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Chapter Text

The Third Year of Autumn

The Second Moon of The 305th Year After Conquest

"It's egregious, Your Grace! You can not truly mean for Lady Lyarra to go!" the voice of Lord Greatjon boasted around the hall.

"I beg you to rethink, my king." Lady Maege stepped forward, worry engraved on her voice. "Remember the last time a Stark woman was taken by Targaryens." More ayes sounded around the table. They were settled in the great hall of Acorn Hall. Lords and ladies of the North, Riverlands, and Vale were all gathered around their King, discussing the one particular condition of the pact with the Dragon King.

"The same man who took your aunt is the Hand of the Dragon King, Your Grace." Ser Tallhart reminded. "How could we face Lord Eddard on judgment day if we allow his only daughter to be taken hostage by Targaryens?" The room agreed louder. It was not true. She was not the only daughter of Lord Eddard. Her sisters were alive... but missing. 

“Lady Lyanna was not taken by Rhaegar Targaryen, my lord.” Stevon Frey interrupted. “If I may remind the last words of dead Lord Petyr Baelish. He had confessed he had hidden a letter Lady Lyanna had written to her brothers, stating her willingness to run off with the Dragon Prince.” It was one of Littlefinger’s last blows. He was on the execution block after Robb judged him for his crimes, which ranged from betraying Lord Eddard and the murder of Jon Arryn.

Northerners grunted, showing their dislike of the lord and his words. More lords took their turns refusing as Robb locked eyes with her. She knew he was remembering their talk a day before...

"Brother," she had clasped his hand in reassurance while they had settled on the hill watching the castle go about their duties. "It must be me, you know it."

He cursed, shaking his head. "No, Arra. I will find another way." Targaryens had landed on Westeros ahead of three armies with three dragons flying above them. Taking Dragonstone, they had defeated Stannis Baratheon and had moved through the Stormlands, freeing it of Lannister holds. They were preparing to enter the Westerlands when they struck a deal with Robb. They were to unite their powers against the Lannisters and Iron Islanders. Once they defeat Cersei and her puppets, bring peace to the realm, and only then would they discuss the issue of Northern Independence. As a sign of North's loyalty, the Targaryens had demanded a guest with the blood of Starks accompanying them throughout the war.

"What way, brother, I beg you to tell me. Rickon is barely eight and he is your only heir. Lady Catelyn does not carry our blood."

He huffed, his face twisted in pain. "How do you expect me to let you go, Arra? The last time I let you go, you were stranded in the North of the Wall for moons."

"You are a King now, as you like to remind me," she teased to ease the nerves. "You shall not act like my brother; you shall decide as the King, and you know what is the right decision." His silence worried her. "Please, Robb, do not tell me you are considering sending Rickon. He is a child!"

"He is eight now. Almost a man grown."

"Oh, bullshit! I did not cross the North and Riverlands; he strapped to my chest so he could fall back into danger."

"He is a child, Arra. Daeron frees and protects children."

"Yes, he is a child, Robb, who has suffered so much since he was three. We can not condemn him to more pain. He needs to be home and with his family."

"Arra-"

"No, Robb. I have fought men rising from the dead; I can survive dragons. Do not fear for me! If you are thinking about Aunt Lyanna-"

"No, I am thinking about Sansa. The last time I saw her, she left after a prince as well. How many years has it been, and she is still not back?"

“Then ease your heart, brother. As you know all too well, I have no interest in marriage or sweet words of love or the silver hair of Dragons. I know my duty. Allow me to execute it.”

... The protests in the great hall were getting louder by the second, mostly from Northeners joined by some Riverlanders and knights of Vale. Unsurprising to no one, House Tully - Lord Edmure and Lady Catelyn - had remained silent beside the Blackfish's occasional nod of agreement.

With a heavy sigh, Robb hit his hand on the table and rose as the room fell silent.

"My lords, my ladies." He began in his Kingly voice. Now, three years carrying the title, it had become easy for him to command the room. "I appreciate each of your concerns on the matter. It tells me how much you value my family and blood. When I accepted this crown," he gestured to the steel jewel sitting high on his auburn hair, "I made a vow to protect you and yours. Every decision I make, I make it for us all. And now I do not decide lightly, my lords. I have lost two sisters and one brother. It pains me to give my sister leave in such circumstances. But as she has done many times before, Lyarra chooses to serve her House. She volunteered and insisted it is she who goes to protect my heir." Hum of understanding passed through scowling faces. "I hear your concerns, my lords, my ladies, and I agree with you. For that reason, I have demanded my own conditions to be met, and the Dragons have agreed." A wave of intrigue woke in the listening faces, "My sister will be able to write and report to me at every possible chance. We will be sending men from time to time to detect how she is treated. The moment Dragon refuses access to Lyarra or mistreats her, the entire pact will be overtuned.” Many nodded in approval at the words, “And throughout her entire stay, an Honor Guard will accompany her."

