all. “This is good to know. If I’m to guard your back, tis’ best that there are no secrets between the two of us. I also have many things to share with you, though I suspect that we will have more time once the fighting is done.”

  Aegon nodded his agreement. “Indeed…” 

  “We’re close.” Vallyria announced. 

  How she could know this, Aegon couldn’t explain, but his twin had a keen sense of direction and she was a skilled tracker. Silently, Aegon motioned back toward the men and women following him and gave the signal for them to split up in favor of their assigned rallying points. 

  “The battle will already be engaged when we arrive. You all have your orders. Any Northman who does not take up arms against you is an ally as Lady Maege has informed you. Do not be surprised to see people turn their cloaks amidst the fighting.”

  Behind him, his men and women called back a resounding “Aye!” and Shaggydog called out a long howl before darting off into the trees.

  After the wolves, Borroq sent his boar and then Wun Wun took off on his own, yelling a battle cry in the Old Tongue that drove the Free Folk forward as one. Aegon unsheathed Longclaw and looked over to his twin, who held her staff and bow strapped to her back and a short sword fixed at her hip. To the other side of him, Darkstar fixed him with a hard stare and nodded. 

  “I wish you all good fortune.” Aegon said, kicking his heels into his mount, and then they were racing through the thick brush and following the tracks that Shaggy and Ghost had left behind. 

  Though he was not actively sharing Ghosts skin, he could sense everything, as if they were side by side. An added benefit of their three days connected to one another. In the distance he could hear the sound of steel clashing against steel. Men calling out battle cries and men screaming in agony. He could only push his mount harder in hopes of reaching Stannis’ camp in time. 

  He saw the pack first, grey, black, and brown blurs, darting in and out of the trees. Men were scattered all around, some still mounted, others on foot. Amidst the chaos, Aegon focused with acute hunger on finding the Bastard who dared to claim his home and his sister. Even though the girl he had been parading around Winterfell was no more than Jeyne Poole, the fact that Ramsay had ever thought to attach himself to her at all, even in name, was enough of a reason to hunt that bastard down and feed him his own heart. 

  The first man to take aim at him fell to one of Vallyria’s arrows, the second fell to his sword. All the while, the wolves were busy ripping men to shreds. He had known for quite some time of their numbers, yet seeing them here, in front of him, was more than he was prepared for. They moved with purpose, as if someone controlled them the way a marionette would control their dolls. And though he knew the timing wasn’t ideal, he did his best to search for grey fur and golden eyes. 

  At some point, Aegon was forced to flee his saddle in favor of his own two feet. The Lady Mormont and Lord Glover had  long since taken to foot, and were currently leading a group of men toward the break in the tree line that would open up into the clearing where Stannis was encamped. 

  A man wearing the sigil of House Stout came barreling through the trees, his sword raised high. Aegon had just enough time to sidestep and parry his blade, before his assailant was upon him once more. Everything slowed down at once, and his wolves' senses began to kick in. The look in this man’s eyes was the look of a person who was fighting because he had to. These things were true for many of the men who had come with the Bolton bastard, no doubt. Still, he had a choice to switch sides. And yet he had chosen to raise arms against House Baratheon and the Northmen who were fighting with him until Aegon and his company could arrive. 

  When his opponent went high, Aegon sidestepped and blocked on the downswing, throwing the Stout man-at-arms off balance. He used his momentum to kick his knees out from beneath him, before he slid his blade across the back of his knees. The man screamed out in pain, but Aegon quickly ended his agony when he drove Longclaw through the back of his neck. 

  A quick look around, revealed Darkstar close by, dispatching two men who were dressed all in black with the standard of House Bolton stitched into their surcoats. Val was somewhere concealed from view, no doubt. The white that she wore, did wonders to blend her into the snowy landscape. He didn’t wait for either as he moved through the trees, intent on finding the bastard who was commanding these men.

  The sound of cracking ice and screaming men and horses crying out in panic could be heard coming somewhere from the southern side of the camp, and Aegon was sure that another charge of men and horses were making their way from the south eastern direction of the Wolfswood. 

  When he finally broke through the treeline, the whole camp was laid out in front of him. The snow had been trampled over so much that it was hard packed, and was streaked black where the first charge of horses had ripped through the snow packed earth. Everywhere, men were laying upon the ground, some having clearly been the first to fall, their bodies having been ridden over by the next wave of mounted men. 

  The camp had been prepared from what Aegon could see. There were trenches dug around the small huts that were once used to store supplies and tools used to tend the earth and fields. A flash of grey had him spinning on his feet as he searched through the masses of men fighting all around him, all in the hopes of spotting Nymeria.

  There were clearly two large lakes that sat to the south and north of the village and from what he could make out, Stannis had weakened the ice, hoping that some of the Bolton men would cross it, thinking that they could reach him sooner. 

  He could faintly make out the colors of crimson and gold off to the Western edge of the encampment, and then another wave of men rushed in from the opposite side of him. Most of whom wore no sigil and carried no banner. 

  Northern men and women were locked in battle against one another, and all around him the huts were slowly being engulfed by flames. Something about the scene reminded him of the battle beneath the Wall, of the uncaring nature of the flames that consumed most of the wooden structures that had housed himself and his Brothers. Of the red-orange glare that shimmered off the patches of blue ice, as the Wall broke and defended itself from those who thought to conquer it. 

  Two men dressed in dark clothing rounded the corner and eyed him suspiciously. Aegon tensed, preparing for the attack that he knew was coming. “Lay down your arms and I’ll accept your surrender.” He said, testing their loyalty to the one who commanded them, or better yet, their resolve to die.

  The two men shared a look between themselves and then turned back to him with a sneer on their lips. “Ramsay ain’t said nothing about surrender, nor nothing about mercy.”

  Aegon smiled wolfishly, knowing that these two were Bolton men. “I was hoping you would say that. Care to point me in the direction of the bastard?” He asked mockingly, raising Longclaw into position before he summoned them forward. 

  The first man lunged for him in a sloppy manner and Aegon crossed swords with him, steel clashing briefly before he spun out of the path of the next blow coming from his right side. Both men engaged him simultaneously. 

  Longclaw once more met the steel of his enemies blade, sending sparks spraying as Valyrian steel sang along the edge of the common steel of his opponents sword. Eyes going wide in shock, Aegon used his distraction to drive the pommel of his sword into his enemies jaw, catching the grip of the other sword in time to disarm him. 

  Darkstar appeared out of thin air and quickly ended the man before he could plead for his life. But Aegon was already moving, back in the direction of the first attacker who had just regained his footing. 

  This time Aegon was the first to strike, holding Longclaw with both hands to gain better control, he pressed his opponent backward, hoping to get a better idea of his fighting style. The man was strong, but he had no actual style and it was obvious that he was simply stalling. 

   For what? 

  The sound of steel clashing against steel could be heard all around him, but time had once again slowed as Aegon assessed his opponent one last time. He is winded. . . he depends on his strength, but his footwork is sloppy. His arms are thick but he’s not overly muscular. He likely prefers a bow over the sword. . . When the next blow came he crouched low and brought Longclaw upward spinning so that he could ram his elbow into the face of his foe. After that the wolves were on him and he was free to survey the scene. 

  From somewhere behind him, a low horn was being blown. A signal. And then, a cold prickle traveled down his spine. Ravens cawed madly overhead, “ Tree. . . tree. . . tree. . .” and when he turned, a woman was crossing swords with a man that Aegon recognized from the Wall. Ser Richard Horpe, if his memory served him correctly. 

  The girl was small, but lithe, and she wielded two swords as if they were mere extensions of her arms. Dancing back and forth on the balls of her feet, as fluidly as calm water. Aegon started forward on impulse but was distracted when another man came running at him, this one clearly one of Stannis men. 

  All around, those who could flee, were running back into the trees. No doubt answering the call of the horn that had signaled moments before. Somehow, he knew that Ramsay was among those who were trying to make their escape. All thoughts he’d had of that girl fled him as he focused his attention back on the man who was coming for him.

    It wasn’t Arya. She’s not among Stannis’ camp. 

  His heart was thudding in his chest and his blood lust was growing as the moments ticked by and before he knew it, he was cutting down any man who crossed his path. Longclaw cleaving through flesh and bone as he pushed himself back towards the Wolfswood in search of the Bolton bastard. 

   “Calm yourself young dragon. Your enemy cannot go far. I can track him for you if you prefer.” Cannibal's thoughts brushed against his mind.

  Aegon reached for Ghost before he replied. “I prefer the hunt, but thank you. Tell me, can you see Winterfell from your position?”

  “We can see much and more, what is it you wish to know?” 

   “What is happening in the castle or beyond it's gates? How many men are still inside the castle?” Aegon asked, wondering what he was running toward. 

  Flashes of images from high above passed through his mind. People milling about, cages hanging above the inner courtyard. The Flayed Man flying proudly above the battlements. The bulk of the Bolton force was still inside the castle. Shit! The hunt would be long, and the Bastard no doubt had started back before the horn was signaled.

   Vallyria found him and Darkstar a short time later, moving through the woods, Ghost at her side. “I thought you two would appreciate having your mounts back. What is the plan?” She asked, handing over their abandoned mounts from earlier. 

  Aegon addressed them both, “We hunt the stragglers and we find Ramsay before he makes it out of the Wolfswood. Kill any man who refuses to surrender, but if you have a chance to question them first, do so.” 

  Turning back toward his twin he added; “I want you to ride back to Stannis’ camp and tell everyone that Roose Bolton has kept the majority of his strength in Winterfell. We have a fight, a real fight ahead of us, so stay with Lady Maege and Lord Galbart and help to organize the Free Folk so that you can ride for Winterfell.”

  Val nodded, “What about you?”

  “I’ll have Ghost and Darkstar, not to mention that the pack is scattered.” Val looked at him strangely then, but Aegon brushed it off. “Tormund and the others should be able to find me, as well as the Red Woman, if all else fails.”

  His twin didn’t look pleased, but she knew that this was something that he would not budge on. She turned to Darkstar, “Stay close to my brother, or so help me I will bring Winter to Dorne. Sword of the Evening or not, I’m sure I would have no issue convincing Cannibal to eat you.” 

  Darkstar merely grinned stupidly at the threat, and for a moment Aegon thought to knock a tooth or three from his jaw, but thought better of it. They were likely close from her many years posing as his blooded kin.

  “Stay safe Aegon, and don’t underestimate your enemy.” Vallyria warned and he could see that parting with him, even though it wouldn’t be for long, was costing her. 

  “I will see you soon. If you get impatient, follow the wolves and they will lead you to me.” He said as a way to convince her that all would be well. 

|A Man|

  A man watched as Arya Stark darted off into the forest, unsure of whether or not he should follow. Something was going on, her brother Jon, who until this moment, was believed dead is not. Which meant that another name had been taken back from the God of death. And yet a man had not felt the imbalance ripple back. 

  Her other companions watched her go, like him, they too were unsure of whether or not to follow. “A man will go and bring her back.” He said, heading off in the same direction. 

  He hadn’t had to go far before he found Arya leaning against a tree, chest heaving. “I thought that a girl was going to find her brother?”

  When she finally looked up, her eyes were red and puffy and she was clutching at her arm. “I am just waiting on Nymeria to come.” She said defiantly. 

  “A girl is bleeding.” 

  “I’ll be fine. It’s only a flesh wound.” She said resolutely, as if her denial would make the wound less substantial. 

  “A man has no doubt. Still, these woods are quite vast and I’m sure that it would be easy enough to have a girls Direwolf track her brother?” He said, attempting to convince her to come back to the camp and help put things to rights. 

  Arya nodded, “What if it’s not true? Or worse, what if it is, and he’s like Lady Stoneheart?” The panic that she was feeling was rolling off of her in waves.

  “A girl does not have to think about this right now. A man will be here to help her no matter what, but if he is here, a girl will be reunited with him.” He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to protect and comfort a girl as he did, but there was a part of him that felt a kinship to her. 

  “Can’t we just continue on together? The others will catch up.” She asked him weakly. 

  “A girl can do as she wishes, but there are people back there who can tell a girl what she wants to know, a man suspects.”

  A twig snapped from behind them and he turned quickly, unsheathing his sword as he did so, only to be struck dumb by the image of the woman who stood before him, clutching the reigns of a silver-white mare with deep grey spots on her hindflanks. 

  The woman assessed Arya curiously for just a moment before answering. “I saw you during the fighting. You killed a man who was coming for my blindspot.” Arya said, moving away from the tree, toward this girl who was having a strange effect on him. 

  “You look like someone who I happen to care for. It seemed like the Old Gods wanted you to live.” The mystery woman said, speaking for the first time. 

  Her hair was a darker shade of blonde, more of a honey color, but in this lighting it looked almost silver. She wore it braided, and a man could tell that it was long when, and if, she wore it down, but that was not what had him so stunned. 

  She reminded him of things that a man had not thought about for many years. . . Things that a man was still trying to work out for himself. . . Things that perhaps, a man should have considered long ago. 

  “You know my brother, don’t you? Everyone said that we were the only two that look like our father. Is he here? My name is Arya Stark, does he know that I am here? Can you help me find him?” Arya pled desperately. 

  For a moment the woman looked at Arya Stark with pain in her eyes, but then she straightened her shoulders. “If you are looking for Jon Snow, I do know him. But I’m sorry, he isn’t with me.”

  Jaqen watched as Arya took a step back and for a moment he thought she was reconsidering whether or not she would still be returning with him. 

  The woman spoke again. “My name is Val, and I was just going back to rally the men and women. If you want to find Jon Snow, he is riding for Winterfell in search of Ramsay Bolton. There’s another army encamped inside your ancestral home, and the men sent here were only a few in comparison to what was kept behind. He’s expecting us to meet him there, where the other portion of our host is waiting.” 

  “Winterfell is a three day ride from here, at least.” Arya said, shaking herself from her melancholy. 

  “Which means we don’t have much time. Ae-Jon will be in need of us, and if you’ve come to help, any men that you could join to his strength would be greatly appreciated.” The woman Val, said. But a man did not miss the way that she said the name of Arya Stark’s brother, nor did he miss the fact that her name was quite similar to a name that a man was quite fond of in his first life. 

  “A man will show you both the way and give you a moment to get to know one another. It seems as if you both have much and more to speak of.” Jaqen said, moving to put space between himself and these two reminders of a past he had long abandoned hope of.

|Aegon|

  The hunt went on for the better part of two days. By which point, much of Nymeria’s pack had caught up to him, as well as Shaggydog, Wun Wun, and Borroq’s boar. Though the latter stayed far enough away from the pack to be heard but not seen. Wun Wun continued on through the Wolfswood, toward the reinforcements that he had sent ahead of their party, but he had yet to make contact with Nymeria which he had found disconcerting. 

  They had found quite a number of men who were attempting to flee back to the safety of Winterfell, but none had seen the Bolton bastard since before the fighting. They did however find the man who had blown the horn, though he claimed that he was given the horn on the morning of the attack and told to stay inside the woods and to sound the alarm if it appeared that they would lose the advantage of their surprise attack. The man had claimed that he thought that Ramsay had been among those who were looking for Stannis, and if he hadn’t been found yet, he was likely among the dead from the skirmish at the Crofters Village. 

  Aegon doubted that very much. Melisandre would have warned him by now, and Ghost's instincts were never wrong. There was a predator, completely different from himself and the wolves, hunting inside these woods. And against everything in him urging him to continue the hunt, Aegon knew he could not. He had to make his way toward Winterfell. 

  Over the days that followed the skirmish in the Crofters Village, Aegon and Darkstar got more familiar with one another. Whenever they came across a man who had been trying to retreat back to the castle, Aegon noticed that they were of the same mind. Never once did Darkstar flinch whenever they were forced to get creative with a captive, and he could not deny how comforting it was at not having to hide his inner wolf. 

  Ghost and Shaggydog took their turns staying close by while the other scouted ahead. The rest of the Wolfpack gave them a wide berth but their calls back and forth let him know that they were close, though the closest that he had come to Nymeria was the occasional howl that would sound from far off, and Aegon couldn't help but wonder what was keeping her away. 

  On the evening of the second day, they had reached the outskirts of the Wolfswood and he could see that the scenery had changed from the last time that Cannibal had shared images of Winterfell with him. 

  Out in front of him, large X’s marked the moorland, which Aegon knew were meant to determine the firing distance of the Bolton archers. Wun Wun had already arrived, and so had a good portion of Northmen who were currently standing beside Lady Maege and Lord Galbart. Val however, was nowhere to be seen and Aegon felt himself start to panic. 

  As he made his way through the camp, men and women watched him with expectant eyes, and he couldn’t help but wonder what he’d missed during the hunt. Between him and Gerold, he was certain that they looked frightening. Yet when he finally made his way over, he also found Tormund and Melisandre standing beside a large fire in the center of the camp. 

  “Your Grace, we are glad that you’ve made it.” Melisandre greeted him first. When Tormund met his gaze he furrowed his brows in confusion. 

  Aegon shook it off. “Has anyone sent a messenger to Lord Bolton to make terms?” He wanted to get this over with. 

  Lady Maege nodded. “Most of us rode hard to get here after your sister arrived with your orders. We sent back a Manderly man-at-arms who was sent with Roose Bolton’s bastard. Though he is loyal to the cause.” 

  Aegon raised a brow. “Most of you?”

  Tormund chose this moment to speak, stepping into his field of sight. “Them wolves you've been talking about brought another army with them. We thought it would be better if they stayed out of the negotiations. Gives us the added benefit of surprise.” He glanced back and forth between Lord Galbart and Melisandre as he said this. 

  “Where’s Val at then, if she made it back to you. I’d very much like to see her?” He didn’t understand what would keep her from being here when he arrived. 

  “Your sister remained with the other group, she said that she would lead them.” Melisandre said, cutting in. 

  For some reason, Aegon felt like they were all keeping something from him. “And what did the Lord of the Dreadfort have to say?” He asked instead of voicing his suspicions. 

  “We will meet under a white flag at first light.” Lady Maege confirmed. 

  “Very well. . . And Stannis?”

  “Dead.”Melisandre confirmed. 

  “By whose order or hand?” Aegon asked.

  Melisandre cleared her throat and then spoke in a slow tone. “Someone who rode from the south. I am sure you will meet her tomorrow.” 

  “Her?” Aegon clarified. Could it be the same girl whom he had seen when he was amidst the chaos?

  Melisandre nodded, but it was the Lady Maege who elaborated. “Aye, a woman as big as the Greatjon and a Stormlander at that. She took his head beneath the Weirwood, back at the village. Stannis even admitted his guilt, so we thought it best to not deny her the right to swing the sword. There were some hostages there as well, we brought them with us. Thought maybe we could use them tomorrow during the parlay.”

  “A Karstark, I’d wager. I wrote to Stannis of Lord Arnolf’s duplicity. Who else did he have as his hostage?” Aegon asked, almost dismissively.

  “Theon Greyjoy.” Came the grim reply of Lord Galbart. 

  Aegon snapped his attention to the Lord of Deepwood Motte. “Theon Greyjoy?”

  “Aye, and his sister too.” Lord Galbart added. 

  “Where is he?” Aegon wanted to look the man who had betrayed his brother in the eyes and hear for himself what reason he thought could justify his betrayal. He wanted to repay every hurt that Rickon had ever experienced in the same manner. 

  A timid voice shattered his seething. “He’s not the same, mi’Lord.” The meek tone of Jeyne Poole reminded him once more of the demands he’d received before the mutiny.

  “ I want my bride back. I want the false king's queen. I want his daughter and his red witch. I want his wildling princess. I want his little prince, the wildling babe. And I want my Reek. Send them to me, bastard, and I will not trouble you or your black crows. Keep them from me, and I will cut out your bastard's heart and eat it.”

 Aegon’s jaw clenched as he turned to face the girl he had brought back with him, only pausing to address Lady Mormont. He had nearly everything that had been demanded of him. “Send another messenger under a white banner. I want to speak with Lord Bolton tonight.” He said, nearly growling. 

  Turning back to Jeyne Poole, he added; “Come with me. I want to hear more about Ramsay and how things were inside the castle, before you escaped. I would also like to hear more about Theon and why it is you think I shouldn’t kill him here and now for betraying Robb.”

  Jeyne nodded. “Yes, mi’Lord.”

  “Send a runner, and let me know when it is time to go. I will be in my tent.” He said, glancing around.

  “It’s this way, your Grace.” Melisandre said, leading himself, Ser Gerold and Jeyne Poole toward a large tent that had been set up for him and their war councils. 

  Two hours later, Aegon found himself standing outside of a tent that was being guarded on all sides by a group of Thenns. The Lords Glover, Wull, Norrey, as well as Lady Maege all stood behind him. Darkstar stood at his left and Ghost at his right. 

  “Are you sure you want to expose them so soon? Surely the Northern lords would be more satisfied if you chose to execute Theon the Turncloak.” Lord Galbart counseled. 

  “No one, will be executing Theon Greyjoy. Not until I have the answers that I require from him. Something obviously happened to make my brothers flee their home, but Theon did not become the way he is on his own. Besides, he has value as long as he lives. Ramsay is quite obsessed with his play toy, and seeing him as our honored guest, along with his legal wife, will only serve to get under his skin and make him act out.” Before anyone could protest, Aegon turned and swept aside the tent flap, revealing two people. One clearly female, the other he hardly recognized.

  There was little left of the man who had once done everything within his power to remind Jon Snow of his place in Winterfell, and by extension, his place in the world. And even though he wanted nothing more than to rip out Theon’s throat and allow Shaggydog and Ghost to feast on his flesh, Aegon knew that his vengeance would have no choice but to wait a bit longer. 

  The man who was once Theon, shrunk back the moment Aegon entered and he caught sight of him. The woman, whom he could only assume was Asha Greyjoy, quickly moved to block Theon from his view. Her eyes narrowed on him immediately. “I won’t allow you to harm him. He’s suffered enough. I know he made bad decisions, but he didn’t deserve what that beast did to him.” 

  If they would have allowed her a weapon, Aegon was sure she would have tried to gut him. Beside him, Ghost bristled and Aegon was forced to place a calming hand on his back. 

  “Lady Asha, I have not come to resume Theons torture, but I think that it’s fair that you are reminded that Theon’s fate is not yours to decide.” He began. 

  The female kraken did not seem phased at all. “He saved your sister, surely that counts for something!” She nearly spat. 

  Aegon snorted. “He did no such thing, and he knows this. Regardless of all that, that is not the reason I’ve come. I’m going to treat with Roose Bolton , and I mean to take Theon and Jeyne with me.” He explained.

  “Not Theon, I must remember who I am. Reek, Reek, it rhymes with meek.” Theon muttered under his breath, just loud enough that Ghosts superb hearing picked up on it, and as such, so did Aegon. As he spoke, he seemed to shrink even further into himself. 

  His sister noticed and once more moved in front of him, as if to protect him. “Let me go with him. I won’t say a thing, I swear. Please—just let me go with him.” Asha said, standing to her feet.

  There was a spiteful part of him that wanted to deny her, but there was another part of him that understood where Asha Greyjoy’s mind was in this moment. “Very well, but you will remain quiet, and you will keep Theon in hand. And if you try anything at all, I will give you both to the Thenns.”

  He could see Lady Maege and Lord Galbart bristle beside him, but he chose not to remark. Asha nodded, and then Aegon turned on his heels and left the tent. 

  “I wish Vallyria were here. I don’t like the idea of her not being at my side.” He grumbled as he made his way to his horse. 

  Darkstar lengthened his stride so that they were shoulder to shoulder. “Your sister was raised in Dorne. She knows how to protect herself. You needn’t worry for her safety.” He said, attempting to calm him. 

  Truthfully, he wasn’t worried for her safety, he just didn’t like how out of control he felt when she was not near. “That might be true, but she’s also a free woman who has seen the real enemy. And—she’s all that I have of my mother. It calms the beast to have her at my side.” He found himself confessing.

  “My apologies, Your Grace. I meant no—”

  “Please, Aegon is fine. And there’s no need to apologize. It’s just that, I feel like there’s an inferno that rages inside of me. . . Ever since I came back. Vallyria helps to remind me to be the man and not the beast.” He explained. 

  The two of them had spent the last days discussing what they could as they went about their hunt. The mutiny and his subsequent resurrection was among the many topics discussed. So when he brought the subject up this time, Darkstar merely nodded his understanding. 

  They met the Lord of the Dreadfort midway, between both camps. With him came the widow of Barrowtown; Lady Barbrey Dustin, as well as a handful of men-at-arms from Houses Locke, and Hornwood. Though the Lady Hornwood herself had been lost during the Ironborn raids on the north. The bastard that he had been hunting was also there, seated beside his father. 

  Ghost’s upper lip curled back in a silent snarl, and from the Wolfswood, a chorus of howls could be heard giving voice to his wolf's silent rage. 

  Roose Bolton glared at him with cold and almost dead, pale blue eyes, and Aegon found himself wondering how Robb could have ever placed his trust in this man. Even his uncle had never allowed Roose Bolton into Winterfell on the rare occasion that they were forced to meet. He had always done so beyond the double walls of his ancestral home. 

  “I see that you’ve returned the Lady Arya and my sons play thing. Should I expect that you’ve also come to bend the knee?” Roose began. 

  Aegon suppressed the indignant breath he wanted to take. The fact that he was hoping to keep up his charade in front of those present was astounding to him. “Aye, I’ve brought Theon Greyjoy along. As for the Lady Arya, you and I both know that this girl shares no blood relation to the late Lord Eddard Stark. Which also means that your so-called claim on Winterfell is non-existent.”

  Behind Roose, the bastard bristled. “Winterfell belongs to House Bolton, by decree of His Grace, King Tommen of House Baratheon.”

  “Ah, another bastard with no claim to the throne that he sits. Please correct me if I’m mistaken, but did the North not declare their independence from the Iron Throne after Joffrey beheaded Lord Eddard? Did the North not declare my brother, Robb of House Stark the King in the North? The same king who you bent the knee to and then committed treason against?” Aegon said, goading the Bolton bastard. 

  Roose however, did not take the bait. “Speaking of broken oaths and treason, dismount and swear me your fealty and I shall pardon you and these traitorous Lords for your crimes. I’ll even allow you to return to your post with your head still attached to your shoulders.”

  Darkstar reached for the pommel of Dawn and Ghost took a step forward, jaws snapping with indignation, but Aegon reached out and stilled his hand. He needed answers, and it seemed as if they were in a place where answers would be more forthcoming. 

  Movement from the men who had come with Roose Bolton caught his attention and he caught a glimpse of a face that he hadn’t expected to see among the Bolton party. A quick glance around proved that he wasn’t the only one either. 

  He thought of Theon and Jeyne Poole, the letter he had received at the wall, and the reason he had been determined to ride south in the first place and he knew immediately what he would ask next. 

  “Where is Mance and the six spearwives that came with him?”

  For a moment, both Bolton men looked at him as if they had no clue as to what he was speaking of, but then Roose straightened his shoulders. “Dead, just as the rest of you will be, come morning if you don’t dismount and bend the knee.”

  Aegon chuckled, lies. He had nothing to do with the pink letter, which only meant that they had someone on the inside of Winterfell manipulating things. “I regret to inform you that we will not be bending the knee. The North has passed judgment, and they find you both lacking. We need not kill innocent men and women on the morrow. We can settle this the Old Way. You against me.” 

  Roose scoffed. “The false King is dead, taken out by a handful of my son's best men. You have a handful of the numbers that sit outside Winterfell, ready to prove their allegiance to me and my House. What’s more, you fight next to wildling savages, and the entire north knows that they lack the discipline to form a proper army. If we did things your way, I might win. But there’s greater odds that your wolf or one of your companions would interfere. No, I think not.” 

  Aegon nodded. “Very well, we shall see you on the battlefield at Dawn. I wish you and yours good fortune.” He nodded once to his men and then turned his mount around. 

  About forty feet away he heard Ramsay call back. “I saw that blonde in the Wolfswood. It will be nice to get her inside Winterfell on the morrow, once I’ve skinned you and mounted your head on the walls. Her and that brunette that she was traveling with.”

  Aegon stilled as he saw the hackles on Ghosts back rise. “Don’t turn around, your Grace. You got under his skin, and he’s trying to do the same to you.” Darkstar cautioned. 

  “Come Ghost. Tomorrow we will remove both of them from the realm of the living.” Aegon said, kicking his heels into his mount. 

  They spent the next two hours going over battle plans and strategy. There were around three thousand men waiting just inside the Wolfswood, and Aegon himself had almost three thousand Free Folk and Northmen at his back. Together their numbers could work, they just needed to be smart about things. 

  He sent Wun Wun to fell some trees that he could use as spears and lances. His size and strength alone would make distance irrelevant. Lady Maege and Lord Galbart gave their word that many people who were positioned outside of Winterfell would be loyal once the fighting began and not to worry about it.

  But Aegon was worried about it. He was worried about Val and where she was when Ramsay had seen her. He wondered if there were people near her that would gladly give her into that bastard’s care.

  From Ghost and Shaggydog, he would explore the hive link and have the pack surround the battlefield on all sides. From the Free Folk, Tormund and Sigorn would be gathering a group of men who would use the cover of darkness to get as close to Winterfell’s Walls and scale them. Their objective would be to locate Mance and open the castle from within. 

  Asha shared as much as she could in regards to Theon’s daring capture of his family's ancient stronghold, in hopes that he would take pity on her brother. Yet it wasn’t him that she needed to worry about. Rickon had yet to let go of his trauma and he doubted very much that his little wolf would be so quick to forgive the man who upended his whole life. Lastly, he had ordered a parameter set up around their camp, just in case the Bolton’s tried to sneak in.  

  After everyone departed, Melisandre remained. “What words would you impart on me, my Lady?”

  She watched him for a moment with her ruby red gaze, her eyes were almost the exact color of Ghosts. “I’ve been wrong many times, but I believe you already know what awaits you in Winterfell on the morrow, Your Grace.”

  He wasn't sure what to make of that. “Is there something that you aren’t sharing?”

  “I have been wrong many times, your Grace. I am trying to do better with this.” She said, turning back toward the flames. 

  “If I fall tomorrow…”

  “You will not. You have seen yourself walk through Winterfell before. I have seen this much as well. But you must stay focused, and rely on your wolf to guide you. You will both be hunting a monster on the morrow, do not allow yourself to be distracted.” Melisandre concluded. 

  Aegon grunted, still feeling like there was more to all of this, but he decided to let it go. She was right on two things, he had in fact dreamed many times of walking through an empty Winterfell. And more importantly, he couldn’t afford to be distracted. 

  The two of them spoke for a little bit longer before she excused herself in order to observe the flames, and Aegon settled himself onto his cot. Dawn was still a few hours away, and that allowed him some time to connect with his weyr and to link up with Ghost. His pillow was thin, but he’d slept with fewer comforts, this one would be fine for the time being. Only, as he reached beneath it to settle himself, a piece of parchment scratched against his hand. 

  Sitting up, he quickly opened the parchment, and in the same scrawl as the letter that was sent to him at the Wall, the words read; The North Remembers. Winterfell is yours, Your Grace.

Chapter Text

|Mance|

  “They are a threat to our hold over the north. And with us having lost that girl and your plaything, we can’t rely on those who swore fealty to us to protect “ Neds little girl.” The only reason they stay is from fear, and even that is fleeting due to your blunders at the Crofters village.” Roose Bolton seethed, as he paced back and forth in his solar, safely behind the walls of Winterfell once more. 

  “They would never follow Ned Stark's bastard.” Ramsay replied, almost flippantly. 

  Roose Bolton gave his son an incredulous stare. “Need I remind you of the circumstances of your birth? They are more likely to follow a bastard with Ned Stark's blood, than they would be to follow a bastard who was legitimized by another bastard. Especially one with an actual blood claim to this castle you’re sitting in, or have you seemingly forgotten this as well?”

  His father's words had hit a nerve and the bastard clenched his fork in his fist. “Let me take a group of men into his camp, under the cover of darkness. We can release their horses, and cause a bit of chaos, destabilize their plans.”

  “And be eaten by a Direwolf that makes Robb Stark's look like a mere pup? You really are hopeless. Let us hope that this babe Lady Walda is carrying is a boy.” He paused, turning back to the table where a map of the North was laid out, missing the scathing look that his son pinned him with. “You and your men have already done enough to hurt our cause. And considering the way you mishandled the Greyjoy heir and your bride, you’ve essentially cost us everything. We will be lucky, if come morning those who’ve remained loyal this far, haven’t deserted in favor of Ned Stark’s bastard.”

  He did his best to stay as far removed as possible from the father-son duo. After Holly, Frenya and the others had sacrificed themselves to rescue the imposter Stark girl and the turncloak, he had taken it upon himself to remove his glamour and dress in the clothing of one of Roose Bolton’s loyalists. The castle had been so busy in the weeks following the great escape and the snow storm that made their mission achievable, that Mance had been able to fill the role of a random guard, without Roose or the others realizing that he didn’t belong among them. In fact no one, aside from the men at the Wall and the freefolk knew his true identity. 

  Now here he stood, guarding the door, while also gathering as much intel as possible, so when the time came to put things to rights, the North would be prepared. 

  There was something remarkably different about Jon Snow though. There was a restless energy that radiated off of him, and Mance couldn’t pinpoint what it was. But he had seen that look before, a long, long time ago. 

  “The North will stand beside us tomorrow, and I will crush Ned Stark's bastard myself. We are not without allies, father.” Ramsay  finally replied. 

  Roose looked up and appraised his son for a moment. “What do you mean? Their strength nearly matches our own.”

  Ramsay smiled menacingly. “They do not. We have allies who have come from far to support us against the false king and the Bastard of Winterfell.”

  Roose looked annoyed. “I care not for your manipulations, Ramsay. If you have intel to share, do it now.”

  “The Lannister’s have come North. I watched them arrive and nearly sweep through Stannis' entire camp. I assume that you reached out to them for support against the false king?”

  Roose nodded. “And the Vale as well as the Riverlands. Though I expected Littlefinger before the Lannister’s.” He positioned his hand over the map, rearranging the pieces. “This is good, this will give us the timing that we need. . .”

  Ramsay moved in closer. “What are you thinking?”

  Roose pointed to a fixed position that he knew was meant to represent the Bolton loyalists. “If you mean to keep Winterfell, you will have to earn it. You will lead the attack on the morrow.”

  Ramsay smiled his most sadistic smile, not quite seeing what his father was plotting. “Of course, Father. I won’t disappoint you.” 

  “I’m sure you won’t. Go and prepare yourself for tomorrow. Rest up, and make sure that you tend to the men.” Roose finished, dismissing his vile son. “Send in the maester when you leave, I have a task for him as well.”

  “Yes, Father.” Ramsay said, bowing his head. There was something about the way he continued to smile as he left that didn’t quite sit right with him. Mance stepped aside to allow the bastard to leave and then he returned to his position, listening and observing, but never speaking unless spoken to. 

  When the maester finally arrived, Roose Bolton quickly ordered him to prepare Lady Walda for travel and to have them ready by the hour of the wolf. He was planning to flee the castle and leave his son to die in the process. Mance stifled the chuckle that threatened to burst forth. Craven. . . Still, Mance said nothing. 

  When the leech Lord was finally finished with his plans, he had Mance send for a select number of Bolton men-at-arms and he excused Mance to go and make rounds. Grateful to be able to  move about, Mance wasted little time preparing for the moment when dawn broke over the horizon.

|Aegon|

  A horn broke through the early morning calm that had settled over the camp in the past few hours. Ghost had remained by his side throughout the night, though Shaggy was out somewhere in the Wolfswood. Still no sign of Nymeria, though he could hear her calling throughout the night to her pack, and Ghost had reached out to her a number of times in his silent way. 

  Not wasting a moment, Aegon quickly rose from his cot and put his boots on, followed by his cape. He hadn’t changed the night before, so he was still, for the most part, fully dressed. 

  His dreams had been filled with images of grey eyes and deep brown hair, hair that was just a shade or two lighter than his own. But every time he would get near enough to touch her, she would disappear. He felt as if he had been chasing her apparition for ages by the time he finally woke, still groggy from tossing and turning throughout the night. 

  The camp was alert and busy outside, and he knew that it was time to end this feud once and for all. He thought about his conversation with Melisandre the night previous, about his reoccurring dreams of Winterfell, of how the keep looked abandoned, the stables full of bones, and of his journey down into the crypts, and of how the King’s of Winter sat upon their granite thrones, with eyes as hard and cold as ice. Eyes that judged him and named him a trespasser, eyes that made sure that he knew that he had no place among them. And of the pull he felt when he was below the earth, regardless of their warnings. 

  He crossed the tent and made his way toward the satchel that held the letters from his parents and his uncle. Today, he would finally read the words that had been written by the honorable man who had raised him as one of his own. Today, he would finally know, from Lord Eddard’s own hand, the answer he had been searching for his entire life. He tucked the missive into a pocket inside his doublet and then he exited his tent. 

  Ser Gerold was already there, a serious expression on his face. “What is it?” He asked without waiting to be briefed. 

  “Something has happened in the other camp.” Darkstar quickly explained. 

  Aegon snapped his head in the direction of Winterfell only to see that the army still remained in place outside of the castle. From this position, he couldn’t see much of a change at all. 

  Melisandre approached with a knowing look gleaming in her fiery red eyes. “Your Grace, my Lord.” She said in greeting, to both himself and Ser Gerold. “R’hllor has given you his blessing. By midday the Direwolf will once more fly above Winterfell.”

  Aegon grunted. “Have you anything useful to share, aside from the usual? Has your lord shown you my sister or brother, can you assure me that they are both well?” 

  What is the point of being favored by a God who can only provide me with well wishes?

  “You know that my gifts are dependent on my Lord’s will. Have faith, your Grace. Your siblings are well...all of them.” She smiled at him this time and Aegon couldn’t stop himself from wondering once more what she was keeping from him. 

  He puzzled over this as they made their way to the front lines where Tormund, Lady Maege, Lord Howland and Lord Galbart were waiting. Northmen are always up before first light, so it was no surprise to find them already there. 

  “Fair morrow, my Lords, my Lady, Tormund” Aegon said, greeting them as he approached. “What news?”

  Lord Glover passed him a scroll with no sigil, but said nothing of its contents. After reading it, Aegon sighed and passed the scroll to Lady Maege, who read its contents aloud. 

   “Keep eyes on the North Gate. Rely on your range and make sure to hold your final charge until reinforcements arrive. ~The North Remembers.”

  “Who do you suppose is responsible for this?” Darkstar asked, suspicion lacing his tone. 

  “I’ve an idea.” He said, smiling. He turned to Tormund who nodded back. 

  “Aye. It’s him. I saw him last night.” Tormund said, confirming what Aegon already knew. 

  “If that’s the case, he’s got allies on the other side of the battlefield. We’re going to need to draw out the Bolton loyalists so we can differentiate them from the Stark loyalists.” Aegon mused aloud. 

  “And how do ya’ s’pose yar’ gonna do that?” Tormund asked, scratching his chin.

  Aegon grinned menacingly. “We send in the Free Folk first, and I’ll lead the charge. Ramsay won’t want to sit out of the fight, and if I ride with wildlings over Northmen, he will think himself a hero no doubt, if he’s the one to slay me. Furthermore, as far as Roose Bolton and his son are concerned, I am the biggest threat to their hold on the North. Perceived bastard or not, the fact that I’m here, in command of a host of Free men and women, and rebel northern lords, proves that their claim is contestable.”

  “Your Grace, surely it would be best for you to command from the rear.” Lord Galbart counseled. 

  “I’ll not ask men and women to die, just to ensure that I’m safely tucked away. To lead, you must do so by example. And if that puts me at the front, so be it. Besides, men are more likely to follow a man that inspires them, over a man with whom they loathe.” Aegon replied, ending the conversation. Before long they were all discussing battle plans once more.

  The goal was to draw Ramsay out. From what Aegon could see, the Bolton host consisted of three camps, Northmen were stationed to either side of the line. While The Bolton men-at-arms we’re positioned in the center, between both rows of markers. Behind them were his calvary which he was sure the pack could take care of if necessary. 

  Aegon knew from past conversations with maester Luwin and his Uncle Ned that Roose Bolton’s men were well trained with bow and arrow, and he also commanded one of the largest forces in the North. Though, from this distance there seemed to be less than seven thousand total men standing opposite himself and his men. More than half of their own numbers to be sure, but truth be told, Aegon wasn’t opposed to calling in backup at this point from his weyr. If it meant taking Winterfell with little loss to the people who marched with him, he was more than fine with sacrificing men who might later betray him. 

   Judging the past is always easier than navigating the present. . .

  His Lord uncle had taught him that he should know his foe. His time at the Wall taught him that not all men were honest, and his mutiny taught him that sometimes, in order to save the many, you must sometimes act dishonorably. Aegon would be sure to not underestimate his foe, especially not the one who waited for him across the battlefield. 

  Jeyne Poole had told him everything she could about Ramsay Bolton, including his obsession with hunting and toying with his prey. Everything was a game to Ramsay, by the way that Jeyne spoke, he knew that this battle would be no different. Which is why Aegon made sure that Wun Wun was prepared. 

  During the battle at Castle Black, the giant's under Mag Mar’s command who had come with Mance Raydar’s host, used arrows that could rival the bolt of a ballista, to shoot at the men defending the Wall from the top. Seven hundred feet! And some of which landed their mark, even without the giant's who were wielding them taking proper aim. Aegon had no doubt that Wun Wun could do some significant damage, especially now that the Skagosi had gifted him with woven unicorn hair to string his massive weirwood bow. 

  “Is Wun Wun prepared?” Aegon asked, turning his attention back to Tormund who nodded and pointed to a location behind where he was standing. 

  Sure enough, Wun Wun was there, standing next to a pile of logs that were around six feet in length and as big around as his entire body. Beside those were a pile of saplings that were already sharpened at the tips. 

  Feeling relieved, Aegon reached for Ghost. “Go and find your pack. Surround the woods and keep an eye on the North gate. I will need all of you soon enough.”

  Ghost looked at him for a moment, his ruby red eyes seemed apprehensive. As if he was trying to make Aegon understand that he did not agree with this plan. Aegon shook his head and reached out to ruffle Ghosts fur lovingly.

  “All will be well. Go and find Val, I need you to help me let her know when it is time to come.” This time he spoke aloud. Ghost blinked at him, and then reluctantly he stepped forward and rubbed his body against Aegon, before bounding off in the direction of the Wolfswood and his pack. 

  A short while later their host was assembled and everyone knew their orders. Wun Wun stepped forward, bow in hand and a handful of “arrows” already sticking out of the ground at his side. The giant and Aegon shared a look of understanding between the two of them, and then Aegon nodded. 

  “Fire?” Wun Wun asked in his rough tongue.

  “Fire, aim for the center and avoid the castle if you can. We still need to take refuge behind it’s walls after this is all over.” Aegon said, tightening the grip on his reigns. The sound of horses shifting on their feet could be heard behind him. 

  Across the battlefield Aegon could see movement, and then the center parted and Ramsay Bolton emerged atop a brown war horse. Without further word, Wun Wun lifted his massive bow and took aim. 

  “For Mance!” He bellowed out in his guttural tongue, and then he loosed his shot.

  Aegon tensed as he watched the shaft sail down the battlefield, knocking out a line of men. Chaos erupted as men scrambled to get out of the way. Seeing the panic, Aegon signaled to Borroq and Grisella to release their familiars. 

  A chorus of howls sounded through the Wolfswood, and adrenaline rushed through him. Turning toward the men and women who stood at his back, he said the things that he knew needed to be said. 

  “Northmen and Women! Free Folk! Hear my words. Today is the day that we retake the North. Not as enemies fighting together in a time of necessity, but as an entire people who are finally being reunited! My entire life I have heard the North proclaim that We Remember, but we have forgotten. We have forgotten too much! We each have the blood of the First Men flowing through our veins. Targaryen, Stark, Manderly, Umber, Flint, Norrey, Wull, Karstark, Thenn, Hornfoots, Cave Dwellers, even those from Ruddy Hall. We all bleed the same, and we all need to remember that for more than eight-thousand years our combined people have occupied these lands called Westeros. And on many occasions we have come together to defend humanity. Joramun and Brandon the Breaker remembered this and together they defeated the Night’s King. We are one people! And today, the only person keeping us all from uniting, sits across that battlefield. I need you all to help me kill him, can you help me do this? Together?!”

  “Aye” they called back, some thudding their spears on the ground, others banging their swords against their shields. Their confirmation shook the ground beneath his feet and pride began to fill his chest. He turned back to his new companion, only to find Darkstar staring at him in a strange sort of way. 

  Clearing his throat before he spoke, he asked. “Are you ready?”

  “I was born ready to defend you.” Darkstar affirmed, still studying him closely Aegon assumed.

  “What is it?”

  Darkstar cleared his throat. “Please forgive me, it’s just—it’s just that I can totally see why they all risked so much now.”

  Aegon arched a brow, “I don’t suppose that you would mind explaining what you mean after this is all over?” How could he not be curious about such a statement? 

  Darkstar nodded. “When the day is won, and you are ready, I will of course explain, your Grace.”

  Aegon nodded and turned back to Wun Wun. “Keep a path clear for us.” The giant grunted and picked up one of the larger trunks and took a few steps forward. Lifting his hand, he gave the signal and then he kicked his heels into his mount. Behind him two-hundred mounted men did the same as they started their charge toward Winterfell. 

  As soon as they took off, the center of the Bolton forces pushed forward and positioned their longbows, preparing to take aim. But Aegon's first two lines were filled with men who had all learned how to shoot from the saddle, in the week since the Skagosi had joined them. Their aim wasn’t perfect, but then again, it didn’t have to be. Their arrows were merely a distraction. 

  From behind, Wun Wun let out a mighty bellow, before thrusting his first projectile tree down the battlefield, taking out one of the range markers and then another, before lumbering toward the left flank of the Bolton line, where the banners of Houses Dustin, Ryswell and Locke were flying in the winter breeze. 

  The next projectile came flying overhead and then Borroq’s bull came bursting out of the Wolfswood, taking everyone by surprise as he turned his massive body toward Winterfell and the men who were commissioned to defend it. 

  Aegon was already halfway across the battlefield, when the order to advance had finally been given but it was too late. Wun Wun sent another log hurtling overhead, taking out another row of the Bolton cavalry. Arrows rained down from above but nothing touched him as he continued to race toward his target, Darkstar remained at his side throughout it all. 

  From the south west, Aegon could sense the approach of more mounted men and then his host was clashing with the center column of the Bolton cavalry.

  What should have sounded like an eruption was suddenly deathly quiet, or at least that was how it seemed. Once again it felt as if time had slowed and Aegon was pulling Longclaw from it's sheathe, her smokey blade glimmering in the rising morning light. 

  Somewhere up ahead he could hear the bastards hounds baying madly before they were loosed in the direction of Borroq’s bull, but none of them saw Grisella’s shadowcat stalking through their ranks until it was too late. 

  The battlefield was chaos as man and horse crashed into one another. A man with no head went racing by Aegon's left, only to be taken out as another horse blindly crashed into it, in an attempt to escape the slaughter. All the while, Longclaw cut through man and horse alike. If they came at him, Aegon met their attack with one of his own. 

  Throughout it all, he kept his focus on Winterfell. On the bastard who had fooled him and refused to ride out to meet him man to man. Another signal was given and this time the other two companies were being ordered to engage, just as another volley of arrows were sent flying in his direction. 

  His mount took an arrow to his shoulder and he reared back, nearly throwing Aegon out of his saddle. In a last ditch attempt, he leapt off his back just as the beast came to right himself. His  landing was sound and he quickly ducked as a Bolton man came rushing at him. Slashing upward, Aegon didn’t stick around to hear the man fall. 

  A horn sounded and Aegon looked up, only to see men racing toward them, from out of the Wolfswood. Some of them wore no distinctive colors, but others were wearing the colors of House Lannister. 

  A quick look at Darkstar told him that he had no knowledge of them being in the North, but Aegon couldn’t allow himself to be distracted. Up ahead, the banner of the Stark Direwolf was being raised upon the battlements and a new sense of adrenaline rushed through him as the new mounted charge swung around and blocked the Bolton men at arms from the rear. 

  A loud roar broke out across the battlefield as his men and women began to cut down men with a newfound hunger, and then he was moving. His eyes locked on the man who thought to send people to die, while he hid in the back like a coward. 

  Ghosts consciousness brushed against his own, and his mouth began to water, the desire to hunt took him over completely. Somehow men were being catapulted through the air, only to land a few yards away in a sickening crunch. 

  He was a few yards away from Ramsay when he felt Cannibal, but before he could respond to that link, the battlefield turned black and he thought his eardrums were about to shatter from the sound of his roar. The battlefield froze, and for a moment, Ramsay Bolton did as well. 

  This was all the distraction that Aegon needed as he threw his weight behind his fist and launched at Ramsay Bolton with an intensity that was sure to break his jaw. Cannibal landed somewhere behind him and men were screaming, but Aegon was in another world. 

  Ramsay stood reaching for his sword, at the same time he gave him a sadistic smile as he wiped blood and spittle from his fleshy lips. “So it’s just us then, bastard? I think I’ll enjoy carving you up, bit by bit. You’re much prettier than Theon, perhaps I’ll let you be his new replacement.”

  Aegon snarled, “A flayed man might not hold any secrets, but he is still just a man. And direwolves and dragons feast on men and corpses alike.” As if to demonstrate, Cannibal tossed the body of a Bolton man, half charred in their direction. 

  Ramsay lunged, but Aegon sidestepped and parried his thrust, gripping Longclaw with two hands, their swords crossed. He could tell right away that hand to hand combat was not the bastard's forté . Still, Aegon stayed on the attack, pushing his opponent backward, saving his strength for when he had an opening. 

  The beast in him wanted to toy with him and then carve him up in the same way that Ramsay had just suggested but he already knew what he would do. 

  At some point, all the sounds of battle fell away, aside from the occasional sound of a man dying, and all that was left was Aegon and Ramsay, steel clashing against steel and they danced around each other, looking for weaknesses or openings in each other's stance.  

    Ramsay taunted him with each thrust, but Aegon couldn’t make out his insignificant words. Two minds were battling inside of his own head, one of them belonging to Ghost, who finally found Nymeria’s scent and was racing toward the North Gate to find her. The other was the collective consciousness of the weyr, urging him to let them burn this tiny human so he could go and hunt with the one he called pack.

  He had been fighting for what felt like days, but he found himself invigorated by the thought of ending this creature and then ending his line the moment he got his hands on Roose Bolton, so that he could repay him the same kindness and loyalty that he had shown Robb. 

  “You will never take Winterfell back, bastard!” Ramsay spat, as Aegon’s right elbow came up and crashed against his nose. 

  Aegon smiled, raising Longclaw up high. “You haven’t seen? Winterfell is already mine.” His words had the desired effect, as Ramsay mistakenly turned back toward Winterfell, Aegon used the flat of his blade to slap down on Ramsay’s wrist. His blade fell from his hand and Aegon kicked him in the back, sending him sprawling, face first into the muddy earth. 

  As Ramsay struggled to rise, Aegon approached and gripped him by the collar of his jerkin, turning him so that he was now laying on his back. Before he could speak, Aegon's fist connected with the bastards face and he could feel his bones crunch beneath the weight of each blow. 

  “Aegon!” A panicked female voice cut through the red hot rage that had consumed him and he paused long enough to look up. 

  Val stood a few feet away, her bow drawn and pointed down at what remained of Ramsay Bolton. “Vallyria—I, Gods I was so worried about you!” He looked down once more to see Ramsay’s pale blue eyes studying his twin and Aegon slammed his fist into the bastards face once more for good measure.

  “Aegon, he’s done. Winterfell is ours, it’s time to stand up and go and take back our ancestral home.” Vallyria said, gesturing for him to stand. 

  As he did so, Gerold and Sigorn made their way over and took Ramsay into their custody. “What would you like us to do with him?” Darkstar asked. 

  “Bind him in chains and bring him to the godswood. I mean to take his head. After that, give him to Sigorn and the Thenns for all I care.” Aegon said, standing to his feet. 

  He pulled Vallyria into a tight embrace as soon as he was within reach of her. “Where were you?”

  She looked at him curiously for a moment, before shaking herself from her thoughts. “I was with the others. We have time to talk about this though, perhaps you should take care of Cannibal?”

  He had almost forgotten that Cannibal had shown up and he snapped his head in the direction of his mount. Who, as it happened, was laying in the center of the battlefield atop a pile of corpses, crunching on what Aegon could only assume was once a Bolton soldier. At least he hoped that the person in question was. 

   “I would have called you if I needed you.”

   Cannibal huffed. “You did need me, or else I would not be here.”

  “I was doing fine, we were winning.” Aegon insisted. 

   “Perhaps. . .” His dragon mused. “And yet, more of your precious humans would have died. No need to show gratitude, young dragon.” Cannibal shifted and then crunched down on another limb. “Fear not, I am able to sense the ones who mean to harm you. These ones will not be my meal, as long as they leave me alone.”

   Aegon turned back to Darkstar and Vallyria. “Make sure they give Cannibal a wide berth. He won’t be leaving until these corpses are properly disposed of. Have our wounded gathered, and Theon brought to the castle.”

  “And the Lannister’s?” Darkstar inquired, looking a little uncomfortable at having them so far north.

  “They came as allies, for now they shall be treated as such. Aegon will no doubt want to speak with their leader as soon as she returns.” Vallyria supplied, before Aegon could weigh in. 

  “They are led by a woman? Is it the same one who took Stannis' head?” He asked, his mind racing back to the brunette he had seen days ago. 

  Vallyria shook her head. “Come brother, we can talk about that soon. I believe that you’ve got more pressing matters?” She said, turning him back in the direction of Winterfell, and the Stark banners that fluttered proudly in the wind. 

  His feet began moving before his mind could process, and soon he was sprinting. “Ghost? Send Shaggy to Rickon, bring him home!”

|Arya|

  After meeting the woman Val, who claimed that she knew Jon and had indeed traveled with him, Arya and Jaqen made their way back to the Crofters Village. Nymeria, as it turned out, had cut off their link for some strange reason and she was not coming to her command. Though, Arya didn’t want to admit this to Jaqen when he had found her in the woods. 

  The pain of having Jon so close, only to lose him again so soon, was too much to bear. Only to have Nymeria aid the universe even further at keeping them apart, the betrayal left a bitter taste in her mouth. Or maybe that had been the effects of the blood loss. Still, it was just her luck to come so close to everything she wanted, just to find that like everything else, Jon was still unobtainable to her. 

  Back at the village, she had been forced to allow Val and Jaqen to tend her wounds, before the Greatjon and Ser Jaime explained to her in detail what happened in the aftermath of the fight. Of how, the Manderly men who had rode in beside the Bolton and Frey men, were always intending to double cross Roose Bolton and his son. 

  The Red Woman, like Lady Brienne, had also come for Stannis. Though she kept her reasoning to herself, claiming that it did not matter now that he no longer drew breath. Something about the way she watched her made Arya feel unnerved, and she wasn’t the only one, from what Arya could tell. Jaqen too, seemed more prone to avoid the red priestess and Val as much as possible. Though Ned watched the wildling woman with astonishment written all over his face. 

  At some point, she had taken it upon herself to venture out on the lake, where the Weirwood stood silently brooding. She could still recall the way the crows had called to her while she was busy crossing swords. She had seen other weirwood trees since leaving home, most notably was the one inside of Harrenhal, but somehow this one looked at her with eyes that seemed to know her. 

  The wind rustled overhead, and it felt like a warm embrace. Just at the base of the trunk, a thickened root peeked out of the earth, just large enough to perch herself upon. And in spite of the bitter memories that this brought to her, Arya found herself sitting. “I know that this isn’t our heart tree, Father. But we’re close, and soon enough a Stark will once more reside in Winterfell.” 

  A tear slid down her cheek, leaving a burning trail in its wake. Arya leaned against the trunk and closed her eyes.

    A battle rages outside of Winterfell, giant's and beasts face off against men. And in the middle two figures cloaked in black are racing to bridge the distance. The image changes and she is standing inside the woods, waiting… for what? Then she sees the gate lift and a carriage goes racing out, followed by a group of armed guards. One of them in particular stands out to her, she had met this man once before. At Harrenhal. 

  “I know you want to go to him.” Arya finds herself spinning at the sound of the voice. 

  “Bran! How are you—where are you?” She exclaims. 

  “We don’t have much time, and these things are not important. You will see Jon again, but you have to be patient Arya. Don’t let Roose escape.” Her younger brother urged her. 

  “I won’t.” And she wouldn’t. “But why do I have to wait to find Jon? We can do it together…” 

  “Different roads sometimes lead to the same castle.” Bran replied in a knowing tone. 

  Arya knit her brows together. How could he know about what Jon had said to her the day they said their goodbyes? 

  “I know much more than that, I can’t keep you longer than this Arya, but be patient. He will be there once you finish your own task.”

  Before she could ask where he was, Bran was fading away and she was left in the darkness. 

  “A girl is needed.” The calm voice of Jaqen pulled her from her dreamscape. 

  Arya sat forward and rubbed her eyes, trying to get a grip on her surroundings. “Has something happened?”

  “No,” Jaqen returned. “But the woman Val says that they need to start moving, and a man agrees. If you hope to be there before the next fight begins—”

  “I don’t.” Arya said, cutting him off. “I want to. . .” She clarified.

  “But?” Jaqen prodded. 

  “But I have another task I must complete before I can find my brother. You should lead them, make sure that the Lannister army doesn’t get into too much trouble with the Northmen.” 

  Jaqen looked at her dubiously. “Does a girl plan to gift a man with her face? I am a stranger among your people, they will not follow my command.” 

   He was right, Arya sighed. She could stay with them for a while, but eventually she would have to break away from their group to go and take care of Roose Bolton. 

  When she finally entered the tower that was positioned next to the lake, Arya found an assortment of northmen, Lannister, and men of the Brotherhood standing around the only table that occupied the room. Some of the newer people were glaring at Ser Jaime with hardly concealed contempt, while the Greatjon watched the Freefolk in a similar manner. But it was his kinsmen who seemed on the verge of hostility toward the Freefolk. 

  Arya cleared her throat, and at once everyone’s attention turned toward her. “I believe that Val has told you all what is going on outside of Winterfell?” 

  “Aye,” many of the people responded. 

  “Winterfell is at least three days from where we are. If you mean to get there in time, you will have to ride hard and fast. Those of you without a horse will have to remain, as well as those that are injured and those that have been taken captive.” Arya began. 

  The woman that Arya knew to be Lady Maege Mormont stepped forward. “Forgive me, Lady Arya?” 

  Arya nodded, it was clear that this woman wasn’t sure about her identity. “Arya is fine.”

  Lady Maege nodded. “Very well.” She agreed. “We should bring the hostages with us. At least in so far as Theon Greyjoy, his sister Asha and Lord Arnolf Karstark. Your brother will want to see them, and the Greyjoy is valuable to your cause.” 

  She thought about it for a moment. “Fine, is there anything else you would like to add?”

  The lady Maege shook her head and stepped back. Arya knew that she had to say something else. “I know that many of you here might find issues with another. Those who rode here with me, know that I have no tolerance for division. These Lannister men who rode here, did so because they were obligated to remove Stannis Baratheon from the board, but I would have you know that they fought today because they believed in their commander. And it just so happens that Ser Jaime has sworn his sword to me. He helped me to avenge the atrocities committed against my family at the Twins by the Freys, the Bolton’s and his family. And he has already been pardoned. As for the Freefolk, my brother brought them south, and you all know from Lord Jason, that my brother Robb named Jon his heir. Therefore I ask that you reserve your animosities until after we have taken back the north.”

  Ser Jaime stepped to her side. “You know, you didn’t have to speak for me. I have spent quite a lot of time amongst them, and I doubt that you’ll convince them to stop hating me for what my family has done.” He huffed. “Hell I have my own sins against these people. I can’t keep pretending as if I’ve done no wrong.”

