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Chapter Text

Qarth, Essos, year 315 After Conquest

ARYA

“I hate this fucking game!” he yelled turning the cyasse table over as her trebuchet removed his dragon from the board.
“Pay what you owe me and hate it as much as you wish, Dalton.”
Arya said with an amused smile while his eyes were killing her where she sat.
And he would kill her, if he could. But Dalton Pyke, an Ironborn bastard, was no reason for her to worry.
“Another time, Dalton,” she said, taking the money that was bet on this game before he could protest.
She went out of the cabin on the ship’s deck and inhaled.
The helmsman, man of House Manderly, leaned on a main mast stared at her, a smile on his face.
“Ya like makin’ enemies outta worst of men, lass?”
Her smile grew larger.
“He is far from the worst of men. An eel, not a kraken, not even a squid.”
He laughed loudly: “Ya’ve got sp’rit, my lass, I like it!”
She paced the deck along the portside of the ship, taking the atmosphere of the place her vessel laid anchor.

Qarth.
One of the greatest ports in the known world. It is a sheltered harbor full of colors, with large stone quays reserved for the ships of the various trade guilds.
At the far end of the harbour are the quays where ships from the Summer Islands, Westeros and the Nine Free Cities are allowed to dock. And there her ship, Nymeria, was docked as well.
Near the port, winesinks, warehouses, gaming dens, cheap brothels, and temples to peculiar gods all clustered together.
Qarth is a city of merchants, serving for many centuries as gateway of trade and culture between the east and west, and the north and south. The city has become wealthy due to its control of the Jade Gates.
Qartheen trade with many goods, from spices and silk to elephants. And slaves, came to her mind as she laid foot on land, for third time since Nymeria docked, for the third time after ten moons at sea.

Strange and magnificent. That was Qarth to Arya.
And yet, after second time she went ashore, wish to see more of it was gone.
That surprised her.
Was she getting tired of seeing new things, new people, new lands… things strange and exciting, things different and dangerous.

What is west of Westeros?

Ten years. It was that long since the last time she laid eyes on her sister and brothers.
And some moons over ten years when Winterfell was caught by her gaze.
Nymeria started her journey from Oldtown, North had no real ports on its western coast.
There was no need for Arya to go back home once all was done in the capital of Seven Kingdoms…. Six Kingdoms.
She took another deep breath strolling across the quay remembering all those who were onboard her ship that day.
Crew of Northmen, from White Harbour to Bear Island and Saltspear.
She lost more than third of them on this voyage lasting half score of years.
Storms, diseases, foes on strange shores, all took its toll.
Nymeria came close to Westerosi coast just once, five years ago.
Some men disembarked, some came aboard, but it was not Northern ship anymore.
In course of time, crew came to be made of sailors from Iron Islands to Lannisport, even picking few Tyroshi and Summer Islanders.
Nymeria was now manned by all sorts of skin colours.

But long voyages exhaust not only sailors, they do that to ships as well.
Arya’s direwolf of the sea needed repair, so she took the vessel through the straits between Essos and Ulthos, avoiding both land and pirates, passing by the Shadowlands and Asshai and then traversing the Jade Sea they reached the port of Yin in the land of Yi Ti. There first repairs were made, barely enough to help ship reach Qarth where she will be thoroughly overhauled. Nymeria's decks were filled with merchandise from Yi Ti intended for Qartheen markets, vessel was engulfed with scent of saffron. A needed improvement, she stated in her mind while sailing towards Qarth, from usual odours.

When reaching the furthermost point of the quay, she gazed towards the city for a while, even from where she was standing, she could see the high and slim towers reflecting the sun as they were coated in jade and obsidian.
On the closest line of buildings, she saw their delicate balconies, build twice as thin as those she was used to back home.
For a moment she was oblivious to the people around her, but just for a moment.
Port seemed to her as a nest of angry ants, men coming and going in all directions, all sorts of men and some women as well.
The Qartheen, tall pale folk in their linen and samite adorned with tiger fur, few women wore gowns that left one breast bare as was custom of Qarth, though hardly they were ladies, merely well-dressed pleasure slaves.
Whores, as her helmsman would delicately put it. Others were foreigners, like her, Volantene merchants, Yunkish nobles in their tokars, a garment not fit for any kind of work, she spotted a band of drunk Arbor men waddling back to their ship, anchored nearby displaying the colours of House Redwyne, a blue shield with grape cluster on the main sail.

Then someone brushed her arm passing… running by.
A Braavosi boy, he couldn’t be counting more than seventeen namedays. A flanged mace in his hand, he rushed into a side alley where some of smaller warehouses of this quay could be found. Trouble.
Mind your own affairs, Arya. But… that is not me.

She went after the boy. Back in the alley, he and two more youths, all in clothes of Braavosi seafarers, cornered a little girl. Arya saw a dagger in girl’s hand and the way she was holding it spoke of training. And the blood stain on the shirt of oldest among the attackers, slash went across his chest.
He had a knife in hand but was shaken enough so his two companions stepped forward, one with mace and other with hammer.
They picked up whatever came first from their boat and came after this… this child… Arya concluded as she was getting closer.

“Skoros gaomagon emi kesīr?” asked Arya in High Valyrian (What do we have here?) In ten years, she learned the main language of Essos well, though her gruff Northern accent remained. One of boys, the slashed one, turned to her:
“Qrīdrughāks, Vesterozia live!”(Go away, Westerosi whore!)
Hearing this, she gave the boy a look and a response that froze him where he stood:“Iā ābra iksis daor iā live. Iā ābra iksis daorys.”
(A woman is not a whore. A woman is No One.)
His companions reacted the same and the very next instant they were running from the alley uttering in frightened tone: “Valar morghūlis”

“Valar dohaeris.” she nodded and then turned her attention to the girl who still kept her defensive posture, right hand bent in the elbow and raised to shield her face and chest with fist firmly grasping the dagger.
Arya gave her a long look. A ten-year old, if she were any good at telling someone’s age. Raven black hair framed the pale skin of her face, eyes fixed on Arya with same sharp enmity as they were on the attackers.
Dark tunic and breeches, garments fit for a boy. Then she noticed red trace on the girls’ left hand which she held tight to her side. And drops of blood on the ground.
“Issi jeme paktot?” (Are you all right?)“Iksan daor jāre naejot ōdrikagon.” (I am not going to harm you.)
Girl did not reply nor did she move.
“I figure you don’t understand me. Which means we have a problem since I don’t speak Ghiscari or Qartheen to save my life.”
“Iksan mirre paktot. I am all right. And I speak the language of Sunset Kingdoms. Better than you speak Valyrian.”

Arya nodded with smirk. Girl was actually right. She spoke Common Tongue without accent, like highborn speak in the Reach or Crownlands.
“That may as well be true, but you’re not all right. You have cut on your left arm.”
Girl turned her gaze and sighed seeing that Arya was right. “It is nothing. I gave him a better one.”
“Aye, you did. He’ll remember you by that scar for many years to come. Still, you should have someone to tend that arm.”
Girl again made no response. Arya gave her a long look again.
“It is not polite to stare at other people.” said the girl angrily.
“No, it is not. Just as it is not smart for noble girls to roam around such places. The port is the last where someone like you should be caught alone.” “I am not noble. And I am smart.”
Arya almost laughed: “Oh, forgive me, I am ignorant about ways of the Qartheen, I didn’t know that even smallfolk here is fluent in both High Valyrian and Common Tongue. But even if you’re not noble, still you’re not smart either for being here on your own.
You know what those Braavosi scum wanted to…”
Arya paused. This girl is still too young to hear about the horrors which men can inflict to a girl, even in the youngest age.
“What are you doing here in the first place?”

Dark-haired child kept her silence for a short while and then finally lowering the dagger hand said with trace of disappointment in her voice: “I wanted to see the Wolf ship.”
Arya’s eyes glowed: “The Wolf ship. Why?”
“They say she has sailed across the whole world. And has a huge wolf head on the prow. It wanted to see that ship.”
Now she was smiling at the girl. “What would you say if I were to take you to the Wolf ship and show it to you from stern to bow – and the only thing in return that I ask is to see that slash on your arm?”
Girl’s eyes were wide now but still cautious. “How do I know you’re not liar and a slaver who will steal me and sell me in the next port?”
“Hmm… good point. I guess there is smart in you yet. Here’s what we’ll do. There is a Civic Guard patrol in the quay, not far from where we stand. They’ll be your escort while you tour the Nymeria.”
“Nymeria?” “Yes, that is how I call the Wolf ship. My ship. Do we have an agreement?”
Girl nodded. “We do, my lady.” Arya shook her head: “I am not a lady.”

“Oh, for fook sake!” blurted helmsman of Nymeria, Warrick Manderly as he witnessed Arya returning accompanied by four members of Qarth Civic Guard and a small girl. “Wha’ did ya do now, lass?”
His thick Northern accent drove attention of the child standing next to Arya as she gave him an inquisitive look and Warrick sent the same look to the bloodied sleeve of her tunic. “Pray, don’ tell me ya got in a fight with a toddler.”
“I am not a toddler, Ser, you wrong me saying that” came the rebuttal from the mouth of a girl with raven black tresses and that left helmsman with no words. Dalton Pyke came from below the deck just in time to hear it all and said to himself:
“Ha, Qartheen cub not only looks like bloody Stark, she even sounds like one.”

“Tell Devan Lantell to come to my cabin, there is wound that needs tending.” Arya ordered and then invited the girl to the stern where her cabin was. Devan of House Lantell from Lannisport, a minor noble house related to once mighty Lannisters of Casterly Rock, served as healer aboard Nymeria since ship’s second maester was washed away during storm in Jade Sea. First maester met worse fate, succumbing to venom of four headed lizard. It was a breed of sluggish lizards as large as a deer with curves and bumps on its body that gave an impression of many heads. It was first landing of Nymeria’s crew on the islands in Sunset Sea.
Lizards were slow and appeared docile but they could spat their venom almost four yards away.
One such spat hit Arya’s left hand causing mortification of two fingers, maester managed to save the others but then paid the highest price for being too curious about this venom as he tried to extract it from the gland of dead animal.

Devan Lantell’s knowledge was nowhere near a maester, nor any other high level of medical education, he was an auxiliary healer at best.
He had to do until proper healer or maester comes aboard.
Arya already decided to try finding someone from Essos to take the task of keeping the crew healthy and tend their wounds.
No maester from Westeros would travel so far east just to go from one ship to another and Nymeria would not be heading home so soon.
Poor Devan tried to compensate his lack of expertise with bedside manners but it made him no more popular among the crew.

“Me help you. This. Take off.” Devan addressed the girl who was half seated on Arya’s bunk using gestures to further explain what he wants.
She turned to Arya who stood by the bunk amused by all this:
“Iksis ziry iā mittys?”(Is he a fool?)
"Daor, ziry nūmāzma sȳz. Ȳdragon naejot zirȳla isse Quptenkys Ēngos, kostilus” (No, he means well. Speak to him in Common Tongue, please.)
“If you want me to take off my tunic, please say so.” girl says to Devan who immediately felt like an idiot “Well, yes… that...”
She unbuttoned her tunic and slowly pulled her wounded arm out. Arya stepped closer.
Good, it is not deep, but it’s not a graze either, enough for a girl of this age to be scared. Not that this one is…
Arya watched how Devan was treating the slash on girl’s forearm and then her gaze went to girl’s face.
A growing beauty, she thought, pale face and dark hair that falls in curls… and grey eyes… Arya frowned… grey eyes.
I never saw an Essosi with grey eyes, that’s the color you will find in the people of the North. That’s the color of my eyes.

Devan tied the small bandage and nodded: “I am done, my lady.”
“Thank you, kind Ser.” girl replied politely giving away that she was educated as nobility.
Arya thanked Devan as well and sat on the stool next to bunk, passing the girl a cup with beverage which was still hot.
“What is it?” girl asked. “Tea made of herbs from Yi Ti hills. It has soothing effect.”
Arya’s guest paused measuring the cup and her few times. “What, are you afraid that I will poison you?” “No…but...”
“You’re distrustful of strangers?” Girl nods.
“Good. You will live longer, it worked for me just fine all these years not to trust every stranger.”
“How many years?”
Arya chuckles: “Did you just ask me how old I am? Two moons ago I had my eight and twenty nameday. That ought to sound very old to you.”
“It does not. I didn’t mean to offend you asking this, my lady.”
“There was no offence and I am not a lady.”
“…Captain?”
“Even worse. You may call me Arya. And your name is…?”
“Lyanna.”

Arya’s eyes widened upon hearing this.
“Your name is Lyanna? Who… that is not Qartheen name.”
“I am not Qartheen. My family lives here but we are not of Qarth.”
“No, with that name you surely are not. It’s a name which only women from where I come from are given. My aunt was your namesake.
And I knew of one more Lyanna… not much older than you she was when she died in battle… are your parents Westerosi?”
“Yes.” “Are they from the North?”
“No. My mother is not, but I only have her. I have never met my father. And I was told his mother was Lyanna too.”
Arya looked at the girl, now she seemed more familiar to her.

Northern name and Northern looks… Lyanna were a popular name after Robert’s Rebellion, after my aunt died.
Many people, lesser lords and smallfolk alike have shown their respect to House Stark by giving their daughters name Lyanna and their sons Rickard and Brandon. And after Lyanna Mormont killed that wight giant at gates of Winterfell new generation of Northern daughters got the name to honor the fallen hero. This one here is surely a daughter of a Northerner, a father she never got to know.

“Your father honored his mother by naming you after her.”
“No, it was my mother who named me. My father was never with us.”
“I had a father. He was taken from me when I was your age. And then I spent many years apart from my family.”
Lyanna was now one with sad face: “How did you find your way back to them?” “I did in the end. That is only what matters.”
“I don’t know if I could live without mine even for a day…”
Arya smirks: “Then let this day be a lesson to you. Alone in this vast city full of strangers.”
“But you’re a stranger and you’ve helped me.”
“I guess I did, but it doesn’t mean that you’re not a silly girl who went alone to see some odd ship from half a world away.”
“It is not an odd ship; it is a Wolf ship. Why is it called Nymeria?”
“Nymeria was my wolf. When I was a little girl, she was my pet. But I had to let her go. And she was no ordinary wolf, she was a direwolf.
When she grew up, she was size of a pony. Grey fur and eyes of dark gold.”
“You had a wolf?!” girl was in awe “When you were like me…? You were so fortunate. I can only dream of having a wolf. And I do sometimes.
But I dream of a white wolf, a big white wolf.”

Arya frowned hearing this and Lyanna noticed.
It was moment of silence between woman and a girl, both with pale skin and raven black hair, gazing at each other with grey eyes.
Gods, Arya, child from the far side of the world dreams of Ghost. No wonder, that direwolf was known among Northerners.
This girl must have heard stories about him and children do dream all sorts of things.

“Lyanna, I will show you the ship now. That slash can’t go unrewarded. And then, I will personally escort you back to your family. I owe you and them that much.” Girl agreed without saying, to Arya’s pleasure.
I want to meet her family. If naught to show them respect as they have kept the traditions of North here, so far away from home.

She was about to lose her temper when Dalton Pyke produced a horse cart from somewhere in the quay.
"There is no way in seven hells that I’ll be travelling in a box carried by a half dozen men holding two sticks. And neither is she.”
Arya disclaimed when palanquin was offered as a mean of transport. Girl standing next to her approved.

Lyanna gave her directions how to avoid the crowded city streets and they were on the way towards the eastern part of the city, further away from marble palaces and fragrant gardens, this was a less rich quarter where large brick houses turned blind walls to the street. There were fewer horses and camels to be seen, and a dearth of palanquins, but the streets teemed with life. Still, even these brick mansions would put any part or King’s Landing to shame.
“How did you get to the port from here? It’s quite a ride.”
“I hid under a cart that brings spices from western quay to here...” girl said proudly “...I wanted to return the same way but…”
Arya smiled at her: “Plan didn’t work. Instead of sneaking under carts and getting into knife fights shouldn’t you be learning things more appropriate for a lady; like most noble girls do?”
“Most girls are idiots.”
Arya bursts into laughter: “You know what, Lyanna, I’ve really started to like you.”
Girl smiled then cautiously asked: “Why do your blades have names? Needle and… Catspaw?”
“One of my brothers gave me Needle and the other gave me Catspaw. Here…”
Arya pulled out the dagger and handed it to Lyanna: “Take a look.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“Aye, Valyrian steel adorned with dragonglass. To me it’s the most beautiful dagger in the world.”
It has saved the world.
“My dagger is so plain” girl said with sad tone “It doesn’t even have a name.” “Can I see it?”
Arya took Lyanna’s blade in hand and sliced the air half a dozen times. “It’s well balanced and good craftsmanship.”
I saw a dagger like this already, but where and when… time does leech one’s memory.
“Who gave it to you?” “My father gave it to my mother. And I took it with me today.”
“That is stealing, in a way.”
“You can’t steal what is yours, Arya.” girl defended.
“Well, either way, you can name your dagger however you like.”
“No.” girl replied with solemn voice “Mother said once it is a dishonored blade.”

Strange thing to say, crossed Arya’s mind right away but before she managed to say anything, Lyanna pointed at the courtyard protected by the ten feet high brick wall: “We’re here. This is my home!”
“And you told me you’re not noble. With home like this you surely are.”
Arya led the cart to the closed gates, a barrier made of steel painted in black with droplets of red on every bar and was about to call when two men approached. Though dressed as Qartheen servants there was something about them that made her wary.
“Ñuha riña, īlin zūgagon nūmāzma ao. Aōha mandia olvie hen mire.” (My lady, we were all worried about you. Your sister above all.)

Cart went slowly towards the house, both were silent, deeply in their thoughts.
“I guess I can expect a serious scolding now.” girl said with disheartened tone.
“Mandia… you have a sister, Lyanna?” “Yes, my twin sister. Rhaella.”
Arya almost dropped the reins… “Your sister’s name is Rhaella??”
“Yes, she’s named after my mother’s mother.”
Arya pulled the reins and horse obediently stopped.
“Lyanna, what is your mother’s name?” she turned to dark-haired ten-year old with seriousness in her voice.
That caused a visible fright as girl sensed the change in Arya’s mood.

“Riña Līāna, īles jēda syt ao naejot māzigon lenton.”(Lady Lyanna, it was time for you to come home.) voice came from the side of the cart where girl was seated. “Emā rōva hen vestriarzir naejot gaomagon.” (You have a lot of explaining to do.)
Arya turned her gaze in that direction. Next to cart stood a beautiful young woman. of long, dark hair and eyes of light green color. Her long, red robe and her distinguishable necklace told Arya exactly who she was.
A priestess of the Lord of Light, just like the Red Woman, Melisandre, who died after Battle of Winterfell.
“Kinvara, eman ūndegīon se zokla lōgor!” Lyanna was loud as she went off the cart into woman’s arms. (I have seen the Wolf ship!)

Arya stepped out from the cart with utmost caution, both hands rested on the hilts of her two blades.
Soon she noticed dozen or so servants encircling the cart. Some carried short spears, some swords.
They didn’t have to wear helmets for her to make them out. Unsullied. Fuck. Still, you can fight your way out of this courtyard, Arya.

“Lya!” a child’s voice came behind the red priestess.
Arya knew her jaw dropped as she watched a silver-haired girl running to embrace her sister with raven locks.
Girl’s face and eyes and braids… What is this place… flashed in Arya’s mind… Qartheen are known for warlocks and their sorcery…
still the embrace of these twin sisters was the purest display of affection Arya saw in many moons.
“Qilōni iksis bias, Lya?” sister asked Lyanna. (Who is this?)
“This is my friend, Rhae… her name is Arya. She rules on the Wolf ship.”
Kinvara placed each hand on one of the girls and corrected:
“Daor, byka mēre. Bisa iksis Āria hen Stārke Lentor. Issa aōha dubāzma.”(No, little one. This is Arya of House Stark. She is your kin.)
Arya felt how her confusion meets with rage:
“What in seven hells is going on here?”
Kinvara said calmly: “After today, Arya Stark of Winterfell, you will finally know.”
“Know what?” “What kind of a woman you truly are.”
“Arya…” Lyanna spoke softly “...my mama’s name is…. Daenerys.”

Hands gripped hilts of both Needle and Catspaw so tight it hurt.

Night fell on Qarth. Light wind brought noises from central part of the city, illuminated by fires of his towers, balconies and streets.
The greatest city that ever was or ever will be – never slept.

Arya paced nervously in the garden of the house she returned Lyanna to.
Her only company were fish in nearby fountain, little did she care about them or the spraying of water.
She lives. Daenerys Targaryen, the Dragon Queen… the Mad Queen lives. And she gave birth to twin daughters.
Jon’s daughters. Jon… he came to her mind… it seems a lifetime when I saw you last.

It was not a lifetime. It was five years ago.
That one time when Nymeria returned to Westeros.
Arya ordered ship into the Bay of Ice and anchored close to Westwatch-by-the-Bridge, the westernmost castle of what once was Night’s Watch. She sent raven to Castle Black but he was no longer there.
He was beyond the Wall. It took almost ten days for her brother to come accompanied by the red-haired wildling Tormund and some others.
But that was not Jon Snow she knew. It was a man haunted by the ghost of the Dragon Queen.
Dany’s ghost gave him peace during day, but came to his dreams every night.
Queenslayer…kinslayer…oathbreaker he uttered in his sleep.
And her name. Always her name.

Of little comfort were Tormund’s words that it was much worse before, when the wound was still fresh and Jon Snow wanted to find peace in death.
In the first year since he stabbed her, he tried to get himself killed by searching fight whenever his path crossed with wildlings that were not Tormund’s men. Or he would go hunting for bears and mammoths hoping one will tear him apart or crush him into ground.
Only once during that fortnight with Jon she tried to tell him that he had no choice and Arya lived to regret it. His heartbreak broke her heart too. It was that day Arya decided she was done with Westeros.
Her pack, the last of Starks was asunder.

Thought how her brother suffered for all this time ridden with guilt for doing what was right, while life he took was brought back on the other side of the world, filled her with rage.
She lives. And has his two daughters. One pure image of Jon, other of Daenerys. His own family. Something Jon wanted all his life.
A wave of sadness came over her, but soon the rage was back.

Kinvara finally came and that was sign for Unsullied guards to disappear in the dark. They’re close, Arya was certain, it takes one rushed move from my part and spears will come at me from the dark.
“I’ve met your kind before.” Arya said to the woman in red robe “Thoros of Myr, Melisandre… she brought my brother back when he was betrayed by his own men and he, he brought one man many times back.”
“Beric Dondarrion. He had a purpose with Lord of Light and he fulfilled it. He died saving you.”
“And you… you brought her back. A mad woman who burned thousands in one single day. How shall she serve Lord of Light? To burn more cities to the ground? Is that what your Lord wants? She still has her dragon; I assume he is even larger now.”
“Drogon now is of size that could cover the whole Winterfell castle.” priestess replied dryly.
“And she will deliver her vengeance on this world serving it cold, is that it? It’s a wonder she waited this long to strike.”
“She didn’t strike before; she won’t strike now or ever again. She is not the same as she was. Ruling means nothing to her now.
But she still has a role to play.”
Arya hissed: “She played her role all right. Your god is a fire god; he must have been proud of her when she burned down entire King’s Landing.”
Her voice turned to yelling: “Hundreds... thousands of innocent men, women and children died that day, I almost died that day. And you brought her back.”

Kinvara responded calmly: “Everyone does what he does for a reason.”
“Keep talking like that and I will have a perfect reason to slit your throat.”
Arya gave her a warning look, but red priestess was unaffected. “I know a killer when I see one, Arya Stark, and you were good at that.”
“Why did you bring her back?”
Kinvara replied with ever same tone of voice: “You would rather that I have not brought Daenerys back?
That Lyanna and Rhaella were never born. Your own flesh and blood.”
This made Arya’s rage to boil: “Damn you to whatever hell you believe in. I never knew about them till today.”

And Jon… he… he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know... flashed in her mind
“If she was with Jon’s children… he…he killed his unborn daughters when he stabbed Daenerys… what kind of vicious cunt is your Lord of Light when he allowed that to happen?? Answer me!”
Gods, if Jon were to know he killed his own unborn children, he’d cut his own throat.

“Lord of Light brought Jon Snow back from the dead. And made Daenerys to stay with child even if she thought that was impossible. And brought her and her children back when duty became the death of love. Because they still have a role to play.
Them and their children. Just as you have, Arya Stark, Hero of Winterfell.”
Arya ignored what Kinvara said and slumped on a stone bench near the fountain. “Do you know how he lives for past ten years… ten bloody years or have your flames failed to tell you that? You don’t. But I do. Where is Daenerys? Is she here? If she is, I want her to hear what misery she brought to my brother.”
“You will not see her here. But it was important for us to be in Qarth today.”
“Why?”
“How else would you and Lyanna have met? It ought to happen this way.”
“Ah yes, the will of your Lord of Light. He better finds the will for Jon to meet his daughters. And soon.”
“He will meet them. He lives, it is not a happy life but he lives. That is what matters the most now.”
“Why did you wait for ten whole years to reveal all this? If you and your fire god were waiting for me, you could have found me years ago.
Why now?” Arya’s rage burned out, but questions remained.
She was not willing to listen to riddles.
Kinvara sat next to Arya: “I’ve told you; nothing happens without a reason. Daughters of Ice and Fire are now of same age like you were when you started with your path. Who better to prepare them for the future than you?”
“Prepare them for what future?”
“For a war to come, war against the same evil you slew at Winterfell's Godswood.”
“The Night King is gone, the White Walkers are gone, the army of the dead is gone. We won the Great War.” said Arya with hand waving in dismissal.
“If so, why would Lord of Light bring back Daenerys, made her a mother of two and kept Jon Snow from killing himself. If Great War is over, Lord of Light does not need his champions anymore. And yet, both of them are among us, living by the Lord’s will just like their children.
None of them can be reached by the evil which rules in King’s Landing. They are protected from his sight.”

Arya jumped at her feet hearing this: “My brother, King Bran is not evil.”
“He is not your brother anymore. He told you that. Boy who was Bran Stark died in a cave far beyond the Wall.”
“All right, so he calls himself the Three Eyed Raven, that does not make him evil.”
“It does not, but the body that once was Bran Stark hosts one more being along the Three Eyed Raven. Night King marked him.
And when you have destroyed the ice body of the Night King, sorcery that made him thousands of years ago was not destroyed.
It moved to a new host, Bran Stark, who was right there, that night in Godswood of Winterfell.
That evil stayed dormant for all these years, making the Three Eyed Raven unaware of his presence while he was ruling Westeros wisely and ably but the summer that lasted for almost ten years will soon be coming to its end.”
“That is madness talking from you…. All of you red priests would like for world the end in fire…” what she just heard seemed like nonsense to Arya.

Kinvara placed her hand on Arya’s shoulder: “When that who once was Bran Stark has been elected king, why were you so eager to leave Westeros, to seek what is further west? Why is Jon Snow far beyond the Wall now and not serving as Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, no matter how aimless that service now is.
Why you both have moved as far from the Realm as you could? You have the answer, only must search deep to find it.”
High Priestess of Volantis rose from the stone bench and went towards the house with slow, dignified pace.

“Am I free to leave?” Arya asked. Her anger calmed, but was still there.
“Iā ābra iksis Āria Stārke hen Vinterveli, se issa dāez naejot jikagon skoriot jaelza.” Kinvara replied.
(A woman is Arya Stark of Winterfell and she is free to go wherever she wants.)

It was already late in the night and she decided to stay until it dawns, not risking a long night ride to the port through city she did not know well enough.
I’d rather take my chances with this handful of the Unsullied and Red priestess than with Qartheen thieves and cutthroats.
Night was warm and she lied down on the stone bench to rest, keeping both of her blades unsheathed and close.
She didn’t want to sleep, only to wait for the first sunlight.
Thoughts were swarming in her mind, thoughts of Jon, of his Dragon Queen, then burning city flashed before her closed eyelids…
Night King once again held her throat while she planted Catspaw in his heart of ice... Jon was on Rhaegal above Winterfell… and then it all disappeared. Sleep came and tricked her.

She felt warmth on her face as sun bathed the stone bench and Northern woman asleep on it.
At first her eyes opened slowly, gaze wandering over ground and then she saw a man’s feet not more than couple of paces away. In an instant she was in sitting position, dagger and sword in hands, ready to jump him.
It was one of the Unsullied, armed with sword and shield he bowed to her.
“Bisy iksin rigle naejot mīsagon ao isse aōha ēdrugon.” (This one was honored to guard you during your rest.)
Arya nodded back, hiding her surprise and thanked: “Kirimvose.” Guard turned and marched away. You may dress an Unsullied in silks and velvet he would still be a man of shield and spear, came to her mind.

She rose from the bench and stretched. You’re not old, Arya, but neither are you a girl that was used to sleep on grass and on the rock.
Two servant girls from the house were coming to her, one carried a small wooden table, color of ivory and ornate with scenes of camels, elephants and tigers.
Other brought with her sweet bread, bacon and sausage and bowl of persimmon soup, all to break her fast. Arya thanked them and sat back on the bench to eat this mixture of Qartheen and Westerosi meal.
She gave advantage to soup over bacon, the latter she had more than enough on Nymeria. With real healer she could also bring proper cook aboard. Both would make crew happy. Devan Lantell as healer was as good as Willard Stout among pots and pans.

Garden was quiet and she knew there was no one else. Her pace was slow and cautious and aimed towards gate.
She had no wish to trade more words with the priestess.
I’ve learned too much too soon. And I don’t know what to make of this knowledge.
“Nyke ērinagon!” came a joyful voice, that of a child, from a small courtyard which was parted from the garden with wooden pillars.
Victory was proclaimed in High Valyrian followed by “And I will win again!” in Common Tongue.
Next sound was that of something hitting the ground. She knew that sound all too well. A wooden practice sword.
It took her less than dozen steps to be leaned on one of the pillars watching two girls training with wooden blades and small, round wooden shields. One with silver, other with raven hair, both with simple braid falling to the small of their back.
Girl with Stark features was more agile and advanced against her twin, Daenerys lookalike, which kept blocking Lyanna’s sword with shield hand and tried to slash her legs. It gave no result as Rhaella was losing more ground, being pushed back.

Daughters of Mad Queen. Dragonspawn... thought of disgust flashed in Arya’s mind but the very next moment she cursed herself for that... Father would be ashamed of me, he kept one dragonspawn safe till his very death. My brother. And these are his girls. Just as they’re hers.
My blood. Not only of Old Valyria but also of First Men. I cannot hate them or deny them. That is not me…

Silver-haired girl in her retreat before sister’s assault came only couple of feet away and couldn’t keep the balance, after one more strike that she managed to stop with her shield, Rhaella was to come down on her back….
But then much to her surprise girl ended in Arya’s lap.
And smiled as she turned to face this Westerosi woman. “Arya!” Lyanna yelled cheerfully. “I win! Again!”
“And I have to yield again.” said her disappointed twin with Targaryen features . It was the first time Arya got a better look at Rhaella.
She was a true image of her mother, but Arya could see a lot of Jon as well.
“I will never be good as Lya.”
“Who says she is good?” Arya smiled back to her. “She is doing it all wrong. Just as you are.”
“I do not.” protested the girl with Stark traits as she came closer and now both were standing next to Arya.
“Yes, you do… the sword or the shield, both of you don’t treat it as it must be treated.”
“How is that?” both asked in one voice.
“As they’re part of your arm. Just as your fingers or elbow, that is how you must think of your sword and your shield.
Sword goes where your eye wants it to go, not the other way around.
And, girls, never in a fight trouble yourself with what will your opponent do next, let your opponent trouble himself what will you do next.”
“Arya, will you stay with us and teach us how to be good with a sword?” Lyanna pleaded joined by Rhaella: “Yes, stay with us.”

She looked at the twins, her little cousins and smiled: “If I stay, I won’t be teaching you swordfight. I will teach you how to water dance.”

Chapter Text

Port Yhos, Essos, year 315 After Conquest

DAENERYS

“Why?”
She did not have an answer. Today as she did not have it before. Mayhaps I will never have it.

The waves of Summer Sea she watched from the terrace of her manse always brought her serenity. This place was her favorite since she came to live again.
Port Yhos was the last settlement of the Qartheen to the west and the smallest.
Coastal road leading east towards Yhos’ mother city of Qarth, the northern road going to the lands of Lhazareen, haesh rakhi as Dothraki use to call them. The Lamb Men.
The same road continued to north and west, meeting the Skahazadhan river and entering Meereen from inland, then descending along the coast of Bay of Dragons to Yunkai and Astapor.
Meereen. Yunkai. Astapor. I’ve seen them all and conquered them all. When I was just nine and ten. One should not feel old at three and thirty. And yet I do sometimes.

Port Yhos had no road leading westward.
There beyond the mountains lies ruin of Old Ghis.
Five times did Ghiscari fought with Valyria, each time being defeated by dragon flame.
In the end, Ghis and its legions were shattered in last war, city turned to ash and cinder and its fields sown with salt and sulfur. And bones.
That was thousand years ago. But it was not that ancient foe of her ancestors the reason she liked there is no road going west.
For west of Ghis, across the Gulf of Grief was Valyria, doomed land of her people.
And further west were the lands she wanted to rule once, in previous life. But not in this one.

Daenerys turned her gaze from the sea to four towers of her manse.
It was built in style of those in Pentos, with high brick walls covered with pale ivy; the entry hall with mosaic of colored glass depicting island of Naath, beaches of white sand and butterflies;
pillared outer courtyard also covered in pale ivy and another one, inner courtyard with pool of water where she refreshed many times when heat of day or even night became unbearable.
It was a long way to here from that temple in Meereen where I was brought back, came to her mind though she’d rather not have such thoughts.
Even in memories she did not want to go back to that temple hall where she woke up from nothingness, from the void; to feel that weakness again, the disillusion, the pain… to think of... No.

I am not that woman, not anymore. I am not Dany; Dany fell in love with a man who in the end could not love her back because of his honor no matter how much Dany sacrificed for him.
I am not Mhysa; she wanted to be a mother of her people, to rule justly and wisely and to be loved by all her subjects – a fool’s dream.
I am not a Dragon Queen either; she came when Dany and Mhysa failed only to fail even more, much more… it was Dragon Queen who burned the city with thousands of innocent people.
I am Daenerys Targaryen.
Not a queen, not a khaleesi, not breaker of chains.
I don’t need that to live.

When priests of Lord of Light brought her back, she was lost for a while. Defeated in more ways than one.
And then a miracle happened, greater than her coming back to life. A new life was growing inside her, something she thought it cannot come to pass.
But it did. She did not accept it right away, she could not, knowing with whom she created that new life.
It took some weeks and for that time the red priests kept close watch on her, fearing she could harm her unborn or herself.

She would never do that and she never did.
“Ao iēdrosa emagon iā naejot tymagon, Daenērys Jelmāzmo.”
Kinvara kept telling her. You still have a role to play, Daenerys Stormborn.
“Daor.” she replied just as many times. “Iksan gaomagon tymagon.” I am done playing. No more roles. No more great games. No more desires for a good world.
She wanted it to happen, to usher new era. She had nothing but that goal.
All others around her could not remain loyal to that goal, their loyalties were divided and, in the end, they’ve chosen their families.
Dwarf betrayed her for his siblings, bastard betrayed her for his.
I never had family to be loyal to.

“Yn ao gōntan. Īles daor iā nādrēsy. Īles aōha lentor. Se emā qringaomatan naejot ōregon zirȳla hae lentor. Hae Jaehaerys ōregon Alysanne. Ao qringaomatan naejot arlie qogron hen dāryssy.”
Kinvara’s words were stingers. (But you did. He was not a bastard. He was your family. And you have failed to embrace him as family. Like Jaehaerys embraced Alysanne. You failed to renew a dynasty.)

“I don’t need a dynasty. I will have my children. That will be my role. Mother. Not Mhysa but muña. Mother, not of dragons, of living children.”

As her belly became more swollen with every passing sennight Daenerys started to ponder how to go on with her life.
She was still Queen of the Bay of Dragons and the Khaleesi of the Dothraki and could resume ruling as both.
She had no desire for ruling anywhere anymore, but power does not reside only in titles and thrones.
Drogon was with her, he came and go as he pleased, flying free across the Essosi skies and growing still. On his back, she could bend every part of Essos to her will.
But that was behind her. It was time for something new.

Two moons after coming back to life, she met with Daario Naharis.
The Second Sons were still keeping order in Meereen, Yunkai and Astapor, their ranks being reinforced with former slaves.
After Golden Company’s decisive defeat before the gates of King’s Landing, Second Sons were the strongest sellsword army in Essos.

Meereen was ruled by the Council of Citizens, assembly of twenty-one men and women from the ranks of nobles and former slaves.
Same form of government existed in Yunkai and Astapor. Daario was there to ensure that cities don’t sink back into chaos of civil war.
He obeyed the commands she gave him almost three years ago, before she took her armies to Westeros.
He was jubilant to see her, she knew what he was hoping for, for them to be as they were while she ruled Meereen, but then he saw her belly and all his hopes sunk.
Even if I weren’t with child, I would not go back to him. When you embrace the sun, a melting candle can give you no comfort.
She thanked him for his loyalty and told to carry on with same duty.
Daenerys was not going to stay in Meereen. She needed the place where she was stronger.
But she will keep eye on the Bay of Dragons. Ever watchful eye. Those were her first victories and she wanted them to stay that way.

She was seven moons pregnant when Drogon took her to Vaes Dothrak.
By that time Dothraki who have survived the Great War and what she called the Last War in Westeros came back across the poisoned water.
She knew that they will all ride to their only city to give thanks before Mother of Mountains for their victories and safe return.
They have lost their khal of khals, the Khaleesi, but they have killed the men in iron suits and tore down their stone houses.

Drogon flew over the Horse Gate, the two gigantic prancing bronze stallions whose hooves met at hundred feet above the roadway forming a pointed arch.
Dark winged shadow came over the broad, windswept streets and city’s variety of buildings… carved stone pavilions, manses of woven grass, wooden towers, stepped pyramids and log halls…
all construction styles brought to the city by slaves from the lands the Dothraki have once conquered.
Drogon roared as she came down from his back.
She could see how the disbelief turned to fearful adoration on the faces of new khals which emerged from power struggle that followed after they’ve returned to Essos, some were khals for merely few weeks.
And now, on the spot where once temple of Dosh Khaleen stood, them and their riders were once more prostrating before her, just like that night when she rose unburnt from the flames that were devouring the temple.
Their Khaleesi was back while they believed she was killed by a treacherous Westerosi, one whose home half of Dothraki died defending.
The old me would relish watching them bow, but I need them to listen, now more than ever, was her only thought.

“Qoy ki tih qoy, yeri hashi ei yeri ase to anna. Ajjin, anna kashi yot ki najaheya.”
(Blood of my blood, you have kept all your promises to me. Now, it is time to pick the fruits of victory.)
They were all back on their feet, cheering and screaming, just like they were cheering in front of destroyed Red Keep, but this time without their arakhs and spears.
Blades were not allowed in Vaes Dothrak.
“Yeri ha jinak asshekh vitihirak ki vezhven havazh.”
(You will from this day on be the guard of Great Grass Sea.)
“Ei verakasar, ei jerak ha leitha ve titha zafra yeri she azhadi ma vizhadi. Che hazze tikh vo verakasar akka vo jerak.”
(Every caravan, every merchant from west to east will give you homage in gold and silver. Or there will be no caravan and no merchant.)
They screamed louder as they understood what she meant.

And in weeks and moons that followed they did what she asked.
Dothraki rode out to take control of every one of caravan roads from Free Cities in the west to Samyriana in the east, from New Ibish in the north to Qarth in the south.
Fifteen moons after she rose again in that Meereenese temple she had control of all trade routes in Essos and all the traders were paying for safe passage.
Her wealth and the wealth of the Dothraki begun to accumulate.
Soon those merchants which could not afford to pay in gold and silver for the safe pass of their goods from one part of Essos to another had no choice but to work for her, though they all believed they work for the Dothraki.

Daenerys was still hiding from the world and had no problem with it, she loved her secrecy, most of all when she gave birth to twin girls.
Her daughters were born in Vaes Dothrak and unlike during her birth, the sun was singing that day.
She counted nine moons back and concluded that twins were conceived on that day when he first rode Rhaegal, when they came to that waterfall…
We could stay a thousand years… they did not.
But they stayed long enough to share their love, even wrapped in thick fur coats their bodies joined.
That was last time she was with a man. Any man. She hoped for hundreds of such days with him. But it was the last one. And it gave her miracle.
When Kinvara and Dothraki midwives placed two babes in her hands, she wept.
Tears of joy. There they were. Her girls. Both had velvety hair on their heads, one silver, other dark. Targaryen and Stark.
She cried even more now, knowing how these babes died with her that day. How their father killed them, all three of them.

“Ñuha zaldrīzītsos, muña kessa gaomagon ao ȳgha hen bisa tubis naejot ñuha mōrī tubis.”
(My little dragons, mother will keep you safe from this day till my last day.)
She named the silver-haired babe by her mother, Rhaella. Mother who died giving her life in that night of worst storm that ever fell upon Dragonstone.
The other girl, one with raven hair, she named Lyanna, after the love of her brother Rhaegar, the mother of…
Rhaegar died in the waters of Trident, calling that name with his dying breath.
She often wondered did he rode to meet the Usurper because of duty or because of love… or was he fighting for both, something his son was never able to.
Daenerys chased thoughts of him from her mind. She named her daughters by their grandmothers and never doubted if that were the right thing to do.

Years were passing by and she watched her children grow. All of them.
Girls spent their first four years in Vaes Dothrak, they already knew how to ride horses at that age.
Drogon was now twice the size he was when she battled the Night King in the sky over Winterfell. And he was just three and ten years old.

Daenerys moved to Port Yhos when Lyanna and Rhaella reached age of five. There is more of this world than Dothraki Sea and she wanted her girls to see it. But not all of it.
Certainly not Westeros, a land that had shown her only contempt, she was truly glad to hear how their high lords and ladies have elected a new king of now Six Kingdoms, the one they call Broken, just weeks after she was killed.
She learned how her dragon has melted the throne of her ancestors and was happy that it was gone, that those who were not Targaryen will not sit on it.
Tale of independent North with red-haired Stark sister as queen has amused her even more.
She was content that he whose name she wasn’t able to utter ended in exile, sent back from where he came and that her loyal Grey Worm was one who insisted on it.
From the Dothraki she learned that he took the Unsullied to island of Naath, a home of his beloved Missandei… she was happy for him.

It was second year of her new life when she decided to fly to Naath, to see her Unsullied once more.
Kinvara who spent a lot of time at her side was wary of that.
“Ñuha dāria, hāre laes vōljes iksis jurnegēre syt Drōgon mirre bisa jēda. Zȳhon laes daor ūndegon zirȳla isse uēpa Valyria, se magi hen vējes issi kostōba. Yn kostas ūndegon Drōgon isse Naath.”
(My Queen, the Three Eyed Raven is searching for Drogon all this time. His eye cannot see him in Old Valyria, the spells of Doom are too strong for his gaze. But he could see Drogon in Naath.)
The fire magic of Lord of Light was shield that broken king of Six Kingdoms could not pierce, Daenerys knew.
She and her girls were safe as they were brought back from the death by the will of R’hllor, the Lord of Light.
“He could see Drogon, but he cannot see me. Fear not, Kinvara.”
Her decision to go to Naath was not something to be negotiated.

Two moons before twins’ third nameday she was flying to Naath. In those three years she established control over all trade routes in Essos with scores of merchants and caravan masters working for her and filling her treasuries.
There were some among them who believed they can do trade without her but soon only trade they were part of was being killed or sold into slavery by the Dothraki.
The once slaver cities were not able to trade outside the routes she controlled.
I am more Queen of the Bay of Dragons now than when I was in Great Pyramid, she said to herself.
It was a long flight. Drogon flew from Vaes Dothrak to Meereen where she spent the day in the temple and then with sunset dragon flew south, towards Old Valyria.
Daenerys watched from high above the ruins of her ancestral home, the greatest empire the world has ever seen.
A poem she learned in childhood came to her mind:

They held each other close and turned their backs upon the end
The hills that split asunder and the black that ate the skies;
The flames that shot so high and hot that even dragons burned;
Would never be the final sights that fell upon their eyes.
A fly upon a wall, the waves the sea-wind whipped and churned.
The city of a thousand years and all that men had learned;
The Doom consumed it all alike and neither of them turned.

Her dragon flew hard above the waves of Summer Sea and with the first rays of dawn, they landed on white sand beach of Missandei’s home.
Drogon shrieked so loudly that it echoed across half of the island.
Beach was soon crowded with people, Naathi men, women, children, many of whom reminded of her closest friend’s beauty and also with the Unsullied, some in their full battle uniform, some in Naathi clothes carrying spears and shields.
Faces of fear and confusion surrounded her and her large dragon. Tension was high and she knew it will take only one spear thrown at her for Drogon to unleash hell in this island paradise.

“Dovaogēdy, gaomagon daor ao gīmigon aōha dāria? Iksan Daenērys Jelmāzmo, se pryjatys hen belma!”
(Unsullied, don’t you know your queen? I am Daenerys Stormborn, the breaker of chains.)
The sound of her voice which they knew too well made all the Unsullied to kneel with their spears and shields laid at her feet.
“Skoriot iksis Turgo Nudho?” she asked of their leader.
Then finally she spotted the familiar, severe gait left of where she was standing, hands clasped behind his back as he rose up.
Behind him was group of Naathi children.
“My Queen…” he spoke in his heavily accentuated Common Tongue “…but how… he told us he killed you… How?”
“Torgo Nudho, you of all people should know that with me impossible things happen.”
And then she embraced him, she never did that when she was his queen but he now was last living friend from her youth, not her Master of War, her friend.

When Naathi have learned who she was and how one of their stolen daughters was liberated from slavery by this silver-haired woman and became the adviser of a queen feast was prepared in her honour.
She spent that entire day with the people, meeting Missandei’s relatives and there were a lot of them since people of Naath do not know of marriage and hence have no issues of fidelity while the Unsullied were eager to hear what she commands.
After all they were soldiers and their ruler has come back from the dead.
“Nyke udrāzma ao naejot sagon biare.” she told them as they have assembled before her, not like that day in the ruins of Red Keep in strict formation, they made a circle, almost three thousand of them.
“I command you the new life.”
She saw how befuddled they are.
“Nyke udrāzma ao naejot. Sepār hae iksan. Ñuha vīlībāzma iksis gaomagon. Aōha vīlībāzma iksis gaomagon.”
(I command you to live. Just as I do. My wars are done. Your wars are done.) She felt a tremble in her voice and her eyes begun to water.
“Daor dāria mirre ēdas iā nēdenka se tolī pazavor azantyr. Yn sir jaelan ao naejot glaesagon isse lyks. Kesan va moriot sagon lēda ao. Se bisa iksis daor se mōrī jēda īlon ūndegon toile.”
(No queen ever had a braver and more loyal army. But now I want you to live in peace. I will always be with you. And this is not the last time we see each other.)
Three thousand men were silent for a couple of moments and then first cheer “Mhysa!” and another and another…
the beach of white sand on island of Naath echoed with same word she has heard for the first time at Yunkai, many years ago.
She bid farewell to Gray Worm that evening.
He offered his services to her, to be her Queensguard but she refused: “I am no longer a queen and I see you are happy here, you are closest to her here, you’re doing what she would’ve wanted, helping and protecting her people.
She is proud of you, if there’s afterlife, she is proud of you. That is your purpose now, not guarding a fallen queen.”
“You are not fallen, you have not fail, you were betrayed.”
She placed her hand on his cheek “It doesn’t matter now. I live a new life and I am happier than I ever was. And I tell you to be just like that.”
She smiled and slowly paced towards Drogon. “My Queen, some of my men would like to go back to Essos. they say they miss their home.” he said cautiously.
Daenerys turned back “How many?”
“I think no less than five hundred, mayhaps more.”
“When I get back to Meereen, I will order to send ships to Naath to take them to Essos.”

She climbed on Drogon’s back while Grey Worm still watched with disbelief how black dragon was large now. “Till we meet again, Torgo Nudho, I wish you good fortune in years to come.”
“Lyks se bōsa ābrar, ñuha dāria.” he replied (Peace and long life, my Queen.)

Two moons after her visit to Naath, almost six hundred Unsullied were transported to Meereen and all placed themselves in her service.
Most of them were now here, at Port Yhos, others remained in Meereen with one company in her manse in Qarth.
When she came to Port Yhos, she felt as she’s closed all the books of her previous life.
There were new relationships with Meereen, with Dothraki, with the Unsullied. She made peace with her Essosi past.
Still, no matter how difficult that past was, it was next to nothing compared with her past in the lands where her family once ruled.
Daenerys pushed aside that past, locked those memories in some hidden vault of her mind and hoped it will never be unlocked.

But as her daughters grew older, so did their understanding of the world.
“Zaldrīzes liorilaksa dȳñes iksis daor.” (Dragon is not a pack mule.) she used to tell Drogon, nonetheless she placed most precious cargo, one that came in small package, on him and made night deliveries all over Essos.
That kind of transport was four times costly than caravan trail but some were ready to pay the price. And she needed to fly on her dragon.
Seldom did she used the word Dracarys but Drogon needed to breathe the flames, usually on livestock that was prepared for his meal or to burn something which was meant to be burned anyway.
Drogon saved her many times in her previous life and without him she would not have enjoyed this one.

She came back from one such flight and as Drogon flew away from Yhos, westward to his nest in Old Valyria, Daenerys went to see her now six years old daughters.
They were playing in the inner courtyard, next to water pool. They were in her embrace the moment they saw her.
She sat on the carved wooden bench shielded from the sun by baldaquin overgrown with pale ivy, each of girls sitting on one of her knees.
They talked how they’ve spent their day, until Rhaella asked with sad tone of voice: “Muña, why don’t Lya and I have a father?” “Yes, mommy, why?” dark-haired girl asked also.
“Surely you have a father, you know how babes come to the world.”

Daenerys provided her daughters with best teachers this side of Narrow Sea. Growing up in constant run from the men sent by Robert Baratheon to kill her and her brother Viserys she never had a formal education.
She made sure her children did. At age of six, twins already knew how to read and write in High Valyrian and Common Tongue and also were taught history and geography of both Essos and Westeros.
“Why is he not with us then?” Rhae insisted. She had Targaryen features but despite those silver tresses and dark lilac eyes often a somber tone of direwolf family came out when girl was unhappy.
Lya had Stark looks with temper that spoke of a match of dragon and wolf, she was not easiest of children.
“He didn't choose us, my little dragon…”
“Then he is a fool. How could he not choose you and Rhae and me…” said girl who had the hair and the eyes of that fool. Daenerys chuckled and kissed Lyanna’s forehead:
“Sometimes fathers are fools. What both of you must know is that you are children of love. Mama was very happy with your father once. But now, he is far, far away, in the land covered with snow and ice.” If he lives, that is…

Few days later she flew Drogon to Meereen, to meet with Kinvara.
Priestess now lived between Meereen and Volantis as former had more and more R’hllor believers and occasionally she’d came to Port Yhos.
Daenerys entered the temple, that very same place where she was brought back to life, and felt certain unease.
Memories of drawing first breaths of this new life came back, memories of pain beyond sanity and then of her crying.
Kinvara stood next to the Great Altar and smiled when became aware of her presence. “I know why are you here. Questions have been asked, right?”
Daenerys nodded “Yes, questions about him.”
“Children are by nature curious. But now so are you. You want to see if he’s still among the living.”
“I do. It will help me to answer questions when they come next time. Can… can I see him in the fire? He is on the other side of the world…”
Kinvara smiled “Distance means nothing to the Lord of Light. But fire alone cannot show anything. To see, to really see in the flames we must add blood of the kings to the fire. And luckily for us, we have that in you.”
Daenerys frowned a bit: “How much royal blood do you need?” “A few drops will do.”

Priestess took her right hand and placed it over a small brazier which stood next to altar. Kinvara whispered the words of prayer and flames began to dance and when the final words left her lips,
she cut Daenerys’ thumb and pressed it for blood to drop in the fire. Flames surged feet high.
“Blood of dragon indeed.” Kinvara smiled “Now we shall look together.”

Daenerys gazed at the brazier whose flames swirled around and then she could see…
A log cabin in the woods, animal hide covering what supposed to be the door, more animal hides tanning on the roof, chopped wood stashed on the back side of the cabin, horse tied to a pine tree few yards away.
Home of a hunter, came to her mind, she saw couple of such on her march from White Harbour to Winterfell more than seven years ago.
Then she saw back of a man approaching the horse, patting the animal and giving him something to eat.
Long, uncombed dark hair fell to the shoulders, he wore jerkin made of boiled animal hide over a grey shirt and breeches of black color.
After feeding the horse, he turned around… first she saw was a sword hanging on his left side… a white pommel in shape of beast’s head… Longclaw… then beard, of lighter colour than his hair, long and untidy… and grey eyes…
grey eyes she was drowning in so many times when she was with him… Jon Snow. Man who killed her.
Time was merciful to him, came to her mind, he is still comely even if covered with hair and beard.
But he was pale in face and looked fatigued.
Next thing the flames showed her was inside the cabin, it was night time, fire was slowly going out in the small hearth and she saw him lying on a makeshift bed, he was still in his breeches and shirt, only his feet were bare…
he tossed and turned and she could tell he was dreaming. And talking in his sleep… Dany… Dany, please… world of mercy, it must be…a good world…
his voice was soft and full of pain and then it changed into anger… kinslayer… queenslayer… forgive me, Dany

Her gaze into flames was deep as was her breath, her mind swarmed with thoughts… and she felt strange sensation below her left breast, where scar from his dagger was.
He was dreaming of her. After all these years he was dreaming of that day in the throne room, of killing her. And was haunted by it.
“He suffers. His every night is like this, full of nightmares.” Kinvara said.
Daenerys responded dryly: “Good. He deserves this. To live that day over and over again in his dreams.”
“He is not an evil man; he never was and never will be.”
“No? He killed me, he stabbed me when I was in his embrace, kissing him.”
Priestess shook her head: “One day, Daenerys Stormborn, you will know that he has saved you.”
She looked at Kinvara: “My dragon and you have saved me. And my daughters. That is all I know.”

She left the temple and walked across the terrace on whose edge Drogon was perched, waiting for her.
Then, she started crying and knew that for a brief moment she was again Dany… Jon, why have you ruined us both.

Daenerys was no stranger to troubled dreams. Two years she spent in Westeros seemed as one long nightmare and those happenings revisited her in dreams.
Jorah dying on the battlefield among stacked corpses of wights, Viserion falling in frozen lake, Rhaegal disappearing under waves of Narrow Sea… the sound of Missandei’s body touching the ground beneath the walls of King’s Landing,
Varys being engulfed in flames, Jon’s face when he could not touch her as woman anymore… the worst dreams were those haunted by scenes of King’s Landing burned by dragon flames and wildfire, by her.
Sound of bells before Drogon lifted off in the air and began burning everything and everyone on his path to Red Keep.
Why, why did I do it… every such dream ended the same, with her sobbing… I’ve killed hundreds of children in most gruesome way… I am not my father; I did much worse. Why…
She couldn’t find the answer.
Simple answer would be to admit she was the Mad Queen. She was not. Not before the dagger in her heart, certainly not after.
Those who are mad do not feel remorse. And she felt it every day of this new life.

Through Council of Citizens of Meereen she gave large contributions to charity of King’s Landing, for the victims of destruction she caused, orphans, crippled, homeless.
New rulers of Westeros believed that it was Meereen’s desire for good relations between two cities once ruled by the same… tyrant?
They were free to believe what they liked. She wanted to give at least some heal to those she has hacked. It was not for absolution; she knew it was sin beyond absolving to slaughter the city.

Daenerys was now at the eastern balcony of her manse from which there was a splendid look on the small harbor of Port Yhos.
Today she was awaiting the return of her daughters from Qarth after two moons.
Twins were ten years old now and she didn’t need to watch over their every step.
Being on their own in her Qarth house with household servants and Unsullied guards was to be part of their learning how a lady can run her affairs in a world of men.
She was surprised when four days ago a word came from Qarth that they’ll be returning by sea.
Daenerys knew how long it takes for a ship to sail from Qarth to Yhos and she expected twins to arrive today.
And she was right for in a distance white sail was approaching along coastline.
There was a hammock on the balcony and she lied in it, waiting for that ship to arrive.
She dozed off, it was a warm afternoon and balcony offered a pleasant shade.
A sound of large harbor gong woke her up, three times gong sounded to hail the vessel that came to Port Yhos and ship returned the greet with three blowing of horn.
Horn? She wondered while walking to the edge of balcony Not drum or fanfare which is common for most of ships of Essos… but horn?

Ship was now clearly visible; anchor was already dropped and crew climbed the mast to begin furling the sails.
White sails with grey head of direwolf of House Stark painted on them.
Daenerys sighed.

Chapter Text

Wolfswood, Westeros, year 315 After Conquest

LORD OF KARHOLD

Five days ride from here was the capital of Northern kingdom with landscape of grey flint hills and tall watchtowers on their stony summits, further east land flattened, cut only with narrow rivers that provided water for small farms and holdfasts with walls of wood or stone.

It was different here.
This was a dense wood of oak and black brier and evergreen; old and dark place. Known to all as wolfswood.
Farms and holdfasts were scarce and small the further one would venture northwards, going deeper into the darkness of this forest.
On the north western part of wolfswood lies Deepwood Motte, home of House Glover, one hundred leagues from Winterfell and five leagues south of the Bay of Ice.

Gawen Glover rode twenty leagues into the wolfswood to attend a meeting.
He was the eldest son of Robett and Sybelle Glover who both died in the war against the dead leaving him to rule over this portion of North since he was eight years old.

That was ten years ago. Gawen is now among most experienced young lords of northern Westeros.
At least he should be, thought another young man while watching the rider in scarlet surcoat embroidered with mailed fist on the chest.

Elric of House Karstark, oldest grandson of Arnolf Karstark, castellan of Karhold awaits the rider.
He is twenty years of age, being only ten when he took the lead of House Karstark.
His clothes are in contrast with Gawen’s, black woolen cloak patterned with white sunburst, the sigil of his house.

Sun of Winter.

Or mayhaps it was Son of Winter at the beginning, a thousand years ago when Karlon of House Stark was rewarded with land for deeds against his father’s enemy and he built his holdfast, the Karl’s Hold.
With passing centuries, castle became Karhold and Starks of Karhold, a cadet house of Winterfell Starks, became Karstarks.

Scratch a Karstark and you'll find a Stark, Ramsay once said only to be corrected by his father, Roose Bolton: After the scratch Robb Stark gave Lord Rickard, that may be somewhat less true than formerly.

He was right. There was not much kinfolk love left between direwolf and winter sun.

Jamie Lannister killed Tohrren Karstark while trying to escape from Robb’s captivity which caused Lord Rickard Karstark to become enraged and demand revenge.
And then feeble-minded Catelyn Stark, Elric recalled, released the Kingslayer in promise of her daughters' safe return from King's Landing.
Old Rickard saw it as insult, his murdered son being treated of lesser value than two Stark girls.He acted by killing two Lannister boys and for that Robb Stark, King in the North, took his head off. Men of Karhold left the Northern host after that and returned home, forcing Robb to seek new marriage accord with Walder Frey. And what marriage it was, a Red Wedding.
Some years later, Stark and Karstark men crossed swords at the Battle of Bastards, Starks won. Karstarks had to bend the knee to renew the wows and fight for direwolves at Winterfell and at King’s Landing.
The line of Rickard Karstark was extinct, ending with his granddaughter Alys who died defending Bran Stark from wights… line of castellan took the lead.

“My lord…” greeted Gawen as he dismounted.
Elric nodded “My lord…” then both laughed and shook hands.
“For fuck sake, Gawen, you are as formal as some southern cunt from the Reach.” “Is this not a formal meeting, Elric?”
“In the middle of wolfswood on the forest road? Indeed, a proper council of high lords… don’t consider it a formality, I wanted to hear first-hand how you stand about certain things. I don’t trust in sending ravens, not anymore. Do I have to explain why?”

Boy in scarlet surcoat shook head: “Not to me, you don’t.”
“Good. Now, did you bring your hunting bow?” “Aye.”
“As did I. Then by all means, let’s go and kill something. And talk.”

Both were now with bow in hand and quiver across the back.
They moved slowly through the woods, avoiding rotting trunks and bushes.
Their paces were slow but they made little effort to remain silent as Glover wanted to hear of real reason for this meeting.
“So, what do you want to hear, Elric Karstark?”
Brown-haired twenty-year-old with trimmed beard made a little grin: “About the Kingdom of the North.”
“I will defend it till my last day.”

“Gawen, if you’re about to recite oaths, you’re wasting your time and mine…
I want to hear how do you asses the state of our kingdom?”
“You mean the state of our queen?”

What else, thought young Karstark, though I couldn’t care less about her state. To influence that state, that is different thing entirely.

“I mean exactly that. How old is our dear Sansa now?”
“Thirty if I am not mistaking.” Glover responded.
“You’re not. Thirty, unwed and without children.
A slightly more time will pass and her childbearing years will be gone.
What would that mean for the Northern crown?”
“Matters of succession.”
Elric chuckled: “To put it mildly. Sansa is the last Stark in Winterfell.
None of her blood is at her side anymore.
Younger sister went sailing in Sunset Sea, no one has heard of her in years,
she could be rotting at the sea bottom for what we know.
Who will inherit the North after Sansa?”
“King Bran is a Stark.” Gawen said, though absently.
“He is not a man, at least when cock is in question; he is not even a Stark anymore. His sigil is raven, not direwolf. And if he were to inherit Northern crown after Sansa, do you know what that means?”
“He’d have two kingdoms to rule…”

Hearing this Elric was annoyed…You really are daft, Glover.

“Forget two kingdoms. He’d rule it as one. Better said not him but the Lannister Imp and that mummer Small Council of his. And once Bran is gone, North will again be part of Seven Kingdoms. With new Southron king.”

Elric waited for a brief moment, for Gawen to comprehend all this.
Glover then made a look as he seemed to recall something important:
“What about Sansa’s bastard brother?”
“You mean the previous King in the North?
One that bent the knee to Dragon Queen only to kill her later?
He cannot inherit. He was sent to the Wall as a criminal.
A slayer of Queen, an oathbreaker. Fuck him.”
“Then who?” young Glover asked.
“Me.” young Karstark replied with all seriousness.

Elric could tell that Gawen was barely keeping himself from bursting into laughter and somehow managed to ask “How?”
“I am going to propose the ginger bitch.” said Elric calmly.
“She is ten years older than you.”
“All the better, she will be gone before me if all goes by nature’s course.
And then I’ll be free to marry a young woman.”
“What if she provides you with an heir even this late in life?” Gawen wondered.
He dismissed it shaking his head: “She was betrothed to king Joffrey, married to his uncle and to Ramsay Bolton. So, when she was younger than you and I, two bastards and one imp fucked her, surely in all her holes – and nothing.
She can’t give an heir. She probably knows this and that’s why she is unwed.”

“You can’t just show up in Winterfell and demand her hand in marriage.”
Elric grinned: “No, I cannot. That is where you come into play, you and some other houses.”
“In what way?”
“How many great houses are left in the North? Umbers are gone, Mormonts are gone, Boltons are gone, dozen or more of lesser houses are gone, all in the last war.But if Karstarks and Glovers come as united force plus some others, Cerwyn, Dustin, Tallhart. Sansa cannot ignore that.
She is alone. Who remains to back her up against us?
Those fat fucks from White Harbor, the Manderlys?
Courage does not come from weight and body fat otherwise they’ll be ruling on both sides of Narrow Sea.”
Gawen laughed. “True, very true.”
Then he got serious:
“She could ask for support from the Vale, their lord is her first cousin.”
“She could but she will not.
Vale is part of Six Kingdoms, they’re foreigners now. What kind of queen asks for foreign intervention in matter of marriage proposal?”

Youth in scarlet surcoat agreed once more and pondered about something while Elric took down a wood grouse he spotted on a pine tree some dozen yards away.
As he went to pick his kill, Glover asked:
“What happens if Sansa were to refuse you?”
Elric picked up the dying rooster of the woods and wring bird’s neck:
“There is a good word for that course of things. Abdication.”

Chapter Text

Port Yhos, Essos, year 315 After Conquest

COUSIN AUNT

She was halfway done with ship’s log entry when knock on the door of her cabin prevented her from finishing.
“Yes? Enter.”
It was Artos Costayne, ship’s first mate:
“An envoy from ashore, Arya. He brings you message and a gift, it seems.”
“A gift? I don’t recall having friends in this city, I’ve never set my eyes on Yhos till today. Send him in.”
“As you order.”
Costayne stepped out taking post sideways of the door while tall, brown skinned man in Qartheen garments entered carrying something wrapped in black cloth and tied with blue cord.
He bowed and addressed her in Common Tongue:
“Lady Arya of House Stark, I am Mallaro Deeth, here to speak on behalf of my Mistress who invites you to her home in the city.
And sends you this token of her gratitude for delivering one of her daughters from peril and for bringing both of them safe to Port Yhos.”

Man placed the package on the table in front of Arya and unwrapped the cloth and then took few steps back and bowed again.
It was a sword, resembling to a Dornish scimitar but only slightly curved.
Arya recognized the Valyrian steel right away. Blade was smooth, just above one arm length long, joined to a simple hilt with jade orb as a pommel.
“This blade was forged in Sar Mell, before the Rhoynish Wars, using steel from Old Valyria. That makes it very rare since Freehold did not share secrets of steel on many occasions, surely not with Rhoynar.” Mallaro described the gift.
Arya rose from the chair holding sword in hand, still in wonder. She sliced it slowly through the air, trying it. Sword was perfect for her to handle, with one hand or both.
She placed it back on the table and made a slight bow to her guest before sitting down: “
Your Mistress honors me with this gift. I will use it to protect those who cannot protect themselves.”
Mallaro made a nod to confirm those words:
“My Mistress would like to host you in her home tomorrow after noon for she desires to speak with you. What reply should I be bringing to her?”
“Tell your Mistress that I accept.” He nodded again. “I shall be waiting for you ashore with carriage as noon passes tomorrow.” Then Mallaro bowed and left the cabin.

So, tomorrow I will get to see her. She is thankful for what I did for her daughters. I didn’t do it for her daughters, I did it for his daughters and for my nieces. Or cousins once removed. It doesn’t matter. I did it for my kin. Arya was reassuring herself in her mind while slicing the air of her cabin with Rhoynish blade She’s sent me this exceptional token of gratitude as a peace offer. I will accept that offer, for a while at least.

Nymeria set sail four days ago from Qarth with cargo of gold and ivory intended for Port Yhos from which caravans will take it inland, towards Lhazareen cities of Hesh and Kosrak.
Ship was docked in Qarth for more than two moons and passed an overhaul though Arya wasn’t very pleased.
True, ship maintenance abilities of Qartheen are undisputed when it comes to sailing across the Summer or Jade Sea but Nymeria was meant to ride the rough waves of Narrow, Sunset and even Shivering Sea.
We’ll do another overhaul when we get to Free Cities, she decided before leaving the quay and heading to Yhos.
She had three passengers aboard as well. Kinvara, the High Priestess of the Red Temple of Volantis as woman in red robe called herself. Arya came to tolerate her. Barely.
I didn’t toss her overboard in these four days, that is some improvement.

Other two passengers were little girls that have found their way in Arya’s heart so sudden it surprised her. Lyanna was Stark on outside and very much on the inside with strong streak of temper of her mother’s side of family.
Rhaella had her mother’s features but was more silent child, taking after her father of which Arya couldn’t think now without feeling great pain.
In past two moons she has spent a lot of time with twins, teaching them from swordfight to history of the Starks, though she wished her own knowledge on the subject was more abundant, but also of Aegon’s conquest and Dance of Dragons.
On one occasion, on the plain west of Qarth, she witnessed how both girls are skilled in horsemanship and how good mounted archers they are.

That’s living among the Dothraki for you… she concluded; in its own way grass sea just as salt sea gives you freedom.
For the duration of voyage from Qarth to Port Yhos, twins wore thick veils to hide their hair and faces. It would arise too many questions from the crew to see one girl with Stark looks and one with Targaryen looks running across the decks.
She explained the veils with need of the Qartheen to hide their maidens even in youngest age from the eyes of foreigners.
Crew didn’t care.

Dalton Pyke had made clear that womenfolk without heavy teats and fur between legs are no interest of his. He was a crude man and Arya knew he was pondering about fucking her for a long time.
You’ll have to do with stroking your cock she often thought, I’ve said no to a tenfold better man than your miserable Ironborn arse is.
Who knows what is Gendry Baratheon, Lord of Storm’s End doing now…probably learning his third son how to wield a war hammer thought of blacksmith from Flea Bottom came to her,
and here I am, half the world away, about to meet the woman who made him Baratheon.

It wasn’t a large chamber, its size paled in comparison with chambers of lords and rich men that she saw in her lifetime.
Richly ornate sandalwood table on which there was meticulous layout of books, documents, parchments, silver inkwell with quill, a feather of dark indigo color.
Behind the table was one sandalwood chair with padded seat and in front of it two more.
Splat of the chair was ornate displaying the crouching dragon with folded wings, not unlike those large stone statues on the island in Narrow Sea, once seat of powerful house.
To the right of the table she could see detailed map of Essos, covering almost that whole side of the wall, there was no mountain, river, lake or bay to be omitted from that map and all the settlements were there as well, those where people were thriving had symbol of house in brown color next to its name, those long abandoned, ruined of fallen had same symbol in white. Her eyes caught how all the cities in Dothraki Sea were accompanied by white house symbol except one, Vaes Dothrak.

To the left was a bookshelf, some three feet tall and twice as that in length, filled with books and parchments in many languages.
She could distinct the titles in Common Tongue, High Valyrian, Low Valyrian of former Slaver’s Bay, Ghiscari, tongue of Rhoynish… all arranged in same strict order as the papers on the table.

Chamber had two windows, one right behind the table offering splendid view of the open Summer Sea with only land in sight that of Ghiscari shore which seemed as bluish misty shadow.
Second window was smaller and was here to provide the cooling of the room, next to it was a tea table set, one feet tall round table with four round stools, also of sandalwood with ornate legs depicting elephants and camels which spoke of its Qartheen origin.
What room lacked in size, it had in its richness.
Her eyes wandered around as looking for something until it was found. On the wall between the main window and the large map a small shield was hung, black shield displaying red three-headed winged reptilian beast. Sigil of dragonlords.

Then she heard the sound of door opening and closing and steps approaching.
Whatever god or gods are there, give me strength for this, was in her mind as her entire body stiffened. One more step and another… and there she was.

“Lady Arya of House Stark…” voice came to her ears, voice she last heard in the ruins of the Red Keep. It wasn’t soft as now; it was loud and spoke of war for liberating the whole world of tyrants. She lifted her gaze, slowly, unwillingly.
Before her stood a woman in early thirties with silver hair braided in simple ponytail that went down to the shoulder blades, violet eyes were bright and piercing, pale heart shaped face… her ethereal beauty was untouched by passing of time.
She wore black silk trousers and sleeveless black silk jerkin that left her arms bare and red sash belt also of silk around her waist.

If pirates had a queen, this would be her garment, came to Arya’s mind.
But it was perfect choice of clothes for the climate of southern Essos. Arya now felt her flowing skirt and white shirt over which she wore short woven jacket, clothes of Braavos, were as heavy as chainmail armor.

She rose from the chair and returned the greeting with slight nod: “Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen.” Her host made a hand sign and they both sat down.
Arya kept her eyes on woman in black silk.

“Lady Arya, I was told by both Lyanna and Kinvara what you did for my daughter in Qarth. I want you to know that I am wholly grateful. If there’s anything I can do for you or your crew and ship, please say so.”
“I did what was right. Simple as that.” she said dryly “I don’t ask compensation for what I did. I’d do it again, for any little girl in such danger. Though I thank you for the sword you gifted me. A blade yet unseen.”
“I was also told that upon learning the truth about Lyanna, you did not take it well. That you were quite angry about it. Mostly about me living again.”

Arya took a deep breath and leaned back:
“True. It would be a lie to say I was happy of hearing that news. Strange, though, we haven’t exchanged this much words back at Winterfell, all those years ago.”
“No, we have not. And now I see a woman where young girl once was.”
“As do I... Mayhaps I should have talked more with you then, to know you better, to understand why my brother gave up the Northern crown for you.”
“Yes. Probably you should have. He told me, your brother or cousin to be exact, that as a girl you liked stories of Visenya and Rhaenys and their dragons. Yet, when dragons were at your very doorstep, you ignored them. You choose to listen to your sister.” Daenerys’ voice was devoid of emotions.
“She did not trust you. Nor did I.” Arya replied.

Violet eyes gazed into grey eyes as the battle of wills was to begin.
"She judged me the first moment she met me, as unfit for your brother, as unfit to rule Seven Kingdoms. And both of you used the secret Jon has foolishly shared with you to bring me down.”
Arya’s voice became slightly angered: “I’ve sworn to Jon to keep the secret of who he truly is in the Godswood and I’ve kept it to this very day. Don’t hold me responsible for deeds or misdeeds of my sister. I am not Sansa just as she is not me.”
She saw her host nodding: “All right, that is fair.”

“What is fair? Back then, what you’ve asked of Jon… to hide who he really is so that you can take what was rightfully his? Was that fair?”
“He never wanted it. I did, I’ve wanted it since I was old enough to want anything.”
“Then it was upon him to reject the kingship, publicly, not by making people swear to keep secrets so that you can be happy. And he did it, he did whatever you asked. He loved you to a fault.”
Now it was Daenerys’ voice painted in anger:
“He loved his family. He loved you and Sansa more than he could ever love me. In the end, he betrayed me. And he killed me in a manner of vile craven, with his arms around me and his lips on mine. I was such a fool in that moment, for weeks before he refused to touch me as a man touches woman, disgusted with our blood relation and still I suspected nothing when he kissed me with such passion. A ruse, a trick to place a dagger in my heart.”

Arya was about to give a vehement reply to this, to defend her brother by heart and cousin by blood, but she sensed hurt in Daenerys’ voice.
She never knew how exactly death of Dragon Queen took place in the ruins of throne room but hearing this there was no reason not to believe it.

My father gave it to my mother… she recalled little Lyanna’s words…gods, it was that dagger.

“You are wrong. He never betrayed you. Even after you’ve burned down King’s Landing, he still tried to find reasons to justify what you did. Even after your war speech to your armies… I know, I was there…”
Daenerys frowned: “You were at King’s Landing that day? You were supposed to stay in Winterfell.”
“I had to go south, I wanted to kill Cersei. But you were faster, bringing down the Red Keep on her. I almost died that day, running away from you and your dragon and the firestorm you have created…”
Arya saw discomfort on Daenerys’ face “…then I got to listen your plans of freeing the world of tyranny from far edge of the west to the far edge of the east.
I saw the Mad Queen on the steps of Red Keep. And I am not going to apologise for saying this.” she said defiantly.

“No apologies needed. I respect honesty. I know what I did that day. I unleashed hell on the people I wanted to save…” Daenerys spoke in solemn tone “… when I came back to life, only then I was able to understand what I did, slaughter of entire city.”
Her gaze was down, her both hands placed on the table.

Arya remained silent and some time passed, then she leaned forward and said: “King’s Landing was a shithole of Westeros, those people cheered when my father was beheaded, they cheered for Joffrey and for Cersei, then throw their own shit at her when she was paraded naked through streets; they cheered for Euron Greyjoy… people of that city would skin each other alive if that’d make them few coppers from selling hide.. but they did not deserve what you have done. No one deserves that.”
“If I could undo what I’ve done, I would. I am not a monster like you judge me to be.”

Arya sighed: “I am the last person to judge others. On my ship I have men who fought at King’s Landing that day. One Ironborn bastard who was in Euron’s fleet, barely escaping with his life when dragon flame tore his ship apart, I have Northerners who when drunk talk how they took part in killing and rape, even one who was under Lannister lion. I judge none of them.”
She took another breath: “I know you’re not a monster. Jon would never fall in love with a monster. A monster would not bring such beautiful children in this world.”

Daenerys gave her a hint of smile: “Kinvara told me that in such a short time since you’ve met Rhae and Lya, they have grown so fond of you. As you were older sister to them.”
“Older sister, cousin, aunt... it matters not. They’re my blood. I want you to know that I love your daughters, I know them briefly but they already have a place in my heart. And woe to those who would do any harm to them.”
“When I saw your ship, the direwolf on the sails and prow, I expected the worst. I expected that Westeros has finally found me and they’re invading…” Daenerys smiled saying this.
“I can imagine your surprise with the invading force…” Arya laughed “…my crew is good at sea but on land only thing they can invade is closest inn. Or brothel.”
“Good for them, then. I still have hundreds of Unsullied here with me and a small khalasar camped on the outskirts of the city.”

Arya was surprised hearing this: “I guess you’re quite safe from a small-scale invasion. And large one is impossible in the harbor like this one.”
“To know that you were spending time with my daughters made me uneasy on one hand but on the other… they have Stark blood. That I have never denied. Nor will I.
And as it came to pass for them to meet a Stark, I am glad they’ve met you, Arya. You’re the one which resembles most my brother’s love, the first Lyanna, their grandmother. And you are a woman of honor. I respect that. Whether you believe it or not.”
“I’m also glad that I’ve met the girls. As I said, they have my love and my protection from any harm. But, the fruit of love between your brother and my aunt is out there. Rhae and Lya have a father.”
“No. He has killed them when he killed me.” Daenerys leaned back in her chair, her tone was cold and serious.
“He did not know you were with child. He would never kill a pregnant stranger…to think he’d kill a woman carrying his babes… did you ever truly get to know him?”
“I did. Duty always came first with him. I died because of that.”

“He did what had to be done. If it was not him, someone else would have kill you sooner or later, everyone in King’s Landing had a reason to kill you.”
"Someone, everyone… I didn’t conceive my daughters with someone or everyone. I did it with Jon Snow. And he stabbed me in the heart. For greater good. I do not want that man anywhere near me or my children as long as all three of us draw breath.”

Dragon is awake, Arya almost rolled her eyes, mayhaps she is burdened with guilt for what she did in King’s Landing but she hates Jon with all her being.

“If only you could see what Jon has become after your death… a broken man. He’s beyond the Wall now, with Free Folk…”
Violet eyes were cold and distant now: “I know how he lives. I’ve seen it in the flames.”
“In the flames? I’ve seen him in the flesh five years ago. He is haunted with your death, every single night he dreams of you and calls you in his sleep. Every night in past ten years. Would a man without guilt be broken by it, would a man who never loved you had dreams of you for so long?”
“It is right for him to suffer. He brought it on himself by listening wrong advice... advice of all who never wanted me to succeed.”

Arya hissed angrily: “It’s right for him to live out his days believing that you’re dead?! Not knowing that his family lives and prospers…”
Daenerys rose from the chair; her stance and voice were firm:
“Girls and I are not his family. We could’ve been before he stabbed me. He killed that family and he has no right to this one.”
Arya was now standing as well: “This is cruelty, nothing else. Not only to Jon, but to the girls also. You could be a family, all of you. You’re the last of the Targaryens!”
“He was never a true Targaryen. The blood of the dragon was too heavy for him.”
“You can’t truly mean that… hate has blinded you. And I have supped on hate for many years.”

“Arya Stark, you’re welcome under my roof as long as you wish. You saved my daughter from being hurt or even killed. But we’ll never discuss this again. Or you will not be welcome anymore.”
Daenerys walked out of the chamber leaving Arya frustrated.

Oh, fuck it, I can teach people to wield a sword, but reasoning with dragons is beyond my grasp.
She walked around the manse for a while, admiring its styled towers and balconies, until she found herself on the terrace overlooking the inner courtyard. There she saw Rhaella and Lyanna in the water pool, bare as on their nameday, splashing water at each other and yelling.
Silver-haired girl was first to spot her: “Arya, come and play with us!”
“Yes, come, we will have a swim race!” called Lya.
Arya waved to girls and had to think for a heartbeat. Oh, why the hells not. it’s only us girls here. Soon her jacket, shirt, skirt and underclothes were folded on the stone bench and she was naked in the water pool with her cousins. Or are they my nieces… she mulled over but that came to an abrupt end when raven-haired cousin-niece jumped on her back and both went under water.
“Lya! You wolf child!” she shouted when they re-emerged with Lyanna laughing.
Rhaella swam closer and Arya hugged her and placed kiss on girl’s forehead.
“Does it hurt?” girl asked “What, ñuha dōna?”
My sweet, Arya never hoped to call anyone that, let alone in High Valyrian.
But Rhaella with her Stark quietness captured Arya’s heart.
“Those marks on your belly?”
“My scars… no, Rhaella, they don’t hurt. They are from long ago.”

She enjoyed her time in the water pool, leaving the girls to splash and shout, while she floated on the surface with her face towards the sun.
I’ve never felt such peacefulness in my life, she thought basking her nakedness in the warmth of sun and water, let it last as long as it can.
“Lady Arya…” voice came from the poolside.
Seven hells, it didn’t last long.

She turned her head and saw Kinvara standing next to edge of the pool.
“A word, if I may.” Arya made a few strokes to reach the edge and came out.
Priestess looked at her naked, wet body and she noticed that:
“Feast your eyes if you will, but don’t get any notions. I’m into cocks only.”
Kinvara shook her head: “I don’t partake in pleasures of flesh. This time I was just admiring your beauty, unspoiled even by those scars.”
“What do you want?” said Arya now wrapped in towel.
“Your brother now lives near the mouth of Antler River. Flames have shown it clearly. He hunts and fishes. Life is good there now, since snow and ice have withdrawn, but it won’t last.”
“And that is helping me how? She doesn’t want to hear about Jon. She hates him deeply. I believe she’d kill him on sight if they ever meet again.”
“That we shall know when it happens for them to meet.” said the priestess.
“You propose that we should arrange such meeting?” Arya replied, half mockingly. “That is exactly what I propose.”
“Ha, good luck, he is on the other side of the world right now.”
“And that is where your role begins…” Kinvara grinned.

“So, this is your grand scheme? Even if I were to go get him, it will take four or five moons for Nymeria to sail across most of the Summer Sea, then into the Narrow Sea, along the entire coast of Westeros and then go past Skagos and Hardhome to reach the Antler’s mouth. Then journey back… another five moons. Who knows where she and the girls will be almost a year from now? Here, Meereen or in Great Grass Sea?”
Kinvara chuckled.
“Oh, do I amuse you?” Arya was annoyed.
“Yes, actually… with your belief that you will bring Jon Snow by sea.”
“Well I can’t bloody ride to Antler River from here, can I?”
“No, Arya Stark, but you can fly.”