"Have you chosen the guard, Your Grace?" Lady Maege asked. Lyarra appreciated the lady’s motherly care for her. Ever since she was fostered in Bear Islands, Mormonts had made her part of their family, casting their protection over her and advocating for her.

"I am yet to, my lady."

"I will accompany Lady Lyarra, my king." Smalljon, the heir of Last Hearth, stepped front. "It will be my honor." Lord Greatjon proudly slapped his son's shoulder. 

"It will be as giving Dragons two hostages, my lord," Arra spoke up for the first time with a small smile. 

"Aye, it will be.” King agreed. “Thank you, my lord, but we can not take such a risk."

As Smalljon stepped back with obvious discontent, chatter rose. One by one, knights and sons of Lords volunteered.

"Take Brienne." Lady Stark's voice echoed over the crowd.

"Mother?" Robb asked as addled as her.

"Brienne's family is already sworn to the Dragons. She herself is loyal to us. She is the woman of her word and a mighty warrior."

"She is your Sworn Sword, my lady," Arra said, breaking through her confusion. Years ago, she would have feared talking back to Lady Stark. Yet time had shown her colder things.

"She is."

"And she has sworn to bring back your daughters. I would not want to stop her from her vows."

"My daughters are Ned's, and you are his. She will still be doing her duty." It was a thank, she realized with a shock. She must've known Robb had intended to send Rickon, and I stopped him. This is how she shows her gratitude.

"Brienne of Tarth," called Wolf King.

"Your Grace." She kneeled before him.

"Are you willing to accompany and guard my sister for the duration of her stay with the Dragons?"

"I am, my King. It is my honor to shield Lady Lyarra."

"It is decided then. You will join my sister. Make your preparations, Brienne of Tarth. And you, my lords and ladies. The pact will be completed tomorrow, before the afternoon. We will march west right after."

Chapter Text

The Third Year of Autumn

The Second Moon of The 305th Year After Conquest

"You should have pressed for the boy, Your Grace." Dwarf of Casterly Rock repeated once again. 

"I gave them a choice, and they made theirs, my lord." Dragon King sighed, tired. He had adjourned the council meeting in the command tent, asked Tyrion Lannister and Aurane Waters to stay behind with him and his brother Rhaegar. "Now tell me what you know of her." The lords shared a look, exasperating Daeron's patience.

"Whatever you know about the girl, speak." Prince of Dragonstone demanded.

"At once, my lord Hand," Bastard of Driftmark began with his usual wicked smile. He had come to them years ago, back when Daeron ruled Dragon's Bay. He had offered a fleet made of stolen Lannister ships and prizes from his war with Salladhor Saan. Dragon King had punished the man for his theft before accepting his fealty. Velaryon bastard had managed to rise far in the Dragon court, becoming an adviser to the King. "She was a Snow until the War of Five Kings, an infamous stain on the honest Lord Eddard’s honor. When Tywin Lannister forced Sansa Stark to marry Lacen Lannister, Young Wolf legitimatized her."

"To protect the succession." Rhaegar guessed, his voice hoarse, almost gruffy.

"Yes, my prince. She has always been close with Stark's siblings, and it is said that late lord Eddard dearly loved her and raised her as a trueborn."

Interesting. "Her brother is not setting her aside, then."

"No, Your Grace. My spies say Wolf King often listens to her advice and seeks her counsel."

"When King Robb left for the south after Eddard Stark was captured," Lord Tyrion took over, "he had named her the regent of their young brother. She ruled Winterfell until Greyjoy’s attack."

"She is smart, capable, and valuable to her brother. So what's the matter with her being our hostage, my lord?"

"She is also a great fighter."

Daeron scoffed. "And I have an entire army. What can one woman do?"

“A child would have been easier, my king."

"We are more than capable of handling one woman, my lord." He swallowed down his sigh. "Have you received any news from Dorne or Ser Arthur?"

"Nothing, Your Grace,” Aurane replied as the other men shook their heads. “The last thing my spies told me was that Red Viper had returned to Sunspear. Besides, they have been eerily quiet."

"Better quiet than with Cersei." The king mused.

"Yes," Lord Hand agreed, "We are still awaiting Raven from Olenna and Willas Tyrell. "

"Let me know the moment it arrives. Even if I am asleep." They all nodded. "Go, take your rest, my lords."

As the lords left the tent, the young king drew out a long breath. It had been a tiring few weeks marching in harsh autumn conditions.