  Arya snorted. “By all means, seek atonement. Just do it after you’ve seen me safely back into my home. That was your promise, was it not? Afterward I’ll gladly throw you to the mob.” 

  Ser Jaime chuckled. “Good to see the blood loss hasn’t curbed your sense of humor.”

  After that, Lady Maege and Val took the floor, pointing out where the other portion of their host would be encamped. They determined that they would continue to function as two hosts, moving the remainder of Jon’s group to the frontlines while Arya and her host would remain within the Wolfswood, and only deploy once Ramsay dealt his hand. 

  For the most part Arya agreed, and so did her men, but this wasn’t her fight, and she was having a hard time focusing. “I won’t be there to give the command. I need someone to volunteer to lead in my place.”

  Val looked at her with confusion. “I’m not sure I understand, where else would you be?”

  “I’ll be with my pack. I have a name that I must collect, and I cannot do that if I remain at the side of my men. And taking them with me could cripple Jon.” Arya explained. 

  “But, what am I supposed to tell my—I mean Jon, when he asks why the Lannister army is in the north?” Val asks, but Arya could tell that the question was only a buffer for what she really wanted to say. 

  She didn’t know, but it would be best if Jon didn’t know about her until after the fighting was done. If her own level of restlessness was any indication of how he would react, he could not afford to lose focus. “No one here will tell my brother that they’ve seen me. Is that understood? I won’t have him acting carelessly just because he thinks that I am near. It would be better for him to wait to hear about me until after the fighting is done and we are safely back in Winterfell.”

  Many people looked uncomfortable with her command, but slowly they all agreed. Val stepped up. “I cannot lie to Jon Snow, I apologize. Not about this.” 

  Arya wanted to protest, but Val held up a hand to silence her. “I instead will remain with your men until it’s time to join the battle.” She turned toward the ginger man beside her. “I trust that you can keep him occupied long enough for us to pull this off?”

  The man, Tormund smiled, and Arya shivered. “Aye, I am sure that we can keep the little crow busy. Can’t we boys?” 

  The men behind him agreed and then Val turned back to address her once more. “Will this suffice?” 

  Arya nodded. “I’ll ride with you all for a while, and maybe you can tell me about my brother and how you came to know him.”

  On the day of the battle for Winterfell, Arya found herself stationed within the treeline. Listening to the sounds of battle, of men screaming and steel clashing. She did her best to envision what Bran had shown her through the weirwood, but nothing compared to the first hand experience that came when you were caught up in the thick of it all. 

  Nymeria had finally opened up their bond the following morning as they were making their way toward Winterfell. After exchanging a few words with Jaqen, Ser Jaime and Brienne, she slipped from their group and ran off in the direction where she knew Nymeria had been waiting. 

  Once they were reunited, Arya could sense why Nymeria chose to put distance between them. Shaggydog had been close and she somehow knew that it was not time to reunite with the pack. The smaller wolves had done their best to create a perimeter around them, to throw off their scent, but Arya didn’t doubt that Ghost and Shaggydog knew where she was. 

  She wondered that night how it was that Ghost had managed to locate Rickon’s wolf. She wondered even more where Bran’s wolf was if he wasn’t with Rickon’s. All questions that she would find answers to eventually, but still they kept her distracted. 

  Movement through the trees caught her attention and Nymeria perked up immediately. A shiver ran down her spine and Arya slipped into Nymeria’s skin, just as she had done in her dream. 

  As soon as Nymeria blinked, she was staring out at the Wolfswood through golden eyes, and her wolf set off on swift, silent feet. She wished that she could run alongside of her, rather than astride her. Nevertheless, it was just as thrilling to be able to be with her at all, especially when they were able to hunt as one.

  A loud roar was heard somewhere off in the distance, and Arya could sense the fear vibrating through Nym’s pack, even though her own Direwolf didn’t seem to care at all. Run. . . Hunt. . . Stay inside the trees. . . Nymeria urged her pack as they continued to fly. 

   As soon as Arya picked up the scent that Nymeria had been searching for, she pulled back and prepared herself for the fight. Up ahead, the pack had set a trap for the riders who were coming their way. She heard the carriage and the men before she saw them, and then she saw the group split into two. 

   “Ignore the moving box, follow the riders.” Arya decided in an instant. The pack could catch up with the wheelhouse later on. 

  The wolves descended on Roose Bolton moments later, taking out their horses in groups of three and four. Nymeria was already there when the first horse went down, but she came to a stop just along the path and watched as her pack did the hard work. 

  Arya slid from her back and approached a man who was trapped beneath his horse. Beside her, Nymeria bristled and she bared her fangs at the man who Arya had spent a great deal of time with when she was still just a ghost. 

  “Roose Bolton. Curious that you are so far away from Winterfell when there is a battle being fought for it. Have you given up so soon? What of your heir?” Arya crooned, kneeling down to get a closer look at the state of the man. 

  “I suppose now would be a good time to partake in a drink of something stronger than water.” She clucked, after a moment of consideration. 

  “Why do you look so familiar?” The leech Lord asked her with scrutinizing eyes. 

  Arya smiled, and she was sure that her teeth showed. 

  “Are you afraid of leeches, child?”

  “They're only leeches. My lord.”

  “My squire could take a lesson from you, it would seem. Frequent leechings are the secret of a long life. A man must purge himself of bad blood. You will do, I think. For so long as I remain at Harrenhal, Nan, you shall be my cupbearer, and serve me at table and in chambers."

  “Nan!” 

  Arya chuckled darkly. “Tell me, My Lord. Do you see the irony in this situation? I almost begged to be taken from Harrenhal at your side, but instead, you chastised me for my insolence and left me with Vargo Hoat. Only to later on, betray my brother and then take an imposter into your house and pretend that she was me. It’s probably quite difficult for you, isn’t it? Looking at me now, realizing how foolish you were for not recognizing me sooner. I was actually quite grateful for the many times that my Lord Father met with you outside Winterfell’s walls.”

  Roose’s eyes narrowed on her, and a trickle of blood escaped his lips. “It doesn’t matter, you might kill me now, but you will never have peace in the North. Not while another Bolton still has breath in his lungs.”

  Arya smiled and unsheathed Needle, positioning it right above his heart. “My mother asked me to tell you that the Starks and the Tully’s send their regards. Don’t worry, we’ll be sure to take good care of your ancestral home, and your lovely Frey bride. Even if she does manage to make it out of the Wolfswood, your retainers would never deny their leigelord access to his own keep.” 

  Before he could speak, Arya applied just enough pressure to pierce through cloth and skin and muscle. “Valar Morghulis.” She said standing and removing her dagger. 

  She meant to keep this face for later on, when she had time to go to the Dreadfort and clean house. Arya watched as the light left Roose Bolton’s pale blue eyes, taking a moment to revel in the fact that only one more name was owed to her mother. 

  Nymeria nudged her hand, reminding her that she had work to do, and Arya set about her business, as soon as she was done she would be riding hard for Winterfell.

|Someone?|

  A man spent the next days following the skirmish in the Crofters Village observing Arya Stark and the woman who called herself Val. First, whispers of Daenerys Targaryen hatching dragons fluttered across the Narrow Sea, and now a woman who looks painfully familiar, rides beside a girl that reminds him of the one that he lost. 

  The wildling host demanded that any and all dead be burned, and the Red Priestess confirmed that this was the best option. Many of the Northmen seemed hesitant to oblige her, but Arya Stark overruled them all. “If my brother was here, would he agree?” When the woman Val confirmed that he would, there was little else to argue about. Those who were injured, and not like to live through the night were executed at the Weirwood and then their bodies were moved to the area where the shacks stood, half burned from the earlier battle. Those that remained of Stannis Baratheon’s host, less the Northmen who had joined with him, were placed in chains and left under guard so that they could continue their march toward Winterfell.

  As it turned out, he hadn’t been the only one to seem shocked by the woman Val. In fact the boy, Ned Dayne also seemed to recognize her, which a man found interesting, considering the fact that Arya Stark believed her to be from beyond the Wall. 

  He observed their interactions from a distance, and eventually deduced that the woman in question hadn’t come from beyond the Wall at all, but from Dorne. From Starfall as it happened, and this was when a man knew that things had not been as he had assumed all of this time. And if this was the case, what else had been kept from him? 

  It wasn’t until Arya Stark slipped away to finally join her pack that a man made his decision to go and investigate these strange coincidences. He started at the other camp, the one that he saw the Northmen and wildlings riding toward. 

  Using his specific set of skills, he moved through the shadows and hid himself in plain sight. He listened to the many conversations that took place throughout the camp. Hardly anyone paid him attention at all. 

  A man found the Northmen and the Wildling; Tormund standing around a roaring fire, talking over plans for the following day. He had no desire to interrupt, he only wanted to know more about this, Jon Snow, that Arya Stark was so drawn toward. 

  Things were changing for him. For twenty years he had put his first life behind him. The first few years had been the hardest, between trying to regain his memories and figuring out who he had been. Once he remembered, he had set off to find out what had become of his wife and children, only to learn that she had died and there was nothing about his son and daughters. Aside from the news that Rhaenys had been killed during the Sack on King's Landing. 

  That had crushed him, but living in a world where Lyanna no longer breathed was the final blow. He found himself aboard a ship after learning of her fate, and eventually that ship took him to Braavos. The world had believed Rhaegar Targaryen had died on the banks of the Trident, from a blow that caved in his breastplate. But the truth was Rhaegar Targaryen died the moment that he realized that there was nothing left to live for. 

  He shed his identity somewhere between Westeros and Braavos, while crossing the Narrow Sea. He gave up on his prophecy, what had been the point? Without Lyanna, the Red Messenger would likely never come for him again. 

  When he stumbled into the House of Black and White, he had done so with the intention of drinking from the pool and joining his loved ones, but the waters have no effect on a man who is no one. And that is exactly what he had become… until now. 

  He should have known the moment he saw Arya Stark retrieving her Needle, that he could not continue as he had been. She had changed something inside of him, from as far back as King's Landing. Reminded him of what could have been, and some of what once was. 

  Arya Stark had a fierceness about her that reminded him of Lyanna, she could have been their daughter in another life. As he observed her ability to adapt and slip into new identities, he was faced with a choice; he could allow her to continue on her path, or he could protect her by helping her become No One. 

  But unlike Lyanna, Arya was unwilling to let go of her identity, because her identity was ingrained into her blood, and tied to the man she believed to be her brother. A brother that she had been fighting to return to since the day her father lost his head on the steps of the Sept. of Baelor.

  And he needed to know. He needed to know now, more than ever if he had wasted nearly two decades of his life away from his family. Even more, he needed to know if he could become someone, once more. 

  The camp was settled in for the night when he entered, and from brief snippets of conversation, he knew that they had returned from their parlay with the Bolton’s.

   The command tent was easy to find, situated at the center of the camp, and he watched it for a while before deciding to make his move. To his surprise, there were no guards keeping watch. So he slipped within, noting that the interior was dim. 

  He didn’t waste any time going through any of the things inside, he only had one purpose. He wanted to look at the man that he suspected was his son. 

  He found Jon Snow sleeping on his cot, a huge white Direwolf that rivaled the one that was bonded to Arya, lay on the ground beside his master. He didn’t want to press his luck but the beast watched him with red eyes that seemed to see through the glamour that was ‘Jaqen H'ghar’, and he suspected that this was because he had spent many weeks at his packmates' side.

  Even in sleep, he could see everything that he needed. The color of his hair was like midnight, he had the long Stark face of his mother, but his lips and facial structure were all Valyrian. He didn’t need to see the boys eyes, as this had been his exact condition the last time he had seen him. Sleeping. . . A strange sensation washed over him at the realization and he found himself backing out of the tent. 

  That night, he sat awake thinking about everything that he had learned in the time since he returned here with Arya Stark. The reason that Jaime Lannister killed the king he was sworn to, the woman who sat across the fire from him, joking with Edric Dayne and Thoros of Myr. News of Daenerys hatching dragons in Essos and conquering the Slavers Cities, and he knew that he could no longer live this half life.

  Dawn came early and soon he was preparing his mount for the battle ahead. He waited beside Ser Jaime for Vallyria to give the command, and he knew that he could not simply say nothing. He wanted to tell him that he understood, but he wasn’t sure how to let go of his mask. 

  The horn sounded and his heart raced. Looking back toward Vallyria, sitting atop her mare, he felt a sense of pride wash over him. The column started to move and he gripped his reins tightly. Ser Jaime remained focused on the task at hand, not allowing the fact that he fought with one hand to stop him from keeping his word to Arya Stark. 

  Within minutes, the battle was playing out before his eyes. The giant that he had now seen a number of times, was throwing felled trees in the direction of the enemy host, and crossing the battlefield was his son. 

  He looked one last time in the direction of Ser Jaime and then he uttered the same words that he had said to the man many years before. “Take care of my family.”

  Green eyes looked at him with confusion, but he didn’t stay around any longer than necessary. He kicked his heels into his mount, and then he broke away from the column, racing toward the center. 

  It took him some time to cut through the line, and eventually he was forced to abandon his saddle. Arrows were loosed at them from the center of the Bolton line, but he managed to make it through the chaos in time to find himself no more than thirty feet away from where his son was locked in battle. 

  Not wanting to distract him, he focused on the men who were moving in his son's direction. He hadn’t been the only one. Just as one man was dispatched, a carefully placed arrow found its way into the throat of another. Rhaegar looked up to see Vallyria knocking another arrow, oblivious to his presence. 

   It’s for the better if she doesn’t know who I am… not yet.

  His son moved like he was born for battle, stalking his prey with a ferociousness that matched the white wolf that stalked his side. On his other side, another man fought with determination, matching his son's skill with equal fervor.  He knew this man as well, though the last time he had seen him, he was still only a lad, hoping to learn at his cousin's side. 

  And then a shadow crossed over the battlefield and a resounding roar cracked across the two armies that were locked in battle, sending most of them to their knees. When he looked up, a huge dragon was descending upon the enemy forces and his son was running toward the man who was commanding their opposition. 

  After that everything happened quickly, his son was attacking the other man with his fists, and his daughter was there screaming his name. There was no mistaking either of them after that. In fact he would wager that the entire battlefield heard her scream, “Aegon!” over all the clamor. 

  He wanted to go to them, reveal himself, but his feet were glued to the earth beneath him and all he could do is watch as they made their way to the castle. The dragon, remaining in the middle of the battlefield as they left. 

  Not knowing what else to do, he waited for Arya Stark to return and when she finally emerged from the trees, astride her wolf, he silently followed her into the castle. After nearly two decades, clinging to the shadows had become second nature to him, and it was no different for him now as he silently crept down the stairs that led into the cold darkness. 

  When she finally stepped off onto the landing, he stayed behind and listened, too afraid to intrude, but not strong enough to turn away.

|Aegon|

  Winterfell was much like his dreams. The ones that had been haunting him for years. The yard was nearly deserted, and the keep was still in a state of ruin. 

  Aegon approached slowly, remembering the familiar feeling of foreboding that prickled over his skin. In his dreams, he had been Ghost, somehow seeing a version of what Winterfell could have been. There was evidence still of the state it had been in after the Bolton bastard sacked it. 

  He was still trying to come to grips with all that he had learned from Theon’s sister and Jeyne Poole. And yet, the evidence that it had been Ramsay to sack Winterfell was Theon himself. 

  The moment he cleared the outer gate and crossed the moat leading inside the yard. A familiar face greeted him, brown hair and shrewd brown eyes studying him with interest. “I suppose that thing belongs to you?” Mance said, greeting him. 

  He didn’t have to look back to know that he meant Cannibal. “Can a man claim ownership of a dragon? Has any man for that matter ever claimed ownership of the Cannibal?” Aegon returned, knowing that his weyr was listening closely. 

  Mance let out a breath of air. “I suppose those are valid questions. I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting to see a fire breathing dragon today.”

   Aegon could understand that, he hadn’t expected Cannibal to show up either. But seeing Mance now reminded him of something else. “You sent the pink letter, didn’t you?” Aegon asked. 

  Mance smiled at him, “You caught on to that, hmm? I wondered if it would convince you. Perhaps you do know something after all.” He chuckled. The small lines around his eyes became more visible as Mance looked at him with something similar to fondness?  

  Aegon smiled wanly at the reminder from his first life, but surprisingly, he felt none of the pain that used to come whenever he was reminded of his time with Ygritte.

  “You did call the men of the Night's Watch crows, quite a number of times. I’ve had a few weeks to get acquainted with it, since it came. Though, I will admit, it sent me into a rage.” Now wasn’t the time to tell him that he had been murdered as a result of the decisions he made. 

  Mance unsheathed his sword and Aegon looked at him curiously as he lowered himself down on one knee. “My name is Ser Oswell Whent, I was a member of your father's kingsguard. I would have done this sooner, but you weren’t ready. I pledge to serve you and guard your back, to keep your council and give my life for yours if need be.”

  Aegon stood there stunned. “But you were born beyond the Wall, how did you manage to keep this lie for so long? And furthermore, the Free Folk do not kneel.”

  “It’s a long story, your Grace, one that I’ll gladly explain to you later. But for now, it should be enough to remind you that all lies are best told with a bit of truth mixed in. And I was not the only man of the Kingsguard to go north after your Uncle Ned found us in Dorne. And no, the Free Folk do not kneel, but before I was a man of the Free Folk, I was a man of the Kingsguard.” Mance—no, Oswell explained. 

  “Val knows?” Aegon asked, seeking clarification. 

  Oswell nodded. “As much as she could know. She knows that Dalla is Wylla. She didn’t know that we fell in love long ago. I assume with the Crannogman here, much has been revealed?”

  “Aye, though clearly not all.” Aegon answered. The two of them began to walk through the empty keep. “If you knew all this time who I was, why did you not say anything? And how did you figure it out?”

  Oswell placed a hand on Aegon's shoulder, I knew the day that you were brought into my tent and it was revealed that you slew Qhorin Halfhand. The Sword of the Morning would never have fallen to just any man’s sword.” 

  Aegon stopped in his tracks. “The Sword of the Morning? Qhorin Halfhand was Ser Arthur Dayne?” A million thoughts raced through his head. 

  “He was,” Oswell agreed. “And until today, I wasn’t sure that his sacrifice was worth it. You did well out there today. Somethings changed in you.”

  Their spar back at castle black came to mind, and Aegon recalled when Mance had stated that he didn’t believe that Jon had killed the Halfhand. “I won’t pretend that I’m not upset by all of the secrecy, but I understand why it was done. And I suppose that something is different about me, though I haven’t the time to get into that now.”

  Footsteps from behind revealed Tormund and Darkstar, dragging the still unconscious form of Ramsay Bolton into the keep. “Would you show them to the Godswood? I want him tied to the tree until I have time to tend to him properly. A man should be conscious when he speaks his last words.” 

  Oswell nodded, but Darkstar stood staring at them both for just a moment. “I certainly never expected to see you here. When I arrived and you weren’t beside His Grace. . .” 

  “You assumed that I was dead. Yeah, that was kind of the plan. Come on boy, I’ll tell you everything, and you can tell me how you managed to convince Starfall to give you Dawn.” Oswell said, gesturing for them to follow. Aegon too was interested to hear more about the sword and Starfall, but he had other matters that were more pressing. 

  He followed at pace behind the others, only when they passed through the arch that would bring them into the Godswood, Aegon turned and entered the crypts. The way was dark but Aegon knew the way by memory, after stepping inside the battered ironwood door he reached for a torch that had been gutted in the basket. It took him no time at all to light it, and then he was making his descent, lighting each new torch that he passed as he went. 

  He would see that these were all lit in the days to come, even if that meant he had to light each of them himself. These past Starks might be cold and implacable, just like the lands that they ruled over, but they deserved to sit in the light. Just as they have for the past eight-thousand years. 

  The chill that told him that he didn’t belong met him almost immediately, but Aegon would not be turned away. His mother was down here, therefore he had every right to come here. He’d always had a right to come here. 

  It didn’t take long to reach the level that he knew that would take him to her. How could she have been here all this time and he never felt a thing? Did that make him a terrible son? Would she be ashamed of the things he had to do in order to get back here? Aegon hoped not. 

  He reached into his doublet, his hands still filthy from fighting, and his fingers brushed against the letter that he had tucked away earlier. 

  He lit the four torches that adorned the wall on either side of his mother, grandfather, and uncle Brandon’s crypts. Dried rose petals littered the ground beneath his feet and all around her sepulcher, and mixed amongst them all was the feather of a falcon. What it was doing down there, Aegon couldn’t fathom, falcons weren’t often seen this far north, nor were they like to build their nests in his ancestors' crypts. 

  He looked up into the face that had been carved into the likeness of his mother for the first time and he studied her. His uncle never spoke of her and Aegon thought it was because the loss still pained him. Perhaps it did, but looking at the face that was supposed to be his mother, Aegon wondered if his own face caused his uncle pain as well. They were copies of one another, only her outside matched the way Aegon felt on the inside. Void, Stone, cold… without Arya. Without finding her, a part of him felt like he was slipping away.

  “Hello mother.” Aegon said, reaching out to brush his bruised and calloused fingers over her cheek. He breathed out a heavy sigh. “I’ve come home, and I know the truth.” 

  He knew that this was only a statue, that her bones rested within her tomb, but talking to her felt right, it felt like he was putting all of the pieces of himself back together, little by little. 

  “Is it terrible that I’ve been looking at you my entire life, and yet this is the first time I’ve truly seen you?” Aegon asked absently. 

  He was sure that this stonemason didn’t get her perfect, but there was something about her likeness that reminded him of Arya, which only hardened his resolve to finally read his uncle's words.

  Shaking hands unfolded the parchment that had been pressed flat against his chest for the past few hours, and Aegon let out a heavy breath as he began to absorb his uncle's words. 

My son, 

  If you are reading this, then it’s obvious that you and I were never granted the opportunity to have that talk that I promised we’d have. I want you to know that I am truly sorry that it’s come to this and that you will have to learn this truth on your own, through words that have been written and not by me in person, as it always should have been.

  Firstly, I think you should know that it was never my choice that you should go to the Wall, but you were nearly a man grown when you made your decision and I did not wish to take this choice from you. I regret that I did not tell you all that you needed to know before you made the journey, but the timing was all wrong, and I couldn’t risk the wrong people overhearing what I needed to say to you.

  You have never been my shame, son. You have only ever been a source of pride to me. I want you to know that I raised you willingly, happily even, and I would endure it all over again if it meant knowing that you grew up safe, alongside Robb, Sansa, Arya, Bran and Rickon. I know that Catelyn never treated you kindly, I know that she never failed to point out that she was not your mother. That she called you ‘bastard’ rather than calling you by name. I wish I could say that I’m sorry, but the truth is, her resentment of you, also kept you safe. 

  I hope that once you’ve read all that I have to say, that you won’t resent me for my part in keeping you in the dark. 

  None of this is easy, and I’ve dreaded this conversation ever since Catelyn and Robb arrived in Winterfell after the Rebellion. Not because I wanted to keep this from you, I dreaded it because I was, and still am, afraid to lose your esteem. The truth is, I’ve been selfish, and I couldn’t stand the idea of you possibly hating me after learning the identity of your mother. 

  Every time I attempt to put the words together, I find my hand stalling. I know that there is no gentle way to say what I have to say, and so, time after time, I’ve put this off.  But it seems as if that time is finally running out, and now all I can hope for is your understanding, and hopefully, your eventual forgiveness. 

  You know about the rebellion, why it was started, and of course, how it ended. You know that I rode for Dorne in search of my sister, and of how when I finally found her she was taken by a fever that later claimed her life. It’s common knowledge that I was too late to save her, what isn’t known was that I arrived just in time to hear the unknown truth of how she came to be in her predicament. 

You might be wondering why I’m telling you what happened at the end of the rebellion. . . If that is the case, then let me assure you that this is all relevant to the truth. 

  Listening to her, I realized that all I thought to be true, had in fact been built upon a lie. It wasn’t until she extracted a promise from me that I came to know the entirety of the tale though, and I readily offered her my oath. 

  My sister had indeed been abducted, though not by the Prince, but by men that the King sent to find her. The prince and his men saved her from the King’s henchmen, and eventually they retreated to Dorne where she remained in Starfall until after Prince Rhaegar was called back to the Capitol by his father.

  It was here that I learned of her involvement in the tournament at Harrenhal, and how she had donned the garb of a mystery knight who sought to defend our father's bannermen from the dishonor paid on him by three squires. The king thought the mystery knight was a threat to him, and in a fit of paranoia, he declared the knight a traitor to the realm and his enemy.

  At the time, no one knew who this knight was, but when he failed to present himself the following day, the king sent the Crowned Prince in search of this, “perceived threat.” What he found was your mother. My sister, Lyanna Stark, inside of the Godswood, attempting to hide any evidence that she was the person he had been sent to find.

That’s right, son. Your mother is my sister, Lyanna Stark, and as you can probably guess, I am not actually your father. That honor goes to the Crowned  Prince, Rhaegar Targaryen, who married your mother on the Isle of Faces.  

I want you to know that in my heart, you will always be my first boy. But the truth is much bigger than what I want or desire. You have never been a bastard. . . I’m sorry that you were forced to grow up living this lie, but I’m not sorry that you were allowed to grow up because of it. 

  There is more that you should know however, but I won’t write everything here. Instead I ask that you seek out Lord Howland when you’re ready and he can give you the rest of the answers you seek. 

  You have two sisters, Vallyria and Daenerys. I had hoped that they would grow up in Dorne, believing that they were the children of Ashara Dayne, but things got out of hand and their caregivers were forced to separate them. Vallyria, your twin remains in Starfall, while Daenerys was taken across the Narrow Sea to your Father's brother, Viserys by Ser Gerold Hightower. 

  I know that this is a lot to take in, but I also know that you are strong enough to figure out what to do next. The situation in King's Landing is chaotic, Robert has learned that Daenerys is pregnant and expecting a child. He ordered that she be assassinated, and I am unable to stand by in good conscience, and allow a child of my own blood to be slaughtered, just to appease Robert's bloodlust. I refused to carry out his command and as such, I resigned my position as hand and I intend to send Arya and Sansa home. 

  However, if you are reading this, that means something went awry and I did not make it home. If that is the case, take care of your sisters for me, son. All of them. 

  Find it in your heart to love Sansa, and make sure Arya stays safe. Find Daenerys if you can, and Vallyria too, bring them home. And—if it’s not too late, don’t swear your vows. The North will need you, Robb will need you, the realm needs you. 

  Lastly, your name. . . The name given to you at birth was Aegon Targaryen. You are the second born son of Rhaegar Targaryen, first born son of Lyanna Stark.

   Footsteps entering the crypts alerted him to the presence of someone new, Aegon assumed that it was Vallyria, or Darkstar coming to check on him, so he continued reading. His hands were shaking as they held the parchment that held the last words his uncle would ever say to him, but he kept his focus on the letter. 

  So many thoughts were swimming around in his mind as he continued to pour over the pages. His uncle had prepared Lord Commander Mormont for his arrival with Benjen. He was asked to delay him in swearing his vows, and to assign him to a position that would not require him to go ranging beyond the Wall. 

  The words of his uncle Benjen rang back in his mind. ‘A man gets what he earns,’ and Aegon realized that they had all been trying to shelter him. He had been assigned to the Stewards, not because he was unworthy, but because they were trying to keep him safe. If it hadn’t been for Othor and Qhorin—Arthur? He might never have seen the truth.

  “Jon?” A voice that sounded oddly familiar broke through the resounding quiet inside the crypts, and Aegon found himself spinning toward the intruder.

|Arya Stark|

   “Jon?” The name spilled from her lips without conscious thought.

  His head whips around at the sound of her voice. “Arya?” He croaks out, the expression on his face spoke of both shock and disbelief and for just a moment… hope. Before either of them realize what is happening they are crossing the expanse separating them and Jon is lifting her off the ground and she is reining kisses upon his face. 

  “Arya—.” He repeats, this time his voice was a strangled croak coming from his lips. 

  “Jon—I came to bring you back home.” She confessed, her voice breaking, not wanting to let him go. 

  She wrapped her legs around his waist and leaned back just enough so she could see his beautiful grey eyes, eyes so much like her own. He was crying, and so was she now that she thought about it, but it was him. He pulled her back toward him and he buried his face in her neck, breathing in her scent as he did so. 

  “I missed you so much, big brother. I thought I would never get the chance to see your face or hear you call me little sister once more.”

  She snuggled him back and buried her face in his neck, inhaling his scent in the same manner that he had just done with her, committing everything about this moment to memory, just in case he disappeared.

  Jon stiffened at her words but then squeezed her tighter. “Arya?” He hesitated for a moment before continuing. 

  “There’s something I need to tell you.” He said in a resigned tone, but never letting her go. 

  “Anything, just don’t make me get down.” She allowed. 

  Jon chuckled, “Never again, I will never leave you or be parted from you again, do you hear me? I swear it.” 

  Arya knew he was serious. For the first time in what felt like forever, Arya felt safe and loved. She couldn’t articulate words so she nodded eagerly. 

  Jon took her acceptance as a cue to start talking, so he took a deep breath and soon she heard the magic that was his voice once more. 

  “Arya, I’m not your brother,” Jon hesitated, and she knit her brows together in confusion. 

  “Don’t be stupid, of course you’re my brother. I don’t care who your mother was, you will always be my brother.” Arya retorted crossly. 

  She would not pull away from him, she would not allow him to put distance between them. Not any more. Instead, she felt Jon walking back in the direction that he had come from. 

  “Arya,” he began again. “It may not matter to you, who my mother was, but that is exactly the reason that I’m not your brother.”

  Arya wanted to punch him for his idiocy… “Jon stop it—,” she started but stopped when she heard footsteps approach. 

  “A girl is hearing a man speak, but she is not listening to his words.” Jaqen said, stepping from the shadows and Arya sprang to attention at once. 

  How dare he be down here, he should have known that she needed time alone with Jon. “Jaqen—” she started once more but this time, she was cut off by the sound of Jon’s angry voice. 

  “Who are you and what are you doing in my family’s crypt?” He nearly growled.

  “A man has come to pay his respects, just like a girl has.” Jaqen replied honestly.

  Jon looked at him with skepticism. “Who could you possibly be paying your respects to?”

  Jaqen gestured toward a statue a few paces back and when Arya saw what he was pointing at, her eyes went wide with realization. 

  “How could you know the Lady Lyanna?” Jon asked incredulously.

  A look of sadness washed over Jaqens face in a rare display of emotion. “She’s your mother, that is what you were trying to tell Arya Stark.” Jaqen stated matter of factly. 

  This time, Arya did pull back, this had to be some sort of sick joke… “No, Jon is my brother, he’s my father's son, he can’t be my Aunt Lyanna’s son. My father wouldn’t.” 

  She could accept many truths, but her father would never father a son on his sister, and that would have been impossible considering Rhaegar had kidnapped and raped—

  Jaqen reached up and passed his hand over his face, wiping away the identity of Jaqen H'ghar once more, revealing a face underneath that confirmed her suspicions.

  Arya released her hold around Jon’s waist and lowered her legs to the ground. Intending to give Jon some space, but he pulled her closer.

  “Never again Arya…” he warned in a low tone. A shiver danced over her spine, but she needed answers. 

  Jon’s jaw clenched, and he angled her behind him protectively. “What are you doing here?” Jon snapped again, his voice holding an accusation in it. 

  “I never knew—,” Jaqen returned dejectedly, he was at a loss for words, and her mind was spinning still. 

  “What the hell is going on here?”

  Jon looked at her, clearly torn about what he was going to say.

  “It’s okay Jon, we are together, you can tell me anything.” She assured him. 

  With one last glance in Jaqen’s direction Jon turned his full attention back to her. “My mother, she was Lyanna Stark, my father is…” Jon gestured back to Jaqen. 

   Is..?  

   Was , would surely be the more appropriate term, but it wasn’t, because as soon as Jon looked into her eyes and confirmed that his mother was Lyanna Stark, she knew that the man who had been with her these past three years was none other than Rhaegar Targaryen and her brothers father? Was that even right?

  “Your father is Rhaegar Targaryen?” 

She spun toward the man who had been her mentor, her safety and her friend… she felt a sense of incredulity at the entire situation. 

  “That's why you’ve helped me? Because you thought I reminded you of her? Because you thought that you could replace her?” Arya was spinning. 

  “A girl is angry—,” Jaqen stated.

  “Angry?” Arya seethed. “You kidnapped and raped my aunt and you thought to make amends through me?” The fucking nerve!

  “A man has not and did not—,” he tried to explain, but she was well past listening. 

  “Drop the Lorathi way Rhaegar, it doesn’t matter anymore.” 

  “Arya—.” it was Jon. 

  She turned to look at him, she wanted him to know that she would stand beside him and share his burdens in this. She could only imagine how painful it must feel, wanting his mother for your entire life only to be given the man who is responsible for taking her from him instead. 

  She squeezed his hand and he awarded her with a shy smile. Odd considering the rage she was feeling. 

  “Arya, none of that is true. They were married, and I have two sisters as well. My mother died giving birth to my little sister. Your father kept me close because I possessed the Stark look, but my sisters looked too Valyrian.” Jon turned back to face the man who she now knew to be Jon’s father. “Vallyria is here.”

  Jon’s father smiled fondly, “And Daenerys?” Rhaegar asked, hope coloring his tone. 

  Jon shook his head. “Essos for all I know.” 

  Jaqen—Rhaegar nodded his understanding, and Arya thought she saw him glance longingly back toward her Aunt Lyanna’s statue. “Would you mind if I took a moment with her?” 

 Jon looked like he wanted to object but he nodded reluctantly, pulling Arya back toward the stairs that would take them back to the surface. 

  She glanced back one last time to see Jaqen-Rhaegar once more and what she found was enough to shatter her to pieces. He was on his knees with his head resting at the feet of her aunts statue, his chest heaving. And even though she didn’t have all the answers, it was clear to see that this man, whomever he truly was, had genuinely loved her aunt. 

  Now out in the cold, Jon pulled her against him once more, and all she could do was welcome it. He needed her, and gods she had needed him too. 

  “Can you take me somewhere private? Somewhere where I won’t have to see anyone until I’m ready? I’m not ready to answer questions, and I’m not ready to have someone tell me it’s improper to be alone with you.”

  Jon chuckled darkly, “Worry not, little sister. None here will dare try me.”

   He hefted her into his arms and carried her off in the direction of the family wing. “Where’s Ghost?”  She finally asked. 

  “Where’s Nymeria?” Jon returned. 

  Arya looked around… but Nym was not where she left her, so she supposed that her wolf went back to her pack, but the way Jon asked the question made her wonder if he knew something that she didn’t. She chose silence rather than answering.  

  “Jon?”

  “Hmm?”

  “I love you…”

  He pulled her tighter. “Aye, as I love you. For now and always.”

  It sounded like a holy vow falling from his lips, but Arya couldn't allow herself to be distracted by her own fantasies. Even if he wasn’t technically her brother, he would never see her the way she saw him. It was fine, she could live with this, as long as he was alive and she could see him and touch him, she could accept anything. 

  “Will you sleep here?” Jon asked her when they arrived outside his door. 

  Arya nodded. “What about Jaqen?”

  Jon raised a questioning brow, and Arya realized that he didn’t know him by that name.

  “Your fath—Rhaegar?” she elaborated.

 Jon pushed the door to his rooms open in silence and he closed and bolted them before he spoke. “Val is watching him, and if not Ser Oswell will recognize him… it doesn’t matter, someone will take care of him I’m sure. I doubt that he will come up before daylight.”

  “Set me down Jon…” she urged once they were secured inside his chambers but Jon shook his head.

  “Just a bit longer. I can’t let you go, not yet.” It wasn’t worth arguing—she didn’t want distance anyway, she wanted to appraise him and make sure he was whole and healthy.

  “Can you at least sit down and allow me to help you out of your wet clothing and me mine?” She thought she felt a low rumble coming from his chest, but she could have been projecting her own excitement. Again she chose not to remark. 

  They were moving across the room once more and then she felt Jon bend and her feet brushed against the surface of something soft. The bed—she couldn’t help but think. When she pulled back, Jon was gazing at her with wide eyes, he looked like he was trying to convince himself that she was actually real. 

  “Arya—” his voice cracked and Arya was moving once more. Repositioning herself so that she was straddling him. She placed his face between her palms, and forced him to look her in the eyes. When he finally did she spoke. 

  “Jon, whatever it is, it doesn’t matter anymore. I’m real and so are you and look, ‘Different roads sometimes lead to the same castle’.” She said, reminding him of the words he spoke to her the last time they had been alone in this very castle. 

  Before he could argue or protest, she leant forward and placed her lips between his brow and kissed him tenderly. Not the kisses of an excited little sister who wanted to show her favorite brother affection but the kiss of someone who meant to take away the hurt and the pain, and maybe, just maybe the kiss of a girl who loves a man fiercely… though that last part was for her and her alone. 

  She moved along his brow bone and he wrapped his arms tightly around her waist, melting into her touch. When she was sure she had kissed him in every place that was appropriate, she pulled away from him and undid the fastenings of his cloak, and then the fastenings of her own, allowing it to fall on the ground. Her actions seemed to convince him that she wasn’t leaving him and eventually he loosened his hold on her and she extracted herself from his arms, going no further than necessary. If he needed to touch her, he need only reach out.

  “Take these clothes off,” she ordered when he made no move to follow her lead. 

  She kicked off her boots and Jon mimicked her actions. Then she pulled Jon to his feet and helped him with his sword belt and the ties of his doublet. 

  She turned away as he slid the fabric over his head, wanting to give him privacy.  While he did that, she began to remove her sword belt and the rest of the articles she wouldn’t need for sleep.  Without seeking Jon out, she brushed past him and slid under the covers without saying a word. 

  As soon as he settled, she tucked herself in beside him and she buried her head between the crook of his arm and his chest, only just noticing that he kept his undertunic in place. Her toes were cold so she rubbed them against Jon’s warm skin like she would whenever she was able to sneak into his room when they were younger. 

  “Jon?”

   “Hmm?” He hummed while running circles on her back. 

  “It doesn’t matter to me, Rhaegar Targaryen or Ned Stark, you’re my brother, nothing can change what you mean to me.” 

  Jon stiffened, which was the opposite of what she was going for and she frowned. 

  “Did I say something wrong?” She asked cautiously. 

  After a moment, Jon shook his head. “Never, you could never, little sister.”

 She wanted to smile, but the way he said it made her feel like he wasn’t so sure anymore. “Do you not want to be my family anymore?”

  She couldn’t help the hurt that she felt at the thought of Jon not wanting anything to do with her because her father had lied. 

  This time Jon was the one to pull away, the look of anguish on his face said everything she was feeling too. But he did not allow for a misunderstanding to grow between them, not this time. 

  “How could you ever think such a thing? Arya—there is nothing I wouldn’t do for you. Of course I want to be your family… I just—,” he swallowed and for a moment she felt a moment of fear. 

  “You just?” She probed… nervous. 

  “I just don’t want to be your brother, not if—,” Arya sat up in the bed, prepared to put some distance between the two of them. 

  Her heart was hammering and she didn’t want him to be able to feel her heart breaking… he would blame himself and she couldn’t allow that. He had no way of knowing what his words felt like to her… she had never told him the truth. And based on his words she likely never would. 

  Jon’s hand wrapped around her wrist, holding tight, but Arya turned her body so he wouldn’t see the tears fall. 

  “Arya, let me finish—,” he was pleading. 

  She shook her head, “It’s fine, I get it.” The words rushed out of her mouth. It wasn’t fine. She didn’t get it, but she couldn’t tell him that. 

  “Arya, look at me—,” she could hear the strain in Jon’s voice and she wanted to turn and face him, but she couldn’t ask him to carry the burden of her own pain on top of his. 

  Jon sighed. “The gods are cruel…” she heard him mutter despondently.

  What did the gods have to do with anything? He was the one who was rejecting her… She was about to say as much but he released her wrist and she felt him get up from where he had been laying beside her. 

  She decided it would be better to stay where she was until he left, then she would sneak out and find her old room so that he could have his space. She could hear his footsteps and she imagined him dressing, and as the moments dragged on Arya felt more and more like she was sinking and shattering at the same time. She could feel the shaking start, and she was trying so hard to not allow her trouble to consume her while he was still near enough to see her fall apart. 

  “Arya?” His voice was right in front of her, low and comforting and pleading.

  In spite of herself she looked up and Jon was right there. When he knew he had her attention he pressed his lips to hers. She pulled back from the shock, but he held her firm. 

  “Listen to me before you pull away and decide you’re done with me for good. I can’t be your brother Arya, not if that means that I can never tell you that my heart beats for you. Not if I can’t tell you that I died for you. I can’t be your brother if that means never knowing what it would feel like to hold you in my arms the way a man holds a woman that he is in love with. Arya I can’t be your brother, because being your brother means not being able to be something more to you… I get it alright? What I feel is wrong, we were raised as siblings, and I won’t press you to return my feelings. But I can’t pretend that they don’t exist, not after everything I’ve overcome just to be here beside you. Tell me now if you want me to leave, and I swear to you that I will.” She could see the fear of rejection in his eyes. 

  Ironic, considering how sure she was that he was the one rejecting her. Arya’s head was spinning, did he really just say all that? Was this some kind of twisted reality? Her eyes searched his face, looking for any detection of a lie, but there was none. He meant it, he meant all of it… 

 Thinking quickly, she asked the first question that crossed her mind. “Did your mother name you Jon?”

  Jon smiled a half smile and her heart warmed. He shook his head. “Nay, that was your father.” 

  Arya nodded. “Well if you’re not my brother, then who are you?” She challenged, hoping he would understand what she was trying to say. 

  His eyes brightened, “My name is Aegon Targaryen sixth of my name, heir to the iron throne.” He blushed the slightest shade of pink, clearly still getting used to being someone other than the ‘Bastard of Winterfell’. 

  Arya liked this game. “Like the Conqueror?” She teased suggestively, thinking of a few places she would like him to conquer on her.

  “Aye, just like him.” Jon husked, though she wasn’t sure he caught on to her innuendo.

  Arya opened her legs and pulled Jon—Aegon close. “It’s quite original.” She said, raising an eyebrow.

  Just then, the melancholy was gone and he smiled genuinely. That was all it took. She slid off the mattress and threw herself into his arms, kissing him good and properly, the way she had always imagined kissing him when they were apart, the way she imagined she would never be able to once she heard that he had been murdered. 

  Arya understood what he had meant when he said he died for her, she understood how he was here with her now and she was determined not to take this time for granted. He did not forget her the way Lord Beric forgot Allyria Dayne. Instead he made her his obsession, and Arya knew that nothing and no one would ever part them ever again. 

  Her hands reached up and snatched the leather tie from his hair and tossed it to the ground before she ran her fingers through his silky raven curls and tugged on them just slightly.

  In response Aegon groaned and pulled her bottom lip between his teeth and bit down, sending shivers to her center. 

  Arya had never been with a man before, though she had seen enough people couple over the past few years. The fact that he was the only one she had ever thought to give herself to, combined with the fact that this was actually happening had her gasping and moaning wantonly. 

  “Yes, gods yes!” Arya found herself urging, to Jon—Aegon—her brothers pleasure.

  Honestly it was just too hard to think of him as some different person. 

  It never bothered her that he was her brother, perhaps it should have but she could never care about that. The Targaryens had married brother to sister for centuries, and as far as she was concerned, there was a bloodline separating him from her, no different than if they had been cousins, which ironically they were. Besides, there was something sinfully delicious about desiring your half brother. To hell with what people would think. 

  Jon’s hands drifted up her ribcage and brushed against her breast. She wanted to feel his skin against hers so she pulled her chemise over her head and tossed it aside, leaving her breasts bare to his hungry gaze. 

  “Fuck—Arya!” He hissed but she wanted more so she brought his calloused hands back up to cup her breasts. His thumbs ghosted over her stiffening peaks, she fought the urge to thrust herself forward, to create the friction between them that she was dying to achieve. 

  He lifted them both so that he could place them both back on the bed. He gazed down at her hungrily and she knew what he was thinking, she wouldn’t let him back away. Not now. 

  “I’m sure, please don’t make me beg you, big brother.”

  She slipped the last part in so that he understood, it didn't matter what he called himself, it never mattered to her that there was a loophole which allowed them to admit their love. She had no intention of letting him walk away now that she was certain he felt the same. 

  Her words seem to incense him, and he surged forward and crushed his lips to hers. When he pulled back, he looked like his wolf, sinful and predatory, ready to devour her, with a hint of mischief hiding beneath the surface. 

  His eyes roamed over her frame hungrily, and then he was moving, one hand teasing the flesh of her thigh, his rough nails scratching lightly as it trailed up toward the juncture between her legs. His lips trailed open mouthed kisses along her abdomen and he nipped lightly at the taut flesh of her hips. 

  When his knuckle ghosted over her center, Arya nearly howled from anticipation. She understood his intent, and she was quivering, both nervous and excited for what was to come. 

  Her hips rose off the bed on their own, the moment he pressed his nose into her center and breathed her in. His hands found purchase on either side of her hips and he dug his fingertips in, making her whine from the pleasure.

  Deep within his chest, Arya thought she heard Aegon growl and her center grew hot and the knot in her gut only increased. Without warning, her brother had her small clothes ripped away and her cunt was on display to him. 

  “Fuck—Arya, you smell just like you do in my dreams.” He husked against her mound.

  She was struggling not to move, to not reach out with her hands and grind her sopping center into his sinful mouth. Before she could string together a coherent thought however, Aegon used both hands to cup her ass cheeks and then push her thighs forward, so far that her knees were nearly touching the bed. Her sex was on full display, but the look in his eyes made her feel more powerful than she had ever felt before in her life.

  In a swift movement, Aegon dove between her thighs and laved his tongue over her glistening folds in a slow manner. She nearly hissed at the contact, knowing that she wanted more, but trying her best not to make him stop. 

  “Mmm, so good, little sister. So fucking good.” Aegon cooed against her flesh, before diving back down and parting her slick slit with his tongue.

  “Oh, fuck!”she whined. “Please, big brother, more. I want more.” 

  His teeth came down and nipped at the flesh of her mound and then he was sucking her hungrily, using the tip of his tongue to flick across her sensitive pearl. 

  After a moment, Arya felt his knuckle ghost across her rear entrance before trailing upward to her cunt. He had every intention to drive her mad and prove that she was wanton, and she was. When the first finger slipped inside her tightness, her hips bucked up against him and she moaned loudly. 

  “Mmm…so, so tight, little sister. Does that feel good?” Aegon crooned, encouraging her on. 

  “Yes! More, Aegon. I need more!” Finally, Arya couldn't take it anymore and she released the sheets and her fingers made their way back into his curls, whenever he would focus his attention back on her pearl, she would tug involuntarily. 

  Her brother watched her every move, every facial expression, and she never took her eyes from him either. He looked divine between her thighs. His dark raven locks spilling out over her creamy white flesh. The color of their skin almost an identical match to one another, he was almost her mirror image, and didn’t that just make this all the more sinful and delicious? 

  “Cum for me, Arya. Let me taste you.” Jon husked, sensing her impending climax. 

  Their eyes locked and she knew that she could deny him nothing as she felt that band coiling low in her gut preparing to snap and send her over the edge.

   When his second finger slid inside her cunt she knew she was done. With obviously practiced movements he hooked them around and began to apply pressure to that spot just inside her channel, tickling the rough patch of nerves and sending electricity jolting through her body. His pace was relentless as his mouth sucked and feasted on her, like she was the finest meal he had ever tasted.

  “Oh, ooh fuck—yes! Aegon,” she whined, watching as he devoured her. Arya wanted him inside her, she wanted him to fill her and claim her the way he was always meant to. “I want you.” She told him.

  Her brother growled at her confession and for a brief moment, Arya thought she saw flames burning in his eyes. Good…  

  Aegon's tempo increased and Arya knew that she was drawing closer to the edge. Every flick of his tongue, her knees tried to clamp shut on reflex, but he never lost his grip on her thighs and just when the pressure was starting to  become too much Arya felt herself finally uncoil and she was crying out her pleasure. 

  He never ceased in his attentions, lapping up every single drop of her juices, allowing her to ride out her climax on his tongue. When the final tremor left her body, she slumped back on the mattress, boneless and spent. The only thought that she could process was; Aegon.

  With great effort, she tugged on his hair and pulled him roughly up so that she could claim his mouth. His hips fit perfectly inside her thighs, and when he pressed his lips to hers, his hardened length was pressed against her center. 

  His lips were swollen and her taste and smell were embedded into his skin and all she could think about was how badly she wanted his cock where his hand and tongue had been moments before. 

  She reached for him, wanting to feel his hard length in her palm, but before she could encircle her fingers around him his own hand quickly stilled her movements. 

  “Arya—wait.” Jon croaked. 

  On instinct, she recoiled as if she had been slapped and she felt herself pulling away from him.

  Seeing her confusion, her brother quickly tried to explain. “Arya, I want to, but we can’t.”

  She gathered that much when he had stilled her hand. She nodded, pulling further away. “I understood that the first time you asked me to wait.” Her words were clipped, and once more she was trying to hide the feelings of rejection that were bubbling up inside her. 

  “Arya—you don’t understand. I want to,” his hand came up to tilt her chin toward him. She allowed his touch but her eyes remained downcast.

  “Don’t worry about it, Aegon.” She started, trying to mask her vulnerability.

   “How can I not? I’ve hurt you again, and that was not my intent. You’re mine, Arya. Don’t you understand that? Mine. If I could, I would claim you in every manner imaginable. But I can’t, not as we are. I won’t father a bastard on you, I would never wish that existence on any child, but especially not my own.” He said, trying to help her understand his plight.

  Slowly her eyes raised to meet his own, and she could see the sincerity hidden in the depths of his deep grey orbs. Something about them grounded her, and lit her aflame, and in turn they burned in a way that was unfamiliar to her. 

  “Jon—,” she began, but was quickly silenced by the look in his eyes.

  “Jon Snow was murdered by the men at the Wall, please… I know it’s difficult, but I would have you use the name my mother gave me.” Her brother said, explaining his reaction.

   Arya sighed, then nodded and after a moment she continued with her previous thought. “Aegon, there are ways to avoid pregnancy. You could pull out, I could take moon tea…”

  This time, it was him who recoiled away from her as if she had just struck him. She watched as he slid from the bed and reached for his breeches. “What just happened?”

  Aegon did not stop to explain, once his breeches were laced, he reached for his boots. Arya followed him and forced him to stop. “Aegon, I’m having a hard time understanding your reaction. Please, talk to me.”

  It occurred to her for the first time that this man was not the brother who rode for Castle Black so many years previous. This man was much more tortured than the bastard who dreamt of making a name for himself that their father could be proud of. 

  “Are you angry with me? Should I leave and find my old chambers?” 

  Finally when Aegon turned to look at her, Arya could see nothing but pain written on his face. She felt confused, and awful, and angry. Confused by his reaction, awful for having caused it, and angry because someone had clearly done something to him that made him feel that he could no longer talk to her the way they once had. 

  Aegon paused and looked her over, reminding her of her utter nakedness, but she didn’t care. She shrugged, “Talk to me, please.”

  After a moment, he nodded, taking her by the hand, he led her back to the bed and pulled her into his lap before reaching for a cover for her. Arya nestled her head against his shoulder and breathed his scent in deeply. It was a few moments more before he spoke. 

  “Is the idea of laying with me so repulsive that you would wish to expel my seed from you rather than allow it to take root?” He asked in a quiet tone.

  “I don’t follow, of course I want to be with you in that way. I thought that was the point of this conversation. It was you who said no, because of the risks. I was just looking for a solution.” She answered back honestly. 

  “And your solution is moon tea, or pulling out which isn’t a guarantee.” Aegon sighed out in a defeated way.

  “What other solution could there be?” She asked not understanding what he was trying to tell her.

  Again, her brother said nothing. The silence was like torture, and all she wanted was for him to take off his clothes and join her under the covers, but he wouldn’t. Not with the current state of their conversation. 

  His brows furrowed, “Do you not want a babe with me, even eventually?” He finally managed. 

  There he was, that bastard boy from long ago, the one who believed himself unworthy of happiness… the one who found safety and happiness beside her and her alone. Arya shifted so that she could look him in his eyes. She was almost fourteen, and flowered for more than a year, but she had not considered children, ever. She had never even considered bedding a man until now. 

  “I’ve never even considered bedding a man before now, so no… I can honestly say that I have never thought about having a child, let alone a child by you. I came home to avenge you, I never expected to find you alive and on the battlefield no less. I certainly never believed that you would love me the way that I’ve come to realize that I love you. But if you’re asking me what I see in my future, it’s always just been me and you. I’ve had no aspirations past my brother, Jon Snow. And now that he’s dead, my only focus is getting to know Aegon Targaryen. Is that such a terrible thing?”

  He shook his head. “Nay, that’s not so terrible at all, but that doesn’t change the fact that the only solution you can think of is to drink moon tea.”

  She chuckled on impulse. “That’s because you are the one that is so concerned about fathering a bastard. As if I would love it any less, as if such a thing ever mattered to me. The only thing that matters is you, don’t you know that?”

  He grinned shyly back at her for a moment, and she felt her heart stutter. Then a calculating look crossed his features, and Arya felt her body tense for the words that he was about to speak. He was planning something, and she had walked blindly into his trap.

  “There is a way, one that doesn’t include moon tea, or pulling out, or abstinence. It’s quite simple actually. Marry me, be my wife.” He said, hopeful.

  “Aeg—I,” she bit her lip, feeling the euphoria of their circumstances flee her. She wasn’t the marrying type, she would disappoint him, she was like Nymeria, she needed freedom, not shackles… and that’s what marriage was… a gilded cage. 

  He seemed to recognize her plight, and before she could finish her sentence he spoke again, “That’s not you...I know,” his tone had gone back to one of resignation.  He knew her heart… 

  She cupped his cheek. “I’m not meant for that kind of life, I’m not a—”

  “You’re not a Lady, I’m aware, but I’m not a Lord either. I don’t expect you to wear dresses and sew, or to tell pretty lies. I would never ask you to give up your identity, Arya. I love you just the way you are. With short or long hair, matted or mussed, in riding breeches, or out of them…” he raised a suggestive brow at her and she snorted. 

  “No, not a Lord at all, you’re the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. What would that make me if I said yes? A Princess? A Queen? How are either options any better? Why can’t we just be who we are? Why do we have to do what society expects of us, in order to find pleasure in one another?” She shot back before he could continue.

  A dark look passed over his face and she felt herself shiver. When he spoke once more, his voice was low and colder than it had been moments previous. “They killed me for you Arya, they killed me for abandoning my vows to come rescue you. And you were never even here.” He growled. 

 “Don’t you see, the fucking thought of another man claiming you, touching you, I wanted to rip his heart out of his chest and feast on it. I don’t care that you will never be the Lady your mother wanted you to be… I hated your mother, I love you Arya. Ever since the day you were born, you were mine and I was yours. I prayed for you… and I can’t bear to lose you ever again. I can’t bear to see someone else try to make a claim on you… but I won’t lay with you either. I won’t ruin you, or risk putting a bastard in you. Say that you will accept me, and I’ll take you right now…”

  Arya winced at the mention of her mother, but she did not miss the fact that he had planned this. Even though there was pain in his voice, and every word he spoke to her was the truth, there was no doubting that he had absolutely planned to back her into this corner. He had planned to give her something that she wanted, no, craved , just to snatch it away and demand the one thing she never wanted. He, of all people, knew her heart and he knew that this had never been her dream. He also knew that to deny her something was the surest way to make her chase it. 

  She reached her hand back and struck him, hard. And then she disentangled herself from his grip. “Fuck you, Aegon Targaryen. I hate you!” She spat, rising from the bed. 

  Before she could go far his hand gripped her wrist tightly and he pulled her back. “Arya, don’t.” Aegon pleaded. 

  “Let me go!” She shrieked.

  “I won't. Never again… remember? I’m sorry for deceiving you and you have every right to be angry at me, but I can’t survive this twice. I would rather never know you like that than to know that I can never claim you as my own. You want me to dishonor you, to ruin you for all others, to prove to the realm that I’m every bit the lustful bastard your mother painted me as for fourteen years? I can’t do that... But know this, you don’t have to say yes either, and even if you don’t, know that I will understand. And as for this,” he said, gesturing between the two of them, “this will have to be enough for the both of us.”

  “Why?” She sobbed. 

  “Why?” Aegon asked, repeating her question.

  “Why did you have to ask that? You could have asked me anything, are you so determined to see me fail? I’ll disappoint you, I just know it.” She wanted him more than anything, but the idea of marriage was too much for her to wrap her mind around. On top of the fact that she was home, in Winterfell with him, and they were the only two left. She felt herself crumble and the tears started to fall unbidden.

  Aegon must have heard them, and soon he had her beside him, and her face was pressed to his chest while he rubbed soothing circles into her back. “Shhh, don’t think about it. You don’t have to decide. You don’t have to say yes. This can be enough…” he said. 

  Arya knew that he meant his words as a comfort to her, but all they did was remind her that if she didn’t agree, this is all they would ever have. He wasn’t really giving her a choice at all, though she was too exhausted to argue further. So rather than speak, she allowed herself to relax into his hold and eventually she drifted to sleep. His scent was the last thing that clung to her consciousness before her dreams claimed her.

Chapter Text

DAENERYS

  By the time the sun had set, Daenerys and Drogon had taken to the skies accompanied by her white knight, Ser Barristan. There were no plans to begin the attack on the Volantene fleet, she merely wanted to get a better picture of what she and her men would be up against, she wanted to know for herself how much she would be relying on the Iron Captain and his fleet, and whether or not it was worth risking her child for.

  The three of them flew up high, as far up as Drogon could take them, while allowing for them to still see everything that was going on down in the bay. Her son had grown larger in the past few weeks since they both had started on this new path, and as a result, his wingspan had stretched and he had become faster, easily covering  more ground than they had on their way back across the Dothraki Sea.

  Ser Barristan reached out, pointing toward a line stretching across the mouth of the bay. “Your Grace, down below, look.”

  Daenerys had seen the ships herself moments previous, but was hesitant to take Drogon lower in fear that they could be taken while unprepared. “Can you make out their number, or see any indication of what they have planned?”

  “I'm sorry, but from up here, it is nearly impossible to tell. You would have to ask Drogon to take us lower.” He called over the howling wind, though the suggestion did not sit well with her. It must have shown too, because before she could respond he added; “I doubt that we will be at risk, you have the Dragon horn, and nobody outside of Meereen knows that Drogon has been mounted. Even if they are armed to fight your dragons, I doubt that they are prepared for him right now.”

  With great reluctance, Daenerys nodded and sent her intent to Drogon to proceed with caution.

  They had flown over Yunkai, keeping as close to the coast as possible, and then they flew further south toward Astapor, which was only visible due to the few torches that lined the walls of the city and the port. Now that the siege in Meereen had been lifted, the slaver cities were for the most part, back under her control. Still, she hesitated to land upon its walls, at least until her own troops were returned to set things to rights in her name, to install the councils that she had requested and see that the changes she had been considering were set into action across the Bay of Dragons.

  Barristan was right, they did need to get closer, and so, even though she wanted nothing more than to scout unseen, she gave the signal for Drogon to fly a few miles further south and approach from the rear of the enemy ships. This way, by the time they saw Drogon, Daenerys and Ser Barristan would have the information that they needed and they could return to Meereen to put their plans into action.

  The reports hadn’t been wrong, the Volantene had anchored just off the tip of Astapor and set up their blockade across the Bay of Dragons as far as Tolos, with the Isle of Cedars at their rear. No doubt they were keeping their reserves on the island and were using it as a base of operations. 

  Drogon, to his credit, stayed as far away as possible, and the heavy cloud cover and the light rain worked insofar as keeping them from being seen, though there was no way to mask the clap of his wings. Daenerys was thankful that it looked as if it was about to start storming, and she prayed to the Fourteen  Gods of Old Valyria that her enemies were none the wiser.