Then Kinvara pointed to bare children playing in the pool:
“You will fly with them.”

Chapter Text

King’s Landing, Westeros, year 315 After Conquest

TYRION

He walked down the halls of the now partially restored Red Keep. The city had taken a decade to be rebuilt, yet it was not nearly over. Rest of the Realm cared little when capital will be as it was before the wars after death of Robert Baratheon began.
The Hand of the King nodded to the assembled petitioners, all wishing to speak with the King. He was not inside the Red Keep.
Bran was in the royal gardens, where he could have his solitude, hours passed with him using his powers to see what once was and what is happening now.

Westeros south of the border of now independent North had few weirwood trees.
Andal invasion that took place few thousand years ago slowly but surely supplanted the faith in the Old gods with the Faith of the Seven, the new gods.
Godswoods were cut down and only few remained, near those holdfasts whose lords weren’t so eager to embrace the seven new gods.
Red Keep had its own Godswood before it perished in dragon flames as did most of the castle.

A new weirwood tree for the Red Keep was found in the Riverlands and Bran ordered for it to be planted in the royal gardens. Placed under guard, that was place where king would use his powers.

Tyrion stood behind king’s wheelchair for a moment, running his hand through his graying beard. His king was now seven and twenty years old, not old but not a boy either.
Any monarch of that age would have children by now, grown enough to begin learning about the art of ruling. As Bran had no wife, he had no children.
Ten years ago Tyrion had suggested that the Six Kingdoms should elect its ruler through council of great lords and ladies, but he also knew the threats of that procedure.
Who will come after Bran the Broken... someone to carry on his legacy or someone who will resemble more the kings of the old.

Relations were tense with Iron Islands and Dorne, it brewed for past ten years.
Pyke had long tradition of rebellions, Sunspear of self-governing. Yet, so far the only kingdom that declared independence was the North. Leaving the fold the very next moment when Brandon Stark was named king of Westeros.

Tyrion never wholly accepted that, that was a mistake, North was almost larger than all other kingdoms combined. Their independence had made Dorne and Iron Islands restless, Tyrion also feared that Vale, ruled by weak cousin of Northern queen could choose union with the North and leave the Realm. That would make Six Kingdms to become Five. And then nothing could prevent secession of Sunspear and Pyke.

Realm made only of Westerlands, Riverlands, Stormlands and the Reach would not last for a sennight and times before the Aegon’s Conquest will return with Realm dissolved, melted just as Iron Throne was melted ten years ago.

“You have a troubled mind, lord Hand?” Bran said.
Tyrion looked to his king, realising that he had come out of his warging state. “As ever, Your Grace.”
Bran’s face was a emotionless as ever. He could not read minds and Tyrion was glad for it.
“What have you seen, Your Grace, while...” Tyrion asked.
“What was and what is. And unclear images of what will be.” Bran replied, same as ever. Whenever he would get such an answer, Tyrion felt that his king thinks of him as unable to grasp the meaning of powers his king wielded.
"Have you perchance seen..." Tyrion asked this question hundreds of times in past ten years.
“He is in Essos, but mostly on places beyond my sight. He nests in Old Valyria, that is what I believe, and Doom has its spells even in our time” Bran replied. “He has grown but he is alone. Every time when I can see him, he is alone.” Tyrion sighed in relief. “That is good news, then. For past ten years dragon’s been keeping away from men. He should be true wild animal now.”
“Simple animal would not have melted down the Iron Throne, lord Tyrion.” “Dragon without someone to serve is far lesser danger, don’t you agree, Your Grace?”

There were rumors coming from the east, rumors of silver-haired woman appearing here and there, many of those claimed that it was Daenerys Targaryen, one time she was seen at Yunkai, one time in Qarth and the other in Asshai.
Bran with his powers saw nothing of the sort and all such rumors were dismissed.

Bran did not reply and instead signaled to one of Kingsguard to wheel him inside of the Red Keep, the part which was rebuilt.
Tyrion sighed deeply. Oft times his talk with Bran would end like this. Abruptly. It did not bother him before as now.
First eight years of reign of King Bran the Broken were best years that Westeros has seen, equally prosperous as those years when Aerys Targaryen, Second of his name, was still man of full sanity and lord Tywin Lannister served as Hand of the King.
Those times were over fifty years ago.

But as Bran’s rule entered in the ninth year, Tyrion began to see changes in king’s behaviour, slight as they were, he could see them nonetheless.
Bran the Broken lived in present of this world and existed in its past, he could also look into its blurred future.
The king was both a young man in his prime and a tired old man. King was becoming reclusive, leaving the matters of ruling to his Hand and Small Council.

Ser Bronn of the Blackwater has proven himself to be an utter failure as Master of Coin, as well as Lord Paramount of the Reach.
In ten years he did not saw fit to take a highborn wife from some of the main noble houses that were sworn to Highgarden.
He was good on spending coins, on pricey courtesans and village whores alike. And on feasts that lacked taste and measure.

With recluse king and such a man in charge of royal finance, both great lords and small displayed more and more disobedience when payment of taxes were of the matter. Tyrion was now sure his beard and hair would be white before he knew it.
He was nearing his fiftieth nameday and desire of retirement was coming to him more and more as time went by… to go to the edge of the world for one more piss.
Though, a man he knew was not there, guarding the realms of men, he disappeared in the vast lands beyond the Wall.

“Was it right what I did? It doesn’t feel right.” Tyrion remembered that man’s question. And answer he gave him: “Ask me again in ten years.”

Ten years have gone by and Tyrion’s answer still was “Yes, it was the right thing.”
Though, last two years have made that answer to ring with less certainty than before.

He walked down the hallway towards the Hand’s chamber, a room able to accommodate both private audiences and Small Council meetings, since Tower of the Hand was still in construction.
Curious detail was that original tower was not destroyed by Daenerys’ dragon; it was done by Cersei using wildfire.
Knowing that her father was murdered in the Tower of the Hand she could not bear to look at it.

Till the last day of her reign, that tower remained ruin and on that last day, most of the Red Keep joined that tower as ruin.

Tyrion walked in his chamber and saw there was an unannounced visitor.
A tall man, thin and hard as a bone, was seated at the table, same one at which Small Council used to assemble.
Brown hair and trimmed bear of same color. King’s Master of Coin. Ser Bronn of the Blackwater.

“You took your time. I’ve been sitting here for I don’t know how long.” Bronn objected.
"Some of us are actually performing duties that were bestowed upon us.” came the reply.
Tyrion sat on the other side of the table, laying down the documents he brought under his arm.
Bronn gestured to make sure his boredom was obvious. Tyrion coughed to make sure that gesture was not appreciated.

“Yara Greyjoy was reported visiting Sunspear two times in last three moons.” Tyrion stated. “Her host was Arianne Martell.”
“And?”
“That doesn’t strike you as odd?”
Bronn smirked: “Odd… a known cunt-licker is tasting some highborn Dornish minj. And, there is no minj like Dornish minj.”
“I doubt that cunt-licking is primary concern of their get-togethers.”
“Muff diving?”
“What…?” asked Tyrion.
“I heard some young fuckers from Oldtown using word – muff diver – for womenfolk with same taste like Yara.”
“Cunt-licking and muff diving are one and the same. Though I see that your time spent with younger people enriches your profanity thesaurus.”

“Too much fancy words in one sentence.” Bronn dismissed “So what do you think that Yara is doing there?”
“Plotting, most likely.” the Hand replied.
“Ha, world is very simple to you. If someone is not fucking, then that one must be plotting. Which makes you the greatest plotter of Six Kingdoms. Since you haven’t had a decent fuck for… fifteen years, was it now?”

Tryion frowned: “I wasn’t aware you’ve been keeping track…but, yes, my whoring days are long gone.”
“It was your decision to end those days… or was it to show loyalty to both rulers you served as a Hand? One without cock and one with broken cock. They had no cock to use so you’ve put yours out of work.
Some would admire such loyalty; I say it has clogged you… your mind worked better when you’re whoring.”
“Perhaps it was. But now my clogged mind has to figure out why is Kraken visiting the snakes of Dorne.”
Bronn grinned: “And what have you figured out?”

“It is simple actually, both Dorne and the Iron Islands have tradition of disobedience towards rulers of the Realm. It is not unlikely that they’re bonding together for the future.
The North leaving the Seven Kingdoms and reducing it to Six, fared badly with both Ironborn and the Dornish. It is surprising that they’ve remained silent for such a long time.”
“And mayhaps is all about cunt-licking.” Bronn concluded.

“I wish it were.” said Tyrion “just as I wish that your abilities as Master of Coin were more developed.”
“And they are not?” frowned the former sellsword. “Sadly, no. They haven’t improved much in past ten years and Realm’s finances are, to put it mildly, far from satisfactory. You just were not up to the task. And rebuilding brothels and funding new whorehouses were not your first and foremost duty.”
“I disagree with that. A good brothel will do for people’s well being more than five septs or shrines.”
Tyrion shrugged: “Be that as it may, our king disagrees with you. And there is that case of Meereenese contribution to King’s Landing charity, for victims of Daenerys’ attack.” “What case would that be?” asked Bronn, irritated.
“The case when two moons ago, Meereen’s four crates of golden coins arrived and those they were intended for – did not see a single one.”

Master of Coin was now angry: “Are you accusing me of theft?”
Tyrion shook his head: “Theft is not appropriate term here. To embezzle, to misappropriate, to peculate… I am also rich in thesaurus.”

“Still, you have accused me. Wrongly.”
“I did not. Our king did. And he has certain gift that enables him to see the past. And he saw those four crates travelling in a wagon headed for Highgarden. I have here accurate description of horses that pulled that wagon, of men who escorted it.
And exact words you traded with leader of those men merely moments before they rode off to the Reach.”
Bronn remained silent for a moment.
“Ah… fuck it. Yes, I took the damn Meereenese blood money. Upholding a castle like Highgarden is costly and I was never good with numbers.”
“Indeed, you weren’t. But you were excellent with balls and whores. That now ends.”
“Am I being removed as Master of Coin?” Bronn asked, angrily.

“The Crown cannot keep a thief on that position, which was ill suited for you to begin with. But there are other options for you; where you can give best service to the Realm.”
“What other options?”
Tyrion leaned back in his chair: “You will get closer to the Ironborn cunt-licker and the Dornish minj. As a dismissed member of the Small Council you’re perfect for bonding with potential breakaways from the Realm.”
Bronn spat: “A spy? You want me to be a spy? Why the fuck King Bran the Broken needs spies anyway… with that gift of his?!”

“Our king is able to see things that have happened, but future events are yet to happen. He cannot see the future clearly. And all of us partake in causing of future events. You and I and King and last beggar in Flea Bottom.
For that reason, you have been offered a mission to redeem yourself.” Tyrion said with all seriousness.
“Do you accept that mission, Ser Bronn of the Blackwater?”
Once a sellsword, brown-haired man kept quiet for a while and then replied:
“I know when I’ve been fucked in the arse. I accept.”

Hand of the King nodded contently: “Good. Return to Highgarden today and in a fortnight, you ride for Sunspear. It’s been… what… thirteen years since you’ve seen the Water Gardens? With Jamie, right?”
“Mhm… it seems that bricks have killed the wrong Lannister man-cunt.”
“Charmingly said.”

“Sure as fuck it was not intended to be charming.” said Lord Paramount of the Reach on his way out.

Chapter Text

Meereen, Essos, year 315 After Conquest

KINVARA

No Lysene and no Ghiscari,
No Volantene and no Qartheen
No maid of Essos can charm me
For I left my heart at Moat Cailin
With a girl that is my darlin’

She's of hair like raven's feather
Eyes of spring lake water
I swear it to gods, old and new
I love that Northern daughter

Port of Meereen echoed with joyful tune of Westerosi sailors gathered at the stern of Nymeria who were celebrating the arrival to northernmost city in the Bay of Dragons. Men from other ships as well as those ashore frowned and shook their head, some who could understand even few words of the tongue of Sunset Kingdoms found the song insulting.
“Only one who should be insulted with that song is the Northern daughter.” laughed the leader of the sailors who were getting drunker with every new song.
“It’s an old song, A song about whoring in every part of Westeros Northerners have visited.”
“Oh, and your men have replaced Westerosi places with those of Essos.”
“Aye, they’ve been whoring in all mentioned places, aboard this ship or earlier in their lives.” Arya confirmed “But, don’t for a moment believe there is a girl they left in Moat Cailin… half of them are not Northerners to begin with…” “
Your crew is one strange lot.” priestess commented.
“Not stranger than me.” “That is not mine to say.”
“Better to say it than to let it linger in your head.”

Kinvara grinned.
Her gaze caught the Great Pyramid, it stood dominant over the city dwarfing all other, lesser pyramids, nearly two dozen of them.
None of those could reach even half of the eight hundred feet height of the Great Pyramid.
From its apex one could see entire city: the narrow twisty alleys and wide brick streets, the temples and granaries, palaces, brothels and baths, gardens and fountains and the circles of the fighting pits.
Meereen was as large as Astapor and Yunkai put together.
And like those two cities also was built of brick, but where Astapor had been red and Yunkai yellow, Meereen was made with bricks of many colors.

Nymeria reached its port after fortnight of voyage along the Ghiscari coast, her cargo holds now empty and awaiting the goods from inland, from Lhazar, Dothraki Sea, part of cargo is announced to be coming from Samyriana in the east and New Ibish on the far north of Essos.
Then ship will sail to the Free Cities to make proper repairs for her to meet the seas of north and west.
And then Nymeria will venture south, towards Summer Isles.

“No one has ever sailed around Sothoryos”, Arya told Kinvara about the vast continent which was south of Essos as they stood on the ship’s bow
“That would be some exploit. Though which ever source I have on this unknown land, it was all about danger.
Diseases, insects, snakes, even some claims of apes large as giants…”
“That would be something to see, indeed.” she confirmed “but you shall not. Southern continent is not your destiny.”
“What is my destiny, again? To ride the dragon from here to the Antler River?”
“You will not ride the dragon, Lyanna and Rhaella will ride it.”
“So, I am merely a passenger?” Arya asked.
"Yes. A cargo, if you prefer. Girls are important for dragon riding, you for everything else, from their safety to bringing their father with you.
There is no living person whom he trusts more than you.”

Arya shrugged and then nodded: “I guess you’re right about that. What is your gain in Jon being here?”
“I neither ask nor hope for any gain, I do the bidding of Lord of Light.”
“Don’t hide behind your god, you know very well what I meant. I want Jon to be free from being haunted by ghost of a woman who lives and for him to be with his children.
Why do you want him here in Essos?”
Kinvara answered: “Jon Snow is the champion of Lord of Light. His place is here, with true believers in R’hllor, not rotting alone in forest.”
Arya shook her head: “It is impossible to get a straight honest answer from you red priests. One way or the other, I will learn the truth.”
“For now, you should get acquainted with your travel, lady Stark.” she replied using title that will annoy the Westerosi woman even more.
“All right, let’s repeat the whole damn thing all over again.”

She could see how Arya sighed, still not at ease with this plan.
Kinvara decided to repeat the main points of their secret undertaking.
“Daenerys will come to Meereen on Drogon next week, daughters will be with her, for annual feast with which city celebrates the end of slavery. Some pretend to be celebrating, mind you. Then, she will leave on dragon’s back for Vaes Dothrak leaving Rhaella and Lyanna with me.
When Drogon flies back here to feed and that he will, then all three of you must act and use him as fastest mean of travel to the lands beyond the Wall.”
“And most dangerous. In so many ways than one.”
“Girls can bond with dragon just like their mother can. He will do you no harm.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it.” Arya said unconvinced.

She confirmed that with slight nod and continued:
“You’ll take a first flight during night from Meereen to bay of Lorath where you’ll remain for that whole day to rest as much as you can.
Then with first traces of sunset, fly above the Shivering Sea, pass the Skagos island and Hardhome and you’ll be over mouth of Antler before dawn.” “Can dragon cover that much of a distance without resting?”
Kinvara confirmed with a smirk: “He was seven years younger and smaller when he took Daenerys from Meereen to Naath with no rest.
And that travel was just slightly shorter than yours will be.”
“I hope you’re right, for all our sake.”

A week later, Kinvara found herself in the Great Pyramid, now seat of Council of Citizens, the ruling body of Meereen.
Twenty-one were chosen, men and women alike, from the ranks of former slave masters but still Meereenese nobility and from the ranks of former slaves who now were merchants, artisans, masons, innkeepers, scribes, roofers, teachers and soldiers.
Two sides of this great city were joined together to make it greater still and just twelve years ago they slaughtered each other from the dark alleys to stands of the fighting pits.

Council greeted their former Queen cordially, though some other present from merchant guild were somewhat less enthusiastic knowing of her ties with the Dothraki who drove all trade routes into submission of tribute payment. Nothing they knew that it was this woman in yellow silk tokar who was the real tribute collector.
The audience chamber was for this purpose furnished with long dining tables and stools made of same carved and gilded wood, enough to accommodate almost five scores of guests.
Daenerys sat with the Council’s elders at the head of the table.
Her twins were seated at the side of the table, their places being after the last of the twenty-one and next to them was their aunt Arya, proudly displaying white sleeveless tunic with embroidered direwolf’s head which she wore over her grey silk Volantene dress, causing Daenerys to frown.

There was Daario Naharis present as well, sitting right opposite to Arya and exchanging glances that were anything but friendly.
Kinvara knew the exact reason for that.

Before the official ceremony, Lyanna and Rhaella wanted Arya to see the garden terrace of the Great Pyramid, just below the apex where the huge bronze harpy once stood.
Three sat in the shade of persimmon tree and watched the city beneath the pyramid and that is how Daario had found them.

Tall brown-haired former sellsword with clean shaven face wearing the colours of Second Sons commander slowly walked pass them,
greeted the girls formally and then called Arya aside. “I do not know you and since you’re keeping company with my Queen’s daughters, we need to remedy that.”
“You give me your name and I’ll give you mine.”
Daario smirked: “Ah, a Westerosi. That gruff accent gave you right away.”
Then he gave a long look to Arya and to Lyanna concluding in near whisper: “Uncanny likeness… you ought to have the same blood like the one who fathered these little bastards.”

Arya stepped closer to him: “Use that word one more time to describe my nieces and you’ll be wearing that filthy tongue as a scarf through your slit throat.” Daario laughed “For such a small woman you have a big mouth.”
“I’ve killed few men twice your size and dozens of your size, men better and worse than you.”
“Did you now? And who are you again, such deeds would be known here just as in whatever hole in Westeros you’re coming from.”
“I am Arya Stark of Winterfell. And I am done talking to you.”
He has heard of that name.
From the Unsullied who have returned from the war in Westeros. And from the seafarers coming to Meereen. She-wolf of the sea. He hastily left the terrace.

Meal served at celebration offered dozen different sorts of meat and fish: camel, crocodile, singing squid, lacquered ducks and spiny grubs, with goat and ham and horse for those whose tastes were less exotic. Dogmeat was served too. No Ghiscari feast was complete without a course of dog.
Meereenese cooks knew how to prepare dogmeat four different ways. None of which appealed to Kinvara and when she saw reaction of Stark woman it made her smile. Westerosi use dogs to help putting venison on their plates, they don’t place dogs on the plate.

Two days after the feast, Daenerys went to the Vaes Dothrak on the back of her last dragon.
Drogon never came over the city but waited for his rider ten leagues up the Skahazadhan river.
Rhaella and Lyanna rode out with their mother and Unsullied escort to bid her safe travel and returned to city that same day.

Arya kept herself to the decks of Nymeria arranging the ferry of Shazza Galare, daughter of that Meereenese noble house to Tolos.
Girl was to be wed there for a local nobleman and she’s supposed to sail with her entire dowry.
As twelve years ago Tolos was supporting the Sons of the Harpy and Yunkai against Daenerys and suffered defeat same as they did, while house Galare was nominally loyal to the Dragon Queen, this wedding was to mend the relationship between two cities.

But as neither side wanted for bride to be coming on the vessel of another, a ship from Westeros was perfect choice of neutrality, one that both families were keen to pay generously. Kinvara helped in negotiating of this deal and came aboard the ship with final details of the voyage.
She waited in Arya’s cabin and was able to hear the voices coming from the wardroom right next to it, wooden bulkhead could not prevent her from hearing their vivid dispute.

“Are we whoremongers now?” Dalton Pyke fretted during council Arya held with ship’s officers “Ever since Yi Ti we’re serving as transport ship. Spices, ivory, saffron… now Ghiscari pussy… where does it end?”
“Missing the old days with Euron? Raiding and reiving… serving good queen Cersei?” Arya brushed him off. Warrick Manderly bursts in laughter:
“Ha ha, ya walk’d straight int’ that one, Ironborn!”

Artos Costayne, first mate, was cautious as usual: “Aside his coarse tongue, Pyke just might be onto something here, Arya. We’ve been in this part of Essos for too long.
Crew expects to go to Free Cities, just to be a bit closer to home, to get at least a far taste of Westeros."
“I know that very well, Artos, but every third in ten of our crewmen is not Westerosi at all.
And you, Dalton, last night you had your face buried in Ghiscari pussy so it shouldn’t be a too heavy burden to ferry one to Tolos.
We need more money to prepare Nymeria for the Shivering Sea in either Myr or Tyrosh.” Arya replied.
“Shivering Sea?! Are we sailing there next?” Pyke wondered.
“We do. We’ll be paying a visit to Port of Ibben and to Nefer.” Arya nodded with grin.
“Nefer?” Artos’s eyes widened “Land of the N’ghai? The bay of Thousand islands? That is on the other side of Essos, just as east on the coast of Shivering Sea as Yinqi is on the coast of Jade Sea… From lands of Yi Ti to lands of N’ghai… that means we’ll be…”

“Circumnavigating the continent of Essos. Aye, that is what we’re going to do.” Arya said with determined voice.
“Lass, that’s an ‘ellish place ya propose to sail to, haunt of necromancers an’ torturers… ya know the first Westerosi who saw city of Nefer an’ one of the last of our people who eve’ saw it…” her helmsman said with wary tone.
“Lord Corlys of House Velaryon, husband of Princess Rhaenys Targaryen. Who lived to ripe old age of nine and seventy…” Arya pointed and continued:
“Is anyone of you about to tell me that I, blood of First Men, cannot do what he of Valyrian blood has done, more than two hundred years ago?
That you, Dalton, an Ironborn would fail where Velaryon has not?”
Her officers replied all in same time, with raised voices:
“Seven hells, we’ll sail further than lord Corlys… till we don’t run out of northern Essos…”
“And kill same bloody whales while at it, I’tell ya!”
“Fuck that Velaryon cunt… if need be, we’ll march from Nefer inland to plant the direwolf banner in the middle of Cannibal Sands and fuck womenfolk of those manflesh eaters in the arse!” spouted Dalton Pyke.
Arya was satisfied. Her words struck right where she wanted.
“Well said, my lords and my officers, well said. But to get to Nefer you have to sail to Tolos first. You leave in two days. Artos, I trust you with command.” “You won’t be coming with us? he asked.
“No, I’ve been invited to Yunkai by one of their highborn, though I don’t think that is how they call themselves here.
If I arrange enough cargo for Nymeria to take to Tyrosh, we’ll overhaul our girl to be as strong as war galley and fast as swan-ship.”
“Ah, fook the war galleys and ‘em swan-ships, lass, Nymeria is a carrack, best damn vessel for h’gh seas ever made by man.” Manderly blurted.
“Aye, that she is.” Arya agreed.

Later, when Kinvara was alone with Arya she had a smirk of content which hadn’t escaped the Stark woman: “You saw something funny in flames today?”
“No, I’ve heard something funny recently, coming from your men.” she replied
“I’ve taken you for many things, Arya Stark, but you to be such a manipulator… you have played those poor fools like a fiddle.”
“I’ve been with them for ten years; I’ve learned well what makes them go.” “Indeed, you have.”
“So, is Drogon back from Vaes Dothrak?”
“I expect him tomorrow. He’ll land on the same spot from where he took Daenerys to the Dothraki capital. There he’ll feed on sheep.”
Arya had an inquisitive look: “How many sheep does he eat nowadays? At Winterfell we could manage to give him and Rhaegal no more than thirty sheep and goats combined.” Kinvara chuckled: “Ha, now thanks to arrangement Daenerys has with the Lhazareen, he devours two hundred sheep at once. And Lamb Men don’t ask too many questions,
they believe those sheep end up on the tables of Meereen, Yunkai and Astapor.”
“Two hundred for one feeding, the beast really must have grown.” Arya said.
“You’ll see him tomorrow. It will be quite a reunion.” Kinvara japed.
“Can’t be as bad as the last time I saw that dragon; I was running away from him across half of King’s Landing.”
“Meet me at dawn in the courtyard of my temple. I’ll be waiting for you with Lya and Rhae.”
“What do they say about our plan?” Arya asked.
“They don’t know much of it yet. We’ll tell them along the way.”
“What if they refuse? We can’t do this without them. Hells, I am not sure if we can do this with them.
I was only a child when I read of it, but I remember very well that dragons bonded with only one rider. And that was bond for lifetime.”
“Lord of Light will show his power to you.”
“How does the saying goes, Targaryens as their dragons answer not to gods nor men.”
Kinvara grinned: “And yet, my god brought two Targaryens back to life.”

Arya’s eyes narrowed: “Fair warning, should that dragon let even a puff of smoke towards the girls, I will try my new Rhoynar blade on your neck. I don’t like this. We’re not being honest with them. It disgusts me.”
“Girls have the wish to meet their father since they got the understanding what father means. And they’ll be coming to him with you, beloved aunt.” “What did I say about mocking me?”
“I don’t mock you, Arya Stark of Winterfell, you’ve done good with Rhae and Lya. Lord of Light will return the favor one day.”
“There is only one favor I want of that god of yours, Jon here with his family, happy and sane. After that I can go to Nefer. Or Sothoryos.”

You’ll never see Sothoryos, Arya Stark. You’re blood of the kings, sister of kings, cousin of princesses. Slayer of monsters. Wolf that has saved the world. And your greatest role has yet to come; Kinvara perpended walking away from the anchored ship with direwolf head on her prow.

Next morning four riders came out from the inland gates of Meereen, those same gates before which decade and a half ago mother of two of the riders came with her army and before long city had fallen. There was a fifth horse with wooden crate hanging from each side of the saddle.
Kinvara, Arya, Lyanna and Rhaella were headed eastward, riding upstream of Skahazadhan.
She saw Arya watching the lazy flow of the river, visibly disgusted by its brown water. “Back home we call such rivers – sewers.” she commented.

Earlier, priestess did notice how pleased the Stark woman was to see both of her nieces having Dothraki bows hanging on their saddles.
“Those outrange our Westerosi longbows; it’s quite a work to make such a bow, one has to use horn, wood, and sinew and join it together.
If done properly, you have the perfect weapon of a horse archer.” Arya explained.
“And my nieces are no fools. Look what they have for their arrows, a bag, not a quiver. A Westerosi thing, that is.”
Kinvara saw that both girls had a bag across their backs, a simple drawstring cloth sack with leather spacer at the upper end of bag to keep the arrows divided. The drawstring could be closed, completely covering the arrows so as to protect them from rain or dirt.
Bow from the east, quiver from the west came to her mind best of both worlds just as these girls themselves are.

“Go and speak to them.” she said to Arya as they dismounted for their first stop. Twins ate dried lamb sausage and boiled duck eggs while sitting on the rock near the road.
Arya passed them the waterskin containing watered lime juice.
“Lya, Rhae… I must ask something of you… but before I do, I want you to know that I would never bring you in any harm. Do you trust me?”
Girls looked at her bit confused: “Of course I trust you, Arya, you saved me.” said Lya.
“I trust you too. You’re my aunt.” Rhae added.
“Yes, that I am and you’re the only nieces that I have. But what does that mean… me being your aunt?”
“You and our father are brother and sister.” said Rhaella with seriousness “Why don’t you ever talk about him?” Lyanna asked.
Arya sighed… “It is not mine to speak of him to you. That right only your mother has. But I can do better than talking about him. We can go see him. All three of us.”
“Mama said he is far away in the land of ice and snow. How can we go see him there?” Lyanna said with disbelief.
“We can. We can go there. But I can do that only with your help, Lya… and yours Rhae. You do understand what I mean?”
Both girls nodded: “Drogon… you want us to take him to the place father is…”

Father… hearing this word coming from the girls almost made Arya’s eyes to water. Even from where she was standing, Kinvara noticed that.
“Yes, and if either of you don’t want to go, we shall never speak of this again. Ever. We can only go as all three of us or we’re not going.”
Arya told girls softly but with firm voice. “I want to go.” Rhae replied. “Me too. I want to meet my father.” Lya added.
“Will he like us?” silver-haired girl asked.
This made Arya to kneel and hug them both: “Silly girls, he will love you just as I love you and tenfold more.”
Her gaze met Kinvara’s. Priestess nodded approvingly.

“What did I tell you that day in Qarth when we first met?” she asked the dark-haired Northern woman as they continued their ride east.
“You said many things that day.”
“I believe you very well know what I meant.”
“You said that after that day I will know what kind of a woman I truly am.”
“Do you know now… what kind of a woman you truly are?”
“A woman about to face a huge beast in hope to carry her to the other side of the world to find a broken man.” “Exactly, Arya Stark, that is who you truly are.”

And just as the words came out of her mouth, a mighty screeching sound was heard from above and the area around them became darker.
Arya’s eyes widened as they came to rest on an enormous landing dragon, his black and red scales left her in awestruck.
The beast landed ploughing the dry plain before them with such force that the earth shook beneath the four riders.

Arya came to realise that Drogon was now at least two times larger than when she last saw him, above the destroyed Red Keep. “You weren’t lying, look at the size of him, truly he’s large as Winterfell castle!” Arya said loudly which made her nieces to laugh.

Both girls and Kinvara dismounted from their horses and walked towards Drogon. When they were near him twins lifted their arms as they wanted to hug the dragon. The animal stepped closer, stretching his neck until his nozzle finally brushed against girls’ touch.
They were saying something to Drogon in High Valyrian but Kinvara could not hear what since dragon made a loud sound for which she could swear it was dragon purring.
Then she locked eyes with dragon who gave her a long stare.

Girls’ aunt was motionless as she watched this bonding of two small girls and this large winged reptilian beast. Dragon lift his gaze at the woman on horseback, not making any movement just breathed out a bit of smoke, but it didn’t concern Rhaella and Lyanna at all, twins were still petting him.
Drogon lowered his head, large as the skulls of first Targaryen dragons which were still kept in underground vaults of the Red Keep, at least in those parts of the vaults which have survived the wrath of this same dragon ten years ago.
“Good, it is good.” priestess said to Arya as she returned to horses “he will accept them as his riders.”
“There was a puff of smoke.” Arya told her, her hand on Rhoynish scimitar.
Kinvara took down first crate from the cargo horse ignoring her.

“Here you have food prepared for the journey and clothes for the land beyond the wall. It’s not Westerosi, but it will do.” she said to Arya.
Stark woman opened the crate and took out one piece of clothing, it was a type of coat made from seal skin with a hood, lined with fur.
“It’s from Ibben. Coat of their hunters and fishermen; it will keep you and girls warm during flight and when you reach mouth of Antler.”
“What’s in the other crate?” “Riding harness. For Drogon.” “What?”
“You’ll make night flight twice. Surely you don’t want the girls or you fall off when over Shivering Sea?” “Of course not.”
“That means you’ll have to buckle yourself to the dragon. He is used to it; Daenerys uses this harness when she has cargo to fly somewhere.”
“Mayhaps I should get myself acquainted with my transportation…” Arya said.
“Do that before he is insulted with you ignoring him.”
“Your mocking is as boring as your preaching.” Northerner replied and walked towards her nieces and huge dark dragon.

“I wish you calm skies, lady Stark.” Kinvara said unsure if Arya has heard her or not.

She mounted her horse and rode back towards Meereen, without giving a single look at the dragon who soon after disappeared in the clouds with three riders.

That same night Kinvara stood in the Meereenese temple of Lord of Light, alone in the altar hall. She uttered the word of prayer in High Valyrian:
“Hen sȳndrorro, ōños, hen ñuqīr, perzys!” (From darkness light, from ashes fire!)

Next moment she was surrounded with fiery circle, flames were burning bright and reaching as high as her waist.
In the middle of that ring of fire there was an ornate bronze post with an obsidian candle, one foot and a half tall.
Glass candle. Such candles were known by that name though dragonglass candle would be proper way to call it.
Another remnant of civilisation of Old Valyria. This one in front of Kinvara was black and twisted with edges sharp as blades.
For over a century these candles were not reported burning. Then, eight and ten years ago, they started to burn again for those who knew how to make them burn.
Candles restored their fire when dragons came back to this world.

“Hen sȳndrorro, ōños, hen ñuqīr, perzys!” she repeated three times – and then candle was lit.

Hall was now illuminated with bright light shining so strong even Kinvara could not keep her gaze on the candle for too long.
Red banners hanging on the walls seemed like caught with fire, altar stone was as white as pristine snow and shadows were pitch black. It was known that light from the glass candles does strange things to colours. But that was not their main power.
It was said that when obsidian candle burn, those with knowledge of magic and sorcery could see across the world, over the mountains and deserts and seas, give men dreams or visions and converse with one another half a world apart.
In many decades that candles were without their fire, that knowledge by most was forgotten, cast aside as merely folk tales, mocked even.
Some kept it. Kinvara knew everything to be known of glass candles.

And so did another servant of Lord of Light, who at that very moment was at Whitecourt, the seat of House Warder, sworn bannermen to House Nymeros Martell of Sunspear, usually called by shortened name, Martells. Whitecourt was five and thirty leagues away from Sunspear.

Ezzelyno, once serving as a priest of R'hllor in Braavos was now in Dorne, standing in the middle of the chamber that lord Flement Warder provided for him during his stay.
During his days in Braavos, Ezzelyno drunk a lot and was known for his cheerfulness.
Then he was summoned back to Volantis and given new mission, one that will not include soaking in wine or ale.
He saw Kinvara standing in temple in Meereen, just as he was truly there.
Such was the power of burning glass candle. Power that sometimes drained the minds of those using it so they would end in insanity.

“Valar morghulis” she said to tall, thinnish man whose head was shaven unlike his messy grey beard. “Valar dohaeris.” he replied and asked
“Gēlītsos zīrto perzo iksis zālagon.” (Glass candle is burning?)
“Kessa. zālagon hae se zemytubis vēzos.” (Yes, burns like midday sun.)
To her it seemed as she was in Dorne, in his chambers.
Yet, when he spoke, it was as he was in her head. It was said these candles do not melt, but weaker minds who dared using them did.

Kinvara asked next:
“Mirre is sȳrī lēda īlva Dornio raqirossa?”
(All is well with our Dornish friends?)
“Tolī bona sȳrī. Dāriassy issi ruarza hen se laes hen Āeksio hen Sȳndror.”
(More than well. Queens are hidden from the eyes of the Lord of Darkness) priest confirmed, not hiding satisfaction.
Kinvara nodded in confirmation of these good news.
Then she gave warning to the bald-headed priest:
“Iēdrosa, va sagon bē, konīr māzigon mēre isse se brōzi hen Āeksio hen Sȳndror. Krubo ēza jittan zirȳla. Lioragon egros. Ossēnagon. Nāpāstre.”
(Still, keep close watch. One comes in the name of the Lord of Darkness. Dwarf has sent him. Sellsword. Killer. Treacherous. )

Ezzelyno was now worried: “Kostagon ziry ōdres īlva kȳvana?” (Can he do damage to our plans? )
“Kessa se daor. Issa lioragon egros. Kostas sagon sindita. Syt iā sȳz odre.” she replied dryly
(Yes and no. He is sellsword. He can be bought. For a good price.)”
“Se aōha mirre isse se ñāqa?” priest on the other side of the world asked
(And your work in the east? )
“Sȳrkta bona kȳvanon. Zaldrīzes lentor kessa sagon hae mēre aderī” “
(Better than planned. Dragon house will be reunited soon.)
“Se pār?” the question came (And then?)
“Kessi dohaeragon īlva Āeksio.” she replied (They will serve our Lord.)
“Hae zȳhon sȳrje azantys.” priest added. (As his best champions. )

Kinvara nodded before saying: “Āeksio ōños bē ao lēkia, syt bantis iksis zōbrie se lēda hen ossȳngnoti.”
(Lord’s light upon you, brother, for night is dark and full of terrors.)
Next moment Dornish chamber disappeared before her eyes.

Not much later Kinvara walked out from R'hllor’s temple in Meereen.

Chapter Text

Winterfell, Westeros, year 315 After Conquest

SANSA

Queen in the North, was seated in Queen’s Chamber, her meeting room that she established having the chamber of the Hand of the King from the Red Keep in mind.
The Red Keep from her younger days, when she was first betrothed to and later hostage of king Joffrey Baratheon.
Though he never truly was a Baratheon, only vicious bastard born of incest.

Kingdom of the North had no Small Council nor Hand, their governing model was different.
Sansa, as first ruler of independent North in peacetime unlike her predecessors Robb and Jon, could fully address matters of finding most befitting way of decision-making for this young realm of First Men. That way was the Queen’s Council.
Every two moons all the lords or ladies of noble Northern houses would assemble at Winterfell’s Great Hall, which now served as throne room to discuss matters of importance for their kingdom.
Many of old houses were not there anymore. On the walls of Great Hall shields hung of all Northern noble families.
Whenever her eyes fell upon a shield with rampant bear, Sansa felt sadness for House Mormont which now lived only in memory.
Last of them died defending Winterfell ten years ago. Old Jorah and girl Lyanna alike, always came to her mind, Jorah died defending the Dragon Queen, whom he loved but who never loved him back. He was an honourable man, unlike her...
She knew the story of exiled son of Jeor Mormont from Tyrion.

Bear Island was now ruled by House Glover, though by her decree only temporary.
All these years she secretly hoped that some baseborn son or daughter of some Mormont will appear and that she will legitimise that heir and renew this noble house.
But, alas, it seems Mormonts sired no bastards… she said to herself in disappointment.

Umbers were gone as well, Night King saw to that, but she didn’t care about them.
Traitors who have given her younger brother Rickon to bastard Ramsay Bolton to be tortured and in the end killed.
Arrow straight in the heart, that day when cursed Bolton name were also gone from this world, when Ramsay lost Battle of the Bastards.
Lands of former House Umber were now directly under crown, Land of the Queen just like Winterfell was.

All the land Boltons once possessed was by her decree given to House Hornwood, for their loyalty and answering the call of House Stark against Ramsay.
It wasn’t received well by the Karstarks who eyed the land between Lonely Hills and Weeping Water with Dreadfort castle as main prize.
It would double the holds of her distant cousins in Karhold.
Mayhaps we share the same blood, Starks and Karstarks, but to me they are same turncoats as Umbers were. They fought for Ramsay.
Pity that they were not removed from this life like Umbers and Boltons. Gods are indeed cruel sometimes. Noble house like Mormonts disappear while filth like Karstarks remain; Sansa always dwelled upon whenever reminded of rulers of Karhold; Jon is to blame, he and his forgiving nature. I told him to strip them of their lands and titles but he wouldn’t listen. Now, Karstarks challenge me whenever they can.

“Your Grace…?” Beren Tallhart waited for her response, impatient as young men of barely one and twenty usually are.
Sansa replied, pulled from her thoughts: "Tell me again the size of that land"
"Fifty leagues from Wall to the end of Gift."
"Fifty leagues. That should belong with the North?"
Beren replied meekly: "No, Your Grace. The North holds up to the New Gift. Beyond that is the land of Night's Watch."
“What would Night's Watch do with that much land? What were they shielding us from these last ten years?" “Your Grace is right. The Wall is torn down at Eastwatch and the knowledge that built it is long lost, even if one would like to make the Wall whole again which serves no point now. Just as Night’s Watch serves no point, save to be place where Six Kingdoms sends its criminals. It should’ve been disbanded long ago.”
“You eagerly display your thoughts, Beren” northern queen noted.
“I meant no disrespect, Your Grace…”
“Far from it. I respect what you’ve just said because I think the same. North must go to the Wall and beyond it. If we don’t expand, we will die.
Go to that map, Beren, and tell me what you see.”

Young Tallhart made few paces and stood by the map of the Kingdom of the North, a large piece of painted canvas hanging on the western wall of Queen’s Chamber.
“The North, Your Grace.”
Sansa laughed: “I am sure you don’t see the Dornish Marches. How many ports do you see, for instance?”
“White Harbor, Your Grace.” “Any other of significance?”
“None.” “None? Either south of White Harbor or north?”
“No, Your Grace.”
“What you make of it, Beren?”
“The North ceases if we go south of the White Harbor and the coast of Vale begins, coast of Six Kingdoms.
And if we go north… our forefathers must have deemed unfit to found a port there.”
“Yes, it was unfit in their time. Because places fit for founding a northern port along which White Harbor would serve as south port, were part of the land gifted to Night’s Watch… mayhaps time has come to remedy that.”
“Aye, Your Grace.” Tallhart nodded.
“And what you make of our western coast? Why no ports there? At the east end of Saltspear, what do you think of that?”
“Fittest place for a port on western shore, Your Grace.”
“And why no one has built it there?”

Beren remained silent for few moments: “Ironborn? In the past every ship coming from the North southwards, to Westerlands or the Reach would be attacked by them.”

“You’ve made the right conclusion… for us to be truly independent we must have more trading ports and we must have a fleet. On both of our shores. If we fail to do this, anyone can cut us off from the rest of the world. North from us there are wildlings. South of us, Six Kingdoms. We’re friends with both now, but what will tomorrow bring…”

“Your brother Bran rules the Six Kingdoms, that alliance will last…” Beren started but she cut him off “…until Bran lives, until I live. After that… well, Beren, I don’t want for your grandchildren to fight for free North as we had to.”
Sansa rose from her chair:
“Go to Maester Wolkan, then you both go to ravenry and send calls to Northern houses. Their Queen is summoning them for a Council in six-day time.” “Aye, Your Grace.” young Tallhart bowed and left the chamber leaving Sansa with content smile.

On the morning of the Queen’s Council the red-haired queen stood at the ramparts and watched her castle bursting with people.
Sansa turned her head outside Winterfell, over the top of Winter Town’s rooftops.
Winterfell and town spreading next to castle walls had both grown in the last ten years.
North thrived during that time; many scars of previous wars were healed. People celebrated her reign.
Some scars remained, though.
This was no longer the same North of her father or her father’s father and still many of her bannermen had hard time accepting that unwed childless woman is their ruler. Whispers of marriage as matter of utmost importance were ever present in the corridors of Winterfell.
Some of the lords closer to her tried on few occasions to make her marital status theme for discussion and every time they have failed. Sansa was reluctant to settle in the role of wife and mother for herself. She was still satisfied with being just Queen in the North.

After noon of that day, she was sitting on the Northern throne, made of wood ornate with direwolf motifs. Behind her was the main hearth of Great Hall.
Before her assembled representatives from all noble houses of her kingdom, great and small, numbering over four score of people.

She addressed to them with flat tone of voice: “My Lords, my ladies. I have gathered you here to discuss a serious matter. Discussion which is long overdue. Winter is gone, it has been so for more than ten years now, but it left its damage over our people, livestock, grains and properties; and those wounds have taken years to heal.”
All present in the hall nodded with occasional “aye” coming form the back.

She continued: “For centuries, lands of the Gift were out of our reach. Given to Night’s Watch for their service to the realms of men. For eight thousand years the land beyond the Wall was out of anyone's reach. It was dangerous, cold and infertile, full of wildlings and frozen forests. Not anymore. All these years, snow and ice were slowly but surely withdrawing from those lands, following the death of the Night King. It is time for us to take back those lands. Gift and beyond the Wall.
We can clean up the forests, make the land cultivable and useful. We Northerners can be richer than any other kingdoms. We will never have worries for food or wealth or properties."
Sansa looks at her audience for appreciation. There is a murmur started.
Old Lord Wyman Manderly, counting three and seventy namedays, stood up:
“If I beg your pardon, my Queen, those lands, as I know belong to the Night's Watch. Brandon’s Gift and the New Gift all belong to the Night's Watch.
Bran the Builder and dragon kings gave them those lands.
The Night's Watch was impoverished and dwindling, and to help and support them in protecting Westeros the Targaryen kings gave lands of the New Gift to them.”

Targaryens…. dragons… old man might just as well curse her late mother; it would ring the same to her ears. Should I be obliged with a gift an extinct house gave to now useless order centuries ago?

“Night's Watch is an order that is no longer needed, my lord. The army of the dead are defeated. What will they protect us from? Six Kingdoms should find a better way to dispose of their murderers, rapers and thieves. Perhaps we should send a message to their Master of Coin to invest more in gaols than in brothels… word is last few years only such establishments are spawning in the south.”

Hall was now echoing with loud laughter. South was always welcomed theme for ridicule among the Northerners and she used that whenever she could.

Hugo of House Wull waited for laughter to stop and stepped out.
He was the clan chief of his house and in command of most of northern mountain clans:
“My Queen, the entire land beyond the Wall belongs to the Night’s Watch and to the wildlings, it’s hard to tell them apart now since Jon Snow has united them some dozen years ago. Not just the Gift and the New Gift, all the land beyond the Wall is theirs. And we have to honor the old pact, that we must not cut down the trees and leave them for the children of the forest…”
These words have annoyed Sansa:
“My Lord, we do not need to concern ourselves about whatever pact there was thousands of years ago. The children of the forest are gone, they are no longer there. Keeping pact with the long dead… there is no reason for it. Do old gods want for North to be how it is now? Undeveloped and almost landlocked. If so, they do not mean us well.”

People in the hall started murmuring, louder with every passing moment, some were in support of her words, some disapproved.
It’s her Tully blood, they never honoured old gods… one voice commented from the back end of the hall followed by another that stated Old gods didn’t save Ned or Robb… it wasn’t murmuring anymore, it was quarrel between all present.

“My lords! My lords!” one man was the loudest “Shut up, all of you!!!” he shouted in the end causing Great Hall to became silent in matter of moments.

Elric of House Karstark stepped out, wearing his black leather jerkin with embroidered white sunburst, one hand on the hilt of his sword, other grasping his belt.
He made couple of paces, gazing left and right, then he bowed to Sansa in such manner she could not tell is he mocking her or displaying utmost respect.

“Your Grace… my lords and ladies… fellow Northerners. What do we discuss here I ask you? This gift, that gift, that pact of the old, this pact of the old…”
he said with firm tone “Half of us here were mere children when Ned Stark was killed by that Lannister cunt Joffrey.
Other half were children when North took arms and ended the rule of dragons. Just few of us here are old enough to remember days before the Mad King.
Yes, once upon a time, the Night’s Watch was shield that protected the realm of men, order of knights, of noble warriors.
And kings gifted that order with land, our land, for them to be able to sustain themselves. All that is in the past. The Wall is broken.
The White Walkers are no more. Night’s Watch has no purpose. That gifted land has no purpose.”
He remained silent for a heartbeat, taking another look around the hall.
“I stand with our Queen; I say we take that land back!”
Half of the hall started cheering “We take it back!” Other half remained unconvinced still. Gawen Glover was the loudest in cheering.

Karstark’s speech left Sansa surprised, she expected of Karhold representative to be opposing her or stay neutral at least, this publicly declared support left her in wonder.
When their eyes met, she nodded to him and he returned the gesture with something that looked like a smile.

Then he turned to those which were not cheering: “I see doubt on your faces. I understand it, truly I do. Wildlings fought for the North, twice, against Boltons and against the dead. But, so did the Dothraki, so did the eunuch soldiers… even few of the Ironborn. All of them dying here, at Winterfell… would anyone of you be glad to have a Dothraki, Unsullied or Ironborn for a neighbor? Truly now…”
He paused for a while and waited for an answer from the assembly that never came.
“Just as I thought. None of you would like that kind of a neighbor. Luckily for all of us, Dothraki and the Unsullied are again across the sea, Ironborn also but it is different sea. Who remains? Wildlings….”
Sansa saw how most of the lords and ladies present nod their heads in approval. Karstark was wining them, wining for her cause. Yet, she did not feel happy because of that.

He is up to something. Young, ambitious, cunning. Future of the North.

“I ask you all what will happen when they have respawned enough?” Elric continued “Have they ever learned to work on the land, to plough and sow? To be farmers or to tend cattle? Of course they have not. Nor they ever will. But what they know is how to raid and steal from the men better than them.
Or is anyone here that dumb to think a Thenn will live off the land and Nightrunners will become sheepherders?”

Now, entire hall was loud in approval. Sansa could see the satisfied glow on Elric’s face as he continued his speech:
“I say we make sure that no more wildling raids happen. I say we take all the lands that was taken from us and given to Night’s Watch and the lands beyond the Wall. In the name of the Kingdom of the North!” he shouted his last sentence and then he drew out his sword.

All present in the Great Hall followed and soon more than eighty voices shouted as one: “The Kingdom of the North! The Kingdom of the North!”

Sansa rose from the throne and made a slight bow to her assembled nobles. Elric Karstark was her champion of the day. She decided to learn more on the subject.
When cheering stopped, she proclaimed this session of Queens’ Council adjourned and then she retired to her chamber, but not before she gave instruction to Beren Tallhart to bring young Karstark to her.

She didn’t wait for long; he was soon standing before her.
Sansa gestured him to sit at her table and poured a cup of Arbor red wine. After taking first couple of sips, she said:
“Lord Elric, I must say I didn’t know that I had such an ally in the young lord of Karhold.”
“You could not have known, Your Grace, we have not spoken much all these past years. Though, I was merely a boy for most of your reign so far.”
“A boy has become a man, that much was obvious today. With proper understanding of what our kingdom needs.”

He gave her a barely visible smile:
“Anyone with even small wit can understand what North now needs. But, most of our lords have not enough wit and more than enough thickness in their mind.
They respect only strong leaders and orders given in firm voices.”
“You find my voice not firm enough?” Sansa asked with frown.
“Your Grace, you are a Queen. It is beneath you to place in order old billy goats like Wyman Manderly or Hugo Wull. Others can do that for you.”
“And you have in mind someone who should be doing that for me?” she smirked, though his words were pleasant to her.

“Yes, I do, Your Grace.” Elric replied “I have myself in mind.”
“Oh… and in what capacity would you be placing lords of the North in order with firm voice?” she asked, trying to hide the mocking tone.
“At first I could serve you as commander of Northern host. I will retake all the land stolen from us in your name.” “At first, you say… And later?”
“Your Grace, it would bring me great pleasure for Starks and Karstarks to be joined once again, as is it proper for a kinfolk to be.” he replied with utter seriousness.

Sansa’s eyes widened “Lord Elric Karstark, are you talking about prospect of marriage?”
“Yes, Your Grace, that is exactly what I am talking about."

Chapter Text

Lorath, Essos, year 315 After Conquest

ARYA

She was leaned on a pine tree watching through brass and leather telescope she brought from Nymeria.
Far away lied Lorath, northernmost of the Free Cities and the poorest, most isolated and backwards of the nine colonies of Old Valyria which later became the Nine Free Cities.
City of Lorath was founded on an island of the same name, the largest one in the bay.
Second largest island was Lorassyon, known in the rest of the world by its great labyrinth which covered three quarters of the island's surface and also having four subterranean levels.
Most of it was ruin now, but still enough for a man to lose his way in that vast maze and in the end to lose his life.

Arya was on one of the two dozen smaller isles, it had no traces of people living there and it was still covered with enough forest to provide cover for one woman, two girls and one large dragon which was resting in the glade quarter a mile away from where she was standing. Drogon has landed on this isle few hours before dawn and they have remained on his back until daybreak.
She was sure they weren’t seen by the Lorathi whose fishing boats occasionally passed near the island.
Fishing fleet was large on Lorath which couldn’t be said for their naval force, only few warships they had which made easy for fishermen from Braavos and whalers from Ib to venture into the Lorathi bay with impunity.

Arya folded the ship’s telescope and walked back towards the place they’ve made camp. In her mind she was reliving the ride on a dragon from last night.
Her hands trembled as she firmly gripped the reins while Drogon flew high above the western Dothraki sea, over the Forest of Qohor and the Norvos hills before landing on this small island in bay of Lorath.
“Sōvegon,” Arya heard when both Lya and Rhae said softly, almost whispered, the High Valyrian word for ‘fly’, a word they had heard their mother say many times.

Dragon rippled his massive shoulders, leaning forward as he began to run. Arya clung as tightly as she could, seeing the hills on the northern side of the Skahazadhan road getting closer… and closer… and closer… until there were no more hills, just clouds all around her as dragon went up in the air.
Drogon climbed high among the clouds and then rolled in the air twice.
This made Lya and Rhae first to giggle, both tossing their heads back with laughter, shrieks of joy filling the air. He’s playing with them, Arya realised. And dragon himself was purring softly as he was enjoying girls’ laughter.
Then he straightened and continued flying towards north and west.

Is this the same dragon who scorched entire city came to her mind the same beast from whose fiery breath I was running through streets of King’s Landing while hundreds of people burned. I am on his back now crossing hundreds of leagues…

Drogon has found an air current high above the southern edge of Qohor forest and used it to soar all the way to Darkwater River valley and hills of Norvos.
The riding harness was an elaborate set of long and broad leather belts and straps. Dragon allowed twins to put it on him although it was not easy for two ten-year-old girls to place the harness on huge neck of the black dragon; four feet away from his wings. When harness was firmly set on Drogon, three canvas bags with inside coated in wool were attached to the leather straps, bags large enough for each of three riders to crawl in and lie down while in the air.

True craftsmanship, Arya thought as woollen coat of the bag kept her warm. She was pleased to see that Rhae and Lya are in good mood, relishing first dragon ride without their mother, despite the cold that surrounded them, this high above Essos. Night caught with them while they were in the sky over western Dothraki sea, some forty leagues south of Essaria, once a Valyrian colony, but now better known by its Dothraki name, Vaes Khadokh, the City of Corpses.
It was the night of young moon so Arya turned to Lyanna:
“Tell him to fly lower, we can do that now.”
“Sōvegon mība” dark-haired girl said with her hand placed on Drogon’s scales. Dragon dipped his head and slowly begun to descend till Lya signaled him that he has gone low enough. Darkness covered entire land beneath them but many leagues away, southwards, Arya could see the distant lights of a city... Qohor.
Couple of hours later Drogon flew even closer to city of Norvos and then turned north towards Bay of Lorath. Despite darkness, Arya knew they are approaching the sea. Shivering Sea.

But, not even two hundred leagues west of here is Braavos. And Narrow Sea and Gulltown and Vale of Arryn on the other side of Narrow Sea. I’ve never been so close to Westeros in five years.

Black dragon landed on one of the outer smaller islands and all three riders and their winged mount fell asleep until daybreak.
Arya was first to come down from the Drogon and went to look around, armed with Catspaw, Needle and Rhoynar sword which she carried across her back. It did not take her long to learn that this island is not the place where people live, even for a short while. She found no traces of houses; log cabins or tents and she was pleased with that.
When she returned to the glade where they’ve landed, girls were already awake, with their bows and arrow bags hanging on their shoulders. Rhaella had the same dagger Lyanna did back in Qarth and that did not escape Arya.
After they wished each other good morning, it was time to break the fast. There were still some dried lamb sausages and rye bread left and one more waterskin of lime juice.
“So, we are now on one of the Lorathi islands. No one lives here which is good, we can be at peace for the rest of the day, still we will keep close look at the sea, last thing we need is some fishermen or Ibbenese whalers to jump us here.” she said to the twins “Now, I’ve seen some rabbits in the woods and we need a proper lunch…”
Both girls got up right after hearing this and went in opposite directions to catch their next meal.
Dragon was sleeping, much to Arya’s amusement. Just don’t snore or you’ll burn this whole island… she said walking away towards nearby hill on which she saw a large rock with flattened top; perfect place on the high ground to make camp for the remainder of this day. She prepared wood for the fire, keeping it small to avoid smoke being seen by passing boats, even found an oak log which will serve as makeshift bench. And then she waited for twins to return from the hunt.
Rhaella was first to come back to the glade and Arya had to wave to her from the rock. Silver-haired niece was proud of herself carrying one rabbit and one snowcock, a bird of pale grey feathers and of decent weight.
“It’s basically a hen of the forest…” Arya said “We’ll roast it on a spit just like that rabbit.”

Some time passed and Lyanna also came back, her with two caught rabbits. “Well done, my archers, we have both lunch and supper. I guess this island’s poultry joined with rabbit for lunch and later pure rabbit for supper.”
Twins laughed, helped her to skin the rabbits and pluck the bird and then went to practice with their bows while she was roasting meat for the lunch. It reminded Arya of her own childhood, marked by the War of the Five Kings.
Gendry, Hot Pie and her running from Harrenhal, trying to survive in the woods of Riverlands, ruined by all warring sides.

Oh, well, at least I know how to roast a rabbit or any kind of wild hen...

All three were seated on the oak log passing each other bird and rabbit meat to judge what tasted better. Girls were used to Dothraki cuisine and Arya thought today’s lunch is improvement over blood pies and sweetgrass stew.

Between bites, Rhae asked her: “Arya, isn’t dragon riding the greatest thing in the whole world?” “It is, sweet girl, it surely is. And two of you have done it splendidly, riding Drogon for the first time on your own.”
“Were you afraid?” Lyanna asked. “Why? Were you?” Girl smiled and confirmed.
Arya placed her hand on Lya’s shoulder: “Good. So was I, only a fool or a madman would not feel fear to be on dragon’s back, high above land, in the clouds. Nothing on this world can be compared with that.”
“I was afraid that Drogon would not listen to us, that he only listens to mama.” said Rhae.
“I don’t know much about dragon riding, but it is believed that dragon bonds with only one rider.” she replied to her niece “Could be it was different with Drogon this time…”
“Mama says it only takes a word to fly a dragon, nothing else is needed.” Lya added.

Arya tried to recall what she read as a little girl about the Old Valyria and their dragons. Valyrian dragonlords before the Doom had controlled their winged mounts with binding spells and sorcerous horns.
“When it comes to dragons, a word is far better choice than a whip…” she said to the twins, as her memories brought back the lines from old books “When you whip a horse on his right flank, he will go left… a horse’s first instinct is to flee from danger. But when you lay the whip across dragon’s right side he shall veer right. For a dragon’s first instinct is always to attack. It is wiser to speak with those magnificent beasts. You two have that skill. It will only get stronger in time.”
Twins were now smiling, their faces content.

“Whip is for slaves.” Lyanna said “Zaldrīzes buzdari iksis daor. Zaldrīzes raqiros iksis.”
Arya frowned upon hearing this and repeated in Common Tongue: “Dragon is not a slave. Dragon is a friend. It could be you’re right, wolf child, slave is never as loyal as friend is.”
Raven-haired girl loved when her aunt called her wolf child, yet Arya learned that Lya has dragon temper beneath Stark looks.
“Have you ever seen the Dragonpit, Arya?” asked her other niece, one with features of Old Valyria, who always brought tenderness in Arya.
“I did, Rhae, I saw it only once, it is a ruin now.” “Mother says our ancestors built it to lock their dragons there and when they jailed them in that pit, dragons died.”
“That is true, Rhaella. Targaryens of the old raised a large castle with a dome for their dragons. That castle was guarded by seventy-seven men at arms, called the Dragonkeepers.”

Arya was telling her, remembering historical accounts “And yet, dragons who were hatched and lived in the pit never reached the size of those before them. When my father served as Hand to King Robert, I saw the skulls of Targaryen dragons beneath the Red Keep. Skull of Balerion was so large, I swear he could swallow an elephant whole. And skull of the last dragon hatched in the Dragonpit was smaller than of a cat.”
As girls listened, she could tell they are picturing what she’s told them in their minds. “They grew small because they were not free anymore.” said Lyanna. “Not free to fly, to go where they want when they want.”
Arya nodded “There are living things that can thrive in captivity and there are those that wither away under lock and key. Dragons are of latter kind. That is why your dragon grows still. He is free.”
“Sometimes I feel sad for Drogon.”
“Why, Rhae?” “He is alone, he has no other dragon to be with.”
“He wasn’t always alone. He had two brothers… I’ve heard it from the Dothraki and from the Unsullied.” words came from Lyanna.

“Viserion and Rhaegal…” Arya said softly. “You know of them?” both girls were now surprised.
“Aye, I do. I never saw Viserion when he was still living, only what the Night King made of him after he killed that dragon… a wight, undead mindless creature bound to will of the Night King. I saw men and beasts, long ago dead, turned into wights.
And so was Viserion. All the wights fell when Night King fell…”
“We know it was you who killed him, Arya.” Rhae said.
“Mother told us.” Lyanna added “That you were Hero of Winterfell.”
“I could not have done it without your mother. She was a great hero too. ”

“But she never speaks of Drogon’s brothers. She never talks of war in Sunset Kingdoms.”
“Dothraki who were with her across the sea told me that Rhaegal was killed by men from the place called islands of iron.” Rhae told them while looking at Arya as if girl wanted her to confirm these words.
“Ironbon those men are called, of the Iron Islands.” Arya nodded “Dothraki told you as it truly was.”
“And they also told me that Rhaegal had his own rider, a man who called himself King in the North… but his true name was Snow…” silver-haired girl continued making her twin sister to react:
“That is a lie right there… have you forgotten what Arya taught us – the North knows no king but the King in the North whose name is Stark.”
Lyanna almost exclaimed last sentence and then continued lecturing her sister: “Dothraki sometimes twist their stories to fool the others. They’ve fooled you well, a Snow cannot be King in the North and only a Targaryen can ride a dragon, Rhae.”

Arya looked at her and sighed deeply… My sweet wolf child, I would like to tell you the truth so much, but it is not mine to tell you. You have to take that matter to those two fools which are your parents.

“Arya, do you know anything about who rode Rhaegal?” question came from her other niece.
“Girls, whatever story from the war you want to hear, you should ask your mother to tell you. Most of all about the fate of Drogon’s brothers.” she told them and got up from the log.
She was stretching when Lyanna said:
“Mama never talks about that war; we’ll never hear anything from her.”
Arya looked at her raven-haired niece: “Lya, have I ever told you about my time in Braavos, when I was just a bit older than you are now?”
“You haven’t, no.”
“And, my sweet niece, I never will.” she smiled at the girl approvingly
“Now, you two, enough babbling about the past, it is time for some swordplay.”

Lands beyond the Wall, Westeros, year 315 After Conquest

Dawn sent shimmering rays over the sea, bestowing a golden path from the shore to the horizon. Only an hour ago the blackness was absolute, but now the mist was visible, silvery.
Against this backdrop the trees were silhouettes, still as statues and darker than the ravens.
This place was long ago named the haunted forest by the brothers of the Night’s Watch. A vast portion of land, stretching from the Frostfangs in the west to Shivering Sea and the Bay of Seals to the east.
It was said that axe rarely had swung in that black wood, where even the moonlight could not penetrate the ancient tangle of root and thorn, these woods have stood here since the Dawn Age, long before the Andals brought their seven gods across the Narrow Sea, long before dragons brought Westeros to heel. It was an endless dark wilderness, some believed spirits of the First Men dwelled here hence naming it haunted.

I need to find someone haunted by another ghost, not one of First Men, but of living woman, Arya reflected while watching the thick treeline of ironwood and oak.
She paced on the left bank of the Antler River which flew fast towards its embrace with Shivering Sea.

Even here, less than a mile before its mouth, riverbed was marked with rapids, painting the river stream from bank to bank with patches of white. “This is how river is supposed to look like.” Arya said aloud “Not that Meereenese sewer.”
It was deliberate, for twins to hear her. They were slowly pacing behind her, dressed head to toe in Ibbenese clothes of seal skin, their faces barely visible under hoods.
They weren’t ready for the cold air of true north, unlike Arya who felt more at home though this was her first time to be beyond the Wall.
She expected to make way through knee deep snow, to see frozen river banks and treetops breaking under ice. Instead she saw green all around her, tall sentinel trees whose trunks were glistening with sticky sap; dark ivy whose evergreen vines were covering the ground and climbing both trees and cliffs. Jay bird screeched among branches of a nearby oak. A roe deer buck appeared among trees on the other bank of the river only to vanish into forest.
There still were patches of snow, large and small, in the places where shade protected them from sunlight while on far away mountains and hilltops, frozen white cover still ruled undisputed.

This land was so different from all the stories Arya heard about what lies beyond the wall. Mayhaps when Night King was defeated, when winter was defeated, it has freed this land from shackles of ice and snow, she pondered.
They kept walking close to the riverbank to avoid making their way through thick forest and bushes which lay alongside both banks merely twenty feet from the water.
With their clothing, from afar the three looked like wildlings which could work for their benefit or against it. A closer look, one that would see Rhoynar blade and Dothraki bows, could tell right away that they’re not of Free Folk.
Arya turned back to the girls: “Are you all right? Lya? Rhae?”
Both girls nodded, their eyes wandering in every direction.
They have never seen a land of this kind, never such forest and first thing they did upon setting foot on the ground was to run into snow, to roll in it, even to taste it.

They’re only children, after all ,Arya said to herself, my childhood was stolen from me, but their will not be. Not if I can help it.

“In the books it says this is land of eternal ice…” Lyanna wondered.
“It was, for a long time.” Arya replied. “What changed it?” “Death of the ice demons.” Arya used those words to explain to twins who the White Walkers were. “It is better this way…” Rhaella said “This land is beautiful.”
She smiled to her niece: “Ah, that is Stark blood talking. It takes only one kiss of northern cold for wolf in you to wake up…”
“Arya, was it not the haunted forest where lord Walton Stark died? He went after some traitors but giants attacked him and killed him…” said silver-haired girl.
“You have been paying attention to my stories, I see. Yes, he pursued Night’s Watch mutineers and got in the battle with giants.”
Lya added: “His brother Alaric Stark blamed king Jaehaerys Targaryen for Walton’s death. Why dragons and wolves never liked each other?”

Arya stopped and looked at both of them: “There were times when they misliked each other and there were times they liked each other. And times when some dragon and some wolf loved each other. You two are living proof of that.”

Twins smiled. Arya was very content how girls have embraced their Stark ancestry. Their mother surely was not thrilled about it but she did not forbid it either.
Such attitude from her side had more to do with her brother and my aunt, she thought, than with twins’ father. Another living proof of love between the dragon and the wolf… ending in tragedy for the dragons. Mayhaps Stark and Targaryen pairings are always doomed…

A distant horse neigh came from the forest ahead of them. Very next moment Arya signaled the girls to run from clearing of the riverbank into the woods.
Soon, all three were lying on the ground, hidden under fallen ironwood trunk, overgrown with thick cover of dark ivy. Few more neighs and then sound of hoofs… horses cantering on the riverbank, then sound of someone running through shallow water.
More than one.
“Arya, look…” Lya whispered in excitement, but she gestured to the girl to be silent. A group of four wildlings, one older man, a young woman, girl and a boy of younger age than her nieces were forced into the shallow water by three riders.
One rode through the water behind the wildlings aiming his spear towards their backs while other two rode parallel along the bank with drawn swords.
She could tell that people on foot are terrified, woman hold their two children in tight grasp while old man placed himself between them and tip of the spear. Riders were amused with this; Arya could tell and that disgusted her.
Men on the horses wore half sleeve mail hauberks over black woollen surcoats, their heads were bare, unprotected by chain coifs they also had. There was no sigil displayed on them, but undoubtedly, they were Northerners.

Bastards, to torment little children like this, anger took over Arya. Spearman laughed as he managed to shove the tip of his weapon in the old wildling’s back just enough to make him fall in the water face down.
The man quickly got up only to be forced back down by spear tip. Wildling woman turned towards the riverbank and started running out of the water, trying to reach the treeline, firmly grasping her two children, but two riders came in front and behind her and one cut her down with his sword, slicing her from nose to breasts. Woman went out with scream, which was nothing compared to shrieks of horror coming from the wildling boy and girl.
Men on horses laughed, one even forced his mount to trot on dead body.

Rhaella sighed in shock, but soon Arya’s hand was on her mouth. Lyanna had the same mad look as Arya herself.
“Grab your bows…” she whispered to her nieces “…Lya, take down one with the spear, Rhae you aim at one on chestnut horse… leave one with bloodied blade to me.”

Soon, twins were kneeling with their arrows nocked, aiming at two riders who were entertained with the scene of two children screaming for their dead mother. Older wildling tried to get to the boy and girl but spearman kept knocking him down.
Man was soaking wet, his face bloodied from hitting the rocks on the river bottom.

“Stay down, old cunt… I’ll run this spear up your ar...” Last what he heard was a swoosh of an arrow that ended up in his open mouth, cutting his tongue in half, pushing the shards of his broken teeth down his throat.
Arrow came out on the back of his neck almost half in length and he fell off his horse in the shallow water of the Antler.

Rider on a reddish-brown horse slightly turned his head to see what happened to spearman when another arrow came from the woods and found his right eye. He fell without making a sound.
Third rider tried running away, tried to turn his horse and force it into gallop when his mount was killed under him with two more arrows hitting the animal straight in the heart.
Arya’s nieces grew up among the Dothraki, they knew how to unhorse a rider by killing the animal under him.

She came out of the woods, holding her Rhoynar sword in one hand. Her hood was down, the last rider could see her face as he stood there, holding his longsword. He was still shaken by the death of his companions.
“A woman!” he yelled “Only a wildling bitch kills from ambush with arrows. Come now, I’ll rip you open from cunt to neck!”

“Before he kills you…” Arya pointed to the old man who grabbed two children and pulled them away from the dead woman’s body “…I will slash your face, cut off your right ear and bring you to your knees.”

She did not wait for him to reach her, but spun to her left. She checked his sword with hers and whirled away. Off balance, the man stumbled to the ground. Arya put a boot to his back and he went down, at that moment she sliced through the chain coif.
It offered no protection from Rhoynar blade made of Valyrian steel. He howled from the pain as his ear was cut in half. “Bitch!” he bellowed standing up again, blood streaming down his neck.
He charged again, slashing at Arya’s head. She ducked under his blade and thrust her sword upward. He made as screech of frustration as red trickle went down his left cheek.
“Fucking wildling whore!” he shouted and charged, hacking down with both hands on his sword. She rolled right, evading these butcher moves and planted the tip of her blade into man’s kneecap.
As he was falling to his knees he shrieked, dropping the longsword. Arya kicked his weapon away.
“I told you.” she said to the kneeling man, tip of her sword placed on his neck “Since when are Northerners hunting down wildling women and children?”
“Fuck off…” man replied; voice marked with pain. Arya pressed blade harder on his skin, piercing it. “I won’t ask for second time.”

Man hissed: “The Queen in the North wills it.” “It is not wise to lie with sword on your neck.”
“I don’t lie, bitch, this land will be under her crown.” “You don’t know who I am, do you?” she asked him.
“Wildling whore with fancy sword and skill how to use it.” he spat.
“I am your queen’s sister, dumb fuck, Arya Stark of Winterfell. And I know you lie about Sansa taking this land.”
He looked at her: “Arya Stark… ha… she died long ago in the Sunset Sea.”
“Who is your lord?” she asked.
“Elric of House Karstark. We are doing his bidding. His and Queen Sansa’s.”

Arya frowned, not wanting to believe her sister would agree with what she just witnessed. She turned away and walked towards the old wildling.
Lya and Rhae were standing at the edge of the woods with their bows ready. Karstark man remained on his knees, holding hand on his slashed ear.

“Ya ‘ave saved me and children, thank gods ya’re here. We’re foreva in ya debt…” old man said “…but how to repay I don’t know, we Free Folk don’t ‘ave much.”
“You can help me. I am looking for a man who lives near here, he is not one of you. Some call him King Crow, but his name is Jon Snow.” Arya asked.
Old man’s face glowed: “I know Jon, King Crow, I fought the Boltons with ‘im, when I’s younger and more of a man. Ya go by the Antler inland till you see a stream that flows into river, go up that stream for a mile or two and ya’ll find his cabin.”
“Is he there now? Will I find him?”
“Aye, ya will. He joins our ‘unting parties now and then, but keeps to ‘imself for most days. Good man he is.”
Arya nodded, then asked: “This woman he killed, who was she?” “My son’s wife; the boy and the girl are ‘is.”
“I leave to you to do the justice.”

She went after two horses whose riders were cut down by the arrows, Lya and Rhae helped her and soon they were going inland on horseback, twins riding together.
Arya turned back once, only to see old man slitting throat of a kneeling Karstark man with an antler dagger.
Twins rode side by side with her and she noticed their silence.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“We never shot an arrow to kill someone.” Lya replied. “And today you shot and killed two men.” Both girls nodded with pensive faces.
“You’re troubled with that…”
Rhae looked at her: “Don’t be ashamed of us, they were evil men, we shouldn’t be troubled for killing them…”
“Ñuha dōna, I would be ashamed of you if you weren’t troubled. One who feels nothing after taking life for the first time, he is dead inside.”

After reaching the stream, one of many smaller tributaries of the Antler River, they went up its flow, riding north and west.
It was still good ground for men on horseback, hills were low and woods weren’t too thick to stop horse from passing through. They rode up the hill, by the narrow path between oak and beech trees and then Arya saw it from a hill top.
It was a log cabin, built on a small clearing above the stream, just enough for the one who lives there not to wander far for the source of sweet water; near the cabin there were four wooden frames for tanning animal hides.
Unsaddled horse was tied to a sentinel tree. He is inside... Arya thought… if this truly were his home.
She gestured to the girls to dismount and leave the horses on the hilltop, tied to an oak tree.
All three were coming downhill in a slow pace, twins with their bows in hands.

Then, from their left came a menacing growl. Something was coming at them from the trees. Growl was becoming more and more loud and then they could see him.
A huge wolf, size of a smaller horse, was approaching them, his mouth open, baring his fangs with menacing red eyes.
“Ghost!” Arya said aloud “It’s me… it’s Arya. We’re not enemies, boy.”
Lyanna dropped her bow: “It is you… the wolf from my dreams.”

She went straight to the animal with open arms. Arya reached out to stop her but she was too fast.
Ghost growled loudly at the girl that was walking to him, but when she came only few feet away, direwolf sat down and looked at the girl, red eyes were now in wonder.

When she made two more steps, wolf bent his head down and sniffed the small hand that girl cautiously extended towards him.
And then huge beast licked Lyanna’s hand. Next thing that happened was her scratching the direwolf behind his one remaining ear.
“Gods, she truly is blood of the wolf.” Arya watched all this in disbelief.

She approached Ghost with Rhaella and received the same welcome. “You’ve remembered me, old runt.” she said to him after she placed her hand on wolf’s head. “I’ve come to see Jon. And these girls, these are his daughters.”
Arya spoke to the huge white furred beast as he could understand her.
Mayhaps he can, mayhaps one can talk with direwolf as another can with dragon.

Their dragon was three leagues away, resting on the high cliffs above the very mouth of Antler into the Shivering Sea.
The night before Drogon brought them from Bay of Lorath, flying in straight line above the sea, passing over Grey Cliffs north of Karhold and then above the Bay of Seals. One hour before dawn they were over ruins of the Wall at Eastwatch.
Dragon knew these lands, he was north of the Wall once before, when Daenerys came with her three dragons to save Jon and the band of men who went to capture a wight just to show it to Cersei.
Her brother, the Imp, foolishly hoped that seeing the walking dead first hand will convince Lannister queen to help in the war with the Night King.
Here, beyond the Wall, south of Antler was the place where Viserion was killed with an ice spear. Her nieces know nothing about it. But, after today, they might learn the truth.

Lya and Rhae walked next to Ghost, each from one side, running their hands through wolf’s white fur. Lyanna took off her hood, unlike her twin.
Arya was two steps ahead of them. When they were all standing in front of the cabin, keeping silence for a heartbeat, she said loudly: “Come out and meet us!”

There was a noise from inside, as someone is stumbling and tripping over things. Gods, I hope he’s in better shape since last time I saw him… flashed in Arya’s mind.
“Arya… Arya… is that you?!”
A man in his mid-thirties appeared on the door of the cabin.
His face was pale, framed with long, unruly dark hair which fell to his shoulders and half hidden by the long messy beard. He wore grey shirt outside his breeches, shirt that should’ve been washed long ago.
He was thinner than she remembered him and by his blurry eyes she could tell that his nights still are not peaceful.
“Is that really you? But… how…how did you… I’ve heard you died at sea.”
His voice was trembling as he looked at her in disbelief.
“It’s me Jon, it’s Arya. It’s me, brother…” she wanted to run into his embrace, her eyes were already watered, but then he asked:
“Who is this… is she.. is she your daughter?!”
He pointed at dark-haired girl which stood next to Ghost and was looking at him with wide eyes.
Arya swallowed: “No, Jon… she is not mine.”
“My name is Lyanna Targaryen.” girl said politely.

Her twin sister stepped forward, took her hood off and also presented herself: “My name is Rhaella Targaryen.”
He froze on the spot upon seeing girl’s face and hair… “Dany…” came from his mouth as a whisper and then his gaze caught the dagger hanging from Rhaella’s belt… “No…no…” Tears flooded his eyes.

Then he slumped on the ground and started laughing, it was a madman’s laughter and Arya felt as if something were squeezing her heart.
He raised his head up and shouted: “When will this end?! When?! Am I now cursed with the ghost of my dead sister… with ghosts of children that never were…? Why don’t you just strike me down?! Why?!”
Lya and Rhae exchanged looks: “Iksis ziry ribazmoqitta?”
“He is not mad. He’s in pain. For no bloody reason.” Arya said with anger and marched straight to the man who were sitting on the ground and sobbing.

She grabbed the collar of his shirt with one hand and slapped him with other so hard his lip started to bleed: “Now, listen to me, you fool. I am no ghost. Girls are no ghosts.
I flew across half of the world on a fucking dragon to come here, to bring them to you. They are your daughters. Yours and Dany’s. She is alive.”
He looked at Arya absently but she could tell he’s listening to her:“Do you understand? Daenerys is alive. You have a family, you idiot. Pull yourself together. Your daughters don’t need to see you in such a poor shape.”
She slapped him again and then shown him the Needle. “Next time I will stick you with the pointy end, then you’ll believe I am not a fucking ghost.”

He looked at her trying to get up, his gaze was brighter now, and then he looked at two girls once more. “Dany…” he mumbled “she was…she was with child…when I…Arya, I killed my children…”
And then his eyes rolled back and he fell on the ground, as he was dead.

A raven flew away from the tall oak tree on the other side of the stream.
Eyes of dark feathered birds were white.

Same as were the eyes of a young man sitting in a chair with wheels, far away in the south, in the gardens of the castle made of pale red stone on Aegon's Hill in King's Landing.

Chapter Text

Water Gardens, Westeros, year 316 After Conquest

ARIANNE

Pale pink marble paved the gardens and courtyard.
Numerous pools and fountains overlooked by the terraces, shaded by blood orange trees, could be reached by walking across a fluted pillar gallery that lead to a triple archway.
Water Gardens.

It was fourth day of the first moon of new year, eleventh year of summer.
This place was pleasant in time of summer: hot days, cool nights, the salt breeze blowing in from the sea, and fountains and pools for all to admire and play in.
Children from all over Dorne were sent to the Water Gardens to foster, where they played together at the beach, pools and fountains, and in the water.
Older ones would lay face down upon the smooth pink marble, browning in the sun while others paddled in the sea beyond.
Two dozen or more had gathered in the big pool, to watch the battles as smaller children rode through the waist-deep shallows on the shoulders of the larger and tried to shove each other into the water.
Every time a pair went down, the splash was followed by a roar of laughter.
For a long while the only sounds were the children splashing in the pools and fountains, and once a soft plop as another orange dropped onto the terrace to burst.

She chuckled as orange missed her head for a few inches, but it was risk worth taking as she enjoyed the shade which orange trees provided.
Princess Arianne Nymeros Martell, the eldest daughter of late Dornish prince Doran, was ruling Dorne for the last four years.
Her father was dead, her brothers were dead.

Doran and his son Trystane were killed by order of Ellaria Sand, her uncle Oberyn’s paramour, when she and the Sand Snakes took rule over Dorne which proved to be short lived.
Euron Greyjoy saw to that when he ambushed the fleet of his niece Yara, killed all the Sand Snakes but one and captured Ellaria.
Later, Cersei Lannister arranged long painful death of Tyene, last of Sand Snakes.
Girl and her mother Ellaria were chained in the dungeons of the Red Keep, Tyene dying slowly of poison given to her by Cersei’s kiss with Ellaria forced to watch not only death but also the rotting corpse of her daughter.
Her father's cousin, Qoren, came to power two years after the assassination of their father. He declared Dorne for the Dragon Queen when she waged war on Cersei Lannister and later he sat down at the council in the Dragonpit when Bran the Broken was made king.
Sat down and did nothing, she remembered, sat down with his mouth shut when Ned Stark’s daughter break away from Seven Kingdoms reducing them into Six. He witnessed that and said nothing. If House Stark which for three centuries served the Iron Throne doing dragon’s and stag’s bidding could proclaim their independent kingdom – what of Dorne? Dragons never conquered us. Never. Never by force. We came into fold by marriage.

She once again looked around her.
Prince Maron Martell built for his new bride, Daenerys of House Targaryen, the Water Gardens, a place of beauty made of colored marble with pools and trees, to free her from the heat and dust of Sunspear.
She was the second Targaryen princess to be named Daenerys, living more than hundred years before her namesake which burned King’s Landing to ash.
That Daenerys on one occasion, when the sun was hot, took pity on the children of the servants and guards and allowed them to play in the pools with the highborn children, starting a tradition that is still kept in Dorne to this day.
Every Dornish child can come to Water Gardens to enjoy the pools.

Qoren did nothing. He left us as part of Six Kingdoms, ruled by a boy in a wheelchair and a Small Council of his sycophants. With Tywin’s dwarf son as Hand, Arianne could not think of that without disgust.
She had little love for her kinsman after that day. By Dornish law she should have been at the Dragonpit that day, she was last surviving child of Prince of Dorne, but as Ellaria nearly wiped out the Doran's line of House Martell, Qoren and his supporters decided to forgo the law and the tradition when they installed him as new Prince of Dorne.

He did not last though, six years Dorne has tolerated him. And then no more; she dwelled on past events; did he fell off sand steed by his own or was he assisted no one could tell.
Chronicles will note that Qoren Martell, Prince of Dorne, died of a broken neck after riding accident and was succeeded by his cousin Princess Arianne.

She plucked one fruit from the tree, orange was ripe, she peeled it and enjoyed this juicy fruit.
Qoren had an ally there, at Dragonpit, only he did not saw the chance. Now that ally is here, with me.