“I heard you took Viserion to fly this afternoon. I was seeking you for a bite.”

“Ah, yes,” his brother replied in his somber tone. Time had not been kind to him in the passing decades. Or perhaps it was life itself turning his brother's well-known melancholy into everlasting sorrow. It was said he was once the most charming man of the realm. Now the said beauty was hidden behind the wrinkled lines of grief and a silver stubble. "Dragons don’t like cold. I thought Viserion would feel better with a ride. Drogon and Rhaegal joined us as well."

"You thought well, brother. I despise that I can not spend enough time with them." 

"You are conquering the Seven Kingdoms, Dae. Be easy on yourself."

"I always had time for them while taking Dragon's Bay."

Rhaegar smiled. Bringing a smile to his brother's face, bringing a spark to his solemn violet eyes, was one of the young king's priorities in life. Daeron had met his eldest brother before taking Yunkai, long after his pained days with Viserys in exile. Long after he had been sold to fighting pits since he was eight, and to a Dothraki Khal when he was barely of age. And long after he had lost his wife and child, and hatched dragons. The day Rhaegar infiltrated his camp and found him joined by Ser Arthur Dayne was the happiest day of his life. In the darkness of the doom that hovered over their lives, having a brother who cherished and loved him was Dae's guiding light. After so long, he had a true family at last.

"Then join us tomorrow." Rhaegar continued, sweeping away a streak of his silver hair falling over his eyebrow, annoyed. He never let his hair grow past a finger's length. The habit was one of the remnants of his sick years after the Rebellion. "We will take an early flight before your duties begin."

"I would love to, brother." He said, with a shiver passing through his body. He wrapped his cloak tighter around him. "Does our dragon blood not suppose to keep us warm?"

Prince laughed at the jape. "I forget sometimes that you are a summer child." 

Daeron scoffed. "Next, you will tell me winter is coming."

"Winter is coming, brother. And very soon." And it will bring darkness with it. The words went unsaid between them. A shiver unrelated to the weather passed again through his body, remembering the wight Starks showed them. The Others are real, and they are coming with winter. 

"We have to conclude the conquest fast with the least casualties." He knew they were both thinking of the Long Night. 

"Yes, the real war is ahead. The realm must unite fast and as one."

Daeron had always known his dragons’ fate was much grander than the restoration of House Targaryen. Groom of Fire, the visions at the House of Undying had called him. Child of Three, Slayer of Lies, Child of Storm… Dae got to his feet, approaching the wine stand to refill their cups. Warlocks had shown him the darkness that would fall on Westeros, the winter that could end it all… Son of Death… three fires must you light...  three mounts must you ride... three treasons will you know...

A chill swept through his bones as it always did when he remembered his visions. I have lit too many fires to count… I have had two mounts… Daario Naharis was to dread. And Drogo… was she to bed or to love? He still was not sure. Two treasons I have known. Ser Jorah for gold, Daario for what he called love. One more treason he was to see… for blood. These visions haunted the young king; he often prayed to find his answers before the Long Night.

Daeron returned to his seat, passing the cup to his brother. "Do you ever feel lighter, Rhaegar?"

"Why so, brother?"

"You were right in your dragon dreams... before Rebellion. About the Others, prophecy..."

Older man snickered with self-pity. "I was not correct, brother. I had believed the Promised was Aegon. Before I had thought it was me... Neither was right. I thought Dragon must have three heads. I must have three children... But it was never me or my blood. I was never right. It was you, my brother.”

“But you were still right, Rhae. A darkness is coming to Westeros.”

Prince sighed, his eyes scanning Dae’s face. “Are you thinking of the visions from the Undying, little brother?”

“I know, Rhaegar, I know not to dwell on them.”

“Look at me, Dae,” He pointed at himself, his voice getting throatier. It was another remnant of the Rebellion. Usurper’s Warhammer had shattered his chest plate, maiming his lungs for life, “and never forget what happens to the one who does. I live in grief, brother, because I dwelled on those visions. I spent half of my life swimming in the interpretations of prophecies, too blinded to prevent the doom of our family. And now my every waking step and breath are partnered with mourning...” He swallowed down what looked like a sob. “Mother, Elia, my children… my babes… Lyanna.” Two tears escaped his eyes as he quickly dried them away.

“I promise, Rhae. I will be careful,” Dae said sincerely. They had had multiple versions of this talk. Rhaegar refused to connect or consider anything related to prophecies, visions, or magic, always advising his brother to move past them. Daeron understood his brother’s stance and attempted to heed his words. Still, it was too hard for him. The reason three dragons soared the skies was because Dae had let his dreams lead him.