  Once she was certain that she and her white knight had seen enough, she directed Drogon to take them upward and back in the direction of Meereen where her war captains and Lord Greyjoy were waiting for her to provide them with as much intel as possible before they set sail.

  They landed atop the apex of the great pyramid and quickly dismounted. Daenerys made sure to thank her son before he ambled away in search of his clutchmates, while she and Ser Barristan headed straight for her solar, where Grey Worm, Missandei, Rhakaro and Jhogo were waiting for her to return.

  Her table had been set up with a map of the newly named Bay of Dragons, with wooden figurines depicting her three-headed dragon, and others depicting the Volantene ships. Meereen was positioned at the head of the table, near where  her chair was situated, and Ser Barristan had told her that Aegon the Conqueror had a table commissioned of the Seven Kingdoms before he made plans for conquest, similar to the way that this one had been set up. Somehow this detail pleased her immeasurably.

  While she busied herself with removing her armor, her old knight moved straight toward the board to move the pieces into their places, while Missandei sent a page to go and collect the rest of her council.

  A few moments later, her scribe was escorting Lord Victarion and each of his ships individual captains inside, followed by the Tattered Prince, Daario Naharis, Ser Jorah Mormont, Lord Tyrion Lannister and a number of her Unsullied captains, alongside the various new commanders that had sworn her their allegiance following the defeat of the Masters. Once everyone was all in position, Daenerys nodded toward Ser Barristan to begin.

  “The reports were correct, the Volantene have set sail with no less than five hundred warships, intent on adding their strength to the Masters who had originally besieged Meereen. What they don't know however, is that those ships that had set sail from New Ghis, Tolos, Qarth, Astapor, and Yunkai are now under our Queens control. This we can use to our advantage. From the look of things, they are intending to blockade the Bay of Dragons by linking their ships to one another to create a wall, no doubt they are hoping to make it difficult for anyone to flee the bay, while also cutting off supply routes over water. While we still have use of the larger section of the Bay of Dragons, the only way to leave is by land or by going through their blockade.” Ser Barristan began, gesturing toward the routes left open to her and her men.

  Lord Victarion grunted, earning the attention of everyone in attendance, including herself. “A blockade can easily be broken by the Queens dragons.” he interjected with little to no enthusiasm.

  Daenerys clenched her jaw in annoyance. Does he really think to place my children on the front lines? Not wanting anyone else to agree, Daenerys found her voice. “Captain, perhaps you should listen to the whole report before offering your expert opinion,” she cut back at him instantly. Daenerys did not like this man, and she liked the thought of him mounting one of her children even less.

  The Iron Lord merely nodded and turned his attention back to Ser Barristan to continue, and when her old knight was certain that he could go on, he began explaining in detail what they were up against.

   “If I might make a suggestion, Your Grace?” a voice belonging to Tyrion Lannister spoke up after hearing all that Ser Barristan had said.

   Daenerys nodded for him to continue.

  Stepping closer to the table, he cleared his throat and then he began. “In King's Landing, just after my nephew dismissed Ser Barristan, Stannis Baratheon attacked the city, attempting to unseat Joffrey to declare himself as Robert’s true heir, which, technically is true, as Robert had no trueborn heirs. However, somehow, it came down to me to defend the city and the Blackwater, and somehow we were successful. I can admit that the mouth of the Blackwater Rush is much smaller than the Bay of Dragons, and the idea of using a sink chain to lock the fleet in place is a long shot, but perhaps you could use the ships that were employed by the Masters and slavers to ferry over men who could infiltrate the lines and create a distraction rather than simply awaiting ground troops to get into position.”

  His suggestion had merit, and she could admit that his story made her curious about this battle upon the Blackwater, she would need to know as much about King’s Landing and all of its defences before she made her move on the Seven Kingdoms. “Thank you for your suggestion, My Lord. Does anyone oppose Lord Tyrion's idea?” Daenerys asked, wanting to gather as much input as possible. Many people seemed interested, and as a result more questions followed.

  It was late into the early morning when they finally had a plan put in place and it would require troops to be in position in Astapor before their attack moved forward. Luckily for them, almost ten thousand men had been sent over land a few days following the battle, with the intent to restabilize the Bay, these troops would be in Astapor within days if they weren't already close by. Jhogo sent word to the Khalasar that had yet to reach Meereen and directed them to meet them in Astapor with all haste. The ships she had gained from Tolos and the other slaver cities would be used as a distraction while smaller vessels would set off from Astapor under the cover of dark to infiltrate the wall of ships from their point of command and with any luck, by the time they realize what is happening, their ballista would be disabled and it will be too late to properly defend themselves.
  Though, the truth of the matter was more personal for Daenerys. She did not want to put her children at unnecessary risk and expose them to the world before she had the chance to reach Westeros. She did not want to give someone like Victarion Greyjoy a reason to become blood drunk on the words of her House, and she did not want him atop her child…though, in this one instance, she knew that card would need to be played regardless.

THE CROW'S EYE

   Euron couldn't recall the last time he had set foot in the Capital city of the Seven Kingdoms. He was fairly certain that he had never before received a royal invitation to meet with the Lannister Queen, nor had he ever imagined that he would ever receive one in the first place, yet here he was, aboard the Silence, approaching the port. 

  King's Landing had obviously not changed in the twenty years since the Baratheon claimant had taken the throne from the Mad King and his heirs, it was still a cesspool that stank of shit and decay, the people of the city, still underfed and over crowded, all living on top of one another, while the royals sat comfortably atop Aegon’s High Hill, pissing on the rest of them. 

 It was in Euron’s opinion that this city could use a bit of cleaning, not dissimilar to when his brother rebelled against the Baratheon king at his urging, and a number of Ironborn were culled as a result of his machinations. He can still remember the battle on Pike as if it were yesterday, how beautiful it was to hear the screams of dying men, even the ones who had once been his kin… Good riddance, the place was getting overcrowded and the people complacent with the way his brother had been ruling them. 

  That was the problem with Balon; he had no ambition save returning their people to the ‘Old Way’, content to stay close to the shores of Westeros, reaving and raiding while the rest of the Known World remained as untouched as a maiden. 

    Complacency… Euron had no room in his life for such things. Nor did he have any need for partnerships that would eventually turn into a struggle for power…no, he had seen to most of his loose ends already. Meeting with the Lioness was merely another card he would play.

  He had successfully taken the Shield Islands and given them away as if they were nothing, they were but mere trinkets in truth, and if his men wanted to be the lords of these isles, they would have to keep them, if not, the sacrifice will still be worthwhile.

  He means to sacrifice many more before his work is done.

   The Red Keep was a dreary place these days, not that Euron had anticipated a warm reception. He was well aware of the people who were currently guests of the Lioness and her boy king. He smiled darkly as he entered the throne room for the first time, seeing the reactions of the few people who were attending court, while Cersei Lannister sat upon the throne. 

  She was beautiful to be sure, though he had heard that her hair was more beautiful than her crown, long and golden like the proud lioness she was no doubt rumored to be. This version of her however clearly no longer possessed such vanity, as her hair was just now starting to touch her neck. It would likely grow back, but there was still enough there for Euron to grab if she allowed him a moment in her chamber to bend her over.

  “Leave us,” Queen Cersei roared, dismissing everyone save her guards.

  “Your Grace, I came the moment that I received your summons.” he lied easily. He had come the moment he learned that an army was crossing over land toward Oldtown where he had sent his men. 

  Another part of his plan. . .

  “You aren’t exactly an easy man to track down, the Crown thanks you for taking your time to answer your summons.” Cersei said dryly.

  “Of course, My Queen. How might a man such as myself be of service to Her Majesty?”

  The Queen smiled from high upon her borrowed throne, she was still quite lovely in a twisted sort of way. He could see an inferno burning beneath the surface and he would be lying if he couldn’t admit that a part of him wanted to help ignite that fire.

  “My Lord, I was hoping you would be willing to help me with a sensitive matter, would you mind if we  moved this conversation to a more secure location? The council chamber perhaps?” she gestured toward a room at the back of the hall and Euron began walking up the steps immediately.

   A large man as big as a mountain stepped in front of him, not allowing him to move past the steps leading toward the Iron Throne. “Please forgive Ser Strong, he is quite protective. You’ll need to leave your men and your weapons, I hope you can understand, My Lord.” The Lioness Queen said nonchalantly as she descended the twisted steps of the Swords of Aegon's Vanquished, some such swords belonging to his Hoare ancestors.

  Euron glanced around the monstrosity of a guard, and never did he move. “I have no issue with your requests, though if you plan for me to join you, perhaps you should call off your hound.” he suggested playfully.

  Black eyes burned into him but soon he backed away. “Ser Strong, please escort our guest into the Council chamber.”

  Like a huge door, the beast swung to the side and grunted for him to continue. Euron gestured to his men to wait for him and he followed behind the Lioness and her two guards, with the black eyed monster at his back. He would need to figure out how this one ticked and keep an eye on him.

   Inside the council chamber, an older man dressed in grey rags was seated at the long table. “Your Grace, Lord Euron, welcome.”

  “Lord Greyjoy, this is Qyburn, he is a dear friend to me and my most trusted advisor. I have asked him to sit in with us while we discuss the matters that I have called you here for.” The Queen said, making introductions.
  It wasn't like he was in a position to object, so he kept his cool and nodded toward the old man, taking note of the way that he watched the both of them. “I am here to serve you, in whatever capacity, My Queen. Perhaps you might enlighten me with the reason for your summons?” he said, playing naive.

  The Queen gestured toward a chair, “Please, join me.” When he was seated she nodded to the old man.

  “Her Grace is in need of a champion, someone who wishes to see her enemies dead as much as she does, and we have heard whispers of your crusade against various religions.”

  Euron looked back at the monster who was guarding the door to the chamber. “And that thing can't do the job?”

  The old man chuckled, and Euron had an urge to rip his tongue out and toss it in the fire. He couldn't stand  the sound of him. “Ser Strong is but one man, and I need him to remain by my side. But you have a talent for chaos that I would prefer to reward rather than punish.” the Queen threatened in a sickly sweet tone, leaning forward so that their hands almost touched. Emeralds wrapped in rich  gold adorned her fingers which bore faint marks that suggested that she had been whipped, or at the very least rapped across the knuckles a few times.

  “The Seven have reinstated the Faith Militant. How did that come to be?” Euron asked carefully, leaning forward himself. He was a fan of all types of dancing, and he knew for a fact that he was just as cunning as any cat, he was perfectly happy to dance with this one.

  The Lioness straightened in her seat. “It pains me to admit but the Crown has been under the recent influence of bad council, and as a result, the King unknowingly signed off on a decree, allowing the faith and their loyalists to reinstate their Militant group and they have elected the highest fanatic to represent them…” she paused and Euron nodded, indicating that he was listening.

  “So why has our king not rescinded that decree now that it is proving to be problematic?” He inquired in a measured tone.

   “The Hand of the King, my uncle, Ser Kevan was recently found murdered in the Maesters Tower, with a wound from a crossbolt. It's entirely possible that it was my vile Imp of a brother, though I have my suspicions that this was a ploy from the “High Septon” to weaken my son's rule before he is even out of Regency.” She kept her words careful, measured.

  “Forgive me for saying so, but perhaps what the realm needs is a seasoned Queen and a proper King to rule them, instead of a boy who is more concerned with sword lessons than he is with reading the decrees he is fixing his seal to.” He knew that she would know that the slight was dealt toward her, but she was still vain enough to think he was falling for her ploy.

  “Let us be transparent, Lord Greyjoy.” The lioness said, fixing him with her burning emerald eyes. Eyes that proved that she was teetering on the edge of sanity and madness… he had been there himself once. All she would need is a push…  Euron nodded.

  “Word has reached me about the Ironborn raiders at the shield islands, Lord Leyton Hightower has sent word that they anticipate an attack on Oldtown any day now. Reavers have been spotted in the Reach, House Florent of Brightwater claims that they have seen raiders along the shores of the Honeywine, and we hear whispers of an Ironborn captain styling himself as the King of the Isles and the North.”

  “And you intend to serve me over to the faith as a gift?” He was a little confused with the turn of events. If she meant to punish him for his “wicked ways” why then did she dismiss all the courtiers?

  “I don't intend to have you harmed, quite the opposite in fact. I want you to help me rid the realm of these false gods and prophets. In return I will help you kill all of your enemies, including the pretender Stannis Baratheon who is currently laying siege to the North, and if what I hear is correct, he holds your niece, Lady Asha.” she said with a sinister smile that made his cock strain against his breeches.

  As sweet as her offer was, he wanted something more specific. “There's something else I would like.”

  “And that would be?” her brow arched with curiosity.

 “There is an item on Claw Isle that I’ve heard my own whispers about.”

  “Lord Celtigar is a guest here in the Red Keep.” Cersei volunteered.

 Euron shrugged. “Why should that concern me? It matters not where the man is, I mean to have this item either way. His permission makes no difference one way or another.”

  “Done.” 

  She was desperate, he could work with desperation. “And something else…”

  “Of course,” she scoffed, unsurprised that there was more.

  “I want to wed the most beautiful woman in the world.”

  This time the lionesses pride and vanity came center stage as she straightened her shoulders and stood from her seat, reaching forward and offering him her hand, which he took obligingly. “Help me kill our enemies, and I’ll make you a King.”

DAENERYS

  The ships had been prepared throughout the night and well into the morning hours, all the while a light drizzle continued to fall over the Bay of Dragons and Meereen. Inside the city, people sought cover inside their houses and inns, out in the port, Unsullied and Ironborn, Tolosi and soldiers from New Ghis all prepared to depart, flying the banners of their previous allegiance. Together, seven and ten ships were set to depart and join up with the Slavers fleet. The Iron fleet, along with the Windblown and a portion of Daario’s Stormcrows would sail out but keep their distance. 

  Each ship was stocked with chains and hooks, meant to rip the wall to shreds. There were barrels of pitch that were loaded into the holds, spears, longbows and all other manner of weaponry that would be needed to break the wall. All there was left to do was allow Victarion the chance to sound the horn and to pray that Rhaegal or Viserion did not attempt to burn him alive before the Ironborn were firmly under her command.

  She and Drogon carried the horn, attached around his neck by two thick chains that they had managed to secure around the dragonhorn for transport. Lord Victarion met her, alongside his captains and the one thrall that he had chosen to sound the horn. Drogon seemed to sense that something was going to happen and he made a show of hissing and snapping at any one who got too close to him or his treasure.

  The Iron captain addressed his men the moment that Drogon settled. “You all know the reason that we sailed halfway around the world to come here to Meereen. We came to bring home the Dragon Queen, and tonight you will bear witness to the glory of the Drowned God and R'hllor. Swear to your Queen that you will follow her into the watery halls of the Drowned God, and deliver her House words to her enemies, both here and in Westeros once we return to take back what has been stolen and denied us.”

  One by one, each man beat his hand against his chest and dropped to one knee, as if this had been rehearsed. The Dusky woman stood back, no emotion shone on her face, while Moqorro watched knowingly what was about to transpire. 

  Daenerys stepped forward. “Men and women of Westeros, I want to thank you now for sailing all this way and aiding myself and my people in our time of need, and I vow to you here and now, once we defeat these vile men and return to Westeros, I will not abandon you as you have been in the past, together we will see to it that your ways and your people are respected, and I will reward each of you for your loyal service.”

  The man who Victarion had chosen stepped forward and Daenerys gestured for the Dusky woman to proceed with the blood offering for the horn. The Captain was still unaware that the viles had been switched out and the blood coating the horn belonged to herself and Drogon. 

  The red priest stepped forward and began his sermon, which confirmed that the Iron Lord indeed had seen fit to pay him tribute, as well as his own Drowned God. “Your victory has been seen in the flames, and blessed by R’hllor. His chosen champions will triumph over their enemies. Fear not, all those who perish in battle will be reborn in the Lord's light. These men are agents for the Great Other, and they will not prevail against the Mother of  Dragons and her chosen…” 

  He is no chosen of mine...

  Daenerys' attention moved away from the red priest and upward toward where Rhaegal and Viserion circled overhead. Please forgive me, and know that this is only temporary. You shall both choose your own riders, this is my vow to both of you.

  When Moqorro was finished, the thrall that Victarion had chosen stepped forth and waited for her permission. ‘Remember who you are, Daenerys Stormborn. Remember the Undying. Mother of Dragons, Bride of Fire. The dragons know who you are, have faith in yourself.’ Quaithe’s voice whispered through her mind once more. With a heavy sigh, she nodded her ascent and the crowd of Ironborn stepped back in apprehension, as if they already knew what to expect from the sounding of the dragonhorn, and for a moment, Daenerys wondered whether or not she should send her own people away.

  The decision was taken from her the moment the first bellow flowed from the barrel of the dragonhorn, low and melodious to her own ears. All around her, men  and women were shrinking back but Daenerys felt as if a new ember started to burn within her mind, and suddenly images and thoughts that were not her own invaded her senses. Confusion, anger, joy…her children... Daenerys realized just before she heard Viserion and Rhaegal call out from up above.

  The dragonhorn had stopped bellowing and she found the man who had blown it collapsed upon the ground, however all eyes were fixed on the sky as Rhaegal plunged  himself toward them, screeching all the while.  

  Thoughts of love filled her, and Daenerys realized that somehow a link between herself and her other two children had been created, one she thought that she would never know after she had claimed Drogon for her mount. And then Victarion was smiling victoriously, and he started toward Rhaegal before he even touched the ground. 

  In his good hand, he held a whip. Where he had gotten it, Daenerys wasn’t sure and Rhaegal reared back in confusion, his yellow and red flame building deep within his throat, preparing to incinerate this pretender who thought himself bold enough to claim a dragon.

  “Dragon Queen, tell me how you communicate with your beast,” the Iron Lord called when he noticed Rhaegal’s resistance toward his approach.

  “I am their mother, I cannot explain my bond with them. And I know of no man or woman not of Valyrian blood who has claimed a dragon before, so I have no way to advise you. What I can tell you is this, when I mounted Drogon, I was more afraid for his life than my own. My only thought was to get him away from danger. If you succeed, you will need to convince him to accept you. The rest I suspect will come naturally, or not. He is more intelligent than you can fathom, so do not try to bend his will to your own, zaldrīzes buzdari iksos daor.” She stepped away from the Ironborn Lord and more silently she made a promise to Rhaegal that this would be his choice. 

   Fear not my son, you will not have to keep this man, nor will you be forced to bond with him. When that happens, your rider will be the one you choose, this I swear to you.

  Victarion circled around Rhaegal, looking for an opening where he could scramble up upon his back, but Rhaegal never took his bronze eyes off of the man he considered unworthy. 

  Rhaegal lashed out with his tail before snapping in Victarion’s direction only to feel the crack of the whip lash at the scales of his snout, the barbs digging in under the soft edges of his scales, making him recoil. From high above, Viserion bolted down toward her brother, her shrill cry momentarily distracting them all as she unleashed her pale flame, shot through with red and orange, attempting to place a wall of flame between  the Ironborn Lord and her clutchmate.

 Victarion quickly rolled to the side, just before Viserion’s fire reached him, putting himself within feet of Rhaegal. Once more the whip cracked and echoed across the open space, only this time, her child was too slow to react and Victarion managed to launch himself at the base of Rhaegal’s tail.

 Rhaegal thrashed and screeched, but it was already too late, Victarion held on with his blackened hand and slowly pulled himself up Rhaegal’s back even as her son launched himself off of the ground furiously. The Greyjoy captain dangled from his back for only a few moments and Daenerys worried that he would be thrown from her son’s back at any moment.

  Without another moment to consider, Dany climbed up Drogon’s wing and settled herself at the base of his neck. Sovigon, and then they, too, were climbing into the sky, her only thought was to calm her child so that they could do what they needed to do and then they could be rid of this vile man once and for all. 

  Drogon darted after his brother, and while he honed in on their location, Daenerys sent comforting thoughts through this new bond that was now like a raging inferno, burning through her mind and body. She sorted through the feelings of betrayal and anger, and kept reinforcing that all would be well. She sent him the dreams she had seen, of her flying over snow capped trees, and of the huge stone castles that she had only dreamed of after one of Viserys stories of their home across the Narrow Sea, and she assured him that all of this was so that all of them could fly home...even if that home was not a house with a red door with a lemon tree outside the window. Home was her, and Drogon and Viserion and Rhaegal. A weyr of their own, always.

  As if something clicked, Rhaegal straightened his flight and Drogon called out to him as he began to circle over Meereen and the Great Pyramid that they had claimed as their own. Thrice they flew around the city, Victarion holding on to the spikes on Rhaegals back tightly, though she could tell that he had fooled himself into believing that her child had accepted him fully and completely. When they finally settled down back near the port, she could see that the man was making new plans in his mind, of all the things he would be able to do now that he had ridden a dragon. Confirming to  her that she had done the right thing in deceiving him.

  As soon as her feet touched the ground, Ser Barristan and her bloodriders surrounded her, but so gone was she in her fury, she pushed past them with nary more than a word and she rounded on the Ironborn captain with all the fury of a dragoness.

  “You, who gave you leave to use a whip to claim one of my children!” Daenerys screeched furiously. She could feel Drogon raise himself up behind her, lending his support for her wrath.

   The Ironborn captain looked at her with barely an ounce of interest. “Do not come with your self righteous indignation. Did you not claim your beast in the same manner?” he sneered, though he was careful to keep his voice low. He might have been successful in his first flight, but his self perceived bond with Rhaegal was nearly nonexistent, if the rage she was feeling through their link was any indication. As if to prove this, Rhaegal launched himself back into the sky in search of Viserion before he could be told to go.

  “Perhaps the two of you can continue this conversation back in the privacy of the Great Pyramid?” Ser Barristan suggested carefully.

   Daenerys nodded reluctantly, she was too angry to speak. Instead she motioned for her Unsullied and her Bloodriders to escort Lord Victarion back up to her solar so she could make sure that he understood the responsibility of riding one of her children into battle.

   As she was turning away Grey Worm called to her. “Ñuha dāria,” Daenerys paused and turned back to the Commander of her Unsullied who stood, unprepared to follow her back to the pyramid.

  “Skoros iksis ziry Torgo Nudho?” Daenerys replied warmly.

  “This one  wishes to sail with those that will serve, this one wishes to make Masters weak.” he answered in the common tongue.

  She had hoped that the Unsullied that were still in Meereen would remain to help install the council. Grey Worm was essential to those plans, especially now that he had dispatched more than five-hundred of his best men back to Astapor to assist in the training of the next generation of soldiers.

  Trained in the way of the lockstep legions of the current Unsullied, these new soldiers would be free men, both of noble and lesser birth, and would serve for no less than five years. Those who wish to learn another trade aside from war will be allowed once their five years of service are completed, they would be honorably discharged and provided with suitable compensation. During that five years they would defend the Bay of Dragons and could be stationed in any of the cities that were under Daenerys protection. They would remain uncut, unbranded and they would be pushed to their limits without having to kill an innocent child. Daenerys knew that this would not be easy, but she truly believed that men and women could be trained in the art of war without having to go through such measures.

  “How many of you will go?” she asked, knowing that to refuse him would be the same as insulting his ability to protect his queen.

  “Five and twenty, Captain Naharis, and the dark priest will go.” Daenerys knew that Daario would want to insert himself into this in some manner or another, and she couldn't—wouldn’t bring him with her. 

  She nodded. “You know what needs to be done?”

  “This one will not fail. Unsullied keep Queen and her dragons safe.” Grey Worm vowed.

  “Very well. You will stay safe, that is an order. I need you beside me when we sail west.”

  Grey Worm nodded. “This One will see you before the sun rises.”

  It was silent on the way back up to the pyramid. The entire time, Daenerys thought long and hard about all she intended to say to the Ironborn lord. Most importantly, she would not be surrendering the dragonhorn. If he intended to bond with Rhaegal, he would have to continue to do so without the usage of such a tool. 

  She knew that it would not matter in the long run, the horn had created a link between her and her three children that had not been as strong before the horn sang it's song to her. Only a dragon could truly hear the melody that flowed from within Stormbound’s hollow embrace. How beautifully sad and heart wrenching it was to know the loss of the dragon that had sacrificed itself to become the link between man and beast.

  She also knew that if she were to sound the horn herself, the song would likely sound even sweeter. The man Victarion had chosen to sound the horn had died almost immediately, burned from the inside out. But fire cannot harm a dragon, and Daenerys was no stranger to fire. But she would not allow another man to die for the sake of claiming one of her children. This horn belonged to her and her future children if she was somehow able to have them, but she would never force the choice on her children ever again. For that reason the dragonhorn will remain with Drogon until the moment she is able to destroy it or hide it from the rest of the world. She would leave that decision to her children if need be.

  But before any of that could happen she needed to make sure that Victarion Greyjoy understood the responsibility that she was entrusting to him. And she would not hesitate in a moment to revoke those privileges. She could withstand fire, he had been a witness to this himself, but he could not and she would not hesitate to end him with fire and blood.

YOUNG GRIFF

   Westeros was not at all what he had thought it would be.

  He had grown up hearing tales about the famous knights of his true father's kingsguard, of the Seven Kingdoms that were his by right of his birth. Of grand tourneys and beautiful maidens, the finest knights and the most famous grand melees. But ever since they landed, Aegon had seen none of that.

  The Imp hadn’t lied when he spoke of how divided the continent was, but so far all of his so called victories felt hollow. How was he supposed to save the realm and all of it's people when there were no people left to save? 

  The wars that have plagued Westeros had taken their toll on both Highborn and those of common birth. Those who had managed to survive were either aligned to the Tyrells who had wed their rose to the boy that the Lannister’s crowned, or so used to their mistreatment that they chose to keep their distance from his men whenever they were out patrolling.

  A part of him was resentful of the fact that he had been forced to set up his base of operation at Storms End rather than on Dragonstone. He should have taken his ancestral seat weeks ago, but his ‘ father’ had suggested that they wait. Apparently Cersei Lannister had sent men to take the island and holding it would be more for sentimentality than it would be for strategic advantage. At least that was the justification Jon had used at the time. 

  He got his wish when, a few days later a raven arrived from Oldtown from House Hightower, requesting any support that he and his army could provide. Word had reached Lysono of the Ironborn attacks on the Shield Islands, led by a man named Euron Greyjoy; the self proclaimed ‘King of the Isles and the North’. How Leyton Hightower had learned of his arrival in Westeros was yet to be determined, but still, it had presented him with an opportunity to prove to the realm that he had come to save them from tyranny and starvation. 

  The only problem was, Jon had started acting strangely shortly after they had seized Storms End, and he nearly refused to make the march alongside him and the Golden Company to relieve the people of Oldtown from the Ironborn raiders who were moving to sack the city. 

  Griff spent hours alone inside his chambers, going over maps and drinking more than he would normally, he even limited their interactions, save for when he couldn’t. And he wasn’t the only one either, Lemore too had become more subdued after they moved from Griffin's Roost to Storms End, oftentimes he would find her at the top of the Drum Tower staring northward, as if she were searching for someone on the horizon. 

  She had been the closest thing he’d had to a mother, so feeling her pull away from him confused him and hurt him in equal measure. And all of this had only intensified when his cousins Arianne and Elia had arrived from Dorne at the request of his uncle Doran. 

  He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, in truth. Griff had told him of his mother, and her relationship with his Dornish relatives, especially when he had been younger and threatened to run away and go find his real family. Perhaps he had believed that he would find a warm reception from his mother's kin, especially once they learned that he had been saved all those years ago.

  What he had expected, and what he had received however, were as far from one another as they could possibly be. Arianne watched him suspiciously, even now as they marched over land toward Oldtown. 

  They apparently weren’t as convinced of his lineage as he thought they would be, and this became apparent when it was revealed to him that Doran expected to make a match between himself and his cousin Arianne. Which complicated things further, because the whole reason he had come to Westeros early was so that he would have something more than his claim to the throne to offer his aunt. He couldn’t hope to have her if when she arrived, he was already bound to another woman. 

  Lemore, was strangely silent on the matter, instead she provided him with some generic excuse that she had plucked out of the Book of the Seven, about how marriage was a sacred rite and should not be taken lightly. Not that he had any intention to treat it as less than a binding agreement that he would honor until his last breath. He had learned long ago from his true father's mistakes, which is why he was adamant to not lead his cousin on in any manner. 

  Why should he have to marry Arianne anyway? Shouldn’t his blood be enough of a reason to support him and his claim? He wasn’t Rhaegar Targaryen, he was his son, true. But he was also the blood of Elia Nymeros Martell, the true heir to the Iron Throne. And yet, he had no time to arrange a meeting with his uncle before they had begun their march. 

  Almost two weeks into their journey over land, Aegon still found himself pondering over his choices. He had acted impulsively when Tyrion advised him to come to Westeros before his aunt, even though he knew that the slaver cities were planning to sail for Meereen to try to stop the continued liberation of Slaver’s Bay, but what he had said about going to her empty handed and asking for her hand and one of her dragons had struck him deeply. And now, he couldn't help but wonder if his aunt would see him as a threat rather than an ally.

    I should have gone to her myself and attempted to build a relationship built on trust. I should have been there to fight alongside her when the masters attacked.

  His cousins Arianne and Elia had decided to march alongside him, both claiming that  there was someone close to them in Oldtown that they wanted to find, even without the added backup of Dornish troops. Aegon had no choice but to bring them along, he didn't dare leave them behind with Griff and Lemore, especially Lemore, as he had seen the way his cousins watched her suspiciously.

  Each night, he would sup with his cousins, sometimes Arianne would ask him questions about his time growing up in Essos, sometimes she would enquire about his escape from King’s Landing as a babe, and Aegon would find himself repeating the tale to her once more. No matter how many times he repeated it, she still looked at him with skepticism. To say he was confused by  her reluctance would be an understatement, he had been downright insulted by her presumption that he was not who he claimed himself to be. How would she know anyway? From her own mouth, she had only ever met his sister Rhaenys once, hardly  anyone outside of Dragonstone or the Red Keep had ever seen him before the city had been sacked and his family slaughtered by Lord Tywin and his dogs.

  Which is why he had decided to travel to Dorne himself once they broke the siege on Oldtown. Arianne would tell him nothing except that it was her father's hope that  they could unite their houses through marriage as well as blood, and on multiple occasions she had even slipped into his tent to prove how beneficial a union between the two of them would be.

  Those negotiations were always the hardest for him to refuse. Arianne was a sin in the flesh, with her sultry curves and large bedroom eyes, rich black hair that gathered just past the small of her back, and her large round breasts and wide hips. There was no denying that he wanted to bend her over and take her the way she wanted him too, but he could not be so reckless, not until after he has claimed his throne and won the loyalty of  the other six kingdoms. Especially since he was intending to do all of this without the support of three fire breathing dragons, like his namesake had done during conquest. Until such a time, he had to let the realm believe that he was tied to no one and that he was open to a political union.

  The march over land had gone with little to no issues, there were, of course, quite a number of people who were seen fleeing the areas surrounding Ashford and Cider  Hall. Word had been traveling about, of raiders along the Mander and the Honeywine. At Cider Hall, they had employed the use of barges to help move them more swiftly toward Oldtown, while a portion of his men were instructed to scout the lands around Horn Hill and Highgarden for any Ironborn. Their orders were to detain and question  those who were caught, and to kill the rest.

  The heir to Highgarden was still in residence and Aegon hoped that he could earn Lord Willas’ favor by defending his land when no one else came. Even if that meant abandoning his loyalties to his House who had sided with the Lannister whelp and his cunt of a mother. What good was it to be the brother of the Queen, when that same Queen was powerless to protect her people, and even herself for that matter? With any luck, the Reach would be firmly under his banner by the time the attack on Oldtown was relieved. And if Lord Willas continued to be an issue, he would strip them of their titles and award someone more willing to bend the knee.

  They stayed aboard their barges until they were well past Highgarden, nearly a week traveling down the Mander aboard something far less grand than the pole boat he had nearly grown up on with Yandry and Ysilla. Duck and Haldon had remained by his side, while his cousin Elia spent most of her days challenging any and all who she could convince to spar with her, much to the annoyance of Arianne who wanted nothing more than for her to calm down and wait patiently for their barge to dock.

  They unloaded just north-east of Brightwater Keep, not far from the Roseroad, from there they began their march further south toward Oldtown. The lands surrounding  the Honeywine had been stripped of their crops, inns and taverns were boarded  up and closed along the way, and all travelers were headed in the opposite direction, many of  whom warned them that nothing but death awaited them in the direction they  were heading.

  It wasn't just the Ironborn, apparently the Faith Militant had been reinstated and had set about enforcing their beliefs on the common folk who sympathized with the Lannister Queen or were known to be tolerant of prostitution and other such selacious activities. 

   All along the road, men and women were hung up, no notice of their crimes, save the seven pointed star of the Poor Fellows that had been carved into their chests, warning all godless men that a reckoning was coming. No one was saved from their judgment it appeared, as some of these people were strung up alongside their wives and children.

  The images would stay with Aegon for days afterward, sometimes he wondered if they would ever leave his mind, but still he and his men pushed on in the direction of Oldtown. 

  It was late in the evening, three weeks following his departure from Storms End  when the Hightower finally came into view. From the reports he had received, the Ironborn had yet to make their move, and the Whispering Sound was completely locked down. Even the few ships he had sent over water were being kept outside the harbor, Lord Leyton did not wish to risk anyone sneaking in once the chain was lowered. Aegon knew that they were at least another two days away from the city, so he ordered his men to set up camp and rest, while he sent two men to ride hard for the city with a missive for Lord Leyton, announcing their arrival. He could only hope  that they would be received warmly, as he still hadn’t seen any relief coming from the other kingdoms.

  He found himself wishing that his ‘ father’ was beside him during the long hours of the night, rather than locked away inside his rooms at Storms End. He knew the land and the people of Westeros better than any of the men who had accompanied him, and yet, when he had used this argument against Jon, his ‘ father’ had claimed that as the true ruler of Westeros, it would be up to him to learn the land and its people, to prove to them that he was both a good choice and a capable commander. He didn't need an exiled knight to win over the people of the realm… How was he supposed to argue against that?

   The following morning, Aegon called each of his commanders into his tent to discuss their approach, including his cousins Arianne and Elia. His commanders suggested a rushed pace, urging him to arrive before the attack began, but his cousin Elia believed that it would serve them better to surround the city once the Ironborn were confirmed to be inside. 

  Reports had come in throughout the night of raiders being spotted along the Honeywine, and Haldon suggested that the first attack would be aimed at the citadel near the Ravenry. Why anyone would wish to raid the Citadel was a mystery to him, especially the Ironborn who had never been known to care much for the centers of higher learning, but Aegon knew that if anyone had enough insight into the logistics of an Ironborn attack among his camp, it would be Haldon.

  In the end, they had decided on a mixture of both plans. They would  ride out with all haste, attempting to reach Oldtown before the attack began, but they  would not enter the city until the first signs of attack could be spotted. Once everyone was clear on their directions, they went about breaking down their camp and were soon back on the road. 

  By the end of the day, they had managed to put themselves within a few hours' march of Oldtown. They set up camp away from the main road, just a few meters inside the cover of trees. Black Balaq sent men out foraging for fresh game, while Strickland and the rest of the commanders met up to go over last minute plans. Aegon had ridden beside Strickland for the majority of the day, so he was already in the know, which left him with some time to wander around camp with Duck at his side.

  Arianne; his cousin, had stayed close to her own party throughout the day, and for some reason he had the urge to know what it was that she had been keeping from him. She had played her part well, to be sure. Never giving away more information than necessary, but there was something about her that made him think of his many  nights aboard the Shy Maid, across from Haldon and the Imp, playing cyvasse.

 Usually by the time his tent was erected and the fires were lit, she would have made her way over to him, but not this night. Whether or not it was because she had someone within the city that she was interested in finding, or because she had been keeping secrets from him, Aegon was determined to find out what was going on.

 It didn't take long for him to locate them, he merely looked for Elia, who he knew would still be out, practicing with her lance, the same way she always would after a day of travel. A few of the people who had accompanied them from Dorne were helping to run drills with his younger cousin, while Ser Daemon Sand and Arianne were notably absent. The two of them were typically in each other's company so Aegon supposed that wherever Daemon was, Arianne would be close by.

    Not wanting to disclose his position, Aegon stayed close to the tents and drew his hood up to cover his hair and he moved from one tent to the next, until he came upon his cousin and her sworn sword discussing her brother Quentyn. 

  Aegon hadn’t heard her speak of her younger brothers often, if at all, and to hear them speaking in hushed tones made him more than curious. “My father still has had no word from Essos, it's as if Quentyn just disappeared.”

  “I wouldn't worry for the prince, my princess. He will return, and he’ll likely bring Daenerys Targaryen with him.” Ser Daemon Sand replied sympathetically.

  “That is what worries me. If he manages to convince the dragon queen to fulfill Viserys betrothal agreement, while I have made no progress with Aegon, or whoever he truly is, why would my father wish to make me his heir? He favors Quentyn, you  and I both know this.”

   Whoever I truly am? What is that supposed to mean? And what is this business about  Quentyn being in Essos, what betrothal with Viserys?

  “Your father knows what he is doing. Nymeria and Myrcella should have reached King’s Landing by now, or they will be soon enough, and with Sarella here in Oldtown  and Tyene at the Sept, everything should work out. Just continue with your father's plan. Watch, and report. If Quentyn shows up, we will deal with that too.” Aegon peaked around the corner to find Ser Daemon consoling Arianne, her head resting on his chest. 

  So many emotions went through him at once, anger, betrayal, pain at the realization that he was just another piece in a game his uncle was already playing. Jon had been right, his claim would have been stronger if he had come with his aunt at his side. Instead he had listened to a Lannister who had apparently already aligned himself to Dorne with the promise of marriage to the Lannister princess. A princess that his uncle was willingly returning to her mother rather than sending her to him. Not only  that, but now his cousin Quentyn was likely in Meereen offering Dornes support to Daenerys if she upheld some betrothal agreement between their Houses. How could he trust that his own family wasn't attempting to betray him at their first chance?  Was his game to get whichever of his children on the throne? 

 Aegon backed away from the scene, he had learned a great deal more than he had known at the start of the day, now he just needed to make sure he planned accordingly. Tomorrow they would see Oldtown, and he would wait on no one else to solidify his claim. The Iron Throne was his by right of birth, Aegon the Conqueror  was  crowned in Oldtown and so too will he. The Ironborn will be the first to feel his wrath, then he will turn his sights on King's Landing, and with or without three dragons, the Lannisters and all the rest of them will know that Aegon Targaryen VI of his name has returned to bring his enemies fire and blood.

DAENERYS

 Ironborn ships crept silently above the black water, the sails headlong since been folded back, all fires extinguished. Daenerys stood aboard the Iron Victory beside Lord Victarion who was still fuming from their earlier discussion. Rhaegal and Drogon lay on the deck, curled around one another. 

  The ships had been fixed to mirror Victarion’s flagship, all now possessing a thick ram that they would use to break the wall. Grey Worm and the others would already be in position and now it  was simply a matter of waiting for the signal.

  What was once Slaver’s Bay, now appeared to be more of a harbor, by the way the Volantene fleet stretched out across the mouth. Behind those, another line of warships, set up to descend on any that make it through the line. Those would need to be the focus of her and Lord Victarion once they were up in the air. But she would not take her children up until it was too late for her enemies to retaliate.

  Victarion had sent five and ten smaller vessels that had been reinforced with timbers scavenged from some of the other ships that were sunk during the second siege of Meereen. Triple-wide rams had been rigged to these vessels and would allow for the Ironborn reavers to mount each with grapnels which would allow them to board the enemy fleet unseen. Inside these vessels, pots of pitch and oil had been loaded, which would be used to create a distraction so that she and her children could take to the sky.

  As luck would have it, the storm had picked up quite a bit, and Daenerys took this for a good sign. The wind pushed the Iron Victory forward at a steady pace, and the rain made them nearly invisible. And then the signal was given when an explosion lit up the night near the south-east, just where the wall of ships met the tip of the Astapori coast. 

  They were close enough now that they could see men running forth, lighting their signals, alerting the next ship over of the breach, only to be rocked by another explosion further down the line.

  Daenerys turned toward the Ironborn captain. “I trust that you will heed my advice and will not push Rhaegal against his will, no matter what you believe is best?”

  “How can I? It's not as if I can hear his thoughts…” Victarion complained.

  “I am not privy to their thoughts either, but I have learned to be receptive to their feelings. If at any time Rhaegal pulls away, do not push him to return, his survival instincts are better than either of ours.” Daenerys offered, trying her best to make peace with the situation, she had no intent to sabotage this man while he was linked, in whichever manner to one of her children.

  “I've already given you my word.” the Ironborn captain grumbled with a hint of annoyance.

  Daenerys nodded, “That will have to be enough,” she allowed, although grudgingly. “There is a line of ships, waiting just beyond the wall, that is our target. I assume that our men have had no access to them, so we will  assume that they are armed with ballista that can harm one of my dragons, for that reason we will fly up high and come from above, taking out the  furthest ships and then moving on to the ones closest to the wall. I want these ships to be added to my fleet, so I expect you to choose your targets carefully.” She said passing him a leather strap that was identical to the one Missandei had given her on the terrace her first night back in the city. 

  “What is this for?” Victarion asked, turning the strap around in his hand. “I thought you did not want me to whip the beast.”

  Daenerys clenched her jaw, trying her best to remain diplomatic. “It is not a whip, it is meant to help you remain secure while you are in the air. His name is Rhaegal and he knows his name, so I suggest you take care to learn it. He won't respond to Beast for much longer.”  and with that, Daenerys turned on her heel and motioned for Ser Barristan to follow her. 

  Before mounting up, her old knight helped her to Dawn her helm and once more looked over her buckles to make sure her armor was secure and that she would be safe. Another explosion rocked the wall of ships, this one toward the south-west closer to the coast of Tolos, and another more close to the center... it's time.

  She approached Rhaegal first, her hand caressing his jaw, her forehead rested just above his snout while she distracted him enough to allow Victarion to climb up his back and secure himself at the base of Rhaegal’s neck. His yellow cloak stretched out behind him, he was armed with a longsword and his dirk strapped at his waist, while his battle-axe was fixed across his back. 

  Rhaegal stirred uncomfortably as she stepped away, but Victarion had already managed to secure the straps around himself and he was in no danger of being thrown. With that in mind, Daenerys quickly went to Drogon and he lowered his wing for her to climb up, when she was secure Ser Barristan climbed up behind her. 

   Moqorro was already above the deck, chanting in High Valyrian, his gaze settled before them on the line of ships being overrun with Unsullied and Ironborn raiders who were masters at their craft. And then Drogon lifted them from the deck of the ship, his wings extending as he launched them over the side, skimming over the surface of the water before climbing upward toward the heavens.

  The takeoff was always the most exciting part for Daenerys, it's the moment that separates her from the earthbound and those who were masters of everything above them. As soon as Drogon would level out and Daenerys was fully able to take in the world from his vantage point, everything else ceased to matter and she dreaded having to come back to earth and to the mundane. It was why she knew that allowing Victarion to bond with Rhaegal would be a mistake. The man was driven by his desire for revenge, and he didn't care how many innocent lives he would take trying to achieve it. The man was strong, and well suited to battle, but he was not cunning enough to think about things in the long term. 

 And then there were the visions in the House of the Undying. She knew that he had been a part of her prophecy, and yet the Undying  had said that she saw morrows not yet made…not that these things were absolute. She had seen morrows that were, morrows that could have been, and morrows that could still be, but she knew that she was in charge of her fate.  

  She had not seen Hizdahr in her visions, and yet she still found herself his bride, even if their time together had been less than brief. Which proves that not everything  she saw will come to pass. Daenerys knew which destiny she was leaning toward.

 Drogon leveled out, high above the line of ships and Daenerys closed her eyes, focusing on the feelings running through her children. Drogon was excited to lose his fire, she could feel his chest and neck heating up beneath her, and it was only her calming thoughts that kept him from descending downward upon the enemy ships. 

  Soon Rhaegal had caught up to them and he leveled out over the Bay of Dragons beside them. Down below, the explosions had stopped, but the fire still spread, as if it had a mind of its own, jumping from one deck to the neck, lighting up the main sails before moving on to the next. And then, from behind the wall, the warships began to advance, three moving in to seal the breach caused by the explosions.

  Lightning flashed, followed by a low rolling thunder that shook the very heavens from where she sat, mounted atop her winged shadow, and then Drogon was diving. His wings tucked against his sides as he allowed gravity to pull them downward. Another lightning bolt ripped across the surface of the water, lighting up the bay from below. Daenerys didn't even need to tell Drogon what to do, for he had been ready the entire time.

  Black and red flames erupted from his open maw, engulfing the first ship in a thick blanket of smoke and ash. His flames were so hot that the stern imploded inward upon impact. Men scrambled toward the bow, only to be consumed by Drogon’s flames as they tore through the ship with ease. Beside them, Rhaegal did the same, taking out another vessel in the same manner.

  On it went, each time she would strike one ship, Rhaegal would strike another and then they would climb up into the sky to reform and plunge down once more. There were only a handful of ships left and the storm yet raged. The feeling of adrenaline pumped through her like a live-wire and for a few moments, it was only herself, Ser Barristan and Drogon.

  A shrill cry brought her back to reality and for a moment Daenerys worried that Drogon had been struck, but it had not been Drogon, and soon he was calling out to his clutchmate in a manner that suggested that he could feel Rhaegal’s pain. Daenerys watched as Rhaegal fell haphazardly toward the open water, Victarion still strapped to his back. A bolt had struck her child near his left wing joint and he was having a difficult time recovering.  

  Drogon plummeted toward his clutchmate, releasing a furious screech as he aimed  his dragonfire toward the vessel that had released the bolt at his brother. Ser Barristan held on tightly, but Daenerys hardly registered his presence as she felt a wave of Drogon’s fury rush through her.  

 “Dracarys!” she roared at the same moment Drogon’s flame burst from between his blackened teeth. 

  She turned and sought out Rhaegal and found that he was flying low near the wall, and Victarion was standing upon his back preparing to jump onto the deck and into the fray. She and Drogon flew once more over the bay to make sure that there were no other threats and then they went in search of Rhaegal.

  They found him not far from where Victarion had jumped. He had landed upon a deck of a ship that had already been taken by her Unsullied. He still had the bolt stuck in his joint, so Daenerys asked Drogon to take them down so that they could help. 

  Ser Barristan climbed down first and secured the area for her to follow before she released Drogon to fly overhead and protect them. Six Unsullied surrounded Rhaegal protectively, but stood aside as she approached. 

  “Skorkydoso iksis ziry?” she asked.

  “Issa ōdrikagon, mēre ōdrio,” the soldier replied.

  “Skoros iksis aōha brōzi?” she asked, hoping to reward him and these men for watching over Rhaegal.

  “This one is called Red Flea.” he replied in the common tongue.

  “Kirimvose, Red Flea. You have done me a great service this night. If there is ever anything I can do for you and the rest of your men, you need only ask. I am eternally in all of your debts.” she said, smiling.

  The young Unsullied bowed, and Dany knew that none of them would ever take her up on her offer, but still she would never forget how these six men stood guard over her injured son, without fear for their own lives. Her attention was drawn back to Rhaegal, who watched her with fire burning beneath his amber eyes. His pain radiated off of him in waves. 

  She was at his side in an instant, whispering words of reassurance to him in her mother tongue as she slowly approached the bolt that was protruding from his wing joint. To her relief, it wasn't as deep as she feared it had been, but it was still deep enough to throw him off balance while there was someone still mounted atop his back. Rhaegal hissed a warning when she reached up to take hold of the bolt, but she paid him no mind, instead she sent him thoughts of comfort, and promised him that it would only hurt for a moment. Even Drogon had to endure her removing the spears that had lodged themselves between his scales in Daznak’s Pit. 

  Daenerys could still recall the burn she had received as a result of her selflessness... this time she would be careful to stand away from Rhaegal’s injury. “Ser Barristan, stand back, his blood is fire made flesh and not even I am immune to it.” she warned.

  When he was far enough away, she turned back to Rhaegal and tightened her grip on the shaft of the bolt. Without a second thought, she yanked on the shaft as hard as she could and Rhaegal flinched, managing to separate the point of the bolt from his flesh. Daenerys lost her footing and stumbled back, remembering to release the bolt at the last moment. Rhaegal let out a cry of pain and then he shrunk back to observe his wound and test his wing. 

  All around, the fighting continued as the song of steel clashing against steel, men screaming out battle cries as they engaged with their foes. The sound of men either being thrown overboard, or jumping on their own was a constant companion as Daenerys attempted to hold on to the link that had formed between her and Rhaegal. On and on the battle raged, while the men who had taken it upon themselves to protect her child, were forced to engage more men who had taken up the slavers cause. 

  Ser Barristan remained by her side, only having to unsheathe his blade once, when a group of three men tried to climb the side of the ship they were standing on to gain access to her and her son. Rhaegal managed to take out one when he had gotten too close, the poor man didn't even have a moment to call out to his brothers-at-arms before emerald green and bronze jaws snapped around his torso and flung him savagely over the siding. 

  Her white knight was busy dueling with two men, the first carried a longsword, but had long since lost his shield and helm, the other held a dirk and a shortsword. Ser Barristan made short work of the former, dispatching him with ease when he left his right flank unguarded. Unfortunately the second one seized his chance the moment that Ser Barristan struck his killing blow and he lashed out, attempting to take him unawares. 

  Daenerys cried out a warning for her old knight, but it came a second too late, as the man swung with his shortsword and followed through with his dirk, knowing that only one would be successful in finding its mark. The sword was deflected easily as Ser Barristan turned fluidly and lifted the pommel of his own blade to cross, when his foe’s dirk came out of nowhere, aimed for her knight's underarm. Daenerys panicked wanting to rush in to defend him, but Grey Worm somehow got there first, thrusting his spear into her enemies gut. 

   A cry of victory rang out across the wall of enemy ships belonging to her men just as the sun began to rise. When she finally looked up, Ser Barristan and Grey Worm stood before her with their hands outstretched. Her knight favored his arm, and she could see a line of blood trailing down his shirt, but his spirits were high, mirroring the jubilant energy of those who had fought alongside him. 

  Behind the wall of ships, the Ironborn fleet, along with the Iron Victory had passed through unmolested. Ironborn reavers stood proudly on the decks of their ships, calling out to their brethren who were still aboard the remaining Volantene ships.

  “Your enemies are defeated, these ships are now yours, My Queen.” Grey Worm announced, a hint of pride could be seen in his eyes.

  Daenerys glanced around, where men were tied up on the deck. “Did these men surrender?”

  “These men are captured before we give signal, we not kill if we not have to,” Grey  Worm explained.

  “Where is that beast!” Daenerys turned toward the sound of Victarion’s angry voice to find him racing across the decks of the ships that separated them from him. Her own fury started to build as she took in his enraged expression.

  He was covered in blood, his battle-axe was still in his hand and he looked furious. Daenerys moved in front of Rhaegal and reached for Drogon to be on the safe side, while Grey Worm and Ser Barristan stood at her side.  

  Rhaegal reared back and hissed at Victarion as he stomped closer. “Stand aside,” he ordered, forgetting himself and whom he was speaking to.

 Daenerys arched a brow but before she could speak, Ser Barristan was unsheathing his sword once more, he stepped in front of her. “You forget yourself Greyjoy. You do not command the Queen.”

  “I forget nothing, that beast tried to kill me. He almost threw me from his back, he would have if I hadn't jumped!” Victarion snapped back.

  Daenerys looked back at her son who was watching the scene before him with murderous eyes and whispered for him to return to the pyramid where he could rest before they departed. Rhaegal hissed and beat his tail against the deck of the ship in response to Victarion’s accusation before he moved toward the starboard side of the ship and pushed himself off, being sure to stay close to the water as he glided toward Meereen without her or Drogon.

  When he was out of sight she turned her fury toward the Ironborn Captain. “I swear by the gods of Old Valyria, the Red God, the Drowned god and the nameless gods of the North, the next time you think to threaten or punish my child I will incinerate you!”

  After that she instructed her men to escort Lord Victarion somewhere secure while he calmed down and she set about her business of hearing reports and locating her men and the names and ranks of the men who had been taken alive.

  By late morning she had met with all her runners and gotten a count of how many ships had survived the night, how many were disabled and were in need of repair, and how many had been lost completely. She knew that she would not end up with the entire Volantene fleet of five-hundred ships, but she was still surprised to learn that they had only lost around five and forty over the course of the night, in addition to those,  two and  twenty were disabled and would need repairs to their masts and rudders before they could sail again, the rest were moved further into the  Bay of Dragons to be fitted and painted for the trip to Westeros. 

  She left Ser Barristan in charge of the particulars after that and she called for Drogon to bring her back to Meereen where his clutchmates were waiting for them. She also gave instructions for Lord Victarion to be released once she was gone, and to tell him that he would need to sail back to the city aboard his flagship.

  The following days were a whirlwind as the finishing touches were put on the ships that she would be departing with. All horses belonging to the Windblown were packed into the cargo holds of the ships they would be taking, as well as a number of horses belonging to her Khalasar. Her personal belongings were moved into her chambers aboard her new flagship; Visenya’s Fury. She intended to fly ahead of her fleet, but she knew that she could not stay astride Drogon all the way to Westeros, and she did not want to get too far ahead of her ships. 

  Three vessels had been prepped for her departure, each one large enough to allow for Drogon, Viserion and Rhaegal to rest comfortably above the decks. Victarion had insisted that Rhaegal could sail with him aboard the Iron Victory, but Daenerys didn’t trust him not to attempt mounting Rhaegal while he was still healing. 

  It wasn’t a matter of him being able to fly, Rhaegal could certainly still support his own weight, but he tired more easily and she didn’t want him carrying more weight than necessary until he was at his best. 

  Victarion had no insight into Rhaegal’s thoughts or feelings, so he struggled with the idea that her child was not infallible, and while she was not nearly as ignorant on the matter, she could not and would not grant him open access to her children. As it stands, Rhaegal had not yet forgiven him for his outburst the night after the battle on the bay and every time Victarion was nearby, Rhaegal would flee the area.

  Of the ships that sailed out of Volantis, most were crewed by slaves which Daenerys awarded their freedom to on the spot. Those that did not wish to resume their trade in Volantis, were offered work in any of the cities in the Bay of Dragons or were given the opportunity to join the crews that would be sailing west. If any  wished to return to Volantis, they were more than welcome to sail west with her once they were on their way, as Daenerys had every intention to make port in Volantis, Lys, Pentos and mayhap even Braavos if need be. 

  Daenerys knew that she could not simply abandon Essos for Westeros and hope that her ideals and policies would be upheld, which is why she had decided to make a progress of sorts through these cities that have had such an impact on her life. She would dismantle them, piece by piece if she must, and rebuild them all from the ashes, and she would strike the first blow at “Valyria’s first daughter” the moment she arrived with the triarchs who thought themselves strong enough to oppose her. 

  She had hoped to have been gone by now, but ultimately she was glad for the extra time with her people and her scribe. There were many questions from her people, and she even attempted to hold court one last time before she departed. There had been no attacks since the slavers had been defeated and the Harpy had been beheaded, and slowly, her city would heal. 

  The storms had actually been a blessing for the Bay of Dragons, after the second siege and the Pale Mare had destroyed the land for miles and the wells had been poisoned, the rain came and washed away most of the damage back into the Skahazadhan. There was still a lot of damage that needed to be repaired, but Daenerys had come up with a budget for the repairs that she had taken from her own treasury, and left detailed instructions with the builders guild. 

  She had met with the old slaves who had once instructed their masters children, and she appointed them in the continued education of the people of Slavers Bay, she also gave them an opportunity to sit in the ruling council, as well as someone from the guild of builders, agriculture, and trade. She wanted everyone to have a voice, even those in Astapor and Yunkai. 

  Daenerys was certain that she could stay another year in the Bay of Dragons, and still she would find more reasons to postpone her trip west. So with a heavy heart and vivid dreams calling her home, Daenerys departed Meereen four days following the defeat of the Volantene, with a promise from Missandei that it would not take them more than a fortnight to prepare the rest of the fleet and to pack up the rest of her khalasar. She made them promise to be careful and to not delay any longer than possible. 

  She would not be gone forever, something inside her knew that this would not be the last time she saw these people, or this land that she had fought so hard to save from itself. She knew without a doubt that these people would always be her people, and she would always come back to fight for them. 

Chapter Text

|Arya|

  Arya awoke to the sound of a door closing softly, the spot beside her had been abandoned, though not long ago. Aegon stood with his back to her, fixing the clasps on his jerkin while she observed him through half lidded eyes, still crusted from sleep.

  She wanted to call out for him, let him know that she was awake, but something told her that he hadn’t intended for her to know he was sneaking away. And so, Arya waited, and watched, as Aegon, the man who had once been her most beloved brother, but now was somewhere between being her lover and her platonic other-half, slipped out of the door and shut it softly behind him.

  She waited for as long as she could, until she heard his footsteps fade down the corridor before she too, slipped from the bed and put her clothing back on. She stopped briefly to wash her face and intimate parts, and then she followed her brother down the hall, listening closely to all the sounds echoing throughout her childhood home.

  She was still inside of the family wing when she heard the subtle sound of crying followed by the soothing voice of Aegon. 

  Arya had long since memorized that voice, and oftentimes she would think back on the many times she had been the crying child, seeking the protection and comfort that only her Jon could, and would, willingly provide. She could still picture with clarity the many times he would hold her captive in his warm embrace, while he soothed her and reassured her that she was loved and wanted and perfect the way that she was. 

  A stab of jealousy surged through her at the thought that Jon—no Aegon had left her to comfort another. 

   Who though? 

  Men of the Watch are sworn to father no children—and Jon had always dismissed the thought of being a father. In fact, the whole reason Arya felt the need to sneak around in the dark was due to their argument and the fact that he had refused to lay with her in fear of getting her with child...it made no sense. 

  “ I’ll never father a bastard!” Jon’s proclamation all those years ago echoed in her mind and Arya snorted. He damn sure didn’t seem to care before he left the Night's Watch… Arya thought to herself indignantly.

  On silent feet, Arya edged closer to her destination, slowing slightly. She felt like Ghost, sneaking around in the shadows. 

  There were unintelligible murmurs coming out of the room just further down the hall, and then a woman’s voice sounded and Arya froze. Was the child’s mother here too? She almost lost her will to investigate further, but then the door creaked open and a tall woman with pale honey-blonde hair stepped out. 

   Val. . . 

   What was Val doing in the family wing? And where did this child come from? Arya hadn’t seen any children among her people.

  The impulsive child in her wanted to jump out and demand answers, but that would alert Aegon to her presence and then it would be more difficult to find the truth, so Arya resolved herself to seek the woman out on the morrow, she would learn the facts first hand, but first, she needed to know what was going on inside that room. 

  Val exited, heading in the opposite direction leading away from where she stood, obscured by the darkness, and Arya breathed out a sigh of relief. When she was sure the coast was clear, she edged closer to the room that she knew Aegon was in and she focused on the conversation that was taking place inside. 

  “Why did the Magnar not accompany you with Black Horse?” The question made no sense to her. 

  The voice of a young boy thick with a foreign accent answered her brother's inquiry. “I didn’t want to wait, and Ser Davos and Osha said it would be fine if I went with Storm.” 

  His voice sounded strained, as if he were busy trying not to cry, and Arya found herself inching closer to the crack in the door, she needed to see this boy.

  For some reason her heartbeat started to pick up, and she noticed that her hand was starting to shake as her nerves started to get the better of her. Why should the voice of a boy she never met before have such an effect on her anyway? 

   “Shhh, my furious wolf. All is well, you’re home, I’m home, and no one will hurt you here. I know that it took a little longer than I promised it would, but we’re together, are we not?” Aegon cooed soothingly, and Arya too, found herself relaxing at his words. 

  She took the plunge and poked her head around the doorframe and her heart stopped dead in her chest. 

   Impossible… her little brothers were gone, they told her that they were gone! Weren’t they? 