Next to her, basking on a long cushion, was Yara Greyjoy.
If for someone from the Iron Islands could be said he or she were basking, Arianne thought, watching the Salt Queen of the Iron Islands half asleep.
A lean long-legged woman, of dark eyes and brown hair cut short. Her features of thin face and sharp nose, pale wind-chafed skin betrayed Yara from far away as stranger in Dornish land.

Stranger… unlikely ally… what was the term learned men use… strange bedfellow; she smirked thinking of this; Greyjoy woman would gladly be her bedfellow…

Arianne Martell was all that Yara Greyjoy was not. Buxom and beautiful olive-skinned woman of dark eyes and long thick black hair falling to the middle of her back in ringlets. A true Dornish beauty.
She was never shy from using her womanhood to get what she wanted, nor from seducing men to get them to do her bidding, Men. Only men. Unlike her guest from Pyke.

My uncle Oberyn was impartial when it comes to cunts and cocks, so was his Ellaria… but I do not follow that suit, she told Yara when Ironborn woman gave her first lusting look.
Lust is a powerful weapon; Arianne knew that well so when with Yara she would often put on the most revealing garments she could find, wisps of silk that covered everything and hid nothing. Many times she could feel how Yara is devouring her with her gaze, wandering from Arianne’s full lips down to round ripe breasts with dark nipples, barely hidden under silk.
Still, daughter of Balon Greyjoy had to satisfy her desire with those girl servants in Water Gardens who shared her preferences of laying down with women.

A serving man brought them a bowl of purple olives, with flatbread, cheese, and chickpea paste, walking slowly and silently, not to disturb the two women resting on cushions under orange trees.
Arianne loved Water Gardens, far more than Sunspear. Only three leagues were between one place and the other, but they might just as well have been two different worlds.

At Water Gardens children frolicked naked in the sun, music played in tiled courtyards, and the air here was sharp with the smell of lemons and blood oranges.
Sunspear had towers, hundred and eighty feet tall crowned Spear Tower, then golden dome of Tower of the Sun and last the Sandship, dun colored and looking like a huge dromond ship washed ashore and turned to stone.
Air there smelled of dust, sweat and smoke.
Water Gardens had pink marble, Sunspear had mud and straw, colored brown and dun.

Sunspear is the seat of Dornish power, Tremond Gargalen, lord of Salt Shore, told her once when giving counsel that she is not spending enough time in the stronghold of her forefathers.
Dornish power resides in your Princess, she replied.

Arianne carefully studied the prospects of alliance with the Iron Islands.
She knew that the Ironborn, many of whom felt no love for the Starks after Balon’s Rebellion, now had bow to one Stark while they have watched another walk away with the independence they have desired for centuries.

Leader of the Ironborn was a woman who has proven herself as a worthy leader of the Iron Islands, one who swore to help Daenerys Targaryen claim the Iron Throne in exchange for self governing.
New Ironborn rebellion was only a matter of time, Arianne concluded long time ago, while her fool of a cousin was still ruling Dorne, we will raise spears against King’s Landing as well if we’re not given what North was… why not unite… vipers and krakens against the raven king.

“Shall we pay a visit to my newest guest?” she told Yara.
“Aye, we should.” Ironborn agreed and noted: “though you’re hardly dressed for a ride to Whitecourt.”
Arianne laughed: “There’s no better way to ride a sand steed than only in your own skin, but I am not going to display myself half naked in front of him. Yet.”

Not long after arriving to Dorne, Yara had to adjust her attire to local weather. Her leather jerkin, brown quilted tunic and woollen breeches had to give room to a knee-length linen tunic and trousers of mottled sandsilk.
Her throwing axe and dirk dagger were at her leather belt still.

Whitecourt, holdfast of House Warder, were inland, equally far from Water Gardens as Sunspear.
Flement Warder, lord of Whitecourt, greeted them in the courtyard as they have dismounted from their horses.

Sand steed, a Dornish breed was considered by many in Westeros as most beautiful and the best kind of horse.
Sand steed was smaller than warhorses bred in the Reach or Westerlands and could not bear the full weight of armored knight like destrier or courser, but had stamina that no other horse breed could match.
Dornishmen claimed their mounts are able to run for a day and night and another day, and never tire.
Yara admired the mount she was given, his long neck and narrow head, horse swift and slim in reddish coat.
She was used to garrons, horses of the North, bred for harsh ground, cold and snow. Sand steed was different animal entirely.

“Princess, my lady…” Flement bowed his head “…we weren’t expecting you till tomorrow. I will see that rooms are prepared for you and baths drawn.”
“No need, Lord Flement, we shall not be staying overnight.” Arianne replied “You have done your duty by hosting this unexpected visitor. How is he doing?” “Priest is keeping him in the dark, allow me to say so.”
“Good, very good. Take us to him.”

Flement has taken them in the castle tower, they climbed up the narrow and steep stairway, Warder in lead with Arianne and Yara following.
Both women were now dressed alike, in dun tunics and sandsilk trousers.
“Here we are…” Flement pointed at the door on the right, three floors beneath the tower’s roof. He knocked three times.
A tall man in his mid-twenties opened. His brown hair and fair skin told that he was from west of Dorne, where Andal blood and even that of First Men are more present than blood of Rhoynar.

Gareth Sand was Flement’s personal guard. A bastard sired from one of the Yronwoods, as a young man he was a brawler and wanted nothing but to hunt and lay down with whores but time at Warder castle made him matured and disciplined.
“My lord…” then he quickly corrected himself “I beg your pardon Princess; I have not seen you at first.”
“It is all right.” Arianne said eyeing this tall young man dressed in white linen tunic and dark gold breeches, colors of House Warder, armed with curved blade, Dornish scimitar.
Yara also gave him a look and Gareth could’ve sworn she winked at him and licked her lips.
As they entered the chamber, Gareth stepped out and shut the door.
Room was dark, with dim light from the two torches placed on the opposing walls. Arianne saw an elderly man coming, he was tall and slim, with head shaven clean and grey beard.
He wore red robe, usual garment of R’hllor priests. She has known him from before, when he first arrived to Sunspear, some six moons after she took the throne of Dorne. Ezzelyno of Braavos.

“Princess, lady Greyjoy.” he bowed.
Both women returned greeting, then Arianne said: “Is that him?”
Her eyes went to a man whose arms were stretched behind his back, tied to a stone pillar on the left side of the chamber, his body was bare except smallclothes and a thick sack pulled over his head. Arianne and Yara wanted to have a close look, when priest spoke in low voice: “Before talking to him, Princess, I have to make certain you are safe from the Lord of Darkness.”
Yara frowned and then grinned, letting Ezzelyno to know what she thinks on the matter, but Arianne said: “Make it so.”

Priest walked to the table at far-left side of the room, took a sealed bottle and poured oil from it around the pillar, making a circle.
Then he took a torch off the wall and said: “Please, step within the ring.”
Two women were now standing in the part of chamber marked with oil, close to the bound, half naked man.

“Before lighting the flames, blood of kings is required.” Ezzelyno almost whispered to Arriane and Yara, making sure that only they can hear him.
Princess of Dorne nodded and pulled out the dirk dagger from Yara’s belt.
She cut her palm and gestured Yara to do the same, then both placed their hands over the oil on the chamber floor letting their blood to mix with it.
Priest lowered the torch on the spot where red drops fell into oil. Flames surged high along entire circle in the same time, making Yara to step back, surprised. Now it was priest who grinned at her. He bowed and left the chamber with lord Warder.

Arianne walked to the bound man and pulled off the sack from his head to reveal a rough face under brown hair framed with beard of same coloring.

His eyes spoke of non-distilled rage when his mouth gagged with filthy cloth could not.
“Well, well… what do we have here…” she said in mocking voice.
“An honest piece of handsome man…” Yara added and then grabbed man between the legs making him grunt through gag “…indeed, I feel his prick throbbing already…”
She turned to Arianne with her hand stroking captive’s manhood:
“Have I told you how my little brother lost his cock? Bolton’s bastard brought two naked women to play with him and when his member was rampant, bastard cut it off. Mayhaps we should have this stallion gelded as well.”
Man cursed her, but gag made it all incomprehensive.

Arianne replied with devilish grin: “We do not need to be so excessive, my dear friend, in Dorne guests as well as captives are not stripped of their manhood. Usually. Our guest here will behave properly. Don’t you agree, Ser Bronn of the Blackwater?” Man said something loudly, but gag turned that into animal sounds.

“Ser Bronn of the Blackwater…” Yara feint surprise “…Lord of Highgarden, Lord Paramount of the Reach and Master of Coin in King Bran’s Small Council. I’ve never before stroked a cock attached to a man with so many fancy titles.”
Arianne shook her head: “No, he was recently stripped of that last title, he is no longer Master of Coin. It appears his fingers were a bit too sticky for the taste of Bran the Broken.
So, Imp sent him to Dorne to do Lannister bidding once more, like he was an errand boy.”
She stepped closer and grabbed Bronn’s chin: “Is that what you are, my lord, an errand boy?”
Yara said: “Shame, really, such a tall man with fine piece of cock to be so small in the end.”

More growls and muffled curses came from him. “Would you like to say something?” Arianne asked “He wants to speak, it seems. Let him…”
Yara pulled the gag from Bronn’s mouth so roughly it caused him to spit followed by few curses “…what the fuck do you two think you’re doing...?! I am envoy of your king!”

Arianne laughed: “Lies will not get you anywhere, my lord. You’ve been sent here by King’s Hand, Tyrion Lannister. To spy for him. To spy on Princess of Dorne and on Queen of the Iron Islands. Before that he threw you out from the Small Council.
And yet, you’ve come to Dorne as his loyal lapdog. Are you?”
Bronn gazed her with murderous look: “Am I what?”
“A dog in Imp’s lap, my lord?” she asked again.
“I am nobody’s dog.” he spat “Imp’s, yours and certainly not yours…” his eyes went on Yara
“What, I didn’t stroke your sausage good enough?” she replied.
Arianne spoke to him again: “Still, Ser Bronn, you remain the Lord of Highgarden and Warden of the South. But, for how long?” Man tied to the stone pillar said nothing to what she just told him, killing her with his gaze.

She continued: “You were given lordship over the Reach as payment for your loyal services to whom again? House Lannister, king Joffrey, king Tommen and queen Cersei…
So, you got Highgarden for serving two bastards born out of sibling fuckery and their mad bitch of a mother. How long will that last?”

Arianne paced around him while flames of fiery ring burned with same strength as when first lit.
“All of noble houses, every highborn in the Reach would rather see you dead this night than tomorrow morning.
And when they see that you have fallen out of grace with King Bran, snow has better odds of lasting in Red Mountains than you as lord of Highgarden.”
Bronn replied: “And that concerns you how?”
“Your wellbeing does not concern me at all. But fate of Dorne does. And mine is to make that fate as certain as possible… just as lady Greyjoy will do all to secure the same for Iron Islands.”
Yara nodded, now standing aside: “Do not be a fool, my lord, think of the future, future for House Blackwater.”

Bronn smirked: “Hard to think of a future when tied naked to a pillar…”
Arianne laughed: “Or that makes it far easier… Your future seems very clear, my lord, you will either end up dead if you keep serving those who you’re serving now… or you will become more than you are now if your loyalties shift. It is that simple.”
Bronn grinned: “What more can I be than I am now… I am lord of Highgarden.”
“Yes, you are.” she agreed “But you could be ruling the Kingdom of the Reach.”

“King Bronn of House Blackwater, first of his name, King of the Reach, protector of the South…” Yara uttered with dignified tone.
“It slides off the tongue quite smoothly…” Arianne added in cheer voice.

Bronn mulled for a while, shifting gaze from one woman to another, and then said: “First you get me off this bloody pillar, give me my clothes back and mayhaps we will talk further about this Kingdom of the Reach.”
Arianne traded look with Yara and then clapped her hands, calling the priest of R’hllor back in the chamber.
“Ser Bronn, if you truly join us, the line of kings will start with you, but if you try to betray Yara and me, I will feed you with your own cock and balls. Nod if you agree.”

Bronn nodded and Arianne could tell he was eyeing her breasts while at it. Lustful bastard, she thought, even bound and half naked this upstart sellsword thinks of riding me.

Chapter Text

King’s Landing, Westeros, year 316 After Conquest

BROKEN KING

Lokh bar thol kifos rukh?
It was an old language, spoken before the Age of Heroes, before the First Men cast aside ancient beliefs and embraced the gods they learned of from the children of the forest, now known as the old gods.
That language was written in runes, in rocks and caves, some writings survived thousands of years to this day.
That language was now spoken only among few Free Folk and, while they still roamed the earth, among giants, but as impoverished dialect of what it once was.

Voice that spoke to Bran did so in true Old Tongue. What are you looking at?
Always the same question. It was not so when he became the Three Eyed Raven.
That voice was not with him then. It was not when Meera Reed and he returned to Winterfell from beyond the Wall, saved by his uncle, ranger of the Night’s Watch, Benjen Stark.
It was not with him when Theon Greyjoy died defending him from the White Walkers in Godswood of Winterfell.
It was not when council of great houses of Westeros elected him as their new king.

This voice came later, some three years ago, when seventh year of his reign was passing.
At first, he believed it to be thoughts coming from what was left of Bran Stark, second son of Ned and Catelyn Stark, who entered the cave far north of the Wall when only three and ten years old never to came out as same again.
Thoughts sometimes were random, sometimes agreeing with whatever he was thinking or doing and sometimes not.
As time went by, he was now in eight year of his reign, though boundaries of time were blur to him, what he believed to be thoughts of a boy long gone became steady voice, soft whisper, but always present.
Always giving him words of council, of warning, of mistrust towards others.

His Small Council was surely not the shiniest one in the history of the Realm.
Tyrion Lannister as Hand, Samwell Tarly as grand maester, Davos Seaworth as Master of Ships, Bronn of the Blackwater as Master of Coin. Later, on recommendation of Davos, Andrew Estermont was appointed as Master of Laws.
Brienne of Tarth sat at the council as Lady Commander of the Kingsguard.

Seat for Master of Whisperers still remained vacant while position of Master of War was in the very first year of Bran’s reign removed from the Small Council as a gesture showing new king’s devotion to peace.
That title was invention of Cersei Lannister after all.

Till the end of the seventh year of his reign, he did not meddle in their work.
Tyrion did a decent job as his Hand, so did Davos Seaworth rebuilding the royal fleet and overall seafaring capacities of Six Kingdoms as much as state of treasury allowed it, Brianne was honourable knight like Kingsguards of the old, and lord Estermont of Greenstone, six feet tall man noticeable by his long, pointy beard and thick eyebrows did his duty without any clamour.
Bronn oft proved himself to be a failure in matters of finance, still Tyrion was patient with his Master of Coin, keeping his ineptness in check.

Yet, as eight year of rule of Bran the Broken was in its fifth moon, voice was telling him that his Small Council has its shortcomings.
Samwell always had his head buried in the books, Estermont was over hesitant, Davos reaching his three and sixtieth nameday and thinking of a long-deserved rest, away from halls of kings, Bronn knew how to spend crown money for excessive tourneys and feasts and then to compensate expenses proposing ludicrous taxing policies… voice told him to step in and rule.

He was Three Eyed Raven; he did not want to rule in a same manner as those before him. Voice disagreed.

Was that the voice of those who were Three Eyed Raven before me; he sometimes asked; those who could wield this power better than me, my learning and training never was completed.
It was cut short, when the Night King found me and marked me. Mayhaps the voice was my learning continued in other way, in way to make sure that first Three Eyed Raven who ruled as king will not falter.

He decided to listen to the voice, since many things that voice warned him of came to pass.
Voice warned him of evil that still loomed in this world, evil coming from the east, that had its own might and spells and he, as voice grew stronger in him, faced that might and spells.
When at work, those spells blurred his sight, he could not see what was happening now.

And when that what was happening now became what happened before – he still could not see it, not clearly, no matter how he tried. Only shifting shadows without voices.
This took place when he was looking towards east, but sometimes also here, in Westeros.

The greensight is magic that takes its toll, he learned that when he tried to warg the last living dragon, when he found him at last, in the ruins of Old Valyria.
He failed and never tried again, knowing how that attempt took away some moon or even year of life of this body that once were Bran Stark.
He could only hope for a long life, lasting scores of years, if he would go under the weirwood tree and dwell in his roots like the Three Eyed Raven before him.
Brynden Rivers he was called when still human, when world knew him as Lord Bloodraven, the bastard son of king Aegon Targaryen, fourth of his name.
He lived more than six score years.
Bran the Broken surely will not live to count two scores, not here, not in the Red Keep, he told himself.
Voice disagreed.

He was again at the royal gardens.
It was late evening of tenth day of first moon of eleventh year of summer. Summer that lasted just as long as his reign.
His face was one of dead seriousness as he watched his Hand coming to him.

“Your Grace…” Hand greeted.
Bran took no notice of that, just replied with even tone of voice:
“What news of the Realm?”
“Ravens coming from the Wall, Your Grace, it appears that Queen Sansa in the course of one moon annexed all the land of the New Gift and Brandon’s Gift to her kingdom.
And that now direwolf banner waves over the ruined part of the Wall, at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea.
Eleventh year of her reign started with North reasonably enlarged. Night’s Watch, counting barely two hundred, seek protection, fearing Castle Black is next to be taken.”

“It is uncommon move from Sansa Stark, but not unexpected. She wants for North to be strong, stronger than in centuries before.
There is a direwolf banner on Queenscrown in New Gift as well. They plan to rebuild that holdfast in honor of Sansa. The name is already appropriate.” he replied with his emotionless voice.

“What should we respond to the Night’s Watch?” Tyrion asked, with slight concern. Kagohk. Nothing. Voice told him.

And he replied the same to Tyrion.
“Kingdom of the North is independent, lord Hand, and Six Kingdoms are not guardians of the Night’s Watch. We shall not interfere.”
“Some in the Realm could interpret this as decision based on family ties, Your Grace.” Lannister said with cautious advice.
“I am not Bran Stark. I haven’t been for a long time.”
His Hand nodded.
“As Your Grace knows, Ser Bronn of the Blackwater is no longer Master of Coin I have made a shortlist of possible successors.”
He nodded to Tyrion: “No need for haste. You were Master of Coin in the Small Council of king Joffrey. You can do both, being Hand and Realm's chief treasurer.”
“As Your Grace commands.” Tyrion was not pleased, that was obvious in the tone of his reply.
“You have sent Bronn to Dorne. To spy.”
“To assess the situation, yes. He has arrived there last sennight.”
“He goes amidst servants of eastern demon.”
Tyrion frowned: “I am not sure that I understand, Your Grace.”
“There are shadows around him, even he fades into shadows now and then. I will be watching him.”
“I am awaiting his first report any day now.”
He looked at Tyrion: “Is there anything else?” “No, Your Grace.”

Rukh yedh. Nuk thol. Tell him. Order it.
Voice came again; this time Old Tongue was like a thunder in his head.

“I have seen Arya Stark.” he said with cold voice
“Where, Your Grace? Reports on her whereabouts in last four or five years are contradictory, to say the least. Some claim she has drowned years ago, some that they saw her in Asshai.”

He knew that tale of her drowning was not true, though for years he did not search for Arya. She was nothing to him. Sister to Bran, yes, but nothing to him.

“I saw her north of the Wall.” tone of his words was as frost “Day before that she was at Lorath. And day before at Meereen.”
“But that is impossible, perhaps your visions mistook…” Tyrion contemplated “She can’t be jumping from one side of the world to another in two days.”
“She does not jump. She flies.”
“Flies?!” Tyrion blurted, not believing.
“She has found Drogon. I have seen him clearly north of the Wall. Only then. In the east, eastern demon is hiding him from my sight. He is twice as large than before. Soon he will be of same size like Balerion the Black Dread.”
“Your Grace, if this were truth, how could Arya control a dragon?”
“She does not. She was not alone. Two more were with her. I haven’t seen them clearly, they are marked by the eastern demon, only two shadows at her side. They control Drogon.”
He told this to Tyrion in emotionless tone, as he did not care.

“Why would Arya go beyond the Wall on a dragon? It makes no sense.”
“Her half-brother is there. Her cousin, in truth.”
“Jon Snow? He vanished from the face of the earth ten years ago.” Tyrion said.
“He did. Even from my sight. He wanted to die, a haunted man in the haunted forest. He never recovered from what he did… Queenslayer, kinslayer, oathbreaker.” his voice was cold

“What Arya did could change everything.”
“What did she do?” Tyrion asked, impatiently.
“She revealed him something, something hidden for a long time.”
“What?”
“She told him that Daenerys Targaryen lives. She told him that she gave birth to two daughters. Daughters of Jon Snow.”

He saw Tyrion losing color in his face, as he is about to faint or retch. Hand of the King grabbed the side of his wheelchair to remain standing.

He continued: “It was all hidden from me by the magic of eastern demon for many years. But haunted forest is domain of the Three Eyed Raven. Arya could not hide from me.”
“She… she lives… how is that possible?”
“She has been brought back like Jon was. I cannot see her. Demon magic runs strong in her. And her children. Now Jon will meet her again. Arya took him to Essos.”
Tyrion was stunned: “Daenerys lives, has two daughters, one huge dragon… Your Grace, we are all in danger. She could invade Westeros again… what is Arya doing in her service?”

“Arya does not serve the Dragon Queen. Arya wanted Jon to know that Daenerys lives and has his children with her.”
“If only Jon would repeat his service to the people of Westeros.” Tyrion said.
“That we cannot hope for. Not with him knowing of his children. Targaryens will not kill each other again.”

Nuk thol. Order it. Voice thundered in mind of the one who once was Bran Stark.
This is not right, he replied.

Voice inside him screamed: Nuk thol!

“Lord Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the King, I charge you with solving the Dragon Queen problem. I want them ripped out root and stem.” his tone was ice cold.
“All of them, Your Grace? Children too?” Tyrion asked, appalled.
“Children grow, lord Tyrion. Daenerys was almost child herself when she hatched three dragons.”
“It is a vile thing to consider, Your Grace, your father resigned as Hand when King Robert asked…”

Doysen skog! Cursed fool! It rang in his mind, causing his head to hurt.

“Bran Stark’s father lost his head for too much honor. The Realm cannot risk the return of dragons with magic of eastern demon. We act as I have ordered.”
“What about Jon and Arya?” “He is blood of dragon too. And she, if still with them in the hour of reckoning, she will share their fate. She committed treason, lord Tyrion.”

Lannister was silent, collecting his thoughts, pondering, weighing.
“Your Grace, we are talking about assassination. Best course of action would be to employ the Faceless Men. Crown can afford it.”
“You propose me to hire servants of one demon to fight against another. Crown will not smear itself with followers of god of death. And, have you forgotten that Arya was one of them? We only need to get rid of one woman and two girls. And a man half mad.”

Tyrion remained silent and this time it lasted a while. His king could say that Hand is bewildered.
Lannister was used to a Bran who rarely got involved in matters of everyday governing and now he witnessed a cold, heartless death sentence for an entire family.

He is looking for justification, king concluded, he will do what asked but seeks something to make him feel easier about it. I will help him in that search.

“How many dead were in King’s Landing ten years ago, lord Tyrion?”
“We never got a true count, city was full with people from all sides of Westeros running from the war, but surely tens of thousands reduced to ash and bone.”
“Do we want to see that happen again? With dragon so large he could burn hundreds of thousands now?”
“No, Your Grace, we don’t.”
“Dragon is dangerous when he has a rider. We will liberate this world of dragon riders.”
“We must find someone to do it, someone who is not too expensive and can’t be associated with us.” Tyrion said, his mind still split apart between fear of dragons returning and disgust with thought of murdering children. “You have such a person. A sellsword.” king replied; his voice cold as ever.
“Bronn is in Dorne, if you want him recalled…”
“Not Bronn. Someone else. Who would very much like to rule on his own but cannot with Dragon Queen alive. You know him. Daario Naharis.”
“I know him. I don’t think he will ever betray her. He was infatuated with her.”
“She denied him of coming with her to Westeros. He didn’t forget that. If he does what we need, Six Kingdoms will recognise him as sole ruler of Slaver’s Bay. And pay him accordingly.”

Tyrion was silent again, then he spoke:
“I couldn’t imagine that you can show such ruthlessness in matters of ruling, Your Grace.”
“It scares you, I can see that, but I can see the past, I can see life of every king that ever lived in Westeros. Gentle kings have never lasted long.”
“Indeed, sometimes I tend to forget that my king is the Three Eyed Raven.”
“It matters more that you don’t forget what your king orders.”

Thel! Mag! Good! Excellent!
Voice inside the broken king rejoiced silencing the disapproval and disgust that fading power of the Three Eyed Raven and remnants of Bran Stark felt that evening as they watched Tyrion Lannister walking out of the garden with death warrant for the last Targaryens.

Chapter Text

Chapter 11

Meereen, Essos, year 316 After Conquest

JON

Was he dead… or alive. Or asleep. He didn’t quite know.
For him had there ever been any difference between the three for last ten years?
It came down to the same, in the end.
Pain was swift and sharp. He had never felt something like this before. He was no stranger to pain. He felt it before, many times, many ways.
This one had been new and foreign and it brought him down like never before.
He remembered Arya’s angry voice and slap and another slap.
She told him, no, she yelled him something that seemed impossible, a dream that came after ten years of nightmares… then he came to understand what he did that day.

Queenslayer, kinslayer, killer of unborn babes.

Then he fell. As he was dead, but he was not. Or mayhaps he was.
He could tell that someone has placed his limp body on a horse, across the saddle. And he could tell when he was taken off. Then world became blur.

Something large, dark and living shadowed the ground he was laid upon.
He was dragged through the grass and pulled up, onto something tall, dark and living. He felt restraints placed on him and warmth of that what was under restraints.
Then something large, dark and living turned into something large, dark and moving. Moving not over ground or water but through the air.
Were his eyes open or not, he could not tell.
He gazed into darkness above him and he felt his consciousness is fading.
Something large and moving disappeared beneath him, restraints disappeared, warmth disappeared.

He was dead once before, but it was not like this. That time he was aware of everything, daggers stabbing him…four, five, six times.
Pain washed over him.
And then all went dark. Into nothingness.

This time it was the same and it was not, this time as here and now were fading away from him, he did not fell into dark void.
He lingered on the edge.
Time lost every meaning. Place lost every meaning. Darkness was creeping around him and he wished for it to swallow him.

Light. First, he saw the light. A weak flickering light. Then a sound.
Mumbled words. Same words. Over and over again.
Light was steady now, but darkness endured. Words were clearer now and spoken by more voices than one.
He could not tell what they mean. Spoken over and over again. His mind was not there, not wholly.
Words coming from many mouths, repeatedly, were as strange, hallowed melody to him.

Yet, as light grew stronger, words in his mind became something else.
Names.
Theon, Karlon, Tohrren, Cregan, Alaric, Harlon, Rodrik, Jon.

Light bathed him now, almost whole. And more names filled his head.
Aenar, Daeron, Aemon, Baelor, Daemon, Maekar, Jaehaerys, Aegon.

Light was strong now. As he were staring straight into midday sun.
Words were clear to him now, they were chanted with perseverance and he knew what they meant. He could understand it.
Somehow he could understand it.
Hen sȳndrorro, ōños, hen ñuqīr, perzys!
From darkness light, from ashes fire!

He knew he was not alone. Those who spoke the words were with him, around him, light was blinding him but he could tell they were there.
Something else was there too.
Large and living and he felt it very close, now it felt closer to him than anything else in the world.
That closeness made him feel warmth that overtook him whole.
Chanted words were again gone from his mind, replaced by a murmur that slowly was becoming clearer.
It was own mind that chanted now.
In tongue that should have been foreign to him.

Ossēnagon se nādrēsy. Ivestragī zaldrīzoti glaesagon.
Ossēnagon se nādrēsy. Ivestragī zaldrīzoti glaesagon.
Ossēnagon se nādrēsy. Ivestragī zaldrīzoti glaesagon.

Then he felt heat that engulfed him whole.
Heat so soothing and comforting as it were cleansing him both on outside and from within.
All around him became clearer and he could tell he is surrounded, covered with flames, he never saw anything like it. Swirling long narrow tongues of scarlet and orange and gold danced everywhere his eyes went, each more writhing and more gleaming than the last.
Vipers of fire crawled and whirled all over him, growing longer and burning with blood red glow…
and then flames surged high above him and descended into his body, disappearing instantly.
Light was gone. Pain was gone. All was gone.

His eyes opened slowly, at first, he could see nothing, but after a while blurry shape of a bed appeared around him. Window shutters were closed, but he could see the shape of carved bedposts.
He lied on a featherbed, covered with linen sheets. When he moved, Jon realised he was naked. A cough came from him as he tried to get up.
“Se āeksio iksis sīmonagon…” he heard an excited voice.
A girl, not more than three and ten namedays, came over him and then rushed out of the room.
Lord is up… he repeated her words in his mind.

A woman in red robe entered the chamber, smiling.
Even in this dimly lighted room, he could tell of her light green eyes.
His eyes caught that what she wore around her neck, same adornment as the red priestess he met many years ago in Castle Black when she served Stannis Baratheon.
Woman addressed him with courtesy:
“Brōzi iksis Kinvara. Eglio Vokto hen Rijībliot Volantīhot, Drīvo Perzo, Sylvio Ōño, Dohaeriro Ēlio Āeksio Oño syt.”
(Name is Kinvara. High Priestess of the Red Temple of Volantis, the Flame of Truth, the Light of Wisdom, the First Servant of the Lord of Light.)

He remained silent for a heartbeat, then he said, in language that he was not supposed to know: “Skore issi ao? Drīvo iā sylvio?”
( Which are you? Truth or wisdom? )
“Ah, ao ȳdragon Valyrīha…” she noted and continued in Common Tongue: “You speak Valyrian. As you should.”
He frowned: “I don’t speak Valyrian… I shouldn’t be speaking it…”
“Yet, you asked for your own death. In fluent High Valyrian.”

He gazed at her with eyes widened.
“I’ve heard you. I am certain that maester Luwin who taught you High Valyrian while you were only a little boy would mislike that prayer.”
“I don’t…”
“Ned Stark’s trueborn children had no talent for that tongue, but you did. You’ve learned it. As a child of seven. No wonder. That was in your blood. And then you buried it deep. Till five days ago.
Ossēnagon se nādrēsy. Ivestragī zaldrīzoti glaesagon.
You’ve repeated this few dozen times.
Kill the bastard. Let the dragons live.
And you were granted this wish. By fire made flesh.”
“I don’t like riddles…”
“What I find as a riddle is why have you asked for death. You. One that Lord of Light brought back.”

He shook his head, eyes full of disillusion: “Only death can pay for life.”
“Whose death for whose life, my lord?”
“My life for lives of my daughters.”
Kinvara smiled: “If we’re to follow that saying, their lives were already paid for. As was life of their mother. Your death bears no weight for them. Your life does. That is why your prayer was not heard.
Or mayhaps it was. But not as you wished.”
“Where am I?”
“In Meereen. We’re at once Pyramid of Uhlez. Now a temple of Lord of Light in this city. And, what you should ask yourself is who am I?”
“I know who I am.” Jon answered.
“Do you? Truly?”

He sat up in the bed, not taking eyes from Kinvara and said in stern voice:
“Iksan Jon, tresy hen Rhāegār se Līāna, hen Targārien Lentor.”

She made a slight bow: “Welcome to Meereen, Jon of House Targaryen.
I will call Arya to come to you. Before that I will provide you with clothes.”
She went to the door and then turned to him:
“Bastard did die, it seems. And now dragons shall live.”

Half an hour later, young servant returned and laid the garments on the bed.
Grey trousers, dark-red shirt and black linen tunic. She placed leather ankle boots with laces next to the bed, bowed and left the chamber.

“Jon! Jon!” Arya’s shouts echoed across chamber as threw herself into his embrace.
She chuckled through her tears: “You damn fool. I thought you were gone for good.”
He held her firmly and then asked: “Arya… what… why am I in Meereen?”

They went outside, on the terrace, under the shade of sail shaped canvas. It was late morning and sun was high, baking the city of pyramids.
She frowned looking at him, still taken aback with what she’s witnessed few days ago.
“What?” he asked.
“They groomed you nicely.” “What do you mean?”
“They’ve shaved you clean and your hair is now short and almost straight… and these clothes. You think Kinvara picked those colors by chance?”
He placed his hand on one cheek, then another and passed fingers through his hair. "You are right…” he said “…that’s odd.”
“That is odd to you?! You should have seen what happened when we came back from Westeros with you…” she blurted.

Then Arya spoke of how he came to Meereen.
At first, she thought he died on the spot, seeing his daughters and learning that Daenerys was pregnant when he stabbed her, that his heart could not bear it. But she soon realised that he still lives, that he fell in some sort of deep sleep.
They placed him on his horse, rode back to the mouth of Antler River and then put him on Drogon fastened with leather belts of dragon’s riding harness. Arya then took all three horses and left it with wildlings she previously saved.

“And… Ghost?” Jon asked.
Arya told him that old wildling will take the direwolf to the people of Tormund Giantsbane.
“It’s the best for him, I guess…” Jon said “…a direwolf would venture here in Essos as shark would on the mountain top.”
When Arya said that Lyanna wanted to put Ghost on Drogon and take him with them, he smiled. He forgot how that felt like.
Lyanna… she named our daughter after my mother.

Arya wondered how he could not remember anything of their voyage back to Meereen. It was a flight across nearly three thousand leagues of land and sea.
This time they’ve landed in the forest of Qohor to rest and avoid flying during daytime.
Drogon took off into the sunset sky to fly hard towards the valley near the Skahazadhan road.
For all that time, Jon remained the same, limp body for which only warmth and barely hearable heartbeats gave proof that life was still in it.
“Rhaella, sweetling as she is, wanted to take her coat off, she thought if you were warmed enough that you’ll wake up.” Arya told, it was enough for tears to come down his face.

Dragon landed two hours past midnight. Kinvara was there with group of priests and followers of R’hllor. Twins were taken back to Meereen right away, Jon’s state has shaken them both, their hopes of meeting their father shattered.
Arya asked of Kinvara to help Jon, to bring him back from the state of neither life nor death and she and her priests began the ritual, though Kinvara was uncertain will it help as Jon was not dead yet.

“They were saying their chants for nearly an hour but you were still lying there, lifeless. Then, all seven hells broke loose…” Arya told him.
Drogon who remained right on the spot where he landed, suddenly was prancing with wings spread, he let out a roar of anger and then he breathed fire few feet away from Jon’s body which lay beneath him.

“I was horrified, Jon, afraid that with next breath dragon might burn you to a crisp … and yet it seems all of us there knew nothing.” said Arya happily “I screamed my lungs out when I saw fire coming all over you…”
“You said that Drogon did not hit me with flames.”
“He did not. Flames were circling around you and then… it was as fire disappeared into you, Jon.”
“That cannot be.” he said.
She shrugged: “You and I both have seen things that weren't supposed to be. And yet they happened. You weren’t burning, it was not as that. It was as fire is washing over you… I know it sounds stupid, but that is what I saw. I wanted to come to you, to pull you out from the flames, but three of those R’hllor fuckers were holding me down. You were conscious soon after, only to fall asleep. You slept four whole days.”
“Four days?!”

He was silent for a while, staring at stone floor of the terrace. He could tell that Arya is watching him.
Finally, she asked: “Jon, what… what do you plan to do?” “About what?”
“Lyanna, Rhaella… Daenerys.”
He sighed: “I want to meet my children. More than anything. And yet…”
“What?”
“I’ve heard them, Arya. All of them. While I was as dead, I’ve heard them.”
His sister’s eyes widened: “Heard whom?”
“My forefathers. All the Targaryen kings of old. All the Stark kings of old. All ashamed of me. No one in both lines that I have in me has done what I did. Killed his own unborn children. Not even Maegor the Cruel…”
“Jon, you did not know she was pregnant…”
“Only Targaryen children in the world. Only children of Stark blood in the world… and I killed them. No wonder ancestors have visited me.”

Arya took a deep breath: “If you believe that, then you have a chance to appease your ancestors. And mine, if you will. Your twins are alive and you can be a good father to them. You will be a good father to them.”
“I guess they think I am some sort of a madman, after what they saw at my cabin.”
“They do not. They are here, at this pyramid. Whenever they stay in Meereen, temple provides them with residence. Every one of that four days you were sleeping they came to see you. Girls want to know you, Jon.” “Hope you are right.” “I am.”
She got up which make him ask: “Where are you going?”
“I have a ship, Jon, remember. She’s returned from Tolos yesterday and crew will be asking where am I…” she smiled before leaving.

Jon found Kinvara in the altar room, preparing for the services of the day.
“We should talk.” he said.
“We shall. Later. Now I have to lead a prayer to Lord of Light. You may join us.”
“I followed the old gods once. Times of believing into something greater are behind me.”
“So, what does Jon of House Targaryen want now when he ceased to believe?”
“I want to be left at peace. And to see my daughters grow into good women.”
“Reasonable wishes. But your daughters are alive because of the one you don’t believe in.”
“I don’t believe in causes greater than ourselves, in destinies and prophecies. Mayhaps I did once, but not anymore. I’ve lost all I held dear because I trusted in greater good. I did vilest of crimes for greater good.”
“You lost your own life for greater good, Jon Targaryen. You’re not a criminal. But even noblest of men can falter. You did. And now, you can redeem yourself.”
“How? I have killed the woman I love and my unborn children. How one redeems for that?”
“By making certain that no harm will ever come upon them. You were leader of men at arms once. You will be again. This city needs a man like you.”
“For what?” “You’ll know soon enough.”
“You ask me to trust again…”
“Everyone is what they are and where they are for a reason. That is the only thing you should trust, lord Jon.”

He replied bitterly: “So for ten years I’ve lived as a broken man for a reason? It must be a very good reason…”
“You will understand what I’ve just told you when the time comes… now I will take you to your daughters. You can break fast with them.”
“That doesn’t seem wise to me. It is too soon after I broke before them.”
“Jon Snow broke before them. But I assure you they will be glad to meet Jon Targaryen, their father.”

Kinvara led him to the eastern side of the temple, one looking at the Skahazadhan river, which flew its last mile before reaching the sea. On the hill on which temple stood two smaller pyramids and entire city quarter were built.
As temple itself was built in style of flat-topped pyramid, albeit miniscule in comparison with tallest pyramids of this city, it had four platforms, the third one having residence for temple guests.
This platform had a long terrace on which grew persimmon trees, rich flower bushes of wild mint, lady's lace, and harpy's gold grew.
Jon even saw a dusky rose growing nearly six feet over a wooden frame, its blue flowers reminded him of winter roses, ones his father crowned his mother with at tourney at Harrenhal.
Where everything started, he thought, and now, I am looking at their grandchildren. His heart beat faster when he saw them.

Two girls, one with silver, other with dark hair, fashioned in two braids that fell over their shoulders were sitting at the stone table, also under shade of canvas.
He noticed their simple linen dresses which left one bare shoulder.

On the table was meal with warm soft flatbread, pink fish roe, honey sausage and pomegranate juice to wash it down.
“Rhae, Lya, your father will be breaking fast with you.” Kinvara said and twins upon seeing him lowered gaze, girls’ faces now blushed; they could not look at him anymore. Jon sat at the table, opposite to the girls.
Kinvara asked him if he’d prefer a bittersweet black ale instead of fruit juice, but he declined.

They ate in silence, girls occasionally giving him a look of courtesy with matching smile. Both were uneasy, he could tell, eating absently and not daring to look at him.
It is for what they saw before that cabin near Antler River. A madman who was their father.
He tried as much as he could to keep his calm, it was hard, but he studied how they act.
Dark-haired girl reminded him so much of Arya and of stories about his mother he never met, Lyanna after which this girl was named.
A Stark through and through on the outside but traces of dragon temper were there.
Girl with silver braids reminded him of Daenerys, she had her face and eyes and she smiled like her, he had to turn his head away few times, for girls not to see hurt in his eyes, when memories came, of cave on Dragonstone when she had same curious look like little Rhaella has now. He could tell Rhae had something of him as well. She was a quiet child, but she knew how to respond to her livelier sister.

He noticed a thick book in leather bound, laying on the table, before the girls.
Lyanna saw his interest and lifted the book so he could see the cover and said:
“Perzys se Ānogar, Issare iā Vestriarzirhen Targārien Dāryssy hen Vesteros.”
( Fire and Blood, Being a History of the Targaryen Kings of Westeros. )
“Issa iā rōva tembyr. Gaomagon ao hae ziry?” he asked her. ( It’s a large book. Do you like it? )

She smiled contently hearing him speak in High Valyrian.
“Kessa. Konīr issi sīr naenie mirre hen sīr naenie vala isse ziry.” girl replied. ( Yes. There are so many deeds of so many people in it. )

“Qilōni gaomagon ao hae se olvie?” Jon asked “Who do you like the most?”
“I like the Young Dragon.” Rhaella said in Common Tongue.
“Why?” he asked. “He was young and brave and defeated the Dornish without dragons.”
“Yes, Daeron the First was all that. He used goat paths to avoid their ambushes, came at them from two sides by land and one by the sea. He was the one to add Dorne to the Seven Kingdoms.
That same Dorne which costed life of Rhaenys Targaryen and her dragon Meraxes. He did defeat the Dornish, but he did not break them entirely. After a while they’ve rebelled again and he lost his life when they tricked him into parlay under flag of peace.
He was young and brave and dead when only eight and ten.Was he wise?”

Rhae looked at him, caught by his words: “No, if he let himself to be tricked.”
“Which Targaryen king was wise?” he asked them both.
“Jaehaerys the First, he was called the Wise.” said Lyanna
“Was that name earned?” he asked her. “
"Yes.” his dark-haired daughter replied. “How did he earn it?”
“He bound the land together, and made of seven kingdoms, one.” said Rhaella.
“That’s an inscription from his statue in the Citadel in Oldtown. Can you tell me in your own words, why he was wise?”

Girls looked at each other. This dark-haired man had new question for each of their answers. It made them bit angry, but they engaged in discussion with him even more.
“He ruled for five and fifty years, he brought peace and justice to the people…” Lyanna said. “He built the Kingsroad…” added Rhaella.
“And, truly now, when you read about him and about Daeron the First or about Prince Daemon Targaryen who conquered Stepstone Isles, proclaimed himself king and then get bored with that kingship, who was more appealing to you?”

Girls were quiet for a moment: “The young kings and princes because they fought wars and had many adventures.”
“It is usually like that with young age, like you are now, I was the same. When I was five and ten, I admired Daeron who conquered Dorne in one summer, I cared little for Old King who built roads and made the laws of the kingdom, under him people thrived. No, young minds find such things boring.”
“And wise king had his queen…” said Rhaella.
“Aye, he did. Good Queen Alysanne.” Jon confirmed “What does book say about her?”
“She gave birth to three and ten children, and she was liked in all of Westeros, she charmed even Lord Alaric of House Stark, our kinsman of old.”
Jon smiled hearing this: “Your kinsman?”
“We have Stark blood.” Rhaella said.
He nodded to her and asked:
“What was Alysanne to her king?”
Lyanna recited: “She was his most trusted counselor and his right hand.” "And why is that?”
Rhaella frowned and then answered with uncertain tone: “They loved each other….”
"Yes. They did. She said once that she could be sent to the ends of the earth and wed to the King of Mossovy or the Lord of the Grey Waste and still she will find her way back to Jaehaerys.”
“I’ve read that in the book. Alysanne was both gentle and fierce.” said Lyanna. Jon nodded: “When they died, their ashes were placed together, to be with one another even after death. And the Realm never saw their like again.”

Twins were pensive, thinking about what they’ve heard.
“It is a good book to read from, I’ve read from it too when I was a boy, you’ll learn all the good and all the bad deeds of Targaryen kings in Westeros. All their successes and all their failures.
You should know the history of our family. Same as you, I am Targaryen. And a Stark.”

Both girls rose from the table and walked over to the side where Jon was sitting. They bowed their heads low and spoke in one voice:
“Father, we are honored to be in your presence.”
Jon was surprised with them being this ceremonial, this must be an Essosi... a Ghiscari thing, flashed in his mind. He could tell that it wasn’t pleasant for the girls either.
He said: “In Westeros, we are not this formal. In Westeros, fathers and daughters embrace.”

Girls lifted their heads to see his open arms, they stood still for a heartbeat. “Papa!” shouted silver-haired girl and slammed into Jon, her sister followed by a half-step “Papa!”.
His arms held them tight, his eyes were full of tears and his daughters were crying too with their heads resting on his shoulders.
My daughters, blood of my blood.
Bastard of Winterfell, Lord Commander, King in the North, Heir to the Iron Throne.
He wore all those titles. And all were hollow as his life was hollow till this moment. Now he was a father. To some that title meant nothing.
To him it was everything.

Chapter Text

Queenscrown, Westeros, year 316 After Conquest

SANSA

It was a stone holdfast tower upon a rocky island in a lake whose shore grew thick with oak trees, five and thirty leagues from the Wall.
A stone causeway lies beneath the water of the lake. It was only three feet wide and only before the very island did the causeway climbed out above the lake surface ending with short flight of stone steps that lead to the holdfast’s door.
One who built the causeway many centuries ago was no fool in matters of warfare or skirmishing.
The path of the causeway was not straight but it wandered left and right in treacherous turns, going nearly one third of its length around the island before reaching the door.
It caused for possible attackers to be exposed to arrow fire, spears and stones from the tower for a prolonged time.
After making entrance into the tower through the stout oak door one would find a small storeroom with a murder hole above it, hole from which tar or burning oil would be poured onto enemy once the tower was breached.
From the storeroom steps built into the tower’s inner wall curved upward to the left, leading to upper stories and downward to the right, leading into an under vault, both directions usually locked behind iron grates.
The second floor of the tower was a maze of small cells.
The third floor of the tower had arrow slits, while the fourth had windows.
The last, fifth floor was a large round chamber with arched doors on three sides opening onto small stone balconies, and along the fourth side is a privy chamber perched above a sewer chute that drops straight down into the lake, while the north-facing balcony looks out toward the village. From fifth floor there is access to the roof, and the tower's merlons were once painted gold, but they have since faded to yellow.

During a visit to the north, Queen Alysanne of House Targaryen flew to the Wall on her dragon, Silverwing.
She stayed at this holdfast on her way, so the villagers painted the merlons atop the tower gold to honor their queen.

Henceforth, tower was called Queenscrown.

That village was long gone and its remnants could still be seen next to the lake shore opposite the entrance of the tower, collapsed houses surrounded by apple and oak trees.

All the pity, Sansa thought, another Queen has arrived to the tower and no one is there to honor her with painting the tower’s top in gold.
Though, I wonder what would the good people of this village say if they could see their queen standing naked on the balcony.

She was on the fifth floor, on the balcony facing north. It was sunny afternoon and land around her was quiet, only sound being the flutter of banner of House Stark on the pole that was placed on the roof.
Sansa looked back, inside the tower, where on animal furs that were spread on the floor one atop the other slept, naked as she were, Elric Karstark.
They were lovers now, almost two moons have passed since he held that resolute speech in the Queen’s Council and pledged himself to her cause of expanding the Kingdom of the North.
That same day he made his intentions clear, he wanted her hand in marriage, to be king consort.

It was a silly notion to her, at first, he was ten years younger than she, Sansa barely remembered him as a boy.
Still, boy grew up into a man, a man likes of whom North did not possess in abundance. Elric was nearly singular in that matter.

He delivered on his words. He called his bannermen and rode north, with smaller portion of troops of House Glover and they took over entire New Gift from both sides of the Kingsroad, including this island holdfast.
Karstarks then marched further north, all the way to the ruins of the Wall at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea planting the direwolf and sunburst banners where once easternmost castle of the Night’s Watch stood.
Land known as Brandon’s Gift, the part of it east of Kingsroad, was now whole under control of Winterfell.

Brandon’s Gift was portion of five and twenty leagues of land south of the Wall which legendary Stark of the old, Bran the Builder gave to the Night's Watch for their sustenance and support.
It was farmed for thousands of years, but as the Night's Watch decreased in numbers nature reclaimed many buildings and orchards.
Sansa Stark thought it was enough of that land being wasted away and Elric Karstark agreed.
He invited his queen to visit the Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, in truth an encampment of Northern forces there, a town of tents, some two hundred of them providing shelter for about thousand men of House Karstark, House Glover and Queen’s own men.
She accepted.

Sansa came with an escort of forty men, not because it was necessary but to demonstrate the power of her queenship.
Elric was there, dressed as common foot soldier, wearing his brown leather tunic, with white sunburst engraved on it, over black chainmail shirt and black breeches.
He appeared like a beggar next to Queen in the North who came in her ankle-cut black dress and leather armor of same coating with Stark pin on the left side of her chest.

“Your Grace…” he bowed “Eastwatch-by-the-Sea is yours.”
She thanked him formally and they went walking to the Wall, to the breach in it.
“The wight dragon, Your Grace, its flames broke the Wall near the very shore of the sea, that entire portion of the Wall with most of the Night’s Watch castle is beneath the waves now.
You can see those huge chunks remaining, but path to the land north of the Wall is wide.”
“Wide enough for an army to pass?” she asked.
“My Queen, far lager army, one of the dead, passed through here two and ten years ago. I have already sent men ranging north. We need to assess the situation before moving to our next aim.” Sansa smirked: “Have I declared what our next aim is, Lord Elric?”

He paused, realising that she wanted for him to be sure who makes decisions for Northern kingdom, then replied: “Hardhome, Your Grace. At Storrold’s Point. Our future northernmost port or even town, mayhaps.”
“Ambitious aim, my lord. I admire your resolve in this matter.” she said, pleased “And what have you assessed based on ranging north?”
“It is still hard to say what kind of hostility we can expect.”
“From the wildlings?”
“Yes, Your Grace, when we march to Hardhome, we’ll be entering what they believe is their land.
Now, their numbers are small and ability to meet us on the open field is slim to none, but if they choose tactic of harassing our supply lines, ambushes and skirmishes, it could go on for a long time. More so if they find a leader among them.” Sansa shrugged: “Only wildling that appeared as their leader was Tormund Giantsbane. He is not that young anymore.”
“I’ve heard of him, but I did not have him in mind.”
“Who then?” she asked.
Elric paused for a moment: “Jon Snow, Your Grace, they respect him, he’s been living among them for a long time now and knows our ways of war. He commanded our host once…”

Queen in the North shook head: “Jon would never choose wildlings over North and his family.”
“Your Grace, I can’t claim to know your bast… half-brother but what I have heard, he is man inclined to always do what is right. Story goes that he was bedding the Dragon Queen and yet he killed her when she became a threat.
I am not sure that with such a man family comes before honor… what such a man believes to be honor, that is.”

Sansa felt slight irritation when reminded what her half-brother, in truth cousin, had with Targaryen queen.
What Elric said was not utter nonsense, Jon had it in him to fight for the downtrodden and Dragon Queen too was his family and lover, it did not stop him then, it could happen that he would go against her and the North defending the wildlings.
“Lord Elric, we shall deal with Jon Snow when and if the need arises. Besides, there was no word of him for many years. Who knows if he lives or not.”
I want him to be alive, even in that wasteland beyond the Wall, but he could’ve returned home. Him and his stupid wows and guilt for killing that madwoman.

She and Elric toured the Northern encampment for some time, she wanted to greet her men at arms and spirits were high all around.
Was it like this when Robb led twenty thousand Northmen to attack lions in their own lair?

She retired to the royal tent that was in the meantime set up for her.
Supper was served and she was in her night gown ready for night’s rest.
A soft knock on the tent’s pole was heard and someone entered.
“Your Grace…” the voice said. It was Elric Karstark, now only wearing his grey woolen shirt and breeches.
“My lord, are you lost? Your own tent is on the right from here, a short walk.”
“I am not lost, but I wanted to find something.”
“What?” she blurted; he was annoying her.
“A wife and a Queen.”
Without warning, he pulled Sansa into her arms and kissed her deeply.
Her eyes widened as he let her go. “I think I could love you, Sansa.”
“I should call my guards to arrest you and throw you in chains…”
“Why don’t you?” She didn’t reply, instead she measured him head to toe.
“What do you mean by I think I could love you..." she mocked him “don’t you love your Queen? It is treason not to.” He remained silent, looking at her.
“So, why did you sneak into my tent?” she asked him with irritated tone.
“I wanted to take...” “Take what?” “You.”

That was first time she lay down with Elric Karstark.
The first time she actually made love to a man. Strange notion for a woman that had her thirtieth nameday and two marriages. And one failed betrothal.
She would never lay with Joffrey on her free will and she never had to, thank gods.
His uncle Tyrion acted honorably, forced into that marriage just as she was and never thought of consummating it. Ramsay…Ramsay hurt her.
It was her first time with the man and he hurt her. Body and soul.

After him no man had touch her for three and ten years, she desired no man. Until she met Elric.
Young, determined, fierce, able.
An image of Northern lords of her father’s times, his bannermen who died on the battlefields or were slaughtered at the Red Wedding.
What was left, died fighting the Night King. Whole generation lost.

Only old men and little boys remained. Elric grew into man during her reign. He was fierce at councils and campsites.
And gentle in bed, when she lay naked next to him. He loved her body in ways she never knew existed, making her desire burn stronger and stronger.
Sometimes he would bite her in the heat of passion, sometimes she would scratch him driven mad with lust.
We’re blood of wolves, Starks and Karstarks… he would say to her after such acts… it is natural for us to mate wildly.
Even at meetings and councils she would feel arousal in her nipples and wetness between her thighs.

Was this lust or love? she oft asked herself Am I bedding my enemy? What would Olenna and Margaery Tyrell do?
Margaery would fuck Elric beyond his wits and all that by following counsel of her grandmother.
And Baelish? He was not into cocks, but he’d do his best to keep Elric in my bed.

She stepped back into the round chamber and descended on the furs, next to her naked lover, gently licking his ear.
He opened his eyes and kissed her as she stretched on her back. His hand slide gently from her neck across her breasts and belly, one finger playing with her navel and then reaching her mound covered with reddish curls;
she felt his fingers parting her lower lips… soft moan escaped her before she stopped his play.
“Lord Karstak, your hunger is insatiable…” she said.
“Can you blame me, with such meal lay before me…” he replied and kissed her left nipple.
“I am glad you brought me here. Just the two of us… this could be our hiding place.”
He run fingers through her hair: “Could be, but I’ve heard that Queen in the North has plan with this place… to make it center of New North, she wants to lower the water level of the lake… bring people back to that ruin of a village so it could become a town…” “Sounds like an ambitious woman.”
“She is. She has it all, she is beautiful, she is smart, she is strong, willful… only thing she needs is a husband to match all her qualities.”
Sansa placed her hand on his chest: “I wonder where she could find such a man, but he must be prepared for a small sacrifice…”
“What kind of sacrifice?” Elric asked, frowning.
“To take her name so that heirs are Stark.”
“Ah, for fuck sake, woman…” he sighed with relief “…for a moment there you sounded as I should shave my cock and balls.”
“Would you do it?” she asked turning on her side, now both lay sideways looking at each other.
“Gladly, besides my name is Karstark only because my forefathers were bit lazy…
We should have stayed Starks of Karhold… when you had Lannisters of Casterly Rock and Lannisters of Lannisport… when you have Flints of three different places… Starks of Karhold to me sounds better than Karstark.”
“Mmm… Lord Elric Stark. I like it too…” she gave him a long, passionate kiss and rubbed nose against his.
“Will you like King Elric Stark as well?”
“Now, now, you haven’t proposed me yet.”

She got up and walked to the balcony again. He looked at her naked body: “You’re magnificent, Sansa. I wish you could always be as you are now.”
She laughed. “Imagine Northern lords at council with bare-ass Queen…”
“Those old fucks and green boys don’t deserve such treat… only me…”
“You’re right about that…” her gaze went down and she smiled “…look at that, this lustful talk alone got you pointed up like a spear or an arrow.”

He chuckled: “Curious thing happened few days ago… up on the Antler River, north of the Wall… three of my scouts were killed and two of them had Dothraki arrows in their heads. Where in seven hells would wildlings get bloody Dothraki arrows?”
“There were both wildlings and the Dothraki at Winterfell when we fought the Night King… they could have traded among themselves.”
“So, them wildling fuckers are keeping arrows of Essosi savages for all these years… indeed a strange lot.”

Sansa stepped out on a balcony, there was breeze coming from the north and it caused her body to slightly shiver.
Elric saw that and got up taking his cloak from the table where he threw it when they were disrobing.
He wrapped it around her and took her back inside.
She looked at the cloak and saw the embroidered sunburst. “You know, in the Faith of the Seven, this is part of a wedding ceremony, to place your cloak on the bride.”
“Is bride also naked in that ceremony?”
“No… of course not…” her voice full of bewilderment, then she realised “Elric Karstark, are you making fun of your Queen?”
“A little bit, yes…”
She slapped the right cheek of his behind “You’re forgetting yourself… my lord.
“No, I don’t, my Queen. Fuck cloaks… we’ll marry before old gods and I have already found a perfect wedding gift.”
Sansa placed her arms around her naked lover: “Oh… what will it be?”
Elric made a sinister grin: “My gift will be the entire Brandon’s Gift.”

Chapter Text

Meereen, Essos, year 316 After Conquest

DAENERYS

She stayed in Vaes Dothrak longer than she hoped for.
Drogon flew her here two days after the celebration feast in Meereen which was three sennights ago.
But her hosts insisted on her prolonged stay. Since she left the only city of the horselords to settle in Port Yhos, her occasional visits were not as oft as Dothraki would have liked. This time, their young were disappointed for twins not coming with her.
Lyanna and Rhaella spent half of their years among the Dothraki and their children thought of them as their sisters.

Daenerys has held several councils with Dothraki leaders and all of them brought only good news.
The khalasars, united around Khaleesi as they were when going across the poisoned water, thrived as collectors of tributes on trade and caravan routes that stretched across the vast lands of Essos. In the last ten years their domain was undisputed though some merchants from the Free Cities tried to free themselves from the payment of tributes for safe passage. They tried hiring sellsword companies, those that stood their ground and those that would flee the very moment first Dothraki scream was heard.
Outcome was the same, no sellsword was able to secure caravan’s entire voyage, from the place of departure to the place of destination.
Dothraki could attack anywhere and anytime and whenever that would occur, every caravan was doomed.
With that knowledge learned, merchants of Essos had to yield.

Some dwelled upon uniting all traders from Braavos to Qarth in an endeavor of destroying the Dothraki once and for all, but that plan had a serious flaw. Essos had no military force able to go against the Dothraki head on. Armies of Essos were mostly infantry, established to defend the walled cities against the nomadic horselords, not going against them in their own surroundings, on the plains of Great Grass Sea. Such alliance against Dothraki would have some chance if Golden Company had not been decimated by the dragon fire while serving the Lannister queen. Now, the Golden Company was reduced to barely two thousand men scattered across Essos, men lucky enough to return from the Sunset Kingdoms.

“Kisha tiholat disse ki davra sash, anna Khalessi, kisha zhorre assilat jin filkak mahrazhi.” Onqo, son of Harro, told her.
(We know only of good news, my queen, we have crushed the weak and the cowards.)
His father, Harro, died fighting the army of the dead during battle of Winterfell.
She spoke of that legendary charge of entire great khalasar with their flaming arakhs to the young generation of the Dothraki who were now in their twenties. To these young warriors, notion of united khalasar, tens of thousands Dothraki screamers, charging on the ice demons and the living dead, seemed larger than world itself.

“Hosh akka vizhadi ajjin ksihi okre jadat allayafi ashefa.” said Thako, son of Zorqo.
(Gold and silver are pouring into our tents like river.)
“Atthirar ajjin davra.” said Vhono, one of leaders who went with her to Westeros and survived to return home.
Before his tent, on two poles he had Lannister helmets for decoration.
(Life is good.)
His voice was not one of satisfied but of concerned man.
Daenerys asked him: “Hash rek tat yer khezhat?” Her knowledge of Dothraki tongue was still fluent (That worries you?.)
Middle aged horselord replied: “Hash atthirar ale vezhof, mahrazhi tikh havziven. Akka oiro ”
(When life is too good, men become lazy and fat. And cowards.)
She replied, cutting him off. In Meereen and Westeros her answer would be polite, but here, to speak like that meant weakness:
“Vo yeri chomak. Akka anni, anha zin ki dothraki ale. Kisha qorasolat fin ajjin kishi.”
(Not your people. And mine, I am of Dothraki too. We’re not fat and we’re not lazy cravens. We take what is ours.)

One of them asked: “Fin yer assoe, anna Khaleesi?”
(What do you order, my queen? )
She said: “Jerak elat qeshah os irge jin Krazaaj Tolorro tat fichat tat Samyriana akka negwin os elat tat Kayakayanaya. Mori vo zala zafra vos.”
(Merchants use Sand Road beyond the Bone Mountains to deliver goods to Samyriana and Stone Road to go to Kayakayanaya. They don’t want to pay to us. )

Samyriana was a fortified city in Essos, located on the Stone Road between the Bone Mountains and the Great Sand Sea.
With her sister cities, Kayakayanaya and Bayasabhad were once part of the Patrimony of Hyrkoon.
All three cities were known for their warrior maids who wore iron rings in their nipples and rubies in their cheeks. It was said that these cities are defended by women out of the belief that only those who give birth are permitted to take life at will.
Still, three cities were ruled by men, called the Great Fathers.
Women in those cities learn to ride and climb before they learn to walk and are trained in the arts of bow, spear, knife, and sling from the earliest age. Meanwhile, ninety-nine of every hundred boys, the sons of the Great Fathers, are gelded when they reach the age of manhood and live out their lives as eunuchs, serving their cities as scribes, priests, scholars, servants, cooks, farmers, and craftsmen.
Only the most promising males, the largest, strongest, and comeliest are permitted to mature, breed and become Great Fathers in their turn.

For a long time, Dothraki wanted to test the female warriors of Samyriana and it seems that some merchants which thought they were smarter than others granted that wish. She remembered seeing those women soldiers with ringed nipples in the Eastern Market of Vaes Dothrak many years ago, when she was a young girl married to Khal Drogo.

It was agreed that two khalasars will ride out in half moon from that day, one straight from Vaes Dothrak using the Steel Road across the White Mountains to Kayakayanaya, other riding south and east to the ruins of Yinishar and then up the Stone Road to Samyriana.
Cities were not to be touched, but caravans coming from Tiqi, city beyond the Great Sand Sea and Ashabad, city east of Qarth, on the coast of Jade Sea will be stopped and demanded tribute for safe passage. If refused, no one will return to where caravan started from.
All the goods that caravans transported will be sold back to their original owners through third party sellers at reasonable price.
When this new campaign was agreed upon, Daenerys after spending more than three weeks with her loyal horselords, summoned Drogon and he took her to Meereen.

Her bond with dragon was strong and he would come from near and far when she needed him.
Daenerys missed her daughters though she wished for girls to get used to their mother being away for a longer time.

Knowing that Arya Stark is near Lyanna and Rhaella was not something that she liked very much.
Though, from Arya twins could learn a lot about fighting skills, both sword and spear, and she wanted them to be able to defend themselves.
What Daenerys feared of is Arya telling the girls about their father, a man they knew nothing about. Still, to Dany’s knowledge, his youngest cousin, or sister as Arya liked to call herself, said nothing about him during whole time Rhae and Lya were with her and she liked that.

Arya is not Sansa after all, Daenerys sometimes mused, hopefully girls will not take in much of the Stark history and tradition their cousin-aunt was telling them about.

Drogon landed outside Meereen, few miles up the Skahazadhan river. There, representatives of Council of Citizens awaited her with fresh horse to take her back to the city. Twenty mounted Unsullied, her personal guard, were also present. It was late afternoon and heat was still unbearable.
This decade long summer scorched the lands of central Essos and only winds blowing from Summer Sea could provide some relief to the cities on the shore of Bay of Dragons.

Azzak zo Ghazeen, man in his mid-twenties, once a child cupbearer of Dragon Queen, greeted her:
“Your Radiance, welcome back to Meereen. I hope your time with the horsemasters was pleasant and fruitful.”
“Thank you, Azzak, but you don’t have to address me with that title, I am not a queen anymore.”
“I use it for preserving tradition and to show my utmost respect to you, rōvēgrie dāria.”
“And again, you call me the great queen… I am not. Though, your Common Tongue has improved greatly since last time we spoke…two years ago, was it?” “Yes, I have spent few days on the ship called Nymeria, one with wolf head, they’ve took Shazza Galare to Tolos to marry there. I got chance to spoke to the crew, but northern Westerosi speak in very peculiar way.”
Daenerys chuckled: “That they do. Were you treated good by lady Stark?”
“She did not go with us, she stayed in Meereen, crew said she negotiated transport of goods from Yunkai to Tyrosh.”
“Arya Stark… she really is something else entirely.”
“I think her crew has fear of her, Your Radia… I mean, my lady.”
“Azzak, you’d be afraid of her too if you knew what I know about Arya Stark and I don’t know much.” she said smilingly.

“I don’t see any of the Second Sons with us.” she noticed.
“Yes, three days ago Daario Naharis informed the Council he has some affairs to settle in city of Myr and he went there with his escort, other Second Sons are in the city… that is an issue Council of Citizens wanted to discuss with you.”
Daenerys frowned: “What sort of issue? Regarding Second Sons?”
“Yes… when you left Meereen to fight the war in Sunset Kingdoms you put Daario Naharis and his sellswords to keep peace.
He did that good, but Meereen feels that Meereen people should guard our city and keep peace. Second Sons are not of Meereen.”
She listened what Azzak had to say and replied with tone of approval: “I will be very glad to see Meereen taking care of itself, with its own city guard. Like Qarth has its Civic Guard, like… King’s Landing has its City Watch.”
I wonder if that were still the truth, under Cersei there was no City Watch left in the end, only Lannister soldiers guarding the capital of Seven Kingdoms… who knows what they have now.

“For many years we have failed in that. Once masters want the nobles to be the officers in the guard, once slaves will not even hear of it. Our Council governs city, but many matters that should have been solved are not, only put aside.”
“You should be sitting on the Council yourself, Azzak, you have sharp mind.”
“I am too young, that is what most Meereenese of influence would say.”
“What made councilors to again try forming city guard?”
“They agreed that foreigner could command it. One not coming from former slavers or former slaves. And it could be we have found a man who can help in establishing Meereen city guard. He is from Westeros, shortly arrived and he served as commander of some kind of guard there.
He was highly recommended by the Temple of R’hllor.
They say he’s seasoned warrior, saw many battles.”
“Oh…that is good.” she said “Daario Naharis is good fighter, but City Guard must have a true soldier or a knight as commander.
That Westerosi man will serve you well.”
“Yes, councilors hope that too.”
“Do you know his name?”
“I don’t, my lady. I only saw him once; he does not look much like those Westerosi on Nymeria.”
“Westeros is an entire continent, Azzak, with many people with all sorts of looks.”
“Yes, you’re right, Your Radiance… I meant, my lady.”

After one hour more of riding, she found herself before the inland gates of Meereen.
Whenever she’d set her eyes on two massive pillars in the shape of a harpy with tall city walls built upon solid rock on each side of the gates, Daenerys thought of the first time she saw this entrance to the city.
I am Daenerys Stormborn. Your masters may have told you lies about me, or they may have told you nothing. It does not matter. I have nothing to say to them. I speak only to you. … she recalled her own words, when she besieged Meereen, she had not yet counted her twentieth nameday.

And today, those who were a bit older than her daughters when she liberated the city from slavers, are now making decisions for all its citizens.
Was that an improvement…it surely was for all except slavers.

Sun was setting when Azzak and she rode into the courtyard of the Temple of R’hllor. Rest of her escort, save half of the Unsullied returned to the Great Pyramid, now seat of the Council of Citizens. Servants brought water for them to refresh and wash their faces and then she went up the outer stairway of the temple leading to the third platform where guest residences were. Her guards followed and took their posts all around that platform.

Daenerys changed her clothes. When with Dothraki she always wore their garments, painted leather vest and sandsilk trousers with sandals that lace up to the knee. Now, she was in her sleeveless black silk jerkin and black silk trousers with red sash tied around her waist.

She stepped out on the long terrace only to see temple servants folding the sail shaped canvas shade as sun was now falling beyond the horizon.
They bowed to her and went away. She concluded that girls are not there, but if elsewhere in the temple they will appear soon enough.

Daenerys walked to the terrace wall and leaned on it, watching the neighboring city quarter which stretched beneath the hill on which this temple pyramid stood. From here she could not see the entire city, as she could from the highest floor of the Great Pyramid, nor she cared about that.
Back in the day she saw her share of the entire Meereen from above. She’d rather watch the sunset.

The orange gold stretched far and wide, the color of fire hearths and tangerines.

It is but the reflection of the dawn, the promise of the rising sun that comes after the velvety night has had its say and the land has rested once more.. ancient Ghiscari poem said about setting sun.

She remembered days when she envied the setting sun because unlike her sun could see the country in the west, where her family once ruled, every day. What a fool I was, that country was home of my ancestors, not mine. It never felt as home. I was a foreigner in foreign land..

She took a deep breath and enjoyed the sunset over Meereen, leaned on a wall, her mind wandering away.
“Mama!”
Loud voice came from behind and yanked her out of her daydream. Terrace was darker now, as night set on the city.

She turned around and saw two girls running towards her.
“Muñe dōnaziry!” she said as their hands were around her waist (Mama’s sweets!)
She placed kisses on their heads. They both looked at her with excitement: “Mama, mama… you’ll never guess what happened!”
She smiled: “What, my loves, what happened?”

Then she realised someone else was standing at the terrace and looked up. She saw a man who kept his distance, he stood there as a statue.
She saw his black and red clothes, lean figure and short dark hair. And eyes…
Grey eyes!
Those thoughts flashed like thunderbolt through Daenerys’ mind.
It’s him! It’s him. The man who killed me! He is here!
She raised her right hand and clutched her chest, her fingers pressing against the scar that lay there, she could feel it over her silken robes.
He is here! Jon Snow is here! He killed me… he killed my girls!
That thought gave her strength to yell out: “Dovaogēdy! Ȳgha!” (Unsullied! Guards! )

Her daughters looked at her, then at the man, she could see they are startled. Soon, five of her guards came running on the terrace, with their swords and spears ready.
She ordered them shouting: “Gūrogon bisa vala! Gūrogon zirȳla!” ( Seize this man! Seize him! )
“Mama, why are you saying that?!” her two daughters cried and part from her embrace.
She repeated order, voice echoing with rage: “Bisa vala iksis iā ossēnagon se iā nāpāstre hen aōha dāria. Gūrogon zirȳla!”
( This man is a killer and a traitor of your queen. Take him! )
Her guards started circling around the man who still did not move, as he froze on the spot.
Daenerys felt her blood boiling as memories flooded her mind.
He kissed me with whole love before he drove his dagger into my heart. And now he stands here… how can he be… what is this…

“Papa!” she heard a word that felt as new dagger through her heart.
And what she saw then as another stab in her chest.
Her two daughters, her twins run towards him, her Rhaella, her little mirror image and her Lyanna, her raven-haired treasure, both ran to be at the side of a man dressed in black-red. “Papa, draw the Longclaw!” yelled Lyanna as she took a stand before him, gazing darkly at the Unsullied. Rhaella stood behind him, as she was guarding his back.

Papa… Longclaw… Daenerys felt as her legs were cut under her.
She watched in horrifying disbelief how her twins stand side by side with a man who killed them in her womb, ready to defend him.
“Mama! It’s father! It’s Papa! Don’t you know him?!” Lyanna shouted.
“Muña! He’s come back to us!” Rhaella joined, her hand now clutched at his waist.
This is not happening… I must have fell asleep on this terrace… this is nightmare.

Then came another wrecking blow. He finally spoke out.
In fluent High Valyrian, that once was spoken at the court of her forefathers.
“Dovaogēdy! Iksan Jon hen Targārien Lentor. Iksan zentys hen voktys Kinvara. Iksan daor aōha qrinuntys. Kesīr, mērī Kinvara kostagon tepagon udrāzma naejot gūrogon nyke. Rijīblion gaomas daor sytilībagon naejot Daenērys Jelmāzmo.”
(Unsullied! I am Jon of House Targaryen. I am guest of priestess Kinvara. I am not your enemy. Here, only Kinvara can give order to seize me.
This temple does not belong to Daenerys Stormborn.)

Her eyes were wide, with disbelief… is this truly happening… is this some kind of sorcery… have merchants turned to warlocks to defeat me and free their caravan routes… it all flashed in her mind, like swarm of angry hornets.

Then she heard a child’s voice pleading: “Mama, please, tell them to leave papa alone!”
It was Rhaella, she looked at Daenerys with eyes full of tears. “Kostilus… Muña!” begged her other daughter, her voice trembling.
This was not a dagger through her heart, this felt like an axe splitting it in two. Her twins cried for a man who made sure they were never born. She felt as something were choking her. She managed to say to the guards, with tone saying her will was shattered: “It is all right… Leave us… Leave us!”
Then, she collected herself enough to bellow new order: “Find me Kinvara!”

“How did Jon Snow come to Meereen? Why is he your guest? And why did you let him near my daughters?!” she yelled at the woman in red robe who stood at her chambers on the third platform of the temple pyramid. Kinvara was calm as ever, having advantage of knowing it all:
“He’s been here for a fortnight already. He is my guest because this temple is open to any stranger, particularly to the champion of Lord of Light.
He came on the back of a dragon from far away, form the land north of the Westerosi Wall.”
“What?? What do you mean on the back of a dragon… there is no other dragon living save my Drogon.”
“And Drogon brought him here.”
“That’s impossible.” Daenerys replied “Drogon would never do that by himself. He never bonded with Jon in such way.”
“Drogon had a rider. Two of them. And one to watch over the riders.” priestess replied calmly.

Silver-haired woman realised what Kinvara said: “Are you saying that my two daughters flew on Drogon all the way to the land beyond the Wall to bring Jon Snow to Meereen?!”
“That is exactly what I am saying.”
Daenerys gazed at the priestess for a beat, taking in what she just said, anger and notion of betrayal overwhelming her:
“You must be mad!!! They had to fly over entire Essos, over entire sea to go to the land they don’t know anything about. They could have died! Died in hundred ways! You knew about this all along and you said nothing?! How dare you game with the lives of my children!!! If you weren’t who you are, your life would be forfeit! You would burn!”
“Their aunt was there to protect them.” came reply in ever the same tone.
She fumed: “Arya Stark was involved in this too?! Woman who paves her life path with dead bodies??”
“She is not that woman anymore. Only dead bodies she will left behind now are those who would harm your daughters.”
“And I should find comfort in that? What I should do is order the Unsullied to go to that ship of hers and take her damn Stark head off!”
“That head is not so easy to chop off. And one kinslayer in this generation of your family is enough.”
“She is not my kin!”
“She is to your daughters.”

“Have you even for a moment thought what would happen if one my girls were wounded or captured or lost…?
You and Arya have risked Rhae’s and Lya’s life to bring here the man who killed their mother! With what aim? What will anyone get from him being here? I don’t want him near my children.” Daenerys said it all in one breath, furious.
“It is too late for that; him and girls have already bonded. You’ve seen it for yourself. You should be happy to see how two brave women are growing in your home, blood of dragon and of wolf.”
“They are dragons!! Like I am. They don’t need wolf of any sort in their life. Their father is a blood of the wolf, he betrayed me. Arya is a blood of the wolf, I gave her my trust, following your counsel, she betrayed me. Wolf blood is blood of falsehood and treachery! And you, you have also betrayed me! It is as it has always been in my life, I can’t trust anyone but myself.”

Kinvara’s lilted voice replied: “And for that I can tell you the same words you were told once already: no one can survive in this world without help…no one.”
Daenerys hissed: “Man who told me those words, long ago in Qarth, died defending me, he gave his life for me. And you would me to trust in whom now? The man with my blood on his hands, his sister, trained killer…I can’t trust such people. And sadly, I can’t trust you either.”
Kinvara took a deep breath:
“Then you’re lost, Daenerys Stormborn. If you see enemies everywhere, you’re lost. It broke you at the walls of King’s Landing. Don’t allow it to break you again.”
“And trusting you will prevent that?”
Priestess walked towards the door, before exit she said to her with fateful voice:
“It will, yet only to a point. But your trust in that man standing outside… trust in him will make you set eyes on your grandchildren’s children. Or the blood of a dragon will crumble in dust. Choose wisely, Daenērys Jelmāzmo.”

Daenerys sighed, sitting at the table in her chambers that R’hllor temple had reserved only for her, room that in many details resembled the one in Port Yhos. She placed her elbows on the table, holding head in hands. He is still there, on the terrace, I will have to face him, sooner or later… damn you Jon Snow, damn you to seven hells… I wish we’ve never met… she bit her tongue the moment that thought crossed her mind. My girls…

She stepped in the twins’ bedchamber.
After guards left the terrace, she called the servant girls to take them inside.
Girls were sitting in their bed, covered with thin sheets, the night was warm and window was wide open, bed was furnished with net canopy to protect them from insects.
They looked at her, eyes filled with confusion.

She sat on the bedside and said softly: “What you two have done was utter foolishness.”
“We wanted to help papa…Unsullied would take him away.” Lya said.
She wasn’t glad to hear that word. It hurt.
“That is not what I meant. You took Drogon, on your own and flew half across the world. You could have died. You could fall off him. He could have hurt you. You’re not his riders.”
“Drogon would never hurt us, mama.” Rhaella countered.
“Dragon is not a toy. I thought that I have taught you that much.”
“We’ve seen true north of Westeros, mama. Lands north of the Wall. And father’s home in the woods.” Lyanna told her.
Father… murderer, not father.

“Why are you mad at him? Why did you tell guards to take him away?”
Rhae asked “You said you were happy with him.”
“I was, but now I am very mad at him. Mad beyond forgiveness.”
“Don’t be, he came back to us, mama.”
“He is so good and kind and he teaches us many things…” said her lookalike daughter.
Daenerys sighed… “What kind of things?”
“History of House Targaryen, we spoke with him of all the kings and princes of our family. He likes Fire and Blood book as Rhae and I do…”
“Oh… who could tell…” smile escaped her, for the first time that night.
“And he speaks both Common Tongue and Valyrian with that funny accent.” Rhaella added.
”Aye…” Lyanna said trying to ape Northern accent ”…muh sweet.” which made both girls laugh.
That pained her even more as she realised they truly like him.

History, High Valyrian… was he exiled north of the Wall or was he in the Citadel with his friend Samwell Tarly for all these years…
Jon Snow I knew was not man of the books…

“Then we took him riding, outside the city and we did archery...aunt Arya went with us, she is very good with a bow, but not from a horse...” said Lya. “We wanted to show papa fighting pits but he said that we are Westerosi and that it is not our way to watch people fighting to the death for amusement of others.” Rhae explained.
Daenerys frowned: “Yes, that is right what he said. What were you thinking, going to fighting pits? Have you lost your senses?
We’ll talk more in the morning and you will not like that talk. Now, you must sleep or I’ll be even angrier with you.”

She kissed them both on their foreheads and closed the door of their room.
What is with those Starks that they win the hearts of my daughters so easily… first Arya, now him…she took a deep breath.

He was still at the terrace, leaned on the wall, his gaze looking absently at some far away or imagined spot. She stood in the dark for a while, studying him.
He looks good, time has not changed him much, he even looks better with his hair cut short and clean-shaven face she thought, and he’s out of those northern furs.
Then, it dawned her: He is wearing Targaryen colors, as I do.

She stepped out and walked towards him. He straightened up, setting his eyes on her.
She saw how he took a deep breath before making the first move:
"Dany…"
“I am not your Dany. You killed her. I am Daenerys Stormborn.” came her stern voice "I have nothing to say to you, save that you should go back to Westeros where you belong."
"Dan…Daenerys..." he tried to reply.
"Leave. Now." she repeated.
She wouldn't let him know how all this was hard for her so she kept her tone even. And then she saw something in his eyes she never saw before, since that first day on Dragonstone when he entered the throne room and talked about the army of the dead which she then believed to be utter nonsense.

She saw fire.

“And why would I leave? Why?”
“I don’t want to look at the man who killed me. You’ve done well in collecting titles… Queenslayer, kinslayer, oathbreaker.”
He gave her a piercing look: “Yes, that is who I am. That is what I’ve been telling myself for last ten years. Ten bloody years… living north of the Wall exiled and alone, with every single night haunted by you, every single night I was asking that ghost in my dreams to forgive me.
But that was no ghost, was it?”
Daenerys was stunned. This was not Jon Snow she once knew.
This was a man who looked like him, but everything else about him was different. Even his voice sounded different.

“Should I feel remorse for your exile? Mayhaps I should have sent you a raven telling you that I am fine, that Lord of Light brought me back and alongside it a word that you are a father of two healthy babes? You killed me; you killed a woman who was pregnant with your children!”
“I did not know that…if I did, everything would be different.”
“So, it was all right to kill me, but you are partial when unborn babes are in question?”
“You burned a city whole… and then you rallied your armies proclaiming war against the rest of the world… have you forgotten that? I came to talk to you, to reach out for you. But there was nothing left of a woman I fell in love with. Only Dragon Queen, feasting on fear.”
Daenerys could feel her blood boiling, but she sensed the same in him.
“So then you decided it is time for a dagger. You took me in your arms, kissed me like a lover and then stabbed me. Vilest of cravens would not sunk so low. It is as they say… bastard children are born from lust and lies; their nature is wanton and treacherous.” she hissed at him.

He stepped closer to her: “My father was Rhaegar Targaryen, the Last Dragon. My mother was Lyanna Stark, wolf maiden of Winterfell. I am their trueborn son. Do not call me a bastard ever again.”
Daenerys could now see his eyes from close. They were grey, but with a glow as if they were burning. She knew that rage coming from him very well, she had it in herself and her dead brother Viserys as well. It was dragon’s rage.

She made two paces forward as well, they were merely inches apart.
"Was dagger that what I deserved? After everything I did for your North, for you." Her lips trembling angrily.
"I lost everything to save your home and you didn't care. I gave you my army, my dragons, all I had…"
Years ago, when she still used to reminisce over her time in Westeros, it would always make her cry.
Now, standing before him, her gaze was stabbing him with thousand blades. She continued without giving him time to counter her:
"I loved you, you were the first man I truly and wholly loved. Then you learned of who you truly are, who your real father was… you were disgusted with me. Because we were of same blood…”
Her words were now whipping him and she had no wish to stop.
“You shunned me, Jon, as I was a worthless whore. One gesture would be enough for me to know that you still love me.
You did not make a single one… only your saying you are my queen over and over…as if you were a damn parrot.
And now, after ten years you come here because you want to play a father… to the girls you sired with your aunt…
So now you are not disgusted that your daughters and you have the same grandmother?"