“Tomorrow, the pact begins,” Dae changed the discussion. His brother's wounds were too raw to understand him. Maybe in time. “Do you think Stark will cause a problem?”

Rhae shook his head. “If he is his father’s son as much as everyone claims him to be, then no.” He exhaled deeply, “Even if he does, we have to find a middle ground. Be in charge of your temper, brother.” The king rolled his eyes, but remained listening. “This… union will speed the conquest, and make it less bloody. I am positive that much.” Dae nodded in agreement, "But also… We have a great debt to pay to House Stark, brother, owing to my and Aerys' actions. But we must repay them."

"I will hold peace with them, brother. We will repay our debt."

"I hate that it falls on you to clean our mess, right our wrongs."

Dae leaned over the table and clutched Rhaegar’s hand. "Seven years ago, what you said would be true, brother. But now I have you by my side. We will make amends together as we will avenge our enemies."

The thirteenth day of the second moon brought an icy breeze as Daeron stood mounted, listening to Robb Stark. Each king was surrounded by their respective advisers and knights, taking measure of one another. The Wolf King had a perfect mask on, hiding his thoughts behind nobility. Yet Daeron saw the tension in his set jaw and his hold on the reins. He had always been good at reading people. 

"...I will be awaiting my sister's letters," he continued. 

"Of course, Stark. Our guest will be regarded and treated properly to her status as a Stark Lady."

"A Stark Princess" cut in a lady in armor with a bear engraved. Lady Mormont. Jorah's aunt.

Daeron did not refute and gave them one of his charming smiles. Northerners had insisted on their titles, refusing the Dragons' authority. For now. "You are welcome to visit or send whoever you want to inspect her anytime, Stark. Lady Lyarra is a valued guest of House Targaryen; you shall have no doubt."

Robb Stark hummed, distrust dripping from his ever feature, "We will be expecting the same treatment for her Honor Guard."

"Lord Tarth is an esteemed member of my court. You shall not worry, my lord. There are more crucial matters at hand, such as successfully completing this pact and coming out of the next battles with victory.” Robb Stark’s jaw clenched hard enough that Dae worried for his teeth, “I would love to continue our chatter, my lord, but we shall start marching soon. I believe, so do you.”

More stern than ever, Robb Stark turned to a knight mounted in the back row and gestured towards the castle. The knight in steel armour bowed and galloped towards the castle gates. Starks had not invited the Dragons to stay in Acorn Hall with them. One of the many ways they showcased their dislike of Daeron and his people. 

Winds sang their song as minutes passed, and three figures began to grow on the horizon. The same knight accompanied Lady Lyarra and her Honor Guard. Mounted on their horses, they looked like capable riders. The dark-haired woman, much slimmer compared to Lady Brienne’s form in heavy armour, seemed even a better rider of three. It is good. At least, she won’t be mocked by my Dothraki.

Stark’s men parted to allow the riders near Robb Stark. And Daeron's breath left his lungs, caught in his throat as the most beautiful woman he had ever seen came to a halt a handful of steps ahead of him.

She reminded him of a pearl sculpture with tinges of red – her face pale as ivory, with red claw-like scars over both eyes, grey eyes. She had high cheeks, flushed with icy winds, and a plum mouth set in a straight line. A haunting harmony. The raven hair was put in many braids and tangled into a bun with a few loose streaks framing her face, magnifying the greys of her eyes. What eyes… He thought, failing to find words. Haunting. He was away, but he could see deep shades of grey dancing in her eyes. The same eyes that scrutinized him and his men.

“Bastard of Winterfell,” the sound forced Dragon to ratch his eyes from her. Bastard of Winterfell? It was Tyrion he realized with inward wince as everyone stilled around them.

“Imp of Casterly Rock,” the lady finally spoke with a Northern burr, a deep but sweet voice.

“Time has been harsh on you,” Tyrion continued, gesturing to her face.

“Not as harsh as on you,” Lady Lyarra openly scanned Lannister’s scars with a small smirk.

“Sister,” interfered Robb Stark. “Meet your host, Daeron Targaryen.”

Looking at him, she nodded with acknowledgement, “Your Grace.”

“My lady,” he returned the gesture. Her eyes had revealed naught. Haunting. He mused again. She has perfected guarding her thoughts. It is rare to meet one such.

“Remember your words, Dragon.” Lord Stark’s words snapped the king out of the momentary haze his mind had become. “I will hold you to them as I carry out my charge."

"So will I, Wolf." And he would. So what if Lady Lyarra was the prettiest sight his eyes had ever beheld? He was the Dragon, and he knew his duty. And he was going to fulfill them as he always did. No matter what…

Chapter Text

The Third Year of Autumn

The Second Moon of The 305th Year After Conquest

Lyarra had not looked back. She had not glanced once more at her brother or her people. This was her duty now, and she was going to complete it with integrity. 