  Her knees became jelly and Arya found herself sliding to the floor in shock, her mouth agape. In front of her Aegon sat on the edge of the bed, with a little boy, no older than nine name days, clutched tightly in his arms. A tangle of auburn curls pressed against his shoulder, face pushed into the crook of his neck. 

  Why hadn’t he told her that Rickon was with him? Where had Rickon been during the battle? Arya shuddered thinking about what could have happened if Ramsay or Roose Bolton had gotten their hands on her little brother. The thought alone had her wanting to go and murder Roose Bolton all over again. And who was Storm? Hadn’t Rickon named his wolf Shaggy? 

  She was so deep in her own thoughts that she hadn’t noticed when the vivid Tully blue eyes of her little brother found her lurking in the open door frame. He didn’t say anything, he just watched her, as she watched him, until Aegon broke the silence. 

  “Are you going to stay in the hallway, or would you like to come inside and get reacquainted with our little brother?” Aegon challenged lovingly. 

  Rickon drew back and looked between the two of them questioningly, but Aegon’s grey eyes stayed locked on hers, and Arya swallowed back her fear and hesitation before she got to her feet and approached. 

  “You found her?” Rickon half whispered to Aegon, his voice full of awe, and even some skepticism. 

  Aegon shook his head, “Nay, little brother. She found me.”

  Rickon turned back toward Arya, his eyes wide, full of questions. “Did you come with Nymeria? Shaggydog and Ghost were looking for her.”

  Arya smiled and slid to the floor, just across from where her two brothers were sitting. “Nymeria came to find me and we came as fast as we could. If I had known that you were here, I would have made Nymeria run even faster.”

  Rickon looked between her and Aegon a few times and then he slid from their brothers lap and crossed the distance between them. “You look like Egg.” He stated matter-of-factly.

  Arya cocked her head to the side. “Egg?”

  Aegon smiled crookedly, “He means me. Aegon is too much of a mouth full to him, and he was too young for Jon to have stuck with him, so he chose Egg for when it’s just the two of us, and Big brother for when others are around.”

  Arya simply nodded and turned her attention back to her little brother. “Where have you been all this time, and what is this accent you have picked up?” 

  Rickon inched closer to her and smiled devilishly. “I went to Skagos and Osha taught me the Old Tongue.” He announced proudly. 

   ‘Osha?’ Arya mouthed toward Aegon. 

  “It’s a long story, but House Stark owes her a debt. I suspect that you will meet her on the morrow, once she arrives with the Magnar and Ser Davos.” Aegon somewhat explained. “Would it be okay if I left him with you for a bit? I need to go and check on Storm and I have unfinished business in the Godswood.”

  She very much wanted to know what was in the Godswood, but her questions could wait. Arya had no intention to leave her little brother, not until he wanted her to go. Arya nodded and Aegon knelt down beside them on the floor. 

  “I won’t be gone long, and Arya has promised to stay here with you. You have no reason to feel unsafe inside our home. I mean to go and make sure that everyone who has ever made you scared or meant you harm will not see the sun rise on the morrow, hmm?”

  Rickon nodded reluctantly. 

  “Take care of our sister, and don’t let her disappear while I’m away.” Aegon ordered, and this time Rickon was more willing to oblige, even though Arya wanted to roll her eyes at the absurdity of her needing anyone to watch over her. Satisfied, Aegon turned on his heel and marched off, following the direction that Val had taken earlier, leaving the two of them to keep eachother company. 

  When he was gone, Arya turned back to her little brother and took care to look him over. He was no longer the little boy he was all those years ago when they had left home with her father and his fat friend who thought himself a king. 

  Instead he was almost a man grown, just slightly younger than she had been when she left, his build was more lean than Robb, but he looked strong and well cared for. His hair was a mess, but then again, it had always been this way, even before Bran’s fall. His blue eyes shone like sapphires, bright and full of mischief, and she could only imagine that he had more than a touch of Shaggydog’s personality mixed in with his own. 

  It seemed as if Rickon was studying her in the same manner, so Arya decided not to speak. She wasn’t sure how to connect with him, or if he even wanted to connect with her. He seemed more attached to Aegon than he did anything or anyone else. 

  His left hand lifted and he traced the lines of her jaw, then her eyebrows, followed by the arch of her nose, before finally going to the shortened strands of her hair. She would have given anything in the moment to know what he was thinking. 

  Rickon was no longer crying, though the tension from before still lingered, Arya could tell by the set of his shoulders and how he would look away every few moments so that she wouldn’t see him suck in a deep breath. After the fifth or so time, Arya reached out to him and drew him closer to her. 

  “I can only imagine how hard it must be for you to be here, with all of the reminders of when things went wrong. I don’t know what happened to you and Bran, but I promise that I won’t ever allow anyone to scare or intimidate you ever again.” Arya crooned against Rickon’s curls. 

  “How can you promise that when you left us! You weren’t even here to stop the bad men from taking Winterfell and hurting our people?” Rickon challenged. 

   Was she partly to blame for what happened to her brothers?

   “Rickon, when I left, I was hardly older than you are now. I never wanted to go south, I would have been happy to stay here with you and Robb and Mother and Bran and Jo—I mean Aegon, but I had to do as Father commanded, and he had to do as the King commanded. You understand, right?”

  Rickon nodded, but something told her that these were mere words to him. In a way, he was like her, numb from all the death and destruction, though his own anguish seemed to stem from abandonment. While hers was partly due to hopelessness and fear that she would disappoint the people who were supposed to love her the most. Only exacerbated by the fact that whenever she got too close, Death makes it impossible... until Aegon. A voice whispered inside her head. 

  “Is it too late for us to start over?” She asked, feeling insecure. 

  Rickon sat forward and rubbed his red eyes, and then he turned to look at her, eye to eye. He seemed to study her for a beat and then he shook his head in answer. “I prayed with Egg that we would find you and Nym. He told me not to give up hope and I didn’t. We’re a pack, right?”

  A tear fell on her cheek and Arya nodded. “That’s right, little wolf. We’re a pack and the pack is strongest together.”

  “And Nymeria too, Ghost and Shaggy missed her and they don’t want her to leave them either.” Rickon confirmed. 

  “And Nymeria too,” Arya agreed. “I doubt very much Nym would allow me to take her away from her brothers again anyway.” 

  Satisfied, Rickon stood from where he had been sitting beside her and grabbed her hand, pulling her toward his bed. 

  “Are you sleepy, little wolf?” She asked.

  “Not yet, but the floor is hard and I’m tired of sitting on the ground. This bed is much better, don’t you agree?” Rickon replied. 

  “I suppose you're right. So if you’re not sleepy, what shall we do now?” Arya asked, settling into the bed with her arms wide open for Rickon. 

  Her little brother stopped and considered her question, cocking his head to the side as he thought about it. “You could tell me a story,” he suggested. 

  “What kind of a story?” She countered. 

  “You could tell me everything that you saw when you were gone? Or why Nymeria had to come find you…” 

  Arya considered his request. “Very well, I’ll tell you everything, but in return, you have to tell me where you’ve been, and what happened before you left. I want to know about Bran too, do we have a deal?” 

  “Deal!” Rickon hastily agreed, settling in beside her. 

  Rickon began telling his story, moving through events at a quick pace, only stopping to ask her a question or two on where she was at a particular time, or to make sure she was following along. They spoke of the sacking of Winterfell, of his stay on Skagos, and of when Aegon had come with Ghost and Val to come and get him. 

  Arya marveled when Rickon told her how ‘ Egg’ went into Stone to face the Magnar’s trial, and how their brother claimed the “biggest dragon in the world” in order to be able to bring Rickon home. 

  He replayed the battle for Winterfell through Shaggy’s eyes, and how Cannibal swooped down and stopped the Bolton opposition in their tracks. She wasn’t sure what to make of this, as there hadn’t been a dragon anywhere near Winterfell when she arrived with Nymeria after taking care of Roose Bolton and the escaping wheelhouse. 

  She stopped him when they got to the part where Rickon told her about Ramsay Bolton marrying a girl that they said was Arya, and how Aegon had nearly razed the north in an attempt to find and free her, only to learn that he had never really had Arya, but Jeyne Poole who had been forced to pretend to be her. 

  “Rickon, get up.” Arya instructed her little brother. 

  “But Egg wants us to stay here,” her little brother pouted. 

  “I know, but if I’m right, Ramsay Snow is about to die, and you have every right to witness it.” Arya explained. 

  Rickon moved like the wind after that, and not before long, the two were crossing the yard, heading in the direction of the Godswood. 

|Marwyn|

  “Maester?” 

  Marwyn turned to the girl whom he had inadvertently brought along with him when setting sail from Oldtown three moons past. In her arms, she held the young boy she claimed was without a name and would continue to be until he reached two years of age. Something that was still a little more than a year away. 

  “Yes child, what is it?” He called back as he rushed around the room grabbing his staff and cloak. 

  “Why’s there bells ringing?” Gilly asked, handing him both items. 

  The three of them had been staying in Volantis since their arrival over a fortnight ago. They had managed to get a room along the waterfront, he had connections with the Widow herself, so it had been simple enough. 

  They ran into problems when trying to book passage to Meereen by ship, and were informed that the Triarchs had decided in favor of war against Daenerys Targaryen. Because of that, passage by sea was impossible due to the fact that no ships would be allowed to pass through Slavers Bay unmolested. The only way to get to Meereen would be through the Demon Road and over land, and that depended on whether or not they would come across a Dothraki Khalasar first. 

  The Widow counseled  patience and he had been inclined to agree. They chose to stay in one of the Widows establishments, that way he could move about more freely around the non-nobility without fear of being snatched by slavers. Not that Marwyn was overly concerned with such matters, he was no stranger to Volantis, having visited here many times before. Nor was he without means of defending himself.

  He had chosen this location for a reason.

  The first being Gilly and the youngling that she was caring for, as well as the barrel that contained his old friend, Aemon Targaryen. The second reason was because of what was currently taking place outside in the harbor.

  “Firstly, thank you Gilly, I can see why Sam was so loath to part with you.” He was trying to assure her that this trip was for the best and that their mutual friend Sam had argued most fervently to have her brought ashore. But Marwyn convinced him that it wouldn’t be safe for her and the youngling to remain in Oldtown with the Ironborn attacking along the Shields. 

  The truth was that the boy hardly spared her a second thought before Marwyn had rushed from his chamber, things in hand. He had a history with the captain of the Cinnamon Wind, and he knew that they could get him safely to Volantis.

  “As to the bells, it means that there are ships returning to Volantis.” He explained. 

  “Returning from where?” Gilly asked, a curious look on her face.

  Marwyn had only himself to blame for all the questions, as he hadn’t taken the time to properly explain in full detail why they had sailed halfway across the Known World to Volantis. 

  “Come with me, and I’ll explain everything on the way.” Marwyn deflected, gesturing toward the door. She nodded and grabbed her own cloak and then they were making their way toward the waterfront.

  On the way, Marwyn told Gilly all about the Dragon Queen and of the attempts that had been made to bring her to heel. Gilly knew already that he wasn’t like the other maesters in his guild. Especially when she told him about the Others and the sacrifices her father-husband made to them. 

  To say that he had been fascinated would be an understatement, and it was one more reason why he needed to hurry. Gilly had long conceded that she thought that his ways were queer, but that some of her sisters were known to have gifts bestowed on them. And every day she would come to him and he would help her to understand a little more about the world that existed south of the Wall. Marwyn definitely wanted to dig deeper into her story, but there would be time for all of that on the journey back to Westeros. He had even gone as far as agreeing to help her continue her studies and was pleasantly surprised by how clever the girl was. 

  Halfway there, Gilly turned to him. “What do you think happened, w-with the Drag-Dragon Queen?” 

  Men and women had already gathered and were crowding the streets but Marwyn managed to get them through with just a little effort. “I think that dragons are not so easily subdued, and I believe that the Triarchs of this city have learned this the hard way.”

  Just then, a shadow passed overhead, covering the assembled crowd in darkness. This was followed by an ear-shattering screech and then two more. All around, people began seeking cover, everyone aside from the three of them. 

  Marwyn looked up already knowing what to expect and he couldn’t stop himself from smiling, satisfied. Three dragons soared overhead, darting in and out of the clouds, one black, one green, one cream colored. In that moment, Marwyn knew that he had made the right decision so many years ago. 

   He just needed to come up with the right way to explain it all to her.

  “The Queen has arrived.” Marwyn answered, as men, women and children all around them threw off their chains and turned on their former masters and those who worked for them, they even went after the city guard. 

  Marwyn grabbed Gilly by the hand and made his way toward the docks, where the Widow was already waiting for the Queen to arrive. Though there was chaos all around, the waterfront was well protected from the upheaval, as most understood that the Widow was firmly against slavery. Even a representative from the Red Temple had been sent to welcome the Mother of Dragons and extend an invitation for her to join the high priest Benerro. 

  They didn’t have to wait long, no more than an hour in fact for the first ship to drop anchor. The first people to disembark the ship were a group of unsullied, followed by men who were bound in chains, guarded by another group of Unsullied. 

  Many people waited with baited breath for the Queen to appear, but she never did. Behind the ships bearing the Targaryen Three-headed dragon, a small armada of ships bearing the sigil of House Greyjoy was anchored further out. 

  Once the Unsullied were near enough to shore, the black dragon descended from up high and allighted itself upon a low wall. All eyes were immediately drawn to the head of silver hair that could be spotted upon it's back. 

  The sound of spears being struck upon the gangplanks had them all spinning on their heels, as the Unsullied called the attention of those present to focus upon them. 

  Those who had found their mettle upon seeing the Dragon Queen’s dragons went on about their business, they had been inspired by the Breaker of Chains, and they knew that she had come to save them. 

  Unlike her previous conquests, the citizens and slaves of Volantis had heard all about Daenerys Targaryen’s campaign against slavery, and they had prepared themselves well for the day that she set her sights upon them. That day might never have come if it hadn’t been for the Triarchs greed. 

  “Citizens of Volantis! The Mother has come to break the chains that have been holding you and those before you in bondage for centuries. You have nothing to fear from her as long as you are willing to let go of the old way and embrace the new. Step with her into the light, and receive her many blessings, for the Mother of Dragons is R'hllor’s champion and those who die fighting for her cause will be reborn anew.” The Red Priest called out to the masses, taking advantage of the Unsullied’s distraction. 

  “Who here is called the Widow of the Waterfront?” One Unsullied called, surprising the group of them. 

  The old crone smiled crookedly. “So the dwarf made it to his destination even without the ship. Tell the Queen that she has found me.”

  The crowd parted and three people stepped forward. Two guards, one dressed in the colors of the Kingsguard, a man that Marwyn would have recognized anywhere, and the other was dressed in black leather and a spiked helm, announcing him as a member of the Unsullied. The Queen stood between them both, the exact image of her Targaryen ancestors, dressed in the black and crimson colors of her House with a silver Dragon chain draped across her shoulder, announcing her station and heraldry. 

  On instinct he found himself bending the knee, even though his companion just stood there watching everything curiously, the babe in her arms was just as transfixed by the goings on as the girl Gilly was. 

  “Rise, please. I would like to think that your presence means that we share the same goals. I am Daenerys Targaryen, and I have come to return some people that I believe belong to this city.” The young queen smiled kindly. “Is there some place that we might talk?”

  The representative for the Red Temple stepped forward. “The High Priest invites you and your people to the Red Temple where you will find a warm welcome.”

  “Please tell the High Priest that I thank him for his offer, and I will be sure to speak with him while I am here.” It wasn’t a refusal, but she definitely seemed hesitant. Turning to face the rest of them, the Queen took the time to greet all of whom were present. Marwyn waited patiently, and when her eyes fell on him, something like recognition crossed her features. 

  “I apologize for staring, but have we met before?” 

  Marwyn swallowed, she would have been too young to remember him. “Perhaps in another lifetime,” he deflected. “My name is Marwyn, I have sailed across the Known World from Oldtown at the behest of your great-great-grand uncle Aemon. I am an Archmaester of the Citadel and I have come to be your guide, if you will permit.”

  Again recognition crossed over her features. “Are you called the Maege?”

  He was momentarily taken aback, but then it would make sense if she had somehow received word that he was seeking her. “I have been called the Maege among other things.” He confessed. 

  “You say you came at the behest of a relative of mine. How is that even possible, I am the last living Targaryen after my brother Viserys passed away.” She asked, brows drawn together. 

  Marwyn was ready for her question however. “Not the last, but nearly. If it’s not too much trouble, mayhaps we could speak on this more later on, in private?” 

  The Dragon Queen nodded albeit a little confused by his reply. “I would like that very much.”

  They followed the Dragon Queen and the Unsullied through the streets and over the long-bridge toward the Red Temple where Benerro no doubt was awaiting their arrival. Messengers were sent out almost immediately summoning the families from within the Black Wall belonging to the Triarchs to attend their trial. 

  Marwyn had no interest in witnessing the restructuring of another city, he had seen enough in the glass candle that would last him a lifetime, and undoubtedly, he would see much more once they returned to Westeros. 

  The proceedings were long, but that was to be expected, as everyone was eager to gain the Queens attention. The three Triarchs that were escorted back, were currently being held under guard in an antechamber inside the temple, while the streets outside were overrun with freed men and former slaves, merchants and shopkeeps who had all come to witness the revolution. 

  Currently the Queen was in discussions with the Widow of the Waterfront. What they were discussing, Marwyn could only assume was in regards to the future of Volantis and who would be ruling it in the Queen's name once she set sail. He was more than certain that Queen Daenerys had already chosen the Widow to perform these tasks, though for how long, he couldn’t say. 

  The Widow was an old crone, long past her youth. No one could say for certain how long she had left, but it was indisputable that she would have the most success bringing this city under control. 

  For his part, he recorded the events, just as any maester in his profession would do, making sure to have Gilly copy his words, so that there were records not only in the Queens possession, but also here in Volantis as well as the Citadel later on. 

  When the sun had reached its apex, a servant of the red temple notified them that the nobility had come and that the grounds had been prepared for trial. With that, they all exited the temple and progressed toward the Queens dragons. 

  The black and the green had taken position inside the temple grounds, while the cream and gold flew in protective circles over their heads, a large horn like device was fixed around its neck, as if it were guarding something precious. 

  Three men were led out of the Temple, each bound to the other. The assembled masses gasped when they noticed how their elected Triarchs were forced to walk on their own feet across the well manicured grounds of the Red Temple, but the Queen and her men were unphased. 

  Daenerys Targaryen was a small woman, possessing the silver hair of most Valyrians, her eyes were a deep shade of violet that reflected the obvious kindness in her heart as well as her iron will, it was clear to all and sundry that no matter the situation, she would not be swayed from her path. She had sat most diligently, learning all she could from the Widow about the noble born class, in addition to the freed class and the rank of slaves, she knew well the roles that the Triarchs played in Volantene society, and she had been absolutely clear that things were going to change. 

  Stepping up to the throngs of people, Queen Daenerys held up a dainty hand, silencing everyone around her. When she was satisfied that they could hear her, she awarded them all with a kind smile. “People of Volantis, my name is Daenerys Targaryen, I am certain that many of you here know who I am. Many weeks ago, just after you all elected your three ruling Triarchs, it was decided that they would bring war to Meereen and the Bay of Dragons. To bring war against myself, because I dared to change the way of life for millions of people. I have come today to give you my reply, but first, I ask the families belonging to Malaquo Maegyr, Nyessos Vhassar, and Alios Qhaedar to step forward.”

  There was a bit of whispering but then the crowd parted revealing three groups of people that all stood not far from one another, confused looks adorned each of their faces, mostly the younger ones, while fear and anger at those who had revealed them adorned the faces of the rest. 

  The Queen didn’t hesitate and sent her unsullied into the crowd to collect them. “Next I would invite the rest of the nobility who live within the Black Wall to join me as my honored guests.”

  Again there were murmurs within the crowd, but unlike the last time, people began stepping forward and out of the waiting masses of citizens. Men, women and even children, all ranging in different ages stepped forward one by one. Their silks were of a fine quality, some even adorned in jewels, with hair of silver, dark black, and even golden blonde, though none shown quite as vibrantly as the Queen herself. 

  These newcomers were allowed to approach on their own, and were shown to the back, behind the families of the three Triarchs that stood there bound in manacles. The large green dragon bristled at the proximity of the nobility, but made no attempt to come closer. 

  “Now that that business is out of the way,” the Queen began. “Let me assure you that I have not invited these people here to honor their noble blood. I brought them here to witness what they have wrought by placing themselves above the people who make their lifestyle possible. I have not come here to free those of you who are still in chains, forced to answer to men and women who are unaware of what it feels like to work for their lifestyle.” 

  Voices began to filter up from the gathered onlookers, some even carrying over the Queen as she spoke. Undeterred, the Queen raised her hand once more to quiet them. “I cannot give you your freedom, just as I could not give freedom to the people of Yunkai, Astapor and Meereen. Freedom has always been yours to take, and take it you must. You must fight for it, today, tomorrow and forever more, otherwise someone else will try to come and force it upon you once more!”Queen Daenerys paused, allowing her words to sink in, and slowly excited cheers began to filter from within the masses of people who stood before the grounds of the Red Temple. 

  “My people have named me the Breaker of Chains, and Mhysa, among other things, but once, I was where you stand. I was bound to my brother, to do as I was bid, so that he could afford a more comfortable lifestyle. I was sold to a Dothraki Khal, for the promise of an army. I was beaten and abused, and I had no say over my future. When my Khal died at the hands of a Maegi on the Dothraki sea, I was threatened and nearly forced into servitude beside the many Khaleesi’s that had come before me. It was here that I awoke, without a husband or the child that I had been carrying within my womb, with an inferno raging inside of my veins. And there, upon the Dothraki Sea, I stepped into the pyre that was meant to carry my Khal into the nightlands, only to be reborn as the first person in nearly one hundred and fifty years to have hatched not one, but three dragons. My children, Viserion who hatched first, Rhaegal who had come second, and Drogon who's hatching was so loud it sounded as if the earth was breaking with him. I am the last Dragonlord of Valyria, and as Valyria’s first daughter, I have come to claim Volantis as my own.”

  Loud cheers rose up from the crowd, former slaves taking strength from her words, freedmen crying out in celebration of her liberation and strength, but the Queen continued. 

  “Greedy men who felt their way of life was being threatened have decided to take war to my people, to enslave those who I have already freed, to force my people back into chains. They came from within that Black Wall to harm my children, to even kill them if necessary, and to snuff out my fire. So now I’ve returned with those men to this city to make sure that this ends, that after today, Essos and the Disputed Lands, Lys, Mantarys, Volantis, Tolos and the entirety of the Bay of Dragons will never return to Slavery as a means of trade. Bring the Triarchs forward.”

  The three men in question were pushed forward and forced to their knees in front of the two dragons who stood at either side of their Queenly mother. “Lord Malaquo, I understand that you represent the Tiger party, is that correct?” The Queen began. 

  At first the man feigned ignorance, behaving as if he were in a position to not respond. The Queen, having anticipated his insubordination gestured toward the Maegyr family and an unsullied took his wife and oldest son in hand, pushing them closer to the two dragons present. 

  Seeing this, the man broke. “Wait, please! Y-yes I represent the Tiger party.”

  Daenerys smiled indulgently. “And your party favors war?”

  “Y-yes, Your Grace. War, conquest, acquisitions. We strive to keep Volantis powerful and feared.” Malaquo confessed. 

  The queen nodded and turned toward the next man. “And you are Nyessos Vhassar, the only representative for the party of Elephants, is that right?”

  The man in question narrowed his light purple eyes in contempt. “I do.”

  “And is it true that your party advocates for trade, that you represent the merchants and moneylenders here in Volantis?” The Queen followed up. 

  “It is.” The man in question returned, venom seeping from his tone. 

  “And as someone who deals in moneylending, and trade, what would you say your most lucrative form of trade is?” Daenerys countered, seemingly pleased that he was cooperating. 

  The elephant seemed to have realized where this line of questioning was leading, and for a moment, Marwyn wondered whether he would answer, but the man recovered quickly. “Volantis has a number of trades that add to her glory and increase her value. Silks, pleasure, fishing, agriculture—”

  “And flesh, isn’t that so?” The Queen said, interrupting. 

  “And flesh,” Vhassar conceded. 

  “And would you say that it was in your best interest, as the only representative of your party, to ensure that your main form of trade was secured, and under no threat from someone such as myself, who would wish to see the trade of human flesh eradicated all across Essos and the Disputed Lands?” 

  “Certainly.” Nyessos Vhassar answered without hesitation. 

  Turning to the last man who she had yet to address the Dragon Queen stepped a bit closer to him. “Alios Qhaedar, I understand that this is your first term as an elected official, is this true?”

  “It is true.” The man said with a nod. 

  “And you also represent the Tigers who favor war?” The Queen questioned. 

  “I do.” He answered. 

  To the crowd, the Queen turned once more. “After a long discussion with the Red Priest Benerro and your own Widow of the Waterfront, it has come to my attention that Volantis has been under the control of the Elephants for nearly Three-hundred years. Since my own ancestor Aegon the Conqueror came to the aid of Pentos, Tyrosh and Lys, against Valyrias First Daughter, thereby putting an end to the Tiger factions control and returning control to those who favored peace. However it seems like this faith was misplaced, as now, three centuries later, the peace favoring factions are ruled by greed. So much so that they would willingly conspire to send five hundred ships to the Bay of Dragons to end a way of life that is just starting to blossom and thrive. I do not mean to make the same mistakes twice.”

  “As the last living scion of my house, I Daenerys Targaryen claim Volantis under right of Conquest. You sent your men and your ships, your Triarchs and your ballista to Meereen with the intentions of capturing and enslaving my people and murdering my dragons. For that there will be no forgiveness.” 

  The unsullied moved forward, seizing the two members of the Tiger faction and pulling them away from the Queen and her dragons. “Nyessos Vhassar, for your greed and utter disregard for all human lives, for your years of service and dedication to the trafficking of men, women and children, for conspiring to murder my dragons and enslave my people, and for successfully inflicting injury to Rhaegal, I Daenerys Stormborn, last born daughter to the Dragonlords of Old Valyria sentence you to death by dragonfire.”

  The green beast ambled forward, his large black teeth glistened like gemstones as he descended upon the Elephant on his knees. “Dracarys!” 

  Green and bronze flames erupted from between the rows of sharpened teeth, enveloping Nyessos Vhassar in an instant. Even his screams were silenced as the flames washed over him, reducing him to ash instantly. When the crowd of freedmen and former slaves quieted once more, the Queen turned back to face the other two remaining Triarchs.

  “Today is your lucky day, my lords. I will not be taking your lives, as I have need of them. However, before you find comfort in my words I advise caution. Though your lives are not forfeit, your positions are. No longer will you rule Volantis nor represent her people. That duty will fall to me, as it’s Queen. However, I am unable to remain here to enact the changes that I have in mind. For that reason, I have elected the Widow to be my eyes and ears, and she has instructions from me on how to elect a ruling council that will answer directly to me. As for the two of you, you will be sailing with me to Westeros, along with your eldest sons and your young daughters, who will serve as my pages and cupbearers. I sail toward uncertainty and possibly war, and I find that your expertise could prove beneficial to me. What say you to my proposal?” The Queen challenged. 

  The crowd quieted immediately, none more so than the members of their families that stood, surrounded by the Unsullied soldiers sworn to the Queen. 

  It was Malaquo Maegyr who answered first. “What will happen to my wife and my brothers who will not be entering into your service?”

  The dragon queen smiled, “They will remain here, in your home, under guard of course. Your family will be allowed to keep your lands and holdings, though there will be restitution to pay, and so long as you both serve me faithfully, they will be given the chance to resume normal lifestyles. In fact, I will be collecting restitution from every noble family within the Black Wall, as well as property of my own, that I might claim upon my return to Volantis in the future.”

  The dark haired man, having realized that these terms were the best that he was likely to receive, bent the knee, followed by Alios Qhaedar, and then their families, too, followed their example. 

  |Aegon|

  Aegon moved through the halls in silence, he hadn’t bothered to return to the room he chose for himself and Arya to grab his cloak. The cold hardly bothered him anymore. Especially not here, where the hot water was piped through the castle from the hot springs beneath the ground, warming the floors beneath his feet and the granite stone that made up the inner walls of Winterfell's Great Keep. After five years on the Wall and beyond it, this cold was nearly nonexistent. 

  His mind was focused on other things, things that have nothing to do with the cold, or the current task that he meant to attend. No, his mind was back in Rickon’s room with his little brother and Arya. 

  He should have told her about Rickon, he had seen the accusation in her eyes, and he knew that she had been thinking the same thing… His omission hadn’t been intentional, honestly. He’d been so wrapped up in their own reunion, that he hadn’t even stopped to think about telling her of Rickon’s survival. He would make it up to her later on, once he finished with his business. 

  Aegon shook his head, clearing his thoughts as he approached the doors leading outside. Ser Gerold and Vallyria stood there waiting for him, the two speaking in hushed tones so that their conversation wouldn’t carry. He cleared his throat, not wanting to eavesdrop, and Darkstar turned his attention toward Aegon at once, looking him over a bit critically. 

  “Did you even rest for a moment, Your Grace?” Gerold challenged accusingly. 

  Aegon grunted and waved him off, “Don’t start with me, Ser.”

  Gerold arched a brow at him. “What? You’ve been locked away for hours, it’s not like you haven’t had the time,” he countered, earning a playful punch to the chest from Val.

  “Show some respect for your king,” Vallyria teased. 

  Aegon sighed, “Enough, I'll sleep after I’ve taken care of business in the Godswood, and after I’ve briefed all of you on some new developments. Now can we go?”

  Vallyria and Gerold shared a look between themselves, “As you wish,” Gerold replied, gesturing for Aegon to lead the way. 

  “Where is Mance?” 

  “In the Godswood,” Val supplied. Aegon didn’t miss the joy in her tone when he mentioned Mance by the name she knew him by best. 

   “Mance?” Darkstar questioned. 

  “Oswell,” Aegon clarified, and Val turned to him wide-eyed. 

  “Well that explains a lot. Who else will be joining us, Arthur Dayne? I don’t suppose he’s hiding around here somewhere…” Val teased, making light of the situation, but Aegon’s face soured at the mention of his father's sworn sword and the man he once thought of as his Brother. 

  “That won’t happen,” Darkstar said, speaking up with confidence. “If Arthur were still alive, I wouldn’t have been able to claim Dawn. Starfall would have never allowed my pursuit.” 

  A part of him was relieved that he didn’t have to go into detail about how the man he knew as Qhorin Halfhand was in-fact Arthur Dayne, the other part of him was grateful that Darkstar had been able to claim Arthur’s ancestral sword. He knew that eventually, this conversation would come up again, especially now that Rhaegar had returned at Arya’s side, but that conversation could wait a while longer. 

  The three of them turned right as they exited the Great Keep and then right again as they made their way in the direction of the Godswood and the crypts once more. Men and women were still moving about the yard, some took care to bow their heads as he passed them by, mostly northmen and women who had already been encamped inside the castle. Most of the faces of the servants were new to him, Old Nan was gone, passed away, Aegon assumed. Gauge, the cook couldn't be heard, calling out directions in the kitchens. Mikken’s forge seemed cold and unused, and the armory was in a state of ruin, though it did seem as if repairs were in place. 

  As they walked, Aegon noticed that most of the covered walks had recently been repaired, the wood was new, and still a bit rough from having been recently installed, and there were still blackened scorch marks from where the castle had been set aflame. 

  “There are tents being erected outside of the gate, mostly free folk and some of the Lannister men who came with the Lady Arya,” Darkstar explained as they passed by the guest houses.

  Aegon nodded, “What about Cannibal and Storm?” 

  Darkstar looked at him curiously, “About that,”

  ‘ We are close, young dragon. The one you call Storm is tending to your older stones, the others are seeking the cave that will bring them closer to the hot pools beneath your lair.’ Cannibal interrupted upon hearing his name.

   Aegon tuned Ser Gerold out as he listened to Cannibal's thoughts. “Val, where did Stormfyre land?” 

  “We’re heading that way now, he’s in between a broken tower and the crypts. No one has been able to get him to leave, he seems quite interested in whatever used to be there.” Val explained. 

  Aegon tuned her out as they walked and focused his attention on Storm, “ Stormfyre, please be careful with those stones, that part of the castle is very old and we don’t want to damage whatever is beneath the ground. Our dead are buried below.’

  ‘This one knows, but one of us lived down there where the water is warm. We will show you.’ 

   Aegon hastened his pace, “Come, we must hurry.”

  As they turned the last corner, Darkstar finally got the chance to ask him what he had been trying to ask him before. “How is it possible that you can control more than one dragon, and how on earth did you manage to bring them back? I thought dragons were all gone from the world.”

  Aegon stopped for a moment and watched as Stormfyre picked up huge stones with his teeth and nudged others out of the way, while deftly avoiding the gargoyles that littered the yard, evidence of when the First Keep still stood, proud and intact. 

  “I don’t control them, I am bonded to them. I did not ask Cannibal to interfere earlier, he did so because he wanted to. Stormfyre is much younger, him and his clutch mates hatched on the day that Val and I were born, though I don’t know much more about the details, other than the fact that it had something to do with the bleeding star that appeared. And almost four years ago, my little sister hatched three more on the Dothraki sea, and more hatched on Stone at the same time.”

  ‘ Here, three hatched here,’ Stormfyre said through the link, as he paused in his digging. ‘ Fire and blood woke the dragons beneath the earth, these stones kept the magic,’ his snout rested upon what remained of one of the gargoyles. 

  “What’s going on?” Vallyria asked, recognizing that he and the dragon were communicating. 

  “Stormfyre is telling me that three dragons hatched here, beneath the First Keep, I think he’s talking about when Winterfell was sacked by the Bolton’s.” Aegon explained for both Val and Ser Gerold’s benefit. 

   ‘Storm, your weyr is searching for the cave that will take you beneath the castle, perhaps you should join them for now. We will see to this later, and if it is meant to be used by you, we will make it safe.’ Aegon promised. 

   ‘This one will wait here until the others find the one they are looking for.’ Storm replied stubbornly, as he made a circle and then settled himself down over the top of what remained of the First Keep. 

  There was nothing to be done about Stormfyre’s choice so Aegon grunted and then continued on toward the Godswood. “Is Ramsay conscious yet?”

  “He wasn’t when I left Oswell and Sigorn, but it’s been a few hours. Once Val informed me that you had left the crypts, I went to stand watch.” Ser Gerold explained. 

  “Very well, if he isn’t, I suppose that we’ll just have to wake him up so he can speak his last words. I want his head on a pike outside the main gate.” 

  Vallyria said nothing in response, and the three of them crossed through the gate that separated the rest of the castle from its ancient Godswood. 

   It was like walking through the past, the grey-green of the soldier pines and the sentinel trees towered above, blocking out the light of the moon that now shown overhead. The blue-black bark of the ancient ironwood trees and the white-grey bark of the ash, elm and hawthorn trees were interspersed throughout the sanctuary, all of which took him back to happier times with Robb and Arya and his family. 

  Aegon slowed, allowing Val and Ser Gerold to move ahead a few paces. After news had come of Winterfell being sacked, he had never thought that he would ever walk these woods again. To say the feeling was bitter-sweet would be an understatement. A part of him wanted to drag Ramsay from the Godswood and take his head upon the walls of the keep, where all of the north could bear witness, a way to keep his blood from tainting what remained of his uncle and brother, while another part of him wanted nothing more than to spill Bolton blood at the foot of his family’s heart tree, as payment for all the chaos that they unleashed upon the north. 

  Ghost came out of nowhere, flanked on both sides by Shaggydog and Nymeria, and they fell in at his side. Nymeria hadn’t changed at all, save for her size. She was almost on par with Ghost, just slightly larger than Shaggy, and though this was his first time seeing her since Arya showed up, Aegon could see that she and Ghost were still bonded the way they were before their pack was separated.

   At least distance and time hadn’t changed everything. 

  Nymeria brushed her body against Aegon’s side and nipped at his hand for attention, making Aegon smile, in spite of the current situation. She knew him right away, and that too brought a small measure of peace to his darkened soul. 

  “Hello there girl, I was wondering when you were going to show yourself. Have you been with Ghost and Shaggy for long?” 

  A chorus of howls broke through the quiet of the Godswood in answer. “Ahh, you were introducing your brothers to your cousins. You’ve managed to collect quite the pack, I do hope you plan to stay a while though.” said Aegon as he ruffled the fur around her ears. 

  Nymeria lifted her head and called back her response, then she pounced on Ghost before running off through the trees in the direction of the Heart Tree. 

  He wasn’t far, he could tell by the way that the ground started to soften, and the snow became less visible. Instead, the white gave way to brown, which eventually turned black, as the moisture from the hot springs turned the ground to mud. 

  Every now and again, Aegon could hear the sound of a twig snapping, or the wind rustling through the canopy, but as soon as he stepped out of the woods and into the open area, everything else went quiet.

  Before him, back pressed against the Heart Tree was a bound and conscious Ramsay. Mance, Tormund, Lady Maege, Sigorn and his wife Alys, Lords Umber, Cerwyn, Manderly, Glover and of course, Lord Howland, were all in attendance. 

   They must have been here waiting for someone to arrive…

  There were a few people missing, namely Lady Barbrey and a few lesser lords that had taken up arms against Stannis and by extension, himself and Arya. He would be sure to see to those people of interest later on. 

  Theon too, had come, escorted by his sister Asha, though the two of them were still bound in fetters and Lady Maege kept a keen eye on both Iron Islanders. Even Ser Jaime Lannister and a few of the people Arya had traveled with joined the crowd that amassed to see the execution of Roose Bolton’s natural born son. Yet it was the abundance of crows that congregated within the bone-white branches of the Weirwood that had Aegon's attention. 

  Each of them turned their head in his direction as he approached, their beady black eyes trained on his every movement. Jon… they all cawed in unison, but all Aegon could hear was Bran’s voice, shouting through the Weirwood. 

  Stealing himself, Aegon moved through the crowd of people and approached the man who had caused him so much sorrow, the man who had fueled his hunger for revenge since the moment he had been reborn. 

  Pale blue eyes stayed locked on his. “Bastard, I see you’ve finally come,” Ramsay sneered. 

  Aegon smiled wolfishly, dark and bestial, delighted that the only thing Ramsay could use to torment him, actually held no meaning to him any more. 

  “Ramsay Snow, you are accused of treason against your liege lords, you are accused of the sacking of Winterfell, and the murder of the small-folk who lived and worked within it's walls. Additionally, you are charged with the attempted murder of Brandon and Rickon Stark, the abduction and mutillation of Theon Greyjoy, who you were ordered to present to my brother, the King in the North, Robb Stark. You are charged with the murder of Rodric Cassel, the Lady Hornwood, who you forced to marry and then locked in a tower to starve, which eventually led to her death. You are charged with falsely presenting Jeyne Poole as Arya Stark and forcefully marrying her to gain rights to Winterfell, the ancestral home of House Stark, as well as the rape and torture of the same woman. The Freefolk also accuse you of murdering six of their women when they infiltrated Winterfell in an attempt to rescue the imposter you named Arya Stark. As the only member of House Bolton that is present, you will also stand trial for the violation of Guest right, on the night that your father, Roose Bolton betrayed his king and stabbed him in the Great Hall at the Twins. Finally you’re charged with breaking the King's Law by hunting and flaying men and women as a way of torture, how do you answer these charges?”

  Aegon was sure to keep his voice strong, yet neutral as he listed Ramsay’s crimes, he didn’t want to give his prisoner the chance to feed off of the pain and anger that he felt, every time he thought about all the wrongs Ramsay and his father committed against his family. 

  “I would add one more charge to this list of accusations.” A woman’s voice sounded from behind him, and when he turned, Lady Dustin, Arya and Rickon were standing just inside the circle of trees that gave way to the clearing that housed the heart tree, alongside a man whose face was obscured by the cowl of his cloak. 

  There was some grumbling amongst those who were present, Aegon knew that it was due to the fact that many of them questioned her loyalty, but if Lady Barbrey had a charge to add against the accused, Aegon would not begrudge her this. He raised his hand, silencing the crowd and he beckoned the three of them forward. 

  Gasps could be heard from many of the men present at the sight of Arya and Rickon, but his little brother had a look of determination in his eyes, and Aegon knew that he had as much of a right to be here as anyone else, if not more so. 

  “Lady Dustin, welcome.” Aegon greeted. 

  “Please forgive my tardiness, I wasn’t aware that you would be proceeding with this execution so soon,” the old widow of Barrowton replied coolly. Though she hadn’t been a frequent visitor to Winterfell in his youth, he recognized her immediately. 

    Aegon deflected, “Ah well, all the same, we are all glad that you could join us. Would you care to announce your escort as well?”

  The lady Barbrey nodded, “Of course,” she said, gesturing toward her three companions. “These two young ones are not my escort, we just happened to arrive together. Nevertheless, it is my honor to present the Lady, Arya of House Stark, and her younger brother, Lord Rickon, third born son and second born daughter of Lord Eddard Stark and his wife, Lady Catelyn Tully. Beside them, my escort, Hallis Mollen, who was charged by Lady Catelyn before her death, to return the bones of Lord Eddard here, so he might rest beside his father and brother in the family crypts.” 

   Odd that she did not mention my mother...

  The hooded man in question stepped forward, lowering his cowl. Many people gasped, including Theon, who had stiffened when Arya and Rickon arrived at his side. 

  Even though Aegon wanted to hear more about Hallis and his mission, he knew that he couldn’t lose sight of the true reason that they were all gathered here. Once more, he raised his hand to bring everyone to silence. 

  “We welcome each of you. Please, my Lady, you said that you have another charge to lay at the feet of the accused?”

  “I do.” Lady Barbrey stepped forward, tall and resolute. Her dark eyes were fixed only on Ramsay Snow. “I accuse you, Ramsay Snow, natural born son of Roose Bolton, of murder and Kinslaying.”

  Ramsay chuckled darkly. “Pathetic, you’re still whining over that weakling?”

  This caught his attention, “Who exactly are we speaking of?” Aegon challenged. 

  Lady Barbrey turned and fixed him with a piercing look. “My nephew, Domeric of the House Bolton, the trueborn son and future heir of Roose Bolton and my sister Bethany. He was poisoned by that beast, so that he could succeed in Domeric’s place.”

  “You have no proof, even my father couldn’t prove your claim,” Ramsay sneered.

  “Silence!” Aegon snapped. “You will have a chance to speak your last words soon enough. Nevertheless, this is not a trial, it is an execution.” He reminded the prisoner. 

  Turning back to the crowd, he saw them nod their approval. All except for his little brother, who was pulling Arya towards him by the hand. His blue eyes watched Ramsay with fury. “I know you.”

  Ramsay tilted his head, as if he was trying to get a better view of the youngling standing before him. 

  “You were in the cells, Ser Rodrick brought you back when the North was under attack. Theon released you, and you promised him that you would bring him people that would support him. You helped him flay the millers' sons, and then you told the people of Winterfell that they were me and Bran. And when you burned Winterfell, you killed maester Luwin!”

  When Rickon finally stopped speaking, the assembled crowd stood there stunned, and Theon looked as if he wanted to disappear entirely, especially with Rickon’s eyes flirting back and forth between the two accused. 

  Aegon nodded and clasped his brother on the shoulder, letting him know that he approved of his words. After a moment, he gestured for Gerold and Mance—Oswell, to untie Ramsay and then position him so that he was kneeling over a low hanging branch. “Ramsay Snow, of House Bolton. Have you any final words?”

   Ramsay looked back and forth between the Lady Dustin, himself, Rickon and the rest of the men and women who had come to witness him lose his head. “It seems as if my time is up, I won’t beg for mercy, if that’s what you were hoping for. But know this, you may be well rid of me, but you will never be rid of my line. House Bolton will live on in infamy, and House Stark will never be safe.”

  Aegon nodded, “If those are your last words, so be it,” he looked over toward Rickon who was watching him without an ounce of fear. 

  “Don’t look away.”

  “I won’t.” Rickon vowed, moving to stand off to the side, taking Arya with him. 

  Aegon stepped forward and reached for Longclaw. “In the name of the former King in the North, Robb of the House Stark, and his heirs,  Rickon and Arya of House Stark. I, Aegon Targaryen, formerly known as Jon Snow, do hereby sentence you to death.” His grip tightened around the white wolf-head pommel and he went to draw it out. 

  “Wait,” Arya called stepping forward. “Lady Brienne, I believe you are holding something for me?” 

  Aegon was confused, but the large blonde woman stepped from beside Lord Umber and A few of the others who had come with his sister. When she was close enough, she unsheathed a blade of her own and she knelt and presented it to his sister. 

  “Thank you for carrying this and wielding it in my name. I will make sure that you are given another, mayhaps not of the same material, but definitely one of outstanding quality.” Arya said, thanking the female warrior. 

  Aegon watched on, not quite sure what Arya was planning, but then she turned away from the woman and moved toward him, reaching out to still his hand, which was still gripping the pommel of Longclaw. 

  “I know you have a sword of your own, but I have a request,” Arya began. Aegon was nearly powerless when it came to denying her, so he simply nodded, not trusting his voice. 

  “His crimes were against all of the north, but today he faces Stark justice. For that reason alone, it should be a Stark sword that delivers the punishment. For this reason, I find it only fitting that you use the other half of our father's sword, Ice.” Arya explained.

  Aegon was confused, the other half… What was that supposed to mean? 

  He didn’t have to wait long for an answer, as Arya unsheathed a longsword that was just slightly bigger than Longclaw, with a standard grip. The blade was crimson, and even though the sun had set, Aegon could see the smoky grey swirls, where the Valyrian steel had rejected the color. 

  What have they done to Ice?

   Taking the offered sword in hand, a sense of rightness settled over him. How many times had he wished that Longclaw was his father's sword? He could still remember attempting to reject Longclaw on the day that Lord Commander Mormont gifted her to him. 

  And now here he was, holding a sword that was once the one he had coveted above all others, even though this was far from the sword of his youth. He wanted to know everything, but there would be time for that later. 

  “Is this blade called Ice as well?”

  Arya looked at him confused for a moment but then shook her head. “It was renamed Oathkeeper.”

   Oathkeeper. . . “Fitting.” He thought. 

  Turning back to Ramsay, he stepped forward and let his prisoner get a good look at the blade that would end his line. Arya stepped forward as well. 

  “In a moment, your life will be given to the Old Gods, your body will be given to the Thenns, your bones will eventually turn to dust, and the rest of your House will join you. Your father left you to this fate, knowing that you would be defeated. But even he couldn’t escape his justice.” Arya reached into a sack that hung at her side and retrieved something that he couldn’t quite make out in the flickering torchlight. Whatever it was, Ramsay’s eyes went wide in shock, and then Arya was shoving it back where she had gotten it from. “So you see, Lord Ramsay. Your house will disappear, your words will disappear, even you will disappear, and not even your memory will remain.” With that, she stepped back, giving Aegon the space that was needed, to carry out the sentence. 

  It was over quickly, Oathkeeper sliced through flesh and bone in the same manner that Longclaw once had, followed by a thump and the spray of Ramsay’s lifeblood as it showered the roots of the Weirwood tree. The ravens that had been roosting within its branches all took wing, and the wind began to filter through the trees. 

  There was something about this blade that felt powerful within his hands, but as he turned to look at Rickon, something twisted inside his gut. Like he was taking something that rightfully belonged to his brother, even though it would be a long time before Rickon would be ready to wield such a sword. But the fact that it was home, inside Winterfell once more, made Aegon relax just a little more than he had been. One day he would see this sword safely in Rickon’s hands. 

  “I want his head on a pike.” Aegon said, turning to face Mance. 

  He then turned to Sigorn, “Do what you wish with his body, but if you plan to eat him, please do so outside the castle gates. If not, the wolves will gladly take him.”

  He didn’t stay to hear the rest, instead he motioned for Val and Gerold and asked them to have Mance meet him in the crypts. He hadn’t seen Rhaegar among the many people who attended Ramsay’s execution, which meant that they were likely unaware that he was here inside the castle. Something he needed to rectify if he intended to keep what remained of his family alive and intact. 

|Alayne|

  Alayne looked around, watching as the column moved northward. They were heading toward Winterfell, though Littlefinger hadn’t cared to explain the reason for his sudden change of plans. 

  She was still pretending to be his natural-born daughter Alayne, but he hadn't been as keen on her impending betrothal to Harry Hardyng as he had been before the tourney. Yet he was adamant that she still keep him on the line, just in case their marriage became necessary. 

  The tourney for the Winged Knights had been in full swing when her father received a number of ravens from across the realm, though he was careful not to discuss their contents. 

  The following day, Sweetrobin suspiciously fell sick and his shaking left him bedridden, though he had maintained his consciousness. Maester Coleman and Littlefinger had spent hours discussing possible treatments, but one thing was certain; he was too weak to continue with the sweetmilk and he was in no condition to witness the rest of the tourney. 

  This hadn’t gone over well with her little lordling, and he demanded that the rest of the events be postponed until he was better. Unfortunately, this was impossible. Winter had come, and as it stood, the Gates of the Moon could not continue to house so many people, even with the amount of food and supplies that Lord Royce and her father had managed to amass.

  To appease him, Alayne had decided to remain inside his chamber at his side, doing as he had suggested before the Waynwoods had arrived; sleeping at his bedside and telling him stories. At least until Petyr announced that the knights of the Vale would be riding north to reclaim Winterfell. 

  There had been quite a number of protests, Lady Waynwood had written to Lord Yhon Royce at Runestone telling him of the Lord Protectors plans and he had strongly objected, stating that her father couldn’t be trusted to lead the Vale’s army into battle, nor could he be trusted to take Sweetrobin’s heir. 

  She did her best to stay out of matters, only involving herself insofar as her little Lord was concerned, doing what was needed to have him agree to send the knights of the Vale to help. When Littlefinger suggested that the knights earn their wings based on their valor on the field of battle, Sweetrobin was more than keen to affix his seal to the Lord Protectors decree. Though Sansa—Alayne wasn’t sure if she agreed with the way her father went about convincing him. 

   “Let your cousin Harry lead the men in your name, perhaps he will fall in battle and then a match between him and Alayne can be avoided. If such a thing were to happen and we were to return and find your health improved, you could formally present your intentions to marry her. And, Alayne will be in a much stronger position by then, I doubt anyone would oppose the match.” She could still hear the conversation now, as if it hadn’t happened weeks ago. 

  When Alayne questioned her father about it later on, he simply reminded her that Tyrion was still alive, despite Cersei’s best efforts to find him, which meant that they needed to buy time before any match could be finalized. 

  She didn’t like it, not one bit. How could he promise her hand so freely, especially if she was going to become the Wardeness of the North? 

  Four thousand men rode out from the Gates of the Moon, including herself, Lady Myranda and Mya Stone, who gave up time with her goats to remain at Alayne’s side. 

   “A battlefield is no place for a lady, especially a lady alone.” Myranda had agreed, and that was how the two women ended up accompanying her, though a part of her suspected that she wanted to remain close to Harry. 

   My Harry! Alayne fumed. 

  The journey through the Vale was breathtaking, the scenery unlike any she had ever beheld. It was as if the trees were a different species than the trees she had grown up surrounded by. With winter having been formally announced some weeks previous, the trees had slowly started to change, the leaves different hues of yellow, orange and red. Not the same shade of red as her father's heart tree, but lovely all the same. 

  The air held a bite to it, though nothing as harsh as she remembered from her youth, and in comparison to the weather in King's Landing, the cool air was a welcome reprieve that she relished. 

  Things were slightly different once they exited the mountain road and entered into the Riverlands. She had expected them to make camp at Harrenhal, afterall, Petyr was the lord of the legendary keep, but instead he passed through, stating that they lacked the time for him to stall. Instead they made camp along the way, only stopping long enough to rest themselves and their mounts. 

  The Riverlands were much different this time through. The land was scarred and the tiny towns and inns that they had stayed in on their way south with the King were long gone. Most of them blackened skeletons that reminded her of fatal wounds. 

  There were no people to tend to the harvests, in fact, there were no crops left to be harvested that she could see. 

  Alayne spent most of her time inside the wheelhouse with Myranda and her father , playing the dutiful daughter, careful not to let her mummery slip before the right time presented itself. While Mya preferred to ride whenever possible, a trait that often reminded her of her sister. 

  By day she was attended by her lady companions, and at night her father encouraged her to entertain Harry, but to not allow him to become too familiar. A task that was more easily said than done. 

  After their first dance with one another, it had been nearly impossible to dissuade him away from her side. She had given her favor to Ser Lyn Corbray, as he had been favored to win his wings in the tourney. Luckily, Ser Lyn had no clue of her true identity and thus cared very little for her attentions, which suited her needs just fine. However, her father took it upon himself to enlist Ser Lyn to serve as her personal guard, to make sure that her virtue and dignity remained intact. 

   If only she had a Ser Lyn while she was still a ward of the crown… she couldn’t help but feel slightly bitter at the memory. 

  When their party neared the Twins, her gut twisted in knots…whether that feeling was a repercussion of what had transpired there, or her own guilt over her own betrayal she wasn’t sure. If she had done her duty to her family, mayhaps her brothers and her mother and father would still be alive. Even Arya...wherever she was.

  They had not stopped there either, Littlefinger had stated that it would be pointless, since they had no need of the bridge that allowed most travelers to cross. 

  Something was different though. 

  Alayne wasn’t sure what it was, but the Riverlands felt oddly empty, unoccupied, even. Shouldn’t there be Lannister and Frey soldiers everywhere? Why would Cersei abandon the Riverlands now that they had successfully murdered the remainder of her family? Questions Alayne found herself pondering many times over the following weeks. 

  Three weeks following their departure from the Vale of Arryn, their column approached the Neck and they had to slow down so that they could travel in a narrow column. The path through the Neck that linked them to Moat Cailin was narrow and could hardly allow more than ten men a horse to ride abreast. The wheelhouse moved to the fore, with men to escort it from the front and the rear. Her father said to prepare herself, as she might need to reveal herself in order for them to be granted passage.

 A shiver passed through her the moment the wheelhouse passed beyond the Riverlands and the path forward narrowed out. The hairs on the back of her neck and arms stood up in warning, and she felt as if the North was rejecting her. Something was telling her that she would be safer in the south. 

  Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on what outcome she had been hoping for, the Moat was left open for them and unmanned, allowing for them to ride straight through. 

  After the Lords Declarant had been put in their place by Sweetrobin’s decree, Petyr ordered Yhon Royce, Lord Hunter, Lord Redfort, Lord Belmore, Lord Templeton and Lady Waynwood to prepare their banners and to sail for White Harbor, along with the men and supplies that would be necessary to their journey. From there they would ride for Moat Cailin where both parties would join up and continue on toward Winterfell. 

  With Sweetrobin being bedridden and the men of the Vale preparing to march, Lady Anya elected to remain behind to take control of the little lords care. She even went so far as to call her maester from Ironoaks to gain a second opinion, a fact that her father hadn’t been too keen on but couldn’t refute under the present circumstances. 

  It was as she was passing through the Moat that Alayne began to think about her bastard half-brother Jon, she couldn’t help but to wonder if she shouldn’t just run to him at the Wall, confess everything to him and beg him for his protection. Of everyone left in her life, he was the only person that she could think of that wouldn’t want to use her name, body or blood for their own advantage. 

  Now that she knew what being a bastard was like on a more personal level, Alayne deeply regretted the way she had dismissed Jon when they were younger. And now she might have to suffer two bastards of her own, though she would be sure that Harry had no need to stray from her bed. Cersei has at least taught her that much.

  The truth was, he likely hated her. And if he didn’t already, there was little doubt that he would if he ever found out that it had been her who told Queen Cersei about their father's plans to send them home. 

  Alayne shivered. No, better that she continues to pretend to be Alayne a little while longer. Soon she would be the Lady of Winterfell, Eddard Stark’s only living true-born daughter. The north would flock to her, they would protect her, and she would no longer have to hide who she was. 

  Once the knights of the Vale rode in and avenged the Red Wedding, and her true identity was revealed, the north would celebrate her return and Sansa could slip from her bastards identity and blossom into the perfect lady that she had been born to be. And instead of ruling through fear and deception like Cersei and Littlefinger, Sansa would make the people love her.  

  Yes, that is exactly what she would do. 

|Vallyria|

  Of all the things Vallyria thought she might see or learn, that her father was still alive, and had been among her company the last few days was not among them. 

  Of course, she wouldn’t have recognized him anyway, the man who sat, broken, against the foot of her mother's sepulcher was not the same as the man who had accompanied her through the Wolfswood. That man was similar in height to be sure, but his facial features were different, as was his hair and stature. 

  “Forgive me, I—I need some time to think.” Val said, excusing herself and retreating toward the spiral stair that lead back toward the surface. 

  It didn’t matter that she hadn't even had the chance to see her mother's likeness, to speak to her, or read the letters that Aegon had been guarding like treasure ever since Lord Reed passed them into his possession. She just couldn’t stay there and pretend that it hadn’t hurt that he had been alive all this time and yet he hadn’t come to find them. That he had allowed her brother and her sister to be torn away from her for the past eight and ten odd years. 

  “Vallyria,” the stranger's voice called out to her, but Val could not bring herself to turn around and face him, instead she fled. 

  At the top of the winding stair, she crossed through the ironwood door that sat haphazardly upon its hinges. Unsure of where to go, she fled back in the direction of the Godswood. 

  Her mind was racing, and there was a pain in her chest that was a result of finding out that one of the two people she had been mourning for her entire life, was actually never gone. 

  What was he doing here anyway? 

  Where had he been all this time, and why wouldn’t he come looking for them? 

  Why would he allow her brother to be raised as her uncle's bastard? He could have saved them all! And Daenerys—Gods, she couldn’t even begin to imagine what her life must have been like after Ashara departed and Ser Willem took her to their uncle Viserys in Essos. 

   A part of her was grateful that her father was still alive, how many nights had she wished for this very outcome when she was still a child? But now, now she wasn't sure what she felt for him. 

  Anger? Kind of...

  Pain? Most definitely. 

  Mostly though, Val felt numb to his sudden appearance. She could have lived through the rest of her life, contented by the idea that her father and mother were together, watching over all of them. But now she had to figure out how to get to know the man who left her and her brother and mother, to go fight a war. A man who thought that abandoning his family was better than finding and protecting them. Her mother went into labor early because she believed their father dead at the Usurper’s hands. 

  How was she going to reconcile these feelings that were brewing inside her heart? She wasn’t quite sure, which is what brought her in the direction of the heart tree, hopeful that her mother's gods would know how to aid her. 

  Upon entering the clearing, she noticed that all evidence of their earlier visit was long gone, save for the crimson stained snow that still covered the ground and roots under the heart tree, and high above, the moon had managed to break through the cover of clouds. 

  “ Winter. . . ” The wind whispered through the branches, and Val found herself turning in a slow circle, attempting to find whoever had followed her. 

   Nothing. . .

  She settled herself down beside the pool that reflected the face of the Old Gods back at her, and breathed in the crisp scent of winter that spoke of snow. A storm is coming. The thought comforted her as the sweet taste lingered on her tongue and filled her lungs. 

  “ Vallyria. . .” The wind whispered once more. 

 She snapped her head around, but there was nothing there. A chill passed along her spine, alerting her that she was not alone. 

  “Show yourself, I have not the patience to play your games, whomever you are!” She warned, and still no one came forth. 

  She was definitely not alone, though now she wasn’t so sure that it was a person lurking somewhere within the trees. 

  A splash had her turning back toward the pool, only to find ripples splaying out in a large circle, as if something had dropped from thin air and landed in the cold water, but again, nothing was there. 

  And then a low thrumming began to sound inside her head, her eyes transfixed as the ripples expanded outward, reaching for her. Vallyria leaned forward, watching as the pattern grew larger and larger, until all that stared back at her was her own reflection, yet something was off. 