His eyes were locked with hers.
“Targaryen, alone in the world is a terrible thing… You know who told me this? Maester Aemon of Night’s Watch, our great-great uncle.
I consider myself lucky that I have known one Targaryen who could rein his impulses, who was always wise. Unlike you.”

Her eyes narrowed: “Are you insulting me to my face? You dare?!”
“Aye, I dare. I was never disgusted with you, never. You were first to know of who I am truly, who my parents were, first after myself. And how did you act? How? You were not happy that there is one more Targaryen in this world, your nephew, a man who loves you…no… you only saw me as threat, as contender to that damn ugly chair made of swords… mayhaps you loved Jon Snow, bastard of Winterfell, but you could not bring yourself to love Aegon Targaryen. You wanted me to stay a bastard, a Snow, so that you can have a single claim to Iron Throne. And I was willing to hide who I truly am for you. You wanted me to remain a bastard till the rest of my days. That was love? That was treating me as your family?”

Daenerys was breathing heavily now:
“What was I supposed to do, Jon? Step aside after eight years of fighting to reclaim the throne of my fathers in favor of someone who learned that he’s Targaryen only yesterday? Who always wanted only to be a Stark?”
She paused for a heartbeat just to get some air.
“And for that you betrayed me to your sister, a conniving plotter who hated me from the very first. Was that what you wanted? To bring Starks to rule the Seven Kingdoms… well, congratulations, Jon Snow, you did it. And then, your own family got rid of you when you were of no more use to them. You were never a true Stark to them… only a bastard and then a dragonspawn. And they sent you to the Wall for killing me, their enemy.
You truly are a Northern fool.”
Feelings she bottled up for all these years came tumbling out of her mouth.

He shook his head: “That is all false. I have defended you before the Starks, all of them, ask Arya if you don’t trust me. Because I wanted you on the Iron Throne, because I really believed that you will be different. And then, then you burned King’s Landing. When city has already fallen.
Just to spread fear, with no other reason but of spite. No one forced you to do what you did. It was your own doing. And your own undoing.
Because you choose fear.”
“You were my undoing, Jon Snow, no one else but you. I took you in my arms that day and you have killed me. Me and my children. I have never told them that you have killed me. But, they’re not so little anymore. Mayhaps it is time for them to learn who Papa truly is.” she said.
“I did not know you were pregnant. I would never harm you if I did, even if you had burned ten King’s Landings. You know that it is true.
You hid that you were with children from me? Why?”

She did not want to tell him how she only learned of being pregnant after she was brought back.
“It doesn’t matter now, does it?” Daenerys replied dryly “I do not want you coming close to the girls anymore.”
“They are my children too.” Jon replied; his voice equally stern.
“Kinslayers have no right to be fathers…” she hissed.
“You forgot bastards…”

She gave him a long look and then said: “You truly hate me, Jon Snow. What have I ever done to you to deserve that?”
“I don’t hate you, Daenerys Stormborn. You are my…”
“Queen? Go ahead, say those words once again…”
“You are my only love. Only true love. And you always will be.”
She shook her head: “Words are wind, Jon Targaryen. Deeds are what makes us all. And your deeds… are treason and murder.”
“What do you want of me, Daenerys?”
“To remove yourself from my sight. To free my daughters of notion that they have a kind and wise father. They don’t.”
“They do. From this day till my last day.”

“Leave, Jon. Go to Winterfell, go to King’s Landing if they will take you.”
“I will not. And now I cannot, even if I wanted to.”
“What?”
“I have a city guard of Meereen to form.”

She didn’t say anything, just looked as he slowly walked away.
Then he halted his pace and said in the tongue of their forefathers:
“Nyke urnēptre issa drēje skoros vestrasis zaldrīzoti.” (I guess it is true what they say of dragons.)
She shrugged, still in wonder of his High Valyrian:
“Iksan rȳbagon…” (I am listening…)
“Bona issi udrimmi se mirri vali. Drōgon paktot ziry.”(That they are smarter than some men. Drogon proved it.)
Daenerys raised her eyebrows:
“Skoro syt gaomagon vestrā bona?” (Why do you say that?)
“Ziry gīmigon bona Kinvara kessa maghagon ao arlī. Ziry dohaeragon nyke naejot sagon skoros nyke drēje iksin.”
(He knew that Kinvara will bring you back. He helped me to become who I truly am.)
His words sounded like a riddle.
Then he looked back at her: “And he melted down the Iron Throne. Cursed thing that ruined us both, Daenerys Stormborn.”

Chapter Text

Myr, Essos, year 316 After Conquest

TYRION

The streets of Myr were still pitch-dark when he set out in a plainly carved palanquin.

One servant went ahead to light the way, carrying oil lantern with panes of pale blue glass while a dozen strong men hoisted the poles to their shoulders.

It was warm and close inside behind the curtains and he was struggling to stay awake. His nights brought him little rest lately.

Missed me, old friend?  he heard in his mind again as his eyelids kept closing.

“Go away, eunuch, find someone else to haunt.”                                                              

I am not a ghost. I am an offspring of your guilty conscience mating with stale wine voice of Master of Whisperers replied.                                                                                                                                   

“Wine was truly so-so, but my conscience is unburdened.”                                    

A lie which is worn out from repeating, never becomes truth.

Neither does your denial.                                                                                                                               

“Why would my conscience be burdened with guilt?” he asked.                        

Why, how about a simple fact that you’re underway of arranging a murder of a mother and her two little girls.                                                                                                    

“It is for the good of the Realm.”                                                                                 

Ha, are you quoting me now? You have successfully made a pig’s breakfast from the Realm.                                                                                                                        

Tyrion coughed, then took a long swallow from his wineskin.                                          

At this hour, one must wonder is it too early or too late to drink, Varys in his head commented.                                                                                                              

“It’s never too early nor too late, you were saying about pig’s breakfast…”                   

Well, my dear Imp, first you have managed to get a crippled boy elected king because you liked his stories. Soon after, sister of that boy gets his blessing for secession of the largest part of Westeros. Fruit of your labors in first moons of reign of new king is one less kingdom in Seven, pardon me, Six kingdoms with two or even three more to leave,Varys of Tyrion’s mind explained.                                                                                                                      

“Which ones are that, do tell, I miss your analytic mind.” Tyrion was grinning.

Dorne naturally, then Iron Islands which were promised by Daenerys Targaryen but never delivered, the independence from the Realm and next candidate is Vale with its close ties with the, how it is called now, Kingdom of the North.                              

“Dorne is always seceding but never actually does, Ironborn are subscribed to failed rebellions and for the life of me I can’t deduct why would Vale leave the Six Kingdoms to join with the North.” he rebutted.                                                                                

Oh, I’ve almost forgot what your payment of the debt to Bronn of the Blackwater caused in the Reach. Richest part of the Realm, in hands of an ordinary cutthroat. Then you have placed that sellsword to be the Master of Coins.

Well done, my old friend, well done. You are becoming dumber with every passing day.

“What I helped establish, works. To have kings elected is the best way.”                 

Is it? It is a good notion to have elected ruler. What happens when your broken king passes away? Almost every highborn lord will try to get himself named as king. A nd lords of Westeros aren’t some petty chiefs of city states competing for the crown, they are rulers of whole kingdoms, each with large armies, each with their own strengths and weaknesses. Without a royal army, a king’s host, one loyal to the crown itself, Realm will be torn asunder by civil war…

You had War of the Five Kings, now you will have war of five and twenty kings.

Varys drilled through Tyrion’s thoughts.

“And yet, in the eleventh year of me making a pig’s breakfast of things the Realm is still in one piece, save North.” Tyrion said his rebuttal.                                             

Indeed, but for how long?  Varys in his head mocked him This what you are about to do, negotiate the price of killing of an entire family will unleash seven hells. That family, unfortunately for you and your broken king, goes under name Targaryen.

Murdering them will plunge Realm into chaos once more. Rulers of Dorne, of Iron Islands, of Storm’s End are all tied with Daenerys this way or the other. You will make enemies of them, whether she dies or not.                   

“They don’t even know she is alive. They will do nothing. It will all be done discreetly.” Tyrion assured.                                                                                          

Ha, like children of Elia Martell and Rhaegar Targaryen were murdered discreetly, one with his head bashed into wall, other stabbed dozens of times. At your father’s behest. And now, you’re going to be killer of babes as well.

In the end, it appears children are their fathers. Look at you, at Daenerys, at Jon Snow… all have followed the steps of their fathers.                                                                 

Voice in Tyrion’s head was relentless.                                                                           

“Go away, Varys… I am tired of your preaching.”

I’ll leave you be for now, my friend, but we’ll talk again.                                            

Tyrion walked across the courtyard of a manse belonging to one of Myrish merchants who once used the services of the sellsword company whose leader he was about to meet. He passed next to sour cherry trees planted around a marble pool in whose middle stood a statue of nearly lifelike naked young girl made of painted marble. As he climbed up the stairway to the second floor of the manse, he could see the city. Vast number of tiled rooftops spread along the coast of Sea of Myrth.                 

He could see the rounded brick towers, a great red temple, a distant manse upon a hill. In the far distance, sunlight of early morning shimmered off the water.

Fishing boats were moving across the bay with sails rippling in the wind, he could also see the masts of larger ships poking up along the shore.

The room he entered was dim, but there were bars of yellow sunlight showing between the slats of the shutters. Tyrion shook his head and waddled over patterned carpets as soft as new spring grass to the window.

He flung the shutters open to let the daylight in.

A loud curse came from the center of the room. There, on the score of pillows which have entirely covered the tiled floor, lay a naked man and two girls, bare as he was. Tyrion coughed.

“Close the damn shutters…” man said.

"We have an appointment.” he replied.

“All right, all right.” man replied “You two, go to the pool, I will find you later.”

Girls rose up, giving Tyrion a good look at their naked bodies, one was of Summer Isles, dark of skin and she were hairless from head to toes, other was of fair skin and hair, slender with thatch of light-brown curled hair between her legs.

They smiled at Tyrion as they slide across the tile floor out of the room. Some moments later, one could hear them splashing in the pool. 

“It is too early, dwarf, I’ve been fucking these two all night long. Come back at midday.” man spat as he was putting on his trousers.                                                         

“At midday I plan to be half way across the Narrow Sea, heading home.” Tyrion replied.                                                                                                                         

“You were always a pain in the arse, dwarf. I expected that you will taste some of local whores before running back to King’s Landing.”                                                

“I do not partake anymore…”                                                                                      

 “All the better, more for the rest of us.” man said as he was now sitting on the pillows, with his shirt and trousers on “To what do I owe the pleasure, Lannister?”

“How long has it been, Naharis, since we saw each other last? Ten, eleven years or so?” Tyrion asked.

Daario Naharis scratched his head and yawned… “Closer to thirteen… since you persuaded our queen to leave me behind in Meereen while the rest of you went to conquer Westeros.”

“Oh, I hope you’re not still mad at me because of that. I have just given her counsel, back then she still listened to me, decision was hers alone.”

“If I had been there, she would not end up with some Northern bastard, it would all worked different for her, and for me.”                                          

“It is possible, but that Northern bastard was in the end her plaything just as you were in Meereen. She was too strong for both of you.”                                           

“You didn’t ask for this meeting to talk of old times, I hope.”                                   

Tyrion paced across the room…

“No, not really… you know, now when I think back about it, I should have noticed how strange it was that you and your Second Sons were for all these years doing what she asked of you, guarding the cities in Slaver’s Bay.

With her dying in King’s Landing, ten years ago, one should expect that Second Sons are not obliged to follow her commands anymore, one should expect sellswords to take rule over those cities, for themselves or for someone else.

That did not happen. And I know why.”                     

Daario shrugged: “Mayhaps we liked doing what we were doing.”                          

“Mayhaps. And mayhaps your queen came back to Meereen, alive and well with her largest dragon and you had to serve her all this time.” said Tyron.                  

Brown-haired man tilted his head and grinned: “Have you ever heard of someone coming back from the dead like that?”                                                                 

“I did, actually. Not of one man but of two.”                                                                

“Cheap wine has burned your wits away, dwarf.”                                                                 

“I know Daenerys is alive, there is no point in denying it. And I know of her children. Whose father is that Northern bastard.”                    

Daario nodded “It is as you say. That one must have left some impression.”         

“You say that because she did not take you back to her bed, right?”                         

“Fuck you, dwarf, I would be riding that dragon if I had insisted.”                             

“That is of no concern to me. Whom or what you ride.”                                            

“Then, what is of your concern?” “Peace for the Six Kingdoms of Westeros.”

“That is none of my concern.”

Tyrion said: “Indeed, it is not now, but it could become your concern and very… how to say… lucrative one.”                                  

“Spare me the fancy words.” Darrio cut him off.                                                                                                

“Six Kingdoms will give abundant reward to that one who solves the Dragon Queen problem. Once and for all.”                                                                            

Daario laughed: “You don’t have that much gold in all your vaults and safe cases.” “It is not about the gold; it is about power.” he replied.                            

“Explain. I am just a poorly educated former sellsword.”                                             

“One who removes Daenerys Targaryen from the world of the living can count on support of the Six Kingdoms in taking over the rule in Meereen, Yunkai and Astapor. If need be, even in matters of weapons and men.”                                          

Daario looked at him with a long assessing stare. “Oh, come on, as if you had not thought about it, of proclaiming yourself king of Meereen or that whole bay? There is an opportunity now, for that to happen.”                                                          

“So, I have to kill the Dragon Queen, is that it?”                                                        

Tyrion nodded: “It is. And not only the queen, her offspring as well.”                         

“You want me to kill the children?? Your king is one cruel fuck.”                                 

“My king does only what is good for the people of Westeros. Not matter what.”

Daario paused for some time, reflecting about what he just heard.                           

“Let’s say I accept… I have free hands in getting rid of everyone from her entourage?”

“Absolutely.” Tyrion confirmed. “There is one Westerosi that keeps company with her daughters, a mean bitch, calls them her nieces.”                             

“Arya Stark, do not underestimate her. She is a killer. And now her brother, the father of the girls, should be at Meereen as well.”                                                          

“He is there. I have met him, but he is not a Stark.”                                                                                    

“He is, of a sort…being related to Starks and to Daenerys.”                                                     

“Your king is a Stark, isn’t he?” Daario asked.                                                          

“By birth, but he is something else now.”                                                                       

“How do I deal with those two Starks in Meereen?”                                                               

“If they become an obstacle in your task – kill them as well.”                           

“More than gladly... Say, that king of yours does not care about his own blood?”                                                            

“My king is above such things of blood and family.”                                                                                      

“Well, he has you for making deals in brothels at sunrise…”

Tyrion smiled dryly: “Does that mean; we have a deal?”

Daario Naharis rose up with his hand extended: “We do.”                                                    

Tyrion shook hands with him and rose his wineskin for a toast: “To King Daario of Meereen, Yunkai and Astapor, long may he reign!”

Chapter Text

Westwatch-by-the-Bridge, Westeros, year 316 After Conquest

YARA

“I’ve never sailed this far north, my queen.” said Donnor Saltcliffe, captain of Red Jester, longship of the Ironborn.

Once, this vessel was commanded by Red Ralf Stonehouse, but he perished in the Summer Sea, when Yara took her part of the Iron Fleet to Slaver’s Bay.

“I haven’t either.” Greyjoy woman replied, gazing in the distance where first shapes of land were covered in the mist.

Yara only returned to Pyke from Dorne a fortnight ago and after spending few days at her family’s castle she set sail northwards, to the other end of the continent.

This voyage, same as one to Dorne, had a clear purpose.                                                                 

No to raid or plunder, she could not recall when she did that last time, surely not in last ten years. I wasn’t in true battle for ten years.

That knowledge appalled her.

Yet, ships from Iron Islands raided still, not in Westeros, but from Stepstones to Basilisk Isles. We do not sow.

We do not sleep either. Ironborn that does not sail and raid is as good as dead.

Battles would come. She was ready for it.

One moon ago she headed South, where Arianne Martell awaited her in Dorne. First, they have been exchanging messages and then Princess of Dorne invited Yara to visit her in Water Gardens.

She knew that this invitation was beginning of their mutual rebellion against the Red Keep. Before those were rebellions against the Iron Throne.

As Aegon’s thousand blades were melted down, name of royal castle was spoken instead the name of royal throne. It was all the same for her. Foreign rule.

Dragon rule. Stag rule. Raven rule. Or wolf rule.

Wolves. Starks. She hated them. They took their brother from her and made him one of them. When he died, defending that crippled boy king, they burned him, robbing him of feasts with his forefathers in the halls of Drowned God.

They took rule over entire Westeros. Brother in the South, sister in the North. Wolf bastard killed the queen she declared for. And got away with it.

Sand vipers offered alliance. Dornishmen. And women. Queer folk of the South. Of desert and dry mountains. Folk of spear and poison. But folk that misliked all that were not them, same as Ironborn did.

Dorne was disgusted with state of Westeros same as Iron Islands were.

“Should we raise spears and axes, on whom can the raven king count?” Yara asked Dornish ruler.

“Reach will not rush for their knights, whom they have precious few than before the War of the Five Kings begun, to lose lives for king and his Hand who appointed a mere court jester as their Lord Paramount.”

“They were hacked and sacked by the Lannister queen and then when war ended, their new Lord was appointed by Tyrion Lannister. They spat in the face of all Reach lords.”   

“What of that young lord in Storm’s End?” Arianne asked.

“I’ve heard stories that he grew up as an apprentice in the smithy.

Can you believe that? A bloody blacksmith. Gendry of House Baratheon. Legitimised by Daenerys Targaryen.”

“He was not unlegitimised by Bran the Broken. So, his gratitude goes to raven king as well, in a way. We must learn more of him. Stormlands were oft used as starting point when Dorne was invaded by the Realm.”                                                                                                                               

Yara agreed with her.                                         

“We were dormant for ten years, but we were never asleep. Wolves have carved up Westeros among themselves and in their arrogance, they trusted the rest of us will idly sit and watch them playing great monarchs. What audacity.”

“Audacity or stupidity. I’ll let you choose.” said the queen of the Ironborn.

The court jester as they have called him, Ser Bronn of the Blackwater, appeared in Dorne, again doing Tyrion Lannister’s bidding, but this former sellsword had ambitions of his own.

Him being cast out as Master of Coins only hasted his decision to join with Arianne and Yara.

None of the two believed him, knowing that one who turns coat once, will do the same far easier for the second time.    

An opportunity presented itself for Bronn to prove his allegiance to their common cause and for them to send him to the place where he can do the least damage if he decides to betray them.

The true North.

Queen Sansa Stark ordered expansion of her kingdom, counting not yet eleven years of existence, onto the lands once gifted to the Night’s Watch and even further, beyond the Wall.

Word of this came both to Pyke and to Sunspear. Queen of Salt and Rock and Princess of Dorne decided to act and act now.

One Ironborn longboat went scouting towards the Bay of Ice, on the western coast of the North and there found settlements of wildlings or Free Folk as they called themselves.

Yara’s men learned how Sansa’s soldiers are coming north of the Wall, where it was torn down by the Night King, and have made forts at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea on the southern side and at Hardhome on the northern side of the land they have conquered or stolen, as wildlings were looking at that matter. Northerners planned to have a road built, road that would continue on the Kingsroad at Mole’s Town, going alongside the Wall eastwards to the Shivering Sea and at newly established fort at Eastwatch road would turn up north ending at Hardhome.

Ambitious endeavor, both Yara and Arianne concluded, one which for its fruition required removal of all obstacles… and north of the Wall those are trees, rocks and wildlings.

As men living in the true North called all those living on the southern side of the Wall – kneelers – it was clear that Free Folk will not bend to the will of Sansa Stark.

War between Northerners and wildlings seemed inevitable, hate that brewed among them for generations did not go away, not even due to common sacrifices against the White Walkers.

In that war, the North will have armor, steel, horse and numbers. Wildlings had too few of everything. Unless they receive help coming from least expected.

“Get up! Get dressed!” Yara burst into Bronn’s chamber at Water Gardens.                      

He lay spread-eagled on soft mattress with nothing on his body save just as naked Dornish handmaiden with long dark hair, big breasts and arse to die for as Yara thought watching the sweaty girl walk away wiggling her behind to her.

“Fuck off, Greyjoy! I was just in for some juicy minj…”                                              

“Well, you’re soon to be in for some icy minj. You’ve fucked your way through these tanned pussies long enough, time for some freckled wildling cunts.”                     

“What are you on about?” Bronn hissed while putting his clothes on.                           

“Ever been north of the Wall?’”                                                                                   

“Was once and sure as fuck I am not going for a second time.”                              

 “Guess again, Lord Sellsword.” she replied “Be at the beach in half an hour, with all your clothes and all your weapons on. There’ll be a boat waiting for you.”

That was two weeks ago.

Today, she is leading a force of six longships through the waters of Bay of Ice, along the coastline. In the distance, still partly hidden by the morning mist, one could see the Gorge and the Bridge of Skulls.

The Gorge was exactly what the name said, a large, deep ravine that separated the Wall from the Bay of Ice.

In the past wildlings used to descend into the Gorge to bypass the Wall and emerge on the southern side of it where they would raid, pillage and rape the smallfolk of the Gift.

They could do it unchecked, closest castle of the Night’s Watch was the Westwatch-by-the-Bridge, long abandoned.

Only possible crossing over the Gorge was the Bridge of Skulls. An overpass of three arches with rocks and water below it.

Around it and below were many rocks, and it stands over at least one pool of water. Bridge was a dangerous route, earning its name after the bones of those least lucky who died in the Gorge below.

It was from that bridge that Yara saw the light of torches being lit and waved as a signal.

“C’mon, men, row to the shore…” she ordered.                                            

Then she turned to her traveling companion, of sorts:

“What do you think?”               

“A shithole of place… your own isles are nothing to show for, but this, this beats everything. And I’ve seen my fair share of shitholes.” said Bronn bitterly.                

“Ah, stop whining, they’ll treat you as you were the King beyond the Wall.”             

 “Not bloody likely… what is my role here again?”

“Teach the wildlings how to harass the supply lines, kill the ranging and scout parties, burn what needs to be burned… in one word, teach them to wage a war of attrition.”                             

“Those fuckers should have learned that by themselves now.”                             

“They’ve learned how to do raids south of the Wall, they were never invaded in their own land. We were all happy with them confined behind the Wall, now that ginger Stark bitch wants to add as much new land to her freshly formed kingdom.”

Bronn laughed: “Ha-ha, you truly hate them wolves of Winterfell.”

Yara grinned hearing that. She will not bow to the wolves; wolf is a sly animal which preys on the weak.         

Wolf has tasted the wrath of Kraken once; time has come for another lesson.     

The hour of the wolf is coming to an end.

The wind blew across the longship’s deck, it was cold today, but it brought a delicious smell of the sea and salt, and Yara loved it.                                          

During her stay in Dorne, soon she longed for the sensation of her ship on stormy sea and of seagulls crying above her.

Creatures of the sea, we the Ironborn are… she was told many times.

“Ready axes, ready shields, we go ashore!” she bellowed the order as her longship reached the shallow waters.

Same order could be heard from other five ship.

“Come on, Lord Sellsword, time to get your arse wet!”

She, Bronn and two scores of her warriors came to land, Ironborn carrying many wooden crates of different height and length and more of those have been unloaded from the longships.                                                                                

There, on the coast, a band of fifty or so wildlings were awaiting them.

“Who speaks for you?” Yara asked when she came before them.                              

“I am.” voice from the group said and she saw a tall, robust, broad chested man with thick read hair that fell to his shoulders and even thicker long beard.

Both hair and beard had streaks of grey. He was dressed head to toe in boiled animal hide lined with fur.

“Tormund Giantsbane is the name.”                                                 

“I am Yara Greyjoy, Queen of the Ironborn.”                                                                 

He nodded “Ah… yet another southern queen. I’ve known many.

The Dragon Queen which is dead now and the Wolf Queen, hair kissed by the fire like mine.”

Bronn chuckled.                                                                                                        

“And who is this ugly woman?” tall wildling asked pointing at him.                            

“That is Ser Bronn of the Blackwater.” Yara replied.                                                      

“Just Bronn will do.” said former sellsword and former Master of Coins.                               

“A Ser! A knight of Seven Kingdoms!” said Tormund loudly “I know of a Ser. Tall, yellow hair, mean eyes, fierce warrior and a gorgeous woman.”                             

Bronn frowned: “Brienne of bloody Tarth! How in seven hells do you know of her?”

“I wanted to make babies with her, but some southern cunt with golden hand came and took her away.”

“Jamie fucking Lannister…” Bronn exclaimed not hiding surprise “…fuck me, those golden-haired cunts were screwing over even you, lot from other side of the Wall.”

"You know of big woman? And of golden hand man?” Tormund asked.

“Aye, I do. He’s been long dead; the Dragon Queen brought a castle down on his golden-haired arse and Brienne of Tarth is commander of the Kingsguard.”                  

“I should go to King’s Landing to pay her a visit.”                                                      

“Trust me, you really should not.”

“If you’re finished making friends…” Yara said “…we have a work to do here.

We brought you fifty crates of weapons… swords, axes, shields, spears, bows, arrows… all of that is Northern made. We took it when we plundered the northern holdfasts when Young Wolf was warring in the south. It is yours.”

“Good. Good.” Tormund said “We are thankful to you, queen of the ironmen and to the queen of deserts in the far south.”                                                                   

“Queen of the Ironborn and the Princess of Dorne.” Bronn corrected him.            

“Did you ever saw the far south, the deserts?” red-haired man asked.                                                                

“Aye, I did. It is not all deserts. You have forests of all sorts of fruits down there. And the best pussy man can want... once you tasted Do...” former sellsword said.

Yara, annoyed by Bronn talking about pleasures of Dorne, cut him:

“Princess Arianne and I expect that you’ll put these weapons to good use.”                          

“Aye, we will. Wolf Queen is an oathbreaker. We had a treaty with Jon Snow and she broke it.”                                                                                                           

Yara’s face changed when she heard that name: “Jon Snow is a traitor himself, a slayer of the Queen he sworn allegiance to. And his bitch sister is no better. All Starks are traitors and killers.”                                                                             

Tormund said nothing at first, looking at this fierce woman which came from the sea, he knew of the Ironborn, of people who roamed the seas like his kind roamed woods and mountains.

They were reavers with their own people to lead them, same as Free Folk did. Tormund thought what his men were in the forests and snow-covered hills, these ironmen were at the waves.                                                                        

“I don’t care about Starks, but I loved Jon Snow,” he replied “And later he knew he fucked up when he killed the Dragon Queen. For him she was like big woman Ser Brienne is for me.”                                                                                   

“Ah, for fook sake…” Bronn blurted.                                                                          

 “A traitor is a traitor. But no more of him.” Yara said firmly “When will you be ready to attack the Stark troops at Hardhome?”                                                             

“We load the crates on our horses, we have them behind that ridge there and we march hard to east, to the shore of that other sea. The wolf fort at Hardhome will burn before the next full moon.” wildling leader replied.                               

“Good. Make it sooner if you can. Stark queen will get a blow that will make her retch her supper… one more thing, Bronn here is staying with you, him and his escort, twenty men strong. All sellswords like him.                                                             

He will learn your people how to make war that will bring wolves on their knees.”                                                                                                                    

“What’s a sell..sword?” Tormund asked.                                                                

“That, my friend, is the best way to fight wars.” Bronn replied with grin.                                                        

“By selling swords?”                                                                                                    

“By selling your skills of using swords. For payment in gold, silver, lands or pussy…”                                                                                                           

“Free Folk can’t pay you. We have no gold or silver; our lands are not for sale and neither are our women.”                                                                          

“You won’t be paying me, friend.” Bronn said and pointed at Yara “I have a binding contract with her and the juicy pussy princess of the desert.”

Yara rolled her eyes before saying: “I am heading back to my ship. I wish you both good fortune in the war to come…and keep your ball sack warm, Lord Sellsword.”

Chapter Text

Meereen, Essos, year 316 After Conquest

LORD AND COMMANDER

“I understand your concerns, my lords and ladies, though if Meereen is to establish its own City Guard one should look forward, generation or even two removed, not making decisions upon the current state of affairs.”

Jon spoke in High Valyrian. Language that he was long ago taught by maester Luwin of Winterfell came back to him and was improving with every passing day, though he had trouble understanding some of the expressions of Meereenese Low Valyrian whose vocabulary was marked with words of Ghiscari origin. He addressed the Council of Citizens in the council room of the Great Pyramid.

He imagined it to be a larger room, what he saw is a hall roughly half size of the Great hall in Winterfell.                                                                                                 

Right in the middle of the room a wooden table was placed, its length enough for all twenty-one members of the council to comfortably sit side by side.                                                                                 

Council members sat on ornate stools whose seats were padded with yellow fabric.

Air in the hall was pleasantly cool for which praise went to the thick stone walls of the pyramid and four tall but narrow windows which gave enough daylight to the room but kept the heat outside.                                                            

Save the heat of discussion which he became aware of when the matter of establishing the City Guard of Meereen came to order.

Each of one and score councilors present had his or her own design how that guard should be equipped, how it should be structured, what should it do, even how it should be dressed.

Difference in opinion was mostly drawn along the line of former master counter former slaves.

First group advocated for officers to be recruited from the ranks of nobles and to differ in clothes and weapons from the soldiers who were expected to come from the ranks of former slaves.                                                     

Former slaves, their representatives in the council at least, argued in favor of merits over birth right but proposed that all the members of City Guard have their faces hidden with masks.                                                                                                       

Jon could entirely agree on merits having more weight than ancestry, but to have a small army of phantoms patrolling the streets, that seemed to him as stupidity.

Marghaz zo Loraq, one of the nobles not hiding how pleased he is for Jon not taking the masked guard into consideration, stated: “I share your opinion on the masks, Sons of the Harpy had been wearing masks in their time, we cannot create a notion that our new city watchmen inherit from them instead from those who fought them.” He was an obese man with fat legs, well into his fifties.               

“Our guard will not wear mask of a harpy, there are many other creatures and animals.” said Marselen, one of former slaves.

“What do you want to achieve with these masks?” Jon asked them.                             

“To protect the members of the City Guard and to give them more respect and…”

“Fear. Yes, I can see how that can be appealing, but if I understand correctly, this city is not trying to form Faceless Men in Meereenese style. City Guard must be public force, a host made by the citizens serving the citizens. Aim here is not to spread fear to people of this city, but safety.” he explained.

Many of them, from both sides, now nodded letting him know that they had understood. All of them have murmured, either in approval or disapproval. 

The head of the Council, Galazza Galare, high priestess of the Ghiscari Temple of the Graces, woman counting nearly ninety years of age but still tall and graceful.

She governed this assembly of bickering men and women with soft and kind voice but she always managed to swing their opinion in the direction she wanted.  

“Before I allow Lord Jon to proceed, would our honorable guest like to add something?” Galazza asked.

Jon’s eyes turned to Daenerys who sat at the table, on the spot reserved for the guests of honor and no guest was treated with more honors than Meereen’s former queen.                                                            

Two weeks have passed since their first encounter and he hadn’t seen her since, to his surprise she was seated with the Council of Citizens.

Though she and Jon both had their chambers at the R’hllor’s temple he made sure that their paths do not cross.

He did not even see his daughters in all that time save once, to calm them after that evening when girls stood at his side facing the Unsullied, guards of their mother.                                                                                                         

That was his victory before Daenerys’ very eyes and he relished in it, in a way. On the other hand, he hated the notion that Lya and Rhae would be drawn into this bitter feud of their parents.

Daenerys replied: “I would like to hear what this Westerosi nobleman proposes regarding the future City Guard of Meereen.” Her voice was polite and her eyes only briefly touched Jon.

“My lord, if you please…” Galazza gestured him.

“Thank you, honourable lady Galare.” Jon said and continued: “What is the role of City Guard? To defend the city of Meereen, to enforce the law and at that to answer only to this Council and no other. Its commander must be responsible to you alone.

Still, commander should be elected within the ranks of the guard, not appointed by you. That way you will have at the head of City Guard commander who enjoys the trust of his men, be it all or most of them…”                                 

He proposed to Meereenese the same way of electing commander of City Guard as Night’s Watch elected theirs…                                                                                    

“…then its role should be made clear. For what shall City Guard be used?

As guards, as keepers of public peace and order – or as foot soldiers? One should bear in mind that City Guard is not a true army.                                              

Not as hosts in Seven Kingdoms are and surely not by far as Unsullied are. I have seen the Unsullied fight in our wars in Westeros…” His gaze went on Daenerys, for a moment they locked eyes.                                                                     

“…no City Guard anywhere in the world will ever be able to fight like that nor is that their duty. King’s Landing had its City Watch six thousand strong, still you could only deploy every fourth man to a pitched battle.

I pray that Meereen will be of better luck with its guardsmen. For that purpose, training should be harsh to make sure only the best trainees remain. All can join, few will remain.

But those few will be the Meereen’s best and bravest.”

He paused to see how they receive his words and was content.                               

“In regard of City Guard quarters, one will not do. This city is large as Astapor and Yunkai put together. Guardsmen will not be able to ensure peace and order if stationed in only one place in the city.

There must be a chain or web, if you like, of guardsmen barracks all over city from which they will be able to respond swiftly whenever called to.”

Marghaz zo Loraq used Jon taking a pause to ask: “Of how many places we speak of?”                                                                                                                    

“In the first days, four. North, south, east, west… all sides of the city should have its own City Guard quarters or barracks. Then, as guard grows in numbers additional quarters can be added.”                                                                              

“That is very good reasoning, lord Targaryen.” said Nakhmaz, one of former slaves.

Nakhmaz called him with the name of his house, Jon for a heartbeat gazed at Daenerys, there was a shadow of smile on her face which he found very odd.                                                                                           

“Still, based on my days in the Night’s Watch, on historical record of city watch of King’s Landing, Oldtown and Lannisport, I believe Meereen could take one more step.”                                                                                                                 

“What kind of step, lord Jon?”                                                                                      

“As I previously stated, City Guard cannot be a replacement for a proper army.

Which does not mean that from the ranks of City Guard a small but efficient host should not be made. Men who will be equally good on foot as on horseback, good with wide choice of weapons, not confined in one part of the city, but able to act in whole of Meereen, if need to act arises. And outside of the city as well.”

“Are you suggesting some elite caste of warriors, my lord?” asked Skahazza mo Kandaq, cousin of her namesake who served Daenerys during her reign over the city.                                                                                                                          

“Not at all, my lady, elite castes or orders of warriors in my experience fail just as easily as lowest of the sellsword companies.

Westeros had its Night’s Watch, many centuries ago a knightly order reduced in my days to a place where Seven Kingdoms disposed its worst sons.

It also had its Kingsguard, a flower of Westerosi knights, in the end they had less knightly honor than simple squire on the battlefield defending a dying horse.”                                                                   

He saw all of them nodding in approval.                                                                 

“How do you suggest we proceed, my lord?” Galazza asked “Should we first ensure the chain of command, then rest of the men?”

He politely shook head: “All at once, all coming at their free will. No conscripts of any sort. Send word to every corner of the city that able bodied men willing to serve as guardsmen are needed.”

“Where will listing and training of those who respond to the call take place?” Marghaz raised a question.                                                                   

“With that issue, Meereen is fortunate. In one of your smaller fighting pits, one whose owner is willing to render his facilities to the city. With proper fee, of course.”                                                                                                                    

By the looks on Galazza’s face Jon could tell that she is pleased which usually meant that rest of the Council of Citizens will follow suit.                                         

“When can you start with preparations, lord Jon?”                                                         

“The sooner would of course be the better. Still, I’d require additional trainers such as me. Mayhaps some from the remnants of the Golden Company has strayed here… It is important that your citizens do not see us, strangers, as face of this new guard. They must see their sons, brothers, fathers…”                   

Councillors clapped their hands hearing this.                                                                 

He bowed politely, then added: “One more matter to be mentioned, my lords and ladies, guardsmen should receive sufficient payment from the city, not from anyone else, mayhaps coins will not buy loyalty of each and every one of them, but it can make them do their duties with more will.”                                                                                   

Eraz lo Hazkar, another former slave master, in recent years a merchant of Meereenese goods inland, with features of low cunning, frowned upon hearing this: “I cannot argue with your words, my lord, but bear in mind that city’s vaults are as full as are vaults of those of us who earn the most. Or try to earn. Surely you are familiar with our plight with the Dothraki and the tributes they have imposed on all trading routes in Essos.”                                                     

Daenerys set her eyes on that man, discreetly but it had not escaped Jon.                  

“I am somewhat familiar with it, not in so many details, but what I can say to you is that in foreseeable future there is no solution at hand.”                            

“Would you like to elaborate that further, lord Jon?” Galazza said.                 

“My lady, I have seen the Dothraki fight in Westeros, just as I have seen the Unsullied. Many of horselords perished, most defending the seat of my mother’s family, some in taking King’s Landing from Cersei Lannister.

A good portion of them come back home, here in Essos. Their collecting tributes can be treated as an improvement from their old ways of sacking and destroying cities and towns.

Still, you’ll never make a sheepherder of a Dothraki. Just as Ironborn will never be farmers. It is what they are. To solve your problem, it would ask to destroy a whole people to the last toothless man and the last babe.”                                   

Eraz grinned: “I assure you, lord Jon, world would be a better place without the sons of kraken and without the horselords.”

Jon noticed again how Daenerys looks at this man. He has learned of her doing trade all over Essos and obtaining riches and wondered if she’s in some way involved with the Dothraki.                                                                     

“My lord, in Westeros I got stabbed by men who disliked the notion of me helping to save one whole people, them too were considered savages.”                            

He silenced Eraz with this, his eyes again went to Daenerys, she turned her head away but not before he caught her brief approving gaze which reminded Jon of that day in Dragonpit when he declared for her before all present.

Galazza called this session of the Council adjourned and the twenty-one were leaving the council room.

Azzak zo Ghazeen who served the Council as scribe approached Jon and spoke in Common Tongue:

“My lord, for the purpose of keeping record of today’s session my duty is to make a transcription of all discussions. Have I understood well that the name of your house is Targaryen?”

“Kessa, bona iksos drēje.”                 

Jon replied in Valyrian “Yes, that is true. You speak language of Westeros very well.”

“Not as good as you speak High Valyrian, my lord. Are you and lady Daenerys related since you have the same name?”                                                                     

Ignorance is truly a blessing sometimes, Jon said to himself “Yes, indeed we are.”                                

“Oh, I did not know that… you don’t act familiar with each other so I assumed…”                                                                                                            

“Azzak, don’t assume too much and don’t waste other people’s time.” came the woman’s voice from behind. Daenerys approached them.                                           

“I am sorry my lady, my lord, if I have…” Azzak said bit shaken.                                                             

“Daor jorrāelagon naejot. Ziry iksos ry paktot.” Jon said to him, making it clear no apologies are needed.

Then he asked: “Azzak, could you recommend a tavern or an inn near here, with proper food?”                                                                                                          

“You could eat here; they can arrange it for you.” young scribe said.                                                      

“I’ll be on Council’s pay for certain time it seems, I don’t have to eat from their hand too.” Jon replied.

“I’ll inquire what place is to be recommended, my lord.” Azzak said and left.                                                                                         

“Proud man…” Daenerys said mockingly “…in a city he doesn’t know looking for a place to eat… it is certain that you’ll end up with some kind of bowel fever, mayhaps shitting yourself to death.”                                                                                       

“There’s a pleasing  sight for your eyes.” he answered in even tone.

She gave him a cold, killing look before saying:

“I wish you no harm. As you can see, Meereen will hire you to form their guard. I could have advised against it and soon you’d be begging in the streets.”

“Begging? Hardly. I’d sell my sword, as many Westerosi that came here.”

“You could, yes.”

“Why didn’t you advise this Council against me?”

“For I trust you to be the best man for the job. And Meereen deserves the best. With you busy here, I’ll be certain that you will be far enough from me and my daughters. I don’t live here, as you know but leagues away.

So, as commander of City Guard you do not wander around taverns to eat whatever they serve you.”

“All right. Then I can just as well eat here.”                                                                 

“Good. I’ll see it done.” she said.

He wanted to thank her but she walked away followed closely by Azzak.                    

Jon decided to look around this highest floor of the Great Pyramid.

So, this is from where she was ruling this city, he reflected, as if on the top of the bloody world.                                               

He walked into the throne room. Ten wide stairs carved in stone lead to platform on which advisers of the ruler would stand.

Five more, far narrower steps, and there was a stone bench that served as a throne for last Meereenese monarch. For Daenerys.

This throne towered over anyone seeking audience, being some ten feet above the floor. From each side of the stairway were a narrow pool of water. Too much stairs, too much stone, too much dun color.

“My lord, your meal is ready.” one of the servants informed him.                               

Food was served in the small chamber, right next to the council room, separated from it with wooden screen.

Jon saw four padded chairs coated in black, all equally adorned with rich golden ornate featuring swans; small round table followed the same suite as the chairs.

Served meal consisted of dog sausages, roast onions, figs, dates, melons and pomegranates with pecans and peppers and a big bowl of honeyed locusts.    For drink there were two bottles of chilled wine and sweet water.

Jon frowned at locusts, shrugged and went for dog sausages. Dog sausage, it would never find its way on a table of Westerosi highborn; he mused while eating it… nor would Ghiscari drink fermented goat milk. Like Free Folk do.

“Try locusts… it is a delicacy in this part of Essos.” said soft voice of Galazza Galare. She sat next to him and grabbed two locusts from the bowl.

“I doubt I will partake in that delicacy.”                                                                        

“More for me, in that case.” old priestess noted contently.

Now, this would be a proper match for maester Aemon, Jon thought and grin almost escaped to his face, both century old and wise, he of Old Valyria, she of Old Ghis. They could exchange life stories until they run out of life.

“I believe there is a fighting pit already available to be used for training of the future City Guard. I’ll look into it and inform the Council.” she said, her voice sounded bit distant now.                                                                                                  

He looked at her: “It appears you want this City Guard to be a success. I am thankful for the assistance.”                                                                                  

She rose from the chair, ready to leave and replied:“I am doing that for city of Meereen so it would not depend on hired foreign help. No offence, my lord.”                                                                                          

“Truth never offends honest men, my lady, it offends only liars.”                                    

“It is a shabby ruin, my lord, but with some repairs we can bring it to a required standard.”

Nakhmaz said in Meereenese Low Valyrian as he strolled around the abandoned fighting pit “Yezzan zo Qaggaz never tend to this place even when masters ruled Meereen, he can even less now when he is dead.”

Jon replied to him, standing on the other side of the pit: “Another of your nobles?” “No, he was of Yunkai, but some way he got to own this fighting pit. A debt of some sort certainly…”

He looked at every corner of this place. At its southern side was a tall stone wall separating it from the neighbouring houses and blocking the view of anyone outside the pit itself.

Northern side was open, there were no houses there, only cluster pine and cypress trees stretching for a half of a mile to the bank of Skahazadhan river.

At this side there were stands, carved in stone and a wooden dais, for dignitaries, now rotting in most non-dignitary way. Over the stands towered the pine trees providing the audience a thick shade while those in the pit fought and killed each other under blazing sun.

Jon was disgusted with this Meereenese tradition, more than with fact they valued dogs above mutton, tastes in meat differ but it should be a common thing to shun from such forms of amusement as fight to the death is.

What he saw as good news, since slavery was abolished in the city, interest for fighting pits was on steady decline. Only the greatest pits survived, others like the one whose capacities he was just studying were closing one after another.

“This side, towards the river, is open. That must be remedied at once, first a palisade and then this wall must be extended, it must encircle the barracks of the City Guard. As it is, anyone could come from the river, sneak its way through the woods and slaughter the garrison at sleep.”                                                           

“It will be done, my lord.” Nakhmaz replied. Man was one of the first volunteers for the service in the newly formed City Guard, though to say it was newly formed would be an overstatement. This was not even a beginning of a beginning.

Even the longest journey starts with first step, Jon thought, someone somewhere had said that.

He pointed at the arched entrance in one the walls. “What is in there?”

“That is where the fighters were, before coming on the sand. Place for them to rest or to die from their wounds, if they hadn’t been killed before the audience.”

“I want to see it, that could serve as an armory, pantry, storage.”

As he passed under the arch, he found himself in the passage, as long as the wall inside which it was built. It was also arched with wooden benches, some whole, some broken.

Chain, fastened to the wall with rings, stretched for entire length of the passage.  

“Nakhmaz, is it me or this place after all those years still reeks of blood, piss and sweat?”

“It is possible, my lord, that walls have soaked all those odors. For years men were dying, pissing and sweating here. Some did all three in the same time. Good thing they didn’t shat themselves dying, like some do.”                              

Jon said loud when he stepped out, back at the open: “All this must go out, the benches, the chains, the bars… this will be a home of free men, last thing they need is a smell of slavery.”                                                                                         

As they rode out from the former fighting pit, soon to be first garrison of City Guard, back on the streets that led to the R’hllor temple, people swarmed everywhere.                                                                                                        

Some rode litters or sedan chairs, some forked donkeys, many were afoot.                   

Nine of every ten were moving westward, cutting off their path to the R’hllor temple.                                                                                                                                                                                  

A great drum led the wedding procession to clear their way through the streets.

Between each beat, a herald in a shirt of polished copper disks cried for the crowd to part. “They come!” Drum sounded.

“Make way!” Drum sounded.                   

“The pure bride!” Drum sounded. “The illustrious husband!”

Behind the pair which was to be wed, man and woman each in own palanquin, followed their closest kin, after them more distant relations and in the rear the entourage whose role in this wedding was to make guests of importance as comfortable as possible. Procession stretched for a good mile.                                                         

“We have to wait now, I guess…” said the Meereenese man riding next to him.                                                                                  

“How many of them are there?” Jon wondered.                                                              

“Not more than four hundred, that is a middle-sized wedding affair by Ghiscari standards. But, know that on each guest comes at least one servant to tend his or hers needs during feast.” Nakhmaz explained.                                                        

“What sort of needs?”                                                                                             

“Keeping them cooled, bringing them wine, water or other drinks, placing food before them…”                                                                                                                

“Do they put food in their mouths too?”                                                            

Former slave smiled: “Sometimes… all this is remnant of times of slavery. Habits die hard and some like to cling on them as hard as they can.”                           

“How long does their feasts last?” he asked.                                                                        

“Three days. On the day before the ceremony, man’s guests gather and feast at his home, so does the side of the bride…” Nakhmaz gestured with his hand as he was delivering vivid description of wedding customs of his people, though it would be truer to say, people who owned him once.  “…On the day of the ceremony in the Temple of the Graces, each come by their own way before the temple, there man washes the feet of his bride before all those present, then they enter a temple for rites to be performed and four hours later, they come before all as man and wife, bound together wrist and ankle with golden chains. Last day is at the home of the new couple, eating and drinking then retching and eating again… customs of Old Ghis.”

“Aye, but that will die out with this generation or the next. Young oft cast aside the practices of the old. Was not Old Ghis also built on slavery? Its traditions make sense in slaver Meereen, not in this one.” Jon said his mind.

Then he dismounted “…we have to pass through that alley and we’ll be on the way to the temple pyramid, pass the rear of this wedding feast march.”

“Procession is the proper word.” Nakhmaz corrected him.                                                     

“A bloody hindrance would be the right one.” he spat angrily.

They passed through the alley on foot, then mounted their horses again.

Road was clear so they could gallop for a good portion of the way. Then, at the beginning of the climb up the hill where the R’hllor temple pyramid stood, streets were again too crowded, they had to resort to slow trotting.

At the foot of the hill, stood a two-floor high Outlander’s Tavern.

Here traders and passengers from as far as Oldtown and White Harbour mingled with their counterparts from Braavos and Pentos and Myr, with hairy Ibbenese, pale-skinned Qartheen and coal-skinned Summer Islanders.

Outside the Outlander’s Tavern a trestle table had been set up in the shade.

Eight men, lounged around the table, were sometimes calling out to passing women, but mostly were occupied with emptying flagons with wine and ale with oft belching.

Westerosi, Jon concluded at the first sight, drunk beyond their wits, seafarers, some of the North…Arya’s men on a shore leave.                                            

The youngest of them pulled a wooden fife from somewhere, other started singing a gloomy song:

They speak of a sorrow, one unseen before

The shields have been shattered and land's been torn

The battles were lost and the battles were won                                                                            

A fallen father avenged by his son                                                                                                    

My home now calls me and my ships goes forth

On the waves that will take me North.

He listened to the song, it was not known to him, but it made his mind wander off, to the land of his youth. Home…North… images came to him.

Winterfell of his childhood came to his mind.                                                                                    

And then it was replaced with another image, when he watched his two daughters practicing the Braavosi water dance. They had thin wooden swords in hand, made to the liking of Arya’s Needle.                                

Girls slide gracefully across the floor, side by side, so synchronized as one were mirror of the other, turning on their heels, switching swords from one hand to other. It was an image of martial elegance.

“This is home to me now. The only home.” he said aloud rushing his horse up the hill.

That night he couldn’t sleep, not right away, just as he could not last couple of nights.

Wave of heat came from inland, some said it came with high winds all the way from the Red Waste, hundreds of leagues eastward; from whatever place it has originated Jon could not get accustomed to it.

Less than a moon ago he lived in a log cabin on the other side of the world where hottest day was still colder than coldest Meereenese night. He put on his black trousers and sleeveless linen jerkin of dark red color and stepped on the terrace.

Heat was slightly bearable out here, but breeze coming from the sea brought some freshness in the air.

Meereen, just as other Essosi cities in the summer, lived at night when people came out from the shade of their houses, manses, gardens to eat, drink, sing and dance together or just to talk to one another or to fight one another when wine and ale would step in the place of good sense. He could hear the noises coming from the city quarter where temple pyramid stood, ranging from laughter to yelling and singing which in truth more seemed as shrieking.  

Then a sound come from behind which made him turn around.

A small hooded figure in red robe was slowly walking across the terreace.                          

“And who might you be?” he asked. “It’s me, Papa.” the answer came.

“Rhaella?” Dark lilac eyes smiled at him beneath the hood as she nodded.

With hood on her head, Jon now saw even more how his silver-haired daughter looks like Dany.    

“You should be in your bed, Rhae. On the upper level of this pyramid, as I recall.”                                                                                                                

“It’s too warm to sleep.”

“How did you get here? There are guards on that level, keeping you, Lya and your mother safe.”

“There’s an inner stairway, servants use it and the Unsullied don’t guard that.” Rhaella explained.

“You sneak around, Rhae. In servant’s clothes.” Jon smiled as he took her on his lap.

“I wanted to see you, Papa. Why don’t you come to Lya and me anymore?”

“Your mother would not like that.” he said, after a deep sigh.

“She is very mad at you, father. Can’t you beg her to forgive you? She always forgives me when I make her angry.”

Jon smiled and kissed her on her head:

“I wish it was that plain, my sweet. When people grown make each other mad, forgiving is never easy… And I did your mother the greatest wrong…”

Rhaella looked at him, he could tell that she knows nothing of him killing Dany.

“Mama says that soon we’ll be going back to Port Yhos. Will you come there? To be with Lya and me?”

“No, Rhaella, not right away. I must stay here, I have duties here.”

Her eyes watered: “So, you will leave Lya and me again.”

Jon felt pain in his chest.

“No, my daughter, I will never leave you and Lya. Never. You know what you are? Iksā se perzys hen ñuha ābrar. You are the fire of my life.”

Silver-haired girl hugged him firmly and he could hear her soft words: “Avy jorrāelan, Papa.”

It brought tears to his eyes… it was the first time she told him that.

“I love you too, sweet Rhaella.” She parted embrace and said: “I must go back now.”

He nodded: “Go or you’ll make Daenerys angry. But before you leave, I want you to promise me that you will never disobey Muña. Here or in Port Yhos.”

“Even when she tells that Lya and me can’t be with you?”

“Aye, even then.” Jon said, though his voice trembled.

Chapter Text

Hardhome, Westeros, year 316 After Conquest

GAWEN

The horn cried, long and low, now coming from the other side.                                   

Gawen Glover begun to hate the sound of horns. One that sounded now was not horn of friends, but of foes.

“To the walls,” Gawen Glover told his men. He turned his own steps for the barely five days before built new watchtower, with Benjicot Branch, right behind him.

The wooden watchtower was the tallest thing this side of the Frostfangs, rising twenty feet above the biggest sentinels and pines in the surrounding woods. “There, m’lord!” said Eddard Forrester, when he made the platform.

Gawen saw only trees and shadows, the moonlit hills and the snowy peaks.

Then he saw them, cloaked in the tree branches, it seemed as first line of forest is moving closer towards the outer palisade of the Northern garrison at Hardhome like a slow green tide.

“Scores, hundreds of them!”

“We cannot fight so many,” Benjicot said.                                                                 

“The more there are, the more the glory.” insisted Forrester.

Fuck glory and fuck honors… beyond grave one can taste neither… Gawen reasoned. Eastwatch was long leagues away. Would they do better to stand and fight behind Hardhome’s wooden walls?

“In the morning us or them will feast with forefathers.”

Eddard Forrester stroked his axe as if he could not wait.

“A living man can find a proper feast more easily than a dead one. Let the wildlings keep their haunted forest. We are retreating to Eastwatch.”                                                                               

“My lord,” said Benjicot “here we have the walls, but if we go marching south to Eastwatch they’ll carve us bit by bit along the way.”

“And should we stay here they will butcher as all at once.” he replied.

“A ram!” a voice shouted down from the walls. “They have a battering ram!”              

“For fook sake! Wildlings with battering ram?!” he shouted “What side?”                                                                                                         

“West!”

From beyond the fort’s wooden walls came the sudden sound of trumpets.

Trumpets ? Wildlings with trumpets?

That was odd, but Gawen had no time to ruminate about it.                                                                                                                     

“Open the south gate,” he commanded, even as the western wooden wall shook to the impact of the ram. He pulled his longsword from the scabbard across his shoulder.

“My brothers. Now comes the hour of the spear, the sword, the axe. Mount up! We ride south. We ride for home!”                                                                                            

From a hundred throats came roars of “Home!” and “Glover!”

Home. His home, home of most of these hundred men were Deepwood Motte. Hundreds of leagues away, in the south, not far from the sea.

But it was not the same sea on whose coast Hardhome sits, at Storrold’s Point.

This was a sheltered bay with natural harbour deep enough for the biggest ships afloat. A proper place for Kingdom of the North to establish its northernmost port.

Queen Sansa may not be to one’s liking but she is a clever and able woman; Gawen thought of his ruler; one into whose heart and bed my friend and ally Elric Karstark has found his way, out of true affection or pure lust, it mattered not, but this conquest of the Gift and land north of the wall was their joint labour. And it goes well…

Wood and stone are plentiful near Hardhome.

The waters teem with fish, and there are colonies of seals and sea cows close at hand. A great cliff looms above the settlement, pocked with cave mouths.

Hardhome was once close to becoming the only true town north of the Wall. Before its destruction.

In one night, six hundred years ago Hardhome was destroyed. Something terrible happened that night; the accounts of it are uncertain. Its people are said to have been carried off into slavery by slavers from across the Narrow Sea or slaughtered for meat by cannibals out of Skagos, depending on the tale one chooses to believe.                                                                 

Homes of those who lived at Hardhome in the hour of destruction were said to have burned with flames so high and hot that the watchers on the Wall far to the south thought the sun was rising in from the north.                                         

Afterwards, ashes rained down on the haunted forest and the Shivering Sea alike for almost half a year.                                                                                       

Traders and a ship sent by the Night's Watch to investigate reported only nightmarish devastation where Hardhome had stood, a landscape of charred trees and burned bones, waters choked with swollen corpses and blood-chilling shrieks echoing from the cave mouths that pock the great cliff that looms above the settlement, a cliff where no living man or woman could be found. After that Hardhome was shunned.

The wildlings never settled the site again, and rangers roaming north of the Wall told tales of the overgrown ruins of Hardhome being haunted by ghouls, demons, and burning ghosts with an unhealthy taste for blood.                                                                                         

Tales for old women to scare little children, Gawen knew.

Northerners can be a superstitious people and that goes twice for the wildlings, a lot with no maesters or learned men of any sort to teach them knowledge instead of folk tales.

The tale of new Hardhome, one of Queen Sansa and the Northern crown, begun well, more than well, some would say dreamlike.

Northern force of three hundred men on horseback but also with wagons and carts crossed on the other side of the now useless Wall nearly three moons ago and met no troubles, from nature or from men.

As the Northern cavalry progressed to Storrold’s Point, road followed, as sappers and timber men cleared the way. At the ruins of Hardhome, a wooden fort was built.

It was a plain construction, in shape of a square, with eastern gate looking at the sea and planned to be extended with a long pier for ships and boats to dock. Western gate looked at the other side of Storrold’s Point.

Southern gate was fort’s only land way to the rest of the Kingdom of the North. There were five smaller watchtowers on the walls and the much taller one added later in the yard of the fort.

Its height collided with the size of fort itself, but it was necessity when things took turn for the worse and founding a new Hardhome, which Elric Karstark wanted to rename into Queensport, to honor his ruler and lover Sansa, came into question.                                                                                                              

Wildlings. Free Folk. Once allies in the war against the Night King, now bitter enemies again. Dumb goatfuckers, Gawen oft mulled, they saw how we live south of the Wall and yet they don’t want any of that, only to live as savages in the woods and caves.

Attacks started small, one missing scout, then another.

It was no longer safe to cut timber in the woods nearby the growing fort of Hardhome.

Then ranging party was ambushed. It all reminded of the wildling attacks from the old days. Till the day when baggage train coming up the road from Eastwatch-by-the-Sea was sacked, all the horses killed, all the carts and the wagons burned. And all the men that were with the supplies butchered.                               

Mounted patrol from Hardhome rode out to see the source of smoke rising over the haunted forest and saw fifty heads of Northerners on spikes, one for each quarter of a mile.

On first and last spiked head, a piece of animal hide was nailed on a dead man’s forehead with scribbled message: “headpoles go from hardome to wall other time”.

This screamed for vengeance and reprisal with no mercy and none would have been given to any wildling able to carry a spear if such were to be found.

Both men from fort in Hardhome and those sent from the North, close to five hundred strong, swept the land from Storrold’s Point to the First of the First Men. And found nothing.

Wildling villages, some just few years settled, were empty.

That called back the days when tens of thousands of wildlings were united under Night’s Watch deserter Mance Ryder. There were not so many of them left now, mayhaps even ten times fewer than when they charged at the Wall led by Mance only to get crushed under hooves of Stannis Baratheon’s army. But they were out there and were an unwanted barrier to the cause of the greater North.                                                                                                             

Supply line on the road from Eastwatch to Hardhome now asked for more escort and only cavalry could answer that task, cavalry that Northern kingdom had precious few to begin with, it was not easy to regain the depleted strength in horse after the wars that took place since Ned Stark was beheaded and lasted until Sansa Stark was crowned queen.                                                                                           

First wagons with food provisions, timber and other equipment for the builders with escort of five score of mounted men passed unharmed, as did the second baggage train. Building of the fort was now in final stage, it could provide shelter for a garrison of five scores of men, all walls save the eastern one that looked to the sea were raised as were all the watchtowers on those walls.                             

Third convoy with supplies came to Hardhome and reported no harassing along the way.

With food, clothes, building material it brought new men to relieve some of those who were guarding Queensport to be since the first day when only ancient ruins, overgrown with dark ivy, rested in the place of future Northern port.                                                                                                                              

On the fourth day upon arrival, now empty wagons and wayn carts assembled, men who were relieved climbed up on them and slow trek southwards began.

Two and thirty horse or mule driven wheeled transports sloughed over the muddied road, rain fell heavily the night before, and train stretched for three quarters of a mile, from van to rear-guard.                                                                             

It has passed across the Storrold’s Point, a rocky ground with only seldom trees growing along the road, before entering into the thick wooden halls of haunted forest.                                                                                                                               

The road Northerners built followed the coastline where ever it was possible so that only one side of that forest trail would be facing woods which removed the threat of ambushes from both flanks.

A clever presumption, when wildlings, a folk belligerent but still lacking knowledge of true art of warfare, are in question. Wildlings however were able to pull new tricks, as baggage train returning to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea learned that day.

As wagons and carts came on the part of the road which left the coastline and arched into the forest for two miles only to emerge back over the Shivering Sea, it had begun.

Three trunks of tall sentinel trees came crushing on the road, one above the other, reaching the height of average man and blocking the pass of the main part of the train which fell behind the vanguard, same took place half a mile up the road and men and wagons on the rear were cut off from the rest.

Horns sounded alarum on all sides, mounted escort from head of now in three parts sliced column, turned their horses back to ride in assistance of the main… then chain hidden on the ground by the mud was tightened across the road as galloping men came closer. First rider broke his neck as chain struck him below the chin, others were thrown off their horses, only last few managed to lean sideways in their saddles and ride below it.

Then arrows came, from everywhere, from the thick bushes, behind the wide oak trunks, from the tree tops. Men and horses both were dying, some Northerners taking dozen hits and still stumbling as two-legged pin cushions.

Form the line, form the line, officers shouted, shields and spears…shields and spears… then some fool among the officers shouted: Dismount!                                                                                                                               

A commander of foot soldiers by trade, no doubt, it was an idiocy to order cavalry to dismount on the narrow forest road…                                                                 

Kingsroad of the Seven Kingdoms built by Jaehaerys the Wise was not much compared to the roads Old Valyria once built all over Essos and this newly laid woodland road from Eastwatch to Hardhome was a poor aping of the Kingsroad.

As mounted escort were now on foot and taking cover behind the wagons or their own shields, there was not enough place for both men and horse so they had to chase them away to get clear view of the woods from where death was still coming on the arrow tips.

Riderless horses galloped down the road, some with arrows sticking from them, but only the mounts of the vanguard could flee, those of the main part of the wagon train were trapped between the tree trunks that lay on the road dividing main from the van on one side and from the rear on the other.

The rear-guard fell apart first, yet unseen enemy had targeted and struck down any man who even remotely resembled an officer or commander or knight, rear traditionally had mostly non-fighting men, from cooks to smiths and other craftsmen to soldiers ridden with illness or wounds. Those on the rear able to run or ride, retreated in disarray towards Hardhome, but only few made it there as wildlings now slew them as they were trapped beasts, some even threw themselves of the cliffs into the sea to avoid being butchered.                                       

"Kill the fucking horses! Kill them!” shouted commanders at the main part of the column, horses were now so spooked they charged back and forth, from one blockade of trunks to another, running over everything and everyone on their path.

The line of shields and spears was never formed and arrows rained on the trapped column from one side of the road, then from another, as if attackers were taking turns.                                                                                                      

Bowmen on the wagons tried to shoot back, but without shield cover soon were struck down. “

Flee, leave the wagons, flee!” It was the only choice as losses were piling… all men from the column’s main went running south, where the vanguard was, some tried climbing up the trunks blocking the road, others crawling beneath it in complete disorder. Dozens more died or were wounded by arrows.

Vanguard managed to form a shield line; their cavalry returned seeing no aid to the rest of the train was possible. Sounds of slaughter behind them were heard, screams of horror by both men and animals, but they came under no attack.

Then they’ve heard sound of horn coming from down the road.                                   

Sound calling a charge. Then they saw horsemen, some thirty of them, dressed not as wildlings but as men of the North.

A Stark banner flew above them.                

“Rescue! Rescue is here!”                                                                                        

Soldiers cheered and shield line fell apart, expecting to be saved.

As first riders approached, they rode past the first wagons of the van and then one holding the spear with direwolf banner lowered it and run it through one of the officers who cheered standing on the wagon.

Thirty riders cut down their Northern counterparts as they rode by them and then forest showered the van with arrows, mercilessly as it did the rear and the main.

It all ended less than hour later. North lost nearly quarter of thousand men, of that hundred mounted troops. Wagons and carts were burned, wounded horses and mules slain, others stolen.                                                                        

One of the Northern officers on the vanguard was crawling with arrow sticking from his thigh when black-clad man leading those thirty riders came over him.

“Mercy blow, I beg you, my lord…” officer pleaded “do not let them butcher me.”                                                       “

My lord… I am not a lord…”                                                                                     

“You’re not a wildling either…” officer spoke thru his teeth, gritted of pain                                                                 

“No, but I fight for their cause. There will be no mercy blow, no butchery, you will ride south to your ginger wolf queen and you will tell her: the North has forgotten but the Free Folk remembers.”                                                               

“Whose…whose message… I’ll be delivering?”                                                     

“Message of the King beyond the Wall.” man dressed in black said.

“King beyond the Wall?!” shouted in rage the Queen in the North, walking across her chamber in Winterfell “What kind of nonsense is that? Wildlings who never bend the knee now have king?”

Gawen stood by Elric Karstark and both listened their Queen in silence. Wisest choice, knowing the temper of Sansa Stark when she was displeased. And she was more than so that day.

“Two hundred-thirty-seven Northerners slaughtered! Their head on spikes are now used as league-posts from first yard beyond the Wall to Hardhome!

And there are no two hundred-thirty-seven leagues in that road, barely so many miles, if more of our men had died the wildlings could have used them to mark furlongs!”                                                                                                                     

“Your Grace, all the survivor accounts agree in one. This ambush was not done how wildlings usually do it, it was done how armies of Westeros lay ambushes.” Elric Karstark said.                                                                                                  

“And that man who called himself King beyond the Wall, he was no wildling.”

“Then who was he?” Sansa asked.

Glover and Karstark looked at each other. “Your Grace, that man spoke as no wilding and was dressed whole in black. We cannot rule out the possibility that…” Gawen started and Karstark continued: ,,

“… that your bastard brother Jon Snow is leading the wildlings against us.”

Sansa dismissed that notion with hand gesture: “That is madness even to think. Jon would never raise sword against the North, he was our king for all the gods sake.”

“Your Grace, our scouts ranged the land near the Antler River before this wildling rebellion started and they have found abandoned log cabin with lot of things that belonged to the Night’s Watch...”

Elric said “…it could be that he left from there when he joined the rebels.”

“And our men claim to have seen the huge white wolf roaming the haunted forest with the wildlings.” Gawen added.

“We are not going to discuss this further; those are just hearsay and apparitions that men ranging the forests for too long begin to see.” Sansa said irritated.

“If proven true, Your Grace?” asked young Karstark.

“If proven true, Jon Snow will hang as any other traitor. Is that clear enough?” she cut him off “Now, my lords, what do you propose North should do to quench this rebellion?”  

“Your Grace, if Queensport is ever to exist, we must remain the presence in Hardhome, no matter the cost. And the cost will not be this high ever again, I assure you of that.” Elric proclaimed.                                                                            

“Oh, and how are you so sure of that?” she replied, unimpressed.                                  

“We have one advantage over those savages which we have not exploited enough. Not at all, I dare say.”

“And that is?” Sansa asked.                                        

“Sea. Ships. We can supply Hardhome by the sea.”

North had no strength at sea for thousands of years.

Since the days of King in the North Brandon Stark, known as Brandon the Shipwright due to his love of the sea.                                                                                                             

Thousands of years before the dragons came to Westeros, king Brandon attempted to sail across the Sunset Sea, but was never seen again. His son and heir burned the remaining ships in his grief, and is thus known as King Brandon the Burner.

After that, North, when still independent or later under dragon kings, never has shown ambition to build a proper war or merchant fleet.                                                                                                                           

Only fleet that North had was at White Harbor, owned by the House Manderly who themselves were not of the North but settled at what today is White Harbor when Starks accepted them as their new bannermen.                                    

House Manderly was driven from the Reach by the Gardener Kings, thousand years ago before the Aegon’s Conquest.                                                                        

Now, those ships became of utmost importance to the Kingdom of the North.

Gawen Glover was appointed the new commander of Hardhome fort.

Road from Eastwatch to the fort was no longer used except for fast horse rides of scouts and messengers, of those most could break through. Most, not all. Gawen soon realised that Hardhome was now a gaol.

 A dungeon made of wood with watchtowers and guards on the battlements, equally keeping the Widlings out as it were keeping me and my men in, he thought.

Supplies by the sea came regularly, there was no complain about that.

Cogs from White Harbour could dock at the partly build pier with no difficulty.

What remain unanswered is to whom will Queensport serve when and if founded one day…Glover pondered… one day when ships from across the Narrow Sea come, from Braavos, Myr, Tyrosh, even Volantis… where shall be that cargo going?

With wildlings butchering Northerners, who would be like to settle beyond the Wall? No one with any ounce of good reasoning left. And these Free Folk as they call themselves will never bend the knee to Sansa.

And wildlings were not to leave ship-supplied Northern fort of Hardhome at peace.

Every night some of the guards on the walls would be killed or wounded by arrow. Outside the fort, it was safe to roam till the edge of the woods.                

After that, life of Glover men was short and cheap and death was gruesome, by axe or sword or rock smashing the skull. Still, it was only a testing of the strength.

Glover had six-score strong garrison stationed at the fort which burst at the seams.                                                                                                             

Works on the expanding of the fort were put at halt after the wildling first attack, construction that was planned to take in tenfold as many men, was now barely holding slightly more over hundred. 

It mattered not that night, as battering ram broke through the western wall. Eddard Forrester galloped up beside him on a tall stallion. The way was clear. For how long?                                                                                                                

“Move out!” Gawen drove his heels into his horse’s flanks.

Men and mounts alike were trotting by the time they aimed for the line of trees on the far side of barren field that lay before the south gate of now fallen fort.    

They pressed on south when someone at his right side yelled:“Shield wall! Shield wall!”                                                                                        

Other voice shouted: “Spears, beware of spears!” followed by loud, painful screams of horses. Pikes. Pikes behind the wall of shields.                                                                            .                                                                                                 

His men rode into the thick wall of shields blocking the road, behind which were men holding twenty feet long wooden spears.

First two lines of mounted Northerners impaled themselves and horses, men that followed tried to halt their mounts but slammed into horses before them, those already wounded or dying.

Gawen could see the enemy coming from the darkness, lining up their left and right flank, holding crossbows.                                                                 

Wildlings with crossbows… what fuckery is this?

 Bolts came flying like swarm of bees, killing his men with precision, without giving quarter.                                                                                                     

It was over soon. The failed retreat of garrison of Hardhome fort down the Eastwatch road.                                                                                                     

Gawen lay on his back, four bolts nested in his front side, he stared at the sky, at clouds driven north by the wind.                                                                                 

A man came to him with reddened sword, clothes dark as this night:                          

“Sigil of House Glover…” he pointed at his bloodstained leather jerkin.                                                                                                        

“Gawen of House…Glover…” he nodded “…king beyond the Wall... are you?”

“Nah… that’s just for the jape…” man replied                                                          

“Then... with whom do… I have this… displeasure...?” he fought to finish sentences.

“Ah… finally a man who is not shite at dying.” man said and presented himself: “Ser Bronn of the Blackwater is the name…”                                                              

Gawen’s face was now of pain and bewilderment.                                                         

"I’ll deliver the mercy blow now, my lord.” man said with solemn tone.                                                                      

“I will be grateful to you, Ser.” Gawen acknowledged.                                                                   

Then all went dark for the lord of Deepwood Motte.

Chapter Text

Dragonstone, Westeros, year 316 After Conquest

MASTER OF SHIPS

It was a place of dark reputation. For many years. To the most of people.

To him it was a place of memories.

Of kings and queens whom he served and of people which stood beside them.                

Of stern but just Stannis Baratheon, true heir of his brother Robert, killed in hunt by a boar, but beast had assistance of his wife, Cersei from House Lannister.                                                                                                                        

Of Red Woman, Melisandre of Asshai. He watched her giving birth to a shadow which slain Renly Baratheon. Later he watched her bringing back to life one honourable man.

And he watched her die in the snow of Winterfell, he wanted to kill her himself for what she did to Princess Shireen of House Baratheon, she and Stannis, her father, then truly lost to the sorcery of the R’hllor.                                              

They burned that sweet child at the stake as offering to the Lord of Light.                             

It gave them no victory against the Boltons.                                                                     

It was end for Stannis himself.

He then thought of young Targaryen queen, silver-haired beauty sitting on the throne of her ancestor Aegon when he and young Northerner arrived to seek her help.

What a duel of wills it was among these two young rulers that day and in some days that followed; later he saw how they look at each other and he knew that something was lit between them… just woman and honorable man... it did not last.                                                                                                                     

He thought of her adviser from island of Naath, woman of kindest heart he’s ever known, sold into slavery as a little girl she did not hate, was not resentful... even now he could see her curly hair and soft voice.

The way she was taken from this world… Cersei Lannister should have died thousand times worse death than she did.

His mind went back to the young Northerner. Melisandre brought him back among the living after his own men betrayed him and stabbed him to death.

Targaryen queen loved him and he loved her but his honor compelled him to do the worst crime for greater good. For that he was exiled to the same place whence he came from.

He would have been a great king, had he wanted the crown, this was carved in his mind, but he was not after crown or power.

It was always hurtful for him to think of Jon Snow. He urged the Red Woman to bring him back from the dead and then he served as adviser to this young man, from Castle Black to the Battle of Bastards, from Dragonstone to the Battle of King’s Landing.

I didn’t even say a proper goodbye to the lad when the great lords of Westeros agreed to ship him back to the Wall, just to please the Unsullied… and that Greyjoy woman. Jon did not deserve that… what world exiles its saviours.

And he did save us all from the wrath of the woman he loved… the woman who lost her mind, plunging into hatred and delusion. I’m sorry, lad… mayhaps I could have done more back then…it is too late now. Gods only know if you’re still among the living.

Man was deep in his thoughts as he walked at slow pace across the island heading to the castle.

It was said that Dragonstone was built by Valyrians with arcane arts, dragon fire and sorcery. Dragonlords being capable of melting and reshaping stone with dragonflames used their magic to shape Dragonstone to look like multiple dragons. A grim place.

The Valyrians had raised it, after all, and all their works stank of sorcery, said Kevan Lannister, Tywin’s younger brother, once.

The citadel of Dragonstone is wrought all of black stone.                                       

Statues in the shape of dragons can be found all over the castle…small dragons framing gates and dragon claws holding torches.                              

A pair of great wings cover the armory and smithy and dragon tails form archways and staircases. Doors can be set in the mouths of stone dragons.       

Instead of merlons on the top of the towers, grotesques and gargoyles serve as brooding crenellations along the three curtain walls.                                                          

The Great Hall is carved in the shape of a huge dragon lying on its belly; its doors are set in the mouth and those entering pass through its mouth.                              

The kitchens resemble a curled-up dragon where the smoke and heat vented through its nostrils.

Most known artifact of the castle is the Painted Table set on the top floor of the Stone Drum tower.                                                                                 

Chamber where table is placed has four tall directional windows and bare black walls. It holds a large table, carved and painted in the form of a detailed map of Westeros.                                                                                                              

From here, three-hundred and sixteen years before, Aegon the Conqueror planned his invasion of Westeros.                                 

The Painted Table is more than fifty feet long: about twenty-five feet wide at its widest point and four feet at its thinnest.

He was here many times, standing next to Stannis Baratheon, then next to Daenerys Targaryen and Jon Snow.

Man’s name was Ser Davos Seaworth, some called him the Onion Knight, then he served as Master of Ships on the Small Council of King Bran the Broken.

At the age of six and sixty years, when this three-hundred and sixteenth year after Aegon’s Conquest began, it was enough for him.

He decided to retire and return to his wife in their small holdfast at Cape Wrath in Stormlands. He came home for good after almost twenty years of coming and going.                           

He was done with halls and councils of kings.            

I was a better smuggler than a knight, a better knight than a King's Hand, a better King's Hand than a husband.                                                                                          

I am so sorry. Marya, I have loved you. Please forgive the wrongs I did you. 

He said to his wife when he came back. Wife who waited for him all those years, raising their youngest children.

Then a rider came. Not a raven, a rider, sennight and a half ago.                                          

Come to Dragonstone. I’ll be there on eleventh day after you’ve read this. Archmaester.

He mulled about this message for a day or two.

Then he decided that if message were true, his friend from the Small Council could be in need of him, in some sort of trouble.

If message were decoy, he’s long ago learned how to watch death in the face.

Davos donned his simple brown and green wool mantle, beneath his old leather jerkin and brown breeches. He put on his old boots.

It was him from six and ten years ago, when he sailed to the Blackwater Bay with Stannis to take King’s Landing…. It was him of then only by clothes.                                                                        

Man wearing it was not. He was older and tired.

He took the boat with seven other men from his household and sailed from Shipbreaker Bay, going past the island of Tarth, boat was in the Narrow Sea.             

In the sunset of fourth day of voyage, tenth since rider came with the message, he set foot on the beach of Dragonstone.                                                                        

He could even see the entrance to that cave where dragonglass was mined for defence of the North against the White Walkers. First memory of many that swarmed his mind as he slowly paced to the castle.

Castle of Dragonstone was abandoned.

Sealed, would be the proper term. When Dragon Queen fell, all of her men left Westeros and castle was once again home to no king or queen or lord.

New king ordered for this castle to stay vacant, unused, his gates sealed. Home only to haunting memories of failed dreams of ruling. And, yet, he was summoned here by his friend.

Archmaester Samwell, once of House Tarly, once of Night’s Watch.

There he was, waiting him at the Chamber of the Painted Table.                              

Dark hair, pale eyes, large moon-shaped face. Obese, too much for his age and he was of half the years which Davos had.

He was not dressed in archmaesters robes, but in his clothes from the times he served as brother of the Night’s Watch. Black cloak over black leather tunic and black breeches.

“Ser Davos…” he nodded.

“Archmaester...” old man replied.                                   

“Sam will do just fine…” younger man said “… was the sea kind to you?”                  

“It was…why have we met here. You could have visited me at Cape Wrath, in my home.”

“It had to be here, my lord, in this empty castle.”                                                     

“Why?” he asked.                               

“I am man of learning, of books and science, Ser Davos. And yet I have dealt with enough magic and sorcery in my life thus far as seldom maester before me.”                                                

“Hardly an answer. Why are we on Dragonstone?” man who once was a smuggler asked.                                                                                                               

“To make sure he will not see us, not in present time at least.” young Tarly replied.                                                                                     

“Who?”                                                                                                             

“Our king. One we call the broken.”                                                                             

“What are you talking about, Tarly?! Why should I be hiding from my King? I served him for ten bloody years!” Davos shouted with gestures that seek explanations.

Samwell took a deep breath before answering, his face was red and sweaty: “Ser Davos, the King you served, our King would want you to be hidden from him, he would want not to know where you are.”                                                               

“You’re making even less sense, lad.” old man’s voice now sounded with anger and Samwell noticed that.

“My lord, a fortnight ago, I was with King Bran. He’s been of poor health last two moons, but it is not a matter of illness, of fever or ache of any kind. It is as king’s mind has split asunder, Ser Davos. As he argues with himself…”                            

“It is not easy for such a young man to wield powers that Bran has, mayhaps it is just a passing moment of weakness.” he replied.                                           

“I wish it were, my lord.” Samwell sighed “I thought that too, but then, that evening in Godswood of Red Keep, he warged into me.”                                                 

“He did what?!”                                                                                                                 

“He did what he does to ravens, what he used to do with his wolf... he overtook my mind.” Sam told him in one breath.                                                                              

“I know what warging is and I know that Bran said in first days of his reign he’ll never do that on a man or woman.” Davos responded.                                                    

“I know that, but truly, Ser Davos, I am glad he did it. For it was not my thoughts he wanted to see, no, he wanted me to learn his...”                                     

“What did you learn?!” Seaworth asked with tone of surprise and curiosity.

Samwell took another breath: “Bran… I think it was Bran… told me that I must prevent a vile crime that voice ordered using his mouth… crime of murdering innocents…”

“What are you talking about, lad?! A voice?”

“Ser Davos, Bran… the Three Eyed Raven has learned of something hidden for many years… he learned that Daenerys Stormborn is alive.”                                  

“That’s impossible.” Davos replied.                                                                                

“My lord, of all the living, you should be the last one to say that. You saw Jon coming back from the dead… same was done to her. She lives.”                               

“Hardly she is innocent. No wonder Bran wants her dead. Again.” old man replied when his mind allowed that notion of Targaryen queen living could be true.                                                                                                                              

“Not her, Ser Davos… her children… children Jon sired…Bran said his mouth ordered them killed…”

Davos grabbed closest chair next to the Painted Table and sunk on it.                               

“Seven hells… are you sure that is what he told you, you could be wrong…Bran once told me to warg a man could ruin his mind forever...”                                 

“What more proof do you need that Bran desperately wanted to share that; he knew he could do me damage…"

Samwell continued “…he saw his sister… the one who went at high seas… he saw her beyond the Wall… saw her telling someone of Daenerys and his children living in the east… in Meereen most likely… who else could that be but Jon...”

Young Tarly also sat down.                                                                           

“Oh… for fuck sake… but that mean she’s been alive for many years now and we never heard of her… in all those years she didn’t came after us, to rain fire and blood on us again…mayhaps she still could, but why did he ordered for the children to be killed…?! If they’re Jon’s that makes them Bran’s nephews or cousins for the love of all the gods…” Davos said loudly.                                                                          

“It was not Bran who ordered it. There is not much of a Bran left...”                                                                       

“Why would Three Eyed Raven ordered something so vicious as slaying of innocent children…all these years we believed him to be on the side of the good...” Seaworth’s voice echoed all over the chamber.                                          

“It was or it wasn’t the Raven, mayhaps I err in judgement, but… when he warged me I could hear Bran’s voice and another trying to loud him over and it did in the end…that voice drove Bran out from my mind… then I saw our King slumped in his chair.”

“What does all that mean!?” Davos asked, utterly bewildered.                                         

“I am unsure, my lord. Either the Three Eyed Raven has two faces, one good and other vile… or there is another one in the mortal body what once were Brandon Stark. I am not a man of magic, Ser Davos, but I will not deny its existence nor its powers.

What I know is that Bran wanted me to act and to prevent that crime of spilling innocent blood. Blood that will pull our Realm into chaos and disarray from which it will never recover.” Sam said in somber tone.

“Why did you call me, an old man, to tell me this? You have Brienne of Tarth, you have Tyrion.”                                                                                                         

“My lord, Ser Brienne has gone home to Tarth, to be at her father’s deathbead, Lord Selywn has been very ill since this year begun… And Tyrion… King’s Hand is wholly involved in arranging that murder of Daenerys and her children comes to pass.

He travelled to Myr for that purpose.”

“Seven bloody hells… has the Imp gone mad?” Davos yelled. “He served the Dragon Queen to the bitter end and now he wants her dead?”                                      

“He did serve her and he betrayed her. He is afraid of her coming back, ever. Moreover, Tyrion was the one who proposed Bran Stark as elected king, he will serve him too till the bitter end.

I am afraid that Lord Hand is becoming more and more as his dead father and dead sister. Ruthless more than he is clever.”