Yet she already missed her brother, friends, and mostly her Ghost, whom she was forced to leave behind. Arra had not dared to bring her and risk her life if something were to befall her. I am away from my brothers, gods know for how long. I could not force the same fate on Ghost. Not again …

They were already on the march west, Targaryens leading in the vanguard. A group of foreign soldiers named 'Unsullied' was filed right behind them, between Targaryens and Arra, who was accompanied by Ser Barristan and her new companion, Brienne. The hours had passed with soft chatter about the old days. The legendary knight held her father in high regard, sharing warm stories about him. He is a true knight, she thought. Right out of one of Sansa's favorite songs. Brienne seemed to share her opinion for the way she hung on the knight's every word. Ser Barristan was overall kind to her, making her welcome as much as her conditions allowed, temporarily drowning her worries and fears. He had informed them about the Dragon's people - Unsullied, Dothraki, and their traditions, and many more. 

As such, the hours fled, the sun began its descent, and soon they broke camp.

“My lady,” called a velvety voice as she dismounted. Turning, she found Dragon King approaching her.

“Your Grace,” Daeron Targaryen stood tall with broad shoulders and a narrow waist, almost a head taller than her. His well-defined muscles were notable even under his garments. He had a strong chin with a sharp jawline; a clean-shaven face was as pale as ivory with sunburned high cheeks. His nose, which seemed as if it had been broken a couple of times, disrupted the symmetry of his face, making him look like a warrior, yet no less comely. His hair passed his shoulders, the color changing from molten silver to white gold in the different streaks of the sun. Pearl. That is the color of his hair. She decided regarding the hair, half put in a braid with bells ringing softly with each move. The different shades of amethyst danced in his eyes as he stopped in front of her, and they were the most dangerous. Arra decided not to look at his eyes more than needed, for they felt as if they could strip you of your armor and bare your soul. 

“I hope the ride was not too troubling.”

“I can manage on a march, Your Grace. I have before.” There were thousands of whispers about the man standing before her. Some voices claimed he was Maegor Come Again, whilst the other blessed the skies, naming him Jaehaerys Reborn. To the young woman, he was the one who had the only weapon against the Others. The one capable of aiding her and her family to avenge their fallen ones… And, the one who tried to bend and break North. Make her people kneel and subjugate. Take away the freedom they bled and sacrificed for…

“As I have told your brother repeatedly, you are our honored guest. Please, feel free –”

The nerves she had been suppressing since she volunteered were getting hard to keep under wraps, especially before two amethyst eyes drilling into her soul. “Honored guest? Is that what you call it?”

“Of course, my lady.” He said softly, with a hint of a smile.

“So am I free to leave?”

He chuckled, amused, “You know you can’t, my lady.”

“Then call it whatever it is, Dragon. I am your hostage, captive. I believe we both have seen too much to play such childish games.” The king’s face twisted in a scowl, “I know my duty and my place as your captive. I require no need to gild our arrangement.”

“I have no doubt, my lady. I have heard quite much about the honorable Starks.” She narrowed her eyes at his emphasis. “I simply want to welcome you, for we have a long journey ahead.”

The only response he received was a hum. He cleared his throat and turned to two Unsullied guards, “These are my loyal soldiers, Black Dog and Ratkiller. They will be accompanying you and guarding you, my lady.”

“I am in no need of accompanying, Your Grace,” She turned, gesturing Brienne forward, “as you can see, I have my companion.”

“Lady Brienne,” he ignored her, nodding at Brienne.

“Your Grace, please, call me Brienne.”

“As you wish,” He smiled charmingly at her before turning back to Arra, “My Unsullieds are here to aid you in navigating through my camp – ”

“I must insist, Your Grace, I – ”

“So do I, my lady. They are here to keep you safe –”

“Safe?”

“It’s a priority for us, my lady.”

“Unless my brother acts out of line.” His eyes hardened as his jaw flexed. “Will you burn me then?”

“What?!” He seemed startled.

“If my king brother fails to complete his part, will you feed me to your dragons?”

“Of course, no!”

“You will take my head, then,” She hummed again. “I’d rather that.” Dragon failed to find words. Maybe not as witty as praised.

“If you’d allow me, I’d like to take my rest.”

He nodded again with a stern face. Good, he shall know not to play host with me or consider me compliant…

Lyarra’s tent was raised among the Dragon's councilors, deep into the camp. Heavy black canvas made the walls of the tent she was to share with Brienne. Two wooden beds with mattresses, carpeted floor, a brazier, and a writing desk awaited them inside. Her chest of belongings had already been put inside. 