  Her eyes which were always more grey than blue were impossibly bright sapphires, not quite the same as the eyes of the Others, yet something about them reminded her of the cold, yet they were as comforting as the Ice Dragon that marked the true path north. On impulse she found herself reaching out to touch her own likeness.

  “Vallyria?” 

  Startled, her hand slipped on the cold bank of the pond and she found herself struggling not to fall in before two strong arms wrapped themselves around her waist, pulling her back against a warm hard chest. 

  She sucked in a breath as sparks shot through her, and she turned to find Gerold pulling her back, away from the water. His dark purple eyes biting into her soul.

  “Gerold! Others take you, I could have fallen in!” She scolded. 

  “You almost did fall in, would have if I hadn’t been here to pull you back. What were you thinking? Don’t you realize how much the temperature has dropped? You’re freezing cold!” Gerold countered crossly. 

  Val recoiled from his grip, offended that he would take such a tone with her. Who does he think he is exactly? And why was he here in the first place? “Did you need something Ser?” She said with narrowed eyes. 

  Darkstar took a step back, as if just now realizing that his chest was nearly pressed against her own, not to mention that his hands had been inappropriately gripping her waist. He swallowed deeply, while he worked to recompose himself. “I wanted to make sure you were alright. You left in a hurry and his Grace asked me to follow you.”

  Val sighed, “I am well, as you can see. I was merely trying to get a better look at the lake.” She explained, realizing that she might have been too harsh. 

  Gerold looked around, his hair being blown about by the wind. “Can I at least escort you inside and out of the developing storm?”

  “The cold does not bother me, but feel free to take shelter if that is what you desire. I will be inside shortly.”

  He appeared insulted, yet hesitant to depart from her side. “If it does not offend, I will wait for you here. We just took Winterfell back, and who knows what is hiding inside the trees.” Gerold continued, eyes scanning their surroundings. 

  Chuckling at his antics, Val took her place once more beside the pool, her hand skimming over the surface of the water. “I’m quite capable of taking care of myself, and I am confident that Ghost and Shaggy are in the trees somewhere,” she said.

  “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to insinuate that you weren’t—forget I said anything,” he stuttered. “What were you looking at anyway?” Gerold asked, kneeling down beside her. 

  She glanced sideways, unsure how to explain the  pull she felt looking at the reflection that was her, but wasn’t, when she noticed a little blue creature climbing down the bone white bark of the Weirwood. 

  “Who are you?” She cooed. It was the first one she’d ever seen, even in the time that she had spent beyond the Wall. But she had read plenty of books, and there was no doubt in her mind what it was. 

  “Careful! Don’t move too fast,” she warned Gerold in a low tone, scooting closer to the tree where it was perched, watching her curiously. It’s head twitching back and forth as if it too, were studying her. 

  “Also, I was looking at my reflection, if you must know.” She said, answering his original question. 

   Gerold snorted, “I can assure you, you look surprisingly lovely for someone who participated in battle mere hours ago.” He said offhandedly.

  Val felt herself flush at his compliment, though this reaction surprised her immensely. He was for all intents and purposes, her cousin. Even though that relation was distant in truth. But still, somehow his assessment of her appearance flattered her and made her pulse quicken. 

  Clearing her throat she decided to take control of the situation. “Please don’t think me so vain a person as that. What I meant is—nevermind, it’s hard to explain.” How was she supposed to tell him how she had felt the pool calling to her? 

   Probably in the same way Aegon will have to explain his bond with an entire weyr of dragons…

  The little creature had come closer to them both by that point and Val felt her heartbeat quicken with excitement. 

  “What is that exactly?” Gerold asked from behind her. It’s little frost-blue body darted quickly down and around the large trunk until it was mere inches away from her face. 

  She smiled, mimicking it’s movements as it’s head twitched back and forth, watching her intently. “It’s an ice lizard.”

  “A what?”

  “An ice lizard. They only come out in the winter, after the first thaw, which is always followed by a cold frost.” Val explained, and as if to emphasize her point, her breath became almost crystallized in the air. 

  These creatures were connected to winter, and from everything she had ever read, they were intolerant of any form of heat, which made Val hesitant to reach out and touch it. 

 “That would explain the sudden drop in temperature,” Gerold grumbled, rubbing his hands together for warmth. 

  Taking pity on the man, she turned and asked him to help her to her feet, which he did without question. “If it bothers you so much, I will go with you inside. Though it’s not as cold as you make it out to be. When the Others come, that’s when it’s truly cold, and then you’ll wish for nights like this.” Val teased only partly.

  Darkstar offered her his elbow and she fit her arm inside easily enough. She took one last look at the little ice lizard, and before she could step away, it leapt from the tree and took hold of her hair, scrambling up until it was nestled atop her head. 

  Val stood there stunned, not knowing how to proceed, but the little lizard seemed content to settle itself within her strands like a crown. “I guess it’s catching a ride?”

  Gerold smiled, even though it kind of resembled a grimace. “You’ve become quite peculiar. You realize that, don’t you?” 

   She was certain he was mocking her. 

  “Shut up…I didn’t have a say in this. But I can’t take it inside with us, the heat will kill it. Which means it’s likely only staying with us until we get further away from the hot springs.” Val huffed. 

  “Whatever you say, Princess. Whatever you say…” Gerold teased fondly.

  “Careful with your teasing Ser, or I’ll escort Ned to your chamber while you’re sleeping.” She threatened, knowing that the two of them had yet to cross paths. 

  “Ned is here…who did he arrive with? I thought he was still serving as Lord Beric’s squire…” Gerold asked, more than a bit interested in the developing news. 

  Val sighed, “It seems that much has changed in the south. Beric is dead, apparently more than once. Ned was traveling with Thoros of Myr after his death when they came across Arya and apparently, my father.” 

  Understanding crossed over Gerold’s face at the mention of the infamous Rhaegar Targaryen. “I suppose you will have to fill me in on all that I’ve missed out on.” Gerold said, his tone sounding hopeful. 

  “My brother will be meeting with the rest of the lords and those who came with my cousin, first thing on the morrow. I’m sure everything will come up at the meeting.” She let him down easily. 

  If Gerold wanted her attention, he would have to work for it. Vallyria wasn’t opposed to having a casual fling, but Gerold was southern and a Dornishman at that, it would be nothing like when she allowed Jarl to sneak beneath her furs. She had been the one to ‘steal’ him anyway…

  In Dorne, sure they could have become entangled and no one would have cared. But she wasn’t Allyria Dayne or Val the Wildling Princess anymore. She was Vallyria Targaryen, second born daughter of Prince Rhaegar and the Lady, Lyanna Stark. Third in line to the Iron Throne, behind Aegon, and now her father.

  Old Gods forbid it ever come to that. 

  So, even though she was certain they could have a good time together, Val would not put his position beside her brother in jeopardy. And Aegon knew enough about her to know that she won’t accept anyone who's unable to steal her the way her father stole her mother. If Gerold wanted her attention, he would have to man up and earn it.

  End of story. 

  He recovered quickly, and if he was disappointed by her deflection, he didn’t let on. “What can you tell me about this Arya Stark? Why is she so important, and more importantly, why did all of you keep Aegon ignorant of her presence?”

  She had not expected him to catch on to that so quickly. But she agreed that his question deserved an answer. “Well, the short story is that Arya is the reason that we marched south in the first place. The truth is, my brother is a bit obsessed with her, I think. Though I don’t yet know if that is a bad or a good thing. What I do know is, she was the reason that he came back to us, and she is the very reason he is fighting to live and living to fight. So I suppose that means that Arya Stark is everything.” She sighed, “As for the reason that we kept her a secret… Aegon needed to enter battle with a clear mind, and he couldn’t do that if he knew that she was out there somewhere. I didn’t want to lie to him, that is why I chose to stay with her army. And she parted ways with us the night before anyway, she only appeared after the fighting was over. I couldn’t honestly say where she was, she took only her Direwolf. Not to mention that Ned was among her companions… I had to stay away.”

  Gerold listened, never once interrupting, and for a few moments, all was silent as he contemplated all she had relayed to him. His brow scrunched together in concentration, and then his deep purple eyes met hers and Val had to struggle not to let him affect her so. 

  “So do you think he will make her his Queen?” He asked, bringing her back to reality.

  The question caught her off guard. “Uh, I um—I’m not sure.” She stuttered. At the same moment, the lizard lept from the crown of her head and zipped toward the closest snow drift, just as she had predicted it would. 

  “What I mean is, I’m not sure where his mind is at the moment. The man is stubborn to a fault and once he’s made his mind up about a matter, he typically sees it through. Ygritte was the only woman I’ve ever known him to break his vows for, and honestly I’m sure he managed to justify his actions by attributing them to his duty.”

  They continued their conversation as they walked, Gerold taking in more information than he shared, but Val found that she didn’t really mind his company. By the time they reached the ruined keep where Stormfyre had been earlier, the dragon was long gone. 

  “So, I guess this news about your intended means that the wedding is off?” Darkstar rambled, catching her by surprise. 

  She hadn’t spoken much about Beric in the time since she had run from Starfall with Dalla. The truth was, she never had any intention to marry the man, which is why they had taken a ship out of Dorne the moment that Ned was gone off to squire. She had wanted to find Aegon, but by the time their ship docked at White Harbor, news had reached them of Robert's visit to Winterfell and their plans had to change. 

  “My hand has been offered more than once, and none have managed to make away with me yet. Should I be concerned with your intentions, Ser?” 

  Gerold paled, as if he had been caught stealing a sweet from a child. “N—not at all, I was simply making small talk.” His nervous tone suggested everything but….

  Val found herself laughing. “Relax Gerold, I was only trying to get a reaction aside from stoic dissatisfaction out of you.” She teased, slapping him lightly on the shoulder. 

  “Best you go find my brother before you find your chambers, I’m sure he will be up for a while yet.” 

  Gerold hesitated, pulling the doors open so that she could head inside. Once she was out of the cold, Val turned around to say goodnight, but stopped when she noticed that he was staring at her as if she had bewitched him. 

  “Well, I hope you sleep well…”

  “I, yeah—you too,” he said in response, his hand reaching up to absently rub at the nape of his neck. 

  She smiled warmly and then turned on her heel, heading up in the direction of the family wing where her room was already prepared beside Rickon’s. 

  “I do hope that whatever has you so tongue tied will have passed by tomorrow.” Vallyria called back, not waiting for his reply. She was certain that he was still standing near the entrance watching her go and she smiled to herself in victory. 

  Just as she was nearing her door, a hand reached out and pulled her by her arm, spinning her around. She had her hand on the hilt of her dagger when she found herself pressed up against the wall, and hungry lips crashed into hers, teeth biting into the tender flesh of her bottom lip. Electricity zipped throughout her body and heat flooded her core in an instant.

   Val hadn't a moment to process what was going on before he pulled away, and left her standing there breathless, making her want to whimper at the loss. His hand cupped her cheek, before his thumb trailed along her bottom lip. 

   Damn him...

  He smirked at her, obviously knowing that he had affected her, his lips forming a devilish smile that made her stomach flutter and her heartbeat quicken, as if she were some silly maiden.

  “If you think I fear repercussions from your brother, you are sorely mistaken. I have pledged him my sword, but I am still the master of my own destiny. I’ll allow you whatever time you need, but just know, I would gladly have your naked body trapped beneath my own, as I pleasure you and make you scream my name into the early hours of the morning. Just think about it.” Gerold’s voice was suggestive, low and thick, his Dornish accent making her toes curl. Before she could get a word out, Gerold stepped in and nipped at her bottom lip once more, kissing her chastely before he turned and headed off in the direction of Aegon’s solar. 

   Others take him!

Chapter Text

|Daenerys|

  After business had been concluded in Volantis, Daenerys spent her trip overseas, between flying and getting to know Marwyn, always keeping Quaithe’s words close to her heart.

  Marwyn told her all about Westeros, and about Sam who he had left at the Citadel, and of course Gilly who had come from the Haunted Forest beyond the Wall.

  This made Daenerys curious to ask her questions, questions about her blue rose, and who she suspected him to be, though she never had a moment to voice her thoughts. Instead she found herself gleaning information from the fantastical stories that Gilly told her of how she came to be on the other side of the known world, with a baby that belonged to another woman after being forced to abandon her own child by the Lord Commander, Jon Snow. The very same Jon Snow that she had been more than a bit curious about.

  Daenerys had been horrified to hear that he had forced her to leave and abandon her child, what kind of a person forces a mother to leave a piece of her heart behind? 

  How cold and heartless was this Jon Snow? She was starting to rethink her plan to go north, but then Gilly told her about his albino Direwolf; Ghost, and once more Daenerys felt her resolve harden. This could not be a coincidence.

 Gilly told Daenerys all about her Great-great-great uncle Aemon, and of all the time she had spent getting to know him before his passing. When Gilly had recanted to her in detail, his last days alive, and of his wish to find her to bring her home and to help her learn about her inheritance, Daenerys realized why Marwyn had come.

  The two of them presented her with an oak cask, and she didn't need them to confirm what, or whom she would find inside. Though it pained her to see her blood be stored in such a way, she vowed that she would burn his body once they reached Dragonstone. This way he could rejoin their ancestors, and mayhaps even her mother. Who knew, if Viserys was right, perhaps he would even have the chance to be reborn once more as a dragon.

  Days passed and by the time she had reached Lys, word had spread that she was coming and as a result, she managed to take the island quite easily. Especially once they saw Drogon, Rhaegal and Viserion flying proudly unchecked above the island.

  Lys was known for their pleasure houses, not for their military strength, though most of the Magistrate had contracts with the Unsullied from before her time in Astapor. Most of whom were used to guard their manses, harems and personal estates. While these Unsullied were not subject to the same type of training in Lys as they had been in Astapor, Daenerys had long since decreed them free to choose their own path, and that courtesy had already been extended to the Unsullied that she had come upon in Volantis, therefore it was also carried forth in Lys as well.

  In addition to the Unsullied who guarded the inner city and personal property of the noble and freeborn, there were a number of hired swords that were in charge of defending the walls along the port. A great portion of those were counted among the lost, the rest of them surrendered their arms when they were faced with the threat of being target practice for her children. 

  The fact that slaves outnumbered the freeborn three to one only added fuel to her campaign, and it made it much easier to take control of Lys. 

  By the time she had set sail, she had added more than twelve-hundred Unsullied to her ranks and had even used a good majority of them to help her remove the “Nobility” from power who refused to give up contributing to the slave trade by purchasing, selling and breeding those in forced captivity. 

  Lys was a beautiful land, and if she hadn't been in a rush to be on her way to Westeros, she thought that she would have loved to spend more time there, enjoying their wine and cultural traditions. There were many places that she would have loved to spend more time visiting, such as the Alchemist guild, and the shops where they manufacture perfumes and spirits. Daenerys had been even more stunned to learn of the accumulated wealth of the magisters once her own people had audited the ruling houses. 

  Just as she had done in Volantis, men were appointed to guard the treasury, while other men were appointed to do a count of the number of citizens, so that she could properly formulate what the annual costs to maintain the city and it's people would be, and what it would cost to overhaul their trade system now that breeding and selling pleasure slaves was off the market. 

   Just as she had done in the Bay of Dragons and Volantis, Daenerys made sure to select a ruling council from among all classes of people, this way proper representation would be maintained for all people who resided on the island.

  While she was there, she had come across a Westerosi woman who was the chief concubine to Tregar Ormollen, a man who Daenerys remembered Ser Jorah speaking of once. She knew right away that this woman was none other than Lyness of House Hightower, what she hadn’t expected however was to meet her brother Ser Humphrey, and a boy who introduced himself to her as Edric Storm, the self-proclaimed bastard son of Robert Baratheon and Delena Florent.

  She hadn’t needed a maester to explain to her why she couldn't just leave him behind, or have him killed, so much to Ser Barristan’s relief and the Lady Lynesse’s protests, Daenerys ordered Ormollens estate seized and for Lynesse to be returned to Westeros at her side.

  Daenerys picked a number of new handmaidens as well, Lyseni girls who wanted to come west with her. Girls both freeborn and freedom given,  who wanted to be able to choose their own destinies, some of which shared her silver hair, or eyes so blue that they appeared almost lilac under certain lighting.

  She had never been among so many people who resembled her, but she welcomed all who wanted to make a new life at her side, no matter what their previous circumstances entailed. 

  They stayed in Lys no longer than a week, and in that time she had made sure that Lys was prepared for her changes and there were people in positions of power who she could trust enough not to risk her wrath by reverting back to their old practices. All and all, she was more than satisfied with the take over, and she was anxious to get to Pentos so that she could be on her way to Westeros. 

  It was on her way through the Stepstones that she encountered a Tyroshi fleet, sent out in hopes of catching her unawares. It had been a silly notion, especially since she had no intention to stop in Tyrosh on her voyage. Yes she knew that they were a culture of people who were heavily ensconced in slavery, but if she were ever going to get to Westeros, she had to prioritize. And Tyrosh hadn’t been among those who had sent men to murder her and her people. 

  Mayhaps they had thought the rumors of her dragons were just that; rumors, but they quickly learned their mistake when Drogon, Rhaegal and Viserion descended upon their flagship and reduced it to ashes. The Ironborn made quick work of a great portion while a small fleet of dromonds came in from the west and cut off their retreat. 

  Daenerys hadn’t expected to come into contact with anyone from Westeros so soon, but when the time came, they welcomed her men to board their ships and quickly pointed her in the direction of the man who was their Captain.

 The Lord of the Waters was a handsome man with a narrow face and a beard that hid the cleft in his chin. His hair was long and silver-gold and his eyes were an unusual shade of grey-green that she found quite remarkable. He immediately identified himself as a distant relation who claimed the Stepstones in her name the moment he heard that she was headed west. A detail that Daenerys had the good sense to assume was exaggerated.

  Though she could not deny that he had come to her aid, she was careful not to make any promises to him or to confirm him in his title or position. Ser Barristan of course confirmed that he was in fact the natural born brother of the previous Lord of Driftmark, which proved that he hadn't lied, though something about him seemed off-putting.

  Meeting Lord Aurane also proved quite informative, as he was able to fill her in on current Westerosi events that had taken place while she was sailing West. Apparently Euron Greyjoy had traveled through the Stepstones on his way to King's Landing, Aurane’s scouts last reported Euron’s ship as having docked near the Blackwater Rush while the bulk of the Ironborn were gathered near Oldtown. Though in her honest opinion, it was the news that the Golden Company had also sailed through the Stepstones and were spotted near Cape Wrath in the Stormlands that truly had her concerned. Some of their ships had apparently gotten scattered by the storms while passing through, most of which carried their livestock such as horses and what Aurane believed were Essosi elephants, but from what he reported, all were on track and should have already arrived to their destination. He expected that they would be taking Storms End since it was left pretty much empty and abandoned by Stannis Baratheon after Renly was killed and he had lost the battle of the Blackwater. The last piece of information was that Cersei had been imprisoned by the faith militant, which she had a hand in arming once more, but also that she had sent men to claim Dragonstone in her son’s name once she had heard that Stannis had abandoned his seat to sail North.

 This of course left her with much to think about in the following weeks while she sailed toward Pentos, but for now, Daenerys ordered that he remain upon the Stepstones to await the rest of her fleet that she knew were less than a week behind her by this point, from there he would escort them to Dragonstone where she would speak with him in more detail. 

  With the capture of more than sixty new ships, Tyrosh had successfully placed themselves on her radar. Even though she was determined to remain focused on her plotted trajectory, she could not allow this blatant attempt to capture her to go unchecked. Therefore she made sure to send an emissary back to Tyrosh, along with the captured captains of each of their remaining vessels, each with the same message that they were to deliver to the Archon and the other nobility. Cease their involvement in the slave trade, and release all current slaves, with a reasonable wage for their services within the next twelve moons, or she would return and drench their homes and streets in their blood and burn them until they were no more than ash in the wind.

  Daenerys wasn't fool enough to believe that her term would be respected, but let it not be said that she could not be reasonable. Until then, Tyrosh had not presented themselves as her enemy, so she had not charted a course there. However, if her calculations were correct, she could reach Tyrosh from Westeros within a week’s time upon her dragons back, and if they forced her hand she would be all too willing to return across the Narrow Sea to serve Targaryen justice.

  On their way to Pentos, Victarion had been most adamant that he should be allowed to mount Rhaegal, and though she was loath to allow him such power, especially with rumors of Euron being so close, she needed to secure his loyalty until they at the very least reached Westeros. With that in mind, she managed to convince him to wait until they reached Pentos to allow Rhaegal the time to fully heal.

  The truth was, Rhaegal was more than ready to carry a rider, but he hadn’t forgiven Victarion for the way he had behaved following the Volantene Wall of ships, and she had felt his fury toward the Iron Lord many times through their bond. Rhaegal had even plotted to burn the Iron Fleet on more than a number of occasions, just so he could be rid of Victarion, forcing Daenerys to find ways to distract him.

  As for the Tattered Prince, she had met with him on quite a number of occasions over the course of their voyage, and while she was forced to admit to herself that she hadn’t cared much for him when they first met, the captain of the Windblown had a certain type of charm. Of course that didn't mean that she had forgotten his role in the death of Prince Quentyn, nor his share in the responsibility that he had yet to own. But she wasn't at all opposed to helping him claim Pentos, though she still had her own terms to deliver to him on that front.

  What she had found most shocking was his ability to converse with her in fluid High Valyrian for hours upon hours, even her Unsullied weren’t as properly fluent in her mother tongue as Tatters. The only thing that bothered her was that he remained an enigma to her. No one, as far as she could tell had been able to tell her anything that she didn't already know about the man. For this reason, she decided that she had to confront him before they took Pentos. She could not in good conscience turn over the fate of an entire Essosi city to a man when no one knew his true identity, It made her suspicious that he was hiding something from not just her, but the world as a whole. And while she wasn't under the impression that it was intent to deceive her, she was determined to get to the bottom of it, and while she was at it, she might as well reveal her intent to claim Pentos as another territory under her protection and her rule, just as she had done with the rest of the Bay of Dragons, Volantis and Lys.

  Daenerys had summoned both of Prince Quentyn’s companions to her chambers, along with Ser Barristan, Red Flea, as well as Malaqo Maegyr, and Alios Qhaedar who had been asked to join them to serve as witnesses. When the Tattered Prince arrived, Daenerys was quick to invite him to sit with her so that they could finally discuss the terms that he and Ser Barristan had agreed upon in her absence. Once he was comfortable, she was quick to jump straight in.

  “Thank you for coming, Captain,” she began and Tatters nodded. “As you know, our ships are only a few days away from dropping our anchors, and I wanted to go over the agreement that Ser Barristan made on my behalf while I was away. I’m hoping to be on my way west as soon as possible, and in order to do that, I need to be sure that leaving Pentos in your hands is what is best for the people of Pentos and not just for you.”

  “Have I given you any reason to believe that you can not trust me? I gave my word to help save your men from the slave masters in exchange for your help taking Pentos. I have upheld my end of the bargain.” Tatters responded, though he was careful not to sound defensive.

  “That you have,” Daenerys agreed. “And for that I agree that I owe you a debt. However there is another matter that we must discuss before I can commit to the agreement made between you and Ser Barristan,” she explained, taking note of how stiff the set of his jaw had become.

  “What’s changed?” He pressed.

  Daenerys arched a brow at his question, but she had no desire to torture the man. “Honestly my Lord, nothing has changed for me. My intentions remain the same. I mean to end slavery in Essos and across the known world, and I mean to end the lives of men and women who use others misery and unjust circumstances to better their own. With that being said, Pentos is a part of Essos, and I have no intent to relinquish my claim to it.”

  Tatters looked as if he meant to protest, but Daenerys raised a cautioning finger toward him. “I know the agreement that you and Ser Barristan made, but I’m also aware of the fact that you were privy to Prince Quentyn’s plans to steal one of my dragons. Which you intended to use to take Pentos.”

  “So this is the reason for the Dornishmen’s presence?” Tatters said, though it clearly wasn’t a question, nor a denial. 

  Daenerys found that she had no reason to hide the truth from him, she didn’t see him as a threat to her, in fact, she never had. Not only that, but because she had never been given any warnings about him, and he was plainly obvious in his intentions. “Please be at ease, my Lord. I have no desire to use this information against you, in fact I admire your tenacity and cunning, and I can't say that I blame you for trying to achieve your goal, no matter the cost. However, while I can personally understand your motivations, the fact of the matter is, a man was killed. Not just any man either, a visiting royal dignitary from Westeros, a prince of Dorne at that, and if I am ever to reclaim my father’s throne, I will need the support of Dorne.”

  Tatters seemed to deflate at hearing her words, but he remained tense as he sat across from her listening to what she had to say. She went on. “It seems rather unfair that I should reward you with a city of your own to rule over unchecked, while keeping these two as my honored guests,” Daenerys said, gesturing toward Ser Gerris and Ser Archibald. “Since I cannot take you to Westeros with me when I return, coupled with the fact that you appear to serve your own agenda…I’ve decided that Pentos will remain under my rule once it has been claimed by right of conquest. I am hoping, that while this is not what you had in mind, that you won't be quite as reluctant to rule Pentos in my name, as you were to be named a ruling prince when the offer was first presented to you.”

  For a few moments, the room remained as silent as a crypt, all eyes were fixed on the Tattered Prince as he weighed her words over. A moon or two ago, Daenerys would have been concerned about the way he would react, but now, considering the way she had turned the conflict with the slavers in her favor, and claimed the most richest ports on this side of the continent, she knew that he would have to be either a fool or a mad man to refuse what she was offering him. Her terms were more than beneficial to him if he considered what ruling Pentos solo would entail once her remaining Khalasar came through to claim their tributes. At least in this way, Pentos would be protected and Daenerys could be certain that slavery would remain abolished in Essos for good.

  As long as Tatters was willing to uphold her laws and pay taxes to the empire she was attempting to establish, Daenerys saw no reason that the two of them couldn't work together amicably.

  Tatters sat forward, his long fingers steepled in front of his face. She could see that there was something he was thinking to say to her, but he seemed reluctant to speak in front of so many other people. Reading the nonverbal cues, Daenerys asked for her companions to leave so that she and he could speak more candidly. 

  “I take it that you don’t mind if Ser Barristan remains?”

  “Not at all. I would thank you for speaking with me without so many present though.” Tatters returned.

  “Of course,” she allowed.

  Nodding, he pushed on. “We do not need an audience for what I have to say, nor did you ever need one to get me to confirm my part in the freeing of your dragons. I made my desires clear when I brought the Windblown to Meereen, and you denied me. But even you understand that I am an opportunist as well as a sellsword. I regret that the young prince was lost in his attempts to claim one of your dragons, and I regret that I did not attempt to sway him away from his path.” Tatters confessed.

  Daenerys said nothing while he spoke, this perhaps was the most he had ever said in a single conversation, unprompted. Instead she studied his appearance, trying to figure out who he truly was under this persona. 

  “What would you have me do to make amends? Pentos aside, you were correct that I share some responsibility in the fate of the young prince.” Tatters stated, momentarily taking her by surprise.

  She hadn’t expected him to be so candid in his confession, nor had she expected ownership of his actions so easily, and yet, surprisingly his approach put her at ease almost immediately. Luckily, she had prepared for this before she arranged this meeting and she immediately sat forward, crossing her hands over her lap. 

  “There are no forms of restitution that can replace a lost child, but I suspect that when Prince Doran sent his son across the Narrow Sea in pursuit of me, he knew that there was a chance that his son would not return. However, I am under no false impression that this news will be received with anything short of hostility. As I said before, it seems unfair that I make Sers Yronwood and Drinkwater solely responsible while you played just as large of a role in Prince Quentyn’s death, if not more considering that you actually encouraged him.”

  Again Tatters nodded, “I understand.”

  “I have questions, some of which have no bearing on the current topic, but if you could answer them, it would help me decide how to move forward.” Daenerys explained, trying her best to figure out how to get the answers she wanted. 

  This time Tatters smiled, as if he knew what her true motivation had been the entire time. “I wondered how long it would take for you to ask. You want to know my identity and my motivation, is that it?”

  “You’ve caught me.” Daenerys returned with an easy smile. 

  “I’m not surprised, I’m actually shocked that it took you so long to ask. Even after I was informed by my men that people were asking questions.” He hesitated, as if trying to figure out where to begin, and then he lifted his eyes toward hers and he sucked in a deep breath. “I trust that you know why I declined the first offer made to me by the Prince’s of Pentos?”

  “You did not want to be used as a pawn in their schemes.” Daenerys couldn't honestly blame him, they would easily use someone who they saw as weaker than themselves to strengthen their own positions. It’s what Illyrio had done with her and Viserys. Selling them to the Dothraki as a tribute that wouldn’t affect the bottom line. A tribute that in truth, cost the princes of Pentos nothing. 

  Tatters nodded, but underneath, his eyes told another story, and Daenerys wasn’t the only one who picked up on this, as Ser Barristan watched him quizzically. Unable to stop herself, she asked him the one question that sat on the tip of her tongue. “Who are you, my Lord?”

  Tatters leaned back, considering her question and then he shook his head, “I am no one, a rogue at best,” came his practiced reply, but Daenerys was having none of it. 

  “Be that as it may, from where do your people come? Where does your bloodline descend from?” Daenerys pushed. 

  Covered in his colorful cloak, Tatters appearance hadn’t raised any alarms, but now, she couldn’t stop herself from noticing that his long hair was more of a silver than grey, and his eyes, which seemed both soft and sad, now reflected something else. Was it lilac?

  She didn’t have to wait long for his reply, instead he released a heavy breath and then jumped straight in. His father had been Pentoshi, a wealthy magister who had a manse and a history that stretched back more than a few generations. His mother was from Volantis, though her own lineage was more complex than he had the patience to dive into with detail. Though he made it clear that her family came from behind the black wall, he also mentioned that it was his great grandmother's ancestry and wealth that had secured them their manse. He told her a tale about his great great great grandmother who had fled her home in search of freedom and happiness, only to settle in Volantis and plant roots, but in the end Daenerys found that she had only more questions. 

  His mother and father had met in Pentos and later on were wed, which eventually led to his birth. From there, he learned at his father's side how to swing a sword, and command men, though at the time he hadn’t ever thought to be the leader of a sellsword company. After his father's sudden death, he had been approached by the Pentoshi magisters, they wanted him to join them and help to rule Pentos, but they had thought him weak and naive, and hadn’t realized that he had been doing his own research on them.  

  It was then that he learned that it was because of his mother’s bloodline that they wished to use him as a puppet. A rumor that he had royal blood, though he swore that he had no knowledge of how true the claim was. Daenerys hadn’t needed him to elaborate more, it was plain as day that the man possessed Valyrian blood. The only question she had was, from where, and which household was he related to? 

  That turned out to be another fantastical tale, one that Ser Barristan was able to assist with, as a portion was covered by Westerosi history, a history that included her own ancestors and a great council that was held in the year 101 AC to determine who would be the successor to the Old King; Jaehaerys I of his name. 

  “So you could potentially be the descendant of my great-by-however many aunts?” Daenerys asked, trying to keep the shock from her tone. 

  “Your Grace, I don’t even know how true this story is, only that my family does have Valyrian descent, otherwise we would not have been allowed to remain behind the black wall. Whether or not this tale holds truth to it, Essos is my home, and Pentos is my only desire.” Tatters said, trying to assure her that he was no threat to her but she was so far past that particular issue. 

  “What is the name you were given at birth?” She asked instead. 

  Though the man in front of her clearly took pride in his anonymity, he took a deep breath and answered her directly. “I was named Daemon of House Vogarro, son of Nevio Vogarro of Pentos, one of the forty ruling families. And I swear by the fourteen gods of Old Valyria that I mean you no harm. As for Pentos, I didn’t so much refuse the magisters, I fled. They would have made me their puppet and then sacrifice me at the first sign of trouble. I did not ask for the honor of being named a prince, and because of that I had to flee in order to save my own life.” 

  He sighed, and Daenerys could see the sincerity of his words reflecting back at her through his sad eyes. “So what is it that you want?” She couldn’t help but ask. She thought that she knew, but she wanted to hear him say it. She could tell that he was kindred to her, both wanting what was taken from them. 

  “I want to go home, and the truth is that I cannot as long as the same ruling families remain in power. That is the reason that I asked you for your help. There’s nothing that I wouldn’t sacrifice in order to go home. Pentos should be ruled by a man—or—a woman,” Tatters quickly amended, “who can do so without trampling over others just to stay in power. I would rather not consider myself your enemy, and I have no desire to face off against you or your dragon, so I suppose that I have no choice but to accept your terms.” 

  Daenerys thought about all that she had heard from this man, and she knew that he hadn't lied to her. Though there was no way to know for sure if he was a distant relation to her or not, the truth was that it didn't matter. He was not asking her to recognize him publicly as her kin, and he wasn't asking for rights to her throne in Westeros. He simply wanted the right to go home, the home where he had been born and raised, and who was she to deny him the very thing that she was desperate to go and find?

  Standing, Daenerys offered her kinsman her hand. “We can discuss the particulars after we have taken Pentos. but as far as I am concerned, we have an understanding. Pentos will be yours, though you will continue to rule it in my name, as such Pentos will fall under my protection and the protection of my dragons. As for Doran, it will be up to you to prepare restitution for your role in the death of his son. As I stated before, you may not have sent him to my dragons by force, but neither did you attempt to dissuade him.”

  Tatters nodded, “I will see that it is done.”

  “One last thing before you go,” Daenerys added as they walked toward her door. “When we take Pentos, you will leave the manse and all properties belonging to Illyrio Mopatis to me, both during and following the siege. I will be claiming them as my own for the debt that this particular magister owes me.”

  Tatters raised a questioning brow, but said nothing of her request. “I will pass this information along to my men,” he agreed.

  After their discussion, the rest of her advisors were invited back in to continue discussing strategy. That took up a few more hours and then Daenerys found herself with a bit of extra time on her hands. With nothing better to do, she made her way through the ship in search of the woman Gilly, who had traveled from the Wall with her uncle Aemon before his passing.

  The two of them had spoken on more than a few occasions since her arrival to Volantis, and still Daenerys found that she had many and more questions to ask her. Maesters had a way of chronicling things in a way that removed intimate details, and who better to tell her all about Westeros than a woman who had spent as much time south of the Wall as Daenerys herself had? What she was seeking was an unbiased opinion, one that wasn't tainted by loyalties to one House or faction, and she could only get that from Gilly.

  She found Gilly easily enough, though she was surprised to find her in the company of the young boy; Edric Storm. From everything she had learned, the two had never met before they landed in Lys, yet they spoke as if they were familiar with one another. Daenerys hated the thought that she might be eavesdropping on their conversation, but she was reluctant to interrupt, and more than a little surprised to witness how easily this woman seemed to fit into almost every circle, nearly seamlessly, save for mayhaps the Ironborn and her new advisors of war and war strategy. Those two had a long way to go before they shed their privilege.

  “When we left, she was still at Castle Black under the Lord Commanders protection.” Gilly answered.

  Not wanting to interrupt, Daenerys leaned against the doorframe and listened to Gilly and Edric talk. The person in question was his cousin, a girl named Shireen who he seemed to be quite fond of. Though Gilly didn’t have much information about the girl, she seemed to be quite fond of her too, as apparently Shireen had taught her how to read in part. 

  Edric was more of a mystery to Daenerys, the two hadn’t done much talking since she had informed him that she would be taking him back to Dragonstone with her. For whatever reason, he seemed to be against returning to Westeros all together, even more so, he was downright defiant whenever Moqqoro was around, refusing to even be in the same room as him. Which made her more than a bit curious about the circumstances that led to his leaving Westeros in favor of Lys. Edric wasn’t much better in her company, but Dany suspected that this had more to do with who his father was, and less to do with anything she had done to offend the boy. Still, she hoped to know more about him in time. 

  They reached the waters near the hinterlands surrounding Pentos late the following  night and small groups of men were ferried inland to begin preparations for when Daenerys and the dragons came. From the sky above, the city was quiet but signal fires were lit all over the wharf as well as the square towers where the spice traders kept their merchandise. Otherwise the city looked almost deserted, even the port was nearly bereft of any merchant ships or cogs that one would normally see anchored out in the water.

  She had taken a page from her own book and sent an emissary to deliver her terms to the magisters, though this one was slightly different in nature. Since she was now aware of the role that the elected Prince played, she demanded that he meet with her, and that they hand over magister Illyrio to her in chains. She also demanded that the heads of each of the forty ruling families of Pentos present themselves at the same time that they were to hand over their prince and magister Illyrio.

  She did not mention the men she already had within the city, nor did she mention her manse that had once belonged to Drogo, as she did not need to bring attention to her own property or people before she had a chance to enter the city on her own.

 It was late in the afternoon of the same day when the ship that she sent her emissary on, returned. With him, the magisters sent an emissary of their own, inviting Daenerys and her higher ranked officers to meet with them the following day to discuss a tribute that would be suitable enough to convince her to spare their city. Apparently they assumed that she would threaten them in the way that Dothraki khalassar’s would when passing through. 

  Daenerys elected to allow their emissary to believe she favored these terms and then she had him escorted to a room aboard her ship, promising that he would be returned to his people the following day. He would, but not before she had taken the city. 

  Just before first light, Daenerys mounted Drogon along with Ser Barristan and Tatters, and the three flew toward Pentos. The flight didn’t take long, and before she knew it Drogon had landed them inside the manicured grounds of the Prince’s mansion. She knew that he would be sacrificed the moment the siege began, and she did not wish to add him to her list of casualties, especially when his position wasn’t one of his own choice. 

  The men that she had sent inside the city days previous, had already infiltrated his grounds and dispatched his guard before she arrived, so Daenerys and Barristan could move around unchecked. They found the magisters puppet asleep in his bed, with no less than three women wrapped around his naked frame. This one no doubt had no issue exploiting the perks of his forced position. Bitterly, Daenerys wondered if these girls had been maidens before he set his eyes upon them. 

  Tatters unsheathed his sword and pointed the tip at the sleeping prince’s throat. “Careful not to sleep through your own death,” he warned, waking two of the three sleeping girls. 

  She had to admire how fast their reflexes were once they noticed her and the other two men occupying the same space as them. Both girls nearly fell out of the bed, in a mad search for something to cover their bodies. Daenerys stepped forward, a reassuring smile on her face. “Be at ease, I have not come to harm any of you. I only wish to speak with your prince, and then we will be on our way.” She promised. 

  “Wh—what could you possibly want with me?” The startled prince said, finally waking from his slumber. 

  Daenerys turned to him and then gestured to Tatters, “I wanted to introduce you to the man who is going to save your life on the morrow, that is, if you no longer covet your position and are both ready and willing to embrace change?”

  Prince Vorhasso regarded them skeptically for a moment and then he nodded, getting up and sliding from beneath his silk sheets. Two of the three women who had been at his side made to follow him but Daenerys motioned for them to remain.

  “My men will be just outside the doors, I’m sure that you will be comfortable in here while we are gone.” 

  She didn't see them as a threat to her personally, but she had no knowledge of who they were and where they came from, and it would be a shame if the magistrate found her inside the city before she had them surrounded. Instead she opted to keep these women here, they would be released once the business with Pentos was concluded. At the very least, they would be safer inside and under guard than they would if she were to allow them to return to their homes.

  The four of them excused themselves to another room in the Prince's mansion where they spoke at length for more than an hour. Daenerys and Tatters explained how the meeting with the magisters would go, and how his guards had already been replaced with guards of her own to ensure his safety. 

  In return, Prince Vorhasso filled them in on the situation inside Pentos; namely that Illyrio would not be present, that he had fled Pentos after hearing that Daenerys had taken Volantis and was heading west. His manse had been left under guard, and as far as anyone was aware, he would eventually return, though no one could say when.

  Daenerys didn't need the imp to tell her where she would find the cheesemonger, he’d obviously fled to Westeros along with the Golden Company and the boy who was apparently, her nephew. The fact that he was in Westeros didn't sit well with her, but there was nothing she could do about it from Pentos. However, the image of dragon banners swaying amidst a cheering crowd sat with her and remained a constant reminder in the back of her mind.

  The rest of the information that Vorhasso shared only confirmed things that she had already suspected. Mainly, that most of Pentos had been evacuated in preparation for her arrival, though since they “technically” do not own slaves in Pentos, the magisters assumed that she would come seeking tribute before sailing west. A fact that she could exploit, but the possibility that Tatters could be even distantly related to her meant more to her than all of the time she had spent as a “guest” in magister Illyrio’s manse as a child, only to be sold as a tribute to a man three times her age.

 She would make sure that Tatters could come home, and he would make sure that slavery and forced servitude would never take place in Pentos ever again.

  After they finished their discussion, Daenerys and Ser Barristan made their way outside where she called for Drogon to come for her. Tatters remained with the Prince as an extra layer of protection. Prince Vorhasso promised that the meeting would take place on his estate and that the magistrate had arranged for transports to receive them at the port the following morning before midday. With that in mind, Daenerys and her trusted Queensguard departed.

  Once they were back aboard her flagship, Daenerys sent Drogon off to hunt and she called Rhaegal to come to her. She wanted to tell him about her plans, as well as explain to him that Victarion would be mounting him again, but only for a while. She would promise him that once they reached Dragonstone, she would figure out a way to be rid of Victarion for good. 

  Somehow, something told her that he was already aware. Rhaegal landed with a thud upon the upper deck of her ship, but he refused to calm himself, even when she stepped into his line of sight, he refused to settle and he had a hard time meeting her eyes. Even after he let her approach and dig her nails under the thick scales of his jaw to scratch him in his sweet spot, Rhaegal would not be swayed. 

  He hissed when she mentioned Victarion, but she knew that Rhaegal would accept him. She just wasn't sure how many more times, and she only prayed that the idiot of a man didn't attempt anything foolish before she could keep her promise to her child.

  As dawn drew nearer, a medium contingent of her ships advanced toward the port where they would lay anchor and disembark to meet with the welcoming party. Daenerys and Drogon would keep to the sky, along with Victarion and Rhaegal, where the four of them would follow them back to Prince Vorhasso’s estate. 

  While the magistrate gathered, more of her men would flood the port, adding strength to the number of men that she had already within the city. From there they dispatched the men who were guarding the city from the high walls that surrounded it. Victarion remained airborne to monitor the city and the takeover,  with strict orders to not engage. Rhaegal was there as a safety precaution and not a weapon of massive destruction, at least not unless his life was in immediate danger.

  Once Daenerys was certain that she had enough men inside the city to secure it, she and Drogon descended from up high and landed in the same location that they had mere hours before. 

  The active members of the Pentoshi magistrate were gathered in a large hall, inside Prince Vorhasso’s estate. Some raised voices filtered out through the door as Daenerys approached, flanked by a large number of guards and Ser Barristan. Most of whom were demanding to know why she had sent soldiers and politicians but had not deigned to join their entourage herself. 

  Smiling to herself, she nodded to her guards to open the doors, and at the very same moment, twin roars sounded outside, alerting all present that she had arrived. 

  Inside more than sixty men sat, awaiting her arrival. A herald beat his staff against the marble floor, bringing everyone within to silence. “Presenting Daenerys of House Targaryen, Queen of Meereen, Yunkai, Astapor, Volantis and Lys, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, mother of dragons, the Unburnt, and the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.”

  Her titles had been modified, but Daenerys did not interrupt. He wasn’t Missandei, and no one could ever be as attentive to her rights and honors as her young scribe.

  “Thank you all for agreeing to meet with me on such short notice, I assure you that your time is valued and appreciated.” Daenerys began.

  A man, likely a magister, stood from his seat. He had clear blue eyes, sandy blonde hair, and he possessed an air about himself that screamed of privilege. “Please forgive my curiosity, but why have you come to Pentos, Your Grace?” His high pitched voice grated on her nerves. 

  Daenerys smiled placatingly, “And you are?”

  “I am Nilis Dregar, Sixteenth Magistrate of Pentos.” He replied pridefully, as if his position or name would truly impress her. 

  “The answer is an easy one, and one I’m happy to provide, but first, I was hoping that each of you would be willing to join me outside,” said Daenerys, gesturing toward the doors that she had just come through. 

  Prince Vorhasso stood from his chair and gestured for his guard to follow, his guard that just so happened to be Tatters, dressed in the Pentoshi garb of a hired guard. “Of course we would be happy to step out onto the veranda with you.” Playing his part, he walked toward her with smooth steps and offered her his arm, playing his part beautifully. 

  A few moments later, all nine-and-thirty magistrate fell in behind her and Prince Vorhasso and then they were being led back out of the prince's manse. 

  She didn’t wait for them to reach their destination before she began to explain her purpose. There was no need, as they were all surrounded by her men, whether or not they were aware. 

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, Prince Vorhasso, but did I not request for all forty magisters to be present during this meeting, and for one of them to be bound in chains?”

  Prince Vorhasso nodded in confirmation. “You did, Your Grace.” 

  “Has it occurred to you to question why I would make such a request if I had no reason to lay siege to Pentos?” She asked, raising a questioning brow toward the prince before casually glancing behind her to gauge the reactions of the other magisters. 

  Vorhasso didn’t skip a beat, knowing exactly what she was doing, he quickly replied. “Of course we have, especially since all of us are aware of the relationship between Magister Illyrio and yourself. Did he not provide shelter and safety for you and your brother for more than a year?”

  He played his role flawlessly and soon murmurs of agreement echoed all around, making Daenerys smile. 

  She too nodded as confirmation to the prince's question. “Indeed he did,” Daenerys said, “and once I had flowered, the magisters were kind enough to arrange my marriage to the Khal of an approaching khalasar. Of course, at the time I was still but a girl who had zero experience or knowledge of Pentoshi or Essosi politics. How could I know that I was being presented as your tribute to the all mighty Khal Drogo. Your bribe, to ensure that his Khalasar and his kas, did not attack and raid your city, kill those of you in power, and take your women as pleasure slaves before slitting their throats or selling them to someone who will make them an offer that doesn’t offend the Great Stallion, just to be rid of the burden they present to their own people.”

  By this time, every man present had become deathly silent. The only sounds to be heard were the clapping and shuffling of feet across the marble floors, along with their labored breaths as they moved toward the outer doors. 

  Ser Barristan stepped in front of her, reaching out to open the way to the outside, and on her order, he pushed them open, revealing the port and the high walls that circled the city, as well as the expanse of the city within them. 

  Though Drogon was no longer grounded on the Prince’s lawn, Daenerys could sense his closeness and she drew comfort in the fact that he would not abandon her. 

  The men of the magistrate gathered around her, oblivious to what had been taking place while they had all been shut in, inside Vorhasso’s estate.

  Turning her back to the port, Daenerys faced her audience. “Yesterday I sent an emissary to you with my terms and you sent back one of your own. Today you have only given me a portion of what I have requested. So I'll ask, where is magister Illyrio?” 

  “Gone,” came the voice of a dark haired man who stood shoulder to shoulder with two men who hadn’t introduced themselves. “He left more than a fortnight ago by ship, no one has seen or heard from him since.”

  Daenerys sighed dramatically, “Well, that is unfortunate.” Daenerys commented, unamused.

  Above them, the tiled roof groaned and small fragments skittered along the downward slope and peppered those standing below, causing each of them to look upward into the deep black pit of Drogon’s open maw. A few of them were even forced to jump out of the way of the saliva dripping from his mouth.

  A satisfied thrill passed over her spine, seeing the shocked expressions of the men who more than likely dismissed her as a proper threat to their way of life. Before they could collect themselves, Daenerys decided that this would be the perfect time to begin once more.

  “It is clear to me that you all thought of me as a Khaleesi, one that was coming to claim a tribute from you, in the same way that my Khal once had—I accept.” The men around her assessed her carefully, waiting for her to finish speaking.

  “Only now that I am here, I am finding that you are lacking the treasure that I came here seeking, meaning that I will have to choose something else to satisfy my desires, or attack.” Daenerys spread her arms wide, drawing their attention toward the city outside of Vorhasso’s estate, where nearly all of her fleet had taken control of port and her soldiers were flooding their streets. High above, Rhaegal and Viserion soared, keeping their keen eyes trained on what was happening below them.

  Daenerys explained to those still slowly processing what they were seeing. “While you slept in your feather beds, surrounded by your comforts, my men infiltrated your city. The port, the docks, your high walls that you believed would protect you. Your markets have been secured and, as we speak, your manses are being seized, along with your fortunes.”

  While she was speaking, Unsullied and Windblown soldiers surrounded the magisters on all sides. 

  “You can't be serious, by what right do you think to declare war on us?!” An older Pentoshi man bellowed in rage.

  “She’s not declaring war, you imbecile, she is claiming dominion of Pentos, by right of debt, justice, equality and freedom. Her Grace has declared slavery abolished throughout Essos, whether that slave be held captive against their will, or forced into servitude through debt.” Tatters spoke, stepping forward to reveal himself for the first time since he fled Pentos nearly forty years previous.

  Daenerys used that moment to reintroduce them and then she informed them all that she would be reinstating their offer to name him the new Prince of Pentos, relieving Vorhasso of his duty as sacrificial lamb.

  “Only, rather than Daemon playing the role of puppet, he will be the foremost authority here in Pentos. He will rule Pentos and her people in my stead, and in addition to his appointment, my next judgment is to disband the magistrate and absolve each of you of your ruling influence. All indentured servants will be offered free room and board, as well as fair pay. These terms are not negotiable, and if you find that you are unable to adapt to this new way of doing things, I will be happy to assign you and your families smaller accommodations, this way you won't have to rely on others to do your work for you.”

  “In three days time, Daemon will elect a council of peers to help him keep the peace here, and I will personally send someone to Braavos to notify them of the change in power here in Pentos. I imagine that this will be quite an adjustment for many, if not all of you and I want you to know that you are safe to voice your concerns and complaints without fear of injury from myself or my dragons.”

  Daenerys already knew that it would be dangerous to leave these men in their positions, which is why she had other means in mind to keep them in line. They say that her ancestor, Aegon the Conqueror dealt harshly with rebels and traitors, but was open-handed with former foes who bent the knee. Daenerys honestly believed that she was finally in a position of power, a position where she could make a difference, and where men would see her as their equal and not lesser due to her sex. However, she would follow in her ancestors footsteps and she would give each of them the opportunity to either walk beside her into the future, or to perish with their old.

  She could see the looks of anger and doubt written plainly on the faces of most present, those were the ones grumbling amongst themselves. But it was the sixteenth magistrate that stood there quietly, nothing but pure hatred shining back at her through his eyes.

  The older magister stepped forward, a look of sadness and concern was fixed on his face. “Why, your Grace? What have we done to offend you so?”

  She respected the fact that he stepped forward so she did not hesitate to reply. “Individually, nothing, and collectively you’ve done even less. You cannot defend yourself from the sea, due to the numerous decisions that have been made in favor of war that never panned out. The result of this is that you are now collectively weak, and rather than take ownership for all the misinformed and flawed plans, you choose to elect a prized pig to parade around until you fuck up again and then sacrifice him to distract the people from the truth. The truth that none of you are equipped or deserving to sit in positions of power. For generations, you and your people have claimed Pentos as a free city, yet your servants are still collared , your manses are still guarded by Unsullied soldiers that you purchased before I decreed them free. And lets not forget how each of you conspired to sell a girl of ten-and-four to a Dothraki Khal as a tribute and didn't bat an eye to help myself and my brother.” 

  The man nodded, after hearing her reasoning. “So then what will happen to all of us, what about our families?

  “Might I ask your name, my lord?” Daenerys asked.

  “Former Magistrate Millios Annteli, if it please you.” The magistrate answered.

  “As you can see, I have men moving through the city as we speak. For now, Pentos is being secured and searched to make sure that there will not be any insurgents popping up and taking advantage of the lower classes. Once it is determined to be safe, Prince Daemon will invite the rest of the people back within the city walls and from there he will develop his own council of trustees. It will be up to him to ultimately decide your fate and the fate of your families. However I have no desire to remove any of you from your ancestral homes, nor do I have a taste for uprooting children from everything they know. As many of you are aware, I never had a sense of stability as a child, and I do not wish that existence upon any child. However, I cannot allow the world to continue to be ruled and led by men who are so careless with the lives of others.” Daenerys explained.

  Another man stepped forward, this one different from the other two. “How are you any different? How many men have you let die just so that you could conquer all of Essos? How many people have you killed or claimed to have freed, only to exploit later? How can you call us careless with human lives when you yourself burned thousands outside the walls of Meereen? You are a hypocrite! We know just how well you care for “your people,” the man spat.

  Daenerys felt herself recoil at the mention of her actions in Meereen in regards to the pale mare, but she could not allow herself to show weakness in front of these men. 

  Tatters stepped forward, prepared to draw his sword to silence the man, but Daenerys held out her hand to stall him. 

  “How am I different?” Daenerys mused aloud. “The fact that I have allowed you to ask me such a question proves how I am different. The fact that you are still standing under your own strength is proof of how I am different. But I'll entertain you further by addressing the accusations that you have charged me with. It was never my intention to conquer Essos, in truth my mission started with the desire to be free and to choose my own fate, after being sold by all of you, and my brother.” 

  Daenerys went on to give them detailed information about her time among the Dothraki, how she learned her place quite early on, and how she was forced to become someone else just to survive her time among her husbands people. She told them about Khal Drogo’s promise to her after the usurper sent an assassin to murder her and her unborn child, about her brother threatening to cut her son out of her stomach and about the attack on the Lazareen village and Mirri Maz Duur, and the night that her life was once more thrust into uncertainty. 

  “I woke from my sleep to find that I had not only lost my Khal, but my child as well. Most of his Khalasar abandoned me, splitting into four smaller hoards, and most of the women and children that I had risked so much for were murdered or raped and then murdered before they abandoned me on the great Grass Sea. The witch had tricked me, but somehow, through my losses, I still retained my dragon eggs. I had no idea how to proceed after that, but there were still people who depended on me. So the following night, I had my people make a pyre fit to send off my Khal into the Nightlands, and I ordered them to bind the witch to the pyre after I placed my dragons eggs next to my husband, when the fire had taken hold, and Mirri had begun screaming, I walked into the pyre and traded my old life for the one I am living now.”

  Most people knew this story by now, including what happened during her time in Qarth, but she filled in those details as well. “I did not conquer Astapor for greed, I liberated the slaves within Astapor so that no mother would have to stand by and accept a payment for the life of her child, so that little boys and girls would no longer be ripped away from their homes and to be trained in the art of war or pleasure. I did it so that a man who was born free could die free, and not nailed or tied to a post to die in the heat. You want to know what made me different from the Yunkish masters? I gave them the choice to go home, to take back their identities, or to stand by my side and to help me free everyone else forced into similar situations as them. They chose me, because of this. And if any of them came to me and told me that they wished to leave my service, they would be provided with enough gold and proper means of transport to carry them on into their new life. Each man and woman who follows me do so because it is their desire to do so. I asked the Unsullied if they would follow me, and I have taken it upon myself to know as many of them as I can on a personal level. My scribe, who I freed in Astapor is currently acting as my lead advisor and was given charge of the transport of my warriors from Meereen to Westeros. Ask any man who I have brought with me today how I am different from those who have come before me, and I can promise you they will tell you the same things that I have just said. I did not intend to rule, I did not desire power, I had none. The only thing that I have ever truly wanted was safety and my own home. I want to make this world a better place, I want for no girl to have to be sold for her brother to gain an army, or for the man who aided them to be given a prestigious position. I want children to be able to play without fear of chains or whips, and I want the men in power, who have made this way of life possible, to know what it feels like to not have the freedom to choose their own paths. I am under no false illusion that my actions in Meereen haven’t reached you, and there hasn’t been a night since that I have not lost sleep, hearing the cries of the innocent people who were lost due to the spread of the plague that nearly strangled the life out of Meereen and the Bay of Dragons as a whole. However, I did not senselessly murder innocent people. I saved thousands inside Meereen and thousands more throughout Essos by eradicating the disease altogether, and each person who lost their lives did so willingly, knowing that there was nothing to be done to save them.”

  “And what if we choose to not accept your terms? Will you sack the city and feed those who oppose you to your dragons?” Another man asked.

  “I have no intention to sack Pentos, the city is already under the control of my armies. As for the rest of you, this is your chance to accept change. Bend the knee to me, swear me your fealty and I swear that you will not be harmed. Fail to do so, and you will be taken into custody until Prince Daemon and myself have decided what to do with each of you.” Daenerys answered honestly.

  The men of the magistrate took a moment to gauge her words and to take stock of what the rest of them were thinking before the first person took a step toward her.

  “Former Magistrate Annteli, have you made your decision?”

  The former magistrate nodded, “I have Your Grace, and though I cannot speak for my peers, I cannot deny the truth of your words, nor the validity of your accusations. The fact that you have done all of this, and gathered all of us in one place as a means of limiting the loss of life, proves that you are not heartless and without compassion. Something each of us have lacked during our time serving in positions of power,” the old magister knelt before her. “I, Millios Annteli, former magister of Pentos, do swear my fealty to you, Queen Daenerys and to you, Prince Daemon Vogarro, in perpetuity, and will gladly answer when called upon.”

  Daenerys turned to Tatters and nodded, allowing him the opportunity to accept the first among the magistrate into his circle. 

  Even though she had removed the former magisters from their positions of power, Daenerys knew that it would be quite some time before Daemon would have full control of the city, it’s people, and it’s finances. And for that reason, she sincerely hoped that he could find commonality among the previous rulers. 

  In the end, not every one of the higher nobility were as willing to bend their knee to Daenerys and Daemon, but regardless of their decision, each of them were given rooms inside Vorhasso’s estate, where they would remain as Daemon’s guests until he had better control over the city. Those who did not bend the knee were also assigned guards, who would watch over them and their families, until Daemon had come up with a plan for them, including the former sixteenth magistrate.

  Daenerys used the rest of her time in Pentos to go through the financials, and trade agreements, and of course, having a look at their laws. Though Pentos was not as heavily ensconced in slavery as the rest of Essos, there would still be many policies that would have need of upgrading or being completely overhauled.

  In the last few days before her departure, she spent time going through Illyrio’s manse, trying to find anything that she could that would help her discover the identity of the boy that Tyrion claimed was her long-suspected-dead nephew, but her search was in vain. The magister had cleared out his personal solar and there were remnants of burnt parchment in his hearth. The only thing that she was able to determine was that the cheesemonger did not take everything of value with him, which led her to believe that he intended to return, which Daenerys was determined to prevent.  

  Illyrio Mopatis would burn.

  She took nothing from the property save a singular portrait, one of a woman who looked similar to her in appearance, only her eyes were a soft purplish blue. The woman was one she knew from her time in Illyrio’s manse, it was a picture of his wife Sera, one that Illyrio had compared her to many times while she had been living in residence. She wasn't sure why she had taken it, but something about it made her suspicious of some of the things that Tyrion had shared with her and she was certain that this woman was a large part of the truth.

  Her stroll through Drogo’s manse was a little more bittersweet, as she remembered with detail the months she had spent living inside this residence. She spent her last night there, with the ceiling open to the stars and the fires lit all around her, while Drogon, Rhaegal and Viserion circled above.  She hardly slept at all that night, and by the time the sun had begun rising Daenerys had already called Drogon to her so that they could begin their journey west, to the final place that they would call home.

  Victarion had only taken Rhaegal up once, on the day that they took control over Pentos, after the fact, he stayed aboard his ship and helped to keep everything under control while she remained on land. Now though, she directed Drogon to land her aboard the Iron Victory so that she and the Captain could speak before they raise anchor.

  With the news of his brother Euron meeting with the Lannister Queen, she needed to know what she should be expecting from him and whether or not his men would aid her in taking Dragonstone from the Lannister men who were currently occupying the island. 

  Victarion was waiting for her above the deck when she landed, as if he had been expecting her to arrive. It didn’t surprise her at all to find Moqqoro also lurking aboard the Iron Victory.

  Rather than wasting her time she jumped right to the point. “We will raise anchor when the tide pulls out, which should give everyone enough time to finish restocking their supplies.  I came to ask you if there is anything I should know about this crossing now that we are so close to Westeros?”