Davos asked again: “Still, what can I do to help you, Samwell? I am old and tired, never been much of a fighter, not even much of a talker…”                                 

“Aye, but you were a seafarer and smuggler, my lord. That makes you the best choice.”                                                                                                                   

“Choice for what, young Tarly?”                                                                                    

“To go to Meereen this very night. To find the Targaryens and assure them that true king of Six Kingdoms does not want them dead, surely not his own blood.”

“You value my life that small, archmaester?” Davos asked.                                           

“I value your wisdom, my lord, Daenerys and you have no bad blood, I dare to say the contrary, she liked you all those years ago… a fastest ship I could get from Redwyne fleet awaits you.”

Davos shook his head, remained silent for a long while weighing his options and then said: “If I am to go to Essos, even if only in Meereen, how will I find them? That city has as many people as King's Landing. If not more.”

Samwell nodded, then said: “Arya Stark. Go to ports, seek her ship. She should have Stark sigil on her sails.”

“Arya Stark... another woman long presumed dead. Well… fuck me…” old man said.                                                                                        

“You're too old for my taste..." Samwell japed.                                                                                                                   

“Young maester Tarly, if I come back from Meereen alive, I’ll have a word with your Free Folk wife. You’ve become rude in your more mature years, lad.”

“Agreed. Just come back alive, Ser Davos. Realm has a shortage of men like you.”

“Samwell, I will need a favor of you. To bring a letter to my wife… gods… if Daenerys does not kill me, Marya Seaworth would. After just few moons of being home, her husband is leaving again.”                                                                                      

“I’ll go to Cape Wrath the moment you sail for Meereen, my lord.” 

Davos gave him a long gaze before asking: "Why are you doing this, Tarly? She burned your father and your brother. One would expect you to be on the same side as Imp is."

"Now you wrong me, Ser Davos. Yes, she did burn Dickon and my father, but that is no reason for her children to be killed. I am Tarly. Not a Lannister. My house does not have history of butchering innocent babes. I blame not children for the sins of their mother." Samwell of House Tarly, archmaester of the Citadel replied.

Chapter Text

Gulltown, Westeros, year 316 After Conquest

QUEEN OF SALT AND ROCK

Off to Gulltown to see the fair maid,
heigh-ho, heigh-ho.
I'll steal a sweet kiss with the point of my blade,
heigh-ho, heigh-ho.
I'll make her my love and we'll rest in the shade,
heigh-ho, heigh-ho.

“Loose!”

A trebuchet mounted on a bow of Iron Victory, the flagship of the Iron Fleet, launched another flaming projectile into the walls of Gulltown.

Gulltown was the major port of the Vale of Arryn.
It was a fine harbor, at the northern tip of the Bay of Crabs, south and east of the Eyrie and south of nearby Runestone.
Gulltown was closest that Vale had to a city, still it appeared like a village in comparison with other port cities in Westeros, King's Landing, Lannisport and Oldtown.
This was important port and entrance to the Vale with sheltered harbor offering anchorage to ships traveling from King's Landing to Braavos or the North.
It never lacked for trade in many of the exotic goods making their way from across the Narrow Sea, keeping the Vale supplied even when the passes of the Mountains of the Moon are closed in winter.

Gulltown has fine seamstresses, she recalled hearing somewhere, that will not help them now.

Yara Greyjoy stood at the helm of her flagship watching how forty ships of the Iron Fleet bombards the walls with flaming stones coated in tar and oil from trebuchets or with huge bolts from scorpions, a smaller kind of ballista mounted on ship’s prow.
Assault lasted for over two hours now and defenders could not do much save running across the battlements in search of a better cover.
With Iron Victory there were other warships of the Ironborn.
Iron Vengeance, Maiden's Bane, Iron Wind, White Widow, Iron Lady, Lamentation, Reaper's Wind, Kraken's Kiss…
Trebuchets on the ships were scaled down versions of their land counterparts but large enough to deliver serious blows to any walled city, town or fort.

Warhammer’s burning stone shot went over the walls and struck the Motherhouse of Maris, symbol of faith in Seven in this town.
Crews from other ships cheered.
Ironborn do not hold faith in seven gods, they believe in their own, in Drowned God.
Iron Kiss fired flaming scorpion’s bolt and hit Gull Tower which brought another salvo of cheering.

Yara decided for Iron Islands to go at war with Vale. She had a good reasoning.
Vale, without consulting the King of Six Kingdoms, sent aid in men and arms to Kingdom of the North, thus getting involved in foreign war as interventionist. Robin Arryn sent help to his cousin Sansa.
Pyke followed the suit and now openly joined in that fray, but on the other side, on the side of the Free Folk.

To the people of Six Kingdoms, both Northerners and wildlings were now foreigners, same as Essosi from across the Narrow Sea.
If Vale with that breastmilk fed lord Sweetrobin considers justified to march into foreign queen’s war without asking permission from the King or the Small Council, so can Ironborn decide at our own will whom to support;
Yara concluded and longboats from the Iron Islands came in number with men and weapons to the Bay of Ice and disembark at the Westwatch-by-the-Bridge to be joined with the wildlings.

It was on the other side of the lands beyond the Wall where Ironborn have crossed swords and axes with the Knights of the Vale, at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea.

That former castle of the Night’s Watch became a launching point of Northern invasion of the wildling lands and it was of utmost need to drive Stark men out of there, further south.
The ground at ruined castle of the Crows, as their new allies called the Night’s Watch, was soaked and slippery, equal parts of mud and blood.
Before them, behind the palisade men were turning, hurriedly trying to brace for the shock. Dozens of men, dressed in animal hide or in salt stained leather, charged with lifted axes shouting True North! or Kraken!

Meldred Merlyn of Pebbleton, island of Great Wyk, lead the Ironborn, two hundred of them, together with twice as that many of the Free Folk against the Northerner camp at Eastwatch.

As they reached the first line of defence, Meldred heard anguished screams, the hungry crackle of fire lit by the flaming arrows, the shuddering of war-horns, he saw his men and the foes crawling at the wooden palisade, one to tore it down, other to keep it standing, men burned and bleeding, coughing from smoke, staggering, many dying.
A spearman wearing the orange coated shield depicting a brown bull moose, sigil of House Hornwood drove the point of his weapon up through the chest of Meldred’s horse before he could dismount, almost spilling the Ironborn from the saddle.

Meldred hacked off the man’s head as he flashed by, and by then it was too late to rein up.
His garron leapt up as if horse wanted to shake the spear tip off, landing with a splash and a scream in ankle-deep mud.
Madness followed.
His horse was killed under him, blood gushed from poor animal's throat, drenching his arms and chest.
He managed to get on his feet again and lurched to the palisade, and then he was fighting, staggering and splashing across crooked wooden poles.
Northerners came at him.
Some he killed instantly, some he wounded, and some run before his axe, but always there were more.
He lost his short sword and gained a broken spear; he didn't know how. He clutched it and stabbed, shrieking curses.
Meldred stabbed one man in the kidney when his back was turned, and grabbed another by the leg and upended him onto the broken poles of the palisade, impaling him.
Arrows hissed past his head and clattered off his helm; one lodged between shoulder and his breastplate armor, arrows tip stuck in the chainmail hauberk he wore beneath, but he never felt it.

Large portion of the palisade went down as some wildlings, not sparing their own lives, attached three iron hooks, each on the end of a thick rope that was pulled back by mounted men.
After a thundering sound when wooden poles met with earth, a tide poured into the Northern camp, tide of grey and black, of fur and leather but most of all, of steel and iron. Tide that swept away all in front of it.

Stark! Stark! Winterfell! defenders shouted assembled at the main part of the camp.
Free folk! came the response, louder, wilder, as if all the forest demons were shrieking at once.
Iron price!!! came from his right side, he saw his own kind charging with full rage, axes and swords and spears carving their way through flesh of the foe blocking their advancement.

The battle fever. He had experienced it himself countless times and what an experience that was.
Nothing mattered, not past, not the future, only here and now. Fear was gone, even notion of his own body was gone.
Oft in battle he didn’t feel his wounds then, or the sweat running down into his eyes, weight of armor and arms he wore...
There was nothing save the fight and the fight, the enemy, first one he slew, then second, then third until he’d lost count.

He saw the banner pole at the commanding tent of the Stark camp falling down, bringing the white cloth with grey head of snarling wolf in the mud. He saw the Northern leader, a young man in black-clad clothes with white sunburst on his breastplate, bellowing orders to his men whose formation was melting down: "Fall back! Fall back! Aid is coming!"

Aid, what bloody aid, you mangy wolf pup, you’re done for…

Then he heard it. Trumpets. Loud, from the south. The Wolves have no trumpets, only war-horns. Then the drums.
The new enemy was emerging from the west, from the south, coming down from the Queensroad as Wolves have named the road they built as extension of the Kingsroad that ended at Mole’s Town from where this new Northern road begun, going aside the Wall and ending at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea.
Place where today swords were broken and shields were shattered.
They were coming in one column, horse and foot, dark glinting steel and bright coats. More and more men were pouring from the road, knights, bowmen and men-at-arms, dozens of men, hundreds of men.

From what hell did these fuckers come from?
Meldred Merlyn of Pebbleton spoke out loud but soon it was answered. Banners. Sky-blue falcon and the white moon. Vale, knights of bloody Vale.

“Clever, my Queen, the Karstark pup was clever.” Meldred reported to Yara Greyjoy four days later onboard her longboat at the Bay of Ice
“He had those Vale cunts hidden till we broke in their camp and then called them into battle. But, we’re not dumb as Boltons, no… he wanted us encircled between Wolves and Falcons as it were in the Battle of Bastards, but we’re smarter than that.
We’ve pulled out and saved many of Ironborn and wildling lives, my Queen.”
“Well done, Meldred. How many did we lose?”
“Six and forty, my Queen…Wildlings roughly the same. Wolves lost twice as many, that I can swear.” he replied.
“Tell me, did our men fell from the lances or spears of the Vale?”
“They did, yes. As we retreated their horsemen tried to pursue and some of our fell by sword and lance but also by arrow and under hooves.”
“That is all we need. The men sworn to Vale of Arryn shed blood of the Ironborn at the foreign soil.” Yara said in grim tone “Now we go to war with the Vale. On their soil. Summon all the Iron Fleet captains. We sail to Narrow Sea in two nights…” “Where are we going, my Queen?”
“To sack Gulltown.”

And sack it was. Town defenses yield after less than four hours of flaming projectiles from the trebuchets and fire bolts from the scorpions. Ironborn landed and breached into city.
Yara forbade the rape and slaughter of the smallfolk, but allowed everything else.
Any man who resembled a soldier was slain or taken into captivity to serve as thrall on the Iron Islands.
There were no slaves on the Iron Islands, only thralls. A thrall was bound to service, but he was not anyone’s property. His children were born free, so long as they were given to the Drowned God. And thralls were never bought nor sold for gold.
A man paid the iron price for thralls, or else had none.

All of the Gulltown young womenfolk was taken too. To become the salt wives.
In Ironborn culture a salt wife is a concubine, a woman kidnapped by the men of the Iron Islands during raids.
An Ironborn may keep several salt wives, but only one Ironborn rock wife, a true wife born and bred on the Iron Islands, which keeps his household and his family while he is at the sea.
Salt wives are bound to their captors in a religious ceremony, though it is viewed as a lesser ceremony than that of their rock wife.
The number of salt wives kept by an Ironborn talks of his stance in the ranks of his people and of the strength of his lust for women.

Yara knew that most, if not all, of these women will be returned to Vale as part of prisoner trade once this war is over.
Salt wives were rare thing on the Iron Islands of this age, but she relished the notion of returning the young Gulltown maids to their own after being besmirched by the Ironborn.
On her ship, Iron Victory, she hosted one girl from House Shett and one daughter and one sister of Lord Gerold Grafton.

Not so comely girls, she thought upon seeing them, I don’t even crave to see them naked.

Denuding captives was oft a part of them learning obedience to their new masters, but it mattered not at all to Yara. She’ll return them to their fathers for a good price.
I find more pleasure in bringing the sigil of House Grafton to life, she smirked.
House Grafton had on its red-black shield a yellow tower, burning.
It represented the Gull Tower.
And that building of Gulltown was set to torch. Among many other halls and houses.

When mounted column of House Royce of Runestone came to relief of Gulltown, it was too late.
Except for Sweetrobin to call his banners and press the Red Keep demanding for the punishment of the Ironborn.

Next step Yara took was to land on Dragonstone. She saw no use in returning home, to Pyke, on the other side of Westeros.
Her war was here, in the Narrow Sea, with Vale.
Vale that after sack of Gulltown had no port and it was cut off from the sea trade. Their main port was now King’s Landing, many leagues southwards. And King sitting in the Red Keep were now to make the move.

Queen of Salt and Rock awaited that move on the island where she swore allegiance to the last Targaryen in exchange for freedom of Iron Islands.
Awaited with fleet of close to fifty warships and many more were coming.
A raven came soon.

From King’s Landing. With wax seal featuring the hand. Tyrion Lannister. The Imp.
Mayhaps he wants to know where is his sellsword, one that he seems to have misplaced in last moon or two. It was a message of invitation to parlay at King’s Landing, at the court.

Only a fool would accept such invitation, I was paraded once in chains through King’s Landing, it won’t happen to me twice.

She sent her reply:
To Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the King, the Iron Islands agree to a parlay with the Crown and the Vale of Arryn.
It will take place on Dragonstone or it will not take place at all. If the Crown agrees, parlay can be held on sixth day from today.
Vale is free to choose its witness at the parlay. The Ironborn choose Dorne.

Yara knew that Crown has no strength to force her to come to King’s Landing nor was the Royal Fleet able to drove her warships away from Dragonstone
She only had to wait for Tyrion to consider all the options. Of which he had two.
To come to Dragonstone or parlay to fail.

Six days have passed since reply was sent and at the Chamber of the Painted Table, a group of men and women assembled
On behalf of the King, his Hand was present, Tyrion Lannister.
On behalf of the Vale of Arryn and their lord Robin Arryn, Yohn Royce was there, a tall and large, grey haired man wearing his light-brown cloak with inscriptions in runes.
As witness for the Vale came Edmure Tully, middle aged man of auburn hair and trimmed beard wearing surcoat embroidered with silver fish and striped in red and blue.

For Iron Islands spoke her, Yara Greyjoy and for the occasion she donned brown quilted tunic and breeches of green wool.
As witness for the Ironborn came Princess of Dorne, Arianne Martell. Her dark hair was now in simple braid, falling over her shoulder; over dun color breeches she wore a sleeveless brown gambeson leaving her arms bare. No weapons of any sort were allowed in the chamber.

“Lady Yara, I recall last seeing you in this very room…” Tyrion took the opening word.
“Aye and I recall you serving a different monarch back then.” she cut him off.
“Well, I was same then as I am now in sense of office I hold while you have progressed to undisputed ruler of the Iron Islands from a fugitive running before your own uncle.” he replied.
“Go to the point, Lannister.” Yohn Royce said “You can share memories with this pirate in your own time.”

Yara gave the old man a killing look, while Tyrion cleared his throat:
“Very well, the point of today’s not so merry assembly is the armed conflict between the Iron Islands and the Vale of Arryn.”
“What armed conflict, Lannister?! A treacherous plunder of Gulltown! Without any cause or a previous declaration of hostility.” Royce almost shouted “An act of piracy for which all responsible should hang, no matter how highborn they are.”

“Without cause you say? The cause, my lord, was your knights killing the Ironborn at the Eastwatch-by-the-Sea.
On the land given to the Night’s Watch thousands of years ago, the land that is now stolen by Sansa Stark, the Queen in the North, the land which not only is not part of the Vale but not part of Six Kingdoms.
What are the knights of the Vale looking for at the Wall? Fame or honor?”
“One might ask what do Ironborn seek beyond the Wall, lady Yara.” Edmure Tully said not without trace of caution.
“We were invited, my lord, by Wildlings who suffer from Stark invasion of their lands, lands that were given to them by previous ruler of independent North. What was his name again? Jon Snow…?” she replied.
“It is a queenly prerogative to alter the previous agreements, my lady, which you’re very well aware of.” Tyrion stated.

“And it is prerogative of the Ironborn to give aid to those who need one. We have not sided with a foreign kingdom as Vale did. We have sided with the people that are being robbed of their homes.”
Yohn Royce and Edmure Tully nearly burst in laughter.
“Ha…” said the elderly man with runes on his cloak “…do you truly suggest that you’ve send your longboats to wildlings out of goodness of your heart. Your sort lusts for reiving, for raiding and looting, for rape and blood… in that you have found kindred spirits, the wildlings, another heathen lot.”
“And you, why did you send your host to North, to a foreign country now, to protect the weak or is Vale in truth assisting Sansa in her war of conquest? Your lord is her first cousin. And you did that without counselling the Crown.”

Dornish princess break her silence with serious tone
“All of you here are one way or the other related to Sansa Stark. You, lord Hand, were or still are her husband. We did not receive news of your marriage being annulled.
Lord Arryn is Sansa’s cousin, lord Edmure is her uncle and of course the King is her brother… it is all one big family affair. Just as it was when North was allowed to leave the Realm. Should we expect Vale to join Sansa’s kingdom?
As you’re already warring at her side, that would be the next step. Kingdom of North and of Vale…
Do you, lord Tyrion, really think that Dorne will sit idly and watch how larger Stark family is carving up Westeros? We will act.”

"Lady Arianne, I assure you in the name of King Bran that in decision making he’s not been guided by blood relations of any kind. He does not even consider himself to be a Stark.” Lannister said with calming tone.

<“What King considers him to be or not is of lesser importance. It is a fact that this conquest led by Sansa Stark affected treaties thousands of years old and King did nothing.” Arianne replied
“Result is this war on the Wall, war Sansa was losing before gallant knights of the Vale came to the rescue. Is Realm at war with the wildlings, war that serves only appetites of one overreaching woman? It is a simple question, lord Tyrion.”

“No, the Realm is not involved in the Northern-Wildling war.” he replied.
“Then can we expect of King to issue an order or proclamation, telling Vale to bring its troops back?” Yara asked.
“Absolutely you cannot!” Royce replied “Our men are there to protect the settlers and the farmers in the lands Queen Sansa joined with the North from wildlings and your kind. Lord Tyrion, if we withdrew, iron scum will stay.”
“Only scum are men in full armor on heavy horse going after women and children in their villages.
As low as dishonour… those should be the words of House Arryn.” Yara hissed at Royce.
“I will not suffer insults by pirates, lord Tyrion. I will leave this parlay.” old man threatened.

“Now, now, my ladies and my lords, before we reach an impasse…” Tyrion gestured for all to calm “… I will suggest the course of action to defuse this very dangerous crisis, mayhaps the greatest threat for stability of Six Kingdoms in all of our eleven-year existence.” “What do you propose, my lord?” Edmure Tully asked.
Lannister sighed: “As first step, the Iron Fleet will return to Iron Islands and vacate the Dragonstone which was declared to be abandoned by the King himself. That should be done in next three days.
Ironborn will also cease providing aid to the wildlings and not sail to far North anymore. It should also take place within next few days. The Vale following all that will return their troops from the North, within course of one moon from now.”

Yara listened his proposition calmly and then clapped hands:
“Well, if there was doubt of whom the Crown prefers in this dispute, it is clear now.
You’d like for Ironborn to withdrew home in less than a week and you’d let Vale to linger up North for an entire moon… until Sansa regains her control over Eastwatch and Hardhome once again, aided by the Vale men.”

“It is quicker to return home from the far North by ship than by land, Ironborn return home will last shorter than Vale riding home.” Tyrion tried to explain.

“No, all the men from all sides return at the same time or we have no agreement.” she cut him off “What you proposed just gives time to Sansa Stark and her grand schemes.”
“That is preposterous!” Royce was loud “Our men who were sent North are stretched thin from Winterfell to Eastwatch, we must assemble them first, then form a baggage trains for return to Vale… we cannot do that in matter of one week…”

“Either all the not-Stark and not-wildling men are to return from the North in the same time or there will be no agreement.” Yara replied dryly.
“When will you return the women and girls you stole from Gulltown?” old man asked.
“When you return their fathers and brothers from killing Free Folk women and girls. Or I can strip the ladies of House Grafton in their nameday suits and tie them to ships’ prows as figureheads. They’re far from mermaids but they’ll do.”
“Damn pirate scum!” he yelled “Lord Tyrion, I have heard enough. Vale leaves this parlay and expects from the Crown to solve this matter. Until then, the Eyrie is at war with Pyke.”

Royce and Tully have marched out from the chamber discussing loudly along the way. Tyrion, Yara and Arianne remained.
Hand of the King sighed: “Lady Greyjoy, if your attacks on the Vale should continue, the Crown will have no other but to treat that as open rebellion. I appeal to your good sense to consider what this stupid conflict could mean for the Ironborn.”

“You were there, remember, in Meereen… you, I, my dead brother and our dead Queen when I asked for freedom of Iron Islands and she gave it to us. We asked and she gave us our independence.
I didn’t press it then, but I will press it now if your Six Kingdoms were to serve only to the wolves of Winterfell.” Yara said with anger.

And Iron Islands will not be alone…” Arianne Martell added “…Dorne has had enough of this travesty as well. Westeros is not one huge holdfast of House Stark.
Unbent, unbowed, unbroken, lord Tyrion, those are Dornish words. Dragons could not bring us into the fold.
So why do you think we will lower our heads to a raven? No matter how many eyes he has. Tread carefully with Kraken or you will stir the nest of vipers…”

Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the King, realised then that Six Kingdoms are no longer mere fractures. The Realm has cracked.

Chapter Text

Meereen, Essos, year 316 After Conquest

ARYA

Tonight she supped with her brother by heart and cousin by blood.
Jon who now bore his true father’s name, name of dragonlords, seemed content.
He is now as far from that broken recluse as I am from being perfumed noble lady in silk dress serving as decoration at some highborn lord’s side.
Less than two moons ago, Jon was alone in the haunted forest, half mad, now he knows he has a family. And he is close to them.

She could not say that Jon was happy. He was close to his twin daughters and to their mother, but still he kept distance.
Daenerys was not a forgiving woman. No woman or man would forgive her or his killer easily.
When Arya tried to put herself in Dany’s place, she concluded that there was no chance in seven hells that Gendry would be left living if he were in Jon’s place.
Arya would go and kill him in most gruesome manner on the second day of her new life.

She knew that Daenerys will not do any harm to Jon. Twins grew to like and love him, even after only a brief time with him. He captured their hearts as girls did hers.

Arya Stark of Winterfell and her ship, the carrack named Nymeria, have stayed in Meereen for over two moons.
After ferrying Meereenese noblewoman Shazza Galare to her new husband in Tolos, crew which was grumbling about it had a change of heart on the matter of such short voyages which if cleverly negotiated and arranged could bring decent gain.
And given the state of affairs on the Essosi roads there were many opportunities for ships to make short journeys for a lot of golden coins.

Land transport in Westeros was far more expensive than shipping, in some cases tenfold more, so merchants or armies needing to move goods over long distances used sea or rivers whenever they could. Seven Kingdoms have actually built four proper roads, most known be the Kingsroad going from Storm’s End, passing through the capital city of Westeros and stretching all the way to Castle Black at the Wall, almost two thousand miles.

From the Oldtown to Highgarden and further to King’s Landing led the Roseroad, named after the sigil of House Tyrell.
Goldroad which got its name after main trait of House Lannister was connecting King’s Landing with Casterly Rock.
Fourth was the Riverroad, a route leading from Casterly Rock to Riverrun and Harrenhal.
Best of four was Kingsroad, but all in truth were just glorified ox-cart trails, covered in dust during summer and frozen mud in the winter.
To ship men or goods from Gulltown to White Harbor would take five days even with rough sea while the land transport would last two weeks if weather was merciful.

Good portion of Essosi roads were those that survived the fall of their builders, the Valyrian Freehold, roads in far better, almost incomparable state to their Westerosi counterparts. Yet, this woven net of overland routes had different problem which lasted for over ten years now.
The payment of tributes for safe passage to the Dothraki khalasars.
It could not be avoided when cargo was headed for the inland cities.
Dothraki were as inevitable as shadows on a day with sunshine.
Safe passage tribute has become the part of everyday life of Essosi merchants, even written contracts had tributes stated as part of the costs.

Essosi cities on the sea coast, be it the Free Cities on the Narrow Sea or those on the shores of the Summer Sea, when trading among themselves could have resort to shipping and avoid the land transport all together and that would also remove the costs of safe passage payments. This was a good measure in dealing with the tributes imposed by Dothraki, but it had many shortcomings. When Dothraki found out that certain merchant was using shipping to reduce the costs of tributary payment, they would just double the amount of tribute next time his caravan would have to pass across the inland Essos which could not be avoided.

Qohor and Norvos in the western Essos were inland cities, just as far from the sea as Winterfell, Harrenhal or the Eyrie were in Westeros.
Water could not serve as way to deliver people or goods to those places. Even Selhorys on the east bank of the mighty river Rhoyne was dependent of caravan routes.

Seafaring for sake of trade still flourished in Essos.
When Dothraki were given their share, merchandise that came by land would get loaded on the ships and carried across the sea to its journey's end. Some merchants, those who learned from their own sufferings, still would use ships to transport some part of their cargo which could’ve gone by the land, but tributaries would only increase its price. Usually that was done by loading the cargo in hidden coves or at the open sea, from one vessel to another, far from prying eyes. Dothraki had spies in every port, among laborers on the docks, even merchants would betray each other to them.
Nymeria became one of such ships, a tribute runner, as Arya japed at her own account.
A vessel of exploration coming from far side of the world, was unsuspicious, having no affiliation with local merchants.

Ship with wolf’s head on the prow would leave the port, sail to the open sea or around the nearby isles, there a boat or smaller vessel would wait for Nymeria and loading of the cargo would take place. Afterwards, Arya’s ship would sail to one of the cities on the southern shore of western Essos and cargo would change hands again, being handed to its destined owner. In such manner, highly priced goods would go from Tolos or Astapor, goods for which Arya guaranteed discretion with even her not knowing what they were ferrying, to Volantis and her vassal towns of Volon Therys and Valysar, north of the wide delta of the Rhoyne.

Crew grumbled at first, of course. No wonder there, Arya thought.
They were becoming weary of Meereen, of its heat, of scents in cheap brothels and smells in cheap taverns.
Grumbling ceased, though, when fruits of these covert cargo shipments came. Merchants pay well for Nymeria’s services.

Brothels were not cheap anymore so Dalton Pyke, ever the whining loudmouth, could roll with two Lysene courtesans in priciest of brothels of Volantis.
Warrick Manderly indulged himself in eating, a trait he shared with his kinsmen back at White Harbor.
Artos Costayne and Devan Lantell enjoyed both, naked flesh and roasted meat. But not before they have found a new healer for Nymeria.

Though truth was he has found them.

Illeo Maegyr, a man of age close with Arya’s, saw the ship docked at the port in Volantis and came to present himself.
He was second cousin of Talisa Maegyr, wife of Robb Stark who died with him, butchered at the Red Wedding.
Illeo was of slim built, dark hair and olive skin; one of older men among Arya’s crew remembered Talisa when Northern host was camped at Harrenhal and likeness this man had with his murdered kinswoman was there. Illeo also choose the calling of healer. Though he was of family being among Volantene Old Blood, the noblemen which could prove unbroken descent from Old Valyria itself, he could not have hoped for position of power.

Volantis was ruled by triarchs. They were neither kings nor princes, but instead chosen by every freeborn landowner.
The triarchs were chosen from among the noble families who could trace their lineage from old Valyria and would serve for a year, until the first day of the new year. Triarchs of Volantis have been considered so elevated that they’re not allowed to have their feet touch the ground during their one year of service.

The triarchs came from one of two political parties: the tigers and the elephants.
The elephants were the party of the merchants and moneylenders, while the tigers were of old aristocracy and warriors.
The elephants advocated trade and the tigers advocated conquest by the sword.
Tigers have held sway over Volantis for almost a century after the doom of Valyrian Freehold, the mother of all nine of the Free Cities.
That rule led Volantis into conflict with seven of remaining eight Free Cities which ended in sound Volantene defeat and the elephants who preferred the way of peaceful trade took power from the tigers. Ever since then at no time has more than one tiger been named triarch.

Maegyrs were of tiger party and only most prominent men of that family could aspire of becoming triarchs or high ranked in the Volantene authority.
It was not the case with Illeo. He politely came to greet the ship bearing the sigil of House Stark, one whose young king Robb his cousin has wed out of love that ended in treachery and bloodshed of which Talisa’s family learned many moons later.
Arya received him, him being her family by marriage and in conversation that followed his healer’s calling came up.
She offered him a station aboard Nymeria and they agreed on a binding contract of service for duration of ship’s next long voyage.

One that would take Nymeria sailing around entire Essos, from Meereen on its southern shores to Nefer on coast of the Shivering Sea.
By land, going eastwards one should pass a bit less than five thousand miles from Meereen to Nefer, across the Dothraki Sea, the Bone Mountains, then the desert of Great Sand Sea and the plains of Jogos Nhai. Few ever took that road, not one ever managed to finish it.

By sea, though it were three times longer journey in mile length, one could hope to reach the port of Nefer alive and unharmed, battered by cold waves of the Shivering Sea but safe from perils which prey on that deadly road by land.

Arya was content that day in Volantis, she has finally found the proper replacement for her two perished maesters.
Then, she was even more content. She stumbled upon a Tyroshi captain who was seeking for a buyer of his swan-ship.
Whoring and gambling sometimes ruin seafarers, worse than pirates or storms, she mulled over, for this one was either to sell his ship or himself to slavery.

Swan-ships were large vessels, capable for long journeys at high seas, built in the Summer Isles.
People of Westeros called them so due to their large, white sails and figureheads on the ships’ prows that oft depicted birds.
They were known to sail well and faster than galleys.

Artos Costayne, Nymeria’s first mate and Warrick Manderly, helmsman, together with Arya took a good look at Tyroshi ship.
Every bulkhead, every deck board, every screw and bolt were thoroughly checked.

“What say you, Warrick?” Arya asked him.
“Ah…fook it, lass, ya know I shite on ‘em swanships, but ya won’t get bett’r ship for t’is price, ya won’t. Now, don’t ya say nuthin’ to t’at Tyroshi cunt.
Try to bargain, may’aps he can lower the price for a wee bit…”
“Artos? What do you think of this purchase?” she asked.
“We’re preparing to navigate all around Essos, Arya, we all like our direwolf of the seas, our Nymeria, but she’s been a lone wolf for ten long years. Time for her to get a company. Two ships on a long voyage are better than one. We can man this ship with some of the crew we have and we’ll fill the ranks when we get to Pentos or Braavos, there are always available Westerosi sailors there.”
“Agreed. You will be the captain of our second ship.” Arya said to him.
“I am honored, Arya, with your trust in me.” Costayne replied.
“Don’t go further with the formalities or I’ll appoint Dalton Pyke as your first mate…”
“Gods forbid, Arya…” he laughed.
Warrick blurted: “Lady of Spices… seven ‘ells, whatta stupid name for a ship…”
“She won’t have it for long, I have a better one in mind.” she said.

“Rhaelyanna.”
Arya looked at both of her nieces, sitting in the Kinvara’s chambers on the uppermost lever of pyramid that served as temple of R’hllor in Meereen.
She wanted to meet her nieces and Kinvara saw to it on occasion when their mother was attending a meeting with the city merchants.
Arya knew that Daenerys blames her along with high priestess for that dangerous dragon flight so she steered clear from Targaryen woman.
Unsullied guards were no problem for her to pass by, they were one of wonders of Essos, but Arya was trained to be another. Wonder of mystery and death.

“Rhaelyanna, that is how my swan-ship will be named, after you two, my little water dancers.”
Girls faces were now in wonder, their eyes going from Arya to Kinvara and back to Arya…
“Truly, Arya, truly the ship will be called like that?” Rhae asked. “Have I ever lied to you, ñuha dōna?”

Girl shook her head, smiling with content.
“Can we come to port and see her, your new ship?” Lyanna asked.
“Of course you can. If you promise that this time you will not get into another knife fight.” Arya said to her other niece through laughter
“With the sword skills you have now, you’d cut your way through five grown men.”
“Only if they get in my way.” Lya replied.

Affairs in Meereen delayed Daenerys from leaving for Port Yhos. That was what Kinvara told Arya.
Mayhaps it was true or mayhaps was last Targaryen born on Dragonstone lingering here to see how will last male Targaryen fare as leader of city host of this ancient and large city. Arya was no longer certain.

“And how is City Guard progressing?” Arya asked between bites.
“Truth be told very well… first company is already in mid-training. And the matter of their attire was finally solved.” Jon said with grin “It took some persuasion but I let you know that the City Guard of Meereen will be formally dressed in light brown linen boots, dark-blue or dark-green trousers, brown knee-cut tunic, leather jerkin and dun cloak with hood and a black scarf, so that when needed they can cover their heads and hide their faces…”

Arya first chuckled, then start laughing:
“You have dressed the Meereen guardsmen in what seems to be garments of House Reed and those of Night’s Watch rangers. It can’t be more Westerosi than that.”
“Arya, people who sit on that Council of Citizens cannot agree on color of shite sometimes. I sometimes wonder how did they governed with this city for this long.
If guardsmen were to wait for councilors to agree what they should be wearing, I’d be training five hundred naked men.” he said laughing.
“Five hundred already?!” she was surprised.
“Those are ones that were found able enough to join. I’d say that two dozens of possible recruits are taken in every day.
In three sennights first thousand men will be under my command, if they’d continue to come in these numbers. Former slaves are even leaving the Second Sons to join the guard.”
“Second Sons, men of that Daario Naharis” she said.
“You know him?” Jon asked.
“We’ve met.” Arya replied dryly “Not a company I would keep.”
“And in course of last moon about score of once serjeants in the Golden Company have come to First Barracks to offer their services.”
“First Barracks… What an inspiring name.” Arya noted.
“One that will not cause another futile debate between once slaves and once masters.” Jon said.

He explained her that former fighting pit was now called First Barracks, a simplest choice in naming, every other quarter where guardsmen will be stationed shall be given a name that will tell of the part of the city where it is found or by some hero of the old, one that is well received among former slaves and former slave masters.
A precious few barracks will bear names of ancient heroes, Jon concluded, Meereen is still city of two peoples, those who once served and those who once were served. They need days to agree upon simple matters…

How the guardsmen shall be dressed was one of them. It lasted for days.
In the end, Jon tricked the Meereenese councilors with his proposal of guard’s attire, based partially on the clothes that Crannogmen and rangers wore in the North.
It ended the needless bickering and saved time needed for City Guard to do what they were intended, train and assume its duties.
“A ragtag bunch, my lord, unworthy of greatness of Meereen.” Eraz lo Hazkar commented upon seeing first guardsmen on the streets. Jon replied:
“Army that’s doing good on parades is usually doing poor at the battlefield.”

When Arya asked him of Daenerys, Jon had nothing new to say.
“Only four moons ago when I met her in Port Yhos, her hatred for you was such that I was sure she’d kill you the very moment you two meet. Yet, she did not.”
“She has a good heart, Arya. I stabbed that good heart. To my everlasting shame and dishonor.” he said, with absent gaze.
“You had to stop her.”
“With dagger? It was wrong. I knew that the moment I did it. She died in my arms with such hurt and disillusion in her eyes… I dreamt of it for ten years.
I should have talked with her more. I should have been with her when she was sinking into darkness.”
“Why didn’t you?” Arya asked “After that feast in Winterfell, I was riding south to King’s Landing. I still don’t know all what happened.”
“You never asked.” Jon said.
“Cersei, Jon, all I thought about in those days was killing her. So, I am asking you now. Why weren’t you with her?”
“I was torn apart, Arya. When I learned that she is my aunt…”
Arya looked at him with frown:
“For fuck sake, Jon… that was troubling you? Her being your aunt?! Our grandparents were first cousins, Cregan Stark married his two nephews with his granddaughters,
uncles with half-nieces that is. We’re not strangers to kinfolk marriages, us Starks. And, you two loved each other before knowing what you are to each other.
Also, don’t forget… without you bedding your aunt, I would not have been an aunt.” she smiled at him.
“I fucked up, didn’t I?” Jon said.
“She and you both.” Arya said “But, you’re mending things. Your daughters took you in their hearts right away.”
“Aye, they have…” Jon agreed “…their father now must make a mend for all those years he was absent.”
Arya shrugged: “They would now be Princesses of Seven Kingdoms if path of events were different.”

Jon said nothing, he was not willing to ponder of stolen future.

Arya was silent for a while, then exclaimed loudly: “Ha! How I never thought of that before…!”
“Of what?” her brother asked.
“My father was Ned Stark. Your mother was Lyanna Stark. If line of Ned Stark produces no heirs and what we now know is that Bran cannot father children,
that Sansa is still unwed and that I have chosen not to be someone’s lady wife… if there would be no grandchildren of Ned Stark, the line of Lyanna Stark inherits.
Your daughters are at the moment heirs of Winterfell and the Northern crown…”

Arya laughed: “Imagine look on Sansa’s face if she’d knew her successor’s name could be Lyanna of House Targaryen, First of her name, Queen in the North.”
Jon laughed too: “Now, that thought alone would give her many sleepless nights.”
“She is not sleeping well these days as it is…” came from Arya.
“What do you mean by that?” he asked.
“Jon, when I was in Volantis, there were ships from Westeros, from Gulltown and Lannisport, men from both ships told the same account. North is at war again.”
Jon frowned: “How?! With whom?!”
“With wildlings… Free Folk. Sansa made a royal decree which proclaimed all the lands of the Gift and those beyond the Wall as part of the Kingdom of the North. Night’s Watch has only Castle Black now, they are at Sansa’s mercy, but Free Folk resisted…”
Jon was angry now: “Has Sansa gone mad? She broke all the treaties and pacts that were upheld for thousands of years. Is land so important to her?
As North does not have it in abundance. And you told me once she is the smartest person you’ve ever known.”

Arya shrugged: “She was, but smart people can become very arrogant and power hungry. I saw that when I served as cupbearer of Tywin Lannister.
Old lion was smart, very smart. But all he wanted was Lannisters ruling over everyone… and our sister spent many years among the lions, Jon. He has a southern mind.
Free Folk mean nothing to her. Still, it appears she is losing the war against them. Captain from Gulltown said that three weeks ago Northern force was destroyed at Hardhome.”

Jon sighed: “Sansa… seven hells…”
Arya was silent for a whle, then asked: “Jon, who were the people you’ve learned the most after you went to the Wall?
“Jeor Mormont, maester Aemon, uncle Benjen though he disappeared shortly after I came to the Wall… I’ve learned a lot from Mance Ryder as well.”
“And Sansa learned from Baelish, Olenna Tyrell, even from Cersei. She knows more of the game of ruling than anyone I know.”
“Still, I would never expect she is so foolish to start a war over a damn land, land she doesn’t even have people to farm it. She could ruin the North with this.”
Jon said angrily and then remained silent, as he was contemplating something.

“Jon, what’s on your mind?”
Arya was now afraid of him doing something rash and truly stupid, like returning to Westeros, to the North to try to save it once more.
“Nothing…” he replied “…Sansa will have to taste whatever stew she has cooked.”
Arya nodded: “She is my sister, I love her, but this new war she brought on herself. She is a Queen; she does not need me or you to win her battles anymore.”
Jon sighed: “Wars of Westeros are behind me… my life and future is here now.”

Arya bid good night to Jon and walked down the stairway, leaving temple pyramid, when on first level she was greeted by Kinvara:
“Lady Arya…”
“Oh… do you people preach this late as well? I thought the night is dark and full of terrors…” she said to the priestess.
“Mock me as you like, my lady, but all that I’ve said to you has come to be. And some other things will come to be.”
“Pray, tell me one at least…” Arya asked with scoffing tone.
"A sellsword…” Kinvara replied, her tone of voice same as ever.
“… A sellsword, a septon and a maester enter a brothel... that is how japes begin…” Arya mocked again.
“A sellsword sent by Lord of Darkness is after your nieces. Lord of Darkness wants their blood. He wants them dead. He wants blood of a dragon removed of this world.
Will this stop your mockery, Arya Stark of Winterfell?”

Chapter Text

King’s Landing, Westeros, year 316 After Conquest

BRIENNE

“Due to misfortunate unravelling of the events, the Crown now is in tight spot, we could be making that jump from frying pan into the fire.
No matter what move we decide on, it will be the wrong one.” Tyrion Lannister spoke with his known tone when he wanted to depict the direness of situation
“If we’re to show more than declaratory condemning of the Iron Islands for their partaking in the war between North and wildlings, that will cause the Dorne to rebel again. If we’re to stay only on condemning the Ironborn with no action, the Vale of Arryn could leave the Six Kingdoms and unite with the Kingdom of the North since the Realm in their eyes has failed to end the Ironborn aggression.”

She has served as Lady Commander of the Kingsguard of King Bran, one called the Broken for eleven years now.
Eleven years wearing the armour with the emblem of a raven, out of respect for Bran being the Three Eyed Raven.
She was never much of politics, into games and schemes. Her late father was.
As it was expected to be as the lord of Evenfall Hall and island of Tarth.
He never said it, but Brienne was certain that her father was saddened with the knowledge that his House will die with Brienne.
She was his only living child, she chose a man’s calling, bearing armour and sword and riding into battles, she was knighted and become the commander of sworn brotherhood of knights that renounced holding lands and having wives and children. Or in her case, having a husband.

When she was younger, he tried. Her father successfully found three men willing to betroth her, though all the betrothals fell through. Or not even having a husband, that would have also pleased Selwyn Tarth, just having a child so that family name can live on.
Her childbearing years were passing, slowly but surely, she already has counted seven and thirty namedays.
The only man she was willing to have a child with was long dead, he died here, at the Red Keep of King’s Landing, killed by the rubble, by stones and bricks.
That was the only man she ever lay with.

She knew her father was disappointed, not in her, never in her, but with the notion that House Tarth will die out and some other noble house will be given their Sapphire Isle by the Lord Paramount of Stormlands, that someone not of their blood will enjoy the lakes, waterfalls, soaring mountains, high meadows and shadowed vales of their island home. Brienne could not help her father in that matter.
She spent most of her life as someone to scorn, to shun and to pity, the latter was the best case. She did try to dress and act like a proper lady when she was a young girl, but it made things only worse, she was met with mockery and disdain for her non comely appearance and lack of highborn lady’s social graces.
When she decided that calling of man at arms is more suited to her talents, Brienne received only contempt and resentment for being a woman who wields the sword, despite her considerable skill. That was long ago, she did not even count twenty years of life when they ceased to mock her.
And now, most of those who have mocked her were either dead or maimed, old and forgotten.

Selwyn respected her, but she knew he did not go happily off this world.
That made her sad as her thoughts wandered back home, back to Tarth from which she returned to the royal court barely two sennights ago, after she laid her father to his final rest. Before that, she spent moon and a half with him, to make up for all those years being away from home.

She returned to a Realm which was crumbling from within.

Small Council had a meeting and she fought to stay focused, not letting her mind to dwell upon the matters of Tarth and who will be island’s new lord.
With her, there were Tyrion Lannister, the Hand of the King, Samwell Tarly, the archmaester, Andrew Estermont, the Master of Laws…. and newly appointed Master of Ships, Monterys of House Velaryon who succeeded Ser Davos Seaworth. He was a young man, of five and twenty years, but a lord of this ancient house since his eight nameday.

House Velaryon was an old house, with the blood of old Valyria in its veins.
If their family histories can be trusted, the Velaryons had come to Westeros even before the Targaryens whose oldest and closest allies they have been for centuries. Under Targaryen kings the Velaryons served as master of ships so often that at times the office had seemed hereditary and provided much of the Iron Throne's royal fleet. Lord of the Tides was a title traditionally claimed by the heads of House Velaryon and Monterys had been claiming it since he was a little boy. Since the fall of Mad King, Aerys Targaryen, Second of his name, Velaryons were sworn to House Baratheon.

Being of Valyrian descent, Velaryons often had Valyrian features, silver hair, purple eyes, and pale skin. Monterys’ eyes were not purple but green, but he had the hair of silver colour. He is thin but comely, Brienne thought. She will miss Davos, his smallfolk wisdoms and patience, patience most of all.

Surely, she was not missing Bronn, that man disappeared not only from the Small Council but from the face of this earth it seemed.
Samwell was troubled, she could tell the first day she came back from Tarth. But she knew Tarly would not talk about it and she’d never question him.

King was ill, that matter had troubled her the most. Bran the Broken would seldom leave his chambers, it lasted almost as long as this year.
Though king’s mind was not affected, at least when with the Kingsguard, he seemed to be slowly fading away.
Do these powers drain the man’s strength in such measure, she oft asked herself. In ill hour has Bran became ill.
The Realm was in a state as this one long ago, when war of the five kings were to begin.

“To seriously counter the fleet of Iron Islands, my Lord Hand, we would need the whole royal fleet, Redwyne fleet from Arbor and fleet from Lannisport…” young Velaryon said “…and yet victory could not be guaranteed. Too few of royal warships were built under old Master of Ships, Crown simply did not have enough funds, priority being to return the debt to Iron Bank of Braavos.”
Tyrion nodded with sigh: “I am aware of it, lord Monterys. Though deployment of the royal fleet is not an option, not at this moment. Sadly, no matter what move we decide upon, one part of the Realm will be gone.”
“Not necessarily, my lord.” Velaryon replied. “Ironborn and Vale are warring in the North, each for his own allies, the Eyrie for Winterfell and Pyke for… whatever place wildlings consider their capital. We cannot force Ironborn nor the knights of the Vale to withdraw from that war, but mayhaps we can be a mediator between North and the wildlings.
If that brings end to this unfortunate war, the Greyjoy and the Arryn will have nothing to do in the North. This war started with Queen Sansa’s desires to rule with new, larger territory. If she can be persuaded to halt her expansion…”

Tyrion shrugged: “My young lord Velaryon, I commend your political insight, but you yet have to cross paths with Sansa Stark. When her mind is set on something, she hardly abandons that goal. True, easiest way out of this fuckery would be for North and the wildlings to stop butchering each other.”

Then he paused and looked straight at the Lady Commander of the Kingsguard:
“Ser Brienne, I know that you have just recently returned to King’s Landing and I am sorry for the loss of your lord father on my behalf and on behalf of all present here. Unfortunately, I have to ask of you to take a long road as envoy of our King… to travel to Winterfell with written proposal to Queen Sansa. Of all of us here, she will listen to you the most.”
“What sort of proposal, my lord?” she asked.
“One that will advise ending of the war with the wildlings for certain period of time, enough for all the involved parties from Six Kingdoms to return home.
Will you go and represent the King and the Realm?” “I will, my lord.” she replied.

When meeting was adjourned, Samwell went straight away from the Hand’s chamber returning to the part of the Red Keep where office of Grand maester were.
Sam was not named Grand maester, he remained archmaester but held the office of his predecessors, some of which were men of treachery and schemes.
Brienne followed him and soon was able to place a hand on his shoulder which made Tarly to stop and turn around:
“Oh...Ser Brienne…? Back to Winterfell, I see…give my best to the North…" he blabbed with his usual shaky voice.
“Samwell, you know I never pry, but I’ve been watching you for a fortnight now and I see your distress. If there is a way in which I can help, you can count on me. You only have to ask.”
“I know. I thank you, Ser Brienne, but some burdens man has to carry by himself. One day, mayhaps, I will tell you of which burden I am talking about. You are a true knight, Ser, I wish more of your kind walked these halls.”

She frowned at first but then nodded and shook hands with Samwell.
As she walked to the White Sword Tower, she couldn’t not to remember the first moons of the Small Council, when Bran was newly elected king.
It was an air of change, a promise of better days.
Now it all seemed as an illusion, a curtain of expensive fabric behind which old demons were hidden and waited for their time to come again.

White Sword Tower. Home of the Kingsguard. It was a slender building with four floors placed on an angle of the castle wall that overlooked the Blackwater Bay.
The first floor contained the common room for the Kingsguard, called the Round Room in a shape of a circle.
White wool hangings decorated its whitewashed stone walls with white shield and two crossed longswords mounted over the hearth.
The room contained a large weirwood table carved in the shape of a shield supported by three white stallions and three knights sit on each side.
The chair of the Lady Commander, old black oak with blanched cowhide cushions, sits at the top of the shield.
In the common room there was also the White Book as it was usually called though its true name were The Book of the Brothers. In it the deeds of every member who has ever served in the three centuries of history of the Kingsguard were recorded. It was she who made an entry about Ser Jamie of House Lannister.

She climbed the stairs to the topmost floor which contained her chambers and begun to pack for the long journey northwards, to Winterfell.
It was eleven years since she last saw the castle of House Stark. Now, it was not a castle of a Warden of the North anymore. It was the capital of an independent kingdom.
Kingdom whose ambitions threatened to ruin the other kingdom, one she was sworn to serve and defend.

Winterfell, Westeros, year 316 After Conquest

She missed Podrick. Had he been still among living he’d surely come with her, to make the same journey two of them have made three and ten years ago.
Ser Podrick of House Payne died in year three hundred and twelve after Conquest, from a fever that swept over King’s Landing in less than a moon and claimed hundreds of lives. He who survived Battle of the Blackwater and the Battle of Winterfell, died of fever.
She felt both sorry and angry for it. He should have died of old age or by the sword. Not by such illness.

She had travelling companions. The City Watch of King’s Landing, twenty men strong escort, rode beside her up to the Neck, to the border of the Kingdom of the North.
There she was met by the men of House Reed who escorted her to the boundary of their lands and lands of House Manderly whose guards were her new escort and stayed with her during the remainder of the ride to Winterfell.

They rode in the castle of House Stark through the East Gate, gate that leads to the Kingsroad. The Kingsroad Gate was oft another name for this entrance.

Since crossing the border between Six Kingdoms and the Kingdom of the North she hadn’t noticed many changes from the last time she has passed through the North.
Hills were the same, forests were the same, fields were the same, people were the same though sometimes that was not praiseworthy.
Only proof of endurance of the Northerners, both their good and their bad sides. She knew both, all too well.

It was only when she reached Winterfell, that she saw the change.
Winter Town, a settlement outside the castle walls was called that because in the past during summer was mostly deserted.
Smallfolk gathered there in winter.
Now, it was a proper town, still small in comparison with White Harbour or Gulltown, let alone with Lannisport or King’s Landing but it was a town.
Four times the size when Brienne saw it last.
There were still houses made of logs and undressed stone and muddy streets but also there were paved streets and squares and proper stone buildings… warehouses, inns, granaries, homes. Two and twenty thousand people lived here now and she could tell Winter Town is growing still.

Winterfell has changed as well. Broken Tower was renewed. The First Keep standing next to the Broken Tower was now in use, the oldest part of Winterfell no longer being abandoned. Castle was crowded with people, some wearing the Stark direwolf, though their attire was different than Brienne remembered it, others wore sigils or colours of Northern houses… Dustin, Cerwyn, Tallhart, Ryswell, but what Brienne saw most was the white sunburst on black field, the sigil of House Karstark.
“Her Grace will receive you at Queen’s Chamber in the Great Keep, my lady.” said one of her escorts sworn to House Manderly, Tohrren Lightfoot, after exchanging words with one of the guards. “I am not a lady, I am Ser. I’ve told you that when we first met.” she responded.
"A woman knight is something to be admired, Ser. Though, as you may well know, knighthood goes hand in hand with the new gods, the faith of the Seven and north of the Neck only a handful of men prays to new gods. House Manderly does, for their forefathers were of the Reach… other Northerners do not know knighthood as South does.
I’ll bid you farewell, now, Ser Brienne of Tarth. Queen’s men will guard you from now onwards.”

The Great Keep is the innermost castle and stronghold of whole Winterfell.
It was built over natural hot springs to keep the building warm. Its walls were made of granite with a covered bridge that joined the keep with the armoury.
It was here that Sansa placed her Queen’s Chamber.

Brienne bent the knee before the Queen in the North.
Sansa was sitting at the table, wearing ankle-cut grey dress and sleeveless leather jerkin of same coating over a white shirt with Stark pin on the left side of her chest.

Next to her stood a man wearing his dark-brown gambeson with white sunburst engraved on it and black breeches.
He was younger than Sansa, Brienne concluded, but his face, framed with brown hair and trimmed beard of same color, was already hardened with ruling and fighting.
She could tell this Northerner is looking at her to get every detail. Brienne was tall, muscular, flat-chested with shoulder-length hair, colour of straw.
Not many in Westeros would say she was comely in any way. Same thought this man next to Sansa, that much Brienne could read from his face.
“Ser Brienne of Tarth, Lady Commander of Kingsguard to King Bran of the Six Kingdoms… lord Elric of House Karstark, lord of Karhold, commander of the Northern host.” Sansa decided to present them to each other, then continued:
“I hope your journey was not too rough, Ser Brienne. It takes nearly twenty days to ride from King’s Landing to here when one is kind to her horse…
It would be a shorter travel by the sea, but old enemy of the North made sure that no ships can sail close to our shores.”
“I have travelled good, Your Grace.” she replied.
“I am happy to see you again, Ser, after all these years. I am sorry for the loss of your father, lord Selwyn.”
Sansa said. “Thank you, Your Grace. I am also happy to be here; eleven years has passed.”
“You have come here with a mission, Ser Brienne, a mission for King Bran.” Elric Karstark said to her.
“Yes, my lord, I have.”

Sansa frowned: “I wonder why would my brother sent the commander of his Kingsguard on such a long journey when he can talk with me directly using his Three Eyed Raven powers. We have weirwood tree in Winterfell, as does he in his Godswood in the Red Keep.”
“His Grace is seldom using his powers in the last weeks, he’s been ill for that time. I am here in King’s name but my coming here was a task given to me by Hand of the King.” “Tyrion?” Sansa was slightly surprised “It must be an important task if he has sent you, Ser Brienne, you sit on the Small Council.”
“Yes, Your Grace, I am to deliver this to you.” she said and pulled out a paper scroll from the inner pocket of her coat.
Karstark man stepped forward and took in his hand, then pass it to Sansa.
Queen in the North broke the wax seal on the scroll and begun to read. Tyrion’s message was quite long, describing in details what Hand of the King of Six Kingdoms proposes to the Queen in the North. Sansa has read it thoroughly giving it her full attention. After finishing, she gave the scroll to Elric Karstark.
His face changed while he was reading, sighing when he finished.

“Eleven years ago, I’ve told Tyrion that I used to think he was the cleverest man alive. I see with passing of time, he’s even less clever than he was then.” Sansa said with disappointed tone “Hand of the King Bran of Six Kingdoms, wants the Kingdom of the North to halt our war against the wildlings… so that Ironborn and the Vale men can return home…”
She looked at Elric Karstark and both chuckled, then Sansa continued: “North has for last eleven years been an independent kingdom, Tyrion seems to forget that. He cannot truly expect from us to yield before the wildlings and their Ironborn allies so that he can then persuade Pyke and the Eyrie to return to the peaceful ways.”
“Everyone wins, only North loses.” Elric’s tone was bitter “This kind of peace we cannot accept.”
“Nor shall we…” red-haired Stark woman said to him “…Ser Brienne, you will take written reply to lord Tyrion Lannister. Reply which will say that Kingdom of the North is not responsible for this war, we have not drawn the first blood, the wildlings did. And then they called the Ironborn to join them. Surely Tyrion had not hoped for North to be his tools in making peace among Eyrie and Pyke.”
Brienne did not reply. She did not know what Tyrion had hoped for, only that it was a fool’s hope. Sansa will never humiliate herself or her kingdom so that rest of Westeros can make its compromises.
“I wanted to bring road to the land beyond the Wall, Ser Brienne, to make wildlings closer to the rest of people in the North with the way of their living, for Hardhome to be a port as White Harbor is… but wildlings wanted to stay backward same as their fathers were and they went at war with us.” Sansa told with tone of anger.

Karstark man added: “We were driven out from Hardhome, already then were Ironbon amidst the so-called Free Folk, they have butchered dozens of our soldiers.
Then they tried to take Eastwatch from us, but we were ready and we had our friends from the Vale with us… we have remained at the Wal Last week they tried to take Mole’s Town.
Had they been successful, our men at Eastwatch would have lost the only land way that joins them with rest of the North, we would not be able to supply the garrison by land and Iron Fleet would ruin every attempt to send aid by the sea. We have pushed them back but they will come after Mole’s Town again.
And we will repel them again. They took Hardhome from us, but Eastwatch will not, nor any other place.
Should our Queen sue for peace now, Ser Brienne, both of our enemies will see that as sign of weakness…”
“…and I cannot allow that to happen. Least of all for purposes of other country which Realm now is to us. Tyrion should try to find another solution for this war between Pyke and Eyrie.
Time had not only weakened his wit, but he seems to lack the strength and the ruthlessness to hold the office of the Hand. Tyrion from five and ten years ago would solve this issue without sending you to Winterfell.” said Sansa.
Then she added: “We cannot allow rotten truces or peace accords to ruin our future. And I’ll see to it that North has a future.”
Brienne said nothing, just nodded.
She was only a messenger in the end, a highborn knighted messenger, but messenger nonetheless. It was not hers to question Sansa’s reasoning.
It was clear that red-haired Stark queen and this young Karstark, commander of her army, will walk further on the path of war.
Their making of greater North, can truly unmake the Six Kingdoms, came to her mind.

Brienne thanked Sansa for the reception, bowed and stepped out from Queen’s Chamber.
When she was out in the courtyard, she went to the kitchens which were on the other side of the castle.
There one of the cooks recognised her, she was a short, large woman with watery eyes, two chins, a huge bosom and blonde hair.
She served Brienne with three fried duck’s eggs, a strip of bacon, two sausages, a blood pudding and half a loaf of bread still warm from the oven.
Brienne didn’t feel much hunger at that moment, but she ate it all knowing of a long ride which was before her.
Next cooked meal she will have at Moat Cailin, many leagues and a few days southwards. She thanked and bid farewell to the cook and soon was at the courtyard again.

She went to the stables which were placed at the right side of the kitchens to saddle her horse and prepare to leave Winterfell.
Sansa found Brienne tending her palfrey horse. Brienne had another horse, a charger, more fitting for riding into battle or tourney. For long riding journeys palfrey was a more comfortable mount. She bought this one from a renowned horse breeder from the Reach and payed a price worthy of a destrier.
Destriers are trained to kick and bite. In war they are a weapon, like the men who ride them; she thought when buying this mount, but destrier is not meant to carry a rider for hundreds of leagues, palfrey is.

“Your Grace…” Brienne bowed.
“Ser Brienne, I didn’t want us to part ways too formally…not before I ask you to give my love to Bran. I wish him speed recovery. He is the only family I have left…” Sansa said. “I will, Your Grace, but forgive me for saying so, you have another sister and a brother.”
Sansa sighed: “I haven’t seen or heard from Arya in eleven years, I know her ship came close to Northern shores six years ago, but she did not send a word of any kind to me, later some reports came of her dying at the sea, some claim she was seen in Asshai… My other brother is lost too, beyond the Wall, hiding from this world, mayhaps he’s gone mad up there in wilderness.”
Brienne nodded, sensing sadness in Sansa’s words.
“Yet, no matter how I love Bran, my duty is to the Kingdom of the North. My brother Robb was King in the North, he failed due to his love for a woman, love that made him broke an oath which in the end cost him his life. Jon did even worse, he gave up the Northern crown for a woman who was a mad tyrant.
I learn from their mistakes; my sisterly love will not blind me into threatening the interests and welfare of my people and my land.” said the Queen in the North and after a heartbeat continued:
“Bran deserves a better Hand than Tyrion Lannister is; he is smart and was kindest among Lannisters; still that does not make him smartest and kindest among all of men.
North will not be pawn in his schemes.”
Sansa walked out of the stables, not before saying: “It was good seeing you again, Ser Brienne, I wish you safe journey.”

One hour later, escorted by dozen men of castle garrison, Brienne of Tarth, rode out from Winterfell, not sure if she’ll ever see it again.

Chapter Text

Meereen, Essos, year 316 After Conquest

SELLSWORD

All rulers are either butchers or meat.
He told her that once. She did not listen then. And she lived to be the both.

She butchered King’s Landing. He’s heard of that many times, almost from every single Westerosi he encountered in last ten years.
Be that man of Cobbler’s Square or the Hook whose half of kinfolk perished that day when ringing of the bells meant nothing to silver-haired woman on dragon’s back or was the man just retelling
the story he heard half-drunk in a tavern from another drunk who heard it many moons ago from a third drunk and all three of them had as much in common with King’s Landing as did the fisherman from the Lesser Moraq Isle.

Accounts all agreed in one: Dragon Queen burned the city in one day.
She burned Visenya’s Hill, she burned the Muddy Way, the Fishmonger’s Square, the Street of Seeds.
And the Red Keep, dragon flame cut the red castle in half.
She burned scores of hundreds of people, soldiers and civilians alike, even some of her own men, dragon fire does not differ men by the colors of their shields or the banners they carry.
That day she was a butcher, indeed.
Far greater butcher that he could ever imagine her to be.
He approved of it.

A Dragon Queen with no dragons, is not a Queen.
He told her that too, once.

She was not a ruler for long, there across the Narrow Sea.
The same day she conquered the city, brought the Red Keep down on the head of Lannister queen someone has killed her. Stories differed on that part.
Some claimed it was the dwarf himself, Tyrion Lannister, avenging his brother and sister.
Horseshit, he said to all telling him that, he knew dwarf rather well. Big mouth, man quick on a tongue, not on a sword.
Others said it was some man from the smallfolk of King’s Landing, avenging his burned family.
He heard one Westerosi saying the Iron Throne itself killed her as she impaled on its many swords, same as it happened to her ancestor, Maegor the Cruel, hundreds of years ago.

Most of the accounts told that she was stabbed by a man she trusted, one of her allies in the war. Some of such accounts claimed of that man to have bedded her.
She died. In Westeros. In the throne room of the Red Keep, the royal castle of her family, built by her ancestors. Ruined by her.
She died in the land she wanted to rule at any cost.

They brought her back, here in Meereen. The priests of R’hllor, Lord of the Light, the Red God as people of Westeros use to say.

Sometimes the power of their magic or sorcery could do that.
To raise the dead, those who have not been dead for long. He wasn’t in great wonder that red priests have made her live again.
He saw her once, coming out of the flames, out of burning temple of Dosh Khaleen, untouched by the fire.

Two moons have passed of her new life when they have met, for the first time since she has sailed westwards across the Narrow Sea.
She went there with a large fleet, thousands of the Unsullied, tens of thousands of the Dothraki. With three dragons. With Grey Worm, Missandei, Varys and Tyrion.

She came back as dead body in talons of her last dragon, the largest one, Drogon. Other two were killed across the sea.
Missandei was gone, so was Varys, Tyrion serves the new Westerosi king, he has heard of that sometime later. Then he heard that many thousands of the Dothraki fell fighting for her and not many horselords remained and that the Unsullied are not coming to Essos.
She was alone now. No armies, no advisers, only one dragon left.
A defeated woman. And she was with child. He saw her belly.

She bedded some Westerosi and now is left with his bastards, he thought.
Even knowing that, he hoped for him and her to go back to what they have when she was Queen of Meereen and he shared her bed on many nights.
He was the last living ally she had.
He didn’t get to say that, to make that proposition, he would have advised her to retake the throne of Meereen, recuperate and return to Westeros with new army to lay waste of revenge on them all.

The woman he knew once, one which displayed her nakedness raising from the bath when he sneaked into her tent to pledge himself and the Second Sons to her cause on the field before Yunkai,
one that nailed dozens of slave masters on mileposts and burned Dothraki khals… that woman would listen to him, she would have done that, that woman would have reconquered Westeros,
free of shackles of honor and fool’s desire to be loved and not feared.

With only eight and ten years old, Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen was a formidable conqueror. That is how he got to know her.
At four and twenty she was neither conqueror nor formidable.
A pregnant woman of broken dreams. She refused him. True, she thanked the Second Sons for the service they gave to city of Meereen in time of her absence.
And that was that.

He wanted a queen. A conqueror. Surely he did not want what she has become.
True, later she has found her new calling among merchants, on trade routes, her wealth grew with every passing moon.
She left Meereen and settled in Port Yhos, among the Qartheen, leaving the city to be ruled by the council of inept people, former slave masters and former slaves alike,
gathering of cunts and cocksuckers, he used to call them.
This kind of ruling in Meereen disgusted him.

It was weak and foolish and him and Second Sons still have to serve it.
He pledged himself and his men to Dragon Queen, not to the Council of Citizens. Not to that old crone Galazza Galare.
But they had the support of the former queen of Meereen.
And she had a dragon. One but large enough to break anyone who would counter her plans for the Bay of Dragons.
And those plans were to have councils of former slaves and former masters ruling in Yunkai and Astapor as well. Soon, it was done so.

In last moons of second year of her return to the east, Unsullied were in Meereen again, not in thousands as before, in hundreds but just as loyal to her as they were when she freed them on Plaza of Pride in Astapor. The Dothraki were oft seen outside of the city, following their Khaleesi.
In only short passing of time, she had her former armies again, serving her in different manner.

Save the Second Sons and him. She did not need him near her.
He had no trouble with that.
I am not into mothers of any sort, least of all mothers of Westerosi bastards, he thought upon hearing that she gave birth to twin daughters in Vaes Dothrak.

He saw the children when they were five or six years old, one girl resembled Daenerys, other was of dark hair and pale face… she takes after the father of these twin bastards… he concluded…some perfumed nobleman or fancy knight from Seven Kingdoms who got to ride the dragon.

He did not care. Once he loved or lusted for Mother of Dragons, young girl with will that could move the mountains. He had no wish for mother of bastards.

Place of the Second Sons and his own remained the same in the Bay of Dragons until Council of Citizens of Meereen decided to form a guard that will watch over the city.
That was a message to him and his men they’re no longer welcome or needed, after all these years they’ve been keeping their arses safe from return of the slavery.
Essos was such a place where sellsword company will always find something to do for a good payment, but Second Sons got used to over ten years of peace and living off the Meereenese gold. Now, that gold was to be given to someone else.

He was pleased that councilors were quarreling among themselves and the forming of the City Guard dragged for many years, remaining only empty words on paper.
Some of the councillors, those from ranks of former slave masters, hated the very notion of the guard which will be made mostly of former slaves.
He used those men, used their voices in the Council to undermine the labor on the founding of City Guard.
Matters got worse in last half a year.

Kinfolk of Daenerys’ daughters appeared in Meereen.
First the wolf bitch, she came by the sea, with her ship.
Arya of House Stark, she called herself the aunt of twin bastards and he had no trouble believing it.
The dark-haired girl and Arya were very much lookalike.
That northern Westerosi look, of grey eyes and pale skin, he knew somewhat of the Starks. They were now the rulers across the Narrow Sea.
No wonder here, he thought, she bedded one of the wolf family, for the lust or for the alliance and he left her with his bastards.

Later he has learned that one of the wolf family who likely sired the twin girls were a bastard himself. It amused him to think he was succeeded by a bastard.

Not much of an improvement, to exchange a sellsword, son of a whore, with a baseborn Westerosi, he laughed at this notion.

Then, one who fathered the bastards came to Meereen as well.
Few days later, the R’hllor priestess arranged him to meet with the councillors, those who followed the Lord of Light, all former slaves, on the matter of founding the City Guard. Northerner was offered to lead the future guardsmen. And he accepted it.

“Nyke rudhy ao Jon hen Targārien Lentor.” said to him Galazza Galare, head of the Council of Citizens.
She brought the newcomer from Westeros to the pyramid of Yherizan where most of Second Sons have made their residence.
Former owners of this pyramid in Meereen were House of Yherizan, now living only in memory as they were wiped out being supporters or members of Sons of the Harpy. (I present you Jon of House Targaryen. )

“Nyke Daario Naharis hen Tȳni Trēsi.” he replied, looking at the man (I am Daario Naharis of the Second Sons)

His hair was cut short, face shaved clean, eyes grey.
Features he saw on dark-haired twin and her aunt. He wore black trousers and sleeveless tunic of same color over a dark-red shirt.
A red sash was tied around his waist, covered with leather belt on which a scabbard was hung with Valyrian steel sword whose pommel was in a shape of wolf’s head.
Westerosi man was younger than him, few years over thirty while he was few years less than forty.
Man nodded without saying a word.

“Naejot skoros gaomagon nyke enkagon se kirimves hen bisa zentyssy?” he asked. (To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?)
“Ao gīmigon Jentyssy jaelagon naejot mazverdis nykeā Oktion Azantyr.” (You are familiar with Council’s wish to form a City Guard. ) Galazza replied.
“Ry tolī sȳrī.” he said with tone of indifference (All too well. )

Westerosi man spoke for the first time:
“Mirri hen aōha vali issi hen Meereen, istin buzdari, pōnta kostagon jaelagon isse imazumbagon se Oktion Azantyr.”
(Some of your men are of Meereen, former slaves, they may want to join the City Guard. )

Daario smirked, man spoke the purest form of High Valyrian,
it is good to be a bastard in highborn family in Westeros, it seems, they school you regardless, , came to his mind.

“I have invested in those men.” he replied in Common Tongue “I’ll be at loss if I allow them to leave."
“City pays you, does it not?” man spoke with Northern accent “Any invest you have made to equip or train them has been repaid to you, twofold or threefold by now.”
“I assure you that not being the case.”

Galazza Galare grinned, she could understand the Common Tongue fairly enough, though she never spoke it, mayhaps willingly as a proud Ghiscari:
“Oh, Daario Naharis, Meereen emagon addemmagon ao.”
She reminded him how city has repaid him.

That is what you say, old hag.

“They are my men. Second Sons have been serving Meereen for four and ten years now, many of those who were with me since then are gone, some died in battle, some of illness, some became too old to fight, a sellsword company which does not bring new blood is doomed. I cannot lose the Meereenese who joined Second Sons without some compensation done.”
Dark-haired man replied: “That sounds a lot as selling of men, in somewhat changed form than slave trade, but selling of men nonetheless.” “Sellswords do sell their swords, my lord...”
“True, so let them sell their swords. To the city of Meereen and its new guard.”

An ordering tone… I’ve heard such before, though mouth from which it came were on a face of silver-haired queen, not on Northerner, he mulled over for a short while.

“You don’t strike me as a Targaryen…” he said to the man “…shouldn’t your hair be lighter and eyes of different color?”
“Not all Targaryens had Valyrian features. I take after my mother; she was a Stark.”
“I was told that Northern bastards go under name of Snow.” Daario sad with a grin. Man replied calmly:
“Indeed they do. But you should address that matter with some Northern bastard.”

He had no choice but to look how most of the Meereenese which in past few years have joined the ranks of the Second Sons now leave to serve this mummer army that Council is forming with this bastard of wolf and dragon as commander.

Two days after he first saw a man who called himself Jon Targaryen a message came from the west; from a man he last saw three and ten years ago.
Message to come to Myr.
He decided to answer the call. If for naught, he’ll visit the Myrish brothel or two.
That travel to Myr was fruitful. He had a new goal in life now.
He will now be the conqueror and the king.

He was sitting with three men in a back-alley tavern, away from the main squares of Meereen.
Even without their bright silk tokars and the jewelry, his companions acted like noblemen and once masters, by their posture and the way they talked.

“Naharis, you sell your sword. How are we to trust that you will thrust it in the dragon whore? You were her faithful servant all these years.” first man asked.
He was fat with soft hands and greasy hair. One could tell he had never work hard in his life.
Daario grinned: “I have no love left for her. She is nothing to me now, she robbed me of many things and continues to rob me.
She, the councillors she’s protecting, her Westerosi bastard lover. I will kill the bitch; can I expect your support afterwards?”
“Support to take over the city from the Council?” one of them asked.
“A short time measure, I assure you.” he replied.

I am lying to you, fat fuck, but of that you’ll learn the hard way.

“Later, masters as you three once were can retake the city and rule how they bloody like."
“Assurances of that kind will mean little if you fail to get close to the Dragon Queen.” the fat man said.
“She trusts me. I can come close enough to slice her throat.” he replied.

“What of her whelps?” asked the second man, he was lean with crooked nose and a scar on his chin “Is killing them a must be… or could you consider other options…?”
“What options?” Daario asked.
“Keeping them alive and selling them to be trained at pleasure houses. One with Valyrian traits will fetch a good price on the market, the other not so much but still.
There is good twenty years of serving men or women ahead of them… and the brothel owners will give them potions to clear their memories of past life and of their dragon whore mother. Dwell on that, Naharis, for the world they’ll be same as dead, you’ll earn more gold coins and not have babe blood on your hands.”
“You are a true jackal…”sellsword grinned “I will dwell on it.”

“What are we to do when time to strike comes?” asked third one sitting with Daario, an aging man of broad, weathered face, brown skin with grey-white hair and beard.
Only for him could Naharis tell of once being a soldier.
“When the time comes, you will cause unrest in the city, unrest so large they will have to deploy all of this new City Guard and the Unsullied to quench it.
That way, Dragon Queen will have only few guards left. I will come with my most loyal Second Sons as to her protection, but in truth it will be her doom.”

Three men looked at each other and nodded.
“Very well, Daario Naharis, you will have our support. Send the word when you’re ready to make the blow and Meereen will have chaos unseen since the days when Sons of the Harpy ruled the streets.” the one with crooked nose said.
Daario grinned at this:
“You mean when you three and your friends ruled the streets?”
Then they all laughed.
After finishing another round of drink to seal this arrangement all four slowly walked out of the tavern and parted ways, each going on the other side of the narrow alleys.

The lean man with crooked nose walked into a small square, he was far from his part of the town, being a former slave master.
This was a settlement of former slaves and he wondered looking at them did some of them or their parents belonged to him or his parents.
He despised the Meereen as it were now, city where masters and slaves were equal in rights before the law.

How can a merchandise be of equal right as the owner…the dragon whore brought all that on us when she invaded this city and destroyed its traditions; traditions that were kept for thousands of years.

Around him peddlers were selling dog sausages, roast onions and unborn puppies on a stick.
Also, there were for sale flagons of chilled wine and sweet water, figs, dates, melons, and pomegranates, with pecans and peppers.

He saw a girl with a big bowl of honeyed locusts:
“Locusts! Honeyed locusts!” she yelled standing at the far side of the square.
He got a sudden craving for this delicacy.
“Those are very tasty,” girl said in broken Low Valyrian.

Another ignorant slave spawn, he thought, while grabbing into a bowl.

“Try a few, your radiance. Them were rolled in spice before the honey, them are sweet and hot at once…” girl babbled as he crunched the handful of dead insects.
“Indeed you weren’t lying, wench…” he said and grabbed more from the bowl.
“What will this cost me? A copper or two…” man talked with his mouth full.
“Even less, your radiance…” girl replied dryly “…only your life which is not worth half a copper…”
He barely swallowed the locusts hearing this:
“What did you say?”

Then a searing pain burst from his throat down to his bowels, it felt as he was about to retch but he could not, pain threw him on his knees and he fought to get a breath of air. His eyes rolled as he fell face down in the dust.
Soon his corpse and the locusts-seller were both gone in the darkness of a side alley.

Sometime later only one returned to the square.

Arya Stark of Winterfell.

Chapter Text

Meereen, Essos, year 316 After Conquest

HONORABLE MAN

The courtyard of the First Barracks rang with clatter of wood, steel and voices.
As it did every morning since this place served City Guard of Meereen.

Half a dozen recruits were slicing the wooden pell with training swords, with dull blades, others were thrusting short spears against a straw figure representing man.
First days of training were just that, fighting the pole and the straw, to get strength in sword or spear arm and proper moves before going further with training, man to man. Such was done at the other side of the yard.

Abandoned fighting pit once owned by Yunkish nobleman, Yezzan zo Qaggaz, was in short span of time turned into a place where first company of City Guard of Meereen will be stationed.

The southern wall, made of grey bricks and fifteen feet in height was repaired with sharpened iron spikes added along the top.
On the northern side, one looking at the Skahazadhan river stonemasons were replacing the wooden palisade with the wall of grey coated bricks that was intended to be as high as one on the south.

Pine and cypress trees growing closest to the future wall were cut down to create the clearing which would make it harder on the attackers and easier on the defense of this first garrison of the City Guard.

As he rode in the First Barracks with, Jon looked at that side.
One of the recruits was stumbling as he tried to defend himself with clumsiness from the other man who sliced at the back of his left leg.
The first tried to return the courtesy with sword aimed at the side of the second recruit, but he only got the tip of a sword in his chest, a thrust so strong it made him sat down in the dust.

In Castle Black you’d sit in the mud and snow, he thought as memories came.
Memories of a boy of six and ten who put on the black, believing he is joining the knightly order of men.
Instead he found a brotherhood of those which Realm had rejected or punished.

Now, as a man of five and thirty, he had a duty to establish something that should resemble a knightly order.

I will not have thieves, cutthroats or rapers in the City Guard. Only men wiling to serve. Valar dohaeris. All men must serve, they say.
Not all men, only those who want and are ready to.

He walked to the arched entrance in the southern wall.
When this was still a fighting pit, in that long passage fighters were held.
Now, there was storage, armory, kitchen and pantry and a gaol with four cells.
Place had more daylight now as new holes for windows were made in the wall.

Jon was about to walk to the chamber of the barrack’s commander, when a member of City Guard came before him.
Tumco Lho, man in his mid-twenties, former slave boy who has been trained for the fighting pits of Meereen, now served as one of first officers of the new guard.
Native of Basilisk Isles in the Summer Sea, he was of dark skin.
Jon right away saw his good acquaintance with sword and battle-axe and also much promise as a leader of men at arms.

Tumco wore the clothes of the guard; brown linen boots, dark-blue trousers, brown tunic and a hooded dun cloak.
He had black linen scarf around his neck. He was armed with a slightly curved scimitar and a short sword.

He bowed and spoke in Common Tongue with pitch accent:
“My lord, apologies for disturbing you.”
“It’s all right, lieutenant Lho. What is it?” Jon said.
“This morning we have arrested a Westerosi man and commander Nakhmaz believed you should be informed of it.”
“What did the man do?”
“He was making inquiries around the port, in taverns and inns which captains frequent, about our former queen and about your sister.
He spoke only with men from Bay of Dragons, not with men from the Free Cities.
Our patrol has followed him, keeping distance, and they saw that he shunned the men from ships of lady Arya Stark when passing by.
A Westerosi hiding from his countrymen… that was suspicious so we arrested him in the next inn he entered.”
“On what charges? You can’t hold a man without charging him for something, breaking the city laws…”
“He wasn’t charged with anything yet, my lord, commander Nakhmaz wanted you to see him first… a strange man that Westerosi is.
He is old, I say he’d past his seventieth nameday and on one hand all his fingers are half cut…” Tumco said.

Jon frowned.
It can’t be him, can he? she said to himself He wasn’t seventy years old. But neither is he young enough to travel this far from home.
“Lieutenant, I am going with you to see that man right away.”

Nakhmaz, commander of the First Barracks, soon appeared.
“My lord…” he made a slight bow while greeting them in Low Valyrian, one that is spoken in Meereen
“…I am glad you could join us here. I wanted you to see the foreigner we have arrested.”
“Have you learned anything from him?” Jon asked.
“No, my lord, he does not speak any sort of Valyrian, not even Braavosi dialect which some of our men know.
And Tumco who speaks the tongue of Sunset Kingdoms was not here when we brought him.”
“Perhaps he is pretending.” Jon said.
“He does not, my lord, to his face I have paired his all ancestors, women and men alike, with dogs and camels and he didn’t react.”
Tumco laughed.

They went in and from the direction of the gaol, on the far side of the passage sounds came: “Can I get some water, it’s bloody hot in here…”
said voice of an older man followed by voice a girl:
“Tepagon nyke se iēdarñelly.” (Give me the waterskin.)

One of the guards passed the requested to a dark-haired girl, dressed in light-brown tunic and black trousers with leather belt around her waist.
She gave it to the man through the bars of the cell he was sitting in.
“Thank you, you’re a kind child.”
“I am not a child, Ser.” she replied.
“Seven be thanked, finally someone who speaks Common Tongue. Apologies, my lady, for calling you a child.”
“It has nothing to do with Seven, you only have to study a tongue to know it.”
“I guess you’re right, my lady.” man replied between two drinks of water
“I’ve never been much of a learner myself.”
Girl frowned: “Why is that? Were you lazy?”
Older man chuckled hearing this: “Ha, you might say I was… lazy to learn, not so lazy for other things.
Things that got me in cells as this one and far worse than this one, many times.”
“That means you were a criminal.” girl said with serious voice.
“Aye, I was sometimes. But innocent men are also thrown in dungeons just as guilty ones.”
“What sort of criminal were you?” she asked making paces in front of cell door.
“A smuggler. One of the best in Seven Kingdoms.” man said.
“Is that why they’ve cut your fingers?”
Man looked at his left hand and fingers missing the first joint.
“Yes, they have. I was punished and rewarded at the same time.”
Girl asked: “How can that be?”
“I’ve saved a lord and his family and his men from starving and for that he knighted me, but he also cut my fingers for past crimes.

Dark-haired girl was silent for a heartbeat:
“That was wrong of him to do. The right thing would be to knight you for saving him. And to cut off your whole hand if you would have done the crime again.”

Tumco, Nakhmaz and Jon stood in the passage, listening to this conversation.
Nakhmaz whispered to him: “Lady Lyanna is very smart.”
“What is lady Lyanna doing here?!” Jon whispered back.
“She came alone an hour ago and told us that you have ordered her to wait for you here.”
Jon made a deep sigh knowing that was a lie.

“I see that young lady would administer harsh justice.”
“Isn’t that what justice is supposed to be?” girl replied.
Old man in the cell shook his head and smiled:
“You’re wise beyond your age. I have known such a girl once; she was not much older than you when she became the Lady of her House…”
“Is she still the Lady of her House?”
“No, she died… she died a hero’s death in the Great War.” he said with saddened voice.
“What was she called?” girl asked.
“Lyanna… Lyanna of House Mormont…” he said and girl continued:
“…of Bear Island. I know of her. She killed a dead giant.”
Man looked at her, surprised: “How do you know this?”
“I’ve learned history of Sunset Kingdoms, events from a long ago and those from not so long ago... And of what house are you, Ser?”
“My name is Davos. Davos of House Seaworth.”