"It will do." Arra mused.

"It's small," the other woman observed. It was smaller than her tent with the Northern army, yet she did not mind.

"I have slept under snow many days beyond the Wall. This is a luxury to me." She said with a chuckle. Brienne's polite smile did not ease the scowl on her face.

"We shall unpack, Your Highness." So did they.

An hour passed before a lady with curly hair entered and bowed.

"Lady Lyarra, I am Missandei of Naath. I am the Clerk of His Grace King Daeron."

"Well met, my lady. This is my companion, Brienne of Tarth." Both women exchanged polite nods of acknowledgment.

"Are you in need of anything, my lady?"

"Some fresh water would be appreciated."

"It'd be in your way at once. If you need anything more, please, summon me." She seemed like a sweet girl with intelligent eyes. "His Grace invited you to dine with him and Lord Hand, my lady."

Expected. Yet, Arra had to stop herself from rolling her eyes, "Thank you, Lady Missandei. I would dine with them."

"Ratkiller will be awaiting you when the time comes to lead you to the king’s tent." With that, the young lady left.

Opening the chest, Arra started searching for a proper dress for the night. He could have asked me when we spoke earlier. Why did he not? A wicked part of her wished it was because she had annoyed him too much for him to do it himself. She recalled their conversation line by line and decided there was something very unsettling about the king. About the way he easily moved, talked, and commanded his surroundings. The worst was his eyes… I must take a better measurement of him tonight. Know him better. Only then could I aid Robb, ensure our independence…

"Princess, shall I join you?" Came the standing Brienne’s voice, startling her.

"Nay, friend. It's simply a dinner.” Arra said, straightening. “But there is something else I require from you."

"Whatever it is."

"Let's sit." Arra sat on her bed as Brienne took the stool. "I know you are sworn to Lady Catelyn; it is with her that your loyalty lies. But if we are to succeed in Dragon's Den, I need to make sure I can trust you."

"My princess, forgive me if I ever..."

"No, Brienne,” She shook her head, “you have not wronged me. I respect your honor and wish one day we could be good friends." She sighed, "The issue is, I do not want your loyalties to be mixed. Now that we are here, I must know that your loyalty lies with me until you go back to Lady Stark. I need to know what will happen here, with them, to me, will not go back to her or anyone else… I would never ask you to betray your vows. But I need to know my secrets will remain with me."

"I understand," Brienne said slowly with a frown.

"Even if they mistreat me or do worse, you should never tell them… Lady Stark, Robb, or anyone else. Not if I do not give you leave to. This is bigger than me and my safety, Brienne. It’s about the North’s independence… the future of our people.”

“Do you mean to negotiate with Targaryens in His Grace’s place, princess?” Brienne was one of the few people who insisted on calling her by that title and using honors when addressing her, which never ceased to make Arra feel awkward.

“I do not have the authority for such a thing, but… I am not sure yet…”

A silence fell between them as each considered one another’s words. “It’s an opportunity, princess. You could build a bridge between the Dragons and us. The same way you did with Mance Ryder."

"Aye. I can’t lie, Brienne. I have been considering the very thing you said. I could earn their trust… know them enough to make them agree to Robb's conditions, to show them our side, reasoning, fight.”

“You shall be more careful with your temper, my princess.” Arra winced at the true words. “Earlier you were too – ”

“Stupid? Reckless? Foolish?”

“Brave, princess. You have always been crisp with your words and open with your thoughts. I understand it’s your way and honor… but it’s different where I come from.”

“I know, I know… my temper rarely gets the better of me.”

“We are at war, Your Highness. Everybody is short of temper.”

“Aye. But… I can not act as I like him, Brienne. I could convince Mance and tens of other clan chiefs without liking them. Neither did they like me.”

“Lady Lyarra, they were still people of winter. Summer people are different, especially deeper in the South.”
Arra exhaled slowly. She knew all of this, yet hearing from someone else added to her determination, “I must play the Game.”

“Yes, princess.”

“I’ll find a middle ground. I always do… find my way without compromising my truth. Whatever it takes to know dragons, to near a true alliance... And for that, we have to work together, Brienne... Robb can not reach us anymore."

"It's us in the dragon's den now."

"Aye, it is. For that, I need your oath that you will keep my secrets."

Brienne nodded with a steel determination and put her hand on her chest, "On my honor, I swear to..."

Dragon stayed in the union on multiple tents with heavy Targaryen colored canvas. Inside the opaque curtains was warmer with a faint smell of fabric dampened previous day's rain. 