  The Iron Captain was as unanimated as ever and fell into step beside her. “The Narrow Sea is not nearly as treacherous as when we were sailing around Valyria on the way to Volantis, and with no other landmass in between here and Westeros, I suspect that we will reach Dragonstone within a week at most, even with the weather changing.

  She hadn’t thought much of the weather in truth, Essos was hot, and for the most part they had not been anywhere that made her think that Westeros would be any different. Not that she was unaware that Westeros experienced colder weather, she just hadn't received any recent reports on the matter. It was a good thing that she had stocked up on different types of fabrics and leathers while she was sailing, she decided then that she would seek out Gilly and Marwyn to help her come up with proper clothing and then she would employ some of her newest ladies to help her sew the garments while they sailed. 

  Moving on, she addressed the next matter that left her concerned. “And what of your brother Euron? Is there any cause for alarm now that we know he is in communication with the Lannister queen?”

  Victarion grit his teeth together at the mention of Euron, a fact that was not lost on Daenerys. “When we parted ways, he had just taken the Shield Islands and I was under the impression that he meant to take the Arbor and Oldtown. Like I mentioned before, he sent me to Meereen under the guise of asking for your hand in marriage. I can think of no reason that he would meet with the Lannister Queen, considering our long standing feud with the Lannisters of Casterly Rock.”

  Daenerys thought about everything Victarion was saying, going as far back as their first meeting, and while the Ironborn Captain was not her favorite person, he had never willfully lied to her whenever she had questioned him, which made her more inclined to believe him now. 

  “Very well, I was hoping that you would sail your flagship at the front, alongside the Balerion on our way west. This way if anything happens, you will be close enough for Rhaegal to reach you so that we can take to the sky together.” Daenerys added.

  “About that, I think that there is a problem between the beast and myself.” Victarion remarked

  Daenerys had to feign ignorance so she looked away, as if she were searching for Rhaegal in the sky. “What do you mean, I saw you mount Rhaegal myself since we arrived in Pentos. I assumed, based on the amount of time that you two were airborn that everything was fine and the two of you were bonding.”

  “Bonding…” Victarion grumbled. “Bonding is what happens between you and your own beast, the green one fights me, and I have little to no control over him. If you will not allow me a whip, then how am I supposed to command him?”

  She had allowed him to continue to refer to Rhaegal as ‘ beast’ though it grated heavily on her nerves, instead she focused on the real issue. 

  “I am sorry that the transition between you and Rhaegal has been rough, but I have already explained to you that Rhaegal is not a slave, nor is he a beast for burden. Dragons are intelligent and if there is an issue between the dragon and the rider, it has to be worked out between the two of you. Even Drogon was not the easiest to bond with, in fact after our first flight, he refused to carry me anywhere. I almost had to walk my way back to Meereen after we flew away from Daznak’s pit. I fear that if you continue to treat Rhaegal like he is beneath you, he will continue to resist you.” Daenerys explained.

  “What about the horn, maybe it wasn't enoug—”

  “No.” Daenerys responded before he could even finish his thought. “I will not allow the horn to be used again. My kin have been bonding with their dragons for millennia without the use of such instruments. The use of the horn was a one time allowance, the rest of the work is between you and the dragon that answered the horn’s call. The fact that Rhaegal has allowed you to mount him is all that you need in order to strengthen your bond, you just have to figure out a way to earn his trust.”

  They spoke for a bit longer while she observed the ships being loaded and moving further away from the port so that others could do the same, and by the time the tide started to pull out, Daenerys departed the Iron Victory and made her way back to the Balerion. 

   The winds had changed and her sails billowed forward with the air current, taking them west. Toward her destiny, toward her family’s stolen throne and hopefully, toward home.

Chapter Text

|Arya|Aegon|

  The following morning came earlier than expected, and Aegon found himself in his chambers alone. Arya had stayed beside Rickon throughout the night, and even though he wanted to protest, he knew that they both needed this time to reconnect. They would have time later on to figure out their situation. It wasn’t as if he did much sleeping these days anyway, so the least he could do was give her some space to come to terms with things.

  Matters with the running of the keep were still up in the air, as they had just retaken Winterfell the previous day. Which is why he had ordered that all the household staff and the acting maester present themselves in the Great Hall. 

  The previous evening, Arya notified him that she would be moving certain individuals inside the keep, namely Ser Jaime Lannister, Lady Brienne of Tarth, Ser Gendry Waters of the Hollow Hill, The Hound, Thoros of Myr and Edric Dayne. He had wanted to ask why she had chosen these specific individuals, but Arya had as much of a right as any to invite people within the castle walls. Especially since many more people will be joining them in Winterfell in the coming weeks.

  Outside his door Darkstar was already waiting with a smug smile on his face. “Sleep well?

  “You could say that. And you?” Gerold returned. 

  Aegon grunted. “Sleep is a luxury that I will embrace once I’m gone from this world. Have you seen Vallyria?”

  Gerold rubbed the back of his neck nervously and Aegon filed that reaction away for later. “I last saw her entering her chambers last night. Though if I had to guess, I would say that she’s likely in the training yard with lady Arya and lord Rickon. They were up before the sun and refused to allow someone to accompany them on their rounds.”

  Aegon wasn’t sure what to make of that, but he was certain that Arya would despise the idea of having people following her around just as much now as she had when they were still children. The thought made him smile remembering all of her mischief. 

  On their way across the yard he was greeted by quite a number of people who stopped him to thank him for ridding the north of the Bolton’s, even though he was only responsible for the son. He wasn’t used to such words of praise, especially here inside Winterfell. So he did his best to speak to each of them, and then continued on his way across the inner bailey in search of his sisters and brother. 

  When they came upon the training yard, They found Val standing beside the large warrior woman and Ser Jaime, all of whom were watching a sparring match between two men Aegon didn’t recognize. Not seeing Arya and Rickon, the two continued on their way towards the maesters tower, where he was hoping to find out what news had been leaving and arriving at the castle in the past few weeks.

  It wouldn’t do to have an army approaching while they were unprepared. 

  They hadn’t made it very far when a voice called out to them, making Aegon and Darkstar stop in their tracks. “Gerold Dayne of High Hermitage!”

  Aegon turned to his sworn sword and caught the tightness in his jaw, “I suppose this is as good a time as any.” Gerold muttered under his breath, turning to face the man who obviously was desiring of their attention. 

  “Ah, Ned. I heard you arrived among Lady Arya’s companions. So good to see that you’re still alive. Though, I certainly wouldn’t have minded being the heir to Starfall, should some tragedy have befallen you.” Gerold said, obviously trying to remain nonchalant about the fact that his rival for Dawn was standing only a few meters away. 

  “Gerold, don’t antagonize the man.” Aegon warned, more than a little curious about why Gerold had called him Ned.

  “Relax, your Grace. Edric is likely in shock, he will come around.” Darkstar said, dismissing Aegon's concern.

  The boy Edric was fair like Val with deep blue eyes that held a purple tint to them. It was no wonder why the two of them so easily passed as kin while living in Starfall. Though clearly younger than Darkstar by quite a number of years, he did not betray any sign of fear when confronting the man who he believed wronged him. 

  “By what right do you think to enter my seat and take what should belong to me? Have you no honor at all? I suppose you waited until I was good and gone before you went in pursuit of her, were you afraid that Dawn would reject you if I were there? Is that it?”

  Darkstar chuckled darkly. “Ned, you have many things you still need to learn. I was never scared of you, nor was I afraid to be rejected by Dawn. I didn’t earn the right to wield her because you were conveniently absent from Starfall. Starfall chose me as Dawns barrer.”

  “I don’t believe you, I demand the right to challenge you for Dawn.” Lord Edric hastily retorted. 

  Gerold sighed, “I have no desire to harm you, Ned. And I did not take Dawn to spite you, no matter what you believe. Starfall chooses, and she chose me. It isn’t a punishment, nor is it meant to fuel your ire. But the situation is what it is, and I’ve pledged Dawn to serve His Grace throughout the long night.”

  Lord Dayne looked furious, and Aegon couldn’t help but see some of Robb in his mannerisms. Would Robb have behaved in such a manner if Lord Stark had chosen him to wield Ice instead of his trueborn heir? His question went unanswered as Vallyria stepped forward and placed a comforting hand on Lord Edric’s shoulder, and from the other side of the yard, he noticed his father peek his head around a corner, though his disguise was back in place. 

  There was a part of him that wanted this over and done with, they had just taken back the north, he didn’t need this type of conflict between sides that should, for all intents, be allied to one another. 

  “Might I have a word?” Aegon asked, speaking up for the first time. 

  Gerold stepped back immediately, giving Aegon the space he desired, while Lord Dayne gave him an expectant look. Though what he expected, Aegon couldn’t say. 

  “It seems to me that this matter won’t resolve itself on it's own, and seeing as how I’ve been given a few lessons on how the sword is passed down, I believe I understand that one must possess the right type of skill, as well as the right purpose, is this correct?”

  Both men agreed.

  “And is it also true that once the sword has chosen, it cannot be taken by another until Starfall releases it? At least until the time of the previous wielder’s death?” Aegon asked. 

  “That is correct.” This time it was Mance who answered, walking up behind them, no doubt at Rhaegar’s urging. 

  Aegon nodded in thanks, before turning his attention back to Lord Edric. “Knowing this, is it still your intention to pursue Dawn as your own?”

  “It is. I don’t know what sorcery he conjured to get Dawn, but she should go to me, not my cousin.” Ned replied, steadfast in his decision.

  “Very well, then let us not waste any more time. Ser Gerold, would you please hand me your sword?” Aegon said, reaching out, palm up to receive the sword in question. 

  Gerold looked at him, not quite understanding what his intentions were, but he unsheathed Dawn and passed it into his care, and then Aegon passed it into the waiting hands of his twin. 

  “Since Valyria is neutral to the both of you, she shall hold the sword until the both of you are finished and have come to an agreement.” He then unsheathed Longclaw and passed it into the hand of Lord Edric, followed by Oathkeeper, which he passed to Darkstar.

  “Dawn is a sword that has no peer, save perhaps Valyrian steel. For this reason, I cannot allow one of you to use her while the other is unfairly disadvantaged. Which is why I am allowing you both to use the swords that have been bestowed onto me. They are of equal length and weight, though not nearly as large as Dawn. Do you accept these swords as your substitutions?”

  Gerold gripped the hilt of Oathkeeper and tested her weight in his hand before twirling the blade around in his grip. Edric followed his lead and they both nodded their acceptance. 

  “The match will go to first blood or whoever yields first.” Turning towards Darkstar, “Do you swear to relinquish the sword if you are defeated by your challenger?” 

  Gerold wore a look of amusement, “I swear, though I won’t be the one to lose. Dawn chose me, and Starfall agreed. My cousin will have to wait until I’ve fulfilled my purpose before he inherits Dawn.”

  “Well let us hope you prevail, cousin.” Edric said, returning Darkstar’s taunt. 

  Aegon turned to the younger Dayne, “And do I have your word that you will yield if you are bested, and will give up your pursuit of Dawn until such a time as Lord Gerold is no longer able to wield her?”

  “You do, my Lord.” The younger Dayne agreed. 

  “Then I wish you both well,” Aegon said, gesturing back toward the training yard. “One more thing,” he found himself adding, “I expect this to be the end of your animosity toward one another. We fought as allies to avenge my family and to reclaim the North. Whatever dispute you two have with one another, pales in comparison to the real conflict ahead of us. After today, we will all fight beside one another as brothers and sisters, or I will behead you myself, are we understood?”

  Val looked at him with a shocked expression, but nodded, as did the two Heirs to House Dayne, and then they all headed back toward the yard.

    “Aryyyyya...Wake up.” Rickon whispered, incredibly close to her face. 

  She had finally found sleep just as the sun had started to lighten the sky, and by the look of things, not much time had passed. “What’s wrong Rickon, did something happen?” She asked, rolling onto her back so that she could get a better look at her brother.

  Rickon watched her with curiosity, “No, why do you ask?”

  Arya groaned. “Because you are awake before the sun has fully risen.” She explained. 

  His eyes went wide as if he had realized that he should have exercised more patience. “Oh.” He responded monosyllabically. 

  Arya sat up, rubbing her eyes to clear them from what little sleep she had managed. “I suppose there was a really good reason for you to wake me up. Let’s have it then.”

  Rickon smiled shyly, but there wasn’t an ounce of fear in his eyes. “Shaggy wants to run with Nymeria and I wanna meet the rest of the pack. Maybe we can find Vallyria a pup.” His voice was hopeful.

  “Vallyria? Do you mean Val?” 

  Rickon nodded enthusiastically, “She's Egg’s sister and our cousin, but she doesn’t have a wolf. She’s our pack and me and Shaggy think that she should have a wolf too.”

  Arya couldn’t help but smile at how thoughtful he was. “I don’t think there are any pups for Vallyria, not yet.” She added. If her dreams of Nymeria and Ghost chasing each other through the Wolfswood were any indication, that could change very soon. Still, she kept her thoughts to herself, no need to get him excited just yet. “I must say, it’s very noble of you to think of Val, and I think you’re right. We all had our own wolf, Vallyria should have one as well. But don’t you think she deserves a Direwolf of her own, not just a regular wolf like Nymeria’s pack?”

  Rickon was already pulling on his boots, he looked up and considered her question for a moment, while Arya washed her face and reached for her own boots. “I think that Val should have the chance to make friends with whichever animal chooses her. It shouldn’t matter if it is a Direwolf or a small wolf as long as they get along. I think Val would be happy with either.” He said, pausing to consider what else he wanted to say. “Osha told me that wolves and dogs are smarter than most other animals, and only a warg can bond with them, unlike skinchangers who can only share the skin of lesser beings. I think she is right, because I have more than one friend, and so does Egg, do you?”

  “Warg?” Arya asked, the term catching her off guard.

  She thought it was adorable how Rickon referred to Shaggy as his friend, and she couldnt help but wonder what he meant by claiming that he and Aegon had more than just their wolves. Was their situation the same as hers with the cats?

  “It’s someone who can share skin with wolves and dogs, as well as lesser creatures. A skinchanger isn’t strong enough to share their skin with a Direwolf, so they only bond to birds, bears, and cats… stuff like that.” Rickon explained shrugging his shoulders as if what he’d just revealed was no big deal. 

  “Do you know many skinchangers and wargs?” She asked. 

  Once more Rickon shrugged. “Egg introduced me to some, but maester Luwin told me and Bran not to tell anyone cuz people don’t trust what they don’t understand.”

  It made sense, though the thought of letting anyone make her brother feel that he was somehow wrong made her bristle in contempt. “Well, I’ve never had anyone to talk about it with either, so maybe you and I can share our experiences with each other. Would that be okay, would you like that?”

  “Sure, but can we go now? I really wanna run with Shaggy, I haven’t been able to because he went with Ghost and Egg to fight the Bolton’s.” Rickon agreed.

  Arya reached for her cloak and checked to make sure Rickon’s was secure, before moving toward the door and opening it wide for him. “As my lord commands.” She teased, bowing her head as he passed. 

  On the way out, Arya thought to stop by their brother's room to invite him along, but she reconsidered when she saw a knight stationed outside his door. They hadn’t had a chance to really talk after their conversation yesterday, even with the execution and the meeting in the crypts. He had looked at her expectantly when they retired the previous night, no doubt thinking that she would sleep beside him, and she would have, but… she was still upset that he had backed her against a metaphorical wall, and he didn’t even seem to regret it. 

  Indignantly, and perhaps impetuously, she had chosen to remain beside Rickon, at least until chambers between himself and Aegon could be arranged. The three—no four of them, including Val, had many things that they needed to discuss. Especially since Rickon was here, alive and whole. She no longer was the last living child of her mother and father, and while she was certainly capable of running a keep of her own, she didn’t have to make that choice anymore. With Aegon being here, and alive as well, Arya’s priorities were shifting once more. 

  Before, she had been alone and she thirsted for vengeance, but now, she yearned for her pack. She felt crazed by the need to protect them from anyone who meant them harm. And at the same time, she was also forced to confront the fact that more than three thousand men and a woman had followed her north, most of whom had never once set foot beyond the Neck, but had chosen to follow her anyway. 

  She couldn’t go back to her list, not alone, not anymore. But she could use this new influence to keep her loved ones safe. Which meant that she needed to find out what Aegon’s future plans included, aside from his birthright.

  As she and Rickon exited the keep, they were both greeted by Nymeria and Shaggydog. Ser Jaime was walking toward her from the guest houses, with Brienne and Pod beside him. They shared a brief greeting and she explained that she was taking Rickon out of the castle for a while, and that they were welcome to stay and break their fasts. 

  “Is this going to become a habit?” Ser Jaime questioned. 

  “I don’t know what you mean.” Arya confessed.

  “I mean that I have sworn my—or your sword to you, and yet you keep dismissing me and going off on your own.” Ser Jaime explained. 

  Arya huffed playfully. “Then I should remind you that you only swore to get me home safely. Which means that you are rightfully relieved of your oath.” She said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Now if you’ll excuse us, I have a little wolf who is excited to meet the pack.”

  The four of them exited through the north gate and Arya wasn't at all surprised when Rickon reached up to Shaggy’s scruff and hoisted himself up upon his back in the same manner that she would Nymeria. What did surprise her was the fact that Shaggy was so patient with him. 

  They spent the entire morning running inside the Wolfswood, sharing their experiences, dreams and connections with their Direwolves. She had been speechless when Rickon confessed that he had dreamed about their father's death, and once more when he told her how loudly Greywind, Shaggy and Summer had cried after Lady had been killed. On the way back, the four of them stopped by the lichyard to pay their respects. 

  Rickon told her about his other connection as well. A unicorn that he had cleverly named Black Horse, she laughed aloud the moment he’d told her, realizing how simplistically her brother saw the world. Looking at him, she realized how much he embodied the north; with blue eyes like ice, and uncaring of what others deem as proper. Aegon’s friend Tormund had apparently told him that he was lucky to be kissed by fire, and Arya couldn’t agree more. 

  Rickon looked like a younger, more wild version of their brother Robb, and was ten times as fierce, of that there was no doubt. She found herself slightly envious of Aegon and the fact that it had been him to find Rickon and bring him home unharmed. But she was comforted by the fact that there was no time limit placed on them, and she had nothing but time and love to give him. 

  They had just passed by the Great Keep when she and Rickon heard the sound of swords coming from the training yard. Her brother looked up, excitement plain on his face and she couldn’t deny him. “Would you like to try your hand at sword practice?”

  Once again Rickon nodded excitedly. “Egg said he would teach me once we got home, but you know how to use a sword too, don’t you?”

  “I do, but I fight differently than most people in Westeros. Maybe you would want to learn both?” She said, thinking that maybe he might prefer to learn from their brother.

   Rickon however, did not notice her moment of hesitation, instead his eyes lit up like the sun. “Do you promise I can learn from you and Egg!?”

   That settles it…  

  “I don’t see why you can’t. Come on then, let’s go see what’s happening.”

  Upon arrival it became obvious that this was not in fact a training match. More than a few people were circled around the two figures in the center, Aegon included. Gripping Rickon by the shoulder, she led them both over, nudging Aegon with her elbow when she was at his side. In the center, was Ned and the knight who had been standing outside her brother's room when she and Rickon had departed earlier that morning. What did surprise her was the fact that both men were wielding Valyrian steel instead of blunted practice swords. 

  “Care to tell me what’s going on?” She muttered low enough so that only Aegon could hear. 

  A slow smile spread over his face the moment he realized she was there and Arya felt herself flush. “Your companion, Lord Edric feels that Lord Gerold has wronged him, and this was the only way that I could think of, to settle the dispute peacefully.” Aegon said, taking her right hand into his left hand, which was surprisingly warm considering the temperature outside. 

  She did her best not to squirm beside him. To everyone else, they were two siblings who were happy to be reunited, but after what they had done, Arya wasn’t sure if things would ever be so innocent between them again. 

  Playing it cool, she watched the spar currently taking place. Lord Gerold was skilled, she couldn’t deny the truth even if she had wanted to for her friends sake. His moves were as fluid as a water dancer, and he approached each maneuver as if he had choreographed it himself. Edric in comparison, moved like most Westerosi knights, thrusting and slashing, depending on his strength to win the day. 

  Arya couldn’t deny that both men were skilled, but it was clear that Ned was with his trouble, while Lord Gerold had not a care in his mind. When Ned would block, Gerold would spin and parry the next strike easily. “How is it that Lord Gerold has wronged Ned?”

  Aegon looked at her curiously for a moment, and then pointed across the way toward Val, who was holding a sword as large as Ice had been. Only this sword was clearly not Valyrian steel. She knew exactly what sword Val was holding. 

  “She’s holding Dawn!” Arya exclaimed excitedly. “Ooh...I see. I’m sure Ned was more than a little bit upset about someone else having Dawn. He once told me that he dreamed of being the next Sword of the Morning and walking in his uncle's footsteps.”

  “He can still be the next Sword of the Morning. Even if he loses to Gerold. Darkstar chose to be the Sword of the Evening, and he swore himself to me, to fight at my side through this war and the true war.” Aegon explained, never taking his eyes from the two dueling men.

  Arya couldn’t stop herself from trying to memorize his features while they stood here under the early morning sun. “Then I hope that he prevails. Ned can forgive me.” She said absently, not really meaning to say it aloud.

  Aegon turned to her, a crooked shy smile on his face, “Yield!” And just like that, the moment was lost. He turned back toward the ring, her eyes following his movements, and Ned was disarmed by Gerold, both swords crossed at his neck. There would be no recovery for her friend.

  Edric took a deep breath, and then another before nodding his head infinitesimally. It was enough, as Lord Gerold removed the two blades and passed them back to Aegon, then turning back to offer his opponent his hand. A gesture of comradery, one she could appreciate. 

  “You fight with skill and passion Ned, and one day, I know that you will wield Dawn. I did not take her to spite you, no matter what you believe. I claimed her because I worked hard to deserve her, and because Starfall agreed. Had it been in our fate that you should hold her before I, then it would be so. But if you would be willing, I would be honored to finish your training now that Lord Beric is no longer with you.” Lord Gerold whispered lowly to Ned. If Arya hadn’t learned to focus her senses, she might not have heard it. 

  “As would I,” came Ser Jaime’s voice from the other side. Ser Gerold turned, eying the Kingslayer with suspicion, but he thankfully said nothing.

  Even though Arya could see the disappointment on Ned’s face, he nodded and accepted Gerold’s offered hand. “I would like that very much, but I will not serve as your squire, I’m already knighted.”

  “Very well, not as my squire. As my kin, and the future Sword of the Morning.” Gerold agreed, shocking Arya momentarily. 

  “And to you, Ser Jaime,” Ned replied, drawing everyone’s attention back toward her other companion, and somewhat of a friend. “I know that most people would consider me crazy for accepting, but the man that people know you to be, is not the same man as the one you’ve become. If my uncle were still alive, I truly believe that he would be proud of this version of who you’ve grown to be. I know that you valued my uncle, and I know that he saw something in you. So yes, it would be my honor to also learn from you.”

  Ser Jaime nodded, but said nothing more, and then Val was passing Dawn back into Ser Gerold’s hands. 

  “Well, that was interesting…” Arya said, turning to her little brother and ruffling Rickon’s unruly auburn curls. “I don’t suppose you want to start your lessons then?” 

  “You’re planning to train Rickon yourself?” Aegon asked. 

  “We agreed that he should learn as many styles as possible, until he found one that he felt comfortable with. He wants to learn from you as well.” She explained. 

  Aegon nodded, “Aye, and he shall. Have either of you broken your fasts this morning?” Aegon found himself asking, hoping to get a little more time with them before his other duties took him away.

  She glanced down toward Rickon, who smiled sheepishly. “We haven’t, are you hungry Rickon?”

  “Aye,” he said, mimicking Aegon and Arya snorted. 

  “C’mon then you two, let’s go and eat.” He said, ushering them towards the Great Hall. “Besides, there are many things we need to discuss.”

  Midway through their meal, Val showed up with Gerold, Lord Edric, Ser Jaime and a few others, quickly taking her place beside Rickon. The two exchanged a few words before Rickon shrieked out loud, apparently Vallyria had begun to poke him in his ribs and Rickon squealed with laughter. 

  On the other side of him, Arya broke her fast in virtual silence and it was eating him up. Unable to take it any longer, Aegon spoke. “I have called a meeting with the household staff and the current maester. I think it would be in our best interest to find out the state of the castle and of the north as a whole, before we invite all of the noble Houses here.”

  Arya looked at him for a moment and nodded. “As you wish.”

  Aegon furrowed his brows, and gently placed his utensils aside, “What’s going on with you? I thought that you, Rickon and Val would like to join me…”

  Val and Rickon looked up at the mention of their names. “What’s going on?” 

  “I was just saying that the household will be joining us here in a little while, and I assumed that we could all sit in with them to go over the accounts and get an idea of where we stand in preparation for winter.” Aegon repeated. 

  “Well brother, as exciting as all that sounds, perhaps you and Arya should sit in for this? I can take Rickon out to explore and get reacquainted with Winterfell.” Vallyria said, making an excuse to get out of anything that could be considered work. 

  Aegon sighed and turned his attention back to Arya, arching a brow in question. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth in contemplation and he clenched his fist at his side in an attempt to suppress the urge to reach out and pull her into his arms. “Is this an agreeable alternative? I know that you had plans with Rickon, but I think it would be for the best if one of your father's children were with me for this.”

  “You are one of my father's children!” Arya retorted crossly. 

  Aegon sat back, “You know that is not how I meant it.”

  Arya deflated some, “I know, but it’s hard for me to see you as anyone other than my brother, even if I know the reason for the separation,” she said attempting to explain. It was clear to him that something else was troubling her, even if there was truth in her words.

  Unfortunately the beast inside him rose up, hearing her refer to him as her brother and he wanted nothing more than to remind her of all the depraved things that he wanted to do with her that were far from brotherly. Arya must have noticed the brewing storm because she arched her brow at him, challenging him to say or do something in front of everyone present. 

  He wouldn’t be played so easily though, if Arya wished to play with him, he would happily oblige her, but not here, not in front of Rickon and Vallyria. “Will you stay, or will I be on my own?” Aegon asked through clenched teeth. 

  Arya made a show of considering his request before she nodded. “I’ll stay, but then I plan to take the afternoon to meet with my men and to work with Rickon on his swordplay.”

  Aegon nodded, “Very  well,” he agreed before turning back to his plate and trying his best to engage in the conversation taking place between Val and Rickon. 

  The rest of the meal passed uneventfully and sooner than he liked, Rickon was excusing himself to run after Val, leaving him alone with Arya who was busy fidgeting with her fingers in her lap. His brows furrowed together wondering how he was going to get inside of her head, there was once a time when he could finish her sentences and she could do the same for him, but right now she felt a million miles away from him, and he desperately wanted to bring her back. 

  “You know, when I rode north with uncle Benjen, I realized that I might’ve made a mistake. I had glorified the tales of the Night’s Watch, and somehow convinced myself that my Brothers would be noble—honorable men, men who I would be proud to call my Brothers, in the same manner that I called Robb and Bran and Rickon my brothers, you know?”

  Arya watched him through the corner of her eye and he knew that she was listening so he continued. “We stopped a few times on the way north, cleaning out the dungeons of other keeps, taking away the men who had been accused of theft, rape, murder, and whatever else. Some of whom couldn’t be trusted to not be shackled, while others looked at me as if I were the worst offender among them.”

  “But you went to the Wall anyway, why?” Arya asked, her voice only louder than a whisper, a hard edge that he easily detected made it's appearance. 

  “Because I knew that there would be no warm welcome here for me if I turned around. Your mother made it quite clear before my departure that she wished it had been me to fall from the First Keep in Brans place, and—truthfully, I wanted to prove to her that I wasn’t a threat to any of you, that I would never do what she feared the most. And in my mind, the only way to do that was to follow through and have the courage of my own convictions. Anyway, I have no intentions to rehash painful memories, I only brought it up because—”

  “—Because?” Arya needled.

  “Because it was my thoughts of you, and your smile that remained with me on my way north, warming me, making the decision more bearable. It was my thoughts of you that helped me when I was a prisoner beyond the Wall, and—it was the bond we shared that made it possible for me to come back to you.”

  Arya looked at him with a pained expression, “Aegon, I—I don’t know how I’m supposed to respond to such a confession. I mean sure, it warms my heart to know that you thought of me, just as you should also know that I thought of you, but we are not the same people we were when we left home. You understand that, don’t you?” 

  He studied her face, and he could see the pain and the longing, as well as the insecurities that burned in her grey eyes. He wanted to be the one to make everything better, but this time he hesitated. Instead he nodded his head in answer, “I do, more than you know.”

  Arya’s heart thundered within her chest, hearing Aegon finish his explanation. So many thoughts running around in her head, how was she supposed to respond to such a confession? 

  Absently, and without realizing that she had even moved, her left hand lifted from her lap and she brushed her thumb across his scarred cheekbone. “I—I just need some time,” she stuttered.

  Aegon smiled sadly. “You can have as much time as you require, I don’t mean to pressure you, I only wished for you to know.” He breathed out a deep breath, as if he were trying his best to get his emotions in check. “I know that you’ve likely never seen me as anything more than family, and I know that I’ve made some pretty hefty demands in a very small amount of time, but you have to understand—”

  “—That you’re afraid that without my acceptance, one day you will have to stand by and watch as I leave you once more?” Arya said, finishing his thought. She knew that this is what he was going to say, because it was the same thing she had been thinking. Only, how could he ever question her will to remain beside him?

  The truth was, she was born female, and there were duties that were forced on female children born into ruling Houses, hers was no exception. And even though Rickon was only a boy still, she was considered a woman grown and flowered. It might not be the first matter of business, but Arya had no doubt that soon enough, offers for her hand would start showing up, and there was nothing she could do to stop them, except perhaps, accept Aegon’s proposal or leave again before someone could sell her off. 

  Even if that was the case, shouldn’t he know that she would fight with her life to never be separated from him ever again?

  Aegon nodded confirming the truth of her words, his scarred palm came up to trap hers beneath it while he pressed his cheek into her hand, seeking some semblance of comfort.

  Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment, if for only the sake of the intimacy that the moment brought, and suddenly her mouth went dry. 

  Pushing her chair away from the table she stood, gently removing her hand from beneath his. “Please excuse me, I’ll be just a moment.” Arya said, turning away from the table and rushing off toward the back of the Hall, behind the dais.

  Her heart had begun to beat frantically as she rushed through the door and pressed her back against the warm granite wall.

  Why had she run away? Space, she just needed a moment to think… Why was telling him how she felt about him so difficult for her? 

  She was so distracted by the sound of her rapidly beating heart, coupled by the sound of her blood rushing through her ears that she hadn’t even realized Aegon had followed behind her until he was stepping into her space. 

  Before she could react, he was tipping her chin up so that she was looking directly into his eyes, his deep grey boring into her soul, leaving her senseless and even more conflicted. And then his lips came down upon her own and he kissed her with such passion, such tenderness, that she thought, just maybe he had resigned himself to the idea of her rejecting him completely. 

  Her inner voice screamed at her to comfort him, to reciprocate his affections, to show him that he wasn’t alone in this. But Arya couldn’t help but think that if he knew the truth about her, of who she’d had to become in order to get back here, that he would realize that she was no longer the same girl who made him smile and kept him warm on his way north, she was no longer Arya Underfoot, nor was she the same little girl who would finish his sentences from so long ago. And somehow, that thought alone, made her feel more isolated now than it ever had when she was miles away from home and separated from her pack. 

  Instead of pushing him away, Arya pulled him closer, fisting her hands in the fabric of his jerkin and breathing in his crisp northern scent, a scent that reminded her of home and the forest and warmth. She allowed herself to become lost in it for a moment or two. Soon she would have to make a decision. Even though her heart was breaking from the thought that he would reject her once he knew her truth, right now, she could lose herself in his delicious scent and his strong arms and soft lips. 

  Aegon had been the first to pull away, albeit with great reluctance, he once more left her panting and wanting more of what only he could offer. “I’m sorry if you think I’m pushing you, or that my advances are too forward. I just want you to know that no matter what your decision is, I’ll always want you, even if it’s only as siblings.”

  Inside the Great Hall, Arya could hear the sound of the oak doors sliding across the grey stone floor, signaling that someone had entered. “I'll just go and see who that is, please come back when you are ready,” said Aegon, moving back in the direction that they had come. 

  To her surprise, it had been the Lady Dustin who had come, accompanied by a few members of the staff who Arya didn't recognize. “Lady Dustin, I wasn't expecting you to join us this morning. The meeting with all of the Northern Houses hasn’t been set yet, but I assumed that you would be joining us then.” Aegon began.

  The widow of Barrowton curtsied, as was customary when dealing with higher nobility. She was quite tall and her hair had been pulled back in a severe bun that showed every angle of her face, making her appear both older and more formidable than she had ever imagined when she was still a child living here beside her family.

  “You would be correct, but there are other matters that I wish to discuss, beforehand.”

  Arya gestured toward a chair, “Please sit, and tell us what has brought you today.”

  The lady Dustin did as Arya suggested, while the household staff that had come with her stood toward the back. Arya could tell immediately that these were new faces and she wondered where everyone who had stayed behind were now. 

  “As you will likely hear, I have been by Roose Bolton’s side ever since he came north following the Red Wedding. Many will tell you that I cannot be trusted, and I would not blame them, but I can assure you that my loyalty was never to Roose or his bastard, my loyalty belongs to the North and to my sister and her son who were taken from me. Of course Bethany passed of a fever, but I never put it past those Boltons to have a hand in her death, just as I know that Ramsay was the one who poisoned Domeric.” Lady Dustin began.

  Aegon nodded, as if he knew where she was going with her tale, and Arya chose to follow his example. “We all were forced to do things that contradict what we value most. I am deeply sorry for your losses, even if they were years ago. No one should have to suffer in silence the way I imagine you have.” Aegon replied, filling the silence that had come when she paused.

  “I have suffered, but not in my service to Lord Roose. I served him with purpose, and I am happy to say that my purpose was fulfilled.”

  At this Arya sat up with newfound interest. “And what is this purpose that you speak of?”

  Lady Dustin smiled, and the sight was absolutely chilling. “I earned his trust, and because of that I know what no one else who pledged themselves to his cause would. I know that there were survivors after Ramsay sacked Winterfell. In addition to Theon, there were women and girls who were taken and brought in chains to the Dreadfort. I also shared a story with Theon, one where I told him how much I despised your Lord Grandfather and Father for denying me my happiness with your uncle Brandon and then later on when I was informed that your father had taken your mother as his wife after Brandon was killed. A story that had truth to its origins, and one that I knew that would eventually reach the ears of Roose or the animal who posed as his bastard. All so that I could make sure that Lord Eddard’s bones made it back inside the crypts, so that he could rest beside his family.”

  Arya gasped, her heart beating frantically at the news that was just delivered to her. “My father’s bones are here?”

  Lady Dustin nodded her head. “Hallis brought them back and hid within the castle until I could get Theon to show me to the crypts. I ordered my men to clear the way, and while the bard and his women created a distraction, Hallis snuck into the crypts and stored your father’s bones in your Grandfather's crypt where no one would look for them.”

  Aegon said nothing, but she felt his hand wrap around her own and squeeze it, providing her with comfort that she hadn't realized she was in need of. 

  “I—I’m not sure how to thank you, but on behalf of my siblings, and the rest of my family, we are eternally grateful for the kindness you have shown us, and the risk you put yourself in to make sure that our father finds peace with our ancestors.” Arya said, though she felt slightly numb.

  “It is not your thanks I require. I did so for my own personal reasons. Reasons I will be happy to elaborate upon at another time. For now, I seek your permission to send for someone who is dear to me. He has been in Barrowton all this time, and I did not dare risk bringing him with me when Roose called for his banners to attend the wedding ceremony with his son and the girl pretending to be you.” 

  “Jeyne, her name is Jeyne.” Aegon said, speaking up for the first time.

  “Right, Jeyne who was once the Lady Arya.” Lady Barbrey agreed.

  She decided that it was best to let the matter involving Jeyne go for the time being. She actually wanted to take some time to speak with her sisters closest friend, she wanted to get her side of the events that transpired following her escape from King’s Landing. However, they had just taken back the castle, less than a day previous and Rickon had been her first priority once it was revealed that he was still alive. 

  Arya and Aegon listened to the rest of Lady Barbrey’s tale and when she was done, they both agreed that it would be fine to send for her loved one, as they both knew that there would be many and more people arriving over the next few weeks.

   The two of them spent the rest of the afternoon meeting with the household staff and the acting maester, who had come from the Dreadfort at the request of his former Lord. Arya could see that Aegon was growing frustrated with having to sit for so long, so she hurried the maester to catch them up on things that they had missed while they were both traveling. 

  There were more than a number of scrolls that hadn't yet been opened, and quite a few more that had. Arya went to these first. Most of them were replies to raven’s that Roose Bolton had sent himself; a report from the Dreadfort, and more from the other northern houses, most of whom were responding to the request for more men. It was easily enough to see that Roose was more than a little worried about the Baratheon army that was marching on Winterfell. Among the scrolls that hadn't been opened, there was one from King’s Landing, two from The Neck and one from White Harbor and another from Old Town, sealed with the sigil of House Hightower. What she hadn't expected was the scroll from Storms’ End, sealed with the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen. 

  “Aegon, I think you should read this.” Arya said, passing the scroll to him.

  His face scrunched up with confusion, and Arya wanted very much to send for Jaqen so he could be here for this. “Do you know who could be sending this?” she asked.

  “None,” Aegon replied, shaking his head and then reaching for the scroll. 

  She waited with baited breath while her brother broke the seal and carefully unfurled the parchment.  The silence was deafening while she watched his grey eyes flit across the scroll. 

  “We should probably call for my father,” Aegon finally said.

  “What is it? What could Jaqen do?” Arya asked, confused by his lack of explanation. “Is it your sister Daenerys?”

  Aegon sighed, “Nay, it's not Daenerys. It's Aegon.” He answered cryptically. 

  “Aegon? I’m not sure I understand.” Arya admitted.

  “I’m not sure I understand either, which is why I think we should send for Rhaegar. How could there be another man out there with the same name as me, also claiming to be my brother? There had been a boy that was slain during the sack of King's Landing, one that shared my name, but I don’t see how this letter could be referring to him.” Aegon explained.

  Arya perked up, “I think I might know, but I would rather hear what Jaqen has to say about it.”

  She was just about to rise from her seat when the doors swung open and Ser Gerold entered, Dawn strapped across his back with Ghost and Nymeria trailing behind him nipping playfully at one another. For a moment, she almost forgot what they had read as she watched the two horse sized wolves play as if they were still pups. 

  “Gerold, I’m glad that you’ve come, could you please send Oswell to go and collect Lord Jaqen?” said Aegon, before the doors even closed. 

  Lord Gerold raised a silver brow in question, but nodded. “I will return in a moment.”

  After that, all they could do was wait. There were so many things on the tip of her tongue that she wanted to address, but her mind kept circling back to the news from Storms’ End, as well as the information that Lady Dustin had provided.

  “I think we should go to the Dreadfort. If you would rather stay here to take care of business with the northmen, I can take Nymeria and her pack and be back within a fortnight.” 

  Aegon turned toward her, his eyes searching hers for something she could not name and the silence hung in the air around them thickly as she waited for him to reply. “I'll come, and we will make the trip in a few hours.”

  “Unless you have somehow managed to rip a portal into existence through your priestess’s magical powers, there is no way we will get to the Dreadfort in such a short amount of time. Especially not on horseback.” Arya challenged. Had his time on the Wall somehow muddled his brain?

  Aegon smiled at her, and for just a moment she couldn't fathom what he was thinking. “Do you trust me?”

  She wasn't sure how to answer so she inclined her head once. “Why do I suddenly worry that I’m going to regret saying so?”

  “You’ll have to be patient. What else is in the scrolls?” Aegon asked, ignoring her question. 

  Arya huffed in annoyance, he was keeping something from her, and it clearly delighted him that she had no idea what he was alluding to. Reaching over the pile of unread scrolls, she picked up the ones from the Neck. “Two from Greywater Watch.”

  Aegon sat forward with interest. “Greywater? The Crannogmen are watching Moat Cailin.” He said reaching for one of the two. 

  Arya had already cracked the seal on the first and was busy reading it by the time Aegon had managed to open the other. He was busy reading the words when the scroll Arya had been reading fell from her hands and onto the floor. 

  Placing his own aside, which only spoke of a large wolf pack and an army of unmarked men and Lannister soldiers riding through Moat Cailin, Aegon fixed his attention on Arya who was still sitting there with an expression of shock written across her face.

  “Arya, what did the scroll say?”

  He waited as patiently as possible for her answer, but she just sat there looking blankly at the scroll, as if it had offended her. Unsure of what to do, he reached for the parchment but Arya stilled his hand. 

  “An army is approaching. They camped overnight at Moat Cailin and then departed north after meeting with another group that had come from the east, likely White Harbor.” Arya announced with a shaky voice.

  “I don’t understand, whose sigil are they flying? Should we be preparing for an attack?” Aegon asked.

  “They are flying the falcon of House Arryn, the Vale is riding for Winterfell.” Arya turned to him, her eyes wide. “The Vale sat out of the War of Five King’s, and Ser Jaime has filled me in on where their loyalties lay over our journey north. My aunt Lysa married Petyr Baelish just before her death, and he is ruling as regent until my cousin Robin comes of age.”

  Aegon felt confused, he knew next to nothing about the southern Great Houses, and even less of who was still in power following his brother’s war. What he did know is that a blood connection to the Eyrie was a good thing, it meant that they could possibly form an alliance with the Vale prior to him marching on King’s Landing. Which is why he couldn't understand why Arya seemed so distraught over the news they had just received.

  “Lord Baelish is loyal to Cersei, if he can be considered loyal at all, but definitely not to House Stark. There are more than a few men within the castle who can confirm what happened on the day that father was arrested in the throne room, and I am certain that Baelish was involved. We need to be on guard.” Arya warned. 

  Aegon could do naught but agree. If his sister was worried, then he would not ignore her concerns. “Alright, then we should gather the men who are already here, and prepare them for the Vale’s arrival. We will leave for the Dreadfort tonight, and with any luck we can be back in no more than two days, depending on how long it takes to get inside and put things to order.”

  Arya agreed, and they both set about reading the last of the scrolls that had been unopened. The scroll from Oldtown was a plea for aide, apparently sent to each of the ruling Houses who could help them repel an Ironborn attack that they claimed to be imminent. 

  For a moment, he considered mounting Cannibal and flying straight there to put down the threat for quite a number of reasons. None of which had anything to do with the Starry Sept or House Hightower. He had sent his great uncle there to save him, and with him, Sam and Gilly and Oswell’s young son as well, thinking that putting such distance between them and the Lady Melisandre would keep them safe. This news proved how foolish his hopes had been, as he had inadvertently put them all in danger anyway.

  The other reasons were less personal, and not at all  selfish. He couldn't allow the Citadel to be sacked, not with the information that he had been hoping was contained within its institution. He could honestly care less about the Starry Sept, the Seven would not be able to help the people of Westeros if and when the Others made their way past the Wall.

  Still, he could not just mount Cannibal or one of the other dragons, and set off on a mission across the realm, when he was not quite prepared to reveal himself to the rest of the country. For now he would have to hope that someone closer was able to answer their call for aid. Even if he did send men, the chances of them reaching Old Town in time were unlikely. Still there were people inside the castle that he could call upon to give him advice, and perhaps they would be able to send a raven that would reach them in time.

  The final scroll was sealed with the sigil of Tommen Lannister, and Aegon really didn't want to know what was written inside. Whatever the news, it was certain to be dark and he wasn't sure that he was ready to deal with the Usurper’s widow and her illegitimate child king. This one Arya opened, perhaps because she could sense his hesitation. It was clear that his own reservations were not mirrored by his sister, as she broke the seal without hesitation.

  Aegon waited while he watched her grey eyes scan over the words and then she breathed in deeply. Within a moment, her voice was reading the words aloud.

“It is with a heavy heart that I, Tommen Baratheon, First of my name, must announce the recent, and most tragic losses of mine own uncle, Lord Kevan Lannister and Grand-maester Pycelle who were both assassinated inside the Red Keep. Queen Cersei has been released from the Sept of Baelor, following her walk of atonement, and is awaiting her trial. At this time, the crown calls all able bodied men to answer this summons and march for King’s Landing with all haste to protect the realm from those attempting to unstabilize us from within. The Faith have taken up arms against the innocent peoples of King's Landing and I fear that if we do not meet this threat head on, it will soon bleed out into the rest of the kingdoms. Please do not delay. Signed, King Tommen Baratheon I...”

  Aegon sat back in his chair and released the breath he had been holding, but before he could speak, someone else beat him to it. “The only way for the Faith to arm themselves would be through royal edict. King Maegor made sure of that after their last uprising.” Aegon looked up to see his father standing just inside the doors, Gerold, Howland and Mance at his side. 

  Beside him, Arya snorted. “I wouldn’t put that past Cersei, especially if she thought that she could somehow manipulate them into doing her bidding. We should probably inform Ser Jaime about this, he might have chosen to come north to escape his sister, but Kevan Lannister is still his family and who knows what kind of position this leaves him in.”

  “I would wait on that, at least for now.” Rhaegar said, approaching them. His eyes flitted over the myriad of opened scrolls laying unceremoniously upon the table. “I take it that there is another reason that you have called for me?”

Chapter Text

|Winterfell|

       “He is not my son,” Rhaegar, the man who Aegon had come to know as his birth father said after reading over the missive that had flown from Storms End. He was still wearing his other face, Jaqen, and Aegon felt like getting to know him would be impossible as long as he refused to embrace the man that he had once been, choosing instead to continue to hide behind his many identities. 

  “How can you be sure?” Aegon asked instead, knowing well that a brother and sister had been killed when King’s Landing had been sacked. 

  Rhaegar looked up from the scroll he had been reading, their eyes meeting. “Because you are my only son, Aegon. My first wife, Elia gave birth on Dragonstone at the turn of the new year, a daughter, only this one had my coloring. Unfortunately, the infant didn't make it and she was forced to claim a child from Dragon’s Port to replace the babe until after Elia returned from the Capitol. I didn't even know about it until I returned from Dorne and found Elia inside the Red Keep along with Rhaenys and the changeling. As much as I would love for this to be true, it isn’t. Whomever this boy is, he shares no blood with me.”

  Aegon thought over Rhaegar’s words, unfortunately his explanation hadn’t been what he was hoping to hear. “Is he an enemy?” 

  Rhaegar shook his head, his face pensive, “That would depend on who has been raising the boy and filling his head with lies. If he is pretending to be the boy that Elia brought with her to court, that means he shares the same look. I don't think this is something that you can handle on your own, my son. The only one who can prove that this boy is not who he is claiming to be would be Elia or myself. Not even your mother had known the truth about the boy, as I had no time to tell her once I was called back to the Capitol.”

   So much for having an ally in the south, Aegon thought to himself. 

“So what do you suggest we do about it?” It was Mance—Oswell who asked the question. He would have to get used to calling him by his true name. There seemed to be a lot of that going around lately, he chuckled to himself at the thought. 

  “I think that it is time to send out a missive of my own, announcing my intentions to take the Iron Throne.” Aegon answered before Rhaegar could. 

  “You should, and I should head south, go to Storms End.” Rhaegar suggested.

  “You can't just go to Storms End and announce yourself.” Arya interrupted. 

  “I have no intention of announcing myself. That does not mean that I can't get a better idea of what is happening. If this boy believes he is my son, perhaps I can find a way to speak sense to him.” 

  “You can't—What I mean is, I don’t believe that he is actually in Storms End, if he has any sense, he’ll be marching toward Oldtown.” Aegon interjected. 

  “And how could you possibly know that?” Rhaegar asked.

  Aegon held up another scroll. “Because Lord Leyton Hightower has sent a missive to each House able to command men, asking for aid against the Ironborn who are planning to attack Oldtown. If I were a long lost prince, attempting to reclaim what I believe to be my birthright, I would do everything within my power to endear myself to the people of the realm. What better way to garner support from the great houses than to save one of their very own, protect their faith, and safeguard their center of learning?” 

  There was no way that the man in question had been raised in the south, a child possessing Targaryen traits would have set off any number of alarms. Even his own uncle refused to tell him the truth out of fear for his life and the lives of the remainder of his family after the rebellion. And Aegon possessed the Stark coloring. That could only mean that the child would have been raised across the Narrow Sea, someplace out of sight, where no one could chance upon a boy claiming to be the son of Rhaegar Targaryen. 

  This new claimant had to have the support of someone close to his birth father, someone who could validate his claim, someone who would have remained loyal to his House, even though they had fallen from power and were no longer welcome in Westeros. He would not have come empty handed, if he managed to take Storms End, he had to have done so with an army to aid him. Furthermore, he would have reached out to House Martell, claiming to be their long lost, believed-to-be-deceased relative. 

  It's what Aegon would have done if he was in the same situation. He paused to take a breath, and clear his head. He could not just let his birth father run off on his own, especially not now. 

  “With the situation in King's Landing, I doubt that the Lannister’s are able to send men to relieve Oldtown of Ironborn. Which means that whoever this other Aegon is, he’s their best hope at surviving an Ironborn raid. If you insist on going south, I would prefer that we travel together. At any rate, I need you here to watch over Rickon and Val while I am away with Arya,” Aegon added. He hoped that his words were enough to sway Rhaegar.

  Four sets of eyes found him at the same time. “Where will you be going?” Gerold asked so that the rest didn't have to.

  “The Dreadfort. Lady Barbrey has confided in us, and we learned that there are hostages from when Winterfell was sacked still being kept there.” Arya answered before he could, her grey eyes coming back to land on him. “On the day of the battle, I caught Roose trying to escape back to his lands. He never made it back, but I’m sure that his pregnant wife did.” His sister shared a look with Rhaegar, and his birth father nodded imperceptibly, if Aegon hadn’t been watching he might have missed the action altogether. 

   Aegon nodded, though he wondered about what they hadn’t said, it was clear that the two of them had come to some sort of understanding. He would have to ask her about it later on, for now he picked up where Arya left off. 

  “There are riders approaching from the south flying the banner of House Arryn, Arya believes that a man called Petyr Baelish is in their company. I have never met the man, but from what I have heard, he can't be trusted. I won't risk Rickon, or the people that we have recently liberated from Bolton’s hold, so I need people here who I can depend on.”

  Rhaegar considered his words, “I know the man as well, he had been fostered by Lord Hoster  when he was a boy. Your mother told me that he had even challenged your uncle Brandon to a duel for Lady Catelyn’s hand just before we ran away together. Why would he be leading an army from the Vale though? He was only the son of an upjumped hedge knight, someone who fought beside Lord Hoster in the war of the Ninepenny Kings.” 

  Aegon would need to sit down with Rhaegar at some point to get a better understanding of everything that happened prior to and during the Rebellion. His fath-uncle Ned had never discussed it in any detail, it felt like there was a whole section of history that had never been taught to him. 

  “He married my aunt Lysa after her husband died. Sandor had meant to ransom me to her, but when we arrived, we were informed that she had thrown herself from the moon door,  I learned later that the lords of the Vale had chosen him as Robin’s regent, until he comes of age.” Arya explained, filling in yet more blank spots that Aegon knew nothing of.

   The past four years were unknown to him, where Arya had gone, what she had been forced to see, who she had to become in order to survive. Even listening made him clench his jaw for fear that his emotions would get the better of him and he would end up lashing out. There was more to it, but Aegon couldn't begin to speculate, he wanted to hear everything from his sisters own mouth. Hang the guesswork.

  He knew very little of the affairs of the realm beyond what was shared with him when he was still the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. If this man Littlefinger was bad news, and Arya believed that he was, Aegon wouldn’t question her. It couldn’t be a coincidence that he chose now, of all times, to ride north. 

  His father and Oswell shared a look between them, a silent conversation that none of them were privy to.. “What aren’t you two sharing?”

  “It's just that I have a suspicion that he is involved in much more than simply rallying the Vale. Especially if he was involved with your aunt Lysa,” Oswell said, and Rhaegar nodded.

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Arya asked, her tone guarded, skeptical even. 

  “Your aunt Lyanna left a letter for your grandfather and uncle Brandon in her rooms before she left Riverrun to meet us. Only Lysa was there to see her leave, the two of them crossed paths as Lya was sneaking out, Lysa had been leaving the infirmary at the time. Lyanna said that the girl had been so worried about being found out that she asked for Lysa’s silence and promised that she would not tell Lord Hoster what she had found.” 

  “But then my uncle heard that you kidnapped my mother, and the note never made its way to the proper place,” Aegon said, following the logical conclusion. 

  “Your mother had been kidnapped, she was riding to meet me near Harrenhal when my father's men came upon her. Someone managed to find out that your mother had dressed up as a mystery knight, and my father was determined to make her pay. We were already planning to meet up, but when I got word that my father was on to us, we were forced to move up our plans. They had just taken her when we came upon their party, your mother was a mess. They had chased her for miles through the Riverlands, unable to catch her due to her skill and speed,” Rhaegar explained.

  Aegon was picturing the entire scene in his mind while his father spoke. Howland had given him a version of this story when he had come to the wall, but hearing it from his birth father’s mouth held so much more of an impact for him.

  “Her horse tired didn't it, that's how they eventually caught her?” He asked, already seeing how this was going. His mother would have had no notice, she would have been unprepared for an ambush. Without being able to stop to allow her mount to rest and drink, there would have been no way that his mother could have ridden more than thirty miles before her mount would have tired and slowed to a walk.

  “An arrow struck the mare and your mother was thrown from the saddle. As skilled as she was, there was nothing she could have done once the arrow was loosed. She was fearless though. We rode hard from Maidenpool, I was so worried that we wouldn’t reach her in time.” Rhaegar answered, his face taking on a haunted look. 

  “We almost didn't,” Oswell said, finishing where Rhaegar could not. “Lyanna was surrounded when we finally found her, she was wielding a sword that she had stolen from the armory in Riverrun. The men who had been pursuing her didn't know what to make of the she-wolf, she was so fierce.” Oswell chuckled, pulling her image from his memory.

  “She had already managed to drop one man, her sword pierced through his gut and out through his back. There was a second man on the ground cursing her, his face bloodied. By the time we arrived, the other men had her at arrow point. Arthur and Myles were quick to dispatch the archers while Oswell and Richard created a distraction that allowed me to reach her. Once I knew she was safe, and that no one else was coming in search of her, we rode for Harrenhal, where Oswell had family that would take us in.”

  Aegon knew the rest of the story, Howland had given him the basics when he broke the news to him and Val at Castle Black. When he had heard it the first time, the details had all blended together like text from an ancient tome. He understood what was being said, but they were just words. Now though, he could picture it with clarity, like he was there witnessing these events himself. 

  “And then what happened?” Arya asked. Her curiosity was  as endless as ever, and Aegon found himself smiling crookedly at her as she inched closer to the table. 

  “Then they rode to the Gods Eye, where Lord Howland was waiting on them. They loved each other, and they were wed before the Old Gods. From there they rode fast for Starfall, and the rest is history.” Aegon surmised, while gesturing toward himself. “So, someone knew that my mother was taken, and that person also knew that she was with you. And you believe that person was Petyr Baelish. Do you have any evidence to support this?”

  His father shook his head. “I thought we had been careful, we avoided every inn and keep along the way. Your mother was not like most ladies, she loved nature and preferred to sleep beneath the stars. The only time we ventured closer to civilization was when we needed supplies, and even then Arthur or Oswell would go, as to keep a lower profile.”

  “I’m sorry, but you sent the Sword of the Morning to complete errands for you, and you never expected that he would stick out among the common folk?” Arya eyed his birth father suspiciously, “Seriously Jaqen?”

  Oswell snorted, “She does have a point.”

  “I didn’t see you attempting to come up with a better plan” Rhaegar responded, the corners of his mouth curling upward in a slight smirk. 

  As much as Aegon enjoyed watching his birth father and friend catch up with each other, they were losing sight of the reason they were gathered around the table in the Great Hall. “We are getting off topic, will you stay and watch over Rickon and Val until we return?”

  “Of course, thank you for entrusting them to me.” Rhaegar answered honestly.

  “That might be fine for him, but I am your sworn sword Aegon, where you go, I go. That is how this whole thing works.” Gerold cut in.

  Arya snorted, “Gods I would have skewered Ser Jaime if he was as insufferable as you are. ‘I go where you go,’ don't make me gag.” 

  Aegon suppressed the smile that he felt forming, his Arya would never change and he didn't want her to. However, Darkstar didn't know her the way that he did, and likely wouldn’t appreciate her sass.

  Gerold glared at her for a moment, and then fixed his face. “Has anyone ever told you that you are a lot like your aunt?” 

  His words shut Arya up momentarily, and she returned his glare, “Has anyone ever told you that you look like you have Dawn shoved up your arse?” 

  He didn't need to be inside Darkstar’s mind to know that this wasn't going to end well, and Aegon refused to have the two of them fighting amongst each other. “That is enough, both of you. We have enough enemies outside of these walls, we do not need to make enemies of ourselves. Gerold you can come, an extra pair of hands would be most appreciated.” 

  Arya huffed, but said nothing else. This will be a conversation later on… it didn't take a genius to know what she was thinking. She had no idea what he had in store for her though, and in truth he couldn't wait to see the look on her face when Cannibal drops from the sky. For as much as he wanted to tease her, he knew that there were other matters that needed to be discussed before they could depart, still he found her frustration adorable.

  Aegon cleared his throat, ridding his mind of distractions, “The rest of the northern lords will be arriving within the next few days, I would like to make sure that Rickon is there to greet them and to honor Guest Right. We won't be gone long, a day-two tops. Val will function as Lady of Winterfell while Arya is away, so make sure that she is there to greet our guests alongside of Rickon. I expect that the Skagosi will be here on the morrow, and with them a certain knight by the name of Davos Seaworth. He is Stannis’ man, and he will want to know where his king is. It is probably for the best if he hears of Stanis’ fate from myself.”

  Arya looked at him questioningly, “You were riding in Stannis’ company?” 

  “Nay,” Aegon replied, “but Ser Davos was sent to Skagos by Lord Manderly to find Rickon; he believed that we were marching to join with Stannis. Finding out that his king is dead won't be easy for him, he will want to rally what's left of the Stormlanders around Lady Shireen, and I can't allow that. Shireen is the trueborn heir to Storms End, I will need her to take her seat before I take the Iron Throne. If Queen Selyse hears of her husband's demise, there is no telling how she will react. That is why I want to control the information that reaches Ser Davos, at least until I am able to speak to him myself.”

  They all agreed, and he was glad to have at least that portion of business cleared up. He had always known that taking Winterfell back from the Bolton’s would come with work, but up until now, he hadn't known that time would not be in his favor. Things in the southern kingdoms were in a steep decline, and everything felt as if it was happening all at once. 

  Aegon stood, “I think that will do for now. If you all would excuse me, I would like to visit the godswood and then I need to find Lord Howland.”

  “Aegon?” Rhaegar called as he began to turn away,  causing him to pause and turn back. “Can we—can we speak once you return?”

  Aegon thought about it and then nodded once. “I would like that.”

  Now that he was out in the yard, he went in search of Lord Howland, whom, if Aegon had to guess, could be found in the Godswood. There were a great many questions running through his head, some of which were in regards to the missives sent from Greywater Watch to the Bolton’s. 

  If the Crannogmen hadn't sworn fealty to Roose Bolton, then why were they sending reports to Winterfell, knowing that their Lord had gone to free Aegon from his vows? And why hadn't the maester given the missives to Roose when he had the chance to? 

  Aegon knew that the information wouldn’t have been able to help them, in the end Cannibal would still have descended upon the battlefield, and he would have still ended up reclaiming his family's ancestral seat. That didn't mean that he shouldn’t find out what the goal of the Crannogmen had been. 

  Sure enough, he found Howland sitting at the base of the weirwood, his feet crossed and his eyes closed. He wasn't alone either. 