Jon upon hearing this walked to the cell.
Nakhmaz and Tumco fell behind few paces.
When she saw him coming, raven-haired girl turned to him and made a formal curtsy:
“Kepa…” (Father... )
He knew Lya was partly doing it for a jest, but still returned the formality by slightly bowing his head to her:
“Ñuha riña.” (My lady.)
Then he turned to the guards, not even looking at the man inside the cell:
“Maghagon bisa vala naejot udrāzmio tistālion.”
(Bring this man to commander’s chamber. )
“Hae ao udrāzma.” they replied ( As you order. )

“Māzigon, ñuha tala. Jēda syt ao naejot jikagon lenton.” he said to Lya.
(Come, my daughter. Time for you to go home.)
“Emagon nyke gaomagon sȳrī, kepa? Skori nyke ȳdragon naejot bona vala...” she asked
(Have I done well, father? When I spoke with that man…)
“Kessa, Līāna, emā gaomagon sȳrje.” Jon said to his dark-haired daughter contently
(Yes, Lyanna, you have done very well.)

When they were out on the courtyard he said:
“How did you get here, Lya? I am certain that your mother knows nothing of it.”
“I took a horse from the temple stables.” girl shrugged.
“And you came here alone across half of Meereen?” Lya nodded.
“You should not have done it. It is not safe to roam around the city alone.”
“Papa… mother said that we’ll be leaving for Port Yhos in few days. I came to see you before…”
Jon could see her eyes watering.
He knelt down and embraced her saying: “No tears. What are we, tala?”
“Dragons and direwolves.”
“Do they ever cry?” She shook her head.
“Then, we shall not cry either.”
“Can I stay a bit longer, Papa?”
“All right. Wait for me in the kitchen. I have to talk to that man you just spoke with and then I’ll take you to the temple pyramid. But Daenerys will be angry with you.”
“Mama is oft angry with me…” raven-haired girl said with smile.

He went to chamber belonging to the commander of the First Barracks, Nakhmaz, a former slave.
Jon was not commander of this garrison, he was named commander-general.
He did not like that title much, it reminded him of captain-general of the Golden Company.
It was likely that Council of Citizens was led with that title when designing one bestowed upon him.

Commander-general of City Guard of Meereen, Jon of House Targaryen… a mouthful to describe a man leading a ragtag bunch…
he sometimes found himself poring over …yet, even greatest hosts of men at arms of the known world started as ragtag bunch.
And there is nothing ragtag in the hooded cloaks. This guard will be the pride of the city. Dreamlike to friends, nightmare to enemies.

“Udrāzmio, se Vesteros vala iksis rȳ se remio.” one of his men reported (Commander, the Westerosi man is here.)
“Sȳz. Ivestragī zirȳla isse.” Jon said (Good. Let him in. )

As Davos stepped into to chamber, Jon could tell that he is surprised beyond his wits.
Eyes of the former smuggler wandered from his sleeveless black gambeson Jon wore over dark-red shirt to the pommel of Longclaw.
Davos’ look froze as he recognised Jon’s sword and was about to speak when first someone knocked hard on the door and then Arya nearly run in the room.
Seaworth’s gaze went to the woman in white linen tunic over grey trousers.
Arya, her features speaking of great distress, frowned upon seeing Davos.

“Seven hells, as if you’ve seen ghosts, Onion Knight!” she said.

Only then, when he heard the name many in Westeros knew him by, did Davos managed to say:
“Arya Stark… and Jon…Jon, are you truly here? I am not seeing things because of this bloody heat, am I?”
“No, Ser Davos, we are truly here as are you.” Jon replied.
Old man rushed to embrace him and then Arya:
“I am a fortunate man, a fortunate man indeed…” he repeated few times.
Arya gave him a dark look, one that bewildered Jon:
“Careful, old man. I wouldn’t be so happy to see me. Not after what I’ve learned.”
“What are you saying, Arya?” Jon said in wonder.
Arya's eyes glinted as he gazed down at Davos and asked in cold voice:
“What is Master of Ships to King of Six Kingdoms doing in Meereen?”

Davos sat down but still was looking at them, as he could not believe.
“Lady Arya… you’re a woman now, pardon me for saying so… and Jon, I hardly recognised you.
I’ve heard stories how Arya has perished in the Sunset Sea and how you have disappeared north of the Wall… and here you both are in Meereen…”
“Answer my question, Davos.”
Arya said in menacing tone that made Jon look more at her than at his once adviser whom he saw for the first time after over ten years.
“I was Master of Ships till last year, then I retired, I had enough of councils and kings… but, your friend Samwell Tarly has found this task for me.”
“Sam?! What sort of a task?” Jon asked.
“Task of preventing innocent blood to be spilled.” Davos replied.
Jon noticed Arya’s tension after hearing what Davos said.
“Go on…” she said.
“Assassination of mother and her children. By order of King Bran or whatever is he now… he ordered it and Tyrion is seeing it done.
They will send killers after… after Daenerys Targaryen and her children…” Davos said, his voice shaky.

“What?!” Jon jumped at his feet “They want Dany’s children dead?! My children dead!!”
Davos looked at him: “…So it is true, she lives and she had your children…”
“Aye, she did. And no harm will come upon them even if I have to kill half of Westeros to make sure of it.” Jon said loudly.

Davos was taken aback with these words, but he saw them equally written on Arya’s face before she asked:
“When have you learned of this? Of this plan to kill my nieces?”
Arya’s voice had deadly tone.
“I’ve met Samwell a moon ago and we agreed that I should sail straight to Meereen and try to find Daenerys to warn her.
Good thing I was not late; for Tyrion had negotiated this assassination with someone in Myr.”
“With whom?” Arya asked dryly.
“I don’t know, neither does Sam… mayhaps even King himself does not know.”
“The King…” Jon said with disgust “My own brother, one whom you have saved from certain death…” he said to Arya
“…he orders the death of his own blood.”
“Jon, who or what ordered Daenerys and children dead, that was not your brother.”
Davos said “Your brother, what is left of him, told Sam of this plan because he knew Sam will do all that is possible to stop this madness…
you must know that Bran Stark does not rule the Six Kingdoms; he never did.”

“How did Bran or whatever creature rules over him learned that Daenerys lives and where is she?
After all these years. You’re not here by lucky guess, Ser Davos.” Arya said.
“He saw you north of the Wall; he saw you telling Jon that she is alive and that she gave birth to his children…” Seaworth replied.
“Fuck…” Arya cursed “…the Three Eyed Raven…he saw me, not Bran.”

Jon could feel his rage overtaking him.
He barely heard half of the words other two were saying.
That cursed thing Bran has become cannot have my children, nor Dany; flashed in his mind; no matter what the cost…
He thought of what to be done, weighing it in his mind, unaware that both Arya and Davos are now looking at him.
Arya shared his anger and was waiting for Jon to say something.

Davos wondered how the young Northerner he once knew has changed, both in appearance and in temper, gone was the brooding silent wolf;
Seaworth had yet to get to know this man who once was a boy of the Night’s Watch.
And the Stark woman standing over him.

Arya finally spoke, in High Valyrian, knowing that Jon will understand:
“Istin ȳdragon lēda ao. Mērī.” (I must speak with you. Alone. )
“Kessa. Kesi jikagon henpaktot.”( We will go outside.)

Davos’s face spoke of surprise when he heard Arya and Jon talking in this language.
“Ser Davos, we’ll return shortly…” he said and left the chamber with his sister.
They stood on the passage and she confirmed what old man said:
“It is true. Tyrion has hired sellswords to kill you, Daenerys and the girls. Or to sold them to slavery, if possible.”
Jon’s eyes burned with rage:
“How do you know this?”
“Kinvara saw something in those cursed flames of hers, not clear vision, only that some sellsword will be coming to kill your family.
And I did my part… I’ve followed the main sellsword in Meereen around for days.”
“That Naharis… of Second Sons…”
Arya nodded: “That filth is the one who Tyrion hired to kill my nieces.
I was told that he travelled to Myr last moon. He won’t get to hurt the girls, Jon.
Last night I’ve already killed one of his associates.”
“You should have killed him first. But, all the better, I will kill him before sundown of this day.”
“He is gone into shadows; I was at that pyramid where Second Sons are. Naharis is not there.”
“Then, soon he will make his move.”
Arya nodded, then said after a heartbeat:
“They’re waiting for the proper moment to strike, Jon. That means they are not in a great hurry… at least not yet.
If they see that we know, it will make them act sooner.”

Jon paused for a beat, but he felt as burning inside:
“You will take Davos to Nymeria… no, to Rhaelyanna… the fewer people are to see him, the better.”
Arya replied: “What will you do? We need more guards at the temple…”
“I will go there right now. I must speak to Daenerys.”
Then his face was marked with horror: “Gods, Lyanna rode across the whole damn city this morning…alone…”

When they returned to the chamber he said to once smuggler:
“Ser Davos, you’ll be a guest aboard my ship. It is the safest place for you. So, if you’ll please accompany her.”
Davos nodded in agreement and rose from the chair, looking at Jon:
“I regret this meeting was not in better terms, Jon, and in better mood.”
He sighed, then replied: “Me as well, Ser Davos, me as well…
I am grateful that you have traveled this far to save lives of my family.
I will never forget that… I consider you to be my true friend.”
“I am, lad, I am…be sure of that.” said Onion Knight as he walked away with Arya.

He was alone and breathing heavily, his thoughts flooded with anger and rage and impulse to lay waste on all who would harm his loved ones.
His Lya, his Rhae and his Dany.
Fire and blood, that is what I’ll give them, thundered in his mind,
and then I’ll give them more fire and more blood. Not even ash will remain…

When he came to the third platform of R’hllor temple pyramid with Lyanna it was close to midday.
Unsullied guards, a dozen of them, looked at him with disdain, but he cared not.
“Skoriot iksis Daenērys Jelmāzmo? Istin ȳdragon naejot zirȳla rȳ istin.”
(Where is Daenerys Stormborn? I must speak with her at once. )

She walked out on the terrace, wearing sleeveless black ankle-cut dress with high neckline and red sash tied around her waist.
Necklace with round pendant with three headed dragon sigil adorned her neck. Her hair fell loose on her shoulder and back.
Gods, she is more beautiful than ever… flashed in his mind.

Then she spoke: “Well. I am here, so speak. Though, before you should explain why is my daughter missing from her chambers since early morrow?
Another of your little games of stealing my children from me?”
Her voice was cold and stabbing. Lyanna’s eyes went from Dany to Jon, then she said:
“I went to see Papa in the barracks of City Guard, Muña. I did it on my own. Not even Rhae knew where I was going.”
“Go to your chambers, Lyanna Targaryen. We shall speak of your wandering around Meereen later.”

Girl nodded, but before leaving her arms were once more around Jon’s waist: “Geros ilas, Papa.”
He kissed her forehead: “Till soon, ñuha tala.”

Jon caught a glimpse of softness in Dany’s eyes at that moment, but it was soon gone.
“I am not going to thank you for her safe return as you are the very reason for her leaving.” she said
“Lyanna once again went alone in the great city for her curiousness about Starks…bringing herself in danger…”
“I am not Stark...”
“That is what you came to tell me?” she brushed him off.
“There is a far greater danger over all of us, Daenerys. Assassins are after you and our children. And me. Probably even Arya.”
Her eyes widened: “Who sent them?”
He let out a deep breath: “Bran… the raven. And Tyrion.”

An hour later, they were sitting at the terrace, alone.
Her guards moved away, all of the Unsullied she had in Meereen were now patrolling through entire pyramid.
Jon had a cup of chilled sweet water in his hand, he still struggled to accustom with Essosi heat.

“Thank you for coming to warn me. And for bringing Lya home.”
“Not bad for bastard and a kinslayer.” he replied.
“Don’t… We can talk without saying such words to each other, I know we can.”
“We could once. Now I am not so sure.”
“Girls ask of you every day.” she said in soft voice.
“I thought that they’re not supposed to be interested in killer of the unborn.”
“You are their father. They want to be with you.”
“And you’ll approve?”
She sighed: “I do not approve. But, since they were born, I did all I could to make them happy. It seems that you make them happy as well.”
“And you? What would make you happy? Your Unsullied throwing me off this temple pyramid?”
She shook her head: “I don’t want you any harm, Jon. I have never spoken ill of you to the girls. Not now, not before.”
“Nor did I of you, Daenerys. If there is poison between us, we don’t have to pour it on them.”
“Don’t worry, I haven’t poisoned your drink.” she said smiling.
“Good, because I am truly thirsty.” He nearly emptied the cup.

“It’s odd… last Westerosi whom I shared drink with here in Meereen was Tyrion Lannister.”
“Mayhaps it would have been better if you hadn’t met him at all.” Jon said “Knowing what we do now.”
“He had his moments.” she replied “Good and bad.”
“As did we all.”
“You’ve stabbed me after consulting with him…” came from her with accusing tone.
“Who told you that?” Jon asked frowning.
“Grey Worm. Don’t deny it.”
“I won’t. I spoke with him before coming to you. He did not make my decisions.”
“No, he just steered them in right direction.”
Her tone was filled with disillusion.

He replied with voice of both anger and pain:
“You were beyond saving; you’ve become just as same as those you fought against…
I came to you then, to see if you are still the same Dany who risked her life, her dragons to help others.
But I saw someone willing to wage war on all who didn’t fit in her vision of that new, good world…”
“I believed in that good world with all my heart, Jon. I hoped you did too.” her voice, just as his, was now both sad and angry.

“It is a noble notion… to make a good world… but how? What makes the world? People, Daenerys, world in the end comes to people.
To us all, with all our virtues and flaws, courage and cowardice… our goodness and our villainy.
To make a new world, a world you think it will be good, asks of you to remake the people and that is an impossible task.
Then you have to replace people… which is an evil deed.
Did you hear that one on the Council who spoke how Dothraki should be wiped out from the face of the earth?
For him, world without them would be a good world. And then… in that good world, someone would sooner or later become a new menace,
instead of the Dothraki, and you’d have to wipe them out too, until you don’t run out of the people.
And for whom were you making that good world in the first place?”

Her gaze was lowered now: “I know… I lost my way when I burned the King’s Landing. To this day I don’t know what came over me.”
“Pain, Dany… pain for all those you’ve lost led you to doubt, doubt to fear, fear to hate. Hate to murder. Of a city you came to free.”
He leaned towards and wrapped his hands around hers:
“But that was not true you. Never was, never will be. You came as a shooting star, glowing bright and fast but the darkness in the end has swallowed you.”

She slowly pulled her hands out of his:
“You killed me, Jon. I stand before you alive because of Kinvara and of whatever power Lord of Light has. But if it were up to you, I’d be white bones now, left by Drogon on some mountain top.
My girls would not be even that… I have done a terrible crime in King’s Landing, but so have you. A crime of kinslaying.”
Her voice was accusing again.

Jon sighed, then broke the cup in his hand, blood from his left palm and shards of glass fell on terrace floor:
“I did it, yes! I did it! I killed you! I killed a woman whom I loved, with whom I wanted to live the rest of my days, whose eyes were to be the last thing I see laying on my deathbed… instead, I watched life leaving those loving eyes.
That was the woman I killed. And yes, gods curse the kinslayers.
They have cursed me with ten years of living hell, only gods know why I haven’t killed myself, ridden with guilt for taking life of a woman who saved mine more than once…
What do you want of me, Daenerys, to throw myself on a dagger here before you? I will not. I’ve done my penance. That Jon is no more. “

She was breathing heavily: “Good. But I don’t trust this new Jon either. I don’t know how you’re suddenly able to speak High Valyrian, what sorcery gave you this vocabulary and eloquence… I don’t trust you, Jon…”

Daenerys turned his gaze away from him:
“You are a brave man, an honest man, you don’t have a shred of duplicity in you… but your loyalty…
I’ve never had it. Not as your ally, least of all as someone you claim to love.
I can’t risk the welfare of my girls with such a father.”
“I would die for my daughters!” he shouted “And you know that.”
“Mayhaps you should. They’ve once already died because of you.
You and your damn shield that guards the realm of men.”
“I did not know that you were with child, how many times do I have to say that… until your ears bleed?”

Her eyes were set at him again: “All right, Jon of House Targaryen, son of Rhaegar, father of Lyanna and Rhaella, out of ignorance you have condemn our daughters to die.
Our daughters, Jon. Lord of Light have brought them back and I gave them everything I could.
Are you ready to do the same for them?”
“Of course I am! How can you even question that?”

“Are you, are you truly? If Sansa one day were to ask of you to choose between hers and yours precious North and our children, what would you choose? Tell me, Jon who claims to be a Targaryen…”

Jon felt as if blood was rushing into his head, as he’s boiling inside.
His gaze was stuck on Daenerys’ face; two dragons danced and spat fire at each other. Then he saw a piece of broken cup on the table.
He grabbed the shard and sliced the palm of his right hand with it:
“I swear it on my blood as a Targaryen, on my blood as a Stark, that my only loyalty in this world lies with my children, Lyanna and Rhaella of House Targaryen.
And with you, Daenerys of House Targaryen, the woman I love.
And this I swear from this day till my last day.”

“The woman you love…” she shook her head “…the woman you could not look at when you found out we are related.
Since this new Jon seems to be filled with knowledge, what kind of love between kinfolk is cursed by gods, old and new, in Westeros? Tell me…”
“Gods curse when father lays with daughter, mother lays with son…or brother to sister.” Jon said as he were reading from the book.
“Which of that am I to you?” she asked.
“None. I am your nephew; you are my aunt.” he replied, only now feeling pain in both his palms.
“And, do gods curse such pairings? Your old gods in the North and the Seven?”
“No. Starks wed nieces to uncles on one occasion. Cousins even more oft.”

“Then why did you shun me, Jon, why? When I needed your embrace the most, you acted as we were doing some abomination.
You can’t fathom what it did to me, when you moved your lips from mine, looking guilt ridden.” she said not hiding disappointment in him.
He sighed: “You think that was easy for me? To not be able to love you as I wanted to?”
“Then why have you acted so? It was not about me being your aunt, was it? Can you tell me, now, what was on your mind all those years ago?”
Jon placed his head in his hands and took a deep breath:
“I don’t know... I felt it was not right… I felt as I was insulting you with my love and my lust for you. I thought that it’s not proper for a man to lust over his father’s sister…”
Daenerys looked at him, her eyes widened and then she laughed.

“Am I a jester to you now?” he asked angrily.
“No, you are just a Northern fool. It is more than proper for a Targaryen to feel love and lust for another Targaryen. That is in our blood, Jon.”
She paused for a heartbeat: “You know when I first knew that you’re not like the other men I’ve met in my life?
On Dragonstone, remember, when you said that you don’t like what you’re good at. Same as your true father, father you have never known. Same as Rhaegar. So, you see how strong blood of the dragon is?”
“You’re blood of the dragon.” he told her softly. “
Yes,” she agreed “Same as you, same as Lya and Rhae.”
“And I just swore loyalty only to that blood. Indivisible loyalty.”

“I will hold you to that oath. I will forget that you have broken one already.”
“You and me both, Daenerys. You swore to defend the weak, not to burn them. But you also have to make a promise. To me.”
“And what shall I be promising?” she responded defiantly.
"That four of us will be family one day, a true family. A true House.”
She shook her head with chuckle:
“I don’t have to swear that. I am truly one of a kind, you’ve killed me and I gave birth to your children and since then never let any other man to touch me. I gather that is more than many families can say of themselves.”
“Promise it, Daenerys.” he asked with relentless tone.

“Mirre paktot, qrimbrōzagon ao! Kīvin zijo!” she shouted in language of their ancestors (All right, damn you! I swear it. ) and grabbed the same shard he cut his palm to cut hers:
“On the blood we share, I promise that one day you and I and our daughters will be the new House Targaryen.
One day, when you prove that you deserve to be part of my family.
But if you betray our House again, even in your thoughts, I will feed you to Drogon.”
“Sȳz. Sir kosti jikagon ampa lī ondos.” he said.
(Fine. Now we can tend those hands. )

They went into Dany’s chambers and dressed their cut palms with linen stripes.
“You damn fool, you’ve cut your sword hand… how will you defend me and the girls…” she said while binding his right palm.
“With my teeth if need be…”
He gave her a long, warm gaze. “What?” she asked.
“You should wear your hair like that more oft…” Dany grinned:
“Have you gained knowledge in how women should style themselves as well, Jon Sno... Jon Targaryen.”
“No, I was just saying…”
“You’ve never known how to properly praise a lady and ten years in the forest surely were of no help in that regard.” she jested.
“There, I’m done. Just make certain it doesn’t fester.”
“Thank you, Dan..” he leaned towards her, but she made a hand gesture:
“You don’t get to kiss me, Jon. Not even on a cheek.
You have my trust, small as it may be, you have it now. But path that you will walk to us being House Targaryen… that path will be slow and painful.Better not falter on it."

I will not, Dany. I am not alone on that path. I have Dorren and Baelon and Rodrik and Gaemon to walk at my side. All my forefathers walk with me.

He nodded, “As you say. I’ll better be going now. We shall meet on Arya’s ship tonight. I’ll bring you the guardsmen clothes. Naharis surely has spies around this pyramid, watching your every step.”
She gave a slight nod.

As he was at the door, Daenerys asked: “Have you eaten today, Jon?”
“No. I usually break fast at First Barracks, but with all that happened this morning food was last on my mind.”
“Then I am inviting you to dine with girls and me.” she said in formal voice, then he heard her mocking: “As aunt I feel obliged to have my nephew well fed.”
“As my lady aunt wishes.” Jon replied.

Chapter Text

Mole's Town, Westeros, year 316 After Conquest

ELRIC

It was not a town. It was a village. Even to call it village was a praise.

Half a league south of the Wall at Kingsroad this place lies.

Its smallfolk were called moles. If one wanted to know why, he’d quickly find an answer in the knowledge that three quarters of this village lies beneath the ground in deep damp warm cellars and vaults connected by a warren of tunnels.

Buildings above ground included a smithy, a stable and a small number of hovels with shuttered windows and wooden slats.
Even brothel was located in the cellars, with nothing more than a shack, no bigger than a privy on the surface.
It had a red lantern hung over the door. It was said that brothers of the Night's Watch went to Mole's Town to dig for buried treasure when they would go to seek the company of whores. On one such occasion, crows were slaughtered by wildling raiders.

That will not happen to my men, Elric Karstak said touring the defence positions around Mole’s Town, there is no brothel here anymore.

Place was now fortified, ten and five feet tall wooden wall surrounded the whole village, before it a ditch was dug and rainfall, common for summer this far north, filled it with muddy water. And before ditch, a thick forest of wooden spikes was planted by the Northern garrison which hold the village, making sure that travelers, coming from the Kingsroad and wanting to journey further North by the newly built Queensroad would do so safely.
It was possible now to go as far as Eastwatch, another Northern garrison that resisted the attacks of the wildlings and the Ironborn.

Mole’s Town was even more of value to the Northerners than Eastwatch-by-the-Sea.
Losing this village would mean that there is no safe pass from Kingsroad to Queensroad and Eastwatch would soon have to be abandoned, as Hardhome were two moons and a fortnight ago. Eastwatch was intended to be a place of rest for those who were coming to Hardhome by land.

Riding or traveling on a cart or wagon would take nearly three weeks from here to Hardhome.
Without this village and the place for which North hoped of becoming Queensport, there was no reason in keeping men at Eastwatch.
Same as for the Kingdom of the North this village, once on the edge of the world, was important to their enemy. If not more.
Mole’s Town became a notion of death and horror for many Northern families.
And some families in the Vale of Arryn.

Last attack was a bloodbath, if Elric ever could contemplate one.
He was just a boy when men of House Karstark were dying on the field before the walls of Winterfell in the Battle of the Bastards, thousands died that day. Here death came for hundreds, but it was gruesome still.

“Scorpion!” shouted one of his men upon seeing the flaming large bolt coming from the nearby hill, aimed at the walls.
Ironborn brought these weapons from their ships in Bay of Ice and transported it by land from Westwatch-by-the-Bridge, westernmost and abandoned castle of Night’s Watch to Queensgate, another abandoned castle of the crows, which was now occupied by the Ironborn and the wildlings.

Some of the enemy named Mole’s Town as Whore’s Gate which meant to insult Sansa Stark, the Queen in the North.

What was left of the Night’s Watch, it being a mummer show for last eleven years, remained in Castle Black, until the fighting at Mole’s Town made their position unbearable and they had to move eastwards, to Woodswatch-by-the-Pool. Elric did not care for Night’s Watch, to him all of them were wildling lovers and spies.

Walls sustained a direct blow and some of its wooden poles were shattered.
Though burning itself, the bolt from the ballista did not set the palisade ablaze this time, as poles were wet from the rain earlier that day.
There was a catapult as well, but it could not do damage to the village walls as those manning it were struck down by arrows every time when they dared to move weapon closer.
Catapult was used to aim at spikes that were sticking out from the ground before the ditch. First stone landed among it, leaving many broken and some torn out from the ground. Next stone followed soon after causing the same and breach in the spike wall, in the first line of defense, was becoming visible.

Soon they will charge again. Kraken and Thenn, pairing made in one of seven hells of Andal faith,
Elric mused watching how catapults shoot stones which mowed the wooden poles with sharpened tips like grass.
Enemy has made a breach.
“Archers, get ready! They’ll be upon us soon! Pass the word!” he shouted to his men at the palisade.
Elric expected a rain of arrows next, wildling bowmen would line up behind the wooden shields, almost as tall as man, and aimed at the defenders.

Not many arrows would hit a Northern soldier, but those that did would add the number of dead or wounded, weakening the garrison.
This time it was not so. There were no enemy archers taking place north and west of the village, instead he saw them coming, in two columns.
One of wildlings, other of Ironborn, both keeping tight square formation, shields were covering the front row of men, those on the sides while men in the middle of this formation were holding shields above their heads.
It reminded him of a turtle and of hedgehog in the same time, with spears sticking between dozens of shields.
Foes advanced in slow pace, keeping order and he knew they will soon be in the range of arrows.

“Archers, take positions!” Elric ordered and men with bows and quivers or bags with arrows rushed to climb the walls and aim at the incoming enemy.

About two scores of his bowmen were waiting with nocked arrows while two shielded columns of foes sloughed across the field through the breach between the spikes.
He was about to shout Loose when Rodrik Locke, commander of the archers, called his attention: “My lord, look! The western wall!”
Elric’s eyes went as Rodrik told him…
Damn iron whores! curse flashed in his mind before he yelled at his men on the walls: “Get low! Get low!”
Those closer to him managed to kneel or crouch down, before two bolts came from the scorpions, both shot at once.
Bolts flew one foot over the edges of the palisade poles where western wall connected with the northern side.
Elric could see how bolts slam into his archers, projectile passed through one man and stopped in the chest of another, both of them fell down from the wall.
Other bolt slashed the neck of one archer while flying by, forced the other to jump off the wall and ended in the side of third man, spilling his entrails on the rampart.
Elric was first one standing again and he bellowed orders: “Archers on the west wall, aim at those scorpions, loose at will! North wall, rain fire on those fuckers…!”
Half a dozen of his bowmen was killed or wounded by two bolts, but others were more than eager to avenge their fallen companions.

On the west side, arrows have soon driven away the Ironborn and their scorpion wagons, killing fair share of them, palisade was now out of the weapons range.
On the north side, clay jars and flagons filled with oil were thrown at two shielded columns of the enemy which was now getting ready to cross the ditch.

Elric saw just a glimpse of ladder in the Ironborn shield turtle…
They will lay the ladders over the ditch and then use it to climb the walls. We must stop them before.

“Rodrik, gather all the men and all the shields you can from the south and east side…we’re meeting Kraken and Thenn head on… I want them to drown in that ditch.”
The Kraken and the Thenn, that saying has become a common name among the Northern soldiers for this alliance of Ironborn and wildlings, even if it were not right, while all the Ironborn were indeed krakens, that was their sigil, only a handful of wildlings were Thenn, those clever enough to come on the south side of the Wall four and ten years ago.

First rows of both Ironborn and wildling turtle were now in disorder for the fire that caught shields and men alike and were pushed forward by those behind them; some managed to move aside, some fell into the ditch that was deep and wide nearly twice as palisade was tall.
Two of the Free Folk came from under the shield turtle with ladder, they ran to the ditch and placed the ladder over it as a makeshift bridge, ladder on each end was three feet longer than ditch was wide.
Elric knew that shield covered formation of the enemy will break apart as soon as they begin to charge over the ladder and that was the spot where he would meet them, on the very edge of the ditch.
Three quarter of an hour later, two shield walls collided with a crack of iron and wood, Elric held his shield high and felt the impact of a spear point snap against the wooden frame and he felt the weight of men pushing in from the front as well as at his back, curses and screams and metal raking against wood and the crunching of flesh, and he saw the feet of his enemies digging into the earth, and overhead, he heard the whooshing of spears being thrown into the deeper ranks of the wildling lines.

Sound of bodies falling into water were now more oft than when it all started, that small portion of ground between palisade and the ditch was turned into slippery mud and two lines of men tried to break each other, one to have their enemies pinned to the walls, other to push their enemies into brown colored nine feet deep water.

Elric felt the enemy wall falter as the fighting shifted to the left, and he saw a break in the line and lunged forward with his shield, the impact sending a burst of pain up his left arm, but the pain disappeared quickly, and he stabbed to his left with the point of his short sword, and the steel tip ripped into flesh and bone, and a soldier fell to the ground at his feet.
He stepped over the fallen body and attacked the next man who tried to fill the gap, and stabbing over his shield, his blade caught the man in the throat, spraying blood, a fine mist, warm and bright red, and the man grabbed at the steel edge stuck in his neck.
Young Karstark ripped the sword free, another gush of blood, the man’s face pale and eyes wide, hands grasping at the wound as he fell to his knees choking and gurgling on his own blood.

“Push them back! They’re breaking! Push them back!!!” he shouted.
The Northern shield wall took half of the ground between ditch and the walls, making impossible for more Ironborn and wildlings to run across the makeshift ladder bridge and join their brothers in fight, there was no room for more men without falling into the water. Catapults and scorpions now could not be used, not if one did not want to kill its own men as well as the enemy. His archers that were shooting at the enemy on the other side of the ditch from the top of the palisade and from the gate on the northern side, now have turned on those making the other shield wall, one that was slowly but surely giving in to Elric and his shields and swords.

“Come on! Come on, men! The Kingdom of the North!” he yelled and smashed the face of one strayed Ironborn with the hilt of his sword.
“The Kingdom of the North!!!” scores of voices replied.
Mole’s Town was defended once more.

Elric walked along the outer side of the walls, Rodrik Locke was with him.
“How many did we lose?”
“Five and forty dead, two and twenty wounded.”
“Curse their whore mothers, Kraken and Thenn are getting better and better in killing us than in maiming us.
I’ll send raven to Winterfell, we need more men here, our Queen gaze is only on the Eastwatch while Mole’s Town is the key of victory in this war.
We must make this such a stronghold that they’ll never try to attack us again.”

Bodies of dead wildlings and of some Ironborn were floating in the ditch,
he saw a crow plucking on the face that was half missing.
Stench of the water was awful, it reeked of death, bladders and bowels.
“Ah, for fuck sake, send a message to them to come and collect their own dead… we’ll be up to our necks in flies and maggots if these poor fuckers stay afloat here.”
He sent a messenger, one of wounded wildlings that has yielded and was spared by his men.

That same man returned on the horseback under the peace banner.
“Lord Karstark!” he yelled when he halted the horse before the ditch “Lord Karstark!” Elric stepped on the palisade:
“I don’t see that you’ve brought men to take those corpses away.” “
They come ‘ere in less than a ‘our. But, the Ironborn commander like to ‘ave a parlay with you.”
“Does he now?” he replied “Tell him I accept. Two miles south of here, on the Kingsroad. Three hours from now.”
“Aye…I tell ‘im.” man said and rode away.

“Elric of House Karstark.” said a man of brown hair and beard of same color, neatly trimmed, dressed in black breeches and black surcoat under which he had chainmail hauberk “I’ve heard you’re young but… you were surely suckling your mother’s teat when I was cutting down your Northerners in the battle on the Green Fork.”

They were standing next to their horses on the Kingsroad, two miles southwards of Mole’s Town, their escort keeping the distance from them and from each other.
“With what you’ve just said, my doubts were confirmed. You’re neither a wildling nor an Ironborn.” Elric replied.
Man laughed loudly:
“Ha-ha, my lord, I will tell you this, if I were a damn wildling, I’d let you kill me right now, but if I were a fucking Ironborn I’d kill myself.” “A Southron. I can tell by your accent. Are you a sellsword?”
“I was once. Long ago. Not anymore.”
“So, not being from the Free Folk or the Iron Islands and not getting paid, what makes you fight in this war?” he asked the man in his late forties.
“Same what makes you… power and lands. Though power and lands that I want are far more valuable than this shithole we’ve been slaughtering each other for.”
Elric grinned: “And fighting for the Ironborn will get you that land and power?”
“It will get me closer to getting it, aye. The longer I fight here, the closer I am.”
“That would mean you do not prefer a fast victory over us, when such a thing would even be possible?” he asked.

Man laughed again:
“Now, young lord Karstark, do you truly believe that your Northern host made of toothless old men and boys who don’t even have hair between their legs could resist the onslaught of such butchers as Ironborn and wildlings are?”
“Do not underestimate my men.”
“I have seen their value or lack of it at Hardhome. And those were your finest.”
“Why have you called this parlay?” Elric said with annoyed tone.
“To see if we can make an arrangement.”
“I do not make arrangements with my enemies.” young Karstark said.

“Then you’re a fool… last moon, Brienne of Tarth came to Winterfell.
With message from the Imp. Begging of your ginger queen to end this war because if it lasts, the Six Kingdoms will fall apart. Don’t bother to deny it.
My side has spies at both courts… and my side would like this war in the far North to last for many moons… years if need be.” man in dark clothes told him.
“Your side wants for Six Kingdoms to fell apart? Why?”
“…and why not? Does only North have a right to leave the Realm?” man asked.
“I would say all kingdoms are free to choose. As North did.” Elric replied.
Man nodded: “And your North could benefit greatly if Six Kingdoms are not there anymore.”

Young Karstark made a slight frown: “Care to explain further?”
Former sellsword grinned: “Ah…a man who wants to know more… that is good.
Well, my lord Elric, the Vale of Arryn is ruled by a young weakling who is cousin of your queen. Riverlands are ruled by an old weakling who is uncle of your queen.
To whom will those two kingdoms rally one day when King’s Landing is no more their capital…? To Winterfell.
And who is bedding the Queen in the North?”
“Mind your tongue…” Elric said.
“I am sure you do not when Sansa’s twat is in question.” man mocked as he was mounting his horse and then he said with seriousness:
“Think it over, young lord, is it better for Riverrun to be ruled from the North or from the Iron Islands.
And they do dream of returning to the age of Kings of the Isles and the Rivers…”

“You fight with the Ironborn, yet you plot against them… that is treason and dishonesty but also a way how game is played.”
“I hope you will prove yourself as a player as well, lord Karstark.”
“We shall see; I will take your words into consideration.”
“Good. As a token of good will, I can tell you that our next attack will be on Eastwatch six days from today. Mayhaps we’ll take that damn ruin this time.”
“You’re welcome to try, lord… Ser…” Elric did not know how to address the man.

“Bronn. Just Bronn will do.” man said as he was riding away.

Chapter Text

Meereen, Essos, year 316 After Conquest

ARYA

“I am giving it to you only for the safekeeping.” she said to her two nieces standing on the deck of Rhaelyanna at the ship’s bow, who were on the edge of bursting into tears “And with that I mean for you to keep each other safe.”

She pulled the small sword with thin blade from her belt and gave it to Lyanna: “The Needle is for you, wolf child. It was forged in Winterfell, your father had it made for me when I was your age and now, I give it to you.”
Raven-haired girl had tears rolling down her cheeks: “I don’t want your sword, Arya, I want you to stay here, we are your family… why are you leaving us?”
She embraced Lyanna and then wiped girl’s tears: “You will always be my family. Till my last day you’ll be my sweet nieces no matter how big and strong you will grow.
You will be strong women one day. But I cannot stay, Lya, ships are made for sailing. And I am a wandering wolf.”
Lyanna looked at Needle, tears still coming down her face.

She then turned to her other niece, a silver-haired girl who was sobbing and then she wrapped her arms around Arya’s neck: “Don’t go, Arya, please…”
Arya also hugged the girl and when they parted their embrace gave her the richly adorned dagger which she took off her belt:
“I give the Catspaw to you, ñuha dōna, a Valyrian steel for a Valyrian girl…” she smiled and then said to Rhaella:
“You look like your mother, but you have Stark temper, sweet niece, you remind me of my father, he was called the quiet wolf. And you are the quiet dragonwolf.”
She embraced the girl again and whispered to her ear: “Promise me you’ll keep Lyanna from getting into trouble.”
Girl nodded, saying through tears: “I promise.”

Arya then placed her hands on both girls’ shoulders: “And I promise that I’ll write to you about all the places I will see on my voyage to Nefer. I will send my letters by other ships that will be sailing for Meereen. And I have one more promise… for your four and ten nameday, I will come here or at Port Yhos and you two will go on the voyage with me, aboard Rhaelyanna.”
Their eyes, red of tears, widened. “Where shall we go?” Lya asked.
“We can go east to Yi Ti or west to Free Cities. Hells, we can go as far as Dorne, to pick blood oranges…you will choose.”
“I’d like to go Braavos, mama lived there when she was a little girl…” Rhae said. “Then we’ll go to Braavos after Dorne…” Arya smiled “…but now you have to return to your mother.”

She embraced the girls once again and then all three walked across the deck of the swan-ship to go ashore when Davos Seaworth came from astern.
“Farewell, old Ser…” Lyanna greeted him while Rhaella politely bowed her head.
Arya saw that girls were safely placed into carriage that will take them to the temple pyramid and then she came back aboard Rhaelyanna.

Davos was leaned on ship’s main mast and gave her an approving smile:
“I must have done it hundred times in my life, such partings, and hundred times they’ve scarred my heart…
You leave a boy or a girl child home and you come back to a young man or a woman whom you barely recognise…
They are lovely children, Jon’s girls. Truly.”
Arya sighed… “Yes, they are. I’ve never thought that I would grow to love them this much... and I did. Almost as if they were my own daughters.”
Davos said pensively: “Heirs of both Dragonstone and Winterfell.”
“And now, the man who is to them the same kin as I am wants them dead.”
“Not him but the thing that has infested his body and mind.
I wonder if Bran Stark is even among the living anymore, maybe only empty shell is left while his spirit has gone and he is no more alive than Rickon Stark is.”

Arya shrugged: “Mayhaps… still, we have a lot of lives to protect and lot of killers to kill… we are leaving the port, Ser Davos, tomorrow past noon both Nymeria and Rhaelyanna will set sail south and west, whom ever is spying on us, and be sure that they do, must be made to believe we’re headed to the Summer Sea, leaving the Bay of Dragons.”
“And where are we truly headed?”
“Ships are to lay anchor at the cove of Yaros Isle, south of Yunkai. But some of us will disembark sooner, no more than twenty miles south of Meereen we will lower the boat in the water and row ashore, Dothraki will be will be waiting us with fresh horses and we will ride back to the city.”
“So, the assassins will strike soon, you think?”
Arya nodded: “Aye, they will. That sellsword had surely noted how his companions that once were Sons of the Harpy are nowhere to be found.”

She killed them. All three.
First the one who wanted her nieces to serve in brothels.
She fed him with poisoned locusts and took his face, leaving the corpse for the stray dogs.
Arya knew of which sellsword Kinvara was telling her about when she saw her at the temple. She followed him to a tavern in one of the poorer quarters of Meereen.
She wore the face of a drunk vagrant who died of a sunstroke on the street of that same quarter. With that face she entered the tavern and pretended to be sleeping on the chair, with pissed breeches, only few feet away from the table where Daario Naharis and three Meereenese nobles were talking, making plans of bringing havoc to the city and in that havoc to kill the dragon whore as they called the mother of her nieces which were to be killed or sold as pleasure slaves.

Next she killed the fat one, that had greasy curled hair.
He came at the bath close to his manse, bath where he enjoyed the company of servant boys massaging his soft, obese nakedness.
This time it was woman’s hands that gently touched him on his shoulders only to be closed around his neck squeezing the life out of him.
She pushed him into the pool of warm water, to make it seem as he drowned.

Third one, brown-skinned with grey-white hair died on his very doorstep.
She came to his house wearing the face of the first she killed, one of crooked nose and a scarred chin, telling the man as he opened the door that Naharis plans to trick them and then she stabbed him, as common thief would do, many times and messy. She stole his money purse and left him to die.
There will be no chaos in the city now, she thought.

That same evening she was to meet Jon and Daenerys aboard Rhaelyanna.
She feared what reaction could come from Daenerys.
Knowing the Dragon Queen, she could jump on Drogon and fly to the Red Keep to burn it down again, this time to the very foundation stone.
But she is a mother. Free to choose how to deal with this threat on her life and the lives of her daughters.

“Arya, one man dressed in black and red wants to come aboard. And one soldier of City Guard is with him.” Willard Stout called.
She kept only the skeleton crew on her second ship. Artos Costayne and not more than dozen men with him, including her new healer Illeo Maegyr. “Let them come aboard and sent them to my cabin.” she replied.

At her cabin, four of them were seated at the table.
Arya wearing her Braavosi jacket and grey trousers, Ser Davos in his leather jerkin and brown breeches, Jon wearing colors of dragonlords, black surcoat with red borders
and a guardsman of smaller stature in brown tunic and dun cloak with hood pulled overhead and black scarf that covered whole face save the eyes.

“I gather there is no need for such concealed look.” Jon said.
“Kessa.” guardsman replied removing the hood and the scarf in the same time.
Davos’ jaw dropped when he saw Daenerys Targaryen sitting in front of him.
He managed only to mumble: “Your… Your Grace…”
“I am nobody’s queen anymore, Ser Davos, you don’t need to address me with that title.
As a mother, for your coming here to warn us of the grave danger for my children, I owe you a great debt.” Daenerys replied. “You owe me nothing, Your… my lady. Mayhaps I was not among shiniest of knights of Seven Kingdoms but my title would not be worth a shite if I hadn’t sailed to Meereen.” Davos said to her to which she nodded with hint of smile. “

Arya, this must be a short gathering.” Jon said “Our daughters are alone now.”
“Alone with score and half of the Unsullied. They are safe same as they were here with us.” she replied
“I know what enemy intends to do, Jon. We know who enemy is.”
“Then, who is it?” Davos asked.
“Daario Naharis. And the Second Sons. Or some of them at least.” Arya replied dryly.
She could see the anger and disillusion on silver-haired woman’s face.
“He was loyal to me for all these years. And now he wants me and my family dead.”
“He was loyal to the Queen of Meereen, to Mother of Dragons… one he hoped to be very close with…”
Arya could tell by Jon’s face it was better not to go further with that
“…now you’re just an obstacle. This sellsword has ambitions and one woman, mother of twin girls who’s grown tired of ruling is of no use to him.
He is the man Tyrion has made a pact with to kill you, Rhae and Lya, most likely Jon as well.
He even met with former Sons of the Harpy to arrange a huge unrest in the city at the time when you’re to be assassinated.”

Jon raised from the table that instant:
“Enough of the empty talk. We should get Drogon to burn the pyramid of Yherizan to the very ground it was built upon. Let none one of those sellsword rats to get out alive.”
Davos frowned at this, so did Arya.
She knew her brother now fully adopted his Targaryen heritage, but it was unlike him to have such outbursts, something she would expect from Daenerys.

And she made Arya and Davos to frown again: “No, Jon, you will do no such thing. Pyramid of Yherizan is surrounded with dozens of houses where hundreds of people live. You can’t bring the pyramid down on their heads. Drogon will never again be used to cause the death of innocents. There must be a better way…”
Then she turned to Arya: “…what do you propose?” Arya looked at her, then at her brother:
“…I am not an expert in planning battles, you two are. And this will be a battle, no matter how small. Daario will storm the R’hllor temple to get to you.”
Davos asked: “How many of those Second Sons are there?”
“When he pledged his sword to me, Daario commanded some two thousand men. Now, so many years later, he has fewer.
They’ve been serving as keepers of peace and order in Bay of Dragons for all these years and many who preferred a life of sellswords have left him and in last moons many of Meereenese left him to be part of City Guard. In Meereen there are no more than five hundred Second Sons left.
Rest of them are in Yunkai and Astapor, but it will take them days to come here if Daario were to call their aid.” Daenerys said.
“Those you can get rid of easily, your Dothraki can attack them on their march to Meereen or you can do that with Drogon…” Arya told her.

“What if…” Jon finally spoke again “…what if we’re to make Second Sons to leave the city… to lure them out.”
“What do you mean, lad?” Davos asked.
“They want to kill Daenerys… and from what I’ve seen there is no reason to doubt that Naharis would be happy to kill me too. Why not give him that chance in the open field…” “Jon, speak so that we all can understand." came from Daenerys.
“We must force him to chase us outside Meereen, Daenerys, there we can unleash Drogon on him. And the Dothraki.”
“There’s quarter of thousand Dothraki at Khyzai Pass at this very moment.” Daenerys said “Still, we must figure how to draw our enemies outside the city walls.” “I’ll leave to you Targaryens to devise something…” Arya said “…on my part a false departure will take place. That will encourage Naharis even more.
Both of my ships will act as leaving this side of the world for a long while. But not before we agree on course of action.”

Their meeting ended; Jon went out on the deck while Daenerys remained to hide her face again.
She noticed Seaworth is looking at her:
“What is on your mind, Ser Davos?”
“My lady, when Samwell told me you were brought back to life, I did not like it, not one bit… then after coming here I spoke with Arya and Jon and from what I see…
I am glad you’ve got this second life, Daenerys Stormborn.…”
She looked at him, slightly surprised: “I thank you for being honest with me, Ser Davos.”
“Stannis Baratheon once told me that good act does not wash out the bad, nor a bad the good. You did one bad act and many good ones.
You were a just woman before you burned King’s Landing.”
She shook her head: “There’s no justification for what I did to the place you were born in, Ser Davos. And I’ve utterly failed as a just woman then.”
“Aye, you did. Which does not mean you deserve to be killed once again. Or that your daughters should be butchered for being a Targaryen.”
She made a slight nod to him and said before leaving: “I thank you again, for your sincerity, Ser.”

Willard Stout blew the large horn three times from the stern as both Nymeria and Rhaelyanna left the port of Meereen the day after Arya bid farewell to her nieces.
She knew it was a ruse for Daario’s spies lurking around her ships, but Lya and Rhae did not and parting from Arya saddened them greatly.
Arya knew that once, not so far from today, a true parting from the twins will take place and she knew she’ll be crying on that day too.

Before that day comes, I have a lot to do, Arya thought, as ships sailed out on the open sea and went in direction of south and west.
One-masted boat, whose crew seemed to be fishermen, was also sailing south and west, keeping distance of couple of miles, but not changing course.
Arya cursed knowing those were Daario’s spies making certain her ships were indeed leaving Bay of Dragons.

In late hours after noon, when Meereen was out of sight, Nymeria proceeded in same direction while Rhaelyanna came closer to coastline with
Elston Mudd from Saltpans on the lookout point, standing in a crow's nest on the main mast.
Fishing boat was nowhere to be seen. Fuckers have turned back, to report Naharis that I have truly left.

Sun was slowly setting when ship passed seventieth mile south of Meereen. Three quarters of an hour later, with last traces of day, Mudd shouted:
“Signal light ashore! Signal light ashore!” Arya grabbed the brass and leather telescope and took a long look at the coastline.
Then she saw it. Signal fire was lit at the small rocky beach. “Lower the boat!” she yelled.
A small band of Dothraki rode along the coast for most of the day, following Rhaelyanna and searching most fitting place for boats to come ashore.

“Artos, I need four men to row the boat ashore, when they return to ship you sail her to Yaros.” she said to the captain of Rhaelyanna.
“And where do you intend to go, lord Maegyr?” she asked her Volantene healer as he approached her with wooden box whose strap was over his shoulder.
“Kesā jorrāelagon iā giēñatī, Āria, skoriot ao sagon jāre. Gaomagon daor gūrogon nyke syt iā mittys.” he said to her in High Valyrian
(You will need a healer, Arya, where you're going. Do not take me for a fool. )
“Iksan tolī isse se jorrāelagon hen iā vīlībāzmio, Illeo.” she replied to him
(I am more in the need of a warrior.)
“Nyke māzigon hen se qogron hen banēre, Āria. Eman gūrēntan naejot nektogon vali olvie gō pār nyke gūrēntan skorkydoso naejot giēñagon.”
(I come from the line of tigers, Arya. I have learned to cut men long before I learned how to stitch them.)

She smirked: “Egros iā egrio?” (Sword or spear? )
“Egrio se sumby. Īlen gūrēntan naejot gaomagon zirȳ ondoso iā Dorniot.”
(Spear and shield. I was taught how to use them by a Dornishman.)

Arya donned her leather boots, black trousers and grey linen surcoat underneath the brown leather jerkin.
She placed scabbard of her Rhoynar sword across the shoulder.
At the beach a band of ten Dothraki awaited them. Arya and Illeo were given horses and they began the hard ride back to Meereen.
It was already night and she knew that Daario’s men will attack the R’hllor temple to get Lyanna and Rhaella, to capture them if possible or to kill them if not.
She was uneasy for her ship was made to sail further away from Meereen than Arya planned, she cursed those false fishermen for the entirety of her ride back.

Temple was defended by thirty of the Unsullied and two dozens of Fiery Hand soldiers that came from Volantis at Kinvara’s request.
Fiery Hand had a thousand soldiers, never more and never less; all of them being servants of R'hllor.
They wore ornate armour over their red robes, and wield spears with points in shape of writhing flames.
Arya knew little of fighting worth of these men but was sure that they cannot last for too long against sellswords.

Last hour before midnight had begun when Arya charged her horse up the stairway of the pyramid in which Lord of Light was worshiped, followed by the Dothraki and Illeo, one rider next to other. Second Sons have already attacked, she saw them and the Fiery Hand battling at the first platform and the wall of shields and spears of the Unsullied on the stairs leading to second platform, wall into which some two score of attackers were hurling.
Corpses piled under the feet of eunuch soldiers, until the sheer strength of numbers of the Second Sons managed to broke through the Unsullied line,
but only long enough for ten or so of them to run up the stairway.

Arya and eleven other riders descended upon the sellswords from the back, her Rhoynar sword and arakhs were slicing left and right while Illeo impaled and cut with the spear Dothraki gave him, even horses were biting and kicking at the foes and many them were falling of the stairs into certain death beneath the steep pyramid.
Others that have turned about to face the riders were now getting speared in the back by the Unsullied.

Arya was able to cut through Second Sons all the way up to the shield wall.
“Ivestragī nyke rēbagon! Ivestragī nyke rēbagon!” she yelled to the Unsullied demanding to let her pass and they did move so she could ride by them.

Soon she caught up with seven sellswords that were climbing the stairway to get to third platform where her nieces were right now.
One was thrown off the pyramid as her horse rode pass him and she run her sword though back of the neck of the other.
She dismounted as the rest of them were facing her now.

Six swords moved through the night, each one gleaming, each one gory.
A grey bearded, scarred man lunged from the fray; his scimitar held high.
He wore the Tyroshi clothes though she did not know nor cared for his garments, soon her Rhoynar blade sliced through his breastplate as if it were butter and the man fell. Already bloodied lieutenant of Second Sons stumbled into the path of Arya’s sword, sparks flew as the blades collided. He took quick steps back as she rained down on him, blow after blow, instead of growing tired Arya felt more alive, more awake than she had in years.
This was the part of her she wanted to bury, part that loved the song of steel and scent of blood.
Lieutenant’s body soon tumbled down the stairs.

Arya felt another behind her and she swung around to meet her foe.
An Astapori man stood, terrified in the dark as his blade shattered, only the hilt left in his quivering hand.
He stared at Arya, a mixture of fear and anger in his hollowed eyes.
Astapori drew another sword from a sheath, throwing his broken blade behind him but as soon he stopped in his tracks, a guttural scream poured from his mouth and from the back of his throat the point of a sword appeared, bloody with the insides of his neck.
He stared pleadingly at Arya until she mercifully withdrew her curved Valyrian sword and the man died.

Fourth sellsword charged forward, Arya met him and his fury for his fallen brothers.
She collided with him, blade on blade, he stumbled backwards but still stood his ground, she could feel the pain in her left arm as man’s blade kissed her.
As he charged at her again, in the same swift movement she evaded his blow and cut the sellsword from behind, separating his head from the shoulders.
His steel helm rolled noisily across the hard ground, his head clattering wetly inside.

She saw the smallest of the five, a man of Summer Isles barely five foot in size, wearing no helm nor plate, only thick boiled leather covered him and a long double pronged spear was held in one slender hand. A sharp ringing followed as Arya batted away this sellsword’s spear.
He danced away from her reach as if he were the wind itself.
His feet trod lightly on the stone ground and he spun circles around her. The spear cut her, finding skin to slice at her shoulder and she gritted her teeth against the bite.

Has he coated the spear tip with poison like Dornish sometimes do, she wondered, I’d know it soon enough...

They danced for what seemed hours to her, small dark-skinned man tested her patience, but Arya was no stranger to a spear and she soon caught his face, slicing across it before the man could scamper away, slowing him enough for her blade to cut the spear in two, both pieces blown from man’s hands.
Next was her sword tip bore through sellsword’s ribs. He fell on his knees, spitting blood…
"What sort of creature are you…?” he said in a low clouded whisper.
"Does it matter?” she asked, blood trickling from her two wounds.
He shook his head… “It…doesn’t… finish it. I won’t plead… for mercy.”
“I would give it to you had you wronged me alone. But you have wronged the blood of my blood. That I cannot pardon.”
Man nodded and closed his eyes as he heard the sword swoop through the air, a steel beast with wings.

Below, the swords had stopped clanging and she knew the fight was over.
She could tell even by the dim light of the torches on the stairs and platforms of this pyramid that men of City Guard have flooded the temple from all sides quelling the last hope of the attackers.
She charged up the stairway, there were about half a dozen dead men, both Second Sons and the Unsullied scattered on the terrace floor; as she reached the chambers she kicked the door swung open and inside the room, their backs to the wall stood two girls. One with dark-hair held a small sword whose thin blade was reddened by blood and another with silver-hair who held a Dothraki bow was bleeding from the wound on her belly, Arya could see the pain on her face but girl kept her posture. On the room’s floor, two men were lying dead, one had arrow nested in his head.

“Arya… it’s Arya…” shouted the dark-haired girl with both surprise and relief.
She ran to the girls and kneeled hugging the one with a thin sword first: "Lya, are you all right? Tell me…”
Girl nodded: “I am, we killed them both, but they have cut Rhae…”
Arya’s eyes went to other girl and upon seeing her wound, she felt as something was choking her…“Rhaella, I am here… I am here, ñuha dōna…”
She gently embraced the girl and kissed her cheeks.
“My belly hurts, Arya…it bleeds…” girl said, only now starting to cry.
Arya’s eyes watered as well, she could tell her niece’s belly had a gash and it frightened her…
“Oh, Rhaella, I know it hurts, I know, but you must be brave now…”
Girl cried: “I want to be, but I can’t…”
“You can, you’re the bravest girl I have ever known, my sweet, sweet niece.”

Two of the Unsullied followed by the four men from the City Guard all came charging into the room and soon after them came the priestess of Lord of Light, Kinvara and Illeo Maegyr, Volantene healer armed with broken spear whose tip was dripping blood. His robes were also covered with crimson stains.

Arya looked at the guardsmen and asked in Valyrian: “Is the temple secured?”
“Yes, my lady.” they replied. “Good. Take lady Lyanna to saftey… and get someone to clean this sellsword filth from this room.”
“As you order.” they replied.

When guards left with Lyanna, Arya helped Rhaella to lay on the bed, then she walked to Kinvara and Illeo, both standing at bedside.
She said whispering: “Use all the skills you possess to save her; I beg this from both of you…I don’t beg oft, but I do now. She means a world to me.”
“I will Arya, I swear it.” Illeo said and he went over to Rhaella, gently slicing girls’ clothes with small knife to reveal the wound.

Arya stepped out on the terrace, taking a breath of fresh air.
A loud, wild cry of rage, pain and fear came out of her mouth as she kicked the corpse of a sellsword who slashed Rhaella’s belly.
She was worried for her sweet Rhaella, she knew that such wound can claim one’s life, herself had such wound once.

“She will not perish, your niece.” Kinvara’s voice in ever calm tone came from behind.
“Please, do not tell me that flames have told you that.” Arya brushed her off without turning towards her “I do not want to hear it. I warn you.”
“No, not the flames. The hope in the eyes of your healer has. It could be for Rhaella to live to tell her granddaughter about you, Hero of Winterfell. And of Meereen.”
She now turned to see the priestess:
“I hope you’re right this time. I can’t say that I like you much, nor that I act politeness towards you, but I respect you. I want you to know that.”
“Oh, I know that very well, lady Stark.” Kinvara replied.

Then priestess walked to the edge of the terrace to watch how City Guard and the Unsullied throw the corpses of the Second Sons on a pile, right there on the street before the pyramid that was the temple of R’hllor of Meereen.

“So, this is how it ends.” Kinvara said.
“No.” Arya replied regretfully. “This is how it begins.”

A large shadow covered the pyramid and loud shriek came from the sky.

Chapter Text

Meereen, Essos, year 316 After Conquest

DAENERYS

She was leaned on the door frame of the chamber where her twins were sleeping. Or were supposed to sleep.
They have just been told by their father that their Stark aunt will leave Meereen before this week passes.
Now their eyes were full of tears.

Eight moons have passed since Arya saved Lyanna from being beaten or stabbed to death by some Braavosi sailors in that quay in port of Qarth.
In those eight moons, Arya became a family member to Daenerys’ daughters.
It took some time but she could tell that her relation with Arya grew from uneasy truce to reciprocal respect and even liking to some extent.
Arya’s flight on Drogon from Meereen to north of the Wall and back with Rhaella and Lyanna to bring Jon to Essos did not win Arya much favour with Daenerys.
Yet as days have passed her terror with the notion of what might have happened on such a long journey gave room to all the benefits which came from that dragon ride across half of the world.

Greatest of those benefits, father of her twins, was now comforting them as they were still saddened with learning of Arya’s soon departure.

“You know that aunt Arya loves you both, but she is a seafarer now, her place is on the waves. We can’t expect from her to stay in Meereen forever.
Arya wants to roam across the world, girls, and no matter how much we all love her, we must respect that.”
Jon said to his daughters who were sitting on the bed in their nightgowns. “She told us she is a wandering wolf.” Rhaella added.
“She is, Rhae, she always was. That does not mean she doesn’t care greatly for you or that she will forget you. She has something which will make her think of her dōna lēkiatala, of her sweet nieces every day. Her swan-ship. Rhaelyanna.”

Girls were now smiling.
“So, are my little dragonwolves ready for their night rest?”
“Papa…” Rhaella asked “…will you come with us to Port Yhos?”
“You would like that, Rhae, right…” Jon smiled and placed his finger on silver-haired girl’s nose which made her giggle.
“He can’t go, Rhaella, Papa is Commander-general of the City Guard of Meereen.” Lyanna said proudly.
“But you will come and visit?” other girl insisted.
“Yes, Rhae, I will. Whenever I can.” Jon said with sad determination.
“It takes fortnight from here to Port Yhos by ship, Papa. And more than a moon by land…” his daughter with Valyrian looks was disheartened.
“And only a few hours on a dragon.” Lyanna said hopefully.
“Father is not a dragonrider. Only Muña is.” Rhaella replied.
“I’ve lost my dragon, tala.”

Daenerys’ eyes widened upon hearing this. What is he going to tell them?

Twins gazed at Jon now with awe.
“You had a dragon, father?” Lya asked.
“He was your mother’s dragon, but I was his rider for a while. Rhaegal...” “…was killed by Euron Greyjoy. With those huge arrows…”
“Yes. That is right, Rhae. He rests now under the Narrow Sea. But before that, I flew Rhaegal against the Night King, together with your mother, she flew Drogon.”
“You fought in the sky?” Lyanna asked, her eyes wide.
“Yes, Lya, for the Night King rode wight dragon. We fought him over Winterfell.”
Both girls nodded: “Viserion. Night King killed him. Arya told us of it.”
“Once, Muña and I rode Drogon and Rhaegal over North and landed at this waterfall… it was beautiful place, my sweets.” Jon said half-absently.

This brought tears to her eyes and she stepped away from the door, for them not to see her. A treasured memory came to her mind.
It’s cold up here for southern girl… So keep your Queen warm.
She remembered those words as they were told moment ago.
We made a miracle that day, Jon, those girls you talk with now.

“Father, but I’ve heard from the Dothraki that King in the North rode Rhaegal…”
“Yes, that was me, Rhaella.” Lyanna almost shouted: “Papa, you were King in the North?! How? His name was Snow, that is what Dothraki told Rhae.”
Jon caressed her cheek: “That was my name, yes. Jon Snow.”
“How can your name be Snow when you’re a Targaryen like us?” Lya frowned.
He sighed before answering: “My mother, your grandmama whose name you bear asked of her brother Eddard to keep me safe. And he only could do that by giving me a false name. Some men wanted all Targaryens dead.
They wanted your mother dead as well. And they tried to kill her many times.”
Rhaella asked: “Why did they want all Targaryens dead?”
“Fear, hate and envy, tala. Some men feared us, some hated us and some envied us.” he told her.
“It’s for we are dragonriders and others are not, right, Papa?” Lya asked.
“Not for that. Maegor the Cruel was dragonrider and he was evil. Uncle Aemon had no dragon and he was the wisest man I have ever met. Dragons don’t make what you are, your actions do. I want you to remember that.”
“We will, Papa.” silver-haired girl and her twin of Stark features were nodding in agreement.
“Very well.” Jon said “And now… to sleep.”

He put out the lamps that were giving light to the room and stepped out.
She was leaned on the wall next to the chamber door and embraced him as he closed it placing kiss on his cheek.
“With what did I deserve this?”
“With being the perfect father to our girls. I had doubts of you being with them.
Great doubts. Now I see that one could raise half a dozen babes with man like you, Jon.”
His face had a broad smile: “Is that a figure of speech or…?”
“That was praise. I shall praise you when praise is earned. And you’ve earned this one.”

Dany was truly feeling content with Jon’s parenting.
Such happy moments were rare since she has learned that those who were now ruling in King’s Landing want her and her children dead.
That knowledge made her enraged and frightened in the same time.
She was afraid for Rhae and Lya as never before in their lives and she was filled with fury.
Desire to fly Drogon to the Red Keep and bring the castle down on the heads of Tyrion Lannister and the broken king he was now serving came to her many times since Jon told her the news he had learned from Davos Seaworth.

Tyrion... I should’ve killed him when he came to Meereen with Jorah, when he bragged how he killed his own father. Traitors to their own kin will have no issue betraying anyone else… now he is after me and my daughters.
Serving whatever creature now rules the Westeros. Young man in a wheelchair or raven with three eyes, it matters not. And Tyrion has found the hand which will swing the sword.
Daario Naharis. I have given that lowborn sellsword everything, I’ve let him in my bed all those years ago, he had control over Bay of Dragons all this time and still could have… but he wanted more and surely Tyrion promised him that more.
Now they have woken the dragon…

One thought after another came to her mind, making the fire of her rage to burn even more, with bright flames that spoke to her of delivering hell on all that would harm her family. Dragon was awake. But so was the dragonwolf.
And that was something Daenerys never witnessed before.

Part of her hated Jon for years. For killing her. Hated him for being oathbreaker and kinslayer. It was easy to hate him when he was on the other side of the world and only a painful memory to her, memory she wished to fade away as it has never been.

The other part of her could see him every day in her daughters. His looks in Lyanna, his temper in Rhaella. That part loved him still. That was Dany, a girl who wanted a family, who dreamed of house with the red door and a lemon tree.

And then he came back to her life. Suddenly, unexpectedly.
He was staying at the same place as she was, almost door to door. He came back as a changed man.
He could speak the language of their Valyrian forefathers, he now talked in words as he were scholar or a maester of the Citadel. And he took the name and wore the colours of his true father’s family. Of her family.
Jon won the hearts of her children with tenderness he gave them, with knowledge he shared with them, with kind words and good deeds that father can offer to his daughters. All that in short time of her absence, when she was at Vaes Dothrak.

The part of her that hated him grew more and more silent as time passed, while her respect for him came again, when she listened to him presenting the plans for City Guard to the councillors of Meereen, when she learned how those new guards look at him. He was a leader of men once more. Leader who inspired his men.
Can it be I love him still? Despite the dagger he plunged in my heart, despite everything… she asked herself that same day after he came to tell her of danger that looms over her and twins.
They have said to each other what they think and how they feel. Harsh words were said, blood oaths were made.

She learned from Kinvara that he was changed by Drogon’s flames, changed from a broken, deathlike Jon Snow into a Targaryen with strong mark of Starks of the old.
Daenerys knew Jon inherited fiery temper of their ancestors and also the wolf blood of his mother, of his mother’s brother Brandon Stark and of a long line of warrior kings that once ruled the North.
She could tell when dragon fire was heating the wolf blood. Him wanting to burn the Yherizan pyramid to the ground was such case.

Many years ago, as Jon Snow, he was no stranger to haste decisions that have led him into peril. Now it was even more present.
Notion that someone wants his little girls sold into slavery or murdered, made Jon’s dragonwolf temper to go in flaming rage.
Daenerys on few occasions found herself startled with this side of him.
She did not want for him to act foolishly out of anger and haste, to be dangerous to others and to himself. Daenerys knew how that was very well.
She shared the dragon temper with him.
And she knew that safety and future of their daughters will not come from the blind rage.

Dany sat with Jon in the room that mimicked the one she had in her manse in Port Yhos. Here she was conducting her affairs while staying in Meereen.
He came from the lower level of the pyramid where his chambers were. Twins had no notion that Arya’s departure was a ruse and Jon knew they will be saddened with their aunt leaving. He was pensive and absent minded.

Daenerys took a sip of wine from her cup and said: “Who can tell how coin will land for Rhae and Lya… Many in both Westeros and Essos would swear my did not land on greatness.”
“Coin?” he frowned “Aha… that old saying how madness and greatness are two sides of the same coin. And every time a new Targaryen is born the gods toss the coin in the air and the world holds its breath to see how it will land.”
“Mock it as you like, Jon, that saying was not without meaning.”

He looked straight at her eyes: “I am not mocking it. I call that saying a plain horseshit.” She chuckled while he said: “What is more, I have a better saying: fuck that coin.”
“A much simpler saying indeed.” she agreed.
“Utter it, since you like it so.” “Fuck that coin.” she said with both smile and resolve on her face.
He talked more: “There were many sayings of our house. That one about coin makes us only a toy in the hands of gods. Another, claimed how Targaryens, as their dragons, answer to no one, not gods nor men.
So, what are we? Puppets on a string whose life is set by flipping of a coin or the kind of men who answer to no one, as some halfgods.”

Whenever he spoke of House Targaryen as his family, a sense of bonding came to her. She answered him, also looking at his eyes:
“We are neither Jon.
We’re not halfgods nor puppets. We ride dragons and that makes us extraordinary, but we are no strangers to flaws and shortcomings same as all men.
And we have to bear with those flaws and shortcomings and overcome them. It’s very plain, indeed.”
“We both got wiser with age, it seems.” he said.
“If so, let us hope that trap which we shall lay for Daario and his cutthroats work.”

Sennight has passed since they have met with Davos on Arya’s swan-ship.
They had less than a week to plan how to make those who were about to kill them to come outside the city where all the advantages of a large dragon and horselords from Vaes Dothrak could be used to the fullest.
Arya has thought of a make-belief departure of her ships from the Meereenese port, her role was to return to temple and keep the girls safe, while Jon and Daenerys had to create a ruse that would draw out the main of Second Sons in the open field.

“A wedding? That is the plan? The plan how to draw the sellswords out of the city?” he frowned when she told him. “I am no stranger to jest in dire times but can we remain serious, Daenerys?”
“I am not jesting, Jon… let me tell you how I see it.”
“All right… tell me.” he said, still bit befuddled.

“We’ll let everyone know that I am planning to attend a wedding of Gorro, the oldest son of khal Vhono. Dothraki weddings happen under open sky where bedding will also take place.”
“I don’t see Naharis falling for that ruse. Dothraki bedding??”
“Jon, you are forgetting that I am still the Khaleesi and as such it is expected of me to honor men like Vhono by attending his son’s wedding. Which indeed will take place soon. He has found a bride from town of Hesh for Gorro.”
“Isn’t that Lhazareen town? Since when Dohtraki wed sheepherders?” he asked.
“That marriage was arranged by me. For a purpose.” she cut him off.
“Hm… from Hesh begins a trade route that ends here in Meereen and goes through the Khyzai Pass. Such marriage will make Hesh a Dothraki foothold, of sort. And that route will fall under their lasting sway. Was that a purpose?”
She smirked: “Well noted. Mayhaps it was. And mayhaps I wished for a horselord to marry one of the Lamb People who will not be his slave wife. That also mark of a better world.”

“I dare say it was both… so, once Naharis learns of this wedding?”
“I shall let the word out that wedding will take place at Khyzai Pass on the same day Arya announces she is leaving Meereen. I will ride out of the city with a small Dothraki escort.
Daario must be sure that we are ignorant of his plans. He will even be invited to the wedding as part of my entourage.”
“What?!” Jon said loudly “You surely don’t…”
“For years the Second Sons were part of my personal escort. Not to call them to that duty now would raise doubts and that is what we do not want.”
“So, your plan is to be attacked on the road to Khyzai Pass.”

“My plan is to have Second Sons vanquished on the road to the Pass. Daario will not be able to resist the chance to kill me far away from the city and later to accuse whom ever for doing it.”
Then she chuckled: “Mayhaps he plans to accuse you…”

He gave her a disapproving look: “None of this is a laughing matter, Daenerys. My brother Robb was killed at the wedding, his wife who was with child, his mother, hundreds of Northerners… he too was lured into a trap. By traitors.”
“Jon, now we are setting a trap for the traitors. And I will show them no mercy.”
“Neither will I…” he asked. “Jon, what I intend fits in your plan. Plan for us all to go separate ways. Daario will have to divide his men. Most will go after me.”

At first, she was doubtful when Jon proposed that they should act as Free Folk used to when pursued by Night’s Watch. To scatter.
Then she added to his plan.
Arya was to leave with her ships, girls were to remain in the temple pyramid and Jon taking all his mounted guardsmen will ride north and west, for the foothills of Painted Mountains
That was the very opposite direction of the Khyzai Pass where she intended to go.

“How many of City Guard are skilled riders?” she asked him day after he told their twins that Arya was to leave Meereen.
Jon shrugged: “Well… some three scores are being in the same time trained to be both light horse and spearmen when dismounted. They are eager to learn and under command of once Golden Company men. Sons of Westeros.”
“You will remove yourself from Meereen three days before Arya leaves.” Dany told him.
“Yes. I will take all of my cavalry and ride north and west, cross the Skahazadhan and pretend to be going for the plains beneath the easternmost slopes of Painted Mountains. That is perfect training ground for horsemen.”
“Yet in truth…” she said and he continued: “…I will turn eastwards with sundown and ride through the night. I hope to cross the Skahazadhan on the morrow of that day when you’ll be leaving for that false wedding…
we should rejoin some ten leagues before the Pass. And wait for Daario to come.”
“He will. I am certain of it now.” Daenerys said.

She held to a small, fool’s hope that Daario Naharis will not go that far to draw swords on her and her children.
That small hope died that same day when, instead of him, one of his lieutenants brought word that he is not able to escort her to the Dothraki wedding for being in Astapor a sennight already.
Dany knew that was a lie and that Daario is hidden somewhere in Meereen.

On the morrow of his false ride to north and west with his mounted guardsmen, Jon came to see his twins.
He came dressed in black leather boots, dark breeches, black overcoat with red lining under which he wore chainmail shirt, his hooded cloak was dark-grey.
Around his waist was grey leather belt on which Longclaw hung.
When she saw him leaving the girls’ chambers, Dany gave a formal nod: “My lord.”
“My lady.” he replied “May I take my leave now?”
“You have the leave.”
She gestured towards Longclaw: “I assume you have not forgotten how to use it, being in the wilderness for so long.”
He smiled: “To have Arya Stark as sister has many advantages. Lyanna is not the only one sparring in swordfight with her…”
He made a slight bow and began to walk away, when she called him: “Jon… wait.”
When he turned around, she gave him something wrapped in the cloth: “I had this made for you.”
As he removed the wrapping, dagger was in his hand.
Blade was curved and ornate to resemble reptilian scales with hilt of black color ending with pommel shaped as red dragon’s head.
He looked at her and she could tell his discomfort: “Daen… I can’t…”
“With one dagger you have shed your own blood. With this one, you shall defend it. There is no need to say more.”
He bowed once more and left the pyramid.

It was sunset.
She watched as a fiery red orb of light slowly sank beneath the horizon, and threads of light lingered in the sky, mingling with the rolling clouds.
Skies were dyed first in orange, then red, then dark blue, until all that was left of the sunset was a chalky mauve, and then that melted away as darkness took over the sky.

Beneath her, on the dry plain Dothraki horse archers sent a flurry of arrows and spears at the Second Sons from the left bank of Skahazadhan river and the bluffs overlooking it.
Men toppled into the water with loud splashes, some dead, many more wounded. Blood began to transform the brown coated river with streaks of crimson red.

Watching from above, on Drogon’s back, Daenerys witnessed as two-hundred-fifty Dothraki under Vhono, one of her loyal warlords, charged along the river bank from the north, flanking Daario’s men who were now outnumbered.
Dragon swiftly descended and was now flying ahead of the charging Dothraki.
It reminded her of Blackwater Rush.

“Dracarys!” she ordered as first lines of Second Sons came under Drogon’s shadow. Dragon released his flaming might, enough to destroy scores of men and horses. He let out a loud roar as he dove to the battlefield.

Second Sons were burned and broken, all three hundred of them that came after her earlier that day.
Three hundred men to kill one woman, she thought flying over now scattered Second Sons whose battle order fell apart when they saw Dothraki screamers approaching.
Dragon flame took away the last notion of them being soldiers of any sort, now they were only a band of people trying to save their lives in any way possible.
Some tried to whip their horses into the river in failed attempt to save themselves from Drogon and the Dothraki, some were dismounting and throwing themselves in the waters of Skahazadhan.

Six days before, former Queen of Meereen announced to the members of Council of Citizens that she will attend a wedding in Dothraki tradition, it was the fastest and most certain way to spread the news.
Daenerys has invited Daario Naharis to be her escort to the wedding with sending a written note by one of her servants to the pyramid of Yherizan where he and his closest sellswords have taken residence.
A swift response came, within less than an hour.
Arya played her part as well, making the departure on the very day of the wedding.

Escorted by thirty Dothraki and mounted Unsullied, Daenerys was riding eastwards up the road that was centuries ago built alongside the left bank of Skahazadhan river.
Second Sons fell for this ruse, it seemed so at least.
Daario did not want to wait for too long, his cavalry rode out not even two hours later in the same direction.
Four days before, Daenerys sent orders to the Dothraki which were encamped at Khyzai Pass to ride west, towards the city.
And then Drogon came, he could feel that his rider needs him, he was awaiting her at the usual place, ten leagues outside the city.

His presence came as utter shock for her foes. They have expected easy victory over score and a half of the Dothraki, Unsullied and one woman.
Dragon burned their hopes before he burned their bodies.

She now looked for Jon, he insisted to stay on the ground with his cavalry.
There he was, fighting against Daario’s men. Eighty men of City Guard stood their ground against the Second Sons who looked upon them as former slaves doing mockery of men at arms. How wrong they were.
Jon wanted his men to be lancers and archers in the saddle and spearmen on the ground. And he got what he wanted, today by the Skahazadhan.
His men surprised the enemy, charging down from the hills above the river at their left flank and breaking the sellsword cavalry column in half.
That gave Daenerys and her escort enough time to ride up the hills.
She soon came down that same hills. On a different mount.

Jon’s horsemen dispersed while being chased by the enemy that outnumbered them nearly four to one.
During that retreat, they rained arrows from their double-curved bows, once officers of the Golden Company’s cavalry were merciless trainers in these tactics.
That paid off now as many sellsword was struck down while riding in pursuit after Meereenese guards.

Daario’s men charged after the enemy that seemingly was running in disorder.
That what in their minds should have been an easy victory over band of cowardly once slaves on horses turned into a disaster when they have heard the first battle scream.
Then another and another. Tens of screams soon followed.
Dothraki came in full gallop from direction to which Meereenese were retreating, but in truth making a turn and joining the horselords in their charge.
Then black dragon came. And all was lost.

In the final moments of the battle by the Skahazadhan, Jon, now dismounted, searched the field for Daario Naharis.
Most of the sellswords were dead, burned or have yielded. Some still fought, his leader among them.
Jon slashed the Braavosi that threw his spear at him, spilling his entrails.
Another man charged towards him with a curved blade, only to be struck down by Dothraki arrow that find its nest in sellswords’s neck.

Then, his path in this melee crossed with Daario.
Drogon has landed and Daenerys was watching it all from his back, once more fearing for the life of last male Targaryen.

“Come, bastard, let’s dance!” she could hear Naharis shouting.
And their swordfight started.
Jon scrambled backward, checking each blow, stepping lithely over rock and root, his eyes never leaving his foe.
He was quicker, Dany saw; Daario’s blade never came near to touching him, but Lonclaw hacked a notch from sellsword’s armor.

Targaryen came at him hard and fast, still moving left, aiming a two-handed cut at the Daario's unprotected right side.
Naharis blocked, barely and took a half step back to brace himself.
“And she chose you over me, you poor bastard?!” he yelled.
“I am not a bastard…” Jon slammed the curved blade of Daario’s arakh aside and caught him across the chest
“…you son of a cheap whore. I am Dragonstone! I am Winterfell!”

Staggered, Naharis stepped backward, his head turning this way and that as he searched for his foe.
“Behind you!” Jon shouted and brought his sword down with both hands, catching sellsword in the elbow of his sword arm.
“That is for Rhaella!”
Daario grunted, turning, wrenching his weapon up, but Jon slid around him, quick as a shadowcat. It seemed as Jon was getting stronger with every move.
That angered the leader of Second Sons.
One moment he was going backward,the next he charged, his sword arm was bloody from elbow down yet he still lurched after Jon using both hands to raise his sword.
But man in black and red clothes jerked back and then sent Longclaw after Daario’s outstretched hands, hands that in one instant were cut off, falling to the ground, still grasping the hilt in the shape of wanton woman.
“That is for Lyanna.”
Daario Naharis of Second Sons fell to his knees.
“And this… this is for Dany!”
Longclaw kissed the sellswords neck with such deadly elegance that made Daario’s head roll on the ground.

“Lēda Perzys se Ānogar, Jelmor rūnis!” Jon shouted towards the remaining Second Sons that were still fighting
(With fire and blood, the North remembers!)

The sight of their commander lying headless and most of their companions reduced to nothing but burned corpses broke the will of the remaining Second Sons.
All of them fell to their knees, pledging themselves to the mercy of Daenerys Stormborn.
“So, now I am not a dragon whore?” she said standing before kneeling men.
She wore black breeches and chainmail hauberk over which she donned knee-cut leather armor of black coating with sigil of her house across the chest.

“What shall we do with them?” she asked Jon, whose black overcoat was covered with blood.
“They would spare the lives of our daughters by selling them into slavery. I say we show them the same courtesy.” he said with cold tone.
She gave the sellswords to Dohtraki, to take them as slaves to Vaes Dothrak.

They flew on Drogon, together, back to Meereen. It was almost midnight.
Dragon of black and red scales landed on the flat top of temple pyramid, then she and Jon rushed down the stairway to the third platform where their daughters were.
Pyramid was crowded with the Unsullied and City Guard men, all bowing their heads in greeting as they passed them by.

She was the first to run across the terrace into the girls’ chamber.
There she saw Arya standing at the bedside, an unknown healer sitting on the bed and her silver-haired daughter lying there, pale faced with bandages around her waist and crimson stain on her belly.
“Rhae… ñuha tala…” she almost screamed as she went to her, kneeling at the bedside and caressing Rhaella’s head.
“Mama…” girl replied, her voice sounded broken and tired “…I am hurt, Muña… but I’ll be fine…” tears rolled down girl’s cheeks.
Daenerys felt as if she were stabbed through heart again.
“You will be fine, my sweet, you will…”
Jon came running inside, merely moments after her.
“Rhae!” he yelled when he saw the blood-stained bandages on his daughter.
“Papa…” she called him and he knelt next to Daenerys, kissing Rhaella’s forehead and whispering words of comfort to his silver-haired treasure.
“Where is Lya?” she asked Arya. “She is all right, she’s with Kinvara.”

“Issa āeksio, issa riñnykeā, Rhaella jorrāelagon jelmio.” said the man who was attending her daughter in High Valyrian
(My lord, my lady, Rhaella needs air.)
”Qilōni issi ao?” she asked him with tone of agitation (Who are you? )
“Brōzio ñuha iksis Illeo Maegyr hen Volantis, iksan iā giēñatī.”
(My name is Illeo Maegyr of Volantis, I am a healer.)

“Come with me.” she grabbed his hand and pulled him on the other side of the room.
She looked at the Volantene man with eyes that demanded the truth, no matter how ugly or fateful it may be and whispered in Common Tongue:
“Will my daughter live?”
“She will, my lady…” he replied in whisper “…no harm was done to her entrails… the blade that cut her did not go too deep.
Thank the R’hllor in whose temple we stand.
And thank the Tessarion, the goddess of Old Valyria who watch over her daughters. And she is one of them, as you are.”

Daenerys nodded.
She knew that nobles of Volantis, city known as First Daughter of Valyrian Freehold, to this day keep the old gods of Valyria.
Gods that House Targaryen cast aside even before Aegon’s Conquest.
Balerion, Meraxes and Vhagar, dragons that Aegon, Rhaenys and Visenya rode to bring Westeros to heel were named after gods of Old Valyria.

“I will stay at Rhaella’s side this night and tomorrow, my lady, to watch over first hours of her recovery. She is to lie down and rest and to take lot of liquids for she’s lost a lot of blood. I have stitched the wound but it will take time to wholly heal.”
She grabbed his arm: “All that you need, you shall get. Heal my daughter and I shall greatly reward you.”
“I ask no reward, my lady. Ābrar nyke rāelza issi ñuha rijes.” Illeo replied
(The life I save is my reward. )

She nodded again, then she turned to look at Rhaella.
Jon was still kneeling next to her, holding her small hand in his and kissing it.
Arya was standing at his side with her hand on his shoulder, her clothes were covered with crimson stains and trickle of blood was on both of her arms.
The sword she gifted to Jon’s sister was now resting in the sheath on her back.
Their eyes met and Arya could see “Thank you” on Daenerys’ lips. Raven-haired Stark nodded with slight smile.