"My lady, thank you for joining us," Dragon King said in a velvet voice once he spotted her entering. He had his smile back on his face, seeming unbothered by their earlier conversation.

"Thank you for inviting me, Your Grace." Play the Game, Arra. Put that smile on.

"I believe you have not met my brother, Prince Rhaegar," her grey eyes locked with the prince's deep purple, "He is my Lord Hand."

Lyarra acknowledged the man with a nod, who reciprocated it. Prince of Dragonstone was approaching, or past his fifty years, still, Arra could see why he was considered the prettiest man of his time. Despite wrinkles and traces of long decades, his glamour did not waver as he stood as tall as his brother. They were both beautiful, perhaps too pretty for Arra’s taste, for she liked men rougher. Still, she could see why her aunt would not have a chance before such a sight, but run away. “Let’s be seated.” The said man spoke with a deep, raspy voice.

Lyarra sat facing the brothers. The table was full of dried fruits she had never seen, nuts, and meat dishes. A small feast. Mayhaps, I am really the honored guest. She mused bitterly as a silence fell over them.

“Has your tent been to your satisfaction, my lady?” the King spoke, proceeding to fill their cups with wine.

“It has. Thank you.”

He scanned her face with scrutinizing eyes, looking for a lie in her words. “I believe there is much to discuss, Lady Stark – ”

“Lyarra.” She corrected.

“Pardon me?”

“Lady Stark is not my title, Your Grace. It belongs to Lady Catelyn, my father’s wife.”

“Your late father’s widow, you mean, which makes your brother Lord Stark, and I presumed you as the only female in your line, Lady Stark.”

“You presumed wrong, Dragon, for my brother is not a lord but the king. And I, as you said, am the only living female of my line, a princess. Unfortunately, you have been mistaken, Your Grace.”

“Temporary confusion, my lady.” King Daeron responded with a slight smile.

“We shall begin feasting. Is the food to your liking, my lady?” Prince Rhaegar tried to redirect her attention. Yet her glaring eyes did not move from the king’s daring amethysts.

“I understand why you keep refusing to use our respective titles.” She began in a controlled tone. “Yet, Dragon, the very man you underestimate, the very kingdom you refuse to acknowledge, will not turn over their freedom to you because you refuse propriety.”

“Your family swore fealty to House Targaryen for life when Torrhen Stark bent the knee, my lady. I thought your family values the oaths and promises greatly.”

“We do. We also remember well. That oath my ancestor swore was broken the day your father burned my grandsire alive alongside my uncle.” From the corner of her eyes, she saw Prince Rhaegar wince and divert his head.

“Allow me to apologize on behalf of my house, my lady.” The King continued. “My father was an evil man, and what he did to your grandfather and uncle was wrong. I beg for your forgiveness, and ask you not to judge a man by his father’s sins.”

"I see," Lyarra managed to say to what seemed heartfelt words. "My king brother has informed me that you have apologized for the past."

“I am not my father, my lady.”

“You have proven that much, Your Grace, or else my king brother would not ally with you.”

“Or let his sister away with.”

“Aye… I am not my father as well, Dragon – ”

“Many who know you would disagree.”

“It’s perhaps a blessing,” she continued as if uninterrupted, “this is not our fathers’ time. The world has changed greatly, as much as the wars we will be fighting. Mayhaps it’s a time for new fealties.”

“I am ready to accept your brother’s renewed oath to me, my lady.”

Play the Game, Arra… Stay calm and play. “They say you want to create a new world, a new Westeros. The same way you did in old Slaver’s Bay. Is it true?” he nodded. “Why?”

“Why?”

“Aye, why? From your insistent demands to my brother, it seems you mean to restore the Targaryen dynasty as it was instead of building anything new.”

“That is not my aim, Lady Lyarra.”

She hummed as Daeron’s eyes locked with hers once again; she tried not to flinch from the intense amethyst. She found the solution in daring one another in a harsher glare.

“I wish to break the wheel,” he said at last with a sigh.

“The wheel?”

“Through our history, the ruling families have been too busy trying to put their blood on the throne to do their duties to their people. I believe rulers are servers as well. Our people work for us, and we protect them. They bleed for us, and we bleed for them, which the lords of Westeros have forgotten. These lands have been plagued by countless battles in the last decade. Soldiers are forced out of their homes to fight these too many battles, while smallfolk suffer every day.”

“A thing done by a dragon can only be undone by another, Lady Lyarra.” Continued Dragon Prince. “The other families are not capable of holding the Throne, as proven since the Rebellion.”

“Precisely. That is the wheel I mean to break. Every house, Lannister. Stark. Baratheon. Tyrell. They are spokes on the same wheel - one rises, another falls, and always the wheel turns. The lords play their games, and the people are ground beneath it. I will not stop the wheel, and I will not allow it to turn as it always has. I will break the wheel. I will make a new order, where no one needs to suffer under it again.”