  To either side of the tree, Ghost and Nymeria were stationed, their massive heads resting on their paws while Howland sat motionless. For a moment Aegon thought he should turn around and wait to talk to him at another time, but the crannogman called to him just as he was about to turn back. 

  Red eyes met his grey as Ghost lifted his head in greeting, a breath escaped his lungs and Aegon started forward. 

  “Good day, Your Grace,” Howland greeted with a smile. 

  “And to you,”Aegon returned. “I was hoping we could talk.”

  Howland’s moss green eyes assessed him, piercing through him in a manner that made him feel exposed. “Is this about your trip?”

  There was no use in denying it. “Among other things,” Aegon nodded. “I was wondering about your gift and whether it could be used to create cover.”

  “Could you be more specific?”

  “Plainly put, I mean to fly for the Dreadfort, but I would like to take the people within the castle unaware. Does your gift work only in terms of modifying terrain, or can you do more?” Aegon clarified, hoping that he hadn't wasted time coming to find Howland when he could be spending time with Rickon, Val or Arya.

  “Like a mist, or a fog, is that what you are asking?” 

  Aegon nodded, “Precisely,” he said. 

  The crannogman smiled knowingly. “You do know that Greywater is located upon the headway of the Green Fork, surrounded by bogs and marshes. Fog and mist is kind of our thing.” He gestured behind where Aegon was standing and he turned on instinct. The reflection pool where his father would wash Ice was nearly invisible, a layer of fog lay atop the pool so thick that if he hadn't been raised here in this very castle, he would have never known the pool was ever there.

  “Would you be able to do this from a distance?” 

  “I can make it go where it needs to go, but it is easier if I have a direct connection to the land in which I am spelling.” Howland answered honestly.

  Aegon thought about it for a moment, he was already bringing Gerold and Arya, even though he knew that Cannibal would be less than pleased to carry passengers. He could always ask one of his birth dragons to carry his chosen, though he had only intended to bring one of them, he supposed this couldn't be helped. 

  “Very well, be ready to leave tonight. And Howland, I hope that you don't mind flying.”

    After speaking with Rhaegar, Oswell and Gerold, it was decided that Aegon and she would take a small group of men with them. Arya still wasn't sure what her brother had planned, but he was confident that they would have no trouble reaching the seat of House Bolton within a short span of time. 

  Her mind was racing through the information that had been shared among them, but she had no time to focus on any of it. Time was limited before their departure and she needed to get down to the crypts to find her father’s bones. 

  Aegon joined her, along with Rickon and Val, Howland, Lady Maege, Lord Galbart, Hallis, Harwin and a number of other northern Lords, including the Greatjon, and his brother the Whoresbane. Any other time, she would have arranged for a proper burial, but there were people who needed her; her father's people needed her, and she couldn’t put them off a moment longer than necessary. 

  The crypts were just as she remembered them, cold and dark and pulsing with energy that she could not name. The fact that more than a few of her ancestors were missing their longsword, hadn’t gone unnoticed by her either. Rickon held tightly to her hand as they descended the spiral stairs, just behind Lord Howland who held the torch and led the way. She had a feeling that Rickon’s memories of this place had left their mark on him if his guarded expression was anything to go by.

  When they reached the landing that housed the tombs of her uncle, aunt and grandfather, she found the torches already lit, and the altars that depicted her kin had been cleaned and cared for, the only thing out of place was her uncle Brandon’s missing sword. Around the base of the statue that depicted her aunt were all manner of wildflowers that had been salvaged from the ruin of the glass houses, and resting in her hand was a single winter rose that was open and vibrantly blue. She didn’t need anyone to explain that it had been her former mentor who had cared for her family so tenderly, and in spite of her anger at him for deceiving her for so long, she felt gratitude for his special care. 

  She wondered if he had done this for his son, or whether he had done this as an apology for the senseless way that they had been murdered. 

   Did he still feel guilt? 

  Was his guilt even warranted? 

  Or had he simply been trying to pay his respects to the woman who had captured his heart and taken it with her to the grave? All these questions Arya was forced to keep to herself, at least for now.

  It was a quiet affair as Hallis and the Greatjon stepped up to her grandfather's previously empty crypt to retrieve her father’s bones from within. The chest they lifted was thick and deep blackish-brown, no doubt built from the black-cottonwood trees that were common in the areas surrounding King's Landing. She pulled Rickon closer for comfort, even though he didn’t seem to understand fully what was going on. Still, Arya found that she couldn't speak.

  Her father had been diligent after the losses of his siblings and father, and as a result had tombs carved for them early on. His would need to be finished, to be carved in his likeness, but it was well prepared for his bones. Beside her Lord-father, her mother would join him, along with Robb and Greywind when they were sent north from the Twins. As much as she had wanted to bring them, she was riding into uncertainty and she hadn't wanted to risk losing them. 

  While Arya was lost in her own thoughts, Aegon stepped forward and brushed his scarred palm over the surface of the box that had carried her father’s bones for what must have been more than a year. Without having to ask, Hallis and the Greatjon stepped back to give him and she suspected the rest of them, some space. 

  Arya nudged Rickon forward, so that they could join their brother, Val stepped forward as well and took her position at Aegon’s other side. It was odd, having a family after so long, especially a family who she had never known existed, and yet having Vallyria here felt...necessary? If her father were here watching, Arya had no doubt that it would bring him peace to see that most of his sister’s children had found their way home to Winterfell.

  Aegon spoke, his voice thick with emotion, and strained no doubt from the effort that he was exerting to not come undone. “I want someone to locate a stonemason. I don’t care how far away they are, I will retrieve them myself if I must. But I want the best, here, to finish his tomb and to ensure his likeness is done correctly.”

  Arya glanced briefly around them, to gauge the reactions of her father's bannermen, none of whom wanted to tell him the truth. The truth that all who had known the honorable Eddard Stark were likely long gone, dead at the hands of Theon Greyjoy, Ramsay Bolton, and his father Roose. She inhaled sharply and then placed her palm on his shoulder, “Aegon, everyone who knew father's likeness is gone; either at the Red Wedding or during the sack on Winterfell, there is no one who can make his likeness perfect. At best, I can try to draw something from my memory, but I cannot promise that it will be exact.” 

  Rickon began tugging at her arm the moment she finished speaking, and Arya looked down to see what he needed. His flinty blue eyes searched her expression, for what, she wasn't sure.  “Egg looks like father.” He stated simply, as if it should have been obvious. 

  Aegon looked up, just enough so that he was able to see the expression on Rickon’s face, and Arya stood there, her grey eyes flashing back and forth between her younger brother and Aegon. Rickon was right, Aegon looked the very image of her father, with some minor differences. Her brother was slightly darker in coloring, his nose and lips more full, something she suspected he inherited from his real father. His eyes were Stark but the shape was not quite as round as her own. She could understand why Rickon would think so.

  She nodded, “He does look like father, doesn’t he?” 

  Rickon nodded with enthusiasm. “So you can use Egg and change anything that you need to.”

  “I suppose you’re right, but first we have to go to the Dreadfort, when we come back, I can get started, as long as Aegon agrees.” Arya promised her little brother.

  “I would be happy to sit for you to copy my likeness. I won't have anyone forget him, or the sacrifices that he has made for our family,” Aegon replied making things final.

  There was little she could say to counter the decision, it was hard enough for her to be there. Her father had been the only person aside from Jon, who had ever understood her. Even though her mother would scold her frequently and bemoan her unladylike behavior, she had always managed to find sanctuary within the circle of his arms. 

  Her mother claimed that he spoiled her, that he encouraged her to continue down her path of ruination, but he had never once made her feel inadequate in any way. She supposed now that his fondness for her had a lot to do with the fact that she reminded him of his lost sister, a fact that she just now was coming to understand better. Though truthfully, the younger version of herself had been elated to be one of her father’s only two children who shared his look, something that to her, meant she and Jon were more Stark than the rest of them. But just like their direwolves, Arya had come to learn and accept that Starks come in every color, size and temperament.

  The crypt had grown quiet, and Arya decided to speak. “When we arrived in King's Landing, I was so angry. I hated the King and especially the Queen and Joffrey for what they did to Lady. I was even angry at Sansa for not telling the truth. I blamed her perhaps the most, for choosing her beloved Prince, over our pack,” she said, remembering that night with bitter clarity.

  “Sansa wouldn’t speak to me after father was forced to kill her wolf, she blamed me instead for defending an innocent boy, refusing to take responsibility for the fact that she had lied, and condemned her own wolf in the process. Septa Mordane called me a beast and sent me to my room just as father was entering the Tower of the Hand. I remember not stopping when he asked me what was going on; I was too angry and I wanted revenge; against everyone, but mostly the King and the Queen.” 

  Aegon and Val remained silent while she spoke, but Rickon watched her as if he was hanging on to her every word. “I don’t know what was said after I left, but as soon as I had gotten to my room, I threw the bolt on my door into place and I went in search of Needle. I told myself that if I was ever going to get my revenge, I had to practice every day.” This time Aegon smiled warmly, clearly remembering his last words of advice to her, the same words that she had held close to her heart all these years.

  “Father came to me minutes later, and I let him into my room, forgetting in the moment that I was still holding my sword. He could have taken it from me, he could have scolded me and told me that I had no business with such a weapon, but instead he asked me to pass it into his care. After inspecting it, and realizing that Mikken had crafted it, he asked me where I had gotten it, but I wouldn’t tell him, though I suspect that he knew. I was shocked when he passed it back, I had been certain that he would have taken it and forbidden me to have it, but he didn't. He just told me that it was not a toy and that I should know how to use it if I meant to keep it. We laughed together when I told him obstinately that I already knew how, and a week later I was called for my first dancing lesson with the ex-first sword of Braavos, Syrio Forel. Father loved each of us, and even when we were blinded by our own grief and biases, he still saw us and supported us in whatever paths that we chose to walk.”

  She found herself kneeling at Aegon’s side, her hand coming up to brush against the roughened wood, “You were the best father and I will never forget you, nor the kindness and love that you gave to me and my siblings. I hope that wherever you are, that you continue to watch over us and guide us through the years to come.”

  Arya stepped back the moment she was done speaking, but she noticed immediately that more than one person was busy wiping silent tears from their wind-burned cheeks. Aegon stood as well, followed by Val and the four of them led the rest of their group over to where the unfinished tombs for her family had been prepared.

  “Why are there only seven, shouldn’t there be one more?” Rickon asked.

  Aegon turned and the look on his face nearly broke her heart, she knew what he was about to say, and even though it was the truth, it cut her just as deeply to hear him say it as it had when she was still to young to understand why there were differences between him, and the rest of her father’s children.

  “There is one for Father and your lady mother, and one for you and each of your trueborn siblings, but I have never been a Stark, and I won't be permitted to rest within the crypts once I am gone,” he said.

  Her little brother looked unsatisfied with his answer, “You are a Stark, you’re my brother and I want you to have one too!”

  An odd look passed over Aegon’s face, and then a shy, sad smile pulled at the corners of his mouth before his hand came out to muss Rickon’s unruly hair. “You will be the Lord of Winterfell, and how you choose to honor me will be your decision to make. I would ask you however, not to worry about such things right now, as I do not plan on leaving you or our family for quite a while yet, hmmm?”

  Rickon nodded and dropped the subject for the time being, as they watched the Greatjon push away the stone lid that covered the empty tomb. Each of her father’s bannermen spoke their own goodbyes and then they closed it up, her father's bones had finally found their final resting place. 

  They were walking past her aunt's sepulcher when her cousin Vallyria stopped, a look that Arya had not familiarized herself with appeared on her face. Arya stopped too, and the rest did as well. “What is it?”

  Val turned to Lord Howland, “You said that there is an inheritance here in Winterfell, for myself, my brother and for our little sister. Do you know where it is?”

  The Crannogman shook his head. “I did not return to Winterfell with your uncle at the end of the Rebellion. In fact, this is the first time I have left the Neck in nearly two decades. We agreed that it would be better for me to stay away, that it would be safer for all of you if no one thought to come question the events that transpired in Dorne. If I had to guess though, I would say that your inheritance is somewhere where no one would think to look.”

  The conversation confused her, but after thinking about it for a moment, she knew that they could easily narrow the location down. “If my father was hiding something as important as the inheritance of three Targaryen royals, I can say without a doubt that you won't find it within the castle itself, nor the Broken Tower or the remnants of the First Keep. Father never went in those places except for the random cleaning that he had the staff take care of.” She turned her attention to Aegon. “He kept the truth of your identity from you for your entire life, he would not be so careless to leave something so important where you could possibly stumble upon it.” 

  Aegon nodded, agreeing with her skills of deduction. “Aye, he would not bring it within the castle. He wouldn’t want to risk someone else finding out his secret.”

  “Did Uncle Ned keep any other secrets that you grew up knowing about?” Vallyria asked.

  Arya turned her attention back toward her aunt who stood with her arms extended holding the blue winter rose that had been placed there. A melancholy look permanently etched on her granite face, she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth in concentration, and suddenly Arya knew the answer. “The only secret that he kept from us was the truth of who Jon’s mother was. He would never talk about her, not even to my mother. It was the same for Aunt Lyanna, he wouldn’t speak on her but he would always come down here to bring her flowers. No matter how many times we asked about her, he would deflect the question, and eventually we all stopped asking because we knew that her memory pained him.” She stepped toward her aunt's statue on instinct, only to be pulled back by Aegon.

  “Don’t,” he pleaded, his voice nearly inaudible, but she heard it all the same.

  Turning back toward her brother, she noticed that he and his father were sharing a look between them, one that spoke heavily of pain and fear. What they were scared of, Arya could only guess. “Are you sure? It wouldn’t take long to just check…” Arya said, attempting to convince the both of them.

  “What if he lied? What if there is more to this than what we know?” Aegon’s voice broke, and she could hear the hurt and disappointment, he feared that there was yet more left to be uncovered. 

   “Fear cuts deeper than swords.”

  She took a step in his direction and wrapped her arms around his middle. She did her best to relay to him that she was here, and that he was no longer alone. If there were any more truth’s to be discovered, they would face them together. 

  Aegon watched her, his eyes thoughtful and she knew that she had to say something. She thought about it for a while, and then it came to her. “You know, after Nymeria attacked Joffrey, I ran with her and Jory found me while the Queen’s men searched for us. I knew that they would try to kill her, even though she had only been trying to protect me. I threw rocks at her and told her that I no longer wanted her, and the lie stuck with me, a bitter taste in my mouth. When I finally told Father the truth, he smiled as if he had always known that I hadn’t told him the truth about what happened in the woods. I was so ashamed of my lie, and father could see it. Instead of scolding me, he comforted me. “It was right,” he told me , “And even the lie was...not without honor.” It took me a moment to understand, perhaps longer, but I do understand now, and I think that perhaps he wasn't just talking about me and the deception I had to perpetrate, but about you and Vallyria and Daenerys, and even Aunt Lyanna. I believe you know how much he loved you, even if he couldn't show it as openly as he did with us, but I also believe that there was no one more honorable than our father. If you aren't ready, that is fine, but just know that when you are, you won't be alone.” Arya turned toward Val and offered her hand. “Neither of you are.”

  They left the crypt shortly after that, Aegon went back in the direction of the Godswood and Arya escorted Rickon to the Great Hall along with the others. She wanted to use the time to explain to him where they were going and that they would return as soon as they could. Surprisingly Rickon was not bothered at all, he had apparently known that he would be left alone for a time while they finished their campaign in the north, but since Val and Shaggy would be with him he assured her that there was nothing to worry about. 

  Rickon had been a boy of three almost four when they had all left home, Bran had been in a coma, and their mother had locked herself in his rooms, refusing to come out to do simple things, such as eat or bathe. Rickon had attached himself to her side over the few weeks before they left and she found it hard to accept that he was so independent now. 

  Val had been good for Rickon, even a blind man could see how Aegon’s sister was able to comfort him, and as much as it pained Arya to admit it, her mother would not have been as understanding and patient with Rickon. 

  After she explained things to her little brother, Aegon entered and the last meal began. The Great Hall was packed more full than Arya had ever seen it, and the number of men and women would only grow as the days went by and more people arrived for the big reveal. 

  Aegon and she had decided that they would house as many people within the castle as they could, and the rest would have to erect a camp outside of the castle walls. Winter Town had been nearly empty, but as soon as word began to travel, Arya had no doubt that the smallfolk would return, which meant that work on the town needed to begin as soon as possible. After years of abandonment after Winterfell had been sacked, there had only been a handful of people who remained inside Wintertown. 

  She, Aegon and Rickon met with the heads of the northern houses that were already present within Winterfell, notifying them of the impending arrival of the knights of the Vale, and requested that an honor guard be sent to escort them the rest of the way from Castle Cerwyn. 

  The Greatjon offered to take twenty men himself and Arya was grateful for his support. She knew when they finally met to discuss Robbs inheritance, he would be a staunch supporter and loyal ally. 

  Once they had finished tying up their loose ends and making their preparations, Arya excused herself to gather her personal belongings and supplies.

  They had chosen to take Lord Gerold and Edric with them, as Darkstar had decided to finish Ned’s training. Lord Howland Reed also accompanied them, though from what she knew of him, he was not a man of war.  Arya had suggested that they take the Hound and perhaps Ser Jaime in his place but her brother demurred, claiming that he would feel better if there was strength within Winterfell to protect Rickon and Val while they were away. He also decided to have Ghost stay with Shaggy and Rickon, prompting her to share a lengthy goodbye with Nymeria who wasn't at all pleased that she was going on an adventure without her. 

  They departed the castle under the cover of darkness on foot, Aegon saying nothing as to where they were heading, but if he had intended them to walk, then they were certainly not going to make the journey in the amount of time that he had quoted. 

  She of course wanted to say something, but he had asked her if she trusted him, and she had admitted that she did. If she questioned him now, it would make him think that she had changed her mind, and she hadn't. She just wasn't sure if he was in possession of all of his senses.

  They walked through the camps that had been erected outside the castle, only stopping whenever someone approached them to thank them for taking back the North from the Boltons, then they would continue on until they managed to leave the camp entirely.

 Just outside the ring of tents, Aegon stopped without warning, his eyes cast upward as if he were looking for something. She noticed Edric looking at her with curiosity, but she had nothing so she shrugged in answer. 

  The wind picked up suddenly and Arya clutched at her cloak and wrapped it tightly around herself, making sure that her travel sack was secured and not at risk of being blown away. The moon was shining brightly down upon them and she was forced to shield her eyes from the glare that reflected off of the ice capped snow that had recently fallen and began freezing. 

  “Aegon—” Arya started, prepared to tease him about making a portal once more but before she could finish, an ear shattering crack resounded from above forcing her eyes upward, following her brother’s line of sight. 

  Arya stumbled backward a few steps, unsure of whether or not she could believe her own eyes, but sure enough there was no denying what was heading straight for them. Enormous wings beat in slow rhythmic motions, from this distance she couldn't make out the exact color, but she knew without a doubt what she was looking at.

  As fast as lightning, Arya spun around to face her brother, who was watching her with something akin to a smile on his face. She didn't waste a moment as she balled her fist and punched him squarely in the shoulder. “Stupid!” She squealed, both in exasperation and excitement, for a moment sounding exactly as she had when she was nine years old.

  The smile that Aegon rewarded her with was so worth it though, and Arya couldn't help but share in his joy. He had known, perhaps better than anyone, how much she had loved the tales of Vhagar and her rider Visenya.

   “How come you didn't tell me that you have a dragon?!” Arya hissed excitedly.

    “I don’t have a dragon,” Aegon replied, though the way he said it made her wonder what he wasn't actually saying. There was no time to press the issue though because the moment he was done speaking, he was guiding her backward. She looked up again, and braced her feet firmly against the ground as the huge creature dropped from the sky to land just outside the line of trees that separated Winterfell from the Wolfswood.

  It was quite possibly the most magnificent creature she had ever laid her eyes upon, aside from Nymeria of course. It's wings appeared large enough to swallow a whole town beneath their shadow and it had burning green eyes that were fixed on Aegon, who stood at her side completely relaxed. 

  “Wow!” Arya breathed out, taking in every detail she could possibly make out in the waning light.

  Aegon squeezed her hand, and the dragons eyes flitted in her direction immediately. She couldn't decide whether or not she should be afraid or entranced. The latter won out as she took her first hesitant step forward. 

  “Careful Arya, he isn’t known for his patience.” Aegon warned but she was like a little girl again, searching through the hidden tunnels of King’s Landing trying to catch cats. 

  Coal black scales stretched over muscle and bone, sharp daggers as long as her legs revealed rows upon rows of razor sharp teeth that could no doubt end her in one bite. Still, Arya had little sense of self preservation in the face of a creature that had been a huge part of her childhood fantasies. This dragon was nothing like the ones who had been hidden away in the dark cellars of the Red Keep. It's eye sockets were vibrant and burned with poisonous green fire, unlike the pools of empty blackness that had judged her unkindly while she had sought shelter. 

  “I’m your friend,” Arya stated aloud, so that the creature knew that she meant it no harm. She had no way of conveying this to the skulls of the dragons from Westeros’ past, but she felt compelled to make this clear.

  The dragon turned it's head to the side, reminding her of the way Nymeria would respond to her. She felt a low rumble emanating from within the dragon before she heard the faint sound of clicking coming from within it's throat. 

  Arya turned toward Aegon, her surprise hardly able to be contained. But rather than answer her unspoken question, Aegon took her by the hand and pulled her forward. “He knows that you mean him no harm. I think he is curious about you,” he said as they approached. 

  Arya studied her brother, checking for signs that he hadn't cracked his head open, but all appeared to be fine. She wasn't a Targaryen, so she didn't understand how he could be so sure that this dragon didn't intend to roast her in her spot? 

   It doesn’t matter. Fear cuts deeper than swords.

Her feet moved, right then left until she was standing next to Aegon who had his hand resting upon the snout of the dragon in front of her. 

  It was huge, there were no other descriptors that could adequately describe the dragon that Aegon had summoned out of thin air. Her heart was racing as Aegon reached for her and guided her up the dragon’s wing bone and settled her in front of him. 

  Another thud had her turning in her seat only to be met with the appearance of yet another dragon. This one was much smaller, though clearly larger than anything her mind could have fabricated before seeing Aegon's dragon in person.

  “Umm, Aegon?” She started nervously. 

  “Shhh, everything is fine. This is Qelos; it means Star in Valyrian.” Aegon explained.

  “Yes but, where did it come from, and how are you able to control it?” Arya couldn't stop the questions from spilling out of her mouth. 

  Her brother chuckled. “I don't control them. I am bonded to them, it's not the same thing. I don't really know how it's possible, something about my blood being a mix of Valyrian and the First Men. They chose me, that is as much as I can tell you. For now at the very least. Qelos will fly with Gerold and Edric and Howland will fly with us.”

  Involuntarily, Arya found her bottom lip poking out. It wasn't that she minded being with her brother, but she couldn't deny the envy that she felt watching Darkstar and Ned mount up by themselves.

  Beneath her, coal black scales shifted and Aegon pulled her backward until she was firmly pressed against his chest, his thighs squeezing hers. “Cannibal doesn’t accept riders. He is only allowing you and Howland because I have asked him.”

   Cannibal…as in The Cannibal? Her mind began racing once more. “Aegon, you don't mean that this dragon is The Cannibal? The one who ate other dragons and refused a rider during the Dance of Dragons?”

  She felt his wicked grin just behind her ear. “The very same, besides I already told you that he doesn’t accept riders. Now hold on tight,” he leaned her forward, placing her hands along a large spike that jutted out from along it's neck. He drug his hands slowly back and then gripped her thighs repeating his action. With sure movements, he placed her feet so that they were purchased upon one of the dragons thickened scales and then he scooted even closer, if that were even possible at this point. She could only assume Lord Howland was already secured behind her brother. It had only been a heartbeat, though it had felt like an eternity before he placed his chin against her shoulder once more. “Don't let go, we are getting ready to take off.”

  She hadn't a moment to respond before Cannibal lifted them from the ground with a single thrust of his legs and a push from his mighty wings. Her fingers flexed around his neck spike for good measure, but she couldn't stop herself from smiling like a fool.

  She was flying just like Visenya had upon Vhagar, although she had to admit that this dragon was likely much larger than that of the dragon queen that she admired the most. Arya didn't want to miss a moment of this and so she kept her eyes open for as long as she could.

  Surprisingly, the wind wasn't as biting when you were riding upon a dragon. It's body had a way of keeping them warm, and Arya truly appreciated it. She couldn't say how far up they were, above the clouds for sure; but the stars shone clearly above them. 

  Along their journey Aegon pointed out to her the many stars in the sky that he recognized from his ranging, even the Ice Dragon was visible from up here. Once or twice the other dragon would come into view and Arya had been able to see it more clearly. The dragon Qelos was crimson with whorls of black mixed amongst it's scales, it's horns were bronze and so were its tail spikes and spinal crest. Arya couldn't help but think that it was truly magnificent.

  The greatest part of the flight though, was the way that her brother held her tightly, his thighs pressing against her own, his minty breath fanning over her cheek every so often. She understood now why it was so important for him to leave Jon Snow behind,even though she hadn't been ready to lose the boy who had been her rock. Jon snow was not who he was, it never had been. Jon Snow would never have claimed a dragon, he never would have considered wearing a crown, or ever asking for her hand.

  Jon Snow was detached, solemn, and humble. But Aegon Targaryen is bold, with a sureness she had never known him to possess, he was deadly—battle tested, and ambitious. Although it had been Jon Snow who reminded her of who she was, it was Aegon Targaryen who had returned to her and perhaps that wasn't such a bad thing after all. She wasn't the little girl who left home years ago, how could she expect him not to have evolved as well?

  These thoughts remained with her as they soared above the rest of the world, with only the sound of Cannibal's mighty wings to accompany them and before she knew it, Aegon was murmuring into her ear that they were preparing to land. Her flight was over much too soon by Arya’s estimation, but she was enormously grateful that she was given the chance to experience something so magical. “I don't know if you can understand me, but thank you.”

  A rumble left his chest and Arya couldn't stop herself from giggling, “He understands more than you know.” Aegon whispered, as Cannibal began to descend. She supposed that thought comforted her, everything she had ever read about dragons claimed that they were more intelligent than humans. Nymeria and Ghost understood a great deal more than most people would assume, dragons should be no different. “We are only dropping Howland off, he will wait for us inside the trees until the Dreadfort is dealt with.” 

  Arya nodded, glad that she didn’t have to dismount and walk the rest of the way.  Aegon had no idea what she had planned, but he would find out soon enough. One last check to make sure her pack was still in place, assured her that she had everything she could possibly need. 

   Winter was coming for the Dreadfort. 

Chapter Text

Storms End

   Days had passed since his prince had marched away without him. Jon knew that Aegon had wanted him to go, but he would have only been a liability. He hadn't truly allowed himself from his chambers in the weeks since they took Storms End. 

  There was no cure, at least none that Jon had ever heard of. He just needed a little more time. Time to see Aegon onto the Iron Throne.

  He thought that by sending Aegon onto Oldtown with Rolly and Haldon, he would have that time to figure out the next move. 

  Not only had it been convenient that Oldtown was under siege and nobody else was around to respond. It was strategic for his prince to be the savior of the faith. Whoever it was that had armed the faith militant, whether it had been Cersei or her boy king, was having a problem with the faith in King’s Landing, and now it was beginning to leak out into the rest of the kingdoms. It would do Aegon well to be seen as their savior, coming to protect them from those who follow other gods and seek to harm them. Oldtown was famous for crowning Aegon the Conqueror, and House Hightower was famous in their support of various Targaryen king's throughout history. Right now Aegon had no other supporters in Westeros save Dorne, and that alliance was shaky at best. Unless he agreed to Doran’s terms. Otherwise gaining the support of House Hightower would be key.

  Unfortunately, the Cheesemonger had chosen today to arrive from Pentos with urgent tidings. Illyrio had always been a thorn in his side, and he thought it odd how overly fond of his prince the fat man actually was. It would have been fine, he could have handled him alone, but somehow Varys had shown up with him as well and Jon knew how hard it was to conceal things from the spider first hand. The fact that he somehow was working to restore Rhaegar’s son when he had fought so hard to see the man himself fail was an enigma to him. 

  Jon didn't like the way that these two men had been stringing his prince around over the years. Going back and forth between planning and stalling. 

  He doubted very much that Aegon would allow them to manipulate him much further. His prince was determined to retake his birthright, and so far he was doing a fine job of getting a foothold in his kingdom.

  Jon was in no mood for guests, but Lemore would not continue to tolerate his absence. Whatever these two men wanted they would have no choice but to wait for Aegon to return from Oldtown.

  He arrived in his own time to the study he had been using to plan their conquest of Westeros, knowing that Varys and Illyrio would want to see their progress. He could hear the Cheesmonger now, boasting at length about how successful the prince had been to make it to Westeros so quickly and to have already taken the seat of House Baratheon. 

  “Gentlemen,” Jon greeted as he closed the door behind him.

  “Ah there you are, Lord Connington. We were beginning to think that you were avoiding us.” Mopatis replied ignorantly. Jon would have gladly avoided them, but it was because of these men that he had been placed in charge of their prince. He would have been rid of them long ago if that had been possible.

  “As much as that would please me, I would much rather get this meeting over with. Aegon hasn’t taken King’s Landing yet so we weren’t expecting either of you so soon. What has changed?” Jon asked not wanting to waste any time. 

  Lemore stood and moved toward the door. “I would actually appreciate it if you remained,” Jon said, stopping her before she could leave. 

  “Of course, Lord Jon.” She replied with a curious expression written across her face. She still didn't know about his condition, no one did. But without Haldon and Duck here to assist him, Lemore was the closest thing that the prince had ever had to a mother. He trusted her immeasurably and it was because of this that Jon hadn't dismissed her when they finally joined up with the Golden Company. Aside from that, she was a Westerosi born septa that knew the Faith better than any of them, and with her help Aegon would be able to better navigate the issues that are currently taking place within the kingdom. 

  Varys shifted, eyeing both of them, though Lemore took a seat at the back of the room, choosing not to sit at the table with either man. “The situation in King’s Landing remains the same. Cersei has taken a walk of atonement but the Faith is still requesting a trial.”

  “Cersei did that to herself when she or her boy king allowed the High Septon to revive the Warrior’s sons and the Faith Militant once more. Let them have her.” Jon cared naught for Tywin Lannister’s golden daughter.

  “That’s just it, Cersei is hoping for a trial by combat to prove her innocence. She has even sent ravens asking for Ser Jaime to return to be her champion as only a member of the Kingsguard can defend her as a member of the Royal family and former Queen.” Varys went on to explain.

  “Let us hope that the faith prevails. What about the boy king?” 

  “King Tommen is impressionable, and while his mother was locked away he called his Uncle Kevan to court to act as Lord Regent in her stead. It was a wise move, no doubt. Clearly one whispered to him by his lovely Tyrell bride. I managed to take care of Lord Kevan and Pycelle before I departed the Red Keep, and I have no doubt that Cersei is back on her path to ruin now that she will be able to move about unchecked.”

  The Spiders' idea of service to the realm was risky but it had been him to live inside that pit of snakes for the past nine and ten years. “What about Dragonstone, will Aegon be able to take the island?”

  Varys’ eyes flitted toward Illyrio and then back to him. “Dragonstone is a problem, my Lord.”

  “How so? You know that Aegon wanted to make his landing there but we were forced to take Griffin’s Roost instead. When he returns from Oldtown, he will have his eyes on his ancestral seat. He cannot take the Blackwater without it.” 

  “What I mean is, Dragonstone is currently occupied by the remnants of Stannis Baratheon’s host and the young Ser Loras Tyrell. In addition to that, it will soon be the seat of Daenerys Targaryen.” Varys explained. 

  The Tyrell boy was hardly an issue. It was true that the oaf Mace Tyrell had wed his only daughter to Cersei’s boy king, but House Tyrell were opportunists, they could be bought easily enough. 

  “How do you know Daenerys is coming west? Last we heard she had chosen to remain in Slaver's Bay.”

  “Because she has already taken Pentos. That is the reason that I am here sooner than expected. 

  “Something happened in the east, the slavers attacked her and she was roused. She took back the slave cities and then continued on to Volantis with a fleet of more than a hundred ships. After Volantis, word arrived that she had taken Lys and more as she moved her fleet west. Pentos was a natural choice, and one that I believe was intentional. I managed to find a ship within days of her arrival and based on the speed she has been traveling I do not put it past her to already be on her way.” Illyrio explained.

  This news could be taken two ways. It was either good that Daenerys had finally arrived with her dragons, or it would be another Dance. Only this time, Aegon had no dragon of his own to claim. That only meant that Jon would have to find a way to convince her that Aegon would be good for her own conquest. He needed to plan carefully on how to proceed. 

  “If that is the case, there is nothing we can do about it. Aegon will have to send her an invitation to visit him here once she arrives. In the meantime do we have eyes on the rest of the realm?”

  “Our prince is marching toward Oldtown if he hasn’t already reached there. Meanwhile Lord Tarly is still in King's Landing watching over the Queen and her ladies. We know that Dorne is on the fence.” 

  Jon shifted, he wasn't comfortable with the way that Doran had tried to play with Aegon. “He demands that his daughter Arianne be crowned Aegon’s queen in exchange for their support.” 

  Varys and Illyrio shared another look, “Perhaps he should accept.” Varys suggested. 

  “That is his decision, and he is not here to make it. What of the rest of the realm?” 

  He didn't have the patience for these men to plan Aegon’s life without his input. His prince had been very specific when he said that he would choose, and as far as Jon was aware, he still planned to present himself as a suitor for his aunt.

  Even though Jon had heard plenty of tales of Daenerys conquest of Essos, he had often wondered if she possessed her father’s disposition. Aegon was nothing like Aerys, and Jon hoped that he could bring a bit of balance to the Princess’s life. Still it did them no good to make plans when Aegon himself wasn't here to participate. 

  “There has been no news from the Riverlands, House Frey has gone quiet. On the other hand, the Vale of Arryn rides North. And there is news from Oldtown that Aemon Targaryen has finally died on his way from the Wall to Oldtown. There is apparently a new recruit currently sent from the Wall to train as his replacement.”

  “What of the North?” Jon asked. “What sends the Vale north.”

  There was a rustle of fabric behind him, and Jon didn't need to look back to know that Lemore had edged closer to their conversation. Something about it always managed to catch her interest, even when they had been in hiding across the Narrow Sea.

  “House Bolton has been placed in control of the North. The last report that I received only stated that they were preparing for a battle between House Bolton and Stannis Baratheon. There has been no word since, from inside Stannis’ camp or from Winterfell.” Varys informed him. 

  He didn't expect much from the North, especially with House Stark finally falling from power. He knew that Roose Bolton was known for his methods of torture. But he didn't believe that the Bolton’s would particularly care who sat the Iron Throne as long as they remained in control of their territory. Stannis would be another matter altogether. Let them hope for now that Stannis was defeated in battle, that would make it much easier for Aegon later on. 

  “Could you tell us more about the boy?” Illyrio asked, Jon knew that he would. His obsession with Aegon had never abated over the years. 

  “As you know, Doran wants his blood on the Iron Throne. With Elia dying before she could be Queen, Doran believes that his family was robbed. He said that the realm believe’s Aegon dead, that Arianne could legitimize his claim in a way that no other could.”

  “Again, I council that Aegon consider this offer. Doran has a point.” Varys said.

  “But what about Daenerys? You told the boy that he would be wed to his aunt, he chose to sail early so that he could offer her the Seven Kingdoms as her dowry.” Jon reminded both men.

  Varys sighed.

   “I’m afraid that Daenerys has not come here with the intention of consolidating power with our prince…” they way that Illyrio said our sounded possessive.

  Shaking his head Jon took the time to remind both men of something they must have forgotten. “Daenerys has no right to the Iron Throne over Aegon. He is his father's trueborn son.”

  “Yes,” Varys agreed hesitantly. “...but there are some who will whisper that Aerys disinherited Elia’s son.”

  The words were spoken delicately, but they enraged Jon even still. “Aerys was a full blown madman by the time he sent Queen Rhaella away, she would have never crowned Viserys if she had known that her own Grandson had never been murdered.” 

  No Lord would agree to pass over the rightful heir in favor of a woman. Especially on the word of a king who burned men alive for his own amusement. “At the time, Viserys was the only male option left to crown. That is not the case any more. Sons always come before daughters except in Dorne.”

  “Yes but this daughter is bringing with her three breathing dragons. What good will the Golden Company be against them?” Illyrio asked and Varys agreed. 

  “Nothing, which is why we marry them as planned, Daenerys can only ride one, the other two have need of a Rider and Aegon possesses the right bloodline. When the prince returns from Oldtown, we will arrange for them to meet.” Jon answered, closing the topic. He would not make Aegon and Daenerys enemies if he didn't have to. Perhaps the two of them had given up hope that they could unite, but Aegon was more than worthy of her. 

  Daenerys was used to barbarians and Meereenese noblemen, in comparison, Aegon would be a breath of fresh air. The two of them could share their power and she would not have to debase herself any longer to hold on to it.

  “There is another option, My Lords.” Lemore finally spoke, gaining each of their attention. 

  “What would that be?” Jon asked, turning to face her. 

  “Send me to Dragonstone. I am a septa, not sworn to any specific faction or another, and the Tyrell boy will likely allow me to enter. This way when the princess arrives, I can present our prince in a favorable light, help her see that he is not her enemy.”

  Jon thought about it, he had no actual use for Lemore aside from the fact that she and Aegon were quite close, but if she could deliver their boy a dragon and a worthy consort, Doran would have no choice but to throw his support behind his nephew, and Arianne could continue to plan for when she became Lady of Dorne. If anything this journey to Oldtown would help the two of them figure out where they stand with one another, and if Aegon decides for Arianne, at least there won't be hostility between the prince and his aunt.

  Lemore looked invested in this, he had never noticed her to have any interest in anything that didn't involve Aegon so her determination came as a surprise to him.

  Varys took the time to assess Lemore while they all waited for him to reply. Whatever he found Jon couldn't decide, but he seemed to be in agreement when he nodded in Jon’s direction.

  “If I am to agree, there must be boundaries. Things that you can speak of and things you cannot. Also, you must speak with her in private, I don't want anything making it's way back to King’s Landing until we are prepared to take it.”

  Namely, Highgarden. With Loras on Dragonstone, and Mace and his brood in King’s Landing, that would leave Willas there to protect their lands. The Reach controls the food supply, and Jon had men and Elephants to feed. Not to mention that the Tyrell fortune was no small matter. 

  “I will be careful. I know what is at stake.” Lemore promised. 

  Jon stood, “Very well.” He nodded, turning to face his guests for the time being. “If that is all, I have things I need to attend to. Please make yourselves at home until our Prince returns.”

  There were, of course, things that Jon needed to take care of, but mostly he just wanted to get away from these men. “Lemore, I will call you later to discuss your departure. For now you have permission to prepare for your journey. I will send for a ship to be prepared.”

  The septa nodded and then made her way to the door, opening it to allow him to exit before her. “Please let us know if there is anything you need. I'll make sure that there are servants to prepare suitable rooms for you both.” 

  Jon stepped through without a second thought once Lemore was finished addressing Illyrio and Lord Varys. He had a feeling that there was another reason that Varys had chosen to leave King’s Landing. This trial worried him more than it should, otherwise he would still be there skulking through the shadows. Perhaps Jon had time to sneak into the capitol himself. It would at least put some distance between himself and those two. He could be back before Aegon returns if he sailed with Lemore.

  The timing would have to be perfect though…

Beneath the Hallowed Earth

   Lyanna had learned at the same time as her sons kingsguards that her brother was on his way to find her, though she feared that she might not survive the birth of her daughter. The bleeding hadn't slowed in the weeks since Dany’s birth and each day Lyanna felt her life slipping further away from her. 

  She had made Arthur promise to not harm her brother, even though she knew Ned would probably blame the Knight in his grief. After all, this whole ordeal had begun with a lie, and her father and eldest brother had already paid the price for that lie. Even still, Arthur swore his oath to her. 

  She spent as much time as she could with her babes, locked away in Rhaegar’s round tower, nestled between the Red Mountains of Dorne. And in the hours that her babes slept, Lyanna continued the tradition that Rhaegar had begun so many moons prior while they were still safely hidden away in Starfall. 

  She had spent hours upon hours writing to her children, all in the hope that whenever they felt alone that they would always have these letters, these little pieces of their mother and their father to hold on to. 

  Lyanna poured out her heart to them. To Vallyria, her beautiful dragon princess who had been kissed by ice. She bid her to be brave and to always care for her siblings. To her son, her darling prince Aegon, ever quiet and independent, with her coloring and his father's disposition. Even at nearly a year, he seemed as if he carried the weight of humanity on his little shoulders, just like Rhaegar. There were no words that could adequately prepare him for his destiny, so instead she told him how much she loved him and she promised that she would always watch over him. She wrote to Dany as well, her beautiful baby girl who was born amidst a storm that would eventually claim the lives of both her parents. Lyanna wished her to be brave in the face of uncertainty and she encouraged her to always have faith in herself. She knew well what it was like to face the world without a mothers guidance, and she prayed for all of her children’s sake that they would know nothing but love. That they would find strength in each other, the way she had with her own brothers.

  By the time her hand had become too weak to write any longer, Lyanna was more sure of her fate than ever. Her tower chamber smelled of death; her death. The same precursor that told her that her own mother’s time was at an end.

  Setting the pen aside, she turned to face the night sky outside of the tower, where the Sword of the Morning shone proudly over the Red Mountains. She wished to see the Ice Dragon, the one that always pointed the way north, but she was too far away from home. The Sword of the Morning would do just fine.

  Lyanna closed her eyes picturing her home, the grey walls and the Godswood, the Heart Tree where she and Benjen had practiced sword fighting whenever their father had been busy tending to his Lord's business. She thought of the crypts, where her brother and father’s sepulchers would be placed, and she hoped that Ned would find it in his heart to bring her home too, so that she might also rest beside them and their ancestors.

  A rustling at the entrance of her chambers had her turning her head, though her response was delayed by the fatigue she was feeling. Wylla had taken the babes to the nursery hours ago, perhaps they had stirred and Wylla was returning with them, she thought, attempting to straighten herself in the bed.

  “Don't stir yourself dear,” an odd, and yet ancient voice came from the darkness. It carried with it a hint of the north, and Lyanna felt instantly at ease.

  “He—hello, who’s there?” Lyanna croaked, her throat dry as the desert that surrounded them. Perhaps the fever had driven her to madness.

  A moment, possibly more passed and no reply came, so Lyanna leaned back against the headboard, relaxing into her pillows  once more. She wished Ned were here already.

  Out of the darkness, a cold hand came to rest upon her own. On instinct, Lyanna made to recoil but the hand gripped her tighter. It was old and as white as freshly fallen snow, gnarled by age, it resembled the spindly branches of a weirwood. Lyanna wanted to call out to her protectors, but she could not find her voice, and the coldness of this stranger's hand felt like the kiss of Winter upon her flesh, and she couldn't help but to revel in it. She almost felt well.

  “Do not waste what little energy you have left, child. For you will need it for what is to come.” 

  Out of the darkness stepped a woman. Red eyes greeted her first, and Lyanna took in the rest of her appearance once her shock wore off. She had long thinning white hair that nearly brushed the floor, though she was scarcely larger than a child. She was old, older than anyone Lyanna had ever seen, even Old Nan would be considered a maiden in comparison if Lyanna had to guess. 

  “I—I’m dying,” Lyanna finally confessed out loud. She wasn't quite sure why she felt the need. Had her gods finally come for her?

  The woman narrowed her eyes and then she nodded. “Yes, child. I suppose that is true. The girl who had come to this tower in search of safety will not be leaving here as she was.”

  Lyanna sighed, “Then why have you come?”

  At her question, the crone smiled. “I have come to prepare you.” Reaching into her robes, the crone pulled out what appeared to be a branch. Lyanna had no idea what the woman intended to do, and before she could ask, the woman began to move about her room, picking up random items and moving them back to her bedside. 

  Lyanna was too weak to follow along, but she believed that the crone was creating some sort of paste. She scrunched her face up, the thought of ingesting anything turned her stomach. “What is that?” she asked just as the crone gestured for her to eat what she had prepared. 

  “Blood and bone,” the old woman replied, shoving a spoonful into Lyanna’s mouth and holding her chin in a tight grip. “Now swallow.”

  Eyes wide, Lyanna could only obey, she hadn't the energy to protest anyway. The first swallow was the hardest; bitter the paste was, and she would have retched straight away had the woman not been scrutinizing her carefully. The next bite was better, then almost sweet, it tasted of honey and new-fallen snow. Like pepper and cinnamon, like Rhaegar, and finally like the last kiss her mother had ever given her.

  Before she knew it, the bowl was empty and her eyes were heavy. “Sleep now child, the gods are awaiting you. We shall see eachother again when it is time.” The woman said cryptically. 

  “But Ned, my babes,” Lyanna weakly called out.

  “You will see them again, now sleep. The gods await.”

  Lyanna did sleep, though for how long she couldn't say. When she next opened her eyes it was to the sound of swords clashing outside the tower. She could remember nothing of her dreams, it was as if time had passed in naught but a moment. 

  Her brother had finally come, and by the sound of things, Arthur had broken his oath. She strained to sit herself up, but her attempt was in vain. She was weakened from the fever and she knew right away that the blood loss hadn't slowed. 

  Wylla sat in the corner of the room, Dany safely clutched in her arms while Vallyria and Aegon sat on the floor playing quietly with one another. She could see fear written all over her face and Lyanna felt pity for the woman. 

  “He will not harm you, worry not. My brother is not the monster that Robert is.” Lyanna whispered just loud enough for Wylla to hear.

  “But—but the children, your grace, what about the children?”

  The clash of steel continued to sing outside of Rhaegar’s tower and she realized that they were losing precious moments. She needed to see her brother one last time. She needed him to know the truth.

  It was now, or it would be never, and never was not an option. Summoning whatever strength she could muster, Lyanna inhaled deeply and then she screamed so loud that she swore the old King's in their winter thrones had stirred.

  “Ned..!”

  It felt like ages before she could make out the sound of feet climbing the stairs. She had no strength left inside of her to call out again. The blood was all around, more death. Death was all she had given to her children, death would be all she had left to give her brother. 

  And then he was there. 

  Her heartbeat began to beat harder within her chest. “Lyanna…”

  “Brother, is it really you?” She half cried at the sight of him. Battle weary and aged by stress and worry.

  “It's really me, Lya.” Ned said, rushing to her side and placing his sword at the end of the bed to take her hands into his. She knew that he could see the blood, that he could smell the death surrounding them. He had likely fought in half a dozen battles by now, he was no stranger to what was happening, no amount of winter roses could ever cover that truth.

  “I don't want to die, Ned.” She was crying now.

  “Shhhh, don't talk like that. You won't die Lya. You just need some water,” he looked around frantically. “Someone bring her some water!”

  Lyanna reached for him now, “Ned, listen. I need you to listen to me. There are letters, in the trunk beside my bed. There are things inside the trunk for them as well. From their father.” Her brother looked at her, confused, but she couldn't allow him to distract her. 

  “We ran, Ned. I loved him and he, I. He protected me from his father, and we were married on the Isle of Faces with the gods to bear witness. My children are innocent. Promise me you will not give them to Robert. He will kill them just as he killed the others. Promise me Ned.” 

  Her strength was nearly depleted, and she could scarcely keep her eyes open. Tears fell in rivers down her brother's sun kissed face as he searched the room for the topic of discussion. She barely registered Wylla standing and the rustle of her sheets as her twins climbed up onto the bed. They knew somehow that this would be the last time that she would see them. 

  Ned nodded, it was slight, but Lyanna knew that he had given her his word. Her honorable brother would see that her children were taken care of and kept safely away from those who would harm them.

  “His name is Aegon, his twin is Vallyria and the baby is Dany—Daenerys. Please keep my greatest treasures safe. Protect them for me.” She whispered weakly before closing her eyes for a final time.

   Blue eyes opened somewhere far in the North. Far beyond the wall, further than most men ever travel. He was still trying to process everything he had seen, that he had witnessed. How was it even possible for him to experience his Aunts last days as if he were her himself? What had that old woman wanted with her? Did his father even know? 

   “What did you do with my aunt?” If the paste was meant to marry him to the weirwood, what use was it for his aunt?

  “That is a lesson for another time. We’ve spent too long swimming down that particular stream, eventually it will open to the sea, and I will not be able to recover you.” his mentor replied, his voice dismissive.

  The same thing Bloodraven always said. Don't spend too much time beneath the sea. How could he possibly know what would happen if he had never even tried?

  Bran had been here training for what felt like years, he hadn't seen the sun since he entered this cave and it felt like it had been just as long since he had seen his friends. Even Hodor had been spending more time with Meera and Jojen, wherever they were. Summer too was spending more and more time outside the cave, running with his new pack.

  “When can I go find Jon?” Bran asked instead.

  “Jon Snow is dead, but you will not be here forever. However, before you leave you’ll need to learn.” Bloodraven answered.

  He kept forgetting that Jon no longer went by the name his father had given him. “Learn what?” He asked with exasperation.

  “Everything.” Bloodraven responded before sinking back into his seat. 

  Bran had no time to press the issue as he found himself back inside the weirwood, only this time he was some place he recognized.

   Winterfell.

  He had looked out through these eyes many times only now, rather than the past, he was watching the present unfold in front of him. Though he had never met her in person, Bran knew that he was looking into the eyes of his cousin Vallyria. She seemed as if she were sad, and something twisted inside of him. 

‘She just learned that her father is still alive, and while I know that she will overcome this, Val had already decided how she felt about her parents when she believed them both dead.’

   Bran opted to watch his cousin rather than turn to speak with his mentor. There were things that Bloodraven was keeping from him, and until he started being honest, Bran was determined to make his own assessments. 

   ‘Vallyria...’  Bran whispered into the wind, wanting to draw her attention. She looked up and around following the direction of his voice as it fluttered over the leaves of the weirwood and throughout the godswood. Her blue-grey eyes reminded him of the way his father's eyes would shift. She was lovely, a different kind of beauty from Sansa and his mother. His cousin held a strength in her gaze that Arya possessed as well, an inner strength that didn't rely on physical beauty alone. Though Val was clearly lovely to look upon, there was also something different about her. 

   ‘Why have you brought me here?’  

  ‘Do you remember your first flight?’ The crow returned.

  “Fly or die? Yes, I remember.’ Bran thought.

  “Winter is coming Brandon Stark, Winter is coming and she will be the one to claim her.”

  ‘What do you mean?’ He asked again.

  ‘Only a child touched by ice can truly master Winter, and Vallyria is the first dragon in history whose heart is as cold as her eyes.’

  He was no longer looking out through the eyes of his family weirwood, instead he was soaring high above the north, the true north . Past the Frozen Shore, and over the Frostfangs that now stood empty and deserted now that the majority of the Freefolk had moved beyond the Wall. North they flew, past the lands of Thenn until all that lay ahead of him were the Lands of Always Winter. Once or twice he spotted a herd of elk moving through the trees, a shadow cat, even Summer and his pack running through the forest. Men were more scarce, and yet there were even some of those still beyond the Wall, though he doubted they would be here for much longer, as long as they made it to the Wall before the army of the dead caught up with them.

  ‘They will.’

  Mountains rose in legions before him, their snow capped peaks jutting out like daggers. Each possessing blade upon blade of ice spires that pulled at his memory. They flew for what felt like ages until the mountains faded away and then, at what he could only assume was the end of the world, the ground gave way to the Shivering Sea where mists rose up tangibly thick and grey. Flashes of white light lit up from within at random, followed by what sounded like thunder. 

  ‘ They come, Brandon Stark.’

   ‘Who comes?’

  ‘Winter. The Others are a threat to them as well, and now that Winter has finally come south of the Wall, she can lead them south.’

  He still didn't understand what Bloodraven was implying. He saw nothing aside from a storm.

  ‘She is the storm.’

  Out of the mist came a creature of living ice with eyes of pale blue crystal, and when it breathed, winter followed. Bran squeezed his eyes shut in terror as he realized what he was seeing, an automatic reaction for something his mind wasn't prepared for. 

   ‘Open your eyes, Brandon.’ 

  Bran did, only this time he was looking through the eyes of another. Three men sat around a large table. Men he had never seen before. Two of the men seemed to be delivering a report of some sort. 

   ‘Remember…’ the crow whispered and the body sat forward. “Send me to Dragonstone.”

  At once images began to bombard his mind. Riding horseback with his brothers… though Bran had no memory of doing this with Robb and Rickon. Blinding golden light, this one he did remember. It came whenever he thought about his fall. The images came faster and faster.

   “Brandon, Wake up.” The crow commanded. 

  The problem was, Bran was not swimming. He knew that he was back in the cave, he could feel the earth upon his arms. Feel the roots grasped between his fingers. The things he was seeing were not visions, they were memories. 

Just his memories. The only question he had was, why had the crow wanted him to forget Jaime Lannister?

Chapter Text

   Daenerys  

     The voyage from Pentos hadn't taken nearly as long as the voyage from Qarth to Astapor, or from Volantis to Pentos. And now, for the first time since her birth she supposed, Daenerys was looking at the island that her ancestors had called home after leaving Valyria behind. 

  Like her Great-by-however-many Grandfathers; Aenar. Daenerys too was sailing west with her entire household and dragons and six eggs that would one day hatch. Though her children were not yet the size of Balerion the Black Dread, they were large enough now to protect themselves and they had experienced battle more than a number of times as well.

  Overhead, Viserion called out in joy as she raced toward the island, her eggs secured around her neck in a satchel that one of her handmaidens crafted over the course of their journey. Her own ships were still a while off, but all the reports she had received showed that there was hardly a host at all present on the island. 

  Marwyn had spent their journey catching her up on current Westerosi events as well as customs, all things she would have to familiarize herself with if she ever hoped to rule her father's kingdom. Apparently white ravens had flown from the Citadel long before Marwyn had set sail in search of her and that meant that Winter was finally falling upon the realm. 

  Now that they were in range, Dragonstone seemed to be shrouded in thick grey mists, but there was still no snow upon the ground. It was explained to her that winter is different in different parts of the realm, and sometimes snow wouldn’t make it this far south so early in the season.

  She had to admit that she found the chill coming off the Blackwater biting, and she couldn’t begin to imagine what winter would feel like once it finally reached her.  

  She had sent men ahead to scout the island, and her ships were preparing to drop anchor by the time they returned bearing a welcome from the island's custodians. Her advisors warned that it might be a trick, but Daenerys wasn’t so sure. Instead she called for Drogon to retrieve her. 

  If everything she had heard about Westeros was true, there weren't enough men to fully man the island citadel. Whatever meager force that happened to be encamped were more likely to lay down their arms than to stage a proper defense.

  The three of them, including her trusted knight, joined Rhaegal and Viserion in flight and the four of them flew over the island, taking in the sights. The giant spire of the Dragonmont; the dormant volcano that her ancestors dragons had once laired within, it took her breath away. In all of her time in Essos, she had never seen a volcano, neither live or dormant. Even when she was crossing the Summer Sea on her way to Volantis, they hadn't been able to stop in Valyria, so seeing the island built by her ancestors meant everything to her.

  In her imagination, she had never been able to do justice to the image of Dragonstone that Viserys had painted. She never could have pictured the three curtain walls that protected the main citadel. All three were decorated with basilisks, griffins and wyverns, nor could she have imagined the port town that had sprouted up inside the inner curtain wall.

  The artistry that went into the design was like nothing she had ever seen before. More dragons than she could count made up the outer design of the main keep. There appeared to be holds shaped into the black stone that Dany assumed were for the dragons to perch upon if called. 

  In the center of the keep stood a great tower, one she could only assume served as the central keep, and the topmost portion, Daenerys knew had to be the famous Drum Tower that housed the Conqueror's famous painted table.

   The island itself was massive, covered by rocky landscape and vast mountains that surrounded the Dragonmont and lent it an eerie appearance. There were hardly any trees that she could find, though they did exist in small numbers, sprouting here and there around the island. The rocky regions covered mostly everything, making it nearly impossible for her Dothraki to take up shelter on the main island. 

  Eventually they could carve out trails that could lead to the less mountainous regions, but for now, she would have to make space inside the main castle or on the mainland. She would not simply allow them to remain upon the ships they had been sailing in for the past three moons, and their horses could not eat the rocky terrain that Dragonstone had to offer them. 

  From above, the castle appeared to be well fortified, it's innermost wall was just as thick and impressive as the previous two. Made of melted black stone and formed into an enormous dragon with its wings spread out behind it. In the center, a giant dragon head served as the main gates, it's massive jaws stretched wide to allow visitors entry. However, before one could enter they would first have to traverse the long serpentine steps that extended from the port to the main entrance. 

  The port itself was tucked between the mountainous cliffs that jutted out from the gullet of the Blackwater. There were homes that dotted the beaches and a small town that Daenerys assumed was where the men and women who lived on the island worked and conducted their trade. Even as she flew above them, she could see people below working the nets and crates that held their watery treasures.

  What she noticed most of all was the smell of smoke and brimstone that hung ever present over the island. Something that she knew to be a sign that dragons had once resided here, as it was the same smell that had been present inside the catacombs and on Dragonstone in the Dothraki Sea.

  When her men had finally reached the shore, Dany signaled to Drogon to take them down, while Rhaegal and Viserion disappeared within the Dragonmont. A small group of men had assembled at the top of the winding stairs that led from the port to the main castle and that is where she directed Drogon to take her and Ser Barristan. 

  She knew that her advisors would be angered that she had chosen this route, but she had Ser Barristan and Drogon with her. What harm could a handful of guards do to her with both of them there to protect her?

  The large dragon gate at the bottom of the serpentine stairs had been ruined in some previous conflict, as such it remained open for her men to enter, and the Unsullied ascended the stairs without pause. She waited for them to reach the halfway point before Drogon decided on a place to land, putting her more than a hundred feet away from their welcome party. 

  Out in the Blackwater, Victarion’s fleet remained vigilant, surrounding the island from all sides to protect them from possible ships planning to stop them from claiming the island, and also placing a chokehold on the mouth of the Blackwater.

  Now that she was here, she didn't want people traveling to and from Kings Landing without her knowledge. Wherever Euron Greyjoy was, she hoped for his sake that he had managed to bypass her patrols on their way through the Narrow Sea, maybe he had slipped by undetected when they had spotted the remnants of the Redwyne fleet sailing south days ago. Either way she would know as soon as she received a report from Lord Aurane.

  Drogon chose a patch of blackened rocks, just west of the stairway, outside the castle walls. Why he decided upon this spot, she wasn't really sure. Perhaps he felt a kinship to this place, maybe there was a connection to these cliffs that Daenerys was unaware of, but it was large enough for all of her children to nest upon, and set far enough away from the people who occupy the island that she didn't have to worry about someone being harmed by accident.

  “Are you sure about this?” Ser Barristan asked as he reached for her to help her dismount.

  Daenerys smiled at her old knight as she came to place her feet firmly upon the ground. “This is our home Ser Barristan, where else would we go?”

  “What I meant was, are you certain you wish to meet with these custodians before the rest of your Unsullied make it up the stairs?”

  Daenerys turned her gaze toward the group of men that were awaiting her. “You know this island better than I do, what are the chances that they have an army hiding out here somewhere?”

  Barristan once more scanned their surroundings, “Not very likely,” he admitted, placing his hand on the pommel of his blade. 

  Daenerys nodded, “Then let us go and meet our welcoming party?” She started forward and her Queensguard fell in line behind her. A few moments later she could hear the sound of Drogon stalking behind them at a distance and the thought made her smile. 