Jon then rose up, placed one more kiss on Rhaella’s forehead and marched out.
Daenerys saw the look he had, the glint of his grey eyes and knew his mind so she rushed after him.
He was outside, on the terrace walking to the upper stairway, he passed the Unsullied and the city guardsmen who were now watching over all corners of the pyramid.
She could tell he was aiming to the top, where Drogon was still perched.

“Jon… Jon, wait! Where do you intend to go?” she shouted after him.
He turned around: “To finish what you have started ten years ago. To level the Red Keep with the ground it was built upon.” he replied.
“You’re angry, so am I… but you must keep calm.” she said to him.
“Keep calm?! They’ve butchered our babe, Dany, our Rhae… I will feed Tyrion to Drogon for this. Blood asks for blood.” he spoke loudly, fire burning in his eyes.

Dragonwolf has awoken, flashed in her mind as she came closer to Jon and grabbed his arm:
“They did, they have hurt our daughter and they need to pay, but not like this.
Not with you rushing to Westeros, half the world away on a dragon that will not even listen to you. I am his sole rider, Jon, he only suffers others to fly with him.”
“Rhae flew with him from here to Antler River for me. Now, I’ll fly to the Red Keep for her.” he answered with tone of resolve.

Daenerys looked him straight in the eyes: “I have forgiven you for what you did when I was pregnant with Rhaella. Or leastwise I try to…”
She paused “…but if you leave me now, with her wounded so, to seek vengeance, I will never forgive you, Jon Targaryen.
Nor will your daughters. They need you now… I need you.”

He was breathing heavily: “So, you’re telling me to let this go unpunished.
They have sent sellswords to kill our girls and we’re to do nothing in return?”
“We shall.” she grabbed both his arms “We shall give them fire and blood.
But, in the hour of our choosing, in the manner that will hurt them the most. This is not that hour.”
She embraced him tightly.
“Do not go to Westeros, Jon. On a dragon or on ship or on foot... Do not go.
Be with your family. Be with me.” There, I’ve said it. Again.

He stayed. She allayed his rage, even if for a while.
They went for Lyanna who was taken to temple hall whose yard was watched by the City Guard and the Unsullied while Fiery Hand stood inside the hall.
She felt great relief to see her other daughter unharmed.

Lya asked for nothing but to go to her twin.

When she saw what tenderness Lyanna has for Rhaella, lying next to her wounded sister, Daenerys, for the first time that night, cried .

Chapter Text

Dragonstone, Westeros, year 316 After Conquest

ARIANNE

She hated it. She hated this island.
The cliffs, the grass, the colour of the sea and the chilliness of the air.
Here at high noon it was colder than at midnight of coldest Dornish night.

She hated the black stones and dragonlike statues which prey on every side of the citadel.
Every other corner of Westeros save Dorne seemed strange and awkward to her and Dragonstone was the strangest and the most awkward of them all.

Painted Table she did not hate; she found it as a lecture worth learning.
Three-hundred and sixteen years ago Aegon Targaryen ordered this large table to be carved from a block of wood and painted in a form of detailed map of Westeros.
He wanted all the landscapes and all the settlements of the continent to be shown in the table, but no borders between seven kingdoms of that time.
Even with this piece of furniture did a man who was now known as Conqueror let know what he wants, what he plans and what are his ambitions.

In one instant she felt urge to grab an axe and cut the Dorne off this table.
Aegon was not the one who conquered us, we have killed his sister-wife Rhaenys and her dragon… she recalled.

She misliked her allies, too. The folk from Iron Islands.
Their pale, gaunt and hard faces, black and grey eyes, salt stained leather clothes.
Small, ugly and noisy people from shit-stained rocks.
Not much virtues could be found in them. Save them being stubborn, fearless and quarrelsome.
Which made them worthy allies against any foe.

For moons now, Ironborn were at war with Stark kingdom and the Vale.

And they were doing well.
Hardhome has long ago fallen and Gulltown has been sacked.
North was fighting bitterly to keep its hold on Eastwatch-by-the-Sea but that was of little use to Queen Sansa.
Garrison there was supplied only by land and that road was harassed by Free Folk on any given day.
That forced Northerners to commit more men in keeping that road safe for supply trains which could never bring that many food, weapons and other goods as ships. And ships could not approach Eastwatch.

Ironborn have imposed the blockade of Eastwatch that lasted almost as long as their involvement in this war.
Manderly fleet was forced into the waters close to White Harbor and dared not to fare northwards as kraken sails were seen in The Bite and around Three Sisters islands.

Coast of Vale was blocked as well. With Gulltown now being slightly more than a ruin, House Arryn could only look at the waves.
Their sea ways to the rest of Westeros and to the Free Cities now cut off by the Iron Fleet. Their trade was now done through the port of King’s Landing as the closest great anchorage. It made it cost more since all the passengers and goods had to travel to the Vale by land.

Sweetrobin Arryn will rue the day when he answered the call of his royal cousin Sansa… Arianne Martell grinned at this thought as she paced around the Painted Table.

“Something is amusing you?” Yara Greyjoy asked as she was standing next to the part of the table that featured Vale of Arryn.
Next to her was Earl Harlaw, a tall man of long grey hair and beard that framed his scarred face, on his dark gambeson a sigil of silver scythe was stitched.

Arianne could tell that his lust for her matches her disgust for him.
“Starks. Northerners. For thousands of years they were the only kingdom that had shore on two seas, Sunset and the Narrow Sea.
And for all that time they were not able to build more than one mention worthy port. Save the one that was founded by the exiles from the Reach, the Manderlys.
Block the White Harbor and you have left North without seafaring abilities. Not a single ship to leave, not a single ship to come.”
Dornish princess explained, then said: “I wonder how long can Sansa Stark keep her composure without doing something stupid.”

“What would that stupid be?” Yara asked.
“Sellsails. When she becomes tired enough with blockade of Eastwatch and White Harbor, she could resort to hiring pirates from Stepstones to fight your fleet at sea.” Earl Harlaw laughed:
“No pirate cunt from Lys or Myr that hides at Stepstones is a match for the Ironborn. Wolf queen is free to empty their treasury in hiring them. She might just as well be throwing that gold into the sea.”
“Indeed. And foreign pirates paid by the foreign queen coming close to the shores of Stormlands and Crownlands will rally more lords to our cause.” she replied
“Cause of bringing the lords of Six Kingdoms to understand that they do not need the Six Kingdoms.”

“Fancy words.” Harlaw said “When will the Dorne act? You’re sitting out this war too?”
“Dorne will raise spears the very day when Vale sends more of its knights to far North and that day is closer than you believe.”
Arianne replied to the Ironborn man with the tone of voice that made clear she considers him unworthy of further talk.

Earl Harlaw was true example of his people.
Every non-Ironborn woman for him was just a possible fuck and this olive-skinned Princess of Dorne would be the single royal fuck he will ever have in his life. Arianne could read this on his face covered with scars.

He is free to try, I’ d give him a new scar, but not on his face, but between his legs…cockless men are of low esteem among the Ironborn, she pondered ever since he was introduced to her.

Yara finally spoke: “Dorne will, when that day comes, march its spears into Reach and Stormlands, then shall we know are their lords with us or not.
If they were, King’s Landing then would be the only place in Westeros that broken king rules over. Him and the Imp.”
Harlaw nodded, while Arianne pretended to be looking at some detail on the table.
“Our sellsword friend is doing decent work in the far North, bleeding the wolves both at Eastwatch and at Mole’s Town. Bleeding, but not striking the last blow.”
Arriane said “He’s been keeping his part of the agreement ever since Ezzelyno tied him at that pole in Whitecourt.

“That red priest of yours…” Yara asked “…you have brought him with you for what again?”
“He said that time is right for a great reveal.” “A riddle. They always talk in riddles.” Ironborn woman concluded.
“They do. But they serve the purpose. One which came to Dorne does.”
“Priests of the red god only spread fear with their preaching and yearn to burn people… they do sorcery and blood magic.” Harlaw said. “Our god is the Drowned God, not some fire demon.”

“Drowned God is our god and it will be so for centuries to come, but R’hllor priests have proven to be useful.”Yara rebuffed and gave Earl list of orders after which he left the Stone Drum tower.
Princess of Dorne decided it is time for her rest and said so to the Queen of Salt and Rock, leaving her to her war plans.

Next evening Arianne brought Ezzelyno to the Sea Dragon Tower.
This building was shaped in the likeness of a dragon gazing serenely out across the sea.
The maester's chambers were located in this tower, below the rookery and it was there that she and priest of Lord of Light were headed, climbing the narrow and twisting stairs of the tower. The elderly priest of clean shaved head was wearing something in his hands, wrapped in a thick cloth.

Yara was already there, Arianne could tell she was impatient and knew this impatience was not out of her wish to see the priest, but to make this encounter as short as it could be.

Maester’s chamber was emptied of most of furniture, couple of plain wooden chairs remained and one damaged cabinet.
Last maester was serving on Dragonstone over six and ten years ago, when Stannis Baratheon still resided here.
As time passed this chamber was stripped of most of valuables.

Yara sat on one of the chairs while looking at Ezzelyno. Arianne joined her and now both watched what was elderly man doing.
Priest removed the cloth from the object he was carrying. It was a candle, about one foot and a half tall, dark green and twisted with edges that appeared sharp as if were blades. Glass candle.

Arianne knew it right away, remembering the pictures she saw in the books in her father’s library. Yara didn’t know what it was.
“Obsidian candle. Glass candle.” she said to Ironborn woman “Remnant of the Old Valyria. It was said that they weren’t burning for centuries.”
“That was true twenty years ago, but no more.” priest told her in his accentuated Common Tongue “Now they burn.”
“A candle that burns, how odd…” Yara said with mocking tone.
“When this candle burns, one with the knowledge of its magic can see across the world, over the mountains, waves and sands.
Candle can give men visions and let them see and speak with one another half a world apart...” Ezzelyno told her “…if one has mastered the magic of glass candle.”
“Have you?” Dornishwoman asked. “Yes, Princess, I have.”
“So, tonight the candle will be lit and what shall we be doing? Visions or seeing across the world.” Yara asked.
“Speaking, lady Greyjoy, speaking with someone far away. As far as Meereen. I have conversed with them last night when this meeting was arranged.”
“Meereen? Why Meereen?” she asked. Yara smirked, not believing this.
“When I lit the candle, you will know.” priest said.

“Hen sȳndrorro, ōños, hen ñuqīr, perzys!” he repeated three times – and then candle was lit.
Arianne first saw how all colors around became as set ablaze. Shadows of that old cabinet and chairs seemed as dark demonic beings, dancing across the walls.

Then, room in the Sea Dragon Tower vanished around her and she was no longer on Dragonstone.
Different surroundings appeared, a hall bathed in dim light appeared, but she saw banners that bore flaming heart hanging from the walls and an altar in the middle of this hall. Arianne looked left and right, Yara was there as well and old red priest as well.

Suddenly, in the far corner of this unknown hall, a woman appeared.
Arianne has never seen her before. She was in her early thirties, silver tresses fall on her shoulders, her face was pale and eyes were violet.
Woman wore ankle-cut loose dress of black linen, on her chest was embroidered red dragon with three heads.
Who is this?
“You cheap conjurer…” she heard Yara’s voice, yet not coming to her ears but ringing in her mind "you’re summoning ghosts? Is that what this candle is for?
On Pyke you would lose your head for this kind of necromancy.” Arianne placed hand on her right temple, her head ached.

“Yara Greyjoy of the Iron Islands, Queen of Salt and Rock, Daughter of the Sea Wind and Lady Reaper of Pyke…” unknown voice was now echoing in the mind of Dornish princess “… I assure you I am as alive as you and Princess Arianne are.”
“Who are you?” Arianne asked while struggling to remain on her feet.
“My name is Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen.”
“That is impossible.” she replied “Daenerys was killed eleven years ago.”
“This is just an apparition, one this old goat created from shadows…” Yara added. Arianne saw blood coming from the nose of Ironborn ruler.

Silver-haired woman chuckled and that sounded as thunder in her mind:
“Then I must truly be a singular ghost. I have aged and my hair is shorter. Should not ghosts be as they were in the moment of their death?”
Yara now gave a long look to a woman who was there and was not.
“It is me, my lady Greyjoy… I remember our first encounter in the Great Pyramid of Meereen. We discussed our fathers, your uncle and then our possible alliance.
I remember you saying that you never demand, but are up for anything. You came with your brother, Theon.
I saw him dead at funeral pyre before the gates of Winterfell. He came to fight for the living.”

Arianne could tell from Yara’s face that she’s confused, blood from her nose kept trickling and he wiped it with back of her hand.
“If you are who you claim to be, how can you still be living? It was said that you were killed by the bastard brother of Bran the Broken.” she said to the woman in black.
“I was killed. By the power of Lord of Light, I was brought back to life.” came the reply.

Yara was now bewildered and she turned to Ezzelyno with menacing voice:
“Priest, you better speak the truth or I will cut your tongue. What is all this? How can a woman who got a knife in her heart be alive?
Does your kind truly wield such power to raise the dead?”Arianne commanded: “Speak now.”
“My kind, the priests of R’hllor serve only as vessels of his will. It was his will for Daenerys Stormborn to live again and she lives again. She is the champion of Lord of Light.”
Arianne looked at Yara now: “Lord of Starfall, Edric of House Dayne have told stories about a lord from Dornish Marches who fought for Brotherhood without Banners.
That man was slain six times and six times his red priest brought him back to life. Edric was his squire then. It seemed as nonsense to me.”

“It was not a nonsense, Princess, I have known that man. And I know of another who was brought back like I was.” silver-haired woman said
“A Targaryen as I am. Our name and our House live on in Meereen.”

Olive-skinned woman rubbed both of her temples while responding to this:
“Even if you are living again, you were the last Targaryen. I do not like words of trickery.” “His name is Jon Targaryen, son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark.”
“The Stark woman prince Rhaegar cast aside my father’s sister Elia for…” she said in disgust “she had a child…so you claim that your brother’s son is alive?”
“He is father of my children.” woman in black said. “That is the Targaryen way, to bed your kinfolk.” Arianne said “Mayhaps you are who you claim to be.”

“I have not asked for this meeting to dwell on the issues of the past.I wanted you to know that House Targaryen has been restored in Essos.
And that you can count with our support in the war you have been fighting for many moons now. The war that has shaken the very foundations of the Realm.”
Yara, still not certain that silver-haired woman is no illusion but truly living Daenerys, asked:
“You were the Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men… how can shaking of the foundations of the Realm be in your interest?
The Iron Throne is long gone, but the Realm is still here. If you had truly come back to life, why did you not bring new armies to conquer Westeros once again.”

Woman replied with stern tone: “I have no interest in ruling Westeros, not even over a single street in Flea Bottom.
Eleven years ago, I have said to you, lady Greyjoy, that I do not want to be queen of the ashes, right here on Dragonstone.
I was that queen in the end. House Targaryen will rule over Westeros again only if Realm itself pleads for it. Not by a conquest.”

Arianne asked as the voice of Targaryen woman ceased to sound in her head: “What do you want then?”
“When I came back to Westeros all these years ago, I wanted to break the wheel. Now I want to burn the wheel.
Rulers in King’s Landing have wronged me and my family greatly. For that I am going to ruin what they like the most. The Six Kingdoms.”
“What do you mean?” Yara asked.
“I will help you to get independence for Dorne and for the Iron Islands. And for every other in Six Kingdoms who wants it. For that to come to pass, Realm must fall.”
Targaryen woman said with firm voice.

Arianne liked it, the notion of the Realm falling apart, as it were before Aegon, Visenya and Rhaenys.
Before they have bound the once free kingdoms of Westeros into one, large Realm.
“But your ancestors have made the Realm, and you want to end it.” she said to Targaryen woman.
“Realm without proper ruler does not deserve to exist.” came the reply.
“And proper ruler should be Targaryen?” Dornishwoman asked, not without goading tone.
“A family name does not make good rulers, Princess Arianne. Those who ruled Dorne before you were Martell as well, weren’t they?
Same as Iron Islands fared badly with Balon and Euron whose name was Greyjoy.” woman in black and red told her with calm voice.
“I agree, Your Grace.” she said, now wholly certain that woman which spoke to her from a place thousands of leagues away was no ghost.
“I am not your queen, Arianne of House Nymeros Martell. You have no king or queen to call him with that title.”

Yara, finally giving room to a notion that once her queen might truly be alive, asked: “How shall we go forth from here, Daenerys Stormborn?”
“In one moon from tonight we shall meet across the Narrow Sea, in Ghoyan Drohe, east of Pentos. Do you know of that place?” silver-haired woman asked.
Yara nodded: “Aye, it’s on the banks of the Little Rhoyne, it’s a ruined city. I know of few Ironborn who have ventured there from Pentos.”

Arianne grinned and said to silver-haired woman:
“Ghoyan Drohe, a Rhoynar city destroyed by the dragons of Valyria. My forefathers of old fared badly under your forefathers of old.”
“What better place for us, descendants, to forge an alliance, Princess.” woman replied. Arianne nodded in confirmation.

Few moments later the light of glass candle was out and women rulers of Pyke and Sunspear were again in the chamber of Sea Dragon Tower.
Yara collapsed on the floor while she could stay upright long enough to grab a chair.
Glass candles were making of sorcerers of Old Valyria. Arianne mother was of Norvos, one of the Nine Free Cities, nine daughters of the Freehold.

“Mayhaps is my Valyrian blood, no matter how watered down, cause that I have fared better while using that candle than you, Lady Reaper.”

With one Daenerys, Dorne came into the Realm, with this Daenerys we could leave it, once and for all… as if destiny wanted it to be so,
Arianne mused next morning as she walked along the cliffs of Dragonstone, then again Dorne had always forged its own destiny.
And dragon flame can do wonders in forging…

Chapter Text

Meereen, Essos, year 316 After Conquest

LAST OF THE TARGARYENS

“Can’t you see it in my eyes?”

Their bodies tangled together, they rolled around on the bed in their passion. Jon kissed every inch of her nakedness… stopping only when he saw a scar under her left breast.
It saddened him and his eyes met with Dany’s. Then he placed his lips on the mark where his dagger pierced her skin and he did it many times.
Daenerys ran her fingers through his hair, gazing at him with eyes full of love.

She made him a promise, he walked on a path regaining her trust. What he did along that path was to rekindle her love for him.
And shatter her hate, resentment and mistrust in thousands of pieces. He was hers again. The only man she ever truly loved.
Their bodies were glistening with sweat in the hot Meereenese night.

It was fortnight after their daughter was wounded by sellswords who once served the Queen of Meereen and then ten and four years later became assassins in service of king on the other side of the world, king who wielded the magic of creatures that once lived in Westeros, children of the forest.
His main adviser, who once also pledged himself to the same Queen, made arrangement to remove her and all who shared her blood from this world. Including two little girls.

She came in the bedchamber of her daughters and she has found him there, sitting at the side of the bed where silver-haired girl slept.
She was still weak and pale-faced, but girl’s healer, Volantene in service of her aunt, has proven to be skilful and Rhaella was recovering, slowly but surely.
Illeo Maegyr was stern in setting the rules for her young patient and hours of rest were obligatory.
“No getting up from the bed, no excitement of any kind, no talking more than needed. Only one visitor a day.” he said to the girl and to girl’s parents.
Rhaella and her twin didn’t lke that, but Daenerys liked Illeo’s rules.

Arya came every other day to see the girl, but Maegyr had no issue of sending her away when it became clear that child patient is becoming tired.
Jon visited every day, no matter if his daughter was awake or sleeping.
This was one such occasion, where Rhaella was fast asleep, but he sat there looking at her. Dany walked in, pacing slowly and sat next to him.
“She sleeps so calmly…” he whispered “…let us hope she will never again dream of that night.”
Girl’s mother nodded, knowing how Rhae was reliving how she was wounded in nightmares that came few times in last two weeks.

“Even as a babe, she was calmer and quieter than Lyanna.” Dany said.
He sighed: “I missed it all, their first steps, their first words. All of it.”
“You’re here now. That’s what matters to them… and to me.”
“I won’t be with them for long… not with you leaving for Port Yhos.” Jon said.
She smiled at him: “It troubles you greatly, me and girls leaving.”
“It does. I will not be able to be with them oft. Mayhaps not even every moon.”
“Jon… I am not returning to Port Yhos.” she told him with soft voice.
His eyes widened as he frowned: “But… I thought… how this change came?”

She placed her hand on his cheek: “Can’t you see it in my eyes?”
And he saw it. Eyes filled with love and hope and innocent trust, same as they were on that cursed day in the ruins of the throne room of Red Keep.
His grey eyes reflected that what was in her violet eyes and his hand was now on her cheek: “I can... I love you, Dany. More than ever, I love you.”
“And I love you, Jon Targaryen. I promised you us to be a true family. We shall. You deserve it. I deserve it. Girls deserve it. A true family. House of our own.”

Her face was a mere inch away from his. She could feel his warm breath on her face. She looked in his eyes, waiting for his response. It felt like a lifetime.
Then she felt his lips light upon her own and the kiss deepened with intensity. All that they had felt was in that kiss. Fear. Hope. Trust. Loyalty. Love.
His left arm wrapped around her waist, bringing her closer. He kissed as he never did, all those years ago.
“Seven heavens, Dany” he mumbled as they kissed desperately. Two dragons danced holding each other.

Two moons have passed since.
Daenerys and twins remained in Meereen, most of her household and the Unsullied were called from Port Yhos to come to the largest city in the Bay of Dragons.
Together with Jon they approached the Council of Citizens and presented all the advantages of pyramid of Yherizan, now vacant as Second Sons were all but wiped out from the city, as home of the Commander-general of the City Guard and home of the former Queen of Meereen.
Pyramid of Yherizan, once home of slavers, became home of the woman who ended slavery in the now Bay of Dragons.
On the apex of the pyramid which dominated over southern part of the city, black banner with three-headed red dragon was hoisted.
House Targaryen came out of the shadows, in full sight of all, friends and foes.

Their supper was a simple meal of fruit and cheese and fry bread, with honeyed wine to wash it down.
Afterwards Jon was leaned on the terrace wall of the uppermost level of his new home, looking at the night sky over the city.
As every night, sounds of the quarter around the now Targaryen pyramid traveled on a breeze which came from the river.

Is this how peaceful life should be like… he contemplated … she oft spoke of a house with red door and a lemon tree from her childhood…both of us are blood of kings, but give me that lemon tree… give me an orchard of lemons instead of thrones and games that go with them.

“Jon…” she said coming next to him “…what are your thoughts?”
“Nothing… I was thinking about the City Guard…and then about something else.”
“Oh… and how is that progressing?”
“Truth be told very well… All four barracks have been founded and fully garrisoned. It’s hard to believe that over two thousand men already serve as guardsmen. Our short work against the Second Sons only added to the appeal of being a member of Meeerenese city guard…”
“Those are good news...” she said, absently.
“Well, not all is so promising... councilors always find something to whine about.” he said laughing.
She did not laugh.
“Dany… what is troubling you? Your mind is far away the whole evening.”
She touched his arm and he looked at her:
“Jon, I haven’t had my moonblood… two moons have already passed…”

He frowned “Are you saying you’re… with child?”
“Yes... I’ve been retching last couple of weeks…I should call a healer or a midwife to see me to confirm it, but I know. I am pregnant.” she replied, calmly with even tone of voice.
He unlike her was excited: “A child… a babe… I’ve never expected…”
She chuckled: “Jon, for many weeks we’ve been doing things that would put to shame many pleasure houses… you do know how babes are made, don’t you?”

He placed his hands at her cheeks and kissed her forehead.
“This is marvelous news…one more child. And this one will have a father from his first breath. I will hear his first words, see his first steps…or hers.
“His, I think it will be a boy.” “How can you tell?”
“I have already carried a boy once…long time ago.” she said, and he noticed sadness.
“This time child will come to this world, Dany, boy or a girl…”
Then he gazed at her with eyes filled with hope: “The line of dragons will live on… we will not vanish from this world.”
Hearing that, her eyes watered: “Jon, you may be a Stark by blood, but you are also a true Targaryen. I never hoped to see you become one. But you have.”

“You do know what this pregnancy means? That I’ll have to make an honest woman of you.”
“What? Am I dishonest woman now? Why do you say that?”
“I am talking about marriage, Dany. If I am to bed close kin, I will do that as it is right in the eyes of gods and men.”
Then he knelt before her:
“Daenerys Stormborn, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” he said taking her right hand in his. She was silent for a heartbeat.
Then, with both tears and smile on her face, she said. “Yes… Yes, I will…”

As he was standing again, she looked him in the eyes:
“Mayhaps I’ll never forgive you for stabbing me, but this life I have now is better than one of burning the old world to create a new one.”
“I hope you’re not saying that just to make me feel right.”
“Have I ever done that, Jon?” “No, never.”
She smiled again: “We must think of a name for a new Targaryen.” He was pensive for a while, then said: “Cregan. Cregan if it’s a boy.”
“Cregan Targaryen?!” she frowned “That is a Stark name… but I like it. Cregan of House Targaryen… a proper name for a… dragonwolf. But, what if it will be another girl?”
Jon gave her a gentle kiss:“Oh, on that there cannot be a dispute. Daenysanne.”
“Daenysanne… a proper name for a princess.”

“Are you sure about that, brother? I mean, are you wholly sure?”
Arya asked him while they were sitting at the trestle table in the shaded garden of Outlander’s Tavern, under persimmon tree, between sips of bittersweet ale.
“Only eight moons ago when I met her in Port Yhos she hated you sincerely. And now, you’re about to marry her.
Please tell me that you are doing this because you love her, not because you think that you must… because it is honorable?”
“Arya, I am doing it for both love and honor. I love her, Arya. I always have. I will never again allow that her good heart sinks into darkness.
She has a temper and I know that she will not be easiest of wives. But she is the only woman on this world for me, till I draw breath.
As for honor part, I have sworn that I’ll never father a bastard.”
“Hells, Jon, your children are not bastards, they have your family name.”
“Given to them by their mother, not by me. It cannot stay like that.”
“Luckily, both of you have the name Targaryen, it makes things simpler…As for temper Jon, well, I wish Daenerys all the luck with yours.”

Jon’s eyes widened: “Are you taking her side now? You?” He laughed.
“No, I am only telling the truth. Your temper is oft very short.” “A She-wolf would know of that…” he said with chuckle.
Arya nodded with smile before saying: “And now, one more niece or nephew is on the way… I figure I’ll get to meet him in a few years.”
Jon sighed: “I could try to persuade you to stay in Meereen longer, but that is not you.”
“No, that is not me…” she said “…after your wedding, my two ships sail for Free Cities and then for Ibben and Nefer.”
“Nefer? That is so far away even for a dragon flight, let alone sea voyage.”
“And where has my friend Drogon been lately? I haven’t seen him since he burned away the Second Sons…
though last moon when I was sailing to New Ghis I saw a large shadow high in the sky… him, most likely.”
“Hm…last sennihgt, Dany and I flew to Port Yhos with Drogon… then, half a moon ago we went to Lys on dragonback…”
“Lys, ha? I don’t have to ask what Daenerys and you have explored there.This new nephew or niece answers that.”
Arya said teasingly, then said with seriousness:
“Jon, now I can finally continue my voyages. When I found Lyanna in Qarth, ten moons ago all I wanted was for you to be here with your family.
I got what I wanted. And more. You lead an army that grows with every day.
While Daenerys, well I dare to say that her riches from trade all over Essos have grown so in last ten years it would make Tyrells of Highgarden look like beggars.”

Jon nodded, in the first moon of his stay in Meereen he has learned of Daenerys having sway over the vast portion of Essosi trade.
It seemed to him she was content with her new life of wealthy merchant.
And he wanted her to be content and at peace with herself and with the world.

“They say that in Summer Isles, folk wed in their temples of love wearing their nameday suits. Families of husband and the bride, whole…”
Davos said for a jape, between two sips of bittersweet ale, sitting at the terrace stone table on the third platform of R’hllor temple pyramid.

Three moons have passed since Second Sons and their commander Daario Naharis tried to remove the Targaryen name from this world.

“Gods forbid…” Arya chuckled “… what a fair of scars that would be if this family would have such wedding. Jon, Dany, Rhae, me… even this wolf child here has one or two…”
Stark woman said poking her raven-haired niece’s ribs with her finger to annoy the girl which gave her aunt the same treatment.
Davos laughed, seeing the likeness of Arya and Lyanna in both looks and conduct.
Daenerys came out from the residence where she lived for past few weeks with Jon and the girls and said with smile: “
Luckily for all of us, this wedding will take place here, by the rites of the Lord of Light and as far as I know his priests do not prefer nakedness in their temple.”

Then she sat next to Davos Seaworth: “Ser Davos, ever since I have met you many years ago, we oft had different thoughts about many things and you’ve always spoke your mind; for that you’ve always had my respect… I’ve already said that for journeying here with a word of warning to my family I owe you a debt which can never be paid.
Now I have to ask you one more favor.”
Old seafarer gave a slight frown: “If I can help, my lady, I’ll be glad to.”
Daenerys looked at him with seriousness: “I would like you to be the one who will give me away as a bride.”
She could see the surprise on Davos’ face, his eyes widened and mouth left open:
“My lady… I… surely there are those more suited for that role. We are not of kin and I was never that close to you.” he said.
“True. We’re not of kin and you weren’t among my advisers, mayhaps it would have been better that you were, but you’re the only knight of Seven Kingdoms here in Meereen
and as I was told, many years ago you were proposing the proposal…” Daenerys smiled at him
“…as that proposal has taken place, I cannot think of a man better suited to give me away.”
Davos returned the smile: “I accept this great honor you have given to me, Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen.”

Her wedding gown was made of silver silk with embroidered red dragon which seemed as taken flight off her back and across the right shoulder, its head reaching her left chest. Girl servants from the temple have taken the taken the role of handmaidens and unbraided her hair, letting it fall in rich tresses down her back.

Three moons after the failed assassination, they have gathered in the hall of the R’hllor temple.
Jon was raised in the faith of Old gods, Daenerys in the faith of the Seven, though Targaryens were not much into it, save Baelor the Blessed who was a devout believer and built the Great Sept, one which Cersei Lannister blew up with wildfire. As there were no Godswoods nor septs in Meereen, temple of Lord of Light seemed the most fitting for the ceremony. Those who were about to be wed both came back to life by the magic of R’hllor priests.

About three scores of people were at the temple.
All the members of Council of Citizens, save Galazza Galare who as a high priestess of the Temple of the Graces was forbidden to enter places of worships of other gods,
there was Nakhmaz in formal clothes of City Guard with his lieutenants and the commanders of the Unsullied.
Arya came in her Volantene dress of grey silk with direwolf pendant on the necklace.
Her companion was Artos Costayne. Costaynes were noble house from Three Towers in the Reach and Targaryen loyalists during Robert’s Rebellion, one could tell that Artos, though only a child when dragon kings ruled Westeros, was proud to attend this ceremony. At each side, Arya had her nieces both in black silk dresses with red borders and a red silk sash around the waist, colors of their house, but girls also donned silver direwolf pin at their left chest.
Silver-haired girl was leaned on Arya; one could see the happiness on girl’s face.
Rhaella’s wound has healed but girl was still recovering and Arya helped her with every pace. Raven-haired niece shone with pride.
Behind Arya stood Illeo Maegyr in full attire of Volantene nobleman.

“The night is dark and filled with terrors,” Kinvara sang. “Alone we are born and alone we die, but as we walk through this black vale, we draw strength from one another, and from you, our lord.” Her scarlet silks and satin gently moved with every move.
“Two come forth today to join their lives, so they may face this world’s darkness together. Fill their hearts with fire, my lord, so they may walk your shining path hand in hand forever.”
“Lord of Light, protect us,” said one of temple servants.
Other voices echoed the response: “Lord of Light, bless your children.”

Kinvara’s back was to the Great Altar, on one side of groove in the floor where her fire burned. The couple to be joined faced her across it.
Priestess raised her hands, and the fire in the groove leapt upward toward her fingers, like a wave of red and orange.
“We thank you for the sun that warms us,” Kinvara chanted
“We thank you for the stars that watch over us in the black of night. We thank you for our hearths and for our torches that keep the savage dark at bay.
We thank you for our bright spirits, the fires in our loins and in our hearts.”
Then she said, “Let them come forth, who would be joined.”
The flames cast her shadow on the altar behind her, and her ruby gleamed against the paleness of her throat.

Jon stood waiting by the fire dressed in a fine black tunic with the Targaryen sigil embroidered in red across the chest.
Sash of grey silk was around his waist adorned with direwolf head of House Stark, honoring his mother’s family.
“Who brings this woman to be wed?” asked Kinvara
“I do,” said Davos Seaworth, him dressed in dark blue tunic. “Now comes Daenerys of House Targaryen, a woman grown, of noble blood and birth.”

He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, bowed his head and stepped back to join the others.

“Who comes forth to claim this woman?” priestess asked.
“I am.” Jon said. “Jon of House Targaryen and of House Stark.”
“Jon,” asked Kinvara “will you share your fire with Daenerys, and warm her when the night is dark and full of terrors?”
“I swear it.” Jon exclaimed “I will warm her from this day till my last day.”
“Daenerys, do you swear to share your fire with Jon, and warm him when the night is dark and full of terrors?”
“Till his blood is boiling.” she replied.
Kinvara’s eyes shone as bright as the ruby at her throat.
“Then come to me and be as one.”

As she beckoned, a wall of flames roared upward, licking the air with hot orange tongues.
Daenerys Targaryen took her Jon by the hand. Side by side they leapt the groove.
“Two went into the flames. One emerges.” Kinvara said with solemn but joyful tone:
“What fire joins, none may put asunder.”
“What fire joins, none may put asunder,” came the echo from all present at the temple.

And thus, the first Targaryen couple after almost sixty years was wed.

Chapter Text

Shipbreaker Bay, Westeros, year 316 After Conquest

ARYA

She saw them passing in the distance two nights before. Unlike hers, their ships were bathed in light of lamps and torches. So certain they were of themselves. She was wary. Her two ships were kept in dark and in silence. Only shadows on the water.

Passing ships were smaller than the great war dromonds of Westeros but thrice the size of any common longship, with deep hulls and savage rams, fit to meet the king’s own fleet in battle.

Ships of the Iron Fleet on their way to their anchor at Dragonstone or to be raiding and burning on the shores of Vale and further north to block the White Harbor or mayhaps they were to sail all the way to the Bay of Seals in Shivering Sea, to shoot their prow trebuchets at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea.

One moon has passed since Nymeria and Rhaelyanna have left Meereen. Her brother was wed to the woman he loved, a woman Arya grew to respect and even like. Her sweet niece has recovered, now having a matching scar on her belly with Arya’s, though she said to her healer from Volantis to use all his skills in making that scar as less striking as possible.

Girl was yet to become the maiden fair and having a large mark on her flesh was not something she would need. Though Rhaella will have her mother’s beauty and Stark fortitude of mind, scores of suitors will chase her. Lyanna, she’s a bird of different feather, she’s more like me, I will not be surprised for her to be hidden under deck somewhere right now, wanting to journey with me…that one could be queen on her own right.

Arya said a fond farewell to Jon, to Daenerys and to their twin daughters. This time, unlike when she made a false departure, she cried holding her nieces in embrace.

She did not know when she would see them again, she was sure they will be more women than girls when her sails reach Bay of Dragons again.
She left Needle and Catspaw to them. And promise of their voyage together. She-wolf and her dragonwolves. Her new pack. One she had to leave, but swore to return to.
She also bid farewell to the High Priestess of the Red Temple of Volantis. Kinvara. One who made her play many roles in last eleven moons, since that day in Qarth.

In the Stepstones ships had taken on grain and game and fresh water, after the long voyage across the Summer Sea, making port only at Volantis to load a supply of salt cod and pickled herring. The food was a welcome addition to their stores.< News they first heard of at Volantis got more words and more details at Stepstones. This chain of islands between the southern Narrow sea and the north west of Summer Sea for tens of years has oft been raided by Ironborn reavers.

Davos Seaworth was with her aboard Nymeria, she was bringing him home and even after all these years he still had acquaintances among smugglers and pirates of the Stepstones. All agreed in one, that Ironborn have called all the ships that were afloat and all able-bodied men to the war against the Vale of Arryn and Kingdom of the North.

“They’ve made Dragonstone their war port, it seems, from there they go to plunder the coast of Vale, though it seems Valemen had bloodied them good and they’re not so bold anymore…” Davos told her

“…they have to make do with fishermen villages now, but previous they have sacked the Gulltown and it is not more than half abandoned ruin now, no ship can come close to the shore of Vale more than five leagues as Kraken rules the sea there.”

“And the North?” she asked.
“Ironborn sail into the Shivering Sea, past the Grey Cliffs into the Bay of Seals where they take part in the attacking of Eastwatch. Some brag they’ve made Skagos to yield. That’s horseshit, my lady.” Davos said
“Skagosi are not more than tribes of savages, a backward folk, some say they do human sacrifices to weirwoods and eat manflesh. Such lot will never bow to the Ironborn.”
Arya sighed: “Ser Davos, I will bring you to your home at Cape Wrath… then my ships proceed north to Braavos and then to the isles of Ibbenese and to Nefer. As far as these sorrowful waters as I can.”

She parted way with Davos Seaworth when Nymeria came to quarter of a mile off the Cape Wrath, on the northern shore of the Sea of Dorne, this coast was part of Stormlands.

He could see the towers of his holdfast over the shoreline, though all in blue and grey mist.
“I wish you good fortune on your voyages, Arya Stark.” he said, his voice echoing with bit of sadness which only a man who gave most of his life to the waves can feel for another seafarer.

“I wish you peace and long life, Ser Davos. Mayhaps I shall come visiting with my nieces when I take them to the sea four years from now.”

“It will be my honour to host you.” Arya looked as boat was taking him ashore. Not many men she has met which had wisdom and honesty of Davos Seaworth. A smuggler.

On the third night after Cape Wrath, the sky became dark and low with ominous black clouds and the wind picked up, howling, crying, warning, baying like a wolf into the night. The first crack of lightening rent the air and within seconds the rolling boom of the thunder reverberated overhead. Soon the rain fell, slow to start, splattering the decks haphazardly. Then it fell as if from buckets, cascading like a waterfall from the heavens. It pounded on Nymeria and Rhaelyanna as if it were demanding entrance. Lightning lit the skies in brilliant streaks.

On the Narrow Sea the sailors tried to prepare for sudden, violent storms, but they knew it was impossible. The worst happened tonight; with no warning, total darkness prevailed as clouds thickened and the sky was stricken, blotting out the moonlight and stars. The wind arose to push the still waters to choppy, which morphed into mountains of angry waves. The crew on both ships struggled to get the sails down, and to tie them off. They slipped on the rain-soaked decks. Many were frightened, most of all those which have never seen the Narrow Sea before. The wind slammed the rain into their faces like tiny stones and blew the coat hoods off their heads.

Nymeria pressed, first up waves as she was aiming at the sky, and then crashed down jarring their bones.

At one point the waves spun the vessel sideways. They held tightly onto the mast, onto ropes, onto anything. It was difficult to hang on. A bolt of lightning struck near.
The waves grew so large that the vessel was dwarfed, riding up and down the mighty swelling sea like a child's toy. Inside the ship there was no staying still unless one was anchored in place, for the floor was whatever the sailors were flung upon.
Many gods were called for aid in many languages, Arya thought she would have prayed to R’hllor if it would do any good.

There was no mercy in this wind, no grace in the waves, only wrath and tempest. The air was thick with a briny mist, the deck awash with salty waves. The morning would see them bobbing on placid water or else several leagues down with the fishes.

She could hear Warrick Manderly’s shouts and Dalton Pyke’s curses, Devan Lantell was rolling across the flooded deck as a rag doll… she grabbed the rope of the main mast and was looking for Rhaelyanna, as waves were slapping her face with savage wet blows. As a haunting call of some sea beast, a feeble sound of horn came from port side and there was a flickering light that came and went from the darkness,

there she is… Arya thought while fighting to breathe through the salted mist… then a loud crack came from above.

The second mast was broken, giving under the assault of the waves and fell upon the slender crewman from Tyrosh. His whole body was crushed and his entrails crawled the deck to Arya’s feet.
This time her belly lost strength and she was retching into her own hands. Her sticky palms made one last attempt to grab hold of any rope she could found.

On the eve of next day, two battered ships with direwolf heads on their sails, appeared in the calm waters beneath the castle with single tower, a colossal drum like fort crowned with formidable battlements which from afar made it look as a huge, spiked fist thrusting towards the sky. Castle of Storm’s End. It was known not a safe anchorage, but ships beaten by storm have no luxury of choosing. It did not take long for a third ship to come from the nearby cove. New Fury  was a triple-decked war galley of three hundred oars, the flagship of the fleet.

Above the oars were a deck covered completely with scorpion ballistae, fore and aft ship had catapults. Wind was caught with her sails of golden coating with the stag of House Baratheon painted on them.

“Ahoy, who goes there?” came from the prow of New Fury :“You are in the waters of the Lord of Storm’s End.”

“Here goes Nymeria, ship of House Stark. And Rhaelyanna, ship of House Stark.” Arya shouted from the prow of her ship “We come in peace and seek permission to anchor at island of Tarth for repairs.”

“Ships of House Stark are welcome to the ports of Stormlands.” was the reply.

“And I would wish to give my gratitude to the Lord of Storm’s End, Gendry of House Baratheon in person.”

“He shall be informed of it. Who wishes to meet him?”

“Arya. Arya Stark of Winterfell.”

Meereen, Essos, year 316 After Conquest

KINVARA

Pyramid of Yherizan.

A great black construction once owned by slaver family of Yherizan, vanished together with the clandestine movement called the Sons of the Harpy.

Instead of harpy now a large black coated banner with red three-headed dragon fluttered on the pole at the very top of the pyramid, three hundred and fifty feet above the ground.

Pyramid was now the seat of House Targaryen of Meereen. Before that it served as lodging for the commanders of Second Sons, a sellsword company that helped Daenerys Stormborn to conquer Yunkai and Meereen five and ten years ago, but few moons ago turned coat and joined with her enemies. Second Sons suffered utter defeat and were disbanded.

Those in Meereen that have drawn swords against Targaryens ended as captives of the Dothraki, those in Yunkai and Astapor, few hundreds of them, were disbanded and given free passage away from the Bay of Dragons.

Black color of its stone blocks seemed as only proper choice for dragon family to take residence in.

Pyramid was seemingly larger than the one which hosted the temple of Lord of Light with terraces going all around the pyramid on two highest floors.

It was easier to defend from possible attacks, being built on a clearing that has encircled the tall building spreading two hundred yards on every side.

On the ground level of the pyramid were rooms for the guards, large enough to accommodate the crew of five scores of men and in case of need the floor above the ground level could be adapted to take in additional hundred men.

On the ground floor were also the stables. Due to its height pyramid, from lowest to highest floor, could comfortably contain the granary, armoury, kitchens, feast hall and lord's chambers.

A befitting home to the blood of Old Valyria, blood of the kings that were…

High Priestess Kinvara thought as she walked across the terrace on the highest floor.

From here, only construction that was higher than this pyramid, was the Great one, the seat of the power in Meereen. Or that was believed. Daenerys Targaryen has a large dragon who will soon be as grown as Balerion the Black Dread, she has the loyalty of the Dothraki and the few hundreds of battle hardened Unsullied. Jon Targaryen has made his own army, in four moons he has formed the City Guard, already over one thousand strong, a host of Westerosi appearance and training in this part of Essos and its growing larger by the day… Kinvara pondered…one cannot escape his or her heritage. Rulers are born, leaders are made, but oft leaders come from the line of rulers, as they have.

“Sȳz tubis, Kinvara!” said Lyanna Targaryen loud as she speedily paced across the terrace, wearing the grey trousers, white shirt and sleeveless black linen surcoat with red dragon stitched across the chest.

Girl wore Stark direwolf pennant on a leather necklace and a thin sword hung from her waist. Needle. Blade forged in Winterfell.

“Good day to you too, lady Lyanna. Aōha arlie lenton gaomagon ao hae?” priestess asked “Do you like your new home?”

“Gaoman. Tolī tistālion syt egros lilagon!” Lyanna replied cheerfully and rushed away on the other side of the pyramid “( like it. More room for sword dance!)

Kinvara nodded with smile.

Then Lyanna’s mother came on the terrace, in slow dignified step, wearing loose sandsilk dress. She was four moons with child now but it did not affect the intensity of her daily chores.

“Eglio Vokto…” she greeted Kinvara (High Priestess.)

“Ñuha riña.” Kinvara replied with same formal tone (My lady)

“Lyanna has went that way, has she not?” Daenerys asked.

“Yes, she did.”

“She lacked proper ladylike conduct before she met her aunt, now is tenfold worse.” mother of raven-haired Targaryen girl said “She’s only into water dance and swords.”

Kinvara shrugged and smiled.

“What? You find that entertaining? I respect, at times even admire Arya Stark but I would hate to see my daughter becoming like her.”

“Your Lyanna will be nothing like her aunt, well, she will have many of her traits but not the same life. Ziry kostagon va se dēmalion hen zirȳla egliar udēmagon.”

Daenerys frowned at this: “She could sit on the throne of her forefathers, you say. That throne is no more.”

“Not the Iron Throne. She has two lines of forefathers. A direwolf crown could rest on her head. Lyanna is as much Stark as she is Targaryen.”

“That is the last thing I want for her. I had my share of dealing with the Northerners, I do not want my daughter to suffer the same, their hate and disrespect.” Daenerys dismissed the notion.

“It is only one path among many which Lyanna could walk on. Past is written and when ink has dried nothing can unwrite it, but the future…future is not yet written, each of us is helping to write the story of tomorrow with our deeds of today.”

“I suppose you have something to tell me about my deeds of today.” Daenerys said with tone of curiosity.

Before Kinvara could answer, Daenerys’ other daughter came out on the terrace.

Rhaella recovered wholly from her belly wound and girl was again her old self, gentle and silent child but with strong will.

Her Valyrian hair was in single braid, she wore dark-blue trousers, shirt of same colour over which she donned a brown sleeveless tunic and a hooded dun cloak.

She had Dothraki bow and arrow bag across her back. At her waist, a Valyrian steel dagger hung with hilt adorned in dragonglass. Catspaw. Dagger that pierced the ice heart of the Night King.

“Jurnegon rȳ bisa Oktion Azantyrābra!” Kinvara greeted the girl (Look at this City guardswoman!)

Girl bowed politely: “Riña Kinvara, Muña…” (Lady Kinvara, Mother...)

“Rhaella Targaryen, are you directed somewhere in that attire?”

“Yes, mother, I am going with Papa to the Archery Range, next to mouth of Skahazadhan, to practice.”

“Hembar jēda kesā ivestragon hen bona aderī, Rhaella.” Daenerys said with slight anger in her voice: “Next time you will announce it earlier. Or you will not go. Make sure that you do not strain yourself more than it is needed.”

“Kessa, muña.” girl said and walked away.

“That was ladylike conduct, my lady, Rhaella is true Targaryen princess.”

“Silent and stubborn as her father… you were to tell me about my deeds?”

Kinvara nodded: “Yes, your meeting with Arianne Martell and Yara Greyjoy at Ghoyan Drohe, was nearly three moons ago, true?”

“You know that it was, you were at my side when I spoke with them using the glass candles or its spells.”

“You have met them without telling anything to your lord husband…” Kinvara noted “…what do you expect to accomplish with that?”

“My lord husband...” Daenerys chuckled saying those words “…is part dragon, part wolf. He may deny it as he pleases, but this war Sansa has started against the Free Folk troubles him. He loves the North and he loves the wildlings equally.

To know that I am meeting with the enemies of the North who are in the same time allies of House Targaryen… it is best for him to be ignorant of my meeting with Dorne and the Iron Islands.”

“A proper marriage, already with schemes and secrets.” priestess commented with grin.

“We are Targaryens, our marriages are not ones of boredom.” silver-haired woman replied.

“Truly they are not. You remain cautious with Jon. There’s still doubt in you.”

“I do not doubt in his love for me and our daughters and for the child who will be born five moons from now. There is no toil or sacrifice he would not endure for his family.” Daenerys said.

“What is it then that makes you hide truth from him?”

“Jon now has temper of dragon and of wild wolf. And I cannot lie and say I do not relish in him as he is now, but I saw how he acts when his anger overtakes him…and I know that our enemies will not quit from coming after us. I fear what he may do when they come again.”

“And so, you will make an alliance with Martells and Greyjoys to prevent it.”

“I will. I will do everything to prevent my daughters and my unborn child from having to live their childhood in fear from being killed as I have. Yara Greyjoy and Arianne Martell have common desire as I do now, after blood of my blood was spilt.

To free the world of the Six Kingdoms. As long as Realm exists, House Targaryen will have no peace.”

Kinvara nodded after hearing the determined tone of Daenerys Stormborn.

The Realm is now in the hands of the Lord of Darkness. He feeds on chaos and conflict. Bran Stark as king  would give every effort to bring peace back to Westeros… Kinvara thought…but he is locked in the fateful dueling between two foul creatures, the Three Eyed Raven and the Lord of Darkness,both using the broken body of one which once was Bran Stark. And the evil one, that once walked the earth in shape of blue eyed being made of ice, that one prevails now and binds the raven to its will. Dragons cannot escape their destiny, to champion for the Lord of Light once again. No matter how they want a peaceful life. No matter how Westeros is of no matter to them now. They were not brought back to life to be living as ordinary family.

King’s Landing, Westeros, year 316 After Conquest

TYRION

The boom rolled across the Blackwater Bay, announcing the start of what the brooding cloud layer had promised since dawn. The boughs of the trees swayed in the strengthening gust, surrendering their leaves without a fight. Then came the first icy balls of hail ringing as pebbles on the tile roofs as people of the city peeked through the closed shutters. Outside is dark, the dense grey cloud blocks out the evening light, bringing the premature night.

On Visenya’s Hill a lightning jagged across the night sky ripping it like paper. The thunder followed a heartbeat behind, always calling its warning too late.

It seemed to crack the air, as if the very heavens might split apart, declaring to all the raw power of nature and gave fair warning of the wrath that was to come. Thunder rolled overhead as the fury of the gods. It tumbled over the city through the darkened clouds, spreading out into the night, hailing the promise of rain to the land below. What began as some high winds and a smattering of rain has built into the worst storm in score and ten years.

The wind doesn't howl, it screams. The rain doesn't fall, it is driven, hard, merciless, torrential. The trees do not sway, they creak, bend and moan as their fine limbs are ripped away and their leaves become as bolts in the gale.

People of King’s Landing in their homes learned that those are no safe places of shelter as they would ordinarily be in adverse weather, but are vulnerable clusters of wood and stone. There is nothing they could do as the violence around them tears apart what has taken years to build. The old roofs were already splintered across the streets and squares.

It had been the fiercest storm that had ever hit the land in last thirty years.

Tyrion was watching it from the windows of his chamber, seeing the wind ripping through the air and hearing its high-pitched screams. He could hear thunder roaring violently and lightning tearing the sky apart, could see the waters of the Blackwater Bay stirring violently, black waves like enormous claws ready to swallow everything in their way. The sea that had once been a kind and gentle mother had become nothing but a savage consumed by wrath that night.

Suddenly lightning shreds though the sky as a spear thrown by a furious god, piercing and shattering the earth underneath, obliterating anything in its path. Again and again the lightning struck, shredding through trees and houses as it were paper, tearing apart the land as if in a crazed, blind senseless rage. Rain relentlessly plummeted from the skies, soaking the soil, forging streams and rivers through the streets as a tear stained face. Horrific howling gales ran rampant across the city.

As if possessed by evil spirits the trees waved and danced, some being ripped out of the ground only to be flooded by the ever-rising rain.

I remember the storm like this one, old friend. Varys was with him again, in his head… or it was only Tyrion arguing with himself.

“When was that?” When the one you now aim to kill was born. Four and thirty years ago we had a storm like this. It marked the end of an era. Mayhaps this one marks it too.

“Nothing will end tonight, Varys, my king is still alive and people like him.” What people are those? Those of Vale who are being sacked and raped by the Ironborn? The Dornish who are massing in the Red Mountains? Your pig’s breakfast has gone stale and sour, it reeks.

“My pig’s breakfast shall endure, longer than some lemon cake.” Oh, you silly Imp, you have sent an envoy to Winterfell to beg in your stead for North to give up on their dream of greatness. The Realm was never weaker. The Ironborn trample over the place where I was reduced to ashes. You and your king cannot throw them out from Dragonstone, you fear of what the Dorne will do. You fear of lords of the Reach; those you have insulted with making your sellsword bodyguard their Lord Paramount. And you do not trust the young Baratheon, one who was legitimised by Daenerys Targaryen.

“It did not occur to you that they may equally be afraid of me and my King?” Ha…afraid of you? Of Six kingdoms how many do you truly rule? Your family’s lands in the West and Crownlands. Vale despises you and believe they’d be better off united with the Kingdom of the North, Iron Islands are in open rebellion, Dorne will follow suite any day now and that will pull the Reach and the Stormlands in this war as well, no matter on what side.

“That is your precious Realm, Varys, you were always saying how you serve the Realm, the people, not the rulers. Well, elaborate me how it has come to pass that Realm is destroying itself from within and the King of that Realm has done nothing to instigate this conflict.” He has done nothing to prevent it either. He does not care. He is dead within.

“Admit it, eunuch, your love for that imaginary concept of the Realm has made you turn against every king you have ever served… yes, it was me who had betrayed you to Daenerys and got you burned alive, you wanted to poison her and supplant her with one who did not want to rule, just so you could do your service to the Realm… and all this time it was not the rulers who were mad, vicious or corrupted. It is your Realm, your people that are just as equally mad, vicious and corrupted.” Yes, blame it on the people. On the smallfolk in their muddy huts or lesser lords who are nothing more than glorified farmers. They are to blame, not the inept Hand of the King which you have proven to be, repeatedly. Or the King himself.

“I will do what you were never able, Varys, I will continue to serve King Bran to the best of my ability. Because I believe in him.” Liar. You believe in yourself. Defending Bran, you defend yourself. You have made that broken boy king, for you were not able to see that he lingers between the world of men and the world of shadows.

Tyrion was about to reply to what he thought it was Varys, when gale howled outside with the violence and raw power which made windows to rattle and the wind gusted down the chimney bringing its iciness to the room.

Suddenly it darkened, as if a huge shadow descended on the part of the Red Keep where Hand’s chamber was.

The whole chamber creaked and groaned, the shutters banged as if some tempestuous night spirit sort to destroy it utterly and he felt as he were trapped in a lion's roar. Then it was gone and light was back in the room, no matter how dim, it seemed as feast of light compared with pitch black from only a moment ago. Outside, a heavy downpour that came with the wind littered the streets of King’s Landing with all sorts of debris. Water gurgled down the stone pavements into already overloaded storm drains.

Through the thunder and howl, he was able to hear the knocking and the voice: “My lord Tyrion, my lord Tyrion!”

He quickly walked to the door. A guard of the King’s Landing City Watch, soaking wet from head to toe, his attire half covered in tree leaves, was breathing heavily…

“What is it?” “My lord, in the royal gardens, the weirwood tree is burning... I came to tell you this right away.”

“A lightning has struck it?” “There was no lightning when the tree was lit, my lord…”

“That is curious… we can’t do much with this storm raging. Hopefully, the rainfall will put out the fire.” Tyrion said “The King shall assess the damage when this storm blows over.”

“Guards in the gardens have told me that fire has caught the tree from ground to the top branches, in an instant.” “Mayhaps it was a lightning…”

Tyrion said absently as his gaze caught a wooden box lying on the ground, couple of feet from the doorstep “Did you placed it there?” he asked the guard, pointing at the box.

“No, my lord, I haven’t even see it coming here.”

“Hand it over to me.” “Aye, my lord.”

Tyrion dismissed the guard and placed the box on the table at which Small Council usually held its meetings. It was a plain wooden box with leather strap attached to it for carrying.

He could tell by the weight that it contains something so he cautiously opened it. A putrid smell came into his nostrils the very moment he lifted the lid. It almost made his bowels to return what he supped just an hour ago the same way it went in.

The source of the smell soon became apparent. There was something wrapped in the red cloth, something round shaped. Tyrion slowly removed the cloth with right hand while he covered his nose with the left.

Soon he saw a greyed flesh of a man’s severed head. His eyes were gone, eaten by the insects and what once were the cheeks show signs of signs of gnawing from rodents. The hair and the beard were still there, soiled with filth and dried blood.

Tyrion could still recognise who the man was once when this head was still on the shoulders. Daario Naharis. Urge to retch was now even stronger, but he managed to keep his composure. He was not new to the death and to corpses.

Then he saw a scroll of paper attached beneath the lid. He took it and unfold the paper. It was a message written in Common Tongue:

To Lord Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the King Bran the Broken;

You have tried and you have failed. The content of the box is a remainder of your failure. Do not try again.

For it will not be only the white tree with red leaves to burn. If you wish to preserve your Six Kingdoms you shall forget about us. As we have about you.

House Targaryen of Meereen.

The lightning struck at one of the towers of the Red Keep. One, two, and the loud boom came, shaking the whole castle. He was oblivious to it as worst thunderstorm was now in his mind.

Next morning, Tyrion requested audience with the King. City was recovering from the last night’s storm. Servants in the Red Keep were brooming the floors, removing the thick cover of fallen leaves, broken roof tiles and mud.

The royal gardens suffered the most, wind has battered the rose bushes and the hedges alike and tore the branches of nearly every tree.

Weirwood tree was dead. Its spreading canopy of red leaves and trunk of white bark were now lifeless stick of charcoal, no more vibrant than the lamp-posts that stood on the entrance of gardens.

“Your Grace…” he said, still approaching to the King who sat in his wheelchair next to the scorched tree. The expression on his face was numb. “Dragon fire, lord Hand.” he said in even tone of voice.

“Yes, Your Grace. Retaliation of Daenerys Targaryen for failed attempt on her life.” Tyrion added. “It could never succeed. That attempt.”

“I think it had a fair chance…” Hand begun but never got to finish it for King said, devoid of emotion: “It was doomed to fail. They were warned, the Targaryens.”

“By whom? That is act of treason, Your Grace. Culprits must be punished.” “By Bran Stark himself…”

“Your Grace, if you have decided not to have Daenerys Targaryen assassinated, you should have only said the word and I would personally see to the calling off the killers.”

“I have decided no such thing, lord Hand, Bran Stark is not the King. I am.”

“I can’t say that I comprehend this, my King.” “Bran of House Stark is a young man that once lived in this body, some part of him still lingers on, enslaved with blood ties and concept of honor. He committed this treason for blood ties and honor.

He and some others, loyal to Bran and his bastard brother. The true King of Six kingdoms has lived for thousands of years. I do not know nor care of blood ties and honor.

That will not stop me for doing what is best for the Realm.” said the even voice with freezing coldness.

“Nor will it stop me, Your Grace.” Tyrion replied. “I know it will not, lord Hand.”

“How shall we proceed with the Targaryens?” he asked. “Dragons have come out in the open, that makes them exposed. We shall plan our next step accordingly. Now, I would like to be left alone.”

King said turning his eyes away from Tyrion. “Yes, Your Grace.”

Tyrion of House Lannister, Hand of the King walked out of the royal gardens. Had he a chance to stay next to his ruler few moments longer, he would have seen how eyes that once were Bran Stark’s rolled, becoming white and then turning into bright blue.

Chapter Text

Weeping Water, Westeros, year 316 After Conquest

REAVER

Sparrowhawk and Iron Wing went down the Weeping Water followed by Kraken’s Kiss, Fingerdancer and Forlorn Hope.
Warrior Wench was last to leave the riverbank falling behind the Red Jester for her own two lengths.

All were longships of the Ironborn, able to sail into the rivers of the green lands, as they called the mainland of Westeros, and go far up their streams to raid and plunder.
And this night they plundered. Plundered a place which when mentioned left all living with eerie thoughts.

Dreadfort.

It was a strong fortress of thick stone walls and massive towers with high walls and triangular merlons that look like sharp stone teeth. In the winter time it was not possible to reach it by any kind of vessel, as Weeping Water froze over and it was good only for ice hole fishing. There were land paths to the castle, but far from any kind of proper road. Dreadfort was a castle of formidable walls that rose up against bleak hilly background and northern skies, walls made of dark stone.

Dreadfort for centuries was ill omened, for it was said the Boltons kept their torture chambers and a special room where they hung the flayed skins of their enemies, including several Kings in the North, the Starks, their enemies ever since the Age of Heroes.
The Boltons themselves were an ancient and powerful house of the North who once ruled as Red Kings from this place. Their land reached from the Last River and the White Knife to the Sheepshead Hills.
As Red Kings, Boltons were bitter rivals of the Kings of Winter, the Starks of Winterfell. Some of Red Kings, as Royce the Second and Royce the Fourth were victorious against Starks, even burning Winterfell.
The Boltons are said to have flayed the skins of several Stark lords and hung them in the Dreadfort. According to rumour, some Bolton lords wore the flayed skins of their enemies as cloaks. This practice has given the Boltons a sinister reputation.

The last Red King, Rogar the Huntsman, submitted to Winterfell at the beginning of the Andal invasion of Westeros. King Theon Stark, the Hungry Wolf, and the Boltons defeated Argos Sevenstar and his Andals in the Battle of the Weeping Water.
Even after that first knee bending to the Starks, Boltons rebelled against Winterfell on few occasions, all ending in their defeat.
They have kept faith with Wardens of the North until War of the Five Kings when Roose Bolton betrayed Robb Stark, the newly proclaimed King in the North, and sided with Lannisters.

As reward, Boltons were given the North, to serve as Lord Paramounts loyal to king Joffrey and later to king Tommen. Being oathbreakers, the rest of the North hated them, though all being too weak or too afraid to act against the lords of Dreadfort who left their ancestral holdfast and took residence in Winterfell.
Ramsay Snow, later legitimised as Bolton, killed his own father, his stepmother and his newly born babe half-brother, securing himself as ruler of the North, with support of Karstarks and Umbers who, each for their own reasons, allied their houses with Ramsay against the Starks led by Jon Snow and Sansa Stark. Bolton rule over the North lasted less than three years. When it was over, their house was over as well, wiped out for all eternity.

Their lands were given to House Hornwood which has proven to be loyal to House Stark by royal decree of Queen in the North, Sansa, First of her name.
Larence Hornwood, a bastard son of lord Halys Hornwood, legitimised by Sansa was now leading this family, Halys and his trueborn son have fallen fighting the Lannisters for king Robb Stark and lady Hornwood died as captive of Ramsay Bolton.
Larence was closely of same age as Sansa and charged to rule over large portion of the Northern kingdom.

“For that one needs men and Hornwoods don’t have enough”, Earl Harlaw said to his Queen, Yara Greyjoy as the two, together with other Ironborn captains, stood by the Painted Table at Dragonstone.
“Wolves are keeping their grip on both Mole’s Town and Eastwatch firmly… but their losses are piling up and they cannot respawn as flies.
The first time I met with wildlings, I said to that lot we shall deliver blow to Sansa that will make her retch her supper. Now, I say it is time to kick the bitch in the teeth…” Yara spoke with determination
“…we will attack on both shores of the Stark kingdom. Earl, you will take no more than ten longships and sail up the Weeping Water to put Dreadfort to torch… in that place was my brother tortured, flayed and gelded for sick pleasure of that Bolton bastard.
I want that castle to burn…”
Then she turned to Meldred Merlyn: “You will sail to Hardhome, disembark, ride hard westwards across the land north of the Wall and at Westwatch-by-the-Bridge embark on the flagship of our fleet in the Bay of Ice…
you will lead our men in taking back the Bear Island, it was ours once, before Starks took it from us and gave it to Mormonts. They are gone now and island will be again of the Ironborn.
That you will do with one part of your men, the other part will attack Deepwood Motte.”
“That place is five leagues inland, my Queen, are we allowed to go that far from the coast?” Meldred asked “I say this for you are the first among us that favors not Ironborn going deep into enemy lands.”
Yara nodded: “Aye, we must learn from mistakes of my father and his war against the North when our men were forced to keep castles and forts at mainland. Deepwood Motte was our last inland stronghold in that war and all our men died when Glovers took it back, but this time we shall not take it, we shall burn it down and retreat to our ships. House Glover has no true leader at this time, head of their house fell at Hardhome. They’re ripe for picking.”
“Bear Island, Deepwood Motte, Dreadfort…” Earl Harlaw had an evil grin “…that is some kick in the teeth.”
“Ginger bitch will whine of pain...” said Germund Botley, captain of the Silverfin.
“Keep in mind, all these attacks must take place on te eve of same day.
On the tenth sunset from today I expect your axes to come knocking on both sides of the wolf kingdom.” said the Queen of Salt and Rock.
“What is dead may never die!” “What is dead may never die!!!” responded all the men around the Painted Table.

Earl Harlaw was at stern of Forlorn Hope as oars took the longship down the river, towards the Shivering Sea. The night sky was clear, only few wind-driven clouds were moving in the south.
He watched as the once great castle went up in flames. The sight was eerily beautiful, making the land around him to glow as in the predawn light. . .
The flames leaped and danced as they consumed the wood and blackened the stone, radiantly beautiful in their destruction. Fresh embers jumped and spread ever higher until whole Dreadfort was engulfed in a blazing inferno.
It seemed as the roof was making shrieking sounds as it, piece by piece, crumbled to the ground. A trail of smoke roared out of a gaping hole between the castle walls, hole which came to be after fire has devoured all that was not stone.

When his men mated oil with torches all over the castle that has fallen before their axes and swords in less than an hour of fighting, fire licked all the wooden parts of Dreadfort, crackling, playful, gentle at first, fire flickered, flared, leapt, spat, shower of sparks like a fountain, plumes of black grey smoke, wound itself around the post like a great hungry serpent, devoured everything in its path, choking clouds of noxious smoke, blazing, out of control, ash floating to the ground like great dirty flakes of snow shower falling onto the ground.

Sky glows orange this night, Earl thought, they’ll see it in Hornwood and Karhold... and they’ll know kraken has visited them once again.

He turned to walk to the prow, his men were rowing slow down the river, there was no holdfast of settlement of any kind between them and the open sea, they were safe from Northern attack.
He stopped only when he reached the mast. There three prisoners were tied up in chains, only surviving men of Dreadfort garrison.
Two men and one boy, Earl concluded even at first glimpse, a boy too fancy dressed to be of smallfolk.

“You, pup, on your feet!” he ordered. Boy got up, trying not to show fear, but failing at it.
He was of light-brown hair, slender and tall for his age, he couldn’t have more than twelve namedays, dressed in dark-brown breeches and surcoat of same colour with orange coated shield with brown bull moose on his chest.
The shield of House Hornwood.
“Your name, boy.” Earl asked.
“Hallis H… Snow.” boy replied with shaken voice.
“Snow? A bastard? Are Hornwoods so rich that they put so pricey garments on their bastards?” he grinned at the prisoner, looking at the other two men in the same time, their faces told him that boy was lying.
“Again… your name?”
“Hallis Snow, m’lord.”
Ironborn chuckled: “M’lord, ha? Well, boy if you insist on being a lowborn bastard so be it. Highborn prisoners we trade, sooner or later. You being a bastard…well, I don’t know yet…shall I toss all three of you overboard when we reach the sea or sell you to Essosi slavers. You’re young, you’ll make a good price on any slave market in Essos. So, are you still a Snow, boy?”

“My name is Hallis Snow.” boy replied, now even more defiantly.

Chapter Text

Ghoyan Drohe, Essos, year 316 After Conquest

IRON QUEEN

“We’re flanked…” Gareth Sand, man of House Warder of Whitecourt, sad to his Princess, Arianne Martell, as he looked right and left, but trying to keep pretence that his gaze is straight ahead “…they are riding alongside us, keeping behind those ridges but they are here.” “Pass the word to all men, no hastily moves and no foolishness. We ride forward as we did so far.”
“Aye, Princess, there is half again as many of them than is us.” “How can he tell that without seeing them?” Yara asked.
“Your people know of riding waves, Dornish know of cavalry.” Arianne replied.
“I can tell you who they are, even if waves are my domain…” Greyjoy woman grinned “We’re flanked by the Dothraki. They are her cavalry. Soon they will face us.” “Good. I don’t like shy people.”

They were a column of fifty riders that disembarked from two ships who laid anchor at port of Pentos.
One ship was of Ironborn, one of Dorne but none had figurehead or sail that would give away from whence she came. None of the raiders wore garb which could betray the man wearing it as spearmen of desert or son of kraken.
All wore plain dark or grey breeches, shirts, jerkins and hooded cloaks; to most eyes they seemed as sellswords who tasted poverty for too long or as wanderers of some kind who are yet to become sellswords or end up as slaves.
Two riders had hoods over their heads and faces covered with scarfs.
They did not enter Pentos itself but rode out on the Valyrian road that went across the Flatlands to the ruins of Ghoyan Drohe.

What halfwit called this a river, Yara smirked watching the Little Rhoyne, Blackwater Rush is wider twice than this and runs swifter. It should’ve been named Little without adding Rhoyne only to make it what it is not; a proper river.
The city caused the same sentiment in her eyes. And then she recalled the lessons of the Rhoynar that her father's maester taught her when she was a little girl.

At its best of times, Ghoyan Drohe has not been large, but still a place of canals and fountains, green and flowering. Small, but city nonetheless. Until the war. Until the dragons came.
Once the Ghiscari wars had ended, the dragonlords of Valyria turned their gaze toward the west, where the growth of Valyrian power brought the Freehold and its colonies into fray with the peoples of the Rhoyne.
The mightiest river in the world, the Rhoyne’s many tributaries stretched across much of western Essos.
Along their banks had arisen a civilisation and culture as storied and ancient as the Old Empire of Ghis. The Rhoynar had grown rich off the bounty of their river; Mother Rhoyne, they named her.
Fishers, traders, teachers, scholars, workers in wood and stone and metal, all raised their elegant towns and cities from the headwaters of the Rhoyne down to her mouth, each lovelier than the last.
Ghoyan Drohe was in the Velvet Hills, with its groves and waterfalls; Ny Sar, the city of fountains, alive with song; Ar Noy on the Qhoyne, with its halls of green marble; pale Sar Mell of the flowers; sea-girt Sarhoy with its canals and saltwater gardens;
and Chroyane, greatest of all, the festival city with its great Palace of Love.
Art and music flourished in the cities of the Rhoyne, and it is said their people had their own magic, a water magic very different from the sorceries of Valyria, which were woven of blood and fire.
Though united by blood and culture and the river that had given them birth, the Rhoynish cities were elsewise fiercely independent, each with its own prince or princess, for amongst these river folks, women were regarded as the equals of men.

For centuries the Rhoynar lived in peace. River folk showed little interest in expansion; the river was their home, their mother, and their god, and few of them wished to dwell beyond the sound of her eternal song.
It was said the Mother Rhoyne herself whispered to her children of every threat, that the Rhoynar princes wielded strange, uncanny powers, that Rhoynish women fought as fiercely as Rhoynish men, and that their cities were protected by “watery walls” that would rise to drown any foe. When adventurers, exiles and traders from the Freehold of Valyria began to expand beyond the Lands of the Long Summer, the Rhoynish princes embraced them at first.
Their priests declared that all men were welcome to share the bounty of Mother Rhoyne.
As those first Valyrian outposts grew into towns, and those towns into cities, however, some Rhoynar came to regret the forbearance of their fathers.
Upon the lower river, enmities began, where the ancient city of Sar Mell and the walled Valyrian town Volon Therys faced each other across the waters and on the shores of the Summer Sea, where the Free City of Volantis soon rivalled the storied port of Sarhoy, each of them commanding one of Mother Rhoyne’s four mouths.
Disputes between the citizens of the rival cities became ever more common, finally giving birth to a series of short but bloody wars. In these conflicts, the Valyrians emerged as victors more oft than not.
The princes of the Rhoyne, fiercely proud of their independence, fought alone, whilst the Valyrian colonies aided one another, and when hard-pressed, called upon the power of the Freehold itself.
These wars reached its bloody peak a thousand years ago in the Second Spice War, when three Valyrian dragonlords joined with their kin and cousins in Volantis to overwhelm, sack and destroy Sarhoy, the great Rhoynar port city upon the Summer Sea. The utter destruction of one of the richest and most beautiful of the cities of the Rhoyne, and the enslavement of her people, shocked and dismayed the remaining Rhoynar princes.
“We shall all be slaves unless we join together to end this threat,” declared the greatest of them, Garin of Chroyane. This warrior prince called upon his fellows to join with him in a great alliance, to wash away every Valyrian city on the river. Only Princess Nymeria of Ny Sar spoke against him.
“This is a war we cannot hope to win,” she warned, but the other princes shouted her down and pledged their swords to Garin. Even the warriors of her own Ny Sar were eager to fight, and Nymeria had no choice but to join the great alliance.

The largest army that Essos had ever seen soon assembled at Chroyane, under the command of Prince Garin, a quarter of a million strong. From the headwaters of the Rhoyne down to her many mouths, every man of fighting age took up sword and shield and made his way to the festival city to join this great campaign. So long as the army remained beside Mother Rhoyne, the prince declared, they need not fear the dragons of Valyria; their own water wizards would protect them against the fires of the Freehold.
At Selhorys Prince Garin won his first battle, overwhelming a Valyrian army thirty thousand strong and taking the city by storm. Valysar met the same fate.
At Volon Therys, Garin found himself facing a hundred thousand foes, a hundred war elephants, and three dragonlords.
Here too he prevailed, though at great cost. Thousands burned, but thousands more sheltered in the shallows of the river, whilst their wizards raised enormous waterspouts against the foe’s dragons.
Rhoynish archers brought down two of the dragons, whilst the third fled, wounded. In the aftermath, Mother Rhoyne rose in rage to swallow Volon Therys.
Thereafter men began to name the victorious prince Garin the Great, and it is said that, in Volantis, great lords trembled in terror as his host advanced.
Rather than face him in the field, the Volantenes retreated back behind their Black Walls and appealed to the Freehold for help.

And the dragons came.
Not three, as Prince Garin had faced at Volon Therys, but three hundred or more, if the tales of that times can be believed.
Against their fires, the Rhoynar could not stand. Tens of thousands burned whilst others rushed into the river, hoping that the embrace of Mother Rhoyne would offer them protection against dragon flame … only to drown in their mother’s embrace.
Garin the Great was captured alive and made to watch his people suffer for their defiance. His warriors were shown no such mercy.
The Volantenes and their Valyrian kin put them to the sword—so many that it was said that their blood turned the great harbour of Volantis red as far as the eye could see.
Thereafter the victors gathered their own forces and moved north along the river, sacking Sar Mell savagely before advancing on Chroyane, Prince Garin’s own city.
Locked in a golden cage at the command of the dragonlords, Garin was carried back to the festival city to witness its destruction and the enslavement of the women and children.

Higher on the Rhoyne, in Ny Sar, Princess Nymeria soon received the news of Garin’s shattering defeat and the enslavement of the people of Chroyane and Sar Mell.
The same fate awaited her own city, she knew, and gathered every ship that remained upon the Rhoyne, large or small, and filled them full of as many women and children as they could carry and few of the men that remained.
Down the river Nymeria led this ragged fleet, past ruined and smoking towns and fields of the dead, through waters choked with bloated, floating corpses. To avoid Volantis and its hosts, she chose the older channel and emerged into the Summer Sea.
Legend told that Nymeria took ten thousand ships to sea, searching for a new home for her people beyond the long reach of Valyria and its dragonlords.

After four years of wandering the southern seas in seek of a new home, the remaining ships made landfall on the coast of Dorne near the mouth of the river Greenblood, not far from the ancient sandstone walls of the Sandship, seat of House Martell.
When Mors Martell took Nymeria to wife, hundreds of his knights, squires, and lords bannermen also wed Rhoynish women, and many of those who were already wed took them for their paramours.
Thus, were the two peoples united by blood. These unions enriched and strengthened House Martell and its Dornish allies.
The Rhoynar brought considerable wealth with them; their artisans, metalworkers, and stonemasons brought skills far in advance of those achieved by their Westerosi counterparts, and their armorers were soon producing swords and spears and suits of scale and plate no Westerosi smith could hope to match. It was said the Rhoynish water witches knew secret spells that made dry streams flow again and deserts bloom.
To celebrate these unions, and make certain her people could not again retreat to the sea, Nymeria burned the Rhoynish ships.
“Our wanderings are at an end,” she declared. “We have found a new home, and here we shall live and die.”

Yara Greyjoy remembered these stories so clearly as if she had only heard them now.
Balon Greyjoy made her learn history of each of the Seven kingdoms of Westeros as a child, but when her alliance with House Nymeros Martell was forged, she made sure to renew her knowledge of Dorne and Dornish.

Princess Arianne was of Rhoynar blood by her father’s side, but her mother, lady Mellario of Norvos which were one of Nine Free Cities, former nine daughters of Old Valyria, surely descended from Valyrian colonists so Dornish ruler had two once warring bloodlines in herself.

A thousand years later since dragons laid waste to Rhoynish cities, the canals of Ghoyan Drohe were choked with reeds and mud and pools of stagnant water gave birth to swarms of flies.
The broken stones of temples and palaces were sinking back into the earth, and gnarled old willows grew thick along the riverbanks.
People still live here, among the weed and reeking water, Yara could tell, but we will not be seeing them today. If they weren’t spooked by us, then they are by the Dothraki.

“Halt!” shouted Gareth Sand which rode at the van of their column as band of two dozen or so horselords appeared on the road ahead of them. Only moments later, a score of copper-skinned riders was on the road at their rear.
Arianne gazed at men blocking their advance and then briefly turned her head to look at those blocking their eventual retreat with grin.
“Arakhs and spears do not frighten us. Tell them it is their lady that we want to see.” she said to the Aelyx Celtigar who came with the Ironborn-Dornish party as envoy of the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands.

House Celtigar was an ancient house, with the blood of Old Valyria in its veins and ever since the Conquest sworn to Targaryens. Lord Crispian Celtigar served as Master of Coin to King Aegon Targaryen, First of his name.

“Aye, Princess, though I must be fair and point out that I don’t know the tongue of the Dothraki.” Aelyx told her.
“Ah, seven hells, one of them should understand Valyrian.” came the rebuttal.
He was the Lord of Claw Isle and head of House Celtigar, taking the lead of his family after the death of his grandfather, Ardrian Celtigar who was known as the Red Crab. Lord Ardrian supported Stannis Baratheon when he laid claim to the Iron Throne,
but not wholeheartedly. He was captured at the Battle of the Blackwater and bent the knee to king Joffrey Baratheon.
His son, Aelyx ’s father, perished with Stannis in the North leaving the seven and ten years old Aelyx to take over the House Celtigar when lord Ardrian died, the same year Cersei Lannister blew up the Great Sept of Baelor.
Aelyx has just passed his thirtieth nameday, he was of light-brown hair with trimmed beard and his eyes had the shade of Old Valyria.

“Naejot ȳdragon lēda aōha riña īlon jaelagon!” she shouted to the Dothraki which sat silently on horseback, about forty yards before them. (We wish to speak with your lady!)
“Daor īlva riña, īlva Khalēsi!” one of the Dothraki shouted back in what sounded as the most broken High Valyrian Celtigar ever heard. (Not our lady, our Khaleesi!)
“What does that even mean?” Aelyx asked aloud. “It means Queen or close to that.” Yara told him.
“Jā lēda īlva. Aderī kessa Khalēsi māzigon.” Dothraki shouted again (You go with us. Soon will Khaleesi come.)
“What should I reply?” Celtigar looked back and forth from Yara to Arianne. “Tell him we’ll do as he asks.” Dornish princess said dryly.

A short while later, their column continued their ride down the road that passed through the ruins of the Ghoyan Drohe.
Suddenly, a large flock of seagulls came overhead, hundreds of them, flying so tight they’ve blocked the sun when passing by and then descending behind the ruins on the far side of the abandoned city. “Seven hells, I’ve never seen seagulls this far inland…” commented one of Arianne’s men.” “They must greatly crave for freshwater fish.” other said.
“Good thing they did not crave to shite passing above us.” came from the ranks of the Ironborn. Laughter was heard along entire column, which make some of the Dothraki to turn their heads in wonder.

“Keligon kesīr aōha anni. Naejot jikagon jentys mērī va deks. Tolie umbagon.” said the man who seemed to be the leader of the band that was riding ahead of them (Halt here your horses. Forward go only leaders on foot. Others wait.)
Yara looked at Arianne and shrugged when Aelyx translated what Dothraki had said:
“Ha, we have to do what he asks… before you dismount, Princess, lord Celtigar, take off your weapons. I am not letting these horselords to disarm me and soil my blades with their filthy hands.”
The three left their men behind and walked slowly towards the Dothraki escort that was now placed on both sides of the road, some of them were now on foot as well waiting for Yara, Arianne and Aelyx to approach.
Two women still had hoods over their heads but faces were uncovered.
A young warrior stepped in front of them. A tall young man in his early twenties, but his braid already falling to his shoulder blades:
“Iksan brōzi Onqo, tresy hen Harro. Mazeman ao naejot ñuha Khalēsi.”
Celtigar repeated for Yara and Arianne to understand: “This is Onqo, son of Harro. He’ll take us to his Khaleesi…”
“Sȳz. Gūrogon īlva naejot zirȳla, ābrītsos anne-āeksiō…”
(Good. Take us to her, young horselord.) Arianne said in High Valyrian, making both Yara and Aelyx to gaze at her surprised.
Onqo nodded and pointed to the ruins of a Rhoynari temple some three hundred yards down the road.

“My Princess, you never cease to amaze me.” Yara said as they walked on.
“You’ve forgotten that my lady mother is of Norvos, Valyrian is my second tongue and I wanted to make sure our travelling companion is no deceiver…” olive-skinned woman replied grinning at Celtigar who nodded:
“Princess is wise. As I am for not trying to deceive the rulers of Dorne and the Iron Islands.”
“And we both hope you will cling to that wisdom, my lord.” Yara replied.

They have entered into the ruin. Many centuries ago, when this was a thriving city of fountains and canals, this temple had walls going in circle around the flourishing garden in the middle of which were ten pillars that carried a richly ornate dome.
Dome was long gone, only overgrown pieces of rubble reminded of it now. Half of the pillars were broken and those still standing were no longer white marble but dark-green, coated by dark ivy, humidity and mere passing of time.
Dothraki have searched them for any weapons and were pleased to find none. Onqo gestured with his hand they are free to walk to where dome once stood.