“A noble pursuit.”

“A thing done by a dragon can only be undone by another.” The king echoed his brother’s words.

“But isn't the Iron Throne the wheel itself? It creates the circle, demands the Game to be played.”

“In the world I am building Iron Throne will have no part of it… I have discussed a part of my plan with your brother.”

“Aye, I am aware. I believe one of them was the Council of the Realm.”

“Yes, one of the many changes to come.” The said council demanded a representative from each kingdom to be present in the capital at all times. Someone directly from the ruling family - an heir, an uncle, or a daughter to make decisions that regard the entire realm to be made as a realm, if Arra recalled correctly.

“Where is the North’s place in any of this?”

“The North is part of the issue I strive to mend, my lady.”

“Is it?”

“You remember your history well. North’s long history of warfare and struggles between itself and the rest of the realm. North is another spoke.”

“But we have done it. We have broken out of the system. Starks are not part of the wheel anymore. We have done it, Breaker of Chains. We are free.” The man’s jaw clenched hard, yet not as hard as his gaze. She did not waver before his eyes. The unsaid words between them thickened the tension. Breaker of Chains who means to break my people, take our freedom. Not fitting, is it, Dragon?

“What about Tullies and Arryns, my lady?”

“What about them?”

“They bow to your brother.”

“Willingly.”

“They fight his battles.”

“And they are ready to die for him.”

“You have not broken out of the wheel then, my lady. Your brother has created another one.”

“No. It was his people who put that crown on his head, Dragon. He never had a claim or a desire to be a king. I say it not as his subject, but as his sister. My brother has taken this role because our people want him. We did not conquer anything, Your Grace. They came to us. Our people chose him. And you wish to undo it. You want to take it all because what?”

“You can not ignore my claim, my lady.”

“You mean you deserve to rule over us because you have silver hair and violet eyes?” She clicked her tongue, tilting her head, “My people are going to need much more than that.”

“The Iron Throne was built by my forefathers, Lady Lyarra. My blood has stayed on the Throne for centuries...”

“So it's because you are the son of a King. Son of the man hated by every living person in Westeros…”

“I do not claim the throne by birthright; if that were the case, it would go to my brother.”

“The throne was lost by conquest.” She said.

“It shall be taken by conquest.”

“Fair… still does not answer my question. Why shall my people bow to you? Why shall I choose you over my own blood? Give me a reason, Targaryen. A reason other than fear.”

“You, yourself, have witnessed what happens when unworthy people sit on the throne,” Rhaegar Targaryen answered, “My brother has the power, claim, and right to, my lady.”

“Excuses, lord hand. These are excuses, not a reason good enough for us to rejoin the Seven Kingdoms.” She turned to Daeron, “Do you, Your Grace, know anything about my people? Have you ever broken bread with a Northerner before?”

“I have many times, my lady. Ser Jorah served me for long years.”

Arra could not hold her snicker, “You mean the traitor who fled his home like a rat instead of facing punishment? The man who is shame to his family? The man who will pay with his head the moment he steps into the North?”

“I know Ser Jorah has made mistakes – ”

“Not mistakes, Your Grace. He has sinned. He sold people he swore to protect, which meant he broke one of the sacred values of the North.” She shook her head. “I’ll be frank – ”

“Were you not?”

“I’ll be franker. We are people of winter, Targaryen, and you have no recollection of what that means. That man who served you is not a true Northerner… Have you ever been to the north of the Shivering Sea?” He shook his head. “The North of Riverlands?” he repeated the action. “Then you do not know what it means to be cold. If you do not understand the ice and snow, you can not understand my people. Did you know that at times my people forget what it feels like to be warm for years, because our life can become that mean in winters... I am not presumptuous enough to claim you can not break us. Before your dragons’ might, a few would not waver. But know that day when you bend us, you will not have loyal subjects. You will have thousands of subordinates who only have fear and disregard for you. You will be the man who took their choice away.” She sighed. “Your fire burns too hot, and Gods know that will be our rescue. Natheless, if you wish to rule the winter, Dragon, you must know winter, the same way my brother does.” She got to her feet. “Now, I must beg for your leave; it’s been a long day.” Daeron nodded, not looking at her while the prince said the proper farewell.

When she made her way back to the tent under an icy autumn night, her heart was heavier than ever. She closed her eyes and called on her gods. Please, Gods, give me the strength and wits to survive this as well. Give me strength and wits to help my people and fulfil my duty.

As such, Lyarra Stark’s first day in Dragon’s Den came to an end.