  Only a handful of people were positioned at the mouth of the gates that lead into the castleyard. Two in grey robes, which Barristan pointed out were likely castle maesters, sworn to the realm and not to one specific House or another. Three men stood next to them, swords fashioned at their hips. Daenerys thought they might be men-at-arms that had come to defend the island from invaders. There was a man who was seated, this one looked as if he had been put through the seven hells and drug back out again. His hair was a mess of brown curls that framed his face. He would have been pretty if it weren’t from the old burn scars that covered his face at random. She wondered what had happened to him to have left him in such a state. There was a blanket spread over his lower half with the image of a rose embroidered onto the fabric. 

  “That is Ser Loras Tyrell.” Barristan said, answering her unspoken question. 

  “And the woman?” Daenerys asked.

  Beside her, Ser Barristan went silent, causing her to adjust her stride so that she could assess his expression. “Do you know her?”

  “I cannot say that I do, although she does seem familiar,” he answered, though his brow furrowed together as if he were attempting to pull a memory from thin air.

  Before her knight could announce her, everyone present bent the knee, all save for the Tyrell boy who was seated in a chair, instead he bowed his head in deference to her.

  “Presenting to you, Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, Queen of Meereen, Astapor, Yunkai, Volantis, and Pentos, Rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Mother of Dragons, Breaker of Chains, and the future Protector of the Realm.” Barristan announced her, doing his best to remember all of her titles. She missed Missandei, not because her scribe had mastered announcing her, she missed her presence, and she had never imagined coming back to Westeros without the young girl at her side. 

  “Welcome to Westeros, Your Grace,” said the man with the burns. “Dragonstone, is of course, yours.”

  Daenerys nodded, and approached. The younger man took her hand into his shaky one before chastely kissing the back of it. “Can I ask where the rest of your men are? I was told that House Tyrell was joined by marriage to the current and previous king. Is that correct?”

  If the man was alarmed by her question, he made no indication. “Your Grace would be correct about my sister, but perhaps we could discuss the more intimate details in private? As it stands, I should not be out of bed but I wanted to be here to welcome you and your men in person. The castle is secure, my men are gathering inside the courtyard to present themselves to you, I give you my oath that you will receive no resistance.”

  “Could you at least give the Queen a number?” Barristan added, not willing to leave things to chance.

  Ser Loras nodded. “There are no more than two hundred men on the island. The rest returned to Kings Landing after the castle was taken and the Redwyne fleet set sail for the Shield Islands almost a sennight past to defend their homes from the Ironborn invading their lands.”

  “I accept your terms, Ser. Are there any other people inside the castle that are not among your party? What of the previous custodian left here by Stannis?” She asked for good measure. She had definitely expected more resistance when coming home from her exile, but it appeared that this boy had taken care of that issue for her. Still, if there were Baratheon loyalists left on the island, she wanted to know.

  “There are men being kept beneath the castle in the dungeons. No more than thirty. There were more, but they died in the taking of the castle.” The injured knight replied honestly. Daenerys could see that he still had a long recovery ahead of him and she decided that she would not keep him any longer than necessary.

  By now her men were nearing the top of the serpentine stairs, so Daenerys nodded to Ser Barristan and the two of them followed their host the rest of the way into the castle yard. Drogon, not wanting to be left out, scaled the inner wall that separated the castle wards from one another and perched himself so that he could see everything that went on down below. There was little doubt that her child was more than comfortable moving about the island and the thought brought a warmth to her chest that beat back any lingering chill that she had felt coming off the Blackwater.

  The moment she entered the yard, the banner that flew the Stag House Baratheon and the Lion of House Lannister was dropped from the battlements. Men atop the Drum Tower struggled and then dropped a black banner that depicted the three-headed-dragon of her house. The banner must have been as old as she was, but the red and black stood out boldly against the black stone tower. Her heart thumped with determination. 

  Inside the yard, there were multiple racks that held all manner of weaponry, along with the men who Ser Loras had mentioned. As soon as they noticed her and Drogon however, each of them dropped to their knees. 

  It all seemed too easy if she were being honest. Why would the brother of the current Queen surrender Dragonstone without so much as a fight? 

  “While I appreciate the cooperation, might I ask what inspired you all to lay down your arms without a challenge?”

  They continued forward toward the main keep, passing by the Tyrell men on their knees. The injured knight shared a glance with her and then the woman who had accompanied him to welcome her. “Because two days ago, Septa Lemore arrived here from Storms End telling us about your impending arrival. She was very detailed in the information she provided about your homecoming, and she was very convincing of why it would be in our best interest to welcome you and your armies.”

  Daenerys hummed, taking in what he had just said to her. Her violet eyes scanned the woman in question, noticing the way she attempted to not stand out amongst her companions. “Might I ask how it is that you were aware of my arrival?” The woman was uncharacteristically pretty, in her late thirties at the very least. Dark eyes and a long face, with brown hair that she kept tied back and hidden for the most part beneath her shawl.

  “It’s a bit of a story, your Grace. But I would happily provide the details to you, afterall I came here specifically to gain an audience with you.” The septa responded kindly.

  Something about her name pulled at the strings of Daenerys’ memory. She had heard the name before, and recently, but where? 

  “Pardon me, but did you say you came here from Storms End?” Ser Barristan asked, his silver brows furrowing together in thought. 

   Storms End… they had just been given a report from Lord Waters at the Stepstones that the Golden Company had landed in Cape Wrath and were attempting to take the Stormlands. 

  She turned once more to get a better look at the woman in question. “You traveled with the Golden Company.” It wasn't so much a question, Tyrion had mentioned this woman to her. 

  What was it that he had said? 

  “I did, as well as Lord Jon Connington and his ward.” Lemore confessed. 

  At the mention of said ward, Daenerys clenched her teeth. “Aegon, isn’t it?”

  Dark eyes widened in shock. “How do you know?”

  “I met a friend of yours, someone who was clever enough to deduce for himself what his true identity was.” 

  “Lord Tyrion… he’s alive?” Lemore asked in shock. 

  Daenerys nodded. “Indeed he is, and on his way back to Westeros as we speak,” she added. She wanted to speak more with this woman, but she also wanted to get on with the homecoming. “I would like to talk with you more, but first I think it would be better if I allow myself to get settled. For now, Ser Loras, I am going to have my men hold yours until I can be certain that they are not a danger to myself or my men. I do hope you can understand.”

  “We expect nothing less, and provided that our own conversations go well, they will gladly swear themselves to your cause.” Ser Loras returned, shocking Daenerys momentarily. 

  What exactly did he intend to happen during their discussions that could change the fact that House Tyrell had married into the House that had masterminded her own Houses downfall, murdered her father and assisted in the murder of her eldest brothers wife and children? In addition to their inaction during the usurper's rebellion, they were already treading on dangerous ground.

  Aside from not stripping them of their lands and titles, the only promise she could make to this boy in relation to his family was her word that she wouldn’t execute them for their past decisions, and she wasn't entirely sure that she wanted to go that route. Of course, that was not a proper way to enter into negotiations, so she kept those thoughts to herself for the time being. 

  At this point, her unsullied had finally made their way into the castle yard and she was more comfortable with entering inside the main keep. Drogon also seemed adamant to follow her around, and she was immediately proven correct when she noticed him scaling the outer portion of the central tower. 

  Barristan took the initiative to call for a handful of her unsullied to escort them inside, and once she was better protected, she nodded for her hosts to continue. 

  Once they entered, Ser Loras excused himself in favor of his chambers, where she expected he had been trying to heal from his injuries. 

  The first thing she noticed were the red doors that opened up into the Great Hall of the Stonedrum. Though not the same red doors that she remembered from her childhood, the sight brought a sense of peace to her that she hadn't felt in years.

The entrance itself was set in the shape of a dragon laying on its belly; she supposed the red doors were meant to represent passing through dragonfire. A clever detail, she thought. 

  The hall was large, though not as large as her audience hall had been inside the great pyramid in Meereen. She was sure that it was definitely spacious enough to host the people that would be coming to visit in the coming months. 

  Though little remained from when her family held this island holdfast, there were still things that no amount of purging could rid the castle of. She was certain that the usurper and his brothers had tried to rid themselves of the reminder of anything Targaryen, and yet they could not part with this castle, nor the magic that had been used to craft every intimate detail. 

  Upon the raised dais at the back of the hall, a singular chair sat unoccupied. From where she stood it was also wrought in the shape of a dragon, though not of the same black stone. An addition that had come later, Daenerys assumed. 

  As though he had plucked her question from her mind, Ser Barristan spoke the answer to her unasked question. “The seat of Jaehaerys Targaryen. He ruled from Dragonstone until he reached his age of majority. The chair is said to have been carved from dragonglass that had been mined on this very island.”

  Daenerys approached, listening carefully to her knight's words. “Dragonglass?”

  “A form of heated rock that is found near volcanoes. Rapid heating and cooling of the rock has this effect and Dragonstone is rich with it.” One of the maesters explained.

  Daenerys turned to the man and nodded, “Thank you,” she said with a warm smile. She had definitely missed out on much of her formal education while she and Viserys had been on the move. She liked to believe that if she had been given the chance she would have been a great scholar, likely spending her time inside books like her brother Rhaegar.

  The seat of Jaehaerys I was also shaped like a dragon crouching, instead of stairs that would lead up to the seat, it's head was angled toward the ground. Daenerys stepped around it and ran her fingers over the shiny black surface, it indeed looked like frozen fire. The back of the seat had been formed from the dragon's outstretched wings, which arched up and touched at the tips. A smaller dragon with wings spread was delicately etched into the backrest. There was nothing about the seat that looked comfortable, but there was no doubt that it belonged to this island as much as her dragons did.

  “Would you care to sit, your Grace?” Barristan said, motioning for her to claim her ancestors' royal seat. 

   Did she? This was the seat of the heir apparent, but was that seat hers? Has she earned her right to sit there yet? Not entirely if she were being honest yet. Dragonstone’s dowry was the crownlands, and she needed to ensure that the lands surrounding her were loyal to her and that she could trust them with her people’s safety. Once she secures their support, she will sit in her ancestors seat to welcome them.

  “There will be time for that later, I would like to see more of the castle first, and then I would like to take a moment to freshen up. After, we can make arrangements to get to know our hosts.” Daenerys' eyes wandered back to the septa and she couldn't help but smile at her kindly. 

  “Are there ravens still in the castle rookery?” She said, turning her attention to the two maesters.

  “Yes, of course there are, your grace. Is there a message you would like us to send for you?” The elder one replied, stepping forward. 

  “Many,” she smiled, turning back to the grand hall and gesturing for them to lead the way. 

  “When you are done showing me around, You can send someone to my chambers and I will tell you what I need from you.”

The Septa

     Lemore watched in silence as Daenerys Targaryen surveyed the castle of her ancestors. The Queen's expression remained impassive, but Lemore knew that she was as wonderstruck as she herself had been when she had taken in Dragonstone for the first time, just a few days previous.

  Dragonstone was a wondrous place, full of twisting stairs and dark passages. The walls were made of black rock that felt alive in Lemore’s opinion. It was said that the Valyrian Freehold had claimed this island as their westernmost outpost, centuries before the Doom came and claimed their civilization. The castle was forged through spell and dragonfire, and to say it was unique was a sure understatement. If it were true, House Targaryen had long since lost the ability to bend rock to their will, but that did not make this fortress any less impressive.

  It was clear to anyone that the castle had been robbed of its ancient artifacts, either that or they had been replaced with things that Stannis had brought with him from Storms End when Robert had gifted him the island after the death of Queen Rhaella. She hadn't really had a chance to search herself, and she wasn't entirely sure that it was her place to do so. That decision would be entirely up to Aegon and Daenerys when the time came. 

  Still, it was almost comforting to observe the Queen walk through the halls of her ancestors and pause to pull down the random banner of Stannis Baratheon’s burning heart.

  The last sennight had been difficult for Lemore, for reasons she wasn't sure. Her dreams had taken on a life of their own, tugging at the strings of her memory. Seeing his face was never a problem, she had seen him many times over the years that she had been teaching his son about Westeros. 

  It was the only thing she could do. She had failed him and everyone else, she didn't know how, but she knew this for sure. When she had heard about a Westerosi knight named Jon Connington fighting with the Golden Company in Essos, she had immediately gone to find him, knowing that he had once been close friends with the man she dreamt of. 

  Her journey took her to Pentos where she met Illyrio Mopatis first, and it was through Mopatis that she had been introduced to the young prince. She hadn't known at the time that Illyrio had also been searching for the Westerosi knight.

  She had never been sure of why she had become so attached to Aegon, but she was driven to care for the boy and eventually it filled the emptiness that she would feel whenever she was forced to see those haunting indigo eyes and silver hair in her dreams. Though she had never confessed to Connington about her dreams, somehow caring for the boy had become more important to her than seeking answers to the holes in her memory.

  She had woken up in the care of the faith, and without any idea of who she was she simply went about learning all she could. Her body had been marked from childbirth, but she remembered nothing of the child that she had carried within her womb. Unable to give the faith any information on who she was or where she had come from, she had chosen the name Lemore, and went on to become a septa. 

  Her training had been a fortunate blessing when Illyrio found her moving through the streets of Pentos asking for any information she could find about Lord Connington. He claimed to have been in the process of sending to the faith for a septa to instruct his charge, and he was wondering if she would be interested in assisting him while he helped her to locate her missing friend.

  From there, the rest had been history up until a few years ago when she had deduced her own identity through a series of conversations, though that had been as far back as her recollection had gone. Beyond her name, everything was a void. 

  It had been the prince's presence that filled the void she had known, and for that she wouldn’t abandon him. Lemore knew that she wasn't his mother, a woman always knows. But she felt responsible for the loss of his true mother, sister and father, and this was the least she could do to honor them. 

  It had been an easy choice for her to dedicate the remainder of her life to him. Still there were times when she would look into his eyes and she would see light grey, or nearly black, and right now she was looking into violet eyes that called to her. The feeling was surreal. 

  It seemed like her history was fighting to finally come to light. How odd that it would choose to do so in one of the darkest castles that she had ever visited in her life.

  There was something about the Queen that had made her heart skip, something that unnerved her, a feeling, something that made her feel like she had stared into the violet of her eyes before. But the memory wasn't there, at least not yet.

  Lately it had been images of her past, as a child, somewhere where the weather was less warm. She had siblings once, their faces were a blur and she didn't know their names but she was sure that they had been her family. They had been happy once, and that alone was comforting to her.

  For now though she could only follow along behind the Queen as she made her way through the central keep, while the maesters explained the layout and the history. Daenerys would occasionally run her hand over a decorative surface, a dragon tail or a claw that sprouted from the wall to hold a torch. Her curiosity was endless, and Lemore found herself learning as much as she could from the maesters as they spoke. 

  Once the Queen’s men came to her with their report of the island and the castle, she bid them thanks for being her escort and requested to be shown to her chambers. The two women parted ways there, but her mind kept drifting back to the dragon queen as she walked away. 

  Before her arrival, Lemore thought that she knew what she would say to Daenerys Targaryen, now though her thoughts fled her.

  Aegon was her nephew, and he deserved the right to be heard out. She had raised him nobly, with a sense of purpose and duty drilled into him. He was a prince of the people, someone that was worth three of the men his grandfather had been. Why now was she questioning whether she had come to serve her prince, or to trigger her memory further?

Daenerys

  By the time she was done bathing and writing her missives, half of her day was gone. There was so much to do now that she was here, but her first priority was definitely making sure that her people had someplace to settle.

  Ser Barristan reported to her as soon as the bulk of her people had made it to the island from their ships, including her new ladies. Marwyn had been placed in direct control over the rookery and normal maesters duties while they remained on the island, the other two would remain to assist him for the time being. She ordered that Gilly, the baby and Edric Storm be given rooms near hers in Seadragon tower, as she meant to get to know the boy over the coming days and she wanted to make sure that no harm came to him now that they were back in Westeros. The Lady Lynesse was given rooms in the eastern tower far away from her own rooms, along with some of the other noble born who had traveled from Lys and Volantis. It wasn't that Daenerys had no interest in getting to know them, but they weren’t central to her conquest of Westeros and therefore she wanted to give them the chance to venture out on their own. 

  She hadn't known when these chambers had been assigned to her that they had once been the chambers of Queen Visenya, but she loved them immediately once she was able to take in the view from her window terrace. 

  Everything about the castle had been built with dragons in mind, she realized. From the massive arched windows that separated the inside from the outside, to the size of the stone terrace that could comfortably accept one of her dragons at a time. There were more places than she could count for her dragons to perch, and even more for them to take shelter. A thought that eased her some when she thought about the risks that they would face now that they had sailed west. 

  Drogon had returned to her chambers with the dragon horn hours ago, and that too had found its place inside of her bedchamber. The horn looked as if it had always been meant to be here but she wasn't sure of how safe it would be. As long as there were people in the world desperate for power, that horn would be a threat to her children. She regretted not being able to destroy it in the fires of Mount Balerion, but that didn't mean that there weren’t other ways to secret it away.

  A knock at her door called her from her thoughts. “Your Grace, Septa Lemore is without. Would you like me to send her in?” Ser Barristan called.

  “That would be fine, I will be right out.” Daenerys returned as she stood from where she had been seated. She made sure to retrieve her letters before she headed to her adjoined solar where her knight was showing in her visitor.

  “Would you please see that these letters make their way to Marwyn. I would like them sent out with haste.” 

  Ser Barristan nodded and then retreated from her chambers, leaving the two women alone for the first time. 

Daenerys had to admit, something about this woman unnerved her. Not in a negative sense, but there was something about her that felt familiar though she was certain that the two of them had never spoken to each other before today.

  “Thank you for taking the time to meet with me, I hadn't believed gaining an audience with you would have been this easy…” the septa began nervously. 

  Daenerys raised an eyebrow. “And yet you sailed from Storms End all the same?”

 Lemore nodded. “And yet I sailed all the same,” she confirmed.

  She gestured toward a set of chairs and the two of them crossed the room to sit. “Tell me what made you abandon your charge in favor of Dragonstone. I am sure that the tale at the very least is an interesting one.”

  Lemore nodded, taking her seat and she fidgeted with her hands for a moment before meeting Daenerys’ eyes. “Interesting definitely, and long to boot. But I came because I wanted the chance to speak to you about Prince Aegon and I wanted to ask you if you would consider getting to know him.”

  “Assuming that he is who you claim him to be.” Daenerys said, not wanting to lead the woman on.

  Lemore looked at her quizzically for a moment, “Beg your pardon, my Queen, but who else would he be? I have been with the boy since he was six namedays, and I have had no reason to question that he is anyone other than who he is. The son of Prince Rhaegar and Princess Elia.” The septa said with a certainty that couldn't be questioned.

  Daenerys considered this, the woman seemed resolute to be sure but that didn't mean that she hadn't been lied to. “I’m willing to listen, septa. What can you tell me about this prince of yours.”

  The septa’s face lit up as she launched into her description of this mystery prince, filling in every detail of his looks and then moving on to his personality. He was apparently a tall youth with silver blond hair and blue eyes that would show their purple hues in some lights. As Daenerys had never seen Elia’s son before he died she could only assume that this description was on par with what the boy was said to have looked like.

  “Out of curiosity, were you ever able to see the young prince prior to the Rebellion?” Daenerys couldn't stop herself from asking.

  “I am afraid that I never had the pleasure.” Lemore admitted.

  “So then it is possible that this so-called prince might not be who you believe him to be?”

  This time the septa remained quiet. “Might I ask why it is that you are so determined to make Prince Aegon into an imposter?”

  Was she?

  “That is not my intention Septa Lemore, but you have to understand where I am coming from. I have lived my entire life on the run, hiding in one strange place after another. My brother Viserys went to the Golden Company seeking their help in reclaiming his throne, and they laughed at him and called him the Beggar King. Now some boy who I have never met before is claiming to be my long lost nephew and with no proof of his lineage, the Golden Company drops their contracts and joins this boy. It all seems rather suspicious.” Daenerys explained. 

  “The truth is, it would mean the world for me to find out that I have more family alive out there. That I am not the last of my House,” she confessed honestly, the problem that she had was more to do with her warnings. She knew that there would eventually be a pretender to the throne, and because of this she couldn't help but to keep her guard up.

  Lemore watched her, her mouth opening and closing as if she was struggling to say what she was thinking. For a moment the septa almost looked sad for her. “I don't know what will happen in the near future, but I am willing to discuss the matter further with you if you would like.” Daenerys added. 

  “That would be fine, your Grace,” Lemore agreed. 

  “Can I ask you how you learned that I was coming?” Something she was quite curious about if she were being honest.

  Lemore nodded, “Certainly, Lord Varys arrived from the Capitol with one of the prince's benefactors. A Pentoshi magister named Illyrio, I am sure you know him yourself, don't you?”

  Did she know him? Better than she would like, but the fact that Lemore did not suspect anything did not go unnoticed by Dany. “Indeed I do, and I am even familiar with Lord Varys though I cannot claim to have had the pleasure of meeting him. I was recently in Pentos and I had hoped to cross Magister Illyrio’s path while I was there but it seems as if he must have left before I arrived.”

  Lemore listened but didn't expand on her statement further so Daenerys took the initiative. “And what news did Lord Varys bring from Kings Landing? If you don't mind my asking.”

  “I don't mind at all. With any luck you will soon be back in the Capitol where you belong and it is only right that you know what is going on in Westeros.” Lemore said, shifting easily into her report. 

  Daenerys once more listened to all that Lemore had to say, specifically about Cersei and the current queen both facing trials from the faith of the Seven. “The only issue is, with most of the Reachlords being held up in King's Landing, the Reach has been left undefended and the Ironborn have taken advantage of this detail. It wouldn’t be so bad if they had just opted to raid Lannisport as they are normally like to do, but the Reach provides most of the food for the realm and with winter here, the Ironborn cannot be allowed to pillage unchecked. That is why when Lord Leyton sent his raven requesting aid, Aegon marched to Oldtown to provide relief from the raiders.”

  So the game was already beginning. “Does Dorne know that Aegon is here?” It might be a problem for her if Doran knew, considering the way things played out with Prince Quentyn.

  “They do, in fact Princess Arianne was sent by her father to meet Prince Aegon the moment we took Storms End.”

  Daenerys nodded, attempting to do her best to not lose her cool. Had she known sooner about Oldtown she would have split her fleet and flew there herself before they crossed through the broken arm of Dorne. By now she was too far away to reach them in time to make any difference and she wasn't entirely sure she could, with only one dragon and no additional support from her armies. Not to mention that she was loath to reveal her children so soon after they arrived. When she unleashes Drogon, Rhaegal and Viserion on the realm, she intends to do so because she has no other choice.

  The two women spoke a while longer, and Daenerys had to admit, ‘Prince Aegon’ aside, the septa was someone she rather liked. Although she was certain that she had much more to learn about the woman, she was definitely easy to be comfortable around.

  “What did you tell the Tyrell knight to convince him to surrender Dragonstone to me?” Daenerys asked, the question one that she had been puzzling over since she arrived.

  The septa shrugged, a gesture Daenerys found more relaxed than any the woman had displayed before. “Only that his family is facing extinction at the hands of Cersei Lannister. Without the help of you and your dragons, or the help of Prince Aegon, he would likely become the last of his line. I convinced him that at the very least, you will do what you can to make sure that no harm comes to his family when Kings Landing falls. It is more than he can expect if Cersei is left to her own devices.” 

  Dany nodded, “And how did you know that it would work?” Daenerys asked, surely she realized how much of a risk she had placed herself in by coming here alone.

  “I didn't, your Grace. But I had faith that whoever held the island would not harm a septa. From there it was just a matter of gaining an audience with Ser Loras before I could present him with more favorable terms. The knight of flowers is loyal to his sister and family, not the Lannisters. It is common knowledge that there is no saving Cersei, the only question is, would he be willing to let his family be destroyed for the sake of Lady Margery remaining a queen. 

  “And?” Dany asked.

  The septa smiled knowingly, “It turns out, apparently Ser Loras is not quite as ambitious as his lord father Mace Tyrell appears to be.”

  Daenerys was about to speak again when she was interrupted by what sounded like drums beating in the distance. “What is—do you hear that?” She said instead, her head twisting to the side so that she could hear better.

  “Interesting,” Lemore said, standing and moving toward the terrace that was attached to her bed chamber as well. “It sounds as if it is coming from the port.”

  “Do they do this often?” She couldn't help but ask. The way the drums beat to the crash of the waves was almost cosmic, and Daenerys found herself lulled by the ancient melody.

  “Not since I've been here on the island.” The sound carried over the breeze and the sheer black curtains that hung between the terrace and her solar fluttered inward, letting the beat fill her chamber. 

  Daenerys too, rose from where she had been seated and moved toward the outer balcony, throwing aside the curtains and stepping outside so that she could see what was going on outside of the castle. 

But she had been wrong. 

  The melody was not coming from the castle grounds, it was drifting up from the port town where she had seen the island's true residents fishing earlier that day. The fog was just as thick and grey now as it had been then, if not more so. And yet, through the mist, soft yellow lights could be seen shining throughout the entire town, as well as every home within the village. 

  Through the wind came the deep sound of drums. They must be huge to make such a sound, Daenerys thought. Next came the sound of voices that swayed and carried along with the sound of the waves. The melody was entrancing and unwillingly she found herself swaying to the rhythm, reminding her of the crash of oars digging into the sea to propel their ships forward. 

   Mmmmm—mmmmm—mmmmm

  The sound built slowly, but the tone was deep and encompassing. She had never heard such music, not even from her Dothraki, and yet the melody sounded almost tribal in origin.

  Overhead, she could sense her children coming closer until Viserion swooped down and pushed her head into view. Lemore pulled back, “Oh my,” she exclaimed, startled.

  “It's alright, this is Viserion. Rhaegal is the green and Drogon is the black. I named them for the people I have loved and lost.” Daenerys explained, inviting Lemore back onto the terrace so that she could continue listening to the melody that was rising up from the port. 

  Viserion settled upon the edge of the terrace, her wings tucking in beside her while her golden eyes were trained upon the yellow light coming from the village. Daenerys wished at that moment that she could see what her children see, hear the way that they hear, but the fact that Viserion had come to listen with her was good enough. She thought perhaps she should follow Viserion’s example and make herself comfortable while the people of Dragonstone continued their song.

  She nudged her child with her thigh, and Viserion opened her left wing, allowing Dany to sit beside her. “I hope you don't mind if the Septa comes to join us, I would hate for her to get sick standing out here.” She turned back to Lemore who was watching her curiously. “Would you like to join us? Viserion will not attack you, she is the kindest of all of my children.” 

  The septa watched her and Viserion curiously, “She?”

  Daenerys nodded, her smile genuine. “Quite a shock to me as well, but that is a story for another time. I swear that the only risk to you is that you might get a little warm. Dragons are great for warding off the chill.” This time she extended her hand and waited for the septa to come closer. 

  What was it about this woman that made Daenerys almost feel at ease? 

 Lemore finally came forward, her steps hesitant. “My memories are fuzzy, but nearly everything from before Robert's Rebellion is a mystery for me. I do remember some things though...I remember wishing I could be like Queen Visenya so that I could fight with my brothers and be in control of my destiny. If I had a dragon like Vhagar, no one could force me to do anything that I was against.”

  Daenerys' eyes flitted back and forth between the septa and Viserion who had turned to watch Lemore approach. Her child seemed almost curious about the woman, her long neck stretching to get a better look. 

  She knew next to nothing about the septa, but this news was interesting. “How old were you when you went to the faith?” Daenerys asked, attempting to keep the woman talking. Aside from her opinions of the boy Aegon that she had been raising, the septa had shared nothing of who she was before she became a septa. Not until now... 

  “Hmm?” Lemore asked, clearly distracted by the greeting taking place between Viserion and herself.

  “You said that before the Rebellion your memories were fuzzy. I was just curious how old you were.” Daenerys explained.

  “I—I really don't know. I was there when I woke up, I was a woman grown to be sure.” Lemore answered.

  Curious, Daenerys thought. Viserion clearly agreed, as she let out a slow clicking sound that sounded quite sad. 

  ‘Remember who you are, the dragons do.’  

  Did they? Was it possible that her dragons could see through the layers of misconception and all the way to the truth of who a person was? If that was the case, what had she subjected Rhaegal to, forcing him to allow Victarion to mount him.

   Mmmmm—mmmmm—mmmmm

  Away from the Doom,

  Mmmmm—mmmmm—mmmmm

 Dragons sail,

  Mmmmm—mmmmm—mmmmm

  And we, their people, will remember the tale.

  Mmmmm—mmmmm—mmmmm

  Daenerys' attention turned back to the port as she heard the first sound of vocals rise above the wind. Viserion too had turned her attention away from Lemore and back toward the beach.

  Every time the deep bass of the drums mixed with the humming, Viserion would let out a small rumble, as if she were attempting to join her voice to theirs.

  ...Into the unknown,

  Mmmmm—mmmmm—mmmmm

  Our path has been shown,

  Mmmmm—mmmmm—mmmmm

  The Dragons will return,

  Lemore had finally made her way over and was now sitting closely to Dany, as they listened to the melody. “It sounds so sad.” Daenerys admitted wiping a stray tear from her eye.

  Lemore shook her head, “It sounds hopeful.”

  Daenerys spared her another look, the septa sat with her chin propped against her knees, a sad smile pulled at her lips. 

   Out of the gloom, and away from the fight,

  Mmmmm—mmmmm—mmmmm

  On a journey that will end our plight,

  Mmmmm—mmmmm—mmmmm

  The Dragons will return.

  Viserion stood the moment that she heard her brother's voices blending in with the others and she nudged Dany lightly on the shoulder. Her daughter had grown exponentially over the moons that it had taken them to sail from Meereen to Westeros, though she was still much smaller than Drogon. 

  “What is it, sweetling?” Daenerys asked, taking her jaw between her hands, “Do you want to join your brothers?”

  Viserion blinked, and nudged her once more, extending her wing the way that Drogon would do whenever she prepared to mount him. The fact that Viserion was offering to allow her to mount her left Daenerys speechless. No Dragonrider in history had ever managed to mount more than one Dragon, especially while their first mount was still living.

   But you're not like any other Dragonrider in history. You are the mother of dragons.

   She was probably going to regret this at some point but Viserion seemed sure. Clearing her mind, she scaled up her child’s wing membrane and then settled herself down between her neck spikes. Lemore watched stunned. Daenerys thought that Viserion was nearly the size that Drogon had been when they flew together for the first time, maybe larger. She reached her hand out to the septa. “Come with us.” She offered, seeing the envy and apprehension in the septa’s eyes. “You may never be able to fly away upon Vhagar, but you can at least fulfil one of your childhood dreams.”

  Her words must have done the trick because without a second thought Lemore threw caution to the wind and reached for Daenerys hand. Within moments, the two of them were securely seated upon Viserion and her girl was moving toward the ledge. 

  Lemore giggled in delight, and Daenerys too, felt herself smiling. Something about this flight felt different than the ones she had shared with Ser Barristan, perhaps it was the fact that Lemore genuinely wanted to be up in the air with her, while Barristan still watched her children with apprehension, viewing them as weapons of mass destruction rather than her children. Viserion too, seemed almost giddy that Lemore had accepted, and before she could give the command, her daughter was pushing them away from Seadragon Tower and was soaring back toward the main Dragon gate where she could just make out the shapes of Drogon and Rhaegal perched upon the battlements. 

  Viserion took them lower, closer to the port town, and moments later Drogon and Rhaegal joined them as they circled the port with it's people still out among the streets, their candles held high. The melody continued on as Viserion circled around looking for a place to land, finally deciding upon a patch of rocks that was large enough for her and her brothers to all settle down upon.

   Mmmmm—mmmmm—mmmmm

  Valyria’s own, with our future unknown,

  Mmmmm—mmmmm—mmmmm

  And the winds of destiny carry us home.

  Mmmmm—mmmmm—mmmmm

  The Dragons will return.

  Now that she was closer, Daenerys could make out the words much better and it seemed as if Lemore had been right. This song was not sad at all, it was filled with joy and hope. Something she had known little of until she had taken her destiny into her own hands. 

  Unlike in Meereen where her children were feared before they had ever given the people a reason to fear them, the people of Dragonstone revered them. This song was not meant for her, it was meant for them and her children knew it too. 

  She had never heard Drogon or the other two sing for her, if that is what you could even call it. But they were singing now, though not in the classic sense. They were singing in the only way that a dragon could, through a series of clicks and vibrations that Daenerys could feel between her thighs coming from within Viserion’s chest.

  Is this what it feels like to feel safe for the first time? Because Daenerys was sure that is what she was feeling. Sitting here, upon Viserion, she didn't need her armies, nor her Queensguard, she didn't have need of a weapon. These people were not her enemies, they were her people. Her true people, she realized. People who had crossed the seas to follow her ancestors to safety. These were the ancestors of the people who had come from Valyria, though not dragonriders, they like her, were what remained of their combined pasts.

  And now that you’ve come, the darkness will be undone. 

  Mmmmm—mmmmm—mmmmm

  From fire comes light,

  Mmmmm—mmmmm—mmmmm

  They will lead us, they will fight, 

  Mmmmm—mmmmm—mmmmm

  The Dragons have returned.

  Mmmmm—mmmmm—mmmmm

  Now here we are, to welcome you from afar,

  Now that you’ve come home, to Dragonstone.

  By the time the song finished, the people had made their way over to where the dragons were. Though they maintained their distance, Daenerys could see that they were not in fear of them. The children, too, crept between the legs of their elders, each of them carrying something in their little hands. 

  First the candles were placed in a wide circle around the dragons, then little white flowers that the girls brought with them. The boys brought something different, Some carried baskets of fish, others carried shiny rocks that Daenerys assumed were likely found locally. But it was clear to her that they were presenting some sort of tribute to her children. After the children came the adolescent males, carrying between them chest upon chest into the circle, and Daenerys found herself sliding from Viserion’s back. Drogon nudged her fondly as did Rhaegal once her feet were firmly planted on the ground.

  By now the music had stopped, and the residents were watching her, tears of joy and reverence in their eyes. One by one they all bent the knee, each with murmurs of adoration falling from their lips. If she had to compare this welcome to anything from her past, it was like the day that she had liberated Yunkai and the freedmen called her Mhysa.

  Her attention was called away as she heard the telltale sound of her Unsullied marching down the serpentine stairs to find her. Lemore stepped up to her side, a sad smile on her face. 

  “You should say something to them.” The septa encouraged.

  Daenerys turned back to her people, a rock caught in her throat. What could she say to them that they would see as worthy of the gift they had just given her and her children. 

   The children entered the circle, unafraid of the dragons as they gathered around her and Lemore. ‘ Dāria, Dāria, Ñuha dāria,’ they all called, causing Daenerys to bend down to greet them. One bold little boy threw himself into her arms and held on tightly. All Dany could do was embrace him back as tears of joy streamed down her face. Another child, this one a girl reached forward and ran her fingers through the silver of Daenerys' hair, marveling at the way it sparkled in the flickering candlelight. 

   “Mother have mercy,” Lemore once more exclaimed as she watched Daenerys be swarmed by tiny hands thrusting their treasures at her. 

  “Thank you, thank you so much.” Daenerys said to each of them, completely overwhelmed by the amount of attention she was receiving. 

  The crowd parted and Ser Barristan stepped through. “Your Grace, you should have told me that you wanted to visit the port, I would have made preparations.” 

  Daenerys stood, taking the little one's hands into her own as she did so. “As you can see, I’m in no trouble down here. Besides my children are here to watch over us.”

  Ser Barristan didn't look so convinced. “Still, it would be easier to protect you if you let me know of your intentions,” he chastised her. 

  Daenerys supposed his anxiety couldn't be helped considering where they were, and where they had come from. “Very well, Ser. I promise to notify you when I leave the castle from now on.”

  “Excuse, Ñuha Dāria,” a voice spoke up behind her knight, and Ser Barristan moved to the side. There an elderly woman stood, her hair was as white as freshly fallen snow, with almond shaped eyes and a sweet smile. She had been escorted by two younger lads, both of whom had brought a chest with them to place inside the circle with the others. 

  Daenerys shared a look with the two little ones that were still clutching her hands and they shyly released her and went in search of their parents, she assumed. Now that her hands were free, Dany stepped forward and greeted the elderly woman. “My name is Daenerys, and who might you be? 

  The old woman rewarded Dany with a gummy smile of her own. “The younger ones call me Uēpa mēre, but before that, I was just Lena.” 

   Ancient one… “Well met, Lady Lena. I am Daenerys Targaryen.” Daenerys greeted the village elder in return. 

  The woman nodded, as if she had always known. “We have been waiting for you to come home, Princess.”

  Daenerys did not think it wise to correct the village elder, so instead she asked a different question. “What was that, that song you were singing?” The words had been sung in High Valyrian, one of the only songs she had ever heard sung in such a way. 

  “It is the song our people sang as they made their way across the sea in search of a new home. From Valyria to Dragonstone, where they found their salvation. We haven’t sung it in years, not since the last dragon left the island centuries ago.” The elderly Lena explained. 

  “You sang it for my children?” Daenerys already knew that they had, but she wanted to be certain. 

  Lena nodded, “For you as well. We have waited for the dragons to return for almost twenty years, and now you are here.”

  She swallowed thickly, trying to keep her emotions in check. “I feel like it should have been up to me to bring all of you gifts.” She said, looking around at all of the flowers, chests and shiny rocks. 

  “These are not gifts, Princess. Only what rightfully belongs to you and your family.” Lena explained. 

  Daenerys moved toward the chest that lay closest to where she was standing, bending slightly to open it. Barristan reached out and halted her hand before she could unclasp the mechanism that kept the chest from spilling open. “The last time you opened a box that someone you didn't know brought you, a manticore was inside of it,” he reminded her.

  She could easily overrule him, but her knight's worries were warranted and Daenerys nodded for him to continue. Inside the chest were a large number of things, trinkets, if what she was seeing was correct. “Are they all the same?” She asked the village elder.

  “Not all, but they all hold things that we managed to save from the Usurper who stole your family's throne and his brother. We weren’t able to save everything, but we managed to collect what we could.”

  Once more she was struck dumb, how could she ever repay them for this? She couldn't even imagine what would have happened to them if these things had been found by the usurper or his kin. There were no words of gratitude that would ever adequately express how thankful she was for this. 

  “I don't know how to repay all of you for such kindness. The risk you all placed yourself in to safeguard the relics of my kin.” She said, wiping a tear from her cheek.

  “No thanks, just bring them home.” Lena said, gesturing to the chests. “You are the one who brought the dragons back, it is us who wish to thank you.” This time she pointed toward the baskets of fish and the flowers. “For them, we wish to honor them as well.” 

  Daenerys smiled and gathered the old woman’s hands in her own. “You have our thanks anyway, and theirs.” She gestured to her children. “If it is not too much trouble, I would like to invite you and the rest of the elders up to the castle so that I might be able to get to know more about the island and the people.”

  Lena nodded and then stepped away, withdrawing her hands. The crowd parted once more and their wise woman was escorted back to the village. Many of the others stayed a bit longer to admire the dragons, but eventually and after many fond goodbyes, they all dispersed back to their huts, leaving Daenerys and Lemore with the Unsullied and her dragons.

  “I will have these brought to the castle, my Queen.” Barristan assured her, having seen Daenerys' overwhelmed expression. She nodded her agreement and then turned back to Viserion, only to have Drogon bump his snout against her making her chuckle at his jealousy.

  “Alright then, but only if you don't mind letting the septa come back with us.” Dany said, scratching Drogon under his jaw. Her son huffed, and Daenerys turned back to Lemore. “Would you like to join us for the trip back?”

  The septa considered her question for a moment, and Daenerys was certain that Lemore would say yes, but to her surprise she shook her head. “I think I will walk back to the castle if it's no trouble. The stars are out, and I have always loved to gaze at them.”

  Daenerys was reluctant to accept, but she nodded anyway. “Perhaps tomorrow we can talk some more?”

  Lemore’s dark eyes almost sparkled when they met Dany’s violet, making her wonder what their true color was. “I will look for your invitation, Your Grace.” 

  “Ser Barristan, please make sure that Septa Lemore has an escort back to the castle. I think Drogon and I will fly for a while, I will call for you when we return.”

  “As you wish, my Queen.” 

Chapter Text

  As soon as he began to climb back up Cannibal’s wing the mist started to rise around him. Arya was still there seated upon his dragon’s neck when he settled in behind her. She held something in her hand, what it was, he didn't know.

 “Are you ready to go?” He asked, wrapping his hands about her slender waist and pulling her closely. She smelled of blackberries and frost, of the wolfswood and direwolf, and his cock twitched unapologetically, feeling the way her ass pressed against his length.

  Arya nodded and then her hand passed over her face before she turned to look at him, his eyes locking onto her pale blue eyes in an instant before he recoiled. “What sorcery is this?!” he demanded, seeing that it was no longer his sister sitting before him but a man who Aegon had believed dead. 

  Arya snorted out a laugh and then swiped her hand over her face once more, removing Roose Bolton’s likeness. “Relax big brother, it is but a mask. One that will be put to good use.” 

  Aegon looked at her with a dubious expression, “How—how did you do that?” He didn't like this, seeing her wearing the face of someone else. The way that Rhaegar does. His sister didn't need to be anyone else, least of all to him. His hand reached up to cup her cheek and his thumb brushed against her bottom lip, pulling it from between her teeth before she worried it raw. “What ever it is Arya, you can tell me anything and it would change nothing. I will always want you, I will always love you.”

-

  Arya’s face fell, the memory of what she had almost given up still pained her. “I had to offer pieces of myself up to He of Many Faces. I had to let go of pieces of Arya Stark in order to be able to be someone other than myself.” She explained though she knew that he didn't understand. Arya would have avoided this conversation for much longer if she could have, but this circumstance made that an impossibility.

  Her brother looked like he was on the verge of rage, pain and confusion clouded his mind and she could see it clearly written on his face and in the slant of his eyebrows as his dark eyes darted between her face and her hands. “What do you mean that you had to offer pieces of yourself, what pieces? Did someone harm you?” His tone had taken on a dark edge, one that promise death and vengeance to any.

 Arya shook her head, “No one hurt me, at least not in the way that you are thinking. We don't have the time to talk about it now, but I will tell you more when we are finished with this business.” She could see that he wasn't satisfied with her answer but it was the best she could do at this point. 

  “You have a decision to make,” she said, handing him a set of shackles that she had stashed in her bag. “You can bring me to the Dreadfort as your prisoner, or you can bring me as a sign of faith and a piece offering, either way I will enter as Roose Bolton.”

  They discussed it at length before he finally agreed to her plan. Though she had originally wanted to sneak from room to room and slaughter the men inside the keep, her brother denied her proposal. He claimed that Bolton archers were an asset that the north couldn’t afford to loose in the coming war. He told her that he made a promise to the Wall that he would send men to man it and he intended to fulfill that vow, even if that meant allowing them to live.

  In the end she replaced her mask and passed the irons over to him so that he could shackle her. She could see easily enough how disturbed Aegon was by her new identity and she hated to torture him any more, but this was the only way he would avoid the bloodshead.

-

  Aegon wished that Arya had taken the time to explain her plans to him before now, but he supposed that it was only fair considering that he hadn't revealed his dragons to her right away. Still it would have been easier to pull off if they had more of an opportunity to work out the details. It appeared however, that he had not been the only one to change after so many years apart from one another, and perhaps he needed to take a little time to learn more about this new version of the girl he loved so much.

  Cannibal took them up high, alighting above the clouds and calling to Qēlos through their link. A few moments later she appeared from behind another set of clouds and Aegon was telling her the plan. 

  By the time they made their descent, the fog was so thick he could hardly see more than a foot in front of him, but Cannibal's vision was impeccable and they landed atop the dreadfort’s battlements to the sound of screaming men and women. 

  “Nock!” Aegon heard a man call, only for his passenger to call out a reply, her voice completely changed from the one he had known his entire life. They’d agreed on this course of action, but the shock of hearing her speak as someone else was still unsettling.

-

  “Hold your fire!” 

  There was a moment of silence before someone called back. “My Lord, Is that you? We—we heard of your defeat at Winterfell, was it a lie?” A man questioned, stepping into the torchlight. 

  Cannibal lifted his head in the man’s direction and he released a warning so that he wouldn’t step any further. Arya smiled, knowing that her ruse had worked. She signaled to her brother so that they could dismount and a moment later another thud was heard as Qēlos landed on the opposite wall. 

  The two of them dismounted as soon as Gerold and Ned were on the ground and Arya knows that their mummery is now in full swing. “Gather the men and fetch my wife. You shall all hear at the same time what’s happened at Winterfell.” 

  Skeptical looks met her, but none dared to question his order. A moment later she heard a voice coming out of the darkness. “Roose, my love, is—is that—have you truly returned?” As the woman came closer Arya could make out the form of a squirming bundle in her arms.

   An heir?

  She shared a look with Aegon and he nods, releasing her hands from the shackles and stepping back to provide her some space to act out her role. 

   Roose had another heir… unexpected, but it changed nothing in Arya’s opinion. House Bolton would die, she would not allow it to continue after all the crimes they committed against her House and the north as a whole. “Take my guests to the Great Hall, I would like a full report on the way. Status of current prisoners, men currently within the castle, and names, if any, of the men who managed to return here after the battle.” 

  Arya knew enough of Roose to know that he would answer no questions before he was ready to, and any who dared to push the issue would find themselves among the next to be flayed by the Leach lord. 

  Many eyes remained on her once she had finished speaking, and it annoyed her that she would have to repeat herself. “What are you waiting for?” She barked out the question, and more than a number of men jumped into action at the sudden change in her demeanor.

  Aegon and Gerold shared another look with her before following after a handful of Bolton guards. Arya waited a few moments longer and then she approached Roose’s bride. “I’m glad that you made it back,” she said, playing her part and expressing no real emotion.

  “Yes—yes my Lord, just on time too,” she blushed and smiled sweetly at the man she perceived to be her husband. “The babe wouldn’t wait.” Walda went on to explain as she fussed with the child's fur blanket. 

  Arya avoided reaching for it, not because of who it's sire was, but because she couldn't imagine Roose ever having possessed a tender bone in his body and she couldn't imagine him growing one on account of a baby. “A boy?” She inquired, her voice remained cool and unaffected. 

  Walda shrunk back; afraid, Arya realized. “I’m sorry my Lord, a—a girl. P—please don't be angry, I know that I can give you a son.” Her voice was pleading but Arya was pleased that there were no more male Bolton’s left. Rather than reply to the widow’s plea, Arya turned away and followed the path that Aegon had taken with Gerold and Ned. 

-

  They hadn't been in the great hall long when Arya arrived and took her seat at the head of the hall, motioning for Aegon to join her-or-him. No words were spoken, her mummery depended on it and he found that he didn't mind it. Hearing her speak in his voice felt wrong and kind of like a betrayal of everything his sister was. Her laugh was light and infectious, her voice could only be rivaled by the sound of the breeze ruffling the leaves of the weirwood. To hear her speak in the cold voice of a man he despised was like plunging a dagger through his back all over again, and he couldn't wait to strip it from her. 

  A few steps behind his sister came the woman that Aegon knew to be Roose Bolton’s bride, the babe still clutched tightly in her arms. He waited until the hall was full before he reached out to Qēlos with his mind, summoning her down into the lower bailey where he knew that she would be able to catch any man thinking to escape their punishment. With her being the smaller of the two dragons that had come with them, Aegon was certain that she would not be hindered by the tight space.

  Ned and Gerold remained by the doors as the men began to enter and when there were no more coming, Arya stood and began her mummer's farce once more. “Many of you may have heard about our defeat at winterfell, and you have heard correctly. House Bolton no longer holds the North.”

-

  Questions began to rise up from around the room and the child in the widow’s arms began to fuss. Feeling a moment of inspiration, Arya reached for the child and took it into her hands. She wouldn’t harm the babe, but she would be a good bargaining chip to ensure the surrender of the castle with minimal bloodshed. 

   ‘How have you been spared?’ One man asked boldly. ‘Is it true that the Starks have returned?’ Called another.

  Arya waited until the hall went silent again before she continued, she would not shout above people to be heard. “I stand here because of His Grace, Aegon Targaryen. He found me before the Starks could and has offered to spare me with conditions.”

   ‘What conditions?’ … ‘What about the Lannisters?’ Arya raised a hand to silence them all.

  “The Lannisters are embroiled in their own problems and they cannot help us regain the north. In any case, with the help of those dragons you saw outside, the Lannisters will soon be no more. As for the conditions, the dragon king asks that we bend the knee and swear fealty to him as the rightful king of Westeros, in addition we will also release the remainder of the prisoners that Ramsay took from Winterfell back to the Starks.”

  She allowed them a moment to let her words sink in. There was muttering about who Aegon was and where he had come from, but there was also talk mixed in about the size of the dragons that had landed on the walls of the castle. 

   ‘What choice does he have? What choice do any of us have? You saw those things…these aren't peace terms. If we don't comply they will have those beasts slaughter us all.’  

  She was glad that some among them had the sense to see what was really at stake. Aegon had gone to no small length to have her assure him she would not needlessly slaughter all of the men in the castle once they managed to infiltrate and catch them off their guard. One voice called out above the others.

   “Why would the Starks agree to such terms? Who's to say that they won't come and slaughter us in the night when we least expect it?”

-

  Aegon stirred for the first time, his hand coming to rest upon the table, a sign that he would answer this question directly. Outside the hall, a huge crash was heard but Aegon understood that it was just Cannibal smashing the outer gates open so that he could fit his head through. 

  “The Starks will agree because I am their blooded kin and I am the current regent of the North. My cousins have agreed to my terms and they respect my choice to deal with the rest of you directly. Will you bend the knee?” His hand clutched the hilt of Longclaw. 

  Arya moved to the front of the table and, playing her part beautifully, knelt before the rest of the men and women in the hall. “I, Roose Bolton Lord of the Dreadfort, swear my fealty to House Targaryen and recognize you, Aegon Targaryen, as the rightful king of Westeros. I forsake any other claimant and swear to serve you and your House in perpetuity from this day forth and I accept any and all punishment that you deem worthy of my crimes against House Stark.”

  He hated seeing her this way, so the rage that reflected on his face looked genuine to the people watching their Lord bent before him with his only child alive and in his arms. If he hadn't known that it was Arya, if he hadn't seen her become this man, he would have believed this to actually be Roose Bolton and it sickened him. 

  Seeing him-her like this stirred them into action and one by one, they all dropped to their knees. He could never trust people that worked without conscience to meet the needs of the men they served, especially when those needs went against every law that the north held sacred. They were lucky that they had not flown here and found men flayed and burning as they had the day of the battle for Winterfell. Else he would not have been able to contain his rage in the slightest. The wolf in him wanted to rend and tear the flesh of these men, as it had wanted to feast on Ramsay’s corpse that night in the Godswood, but his duty kept him from allowing his base desires to take control. The Wall needed men, and the Long Night was returning, Bolton, Lannister, Frey…it didn't matter where they hailed from, their lives were better suited defending the realm while they still drew breath into them.

  “Please rise and know that I accept your fealty, but before this business is done, I would ask each of you to gather all of the remaining prisoners. Every woman, crone, child, leave none from my eyes for I would know them all by sight.

  “The rest of you please show my men to your dungeons, I would ensure that none are forgotten.” Aegon turned his gaze back to Arya and she stood, turning back to the men and nodding for them to carry out his wishes with haste. 

-

  Arya then turned back to the Lady Walda, “My Lady, you must be tired after giving birth. Perhaps you should have a rest and we can speak later on.” Walda looked confused by everything, but she could tell that the woman had enough sense not to question the man her father had married her to. 

  “Thank you,” she said first to him , and then to Aegon, only this time more nervously. “Shall I take the child my Lord?”

  Arya considered the question, she would allow the woman the chance to say goodbye before she separated them for good. She could do this at the very least. “Very well, see that she makes it to her wetnurse and then you should find your rest.” There was no way that she would finish her task with an innocent child there to bear witness. 

  It occurred to her that there was no sense in inquiring of the babe’s name, Arya doubted that the woman would give the baby one without her husband to approve, and Arya had no intention to fulfill that role. Whomever it ended up being to raise the child would have the honor. 

  When the hall was empty Aegon turned to her with a haunted look that nearly shook her to her core. “Take it off,” his voice was only a whisper but she would have heard him from across the seas. The tenor of it pulled at her heart and she could see more than ever how much it pained him to look upon her as anyone other than who she was. 

  Could  he truly love Arya Stark that much?

  “Soon,” was all she could promise him, for their mummery was not yet complete. Aegon nodded, grudgingly and he followed her from the hall. 

  When Gerold and Ned emerged, they were carrying canvas sacks filled with irons. Irons they would use to lock up the men who participated in the torture of her father's people. After them came the guards, some helping the prisoners to climb their way from the dungeons, others doing so under the strength of their own limbs. Her heart thundered as she waited for the one face among many to appear, choosing to ignore sense and hope that she might still be alive. 

-

  The wait was torture, for him and his sister both. Neither of them had any idea who had survived the sack of Winterfell but their work here had just begun and they had much more to do before the night was through. 

  Others from around the castle joined those who were being brought from the dungeons. Most of whom were younger boys and girls the last time he had lain eyes upon them. Given the chance, he was certain that he and his sister could name most if not all within a single conversation. One of the perks of being raised a bastard was that no one really minded where he went and who he associated with. 

  Arya had befriended every person she came across and before he knew it he had been introduced to them all. From the kitchen maids, all the way to the stable hands, his little sister had left her mark on the people around their childhood home, and he had understood immediately why doing this was of such importance to her. 

  His little sister’s hands fidgeted at her side as she watched and waited for the one familiar face among the many that she was hoping to find, who this person was, she hadn't shared that information with him, but he waited and fought his urge to reach out to her and clutch her hand.

  The last through the doors that led to the dungeons were a series of men helping some women climb the stairs to freedom. Something about them stirred his sister and he could not stop her from walking across the yard in their direction. It surprised him when she paused before the first person that had entered the yard, checking him over before moving on to the next. “Are you well?” He would hear her ask in a voice that was and wasn't hers. No matter what they answered, Arya would nod and move on to the next until she had finally spoken to them all. 

  The last person she spoke to was different, and a sharp glance over her shoulder told him to come immediately. No longer were her eyes the pale blue of Roose Bolton. The storm in her was alive with rage and Aegon was aware that this whole thing could end at any moment. It wasn't until he saw who she had in her arms that he understood her fury. 

  The oldest person he had ever known aside from possibly his uncle Aemon should have never been held beneath the castle. Old Nan was mere bones, her wrists were mere bones and her skin was pale and loose. “Nan, it's me. I've come to take you home,” Aegon whispered to his childhood governess, the only one who had never followed Lady Catelyn’s orders to mistreat and deprive him.

  “It's about time that you both came. But I could have waited a bit longer I think.” The old woman laughed to herself and gave him a gummy smile. Though he was sure her eyes had long left her, Aegon could also tell that she was aware of who had come to get her.

-

  Arya was livid seeing Old Nan be dragged up from the dungeons, the fact that anyone could do such a thing to a harmless old woman enraged her. She reached for her face, only for Aegon to still her hand with a gesture. “Let us get them inside first.”

  “If you are able to walk on your own, please go into the great hall where you will find warmth and shelter until all matters are settled here.” Aegon’s voice rang above those gathered and she took a moment to collect herself. 

  “My men will stay unless needed, otherwise you will return straight away.” Arya added, wanting it to be clear that their business was not completed.

  Qēlos shifted and men began to hurry about. Aegon picked up Old Nan and brought her across the yard to where Gerold and Ned stood. The three exchanged words and then her brother handed Nan over into Ned’s arms. This time, he didn't return to her side, he stayed beside his dragon.

  It didn't take long for the Bolton guards to return, each of them confused by whom they should be taking their orders from. Her brother solved that question easily enough when his voice rose in iron tones over them all. 

  “I have agreed to spare each of you for your oaths to serve, and I have given my word that House Stark will not be coming to take revenge upon you all when you least expect it. However I cannot allow you all to go unpunished for your crimes against the North. House Bolton has betrayed guest rights, and those among you have served them loyally. I will gladly allow each of you to live the rest of your days on the Wall in service of those whom you have wronged. However, if you do not accept then there will be a trial. The choice is yours, but I will offer you the same terms as I have offered the men we captured after the battle. What say you?”

  “What happens after the trial, will you kill us the northern way or will you let those beasts roast us like that other dragon whore across the sea?” Men questioned. 

  Her brows raised involuntarily in surprise, she hadn't known that the news of Daenerys Targaryen’s exploits had reached Westeros, she herself had only known because of the guild...and men talk. It had been her duty on many nights to learn secrets that she could bring to the kindly man. 

  She could tell that this question had made her brother pause a moment as well. What he knew of his youngest sister, Arya was unaware, but surely he hadn't known this much himself. He however, did not allow the question to bait him into making a mistake. “I will let you decide what happens after. I can take your head and I will do so gladly, or you might choose dragonfire. Either way your bodies will face the flames once you are gone, as a matter of precaution. I will grant you all one last boon however, for those of you who go willingly. Should you survive the coming war, I will pardon you from your post and see your property returned, I will even find you work once the realm is finally at peace. But only if you agree to go willingly.”

  There were only around sixty men keeping the castle for their previous liege lord, the rest had been stationed outside of Winterfell when Aegon arrived with his army of combined northmen and Freefolk. If it came to a fight, their defense would come down to the dragons, and Arya understood now why her brother had sent all the people within the castle. He was ensuring that no one they cared about would become a casualty to one of his bond-mates flames. 

  The huge coal black dragon chose that moment to press himself against the barbican wall, his size making the stones strain and groan as his enormous green eyes peered within the inner ward. Cannibals slitted eyes darted back and forth in observation, his green flame shining deep in the pit of his throat. 

-

   Easy dragon, I will not allow these men to escape punishment. Through his bond with his weyr Aegon could smell the blood and death that cloaked each of these men, he noted the ways their eyes shifted back and forth to one another nervously, but he could also see the fear. 

  Fear of what he might do, fear of what he might allow his dragons to do… “I would like to believe that I am a patient man, but the truth is my sword has a thirst and my dragons a hunger for charred meat, you will decide now or I will make that decision for you.” He warned them, his voice grave. 

  Cannibal craned his head and released a shriek that emphasized his point, while Qēlos stalked closer. Aegon waited, wondering how many would be brave enough to test his patience. A flash of steel at the corner of his eye and Aegon drew his sword, but Gerold was faster and the man was down before he could move further than a few steps. His screams were like music to his ears as Gerold twisted Dawn inside the man's gut.

   You may have him, if that will satisfy your rage…

  We would prefer fresh game over bony humans...especially ones that stink like these do. Aegon bit back a bark of laughter as Darkstar began to speak.

   “The crime for bearing steel against your Lord is death. If that is your wish, so be it.” Gerold said, raising Dawn above his head and bringing her down in a fluid stroke, parting the screaming man's head from his neck cleanly.

  If there were any other brave souls in the yard, they did not make themselves known and soon all of them were bending their knees once more. It didn't take them long to place them all in irons and place them in their temporary holding cells, and once the castle was secured Aegon allowed Qēlos to claim her prize.

 -

  Arya waited until her brother was distracted before she slipped away, without a word she went in search of the Lady Walda. Some might think her heartless with what she was about to do, but the woman had known about her father's plans to murder her brother and mother. Arya knew from the scrolls that she had sent to Roose at Harrenhal that Walda had even sat with her father and Roose while they conspired against her family, that she had promised him a trueborn heir, knowing that he would eventually take control of the north. She had given justice to every member of house Frey that was deserving of such punishment, aside from this one, and no matter what her brother thought, Walda would die. 

  It didn't take long for her to locate the lords chambers, the Dreadfort was a formidable keep, but nothing so grand as Winterfell, which meant that there were fewer places for her to become turned around in. Before she entered, she slipped her new identity from her face, she wanted to look Walda in the eyes, to make sure that she knew who was coming for her and why.

  The door opened without protest, the hinges well oiled and the oak door well balanced. Inside the chambers were dark, but candle light flooded under the doorframe to one of the inner rooms. Arya wasted no time crossing the space and pushing her way into the room.