As they have approached the ruin, Yara’s eyes widened and she gulped.
A woman was standing between the pillars, dressed in black breeches and knee-cut leather armor of black coating with red leather plates on the chest.
Woman’s hair was of silver colour, fashioned in simple braid that fell over her right shoulder. She smiled at Yara, the same way as she did twelve years ago in Meereen.
Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen. She lives, she truly lives…

“Queen Yara, Princess Arianne… I welcome you to Ghoyan Drohe.” silver-haired woman said and then her eyes went to Aelyx: “I do not know you, my lord.”
He looked at her with his mouth open, as if he had seen a ghost, same as Yara herself thought that night on Dragonstone.
Then he kneeled and spoke with tone of awe: “Ñuha Dāria, iksan Aelyx hen Celtigar Lentor, ānogar hen uēpa Valyria, kivigon naejot Targārien Lentor pār gō Aegon Dāritys. Skoros ao udrāzma, Celtigar Lentor kessa gaomagon.”
(My Queen, I am Aelyx of House Celtigar, blood of Old Valyria, sworn to House Targaryen since before Aegon the Conqueror. What you order, House Celtigar will follow.)

Woman smiled: “Rise, lord Aelyx. And forgive me, we have met once before, on Dragonstone, when I came to Westeros, though you were a very young man then. You came then to confirm oaths of your house to mine. I have not recognised you right away.
Time has changed you somewhat, but I see your loyalty to House Targaryen remains the same.”
“Poor is the loyalty which cannot withstand the passing of time, Your Grace.” he replied still bit shaken with notion that he speaks with a woman he believed to be long dead.
“Loyalty of House Celtigar was always true loyalty. Even in these times, you remained with lord Gendry Baratheon despite being of Crownlands and your fealty should be with Dragonstone.”
“Dragonstone is vacant, Your Grace, and loyalty of House Celtigar goes with one who ruled Dragonstone. Those were Targaryens and Baratheons and no other.”
“You do not need to call me Your Grace, my lord. I am not your queen, not anymore. But I ask you to wait till I confer with Queen Yara and Princess Arianne. Then we shall speak.”

Aelyx nodded and then walked away from the ruin, distancing himself from the three women.

“So, Yara of House Greyjoy, am I still a ghost to you?” Daenerys said as she approached her and two women shook hands clasping each other’s forearm.
Yara smiled contently: “No, my Queen, surely you’re no ghost.”
Silver-haired woman made the same handshake with Arianne.
“Princess, we finally meet in person. I’ve heard of your beauty, but those stories did you injustice, your comeliness surpasses them greatly. And I’ve heard how strong ruler you are. I wish you were leading the Dorne all those years ago.
Mayhaps I would not lose your land as ally so early as I did.”
“We wish the same then, but we cannot change the past, though we can shape the present and the future.” Dornishwoman replied smiling.
“Yes, that we can. And that we shall. This meeting is only a first step towards it. And I am glad that you have brought the envoy of Stormlands with you.”
Daenerys said “Their Lord Paramount is my making, after all… tell me, Queen Yara, how is your war in the North progressing?”

She replied: “One week ago I’ve dealt a blow to Sansa Stark she won’t forget. Ironborn have taken the Bear Island and put to torch both Deepwood Motte and Dreadfort, all in same night.
I want the ginger bitch to know she cannot protect her kingdom from the kraken. She may feel safe in Winterfell, but Ironborn can bleed any part of her kingdom that is fairly close to the waves.
Next time we shall strike at Barrowton, Ramsgate, Karhold. And, my main course will be White Harbor. I will make Starks to suffer as they deserve.”
Yara noticed her last words have made Daenerys to frown.
“You do not approve, my Queen?” she still called Targaryen woman as her queen. To Yara she was every bit a queen as she were all those year ago.
“I can understand how you look upon Starks, but I cannot share that look. My husband is half-Stark and my children have Stark grandmother, they are blood of the wolf as well.
What I think or feel of Sansa Stark is reserved for her alone, not for that entire House. And I wish you to give the Queen in the North many more blows. Many more.”
Arianne Martell said: “I doubt that Daenerys Stormborn has gathered us here to talk about what each of us thinks or feels of House Stark.”

“No, I have not.” came the words from silver-haired woman with tone which was letting them know that no comments on Stark-Targaryen pairings will be welcomed.
“I have called this meeting for us all to agree on future actions. Once more I congratulate queen Yara on her successes against Winterfell. And I hope more victories are to come. Now, shall we begin? I will lay before you how House Targaryen of Meereen can be a useful ally of your kingdoms in bringing the Realm to an end.”

After couple of hours, Yara and Arianne shook hands with Daenerys Targaryen and walked out of the ruin. Their faces were glowing with content and both had an evil smirk.

Aelyx Celtigar was leaned on one of stone blocks that once was part of the temple’s outer wall.
 
“I hope you haven’t fall asleep.” she said to him which made Arianne to chuckle “Queen Daenerys is ready to receive you now.”
Yara couldn’t make herself not to call Daenerys the queen since she called her with same title.
 
This meeting has once more assured her that she made a right choice thirteen years ago when she sailed to Meereen and placed her fleet in service of the Dragon Queen. 
And Yara could tell that Dornish princess is in same spirit. We have gained a powerful ally today.
 
And it may just be that it will not be dragon flame to break the Realm, Yara dwelled as it was their turn to wait now.

Aelyx Celtigar came before Daenerys Targaryen.
They spoke in the tongue of their ancestors, those who left the Valyrian Freehold before the Doom consumed it.
“Iksan biare naejot gīmigon āeksio Gēndrī iēdrosa udrāzma Jelmāzma Tegor. Ūndegon naenie zirȳla hae verdagon hen Ribazmoqittys Dāria” she said.
(I am happy to know that lord Gendry still rules the Stormlands. Many see him as making of the Mad Queen.)
“Issa verdagon hen drēje Dāria.” Celtigar stated (He is making of the true Queen.)
"Issi zȳhon azantys pazavor naejot zirȳla?” she asked. (Are his bannermen loyal to him?”)
“Olvie hen zirȳ issi. Mirri issi daor. Pōnta ūndegon zirȳla hae nādrēsy naejot udrāzma vāedagon.”
(Most of them are. Some are not. They see him as bastard unworthy to rule.”)
  “He should keep close eye on those.” she said in Common Tongue “And the smallfolk?” “They love him, my Queen, they see him as one of them.”
  “Good. He might need them in the moons to come. I have here a letter for lord Gendry. Make sure to deliver it in his hands alone. It is written in cipher. Nothing too difficult for his maester to break. If that maester were any good.” “As you command, my Queen.”

He took the letter and hid it in the inner pocket of his linen jerkin.
“Lord Aelyx, our two houses were allies for centuries, coming to Westeros from Old Valyria, not long before the Doom. But there was one more. What of House Velaryon?” she asked.
“Lord Monterys sits on the Small Council as Master of Ships. He succeeded Ser Davos Seaworth. Monterys is few years younger than I am.”
“And had he kept the faith with House Targaryen as you did?”
“I can’t say I know him that well, my Queen. If he’s wise, he keeps the oaths his forefathers made. We are of Old Valyria, all three of our Houses. Celtigars and Velaryons were not dragonlords, but we’re children of the Freehold.”
“You are and my House could always rely on Celtigars and Velaryons. A prudent inquiry on how lord Monterys stands would please me greatly, lord Aelyx.”
“It will be done so, Your Grace. How shall I pass my learnings to you?” “Leave that to Princess Arianne. I am thankful for your loyalty, lord Aelyx. It will not go unrewarded. And, please, do not call me Your Grace.”
“As you wish…my lady. Allow me to say that I admire you, a lady riding all the way from Meereen to here. Meereen is the seat of House Targaryen now, have I understood that well?”
“You have, my lord, but I did not come here on horseback. I flew here on my dragon.”

He frowned: “How so is dragon here, we saw nothing in the sky the whole day, save that strange, vast flock of seagulls, there’s enough of them to clear a smaller lake from its fish.”
She smiled: “I assure you, lord Aelyx, there are no seagulls here.”
"Then what was that?" "Glamor, seeming, illusion. It is given to red priests to weave with it, as others weave with thread."

Half an  hour later, a column of fifty riders, wearing dark and grey, rode out of ruins of Ghoyan Drohe and took Valyrian road back to Pentos.

Dothraki were their shadow again for part of the way and then disappeared in the Flatlands.

A flock of birds, counting hundreds of wings, flew in the sky above the Little Rhoyne and was headed east.

Chapter Text

Storm's End, Westeros, year 316 After Conquest

ARYA

The castle of Storm's End.
What was the tale of these walls? That they were guarded by ancient spells to keep safe this castle and those within its walls.
Were the spells needed to guard a hundred feet tall and eighty feet deep walls?

Walls, as impenetrable, kept the winds and the rains away. And any foe. When gates were closed, only way into this castle was to climb fifty and hundred feet of cliffs that towered above the sea.

A group of men on horseback were escorting her, ever since she came ashore from Nymeria, the thundering of hooves on the earth was loud.
Arya wriggled uncomfortably in her saddle, as they were coming nearer to the castle, slowing their mounts. The rider in front wore the Baratheon colors, gold and black.
He had a hard face with sharp cheekbones and cropped black hair. Ser Brus Buckler of Bronzegate.
They had finally reached the gates of Storm’s End after walking for what seemed like ages. It hadn’t been a difficult trek, but for someone who had been on a boat for the last six weeks, climbing the hills and rocky terrain had winded Arya. She was glad when they finally saw the guards because that meant they had reached the top.

The sound of the waves crashing against the cliffs was almost deafening, they threw themselves into the rock, straining for the earth.

She has never been to Storm’s End, but she could remember her father’s stories of the castle and how it overlooked the sea.
The impregnable keep and its ability to weather any storm. It truly was a glorious castle. She even dared to think that it was more beautiful than Winterfell.
The wind was never ceasing, whining and battering.

“Halt! State your intentions!” One guard said.
“Aye! It is Ser Brus of House Buckler.” Arya’s escort spoke clearly. “I am here with guest of Lord Baratheon whom has arrived from a long journey.”
The guard nodded to his fellow guardsman and they let them pass.
Inside the grounds of Storm’s End was just as busy as this was a main square of some town. People were running around doing their daily tasks.

Arya was now standing there in the middle of the castle yard.
She didn’t know where to look first. On one side there was the armory, along with the training grounds and stable.
The other side looked like it had housed the smithy and the kennels, while straight ahead were the kitchens.

When she was a little girl and her father told her the stories about Storm’s End she always thought that should have been the place of her kinfolk.
Had her aunt Lyanna married Lord Robert of House Baratheon the heirs of Storm’s End would be her cousins.
Fate took different course and now she had an entire family on the other side of the world.
She already began to miss the warmth of Meereenese sun where strongest wind is the evening breeze.

She was about to ask her escort to take to the lord of the when a man in attire of a maester appeared in the yard. A slender figure, with gleaming chain resting on his chest, while his features spoke of man of cleverness and diligence. His face was shaved clean and dark-brown hair had traces of grey.
As he approached her, the man made a slight bow:
“Lady Arya of House Stark, my name is Pylos, I serve as maester of Lord of Storm’s End. If it would please you, follow me to the great hall where you can rest and refresh after your ride from the shore.”

Pylos turned to leader of Arya’s escort: “Ser Brus, I thank you for bringing Lady Stark to the castle, before you leave I beg you pass my word to the steward to prepare a chamber for our guest and draw bath.”
“Aye, maester.” Buckler made a slight bow and marched towards the castle’s only tower, a drum shaped huge construction which hosted granary, barracks, second armory, feast hall and chambers.

She was served bread, bacon, sausages and ale.
Arya sat next to hearth, it felt strange to her but ever since the storm from three days ago she could not get herself warm enough.
Man who served Gendry Baratheon as his maester told her that lord of Storm’s End will return within few hours. She dared not to ask more of him.
Plyos unlike her was filled with eagerness of making questions.
“I am thankful, my lady, for a chance to hear about the findings that Lady Arya made on her ten years long journey…” said the maester, clapping his hands together.
She nodded with slight smile: “I am glad to hear that someone is so greatly interested in my voyages, maester, but I fear you may find them less exciting than The Nine Voyages of Corlys Velaryon.” “My lady, he never tried to answer the question - what is west of Westeros.”
“Aye, he did not. Elissa Farman did. And now I could even vouch that claim Corlys made of seeing her ship, Sun Chaser, in Asshai was truthful.” Arya said.
Sun Chaser was a Braavosi built ship captained by Lady Elissa of House Farman, early during the reign of King Jaehaerys I Targaryen.
That carrack was built for deep waters and unlike most Braavosi ships, she was not oared.
Instead, ship had four masts, she carried as much sails as the swan-ships of the Summer Isles, a broader beam and a deeper hull.
Elissa Farman sailed the Sun Chaser westward, across the Sunset Sea and was never seen again as far as history knows. When Corlys Velaryon sailed to Asshai-by-the-Shadow on the second of his nine great voyages, he spotted an old and much weathered ship which he believed was the Sun Chaser.
That was more than thirty years after she disappeared.

“My lady, that would mean west of Westeros is Essos?” Pylos asked.
Arya shook head: “No, maester, it took my ship Nymeria whole first year of our voyage to reach first land in the Sunset Sea and those were islands, some with no men, some with tribes of men whose skin seemed as amber and who knew no tongue known to us. Sometimes they wore wood bark and tree leaves to cover their manhood and womanly bits, but sometimes they were in their nameday suits, men and women alike.
When we’ve passed those islands, there was more sea before us and then we have reached a shore that stretched for hundreds of leagues northwards and southwards.” “A continent?”
“Yes, a continent and to this day I cannot tell was that land Sothoryos or mayhaps Ulthos of which we do not know is it a true continent or merely a large island…
or was that a wholly new, yet undiscovered land for there was no end to it, no matter which course Nymeria took.
We lost many moons going first southwards, then northwards trying to sail around that land. That northern route lead into sea cursed with storms, damaging the ship. We sailed back to Westeros then, it took us year and a half.”
“I recall that, you have sent your reports to the Citadel.”
“Aye, ship’s second maester did that, response he got was… well, the archmaesters of the Citadel were tentative in accepting the reports.
Then we went back to Sunset Sea, that was six years ago, this time sailing northwards, again Nymeria sailed past the islands, only these tribes were dressed in animal hides and furs, as folk north of the Wall is…
Few weeks after that we have reached the shore of a large land, only this time we sailed up the strait we discovered, broad enough for a carrack to pass, after two moons of sailing through it, the strait became narrow as upper White Knife river and truly I was afraid that Nymeria shall end her voyage stranded in that unknown land.
Luckily, that strait lead us into what seemed to be a bay, but in truth were the Saffron Straits, that we knew only after my ship reached island of Ulos, the coast north of us were the Shadow Lands, coast on the south was Ulthos. Before us was the Jade Sea. It was the end of eighth year of my voyages.”
“So, that voyage by north of the Sunset Sea took you to Essos?” he asked.
“Essos was one side of that strait, likely on the south side was Ulthos. I wanted for Nymeria to return into that strait and sail back to Sunset Sea, but pirates that raid the shores of Jade Sea use coves of the Saffron Straits as their hiding places and it was not very safe for ship alone to sail those waters, though we tried three times to reach that strait during my ninth year at the sea, each time pirates made us go back to port of Asshai.”
“Shadow is no place of refuge, my lady.” Pylos said solemnly.
“No, it is not. Asshai is the only place in whose port I’ve been and never set foot ashore.”
“What you have learned on your voyages, can we say that Ulthos lies both on Jade and Sunset Sea?” maester said.
“Not with certainty, maester, that we cannot. We do not know what Ulthos is, a land for itself or just a portion of larger continent we still do not know anything about.” “Where were your ships headed before that storm threw you off course?” Pylos asked. “First to Braavos and then to the isles of Ibbenese and to Nefer.” she replied
“And then further east, to reach the northern end of Essos, from there one can only go southwards and that strait is there, on the eastern shore of Essos.”
“My lady, that is a perilous venture… some wouldn’t dare take it even with fleet of ships.” Pylos told her, not without admiration.
“All ten years of my voyage were perilous. Every third man aboard Nymeria perished in that time.” Arya replied with sombre tone
“And fleets of Westeros are busy warring, as I’ve learned sailing into Narrow Sea.”
Maester nodded: “Aye, my lady, that sadly they are. That you should discuss with lord Gendry. I thank you kindly for this account of your voyages.”
“Maester Pylos, as my ships will be anchored at Tarth for repairs, we can talk more of Nymeria’s ten-year long journey, I’ll let you read some of my ship logs even. You’ll learn many details of men, beasts, wonders and perils my crew has encountered in last ten years.”
“That would bring me great pleasure, my lady. I will take my leave now and let you rest here. Should you be needing anything, servants are at your disposal.
My lord will be with you soon.” he made a slight bow and began to walk towards the door of great hall. Arya nodded:
“Maester Pylos, if you could introduce me with lady of Storm’s End, I’d be grateful.” Man paused his pace and said with saddened tone:
“There is no lady of Storm’s End. Fourth year has passed, my lady.”

Arya finished her meal, it was warm sitting near to the hearth and her eyelids began to close. As used in her cabin on Nymeria she leaned back in her chair and placed her feet on the table. Hardly a manners of a highborn lady yet as ever in her life she did not care. Soon she dozed off. Notion of time and place eluded her.

She was sleeping, for how long she could not tell when sound of man’s voice made her awake: “Arya… it is you; it truly is you!”

Gendry of House Baratheon, Lord of Storm’s End, made two more paces and hugged her, almost lifting her off the table. She barely got to see his black breeches and gambeson over which he donned sleeveless tunic of gold color with black crowned stag on the chest. When they parted, she said:
“It is me… truly is. No matter what you may have heard, I am not at the bottom of the sea.”
“I have heard all kind of things about you in last ten years and all were horseshit.” he replied smiling.
He is just as tall and muscled as I remember him, Arya thought, with this trimmed thick beard, black as his hair is, he has even more of that Baratheon look.
Mayhaps his father looked like this when he was young and lead a rebellion against the Mad King. He’s comelier now than before.
“Arya, I have many questions to ask you…” he said to her, his voice still rang with excitement. He was truly glad to see her.

None of it will be worth anything if you’re not with me… be the Lady of Storm’s End, their last proper talk came to her mind, talk from eleven years ago,
you’ll be a wonderful lord, any lady would be lucky to have you, but I’m not a lady, I never have been…that’s not me.
She smiled looking at him, while wondering if he recalls that same talk. What to say to a man you have not seen for a ten years?

“I was greeted by your maester. He is an eager man indeed.” she said to Gendry, beginning their talk with her impression of Pylos.
“He is. Pylos has been with House Baratheon since he was five and twenty, while Stannis was still at Dragonstone. Two moons ago, he had his two and forty nameday.
He is a kind man, brave and means well. And he always thought that man’s worth has very little to do with being highborn or not.”
“Well, about that he could be wrong in many other cases, but he is right when it comes to you, Lord Gendry of House Baratheon.” Arya said smilingly
“I am glad you have such a maester. He even said you’ll be able to tell me of this new war in Westeros.”
“So, you want me to tell you about this war between the Vale and the Ironborn?”
“You mean, war my sister started with taking the land of the Free Folk? No need. News travel fast across the world.” she smiled again and then seriousness came to her face:
“He told me there has not been a lady of Storm’s End for four years. What did he mean with those words?”

Gendry’s face darkened as well. She could not tell was it because his maester told something he should not have or the very thought of this castle not having a lady was an unpleasant truth to him.
"We are going to lord’s chambers, so we can talk more freely." he told her.
“All right. I would like to see place where you do your lordly work…” she replied.
They made their way up a column of stairs, to the first floor of the tower, reaching the chamber doors.
With one swift motion he entered the room where he received petitioners and held small meetings.
Truly a chamber befitting a lord, Arya had to admit.
As they entered, there was a table that could seat eight, near the wide-open window that overlooked the sea.
Sheer curtains were the only things covering the open archways that led to the balcony.
The fireplace at the head of the room was large; a stag adorning the stone atop of it.
This chamber although large still felt rather pleasant; the sea breeze that was tickling the curtains of the balcony.
“Fancy chambers, my lord.” Arya teased as they were both seated at the table.
“It is, my lady.”
“Don't call me that. Not you.”
“You are a lady, Arya. Same as I am a lord. You were born as such, I was made such. Mayhaps we didn’t want it, but that is who we are.”
He now talks as a true lord she thought, that maester taught him well.

Her face had a mark of deep thoughts now, even he could saw it.
The truth of it was that they were no longer the same people that they had been all those years ago.
It seemed to Arya that it was easier to renew her bound with Gendry when he came to Winterfell, they were nothing but younglings then.
Now there was eleven years of life between them and they had to learn to know each other again.
“Arya?” He called to her. She heard him and immediately her pondering ended. “You wanted to know about lady of this castle...”
“Is that all right? You don’t need to tell…”
“Ask freely, Arya.”
“I wanted to meet your lady wife and Pylos said that there was no lady Baratheon for four years now…”
Gendry nodded: “Yes. Jocelyn of House Baratheon, my wife, died four years ago, well it will be five years soon.”
“What happened to her?” Arya asked bluntly and regretted such carelessness right away. He sighed deeply and it was plain that he was a troubled with it.
“Fever. Four years ago, ship came across the Narrow Sea to King’s Landing and it brought a fever that claimed many lives… do you remember that clumsy squire who was with Brienne of Tarth? Never saw a man slower in learning swordfight… what was his name… Rodrick…”

“Podrick. Podrick Payne…” Arya recalled “Indeed, he was as good with a sword as I was in embroidery.”
Gendry nodded: “And yet he became the man of Kingsguard. He died of that fever. But not before he passed it to my wife.
Well, that is what I believe, anyway. Though I blame him not but me.”
“You can’t blame yourself for a fever. Pestilences come and go, it is as this from the Age of Heroes.” He shook his head: “For her death I can. That disease did not spread outside King’s Landing and Crownlands. No one in Stormlands died, save those who went on a tourney, celebrating the seventh year of reign of King Bran. That was the only time, only year that king’s reign was celebrated so, only seventh year. It was done on seventh year to please the Faith. Bran is of North, he believes in the Old Gods and septons never liked him much. So, someone around king, Hand mayhaps or Master of Coin, proposed to have a tourney on seventh day of seventh moon of seventh year of his rule.”
“Seven hells…” Arya exclaimed, without intent adding her seven to the list.

“I wished not to go, but Pylos and my other advisers told me that I should, for I may slight the king. Some among the highborn of Stormlands never accepted a bastard legitimised by a Mad Queen as their Lord Paramount. And their voices were oft heard in the halls of the Red Keep.” Arya, still surprised by the manner in which he spoke now, countered:
“You were made Baratheon by the Queen of Seven Kingdoms, no matter how short her reign was. And king Bran never questioned your legitimacy.”
“I know. That is why I went to that tourney, but my wife insisted to accompany me. She wished to give more weight to my legitimacy as Baratheon. I went to the capital with her and eight days later returned. To lay her to eternal rest.” His gaze was absent, as he was reliving those days.
“Ser Podrick, being a true knight, came to greet me… I haven’t seen him since Battle of Winterfell… and he greeted my wife. In sennight they were both dead. So, yes.
Me going to that tourney costed the life of lady of Storm’s End.”

Arya looked at him and great sadness came over her. She could not ask anything save: “Who was she?”
“Her name was Jocelyn of House Penrose. I wasn't intending on marrying her, or any woman for that matter. I was going in third year of my lordship and my bannermen were pressuring me to marry; to create heirs to Storm's End. Every woman they threw at me I dismissed. I did not want to marry, for there was no other woman that could make me happy but you.” Gendry paused as he could see his words were making Arya uneasy.
“I was going to wait; however long it took. But maester Pylos had advised me against it. And Davos Seaworth as well. He was till this year in the Small Council and he knew what some of the lords from Stormlands were saying of me in the capital. So, they arranged me to meet the youngest daughter of lord Penrose. And I married her. To secure my rule.” Gendry swallowed.
“Did you love her?” she asked. “No, not right away. For first few moons it was a sham marriage, one might say. She was not keen to be a wife of once bastard, lot of tales were told of me that weren’t true. Yet, we became friends first, then true husband and wife…she had a kind heart.” Gendry said, trace of smile was on his face.
“Did you have… do you have…”
“Children? Yes, she gave birth to my son, Orys, he is six years old and year later we had Argella, my daughter. She lost her mother soon after her first nameday.”
Orys and Argella, she mused, after first Lord and Lady of House Baratheon of Storm’s End.

Arya saw how his eyes have watered. It hurt him, these thoughts of his lost wife.
She sighed as well making him look at her: “Why are you troubled with this?”
“I am truly sorry for all that fell upon you, Gendry. You’re a good man and there is more nobility in you than in any of those highborn cunts that wish you gone from Storm’s End.
I told you right, that night in Winterfell, any lady would be lucky to have you. And so it was.”
He nodded: “Any lady. Save Arya Stark.”
“I am not a lady.” Arya answered half-absently.
“Then I am not a lord… someone should send ravens to certain holdfasts in the Stormlands. They will rejoice to hear it at last.” he jested now, to chase away grim thoughts.

Arya looked him right in the eyes: “Can you answer me, but be honest. Were you angry with me when I rejected your proposal?
You haven’t said a word to me when the surviving lords gathered at Dragonpit and it ended with Bran being elected as king.”
“I was. Mayhaps I still am. I don’t know. I tried not to think of you much, Arya, but one cannot run from his memories. Or dreams.
Many times since I came here to be lord of Stromlands I’ve dreamt of Harrenhal and of Brotherhood without banners, of Red Woman and Stannis Baratheon.
Most oft I dreamt of you.” “Of me?!” she wondered though Arya could tell her heart just leapt.
“Is that so odd? You were the friend and the love of my youth, one does not forget you easily, Arya Stark.”
She leaned towards him and squeezed his hand with hers, though his were twice as big, hands of a blacksmith:
“I thought of you oft as well, will you believe it or not I don’t care, but on this ten-year long voyage of mine I haven’t met a man that can measure up to you.”

He looked at her eyes now: “Was it worth it? Those ten years at sea? Did it give you what you wanted?” “What did I want?”
“Freedom, I gather. That’s why you never wished to be a lady. That felt as cage to you. But have you found that freedom on the high seas?”
Arya sighed: “I don’t know… till few moons ago I have belonged to nowhere. West or east. I was dead for Westeros and a foreigner to Essos. A wanderer.
Then I’ve got a new purpose. By pure chance. I am not a lone wolf anymore.”

She could tell he understood little of her words, so she said in sad tone:
“Do you ever wonder how it would have gone… had I accepted your proposal?
With me as lady Baratheon… how would we fared as husband and wife?”
“I used to… before Jocelyn. Then it made no sense to think of what never was to be instead of living the life I have.” he answered
“I cannot tell how would we fared as lord and lady of Storm’s End but one that was my lady gave me two children.”
Arya smiled: “I greatly wish to meet the little Baratheons.”
“You shall. Yet, I warn you, they are mistrustful with strangers.”
“Well… I have some practice in winning the children’s hearts.”
“What? You? Truly?” he chuckled.
“Truly. And I am not going to say anything more of it, my lord.”
“And I shan’t ask, my lady.. Yet, that would ask of you to stay at Storm’s End for duration of your ships being repaired on Tarth.
I’d be glad if you could stay here. As guest of highest honor. Wil you stay?”
“Aye, I'm staying. For a short while at least.”

Chapter Text

Winterfell, Westeros, year 316 After Conquest

SANSA

Eighth moon of year three-hundred-sixteenth since dragons conquered Westeros was counting its twelfth day.

Grim. Everything around her was grim.
Skies above Winterfell were grim, announcing new thunder and rain. Land was grim, as if were reflecting the skies. Walls and towers seemed grim too.
And so were the faces of the people around her.

Smallfolk kept coming to Winter Town from coast, both coasts.
Smallfolk of Deepwood Motte, of Stony Shore, of lands around Dreadfort, even as far as Widow’s Watch and Ramsgate.
All their accounts were the same, men under the kraken sails coming on their longships to burn, plunder, rape and kill.
Living on the shores of Northern kingdom was no longer life, it was surviving at the best and among those who managed to survive seldom were women and children.
Their humble cottages and fields burned down, all their belongings plundered, livestock butchered or stolen… without food and shelter, even if the Ironborn were not revisiting their villages for weeks, many died of hunger. What remained for those wretched people was to go inland, to the capital of their kingdom, to seek protection under the direwolf banner as their own lords weren’t able to provide it.
Those same lords came to Winterfell themselves to counsel with their queen.
What started as skirmishing with small bands of wildlings, became the war against the whole of Free Folk and full might of the Iron Islands.
Krakens have descended upon North once again and humiliated Northerners once again.
Dreadfort, a castle of whose lords in their time most Westeros above the Neck and Moat Cailin truly dreaded, was put to torch.
Bear Island was lost, kraken banner now fluttering over the once Mormont holdfast and Deepwood Motte suffered the same fate as Dreadfort.

True, the lands of the Gift were defended and no wildling or Ironborn has set foot in Queenscrown, Mole’s Town or Eastwatch-by-the-Sea.
Of little comfort was that land which some called the New North were secured when castles and villages that were North for thousands of years were now submitted to reavers from Great Wyk, Harlaw and Pyke.

Sansa sighed as she entered the Great Hall. The lords and ladies of Kingdom of the North awaited her, seated at the long tables that were usually used for feasts. Roger Ryswell, Lord of the Rills, then Beron, Steward of Barrow Hall, keep of House Dustin whose lady Barbrey passed away in third year of Sansa’s reign.

There was Lady Erena Glover, younger sister of late Lord Gawen Glover who fell at Hardhome, girl of seven and ten years whose home was for second time in her life sacked by the Ironborn. All of them having their lands on the coast of the Sunset Sea. To Erena’s side, Eddara Tallhart, Lady of Torrhen's Square was seated, her cousin Beren served at Sansa’s court. Next to her was Jonelle Cerwyn, last surviving child of Lord Medger Cerwyn who died of wounds at Harrenhal, fighting in Robb Stark’s host. She could feel their looks and she could see their faces. Grim.
But that grimness was nothing in comparison with the one she could read on the faces of the lords from the other shore of her kingdom. Larence Hornwood whose son Hallis was missing ever since Dreadfort was burned, no word came from the Iron Islands of the boy being their captive so many presumed the boy was dead or sold to slavers across the Narrow Sea.
His lord father’s face was marked with concern and anger. With him was his wife, Wylla, granddaughter of Wyman Manderly, Lord of White Harbor, who was also there, defying his age of four and seventy and his large belly. His heir, Ser Wylis Manderly, sat next to him, a fat man, bald whose face was adorned with a large walrus mustache.
At the far side of the hall were mountain clans, Wulls, Norreys, Burleys, Harclays and Knotts.

Old Wyman was against North taking the Gift, so were the mountain clans, she thought, his great-grandson is now gone, his fleet blocked in White Harbor… and the mountain clans are bleeding in this war since it begun. I can see “we told you so…” in their eyes.

Single face that was not grim was one of Elric Karstark. Commander of Northern host who gave her the lands of New Gift and the Brandon’s Gift.
He kept the direwolf banner over the Eastwatch and Mole’s Town. Her undefeated champion.
But his skill and prowess in battle were not enough, not if Kingdom of the North was to emerge from this war victoriously, Sansa knew,
one man can make a difference only if those who he leads are able to follow.

She was not sure that lords of the North are able to follow the vision she had for this kingdom. Ever since the longships came to raid on her shores, she suspected that some of House Stark bannermen were secretly rejoicing that her campaign for greater Northern kingdom took turn for the worse. Small people of small minds.

For this council, she chose to sat at the table next to young lord of Karhold, not on the throne, it was a gesture for her bannermen, to show that queen takes part in their grief and rage. They were silent, all of them. There were not even whispers on the ear among those who sat next to each other. Hardly a good sign and hardly that will waver me.

“My Lords, my ladies. The hour at which we have assembled is the dire; it was this dire when Ironborn raped our lands for the first time, in the days of King Robb.
The same oathbreaking enemy came to burn and reave our shores, to rape and murder our people. Enemy that comes from now a foreign land to us with those who rule that land lacking resolve to act against those criminals for that is what Yara Greyjoy and her ilk are.” she addressed the hall.
There was no response, not even a murmur, to expect approval from this disheartened lot would be foolish, that much Sansa knew.

A sigh came from Eddara Tallhart as she was first to speak, not willing to wait if her queen were about to speak more:
“Your Grace, last time the krakens came it was when your brother warred in the south against the lions; then krakens were in rebellion against those same lions and their bastard king Joffrey. This time, as they have sacked not only lands of our kingdom but the Vale too, the kraken is again in open rebellion against the king who sits in the Red Keep and that king does nothing to quench that rebellion. And he is no lion, he is Stark, he is son of the North, he is one of us. His time to act is long overdue.”

Roger Ryswell nodded in approval: “Ironborn scum has sacked Gulltown and the shores of the Vale, made Dragonstone their own holdfast in the Narrow Sea, they do as they please on both shores of this continent and King’s Landing remains silent, as frightened child. I say that North should treat Six Kingdom as bypast and seek alliance with Riverlands as we have made one with the Vale. We need more men, my Queen, men in armor on heavy horse and men on foot. Our kingdom is nearly as large as all six kingdoms put together, we cannot guard our every village but we can guard our castles and towns. For that we need more men, krakens are not so bold in the Vale anymore, that shore is now dressed in sword and shield and iron price is hard to pay against steel. We need men at arms, that is my saying.”

She felt the same as Lady of Tohrren’s Square and Lord of the Rills.
Of small good is what I feel when that cannot be uttered openly, not from me. Queen in the North saying that Six Kingdoms are without proper ruling could bring us at odds with the Realm and their ports are now only gates we have to the rest of the world.

She said looking from one end of the hall to another: “My lords, since my lord father was beheaded up to the day when my brother became king, North was losing men in battles that followed one after another. Thousands perished. And in last ten years we could not wholly recover; North today cannot put even half as many men on the battlefield as my brother Robb could when he marched south. We need more horse and more foot, only a fool would dispute that. But we must find a proper way to bring those men here.”

“We won’t be bringing them through White Harbor, surely…” came the words of Ser Wylis Manderly “…for moons now the krakens do not let any ship to call in or to leave our port. Any goods coming to us from the south or across the Narrow Sea must go to King’s Landing or in better case to Maidenpool and Saltpans… that makes all that comes to North pricier and all which leaves North just the same… this war robs us of our young, but drains our coffers as well. I fear hunger might come knocking to our doors and hunger is a travelling companion of every prolonged war.”
“Ser Wylis is right.” said Elric Karstark “If this war drags on for few more moons, we shall be wondering how to feed our men at arms and our smallfolk. We’ll have to slaughter all of our livestock to ensure that food. We need a swift and decisive victory and that one will not come, there will be no battle of Trident in this war. Our foe is not the kind that rides in the battle in thousands. They’re reavers and raiders, war of this sort is what they know best. And war of this sort we all have to suffer.”

Erena Glover kept his gaze on him and when he finished, said in bitter tone: “Some here have suffered much already, Lord Karstark, my brother is gone and male line of House Glover is gone with him. Lord Hornwood’s son fate is still unknown. Aye, this is a war where one bleeds other slowly, but wildlings now have the upper hand thanks to Kraken. They have Hardhome as port now. To ship in weapons and food and to sell our men to slavers from across the Narrow Sea. We have no ports. Kraken has sealed them all.” “Are you losing faith in our cause, Lady Erena? If you no longer believe…” Elric said with tone that accused, softly but still accused.
“I could believe till it snows in Red Mountains of Dorne, Lord Elric, that will not change the truth that in matter of weeks we shall lack both men to wage war and coins to fund that war.” “So, what would you like our Queen to do? Sue for peace?” Karstark hissed.

“Hah, that just might be the wisest thing to do.” Hugo Wull stated looking straight at Sansa “We have broken the pacts that stood some for hundreds, some for thousands of years…aye…hoping that will bring the better hereafter for our children and grandchildren. Noble intent and plan, but not shared by men who dwell in those lands.
At their own will they want not to partake in making of new North and we can’t make them to heel. Nor we can root them out. Mayhaps it would be wise to seek parlay with wildling leaders. Not the Ironborn scum. Only the Free Folk.”

She gave him a long, disapproving gaze and then scolded him: “And with whom do you propose I should parlay with, Lord Wull?
Who speaks for the Free Folk, as you call them? Do they have a king, a prince, a lord… a leader of any sort that I could even by far treat as worthy of trading words with?
Or am I to think that you wish for your Queen to lower herself before some chieftain that beds goat before eating it?”

His face was now red, but not of being ashamed by a woman still young enough to be his granddaughter, it was red for anger:
“A queen parlays with a king or queen and no other. But queen has her loyal lords to speak for her when dealing with those of lesser titles is needed.
And who is more loyal to Your Grace than Lord Karstark. He should seek parlay with the wildling chieftains, if naught to learn what price for peace they ask.”

Elric chuckled: “I have wildling blood on my hands, up to my armpits I’d say. And one does not need to speak with that lot to know what they want… they want us to leave all the lands of the Gift to them and to give the castles on the Wall to them and to rapers and thieves and what other filth now makes the Night Watch. They want us to go back what we were in times of our grandfathers.”
“Those were times of peace, young lord, times of your grandfather…” boomed the voice of Wyman Manderly “…when Lord Rickard Stark and his sire Lord Edwyle ruled North.
Aye, wildlings raided in those days, but any Northerner could travel safe from Winterfell and White Harbor to the Wall, to Castle Black and to Eastwatch.
Not in this day. Not without an escort of two scores of mounted men in heavy armor.”
“Lord Wyman, do you speak in favor of this parlay with the wildlings as well?” Sansa asked “Young Lord Hornwood is your great-grandson and he was taken from us by Ironborn who came to our shores at behest of wildlings.”
“I know to whom my son’s daughter is wed and what child came into that marriage.” old man replied with even voice “As I know that many grandsons will perish in this barren war. Unless we end it soon.”

“Barren war? One could almost call that a talk of treachery, Lord Wyman.” came from Elric.
That caused loud comments from all Manderlys present, but voice of the oldest one muffled all other:
“A treachery, you say? Men of my House were butchered at Red Wedding, boy, while Karstarks turned back on their King and rode home.
And you fought against Jon Snow, the White Wolf, for Boltons. Your family is the last one to mark someone else as treacherous.”

From all sides of the hall came the approval, some nodded, others murmured. Elric Karstark did not won much favor with the lords of Kingdom of the North by bedding their queen and even less with the war that he apparently was losing. Sansa knew this was the moment when her own Queen’s Council could turn against her. “My lords and ladies, I have heard your proposals and counsels. Only a foolish queen would not agree that our endeavor of larger North came to a halt for this war; a war that has become a deadlock. Yet, to go to parlay now, after we have lost the Bear Island and smoke still lingers over Dreadfort and Deepwood Motte, that would mean we seek peace as the losing side. No, we can ask that parlay only after a victory over the wildlings and the Ironborn that will make them feel our strength.” “Where shall we seek that victory, Your Grace?” asked lady Jonelle Cerwyn.
“At Eastwatch, my lady.” she replied with tone of convincement “On land and on the sea. We lift the both sieges.”
“How can we end the blockade on the sea, all the ships we have are in White Harbour and no match for the Iron Fleet…” said lady Wylla Hornwood, Wyman’s granddaughter. “Sellsails. There is no other way.” Sansa replied causing the loud murmuring throughout the hall. “My Queen, sellsails are of same kind as the Ironborn. Pirates and cutthroats...” warned Wylis Manderly. “Indeed, they are. And who better to fight pirate and cutthroat than other pirate and cutthroat.” she pointed out. Hugo Wull shook his head in disgust he did not even bother to hide while Larence Hornwood asked: “Can our Kingdom afford sellsails? To break the Ironborn at Eastwatch it will take a proper fleet.” “And proper fleet we shall have. I intend to offer service to Samarro Saan. He is a baseborn son of Sallahador and that name should be known to House Manderly.” responded the Northern queen.
“Aye, it is…” said old Wyman with contempt “Sallahador Saan was pledged to Stannis, his ships were part of Baratheon fleet when he fought the battle of the Blackwater.
Later he abandoned Stannis and returned to piracy in Stepstones. That Lyseni was never trustworthy and whomever he sired is surely of same feather.” “Nonetheless, Saan family has close to fifty ships and half of it will be enough to sank the longships that block the Eastwatch. Yara Greyjoy has not committed her largest vessels to Eastwatch, she keeps them in Narrow Sea, on Dragonstone, before coast of Vale and to block White Harbor.”
“Do we have enough coin to pay the Saan and his pirates?” came from one of the Harclays.
She glared: “To hire their service for one single battle, we have more than enough. And I do not intend to have them serving us for long.”
Lady Tallhart nodded: “Your Grace is right, it would be unwise to depend on foreign pirates longer that it is needed, still if royal treasury pays Lyseni sails, can we afford the same on land?”
“Kingdom of the North will not hire sellswords on land, we shall send a call to Six Kingdoms for all men at arms who are willing to come and fight for our cause without payment. But with promise of a new life on the land that once were Gift. And in some vacant lands of the North as well. Land for commoners, titles and holdfasts for the highborn.”
Sansa replied with determination.
“So, the New North will be place to settle Southrons?” came from the table where mountain clans were seated.
“They are not blood of First Men…” said the other voice. “Neither are the Manderlys…” someone half whispered making Wylla to spout:
“Manderlys are blood of First Men from the Reach, we’re not Andals, but our faith is that of Seven.” “Faith Andals brought…” came the reply.

Entire hall now echoed with debating lords and ladies from one corner of long tables to another.
Lord Hornwood rose from the table and spoke loudly:
“Do we want such men amongst us? Southerners drawn here by prospect of getting lands and titles? Bringing to North their ways who are strange to the most of us, making our land into something that is not to be. One should be wary of men coming after wealth and power. I strongly advise you against this, my Queen.” “As do I.” said Wyman Manderly. “As do we, men of the mountains.” came from the Hugo Wull.
Lady Cerwyn joined them: “Your Grace, we cannot sacrifice the true spirit of the North to save the North. We need the North as it is now, as it were since the Age of Heroes.
Andals could not take our ways from us, nor could the dragons… to turn the lands of the Gift into lair of Southron freeriders and hedge knights, that will not be true North anymore… I beg you to reconsider.”
“We are a Kingdom. We have laws.” she replied dryly “Those who would like to live among us shall take our ways or there will be no home for them in the North. We have enough womenfolk to wed with those hedge knights and freeriders and their children will be Northerners for their mothers will see that they are. Your fears are unjustified, my lords and ladies.”
“Are you a queen or a whoremonger?” she could read plainly from the face of all the Manderlys and Hornwoods, in the gaze of Hugo Wull and Eddara Tallhart after hearing her words. I don’t truly care what you think of me, I am not here to please your narrow minds and wavering loyalties.
“I am charging you, lord Wyman of House Manderly to send word to Samarro Saan, word by which Kingdom of the North wants to hire his fleet.
And you, lord Elric of House Karstark to send word into Six Kingdoms that all free men at arms are welcome under direwolf banner.
As long as I rule the North, this kingdom will not suffer humiliation. Not by Kraken, not by Thenn.”
She rose up from the table and walked out of the Great Hall.
Weaklings, all of them. How can someone who has mind and strength to plan for next hundred years get proper counsel from those who live from dinner to supper.

Some of those remaining in the hall exchanged gazes who silently spoke as long as she rules the North…

Chapter Text

King’s Landing, Westeros, year 316 After Conquest

SAMWELL

„Archmaester Tarly, a meeting of the Small Council shall take place in two hours, the Hand has sent me to gather all members to attend.” page announced barely entering the chamber where Grand maester’s office was. “Inform the lord Hand that I shall attend the meeting, young lord Peckledon, and thank you.”
“Aye, archmaester.” replied the page, boy of fourteen years, cousin of Ser Josmyn Peckledon who five and ten years ago squired for Jamie Lannister.

Peckledons were of Westerlands and Samwell instantly knew this meeting is important to Tyrion since he sends children of Lannister bannermen inviting the Small Council members.

Last moon was least peaceful for Samwell ever since he became a member of King Bran’s Small Council.
After that storm which struck King’s Landing with same ferocity as the one more than thirty years ago, one that took place on the night when a woman who burned his father and brother was born, he expected to be summoned by Hand or the King himself.
That night, under cover of wind, thunder and rain, dragon burned the Red Keep’s weirwood tree. Or that was what he was told.
He also heard of Tyrion getting a box with rotting head of a dead Essosi sellsword.
Corners and holes of Red Keep echoed with furtive whispers, with each passing day rumors were enriched with more details, mostly absurd and doubtful details.
Mayhaps best way to ruin the true account is to let it be disfigured into sum of gossips saturated with imagination of tens of gossipers, Sam thought.

What he was certain of is that King and the Hand both know the truth.
And the truth was that assassination plot Tyrion Lannister devised together with leader of sellswords once loyal to the Dragon Queen failed.
He knew that Davos Seaworth came home from Essos and was able to meet with him once last moon.
Samwell heard whole account of what happened in Meereen and was content, one could say he was content, even happy for it.
He had no love for Daenerys Targaryen. She burned King’s Landing whole and his younger brother before that.
And his father, though he would not resent that for long had Dickon been spared.
Randyll Tarly broke oath to House Tyrell, oath lords of Horn Hill kept for centuries. Dickon did not deserve to die by dragon flame.
Still, children of his only friend, Jon Snow or Jon Targaryen as he called himself in Meereen did not deserve to die for no reason save being of Targaryen blood.

When Davos asked him what if King or Tyrion accuse Sam of treason, he replied:
“Then, so be it. I have saved Gilly’s babe from White Walkers and shielded her and Little Sam from some brothers in the Night’s Watch.
I would not be a man anymore, unworthy of my wife and my children to let other children being slaughtered only for having a wrong family name.
My father was not a good man but he’d never let his hands be smeared with blood of innocent babes.
Had I kept silence, knowing what Tyrion plans for Jon’s family, their blood would be on my head as well.”

Little Sam Tarly was not so little anymore, a young man of seven and ten namedays, last year took the lordship of Horn Hill in his father’s stead as Samwell will never return to Tarly holdfast save as castle’s maester which was not to be expected. Mahyaps in his older days when Red Keep or the Citadel would lose appeal to archmaester Tarly.
Gilly lived at Horn Hill as well, with his mother Melessa and his soon twelve-year-old daughter, Alana.
He promised Jon to name his child after him had it been a boy, but to have daughter named Joanna was not tradition of his fathers.

His sister Talla who ruled Horn Hill until Little Sam reached age of six and ten was now Lady of Cider Hall but fortunately for her, her husband was Ser Tanton of House Fossoway, not his much homelier older brother Symun, one with yellow teeth. No matter what may come to pass with me, he pondered, the future of House Tarly is secured.

“Lord Monterys…” he greeted the Master of Ships upon entering the Hand’s
chamber. Young nobleman of Valyrian features was already seated at the table, with him were Master of Laws who also received Sam’s greeting: “Lord Andrew.”
“Archmaester... any thoughts why were we summoned in such haste?”
“None, my lord.” he replied taking seat “Mayhaps Ser Brienne will know more…”
“She does not.” came the brisk reply as Lady Commander of the Kingsguard stepped into room. “I’d wager of me knowing less than the rest of you. What I can tell you is that lord Tyrion was in good spirits when I saw him in the morning.” Master of Ships frowned: “A seldom thing that was, in last few moons.”
Not long after, Tyrion Lannister entered the chamber carrying documents and scrolls.
Already by his pace, they all concluded Hand of the King is content about something or someone.

“My lords, my lady… before we commence, let me tell you that His Grace will not be joining us, but he did make some decrees that I am to present you during this meeting.”
Hand said after taking his seat at the head of the table.
“First decree is in regard of the actions of Lady Greyjoy. As you all know, the Ironborn have taken Bear Island, part of the Kingdom of the North and that is act of aggression on foreign soil. Crown will not tolerate this any longer so King orders for royal fleet to sail out and lay blockade of Dragonstone.
Since Yara Greyjoy has taken residence at Dragonstone, we shall make certain she stays there with significant portion of her ships at anchor.
Lord Monterys, begin the preparations as of today. Royal fleet is expected to seal waters around Dragonstone a sennight from today.”

Young lord Velaryon nodded, not without cautioning: “Royal fleet shall be ready to set sail towards Dragonstone within three days, my lord.
Still, Lady Greyjoy could escape from the island if she finds that befitting, a simple boat will suffice for her to pass our ships under cover of the night and then board on some of Ironborn longships or vessels of the Iron Fleet.”
“True, but she will not do that, she will not sneak out as common thief and leave her ships behind. The flagship of Iron Fleet is anchored at Dragonstone, Yara will not leave it under our blockade.”
“My lords, my lady… the Ironborn will see this as a cause for war against the Crown.” said Andrew Estermont
“Bulk of their fleet is in the Narrow Sea, ensuring no ship of any kind to come close to coast of the Vale or to White Harbor.
And some are claimed to anchor at Hardhome, beyond the Wall, from where they sail southwards, to attack Eastwatch-by-the-Sea.
Royal fleet, even if aided by ships from Stormlands, cannot muster more than sixty ships. Yara Greyjoy has thrice as many in the Narrow Sea, if not more.
Our western shore is filled with kraken sails.”
“Indeed, she has, but mayhaps more than half of those kraken sails are ships that can face the galleys of royal fleet if battle ensues after we lay the blockade of Dragonstone.
And, as you have rightly noted, bulk of Ironborn fleet is now at Narrow Sea, leaving their own islands not so guarded. Ravens will be sent to Lannisport and Arbor asking their ships to sail to Iron Islands posthaste. Lady Greyjoy will have to decide whether she prefers her ancestral home over harassing shores of Vale and Northern kingdom.”
Tyrion replied, voice booming with confidence.
“I see that Realm is finally taking more decisive steps, Lord Hand.” came from Brienne “A welcomed change of stance.”

Lannister nodded approvingly: “And long overdue. Indecisiveness has brought us this Ironborn audacity to pillage on both sides of this continent and what is more, and all of you have heard of it, Queen Sansa has issued her own decree, a call if you want to all men at arms from the Realm willing to come to North and fight for her cause.
We already have freeriders from Riverlands and the Vale going north as we speak. Some even from Westerlands and northern Reach. Guards on the border crossings report of dozens of men, lured by promised land and titles.”
“Ha… Queen in the North promises land of New Gift and Brandon’s Gift to hedge knights and freeriders from Six Kingdoms, a land she does not possess right now.” smirked Monterys Velaryon. “That land is far northwards than the Last Hearth, best of luck to anyone willing to thrive there.” Estermont added.
“I assure you, my lords, to a hedge knight or freerider prospect of receiving holdfast and even title for shedding blood of some wildlings is far more tempting than either of us, born into land and wealth can imagine...” Tyrion countered “…and speaking of those that weren’t born into land and wealth but acquired both with shedding blood, King has decreed that Ser Bronn of the Blackwater is to be stripped of the title of Lord of Highgarden and Lord Paramount of the Reach. And of his knighthood. He is to be considered traitor and turncloak who flees from King’s justice.”

Samwell felt his jaw dropped upon hearing this and the rest of the Small Council had similar reaction.
They gazed at Hand for a heartbeat, speechless, then Brienne said: “Bronn has been missing from the capital since the end of last year, after being removed from this council… then he disappeared from Highgarden as well. No word of any kind came from him or of him.”
“That is not entirely true, Ser Brienne.” Tyrion pointed with slight grin “Bronn, after being removed from the Small Council, was charged by me to approach Yara Greyjoy and Arianne Martell, so that Crown could learn of their intentions. Aye, some of you now surely think why was that required, knowing the abilities of our King, but sometimes the raven’s three eyes can be obscured by sorcery and blood magic. Bronn did what was expected of him, for a while, then his reports became fewer and fewer with each new one more useless than one sent before. Bronn joined with Dornish and the Ironborn and His Grace saw him leading the Wildling bands around Eastwatch and Mole’s Town.
He joined their cause hoping to get more lands and more power than what King gave him.”
“What you gave him, my lord.” Sam finally took word in this meeting.

“Archmaester, yes, indeed… what I have given to Bronn. And now, there is need for a new Lord of Highgarden and the Reach.”
He could feel Imp’s gaze and the slight mockery of his words “And King surely shall not bestow that duty and honour to House Tarly.”
Brienne looked at Tyrion, surprised by the tone he addressed Samwell and then at him.
Estermont and Velayron exchanged looks and now their eyes were also on the man in robes of archmaester.
“I see wonder on the faces of all present… His Grace, King Bran cannot give the title of Warden of the South to house whose most elevated member turned against his King.” Sam sighed, remaining calm. Brienne’s voice raised as she asked: “What… What are you talking about? Samwell Tarly a traitor?!”
Tyrion coughed: “Lady Brienne, do not name a member of this council as something he is not… archmaester did not commit treason.
Certainly not in the purest form of it, but he took active part in undermining King’s plans and orders.”

Sam shook his head: “Oh, well… I have expected this to take place, even much sooner than today. Surely, my lord, you will be so kind to tell the Small Council how I acted on behest of the King himself.”
“You followed the words that King gave you influenced by his weakened health at the time; without considering to consult with me about that what His Grace under fever asked you to do.”
“I wonder was it not the King’s fever that gave the previous order, one you so eagerly wanted to fulfil.” Sam rebutted.
“What in seven hells are you rambling about?” Lady Commander of Kingsguard was not a woman willing to listen roundabout talk.
“My lady, my lord Monterys and my lord Andrew… lord Tyrion was given order by our King to assassinate mother and her two children and not many days later I was ordered by our King to do all possible to prevent that crime to happen.”
“Oh, so it is a crime to kill a murderer of thousands of innocents?” Tyrion asked, words ringing of scorn.
“Elia Martell’s children killed under order of your father. Lyanna and Rhaella ordered to be killed under your order. Your order, Lord Hand. Not King’s.”
he replied with accusing tone.
“Who are these… Lyanna and Rhaella…?” Monterys asked.
“Daughters of once King in the North, Jon Snow and of…Daenerys Targaryen. Children of ten, eleven namedays.” Sam replied.

Velaryon’s eyes widened: “Children of… that is impossible. Queen Daenerys is dead, as long as you claim those girls have years.” He dismissed it with hand gesture.
Brienne looked at Tyrion, it was a long gaze: “You seem to agree what Sam has said, Lord Hand. And you being a man of knowledge and reason, as Sam is too… she lives and she had two daughters?”
Tyrion shut his eyes for a heartbeat and opened it again: “She lives. She died and by sorcery or magic was returned to life, same magic which brought Jon Snow back from the dead, of which surely both you, Lady Brienne and archmaester know more than I do. And she gave birth to twin girls, sired by Jon Snow.”
“And you gave order to have her and the little girls killed? I can agree of her being a great threat to the Realm, but children?” Brienne’s voice echoed with disgust. “King ordered it and it is mine duty to see it done.”
“Duty or will, lord Tyrion?” Sam asked, though it more sounded as new accusation “Surely you ought to see that King himself were divided upon this matter and yet you proceeded with it.”
Brienne’s face was now filled with anger: “Are you saying she and the children were killed? That we have blood of little girls on our hands, all of us here?”

“No, my lady, killing of innocents failed. King charged me to prevent it and I with help of some others have prevented it.” Sam said to her reassuringly.
“Some others… you say. Ser Davos Seaworth which you have sent to Meereen to warn the Dragon Queen and Arya Stark. Now, in case of Ser Davos we cannot speak of treason since he did your bidding, believing it was King’s bidding, but in case of Lady Stark… treason is obviously committed. In more ways than one.” Tyrion replied with stern voice. “Arya Stark? Who sailed west of Westeros? She’s at the bottom of the sea somewhere.” came from Master of Laws.
“On the contrary, my lord, she, as we speak, is at Storm’s End with lord Gendry Baratheon.” “His Grace saw that?” Estermont asked. “No, Lord Andrew, since weirwood tree was burned in our gardens, he cannot use his powers wholly, but Red Keep has its eyes and ears in many places.
Lord Baratheon shall be asked to deliver the traitor Arya Stark to King’s Landing.”
“And what sort of treason did she commit?” Brienne darted at Tyrion.
“Siding with Targaryens against the Realm.” Imp replied, followed by Samwell: “Saving lives of two innocent girls from cutthroats.”

Monterys Velaryon frowned hearing Tyrion’s words and ignored Samwell:
“My lord, Arya Stark owes no loyalty to King Bran, she is not of the Realm. She is in truth the Princess of Kingdom of the North, being sister of Queen Sansa.”
“Yes, she is and she has betrayed her royal sister as well.”
“Daenerys left us at peace for last eleven years…” Sam said “…and she had her largest dragon all that time. Now, as you, my Lord Hand have acted against Dragon Queen’s daughters, one can be sure that she had not liked that at all. I wonder how it had not crossed your mind that what you tried to do in Meereen was equally vile as were the butchery of Elia Martell, her daughter Rhaenys and her babe son. Equally vile as poisoning of Princess Myrcella was.
Since when it is the family of the child reason good enough for you to have that child killed?”

His question remained unanswered save the words that came somewhat later from the Imp, again with stern voice:
“The interest of the Six Kingdoms is reason good enough. And for that same reason, you shall resign from the Small Council and return to Horn Hill or to the Citadel, King leaves you with the choice. We shall find your replacement during next moon.”
Then he continued: “House Hightower shall be named Wardens of the South and take rule over the Reach. Reach will have key role in facing the Dornish rebellion which we may expect now as our fleets are sailing to meet the Ironborn. As will the Stormlands.”
Tyrion then turned to Andrew Estermont: “You are first cousin once removed of Lord Gendry Baratheon, your lord father and Robert Baratheon’s mother were siblings.
You will ride to Storm’s End and demand of your cousin to hand over Arya Stark and also to call his banners the same day Arianne Martell proclaims Dornish rebellion.”
“Aye, my lord.” he replied with fingers running through his long, pointy beard.
“Good. Any other questions?” Hand asked. None came.
They were all dwelling upon what they have heard during this meeting.
Samwell saw disbelief on Brienne’s face and he felt guilty, she was his only remaining friend, not only at this table but in the capital.
He did not care of other council members, surely not of Tyrion Lannister who he could hardly even recognise.
His father ruthlessness caught up with him, Sam thought, he tried to escape it his whole life, but failed in the end.

“If there are no questions, I call this meeting of the Small Council adjourned.” Hand of the King rose from the table and left the room pacing hastily.
Master of Law followed, while Master of Ships remained sitting, lazily placing his documents into a leather coversheet.
“Ha… queens returning from the dead, lords losing their lands and titles…indeed this meeting was abundant with revelations.” he spoke, more to himself than to Sam and Brienne. “Surely you cannot condone attempt to kill little girls, lord Monterys.” Brienne said, still angered with all the notion of her King soiling his hands with blood of innocents. “I cannot, my lady. Nor shall I condemn it to please you or the archmaester.” Velaryon replied. He politely bowed and walked out.

She turned her head away, she loathed Velaryon for what he just said, and rose from the table very moment silver-haired man left the chamber.
“You’re good at keeping secrets, Sam, I’ll grant you that. Though now I understand why you’ve acted strangely last moon or two.”
“I am not a traitor, Lady Brienne.”
“I know that. And honestly, I do not know anymore which is the true state of mind of our king; one that told you to help saving lives of Jon Snow’s daughters or one that ordered Imp to kill them.” "That makes two of us, my lady.”

Brienne leaned on the table and sighed “Sam, is our king and our kingdom in danger from Daenerys Targaryen?” “No, she thrives in Essos now, without looking westwards. I’ve learned this of Ser Davos. At least it was so until Tyrion hired some sellswords to kill them all.
It is not impossible they will retaliate. And Davos told me that Drogon is close to size of Balerion the Black Dread.
There would be no defense against that dragon, no scorpion bolt is large enough to take him from the sky.”

“Damn Tyrion, he of all people should know better.” Brienne blurted.
“He’s afraid of the Dragon Queen, of her returning to Westeros. Well, if he had any doubts would she kill him or spare him in case of her return, sending killers after her children, made that doubt into certainty of Tyrion not surviving the return of the dragons. If that ever happens, which I do not believe it will.”
“This is the Realm her forefathers forged.”
“True, but Davos has told me that Targaryens live like kings in Meereen, kings in all but name. Having both power and wealth. Which does not mean that they will not seek vengeance against Tyrion.” he said.
“Madness and stupidity.” Brienne said “Instead of Small Council deciding what to be done with Daenerys, Imp did the most stupid thing he could.
And now King banishes you for preventing that stupidity.”
“I will rather live in banishment then in dishonor. I have served my true King to the best of my ability.” he said looking at Brienne who nodded.
She slowly walked to the chamber door and bowed before leaving: “Farewell, archmaester Samwell Tarly.”
“I wish you good fortune in wars to come, Lady Commander.”

And wars are coming, sure as sunrise next morrow, a sad thought came to him, on land and on the sea, wars are coming.

Three hours before noon of the next day, Samwell Tarly rode out through the River Gate, though most of the city folk called it the Mud Gate.
He rode for thirty or so miles down the Kingsroad, this was first hundred miles of that road which begun at Storm’s End with its last mile ending at Castle Black.
Once that was his home. Castle Black.
Now, he did not even know who held sway over it, were that brothers of the Night’s Watch, the Wildlings and the Ironborn or the Northern kingdom.
It was late afternoon when he reached the fork where Kingsroad met the Roseroad, one that leads south and west, leads to the Reach, home of his childhood and now home of his wife and children. His two horses, one carrying him and other his belongings, mostly books, trotted over the Roseroad. It will be days before he sees the towers of Horn Hill.

Two hours had not passed when lord Andrew Estermont with score of mounted men as escort came to that same road fork and continued riding southwards, to the castle of House Baratheon.

Chapter Text

Red Mountains, Westeros, year 316 After Conquest

DORNISHMAN

Edric Dayne, Lord of Starfall, halted his sand steed at the mountain ridge. In the distance, down below, as far as he could see lay the Reach. Land of the foes.
For thousands of years, before many kingdoms have become seven kingdoms and seven kingdoms become Seven Kingdoms, one Realm, Dorne and the Reach warred.
Bloody and bitterly. House Dayne fought with noble houses of Oakheart and Hightower.
Reach had all that Dorne had not. It would be equally true to say that Dorne had all the Reach had not.
Dorne was the hottest part of Westeros. Dorne was rocky, mountainous, arid and dry having the only deserts on the continent.
The Reach was green and fertile land with many villages and towns.

Men of the Reach esteemed knighthood, them more than anywhere else in Westeros. They fought on the open field, heavy horse being their main strength.
They rode out before the Aegon’s dragons in that manner and were burned in the Field of Fire. And yielded.

Dornishmen refused to give the Conqueror the open battle and allow him to unleash his dragons.
Instead, they ambushed and raided, striking quickly and then slipping back into the desert or through the mountain passes, where even the dragons could not find them.
Aegon's sister-wife, Queen Rhaenys and her dragon Meraxes were both killed in the First Dornish War.
A century and a half later, young king Daeron Targaryen, First of his name, tried to conquer Dorne. And succeeded. His victory lasted only a summer. Dorne rebelled again.
It took another thirty years, for king Daeron the Second to peacefully unite Dorne with the rest of the Realm, by marriage.
Westeros was counting hundred and eighty-seven years after the Conquest when that took place.
In every war that dragon kings waged against Dorne, the lords of the Reach partook under Targaryen banner. It only added to the ancient enmity.

And the time has come again when Dorne and the Reach will stand on the opposing sides. Princess Arianne Martell summoned all the great houses of Dorne to Sunspear. Yronwood, Dalt, Qorgyle, Allyrion, Wyl, Fowler, Blackmont, Gargalen, Jordayne, Vaith, Santagar, Toland, Uller, Manwoody. And Dayne. All answered the call.

Banners fluttered around the Sunspear; crowned skull of Manwoodys, three scorpions on red shield of Qorgyles, an axe bearing leopard on blue-white flag for Santagars,
a green dragon biting his tail of Tolands, an adder biting a man’s heel for Wyls, a black portcullis grill over sand of Yronwoods, a black vulture with a babe in its claws for Blackmonts. And a purple flag with a crossed white sword and falling star for House Dayne.

They were an ancient house, one of the oldest in all of Westeros, coming for the west of the Red Mountains, claiming the ancestry of First Men ever since the Dawn Age, nearly ten thousand years ago. Their features spoke in favor of this claim as Daynes were or blond and dark hair, oft having blue eyes and sometimes even purple.

A story was told of the first Dayne who has raised its holdfast Starfall on an island at the mouth of the Torentine, a river that flows in the westernmost waves of the Summer Sea. That Dayne has been tracked a falling star there and found a stone of magical powers.
Along with the Fowlers and Yronwoods, the Daynes were among the most powerful and prestigious houses of ancient Dorne.
The family were also famed for Dawn, their ancestral sword made from the fallen star, and the men who wield it, the Swords of the Morning.

Last Sword of the Morning was Ser Arthur Dayne, the knight in the Kingsguard of King Aerys the Second. The Mad King as histories have remembered him.
Ser Arthur, a best swordsman of Westeros, was slain in swordfight with Lord Eddard Stark at the Tower of Joy, in the last days of Robert’s Rebellion.

Lord Stark, a man of great honor, returned Arthur's famous sword, Dawn, to Starfall and informed his sister, Lady Ashara of her brother's death.
Ashara upon hearing this dark news, threw herself into the Summer Sea from the Palestone Sword tower of Starfall castle.
Her sister, Allyria, claimed Ashara fell in love with Eddard Stark during tourney at Harrenhal, both were free of any betrothal then, though that tourney lived in memory of Westeros for Prince Rhaegar Targaryen crowning Lyanna Stark as queen of love and beauty.
Later, many claimed that Ashara took her own life for she was heartbroken as the man she fell in love with slew her brother.

Lord Eddard was then already married to Lady Catelyn Tully, taking place of his older brother Brandon Stark.
Brandon and Catelyn were to be wed, but being of wolf blood upon hearing that Rhaegar disappeared with Lyanna, Brandon instead of going to his own wedding rode off from Riverlands before the gates of the Red Keep where he demanded for Prince Rhaegar to come out and die.
Mad King had him arrested and later killed, in the throne room, together with his father Rickard Stark.
Lord Eddard Stark married Catelyn without ever having seen her before their wedding day, had his wedding night and rode off back to war against the Mad King.

Lady Ashara Dayne’s body was never found. Rumors in the Winterfell castle, right after the war, spoke of Eddard Stark’s bastard babe, Jon Snow, as being one he sired with Ashara, but when the rumors have reached him, he cut them at their source and Ashara Dayne’s name was never heard in Winterfell again.

Lord Edric Dayne was son of the older brother of Arthur, Ashara and Allyria.
Though lord of Starfall, he did not wield the Dawn, his prowess with the sword was not near as good as his dead uncle, a legend both when living and after death.
Edric was a man of nine and twenty years, of pale blond hair and dark blue eyes. Shy, good natured and polite ever since boyhood, he soon learned other traits are needed to be a proper lord of a great house. He avoided killing if it could be avoided, though not at cost of his own well being or well being of his family and lands.

He came to Sunspear not yet dressed for war, in his black breeches and purple tunic, his sword hanging from his belt.
Some other lords were already in their war attire, wearing Dornish armor which was lighter than in the rest of the Westeros, made of metal disks and sewn in the manner of scales on the leather, some donned flowing robes in colors of their houses covering that scaled armor.
Dornish warriors were renowned for their round metal shields, spears, short throwing spears and double-curved bows, like those in the Essos.
Light sand steed cavalry and horse archers were traits of the Dornish. And spears. Thousands of spears.

Dorne is the least populous of the Seven Kingdoms. It pleased the Young Dragon to make all our armies larger when he wrote that book of his, so as to make his conquest that much more glorious, and it has pleased us to water the seed he planted and let our foes think us more powerful than we are, but a princess ought to know the truth. Valour is a poor substitute for numbers. Dorne cannot hope to win a war against the Iron Throne, not alone.

Words of his late Prince, Doran Martell, came to his mind. And when spoken, four and ten years ago, they were truth.
When Doran said those words, the boy-king Tommen had the power of Crownlands and the Reach and Westerlands at his side, North was defeated, Stormlands also while Riverlands were brought down to burned villages, hanged men and raped women. Dorne same as Vale remained silent and out of fray. Vale later fought in the North.

Today, Dorne still had the same numbers, but others did not.
Might of Lannisters crumbled with their cousins from Lannisport ruling the West with no gold and a small army, the Reach was plundered twelve years ago and then humiliated with naming of once sellsword as their Lord Paramount, Stormlands had a new lord, a smallfolk bastard once… all their wealth and hosts were ruined during wars that came after King Robert Baratheon died.

Not Dorne. When Ellaria Sand and her Sand Snakes removed Doran Martell and his son from ruling and this life, they pledged their support to the Dragon Queen.
Qoren Martell did the same. Pledged without sending men to the field.
And that kept Dornish swords and spears same as they were on the day when that boar ripped the gut of Baratheon king open.
Dorne now had tens of thousands while others could bring only mere thousands on the field.
Also now Dorne had a fleet of warships, in the shape of their Ironborn allies. Fleet that warred on both sides of the continent for many moons now. Sunspear waited. Much to the mislike of the sons of kraken, Sunspear waited.

For a proper reason to cut bonds with the Six Kingdoms.
And that reason came after Princess Arianne learned of the royal fleet being ordered to Dragonstone to lay blockade of the Ironborn ships there.
Also, the stir among the Redwyne ships did not go unnoticed. Vessels from Arbor left their ports and went northwards, to Lannisport.
Anyone with even a small wit could conclude that Redwyne and Lannister fleet will be heading to the Iron Islands. To battle with Kraken.

Arianne Martell received her bannermen at the Tower of the Sun, under the dome of gold and leaded glass.
Beneath the dome sat the throne room, a large round hall with thick windows and many coloured glass and floor made of pale marble.

Throne room has two seats on a dais, near twins to one another with only difference being that one is inlaid with the Martell spear on its back and the other features the blazing Rhoynish sun that flew from the masts of Nymeria's ships. The spear seat is used by the ruling Prince of Dorne.
Or Princess as following the custom of the Rhoynar, under Dornish law lands and titles pass to the eldest child, not the eldest male.
Arianne welcomed the Dornish noblemen and noblewomen dressed for a battle, brown leather boots, dun coloured breeches, sandsilk tunic over which she donned a brown coated breastplate. Spear was leaned at her seat.

“My lords, my ladies, fellow Dornishmen. I have summoned you here for one purpose and one purpose only.
To declare to the Six Kingdoms and to the world that Dorne no longer recognises King Bran the Broken as our ruler, that Dorne no longer considers itself as part of the Realm and henceforth Dorne and Dornish shall rule themselves as we have for centuries. We have not bowed our heads before the dragonflame as rest of Westeros.
We shall not bow before raven king who fights his sister’s battles. If wolves of Winterfell see fit to ruin Westeros, I say let them.
But not with Dorne in the fold. Not with us as hostages of failed Stark monarchs. We shall be independent land once again.
We are great people, in our veins we have blood of the First Men, of Andals and of Rhoynar. We are no man’s servants, but free from this day till end of days.”

She grabbed the spear, raising it high over her head: “I proclaim this with the words of my House: Unbowed, unbent, unbroken!”
All the present in the throne room draw swords or raised spears and shouted: “Unbowed, unbent, unbroken! Unbowed, unbent, unbroken!”
Arianne shouted even louder: “Rise, people of Dorne!”
The hall erupted with cheering. Some applauded, some slammed their swords against their shields.

Later that day, Princess received each lord of the great houses alone in private audience, with her being present lord Tremond Gargalen and castellan of Sunspear, Ser Manfrey Martell, a knight from House Martell and cousin of late Prince Doran Martell, Arianne’s father.
“Lord Edric, for far too long you have not been to Sunspear. Nor to Water Gardens for that matter, though youth from Starfall and your lands comes there every year.” said Arianne when she greeted him. He bowed and kissed her hand: “Princess, it is honor and pleasure to see you.”
Olive-skinned beauty smiled: “Sweet talker as always. Come, Edric, we were just looking at the map.”

On the richly ornate sandalwood table a map of Dorne was stretched.
Small ivory figurines, depicting foot soldiers and horsemen, towers and towns were placed on the map.
Most ivory soldiers were grouped at border with the Reach, towards west and south. Edric noted there were none placed towards Stormlands, aiming north and east.
Is this wise every Targaryen campaign against Dorne came from the Stormlands and the Reach, almost as a rule. Are we leaving our one side bare and vulnerable…

"Lord Edric, your men will be key to our actions in the west.” Ser Manfrey addressed him “We can be sure that new Lord Paramount of the Reach will seek to prove his allegiance with the raven king by attacking us, so we shall be the one who will attack first.”
“Though it is not Baelor the Breakwind we should be wary of…” Arianne said “…but this brother, Ser Garth Hightower, Greysteel he is called. That is another beast entirely.”
Edric noted: “I thought that Ser Baelor Hightower was nicknamed Brightsmile, being handsome and pleasant as young man.”

Princess chuckled: “Indeed he was, but in my family, he was known as Breakwind. My uncle Oberyn and aunt Elia once visited Oldtown and met young Baelor.
Oberyn even considered him the best match for Elia, but he farted in their presence and Elia could no longer look at him without laughing.
One fart ruined his prospects of getting her hand in marriage.”
Manfrey nodded, knowing that story as well, while Tremond Gargalen grinned: “And now, the knight that farts before princesses, is the Warden of the South.
That boy in wheelchair, has the raven plucked his brains?”
“My lord Tremond, though it may not seem so naming a Hightower, even one who farts in public, was an improvement from the once sellsword sitting at Highgarden, turning it into brothel.”
“That was Imp’s doing, as I’ve heard. I guess old Tywin’s bones would be rattling in his grave, if he’d have one.”
Manfrey added, then as he has seen Edric’s frown: “Tywin Lannister was interred in the Great Sept of Baelor.
His daughter saw to it that remains of her lord father end up as dust on soles of King’s Landing smallfolk that were made to clear the ruins.”

“A well-deserved fate, my lord, for what Lannisters have done to Elia and her children.” Arianne said, with grim tone, and continued:
“Lord Edric, I wish to remove any danger of Hightowers making their move first. You shall lead the host of House Dayne strengthened with men from House Manwoody and House Blackmont into the Reach and strike at Uplands, Sunflower Hall and Three Towers. Raid and burn all in your way and take the holdfasts if you can, but waste no time with sieges.” Lord Dayne looked at the map and grinned:
“So, I am to pay visit to Cuys of Sunflower Hall, Costaynes of Three Towers and Mullendores of Uplands. Well, there are old scores to settle with all of them.”
“And you shall, my lord.” Arianne said “Do not linger in the Reach more than it is needed. Have your men to be ready to withdraw to Red Mountains at any given moment.”
Manfrey added: “Do not let yourself to be cut form the mountains. The Reach has precious few men at arms with any battle experience to bring on the field, but caution is required.”

Edric nodded in agreement, he knew that flower of Reach knights perished in the wars a decade ago, but he would never underestimate them.
Then he pointed at the northern borders of Dorne: “As for being cautious, do I read this map wrong or we do not foresee any conflict with the Stormlands. History teach us otherwise.”
Princess smiled approvingly at him, Edric knew Arianne liked him ever since they were little children and have played together in the pools of Water Gardens:
“Well observed, my lord, but for now, Dorne will not act with hostility against Stormlands. We shall allow their Lord Paramount to draw the first move, whether that will be to abstain from this conflict or will he follow the Imp and his raven king. If he chooses the latter, that shall be his own undoing.”
Edric was silent for a heartbeat: “Lord of Storm’s End is, as I’ve understood, a legitimised bastard. Queen Daenerys made him Baratheon. He could be proving himself to Bran the Broken by calling banners to fight us.”
“He could, but that would be going against the queen that has made him lord.”

Edric looked at Arianne wondering: “That queen is dead…one can keep loyalty to the dead, but what use of it?”
“My dear Edric, as our allies say – what is dead may never die.” Dornish princess replied, smiling.
He could not understand why.

A sennight later, he was on his horse, on the western slopes of the Red Mountains.
Before him was the Reach, behind him were three thousand men, half of which light horse.
Purple flag of his house waved high above his head that was covered with chain coif over which he donned halfhelm, ornate as it was Dornish tradition. He wore dark breeches, pale purple gambeson under the chainmail hauberk, on his forearm he wore steel vambraces with engraved sword and star. He rode past the lines of his host. Then he gave a long look at the land around him.

The Red Mountains were not bare rock and stone as rest of Westeros believed, there were hidden valleys and high meadows with sweet and green grass, there were forests and plenty of game in them. Beneath the ground, one could dig iron, tin and silver. From these mountains the men of Dorne went to war with their neighbors.
It was said that many centuries ago, one of Daynes of the old, called the Starfire, burned Oldtown.

“Are you ready, men of Starfall? Men of Blackmont? Men of Kingsgrave?” he shouted as he cantered back along the first lines of the cavalry.
"We are ready!” hundreds of voices replied.
“Then we ride! We ride to crush the hearths and shrines of our foes! Ride, men of Dorne!”

Holdfast of Uplands and all the villages around it were raided and burned first, Sunflower Hall followed.
When Dornish vanguard reached Three Towers, most of its smallfolk was already fleeing towards Oldtown, bringing news to the city of hated old enemy coming to raid the Reach again. Edric ordered that smoke which rose from the burning castle of Three Towers must be seen from any spot in the Oldtown, the seat of new Warden of the South.
They have set ablaze everything that could burn.

Soon after, Dornish host returned to the Red Mountains, the foot took the watch over the passes while cavalry went northwards along mountain trails, preparing to descend at Horn Hill, the keep of House Tarly.

Chapter Text

Meereen, Essos, year 316 After Conquest

RHAELLA

She hardly noticed the Dothraki bow any longer, it was as if they have become one.
Merely moons before she would never have imagined that carrying this weapon will become so important to her, yet life demands that you defend what you love and Rhaella loved living.
The arrows in her hands spoke to her with Papa's words: "One should never enjoy killing, no matter how good being at it."
Bow sang the words of her mother: “Those who would harm you will die screaming.”

Targaryen pyramid was her residence now, for two moons already. She liked it better than the Temple of R’hllor.
She had her own chamber, right next to Lyanna’s but they did not share the room anymore. And there was a terrace water pool where she could refresh and swim, twice as long than one in her house in Port Yhos.
Rhaella missed that small port town on the shore of Summer Sea, oft she wished they could all go back there. She, Lya, Muña and Papa. In her eleven years she lived in few places, but Yhos felt most like home.

Ever since she was wounded by the Second Sons, Rhaella seek her father’s company. She felt safest when with him.
And he was gentler with her than with Lyanna, though he tried to hide it. His dark-haired daughter was not as delicate as one with Valyrian features and Rhae sometimes envied Lya for that.
Sometimes she was happy that her temper is not as one of her twin for that meant less trouble with her parents, her teachers, handmaidens and rest of the household.
Lya had no dreams of that night when sellswords came into their chambers and they both shoot their arrows at one while other charged at them and slashed her across the belly.

Rhaella had that dream, more oft in weeks right after the attack, still it came to her even two nights ago… in her dream she could see the glowing eyes and the beard of the man in whose brow her arrow struck, killing him on the spot and the sun-burnt skin of the sellsword whose blade made a gash under her navel, in her dream he grinned as blood poured out from the wound and she knew that death will claim her… that dream always made her toss and turn in the bed and she would wake up in tears and sweat. She never said anything to Lya and dared not to say a word of it to her mother and father.
I am blood of the dragon, I am blood of the wolf she repeated to herself, blood of kings that shaped the world to their liking… it takes more than a dream to scare me...
She would say these words holding the Catspaw. And her dark lilac eyes would glow.

Her mother was now five moons with babes. Babes.
It brought great excitement to dragon pyramid, knowing that mother will gave birth not to one, but two little Targaryens.
What her mother, who once before bore twins, doubted was confirmed by half a dozen healers, from Qarth to Volantis. All came to see Daenerys Targaryen and all agreed that not one but two children have quickened in her mother’s belly.
Names were already known.
Cregan and Aemon. Daenysanne and Saera. Cregan and Daenysanne.
Rhae wanted them to be born already.

She knew that Muña was angry with Papa again. She heard them quarreling last moon, she was on the terrace, near the open window of chamber which her parents used for their daily affairs.
“You promised! You promised not to act hastily and you lied, you lied to my face! What if Drogon threw you off over the sea? You’re not his rider, he could have done that!
I would be again without you, our children without father! How can you be so…so reckless! You damn Northern fool!”
“What I did was for our children, Dany. No one shall attack us without being punished! No one! We have been hiding in the shadows for too long!”
“Shadows kept my children safe, till you came. Your honor will be our undoing once again. Now those in the Red Keep know that we’re after them, that revenge is coming.”
“Good. Let them know! If our daughters cannot have peaceful sleep, neither will Tyrion and that creature wearing the crown!” he nearly shouted.
“Do not raise your voice at me!”
“I have to; you fail to hear me when I speak softly.”
“You will never sit on Drogon again!” Daenerys said angrily.
“That is for him to choose. Dragon is not a slave, remember?”
Rhaella heard a strong slap. Muña hit Papa across the face.

Later she could tell that mother was sad for it, but it was done. Papa shared no words with her for a fortnight.
Rhaella was worried that mother could send father away, but Lyanna, a wilder and bolder spirit than her, came smiling when that fortnight passed:
“Fear not. I’ve climbed up the bedchamber window, Papa and Muña sleep embraced and Targaryen naked.”
“Lyanna! You must not do that! Spy on mother and father?! Are you mad?! And what Targaryen naked means?”
“You could say Stark naked for father, but mother can only be Targaryen naked.”
“Lya, Stark and stark are not the same word!”
Then she saw her sister grin and that angered her: “Are you making fool of me? I will hit you in the nose!”

Unlike Lyanna, Rhaella was quieter, gentler, of calm temper and well mannered.
Her love for books matched that of her grandfather Rhaegar while he was a boy, old Ser Davos told her of that, how Papa’s father loved to read and learn.
Rhaella the Blessed, Lyanna mocked her once when her twin cried upon seeing beggar children on the streets of Meereen.
That was enough for silver-haired girl to respond in anger and hit her sister, proving that her bloodline is one of dragon and of wolf. Rhaella proved the temper of her ancestors seldom, Lyanna did that almost every day.

What Lya told her made her content. Mother and father were angry at each other and still they were sleeping together in their nameday suits. Mayhaps that is how it must be with man and wife, she thought.

Today her hair was fashioned in two braids, falling on her shoulders. In Targaryen household there were both Ghiscari and Dothraki handmaidens, oft competing for favor of their ladies and Rhae has learned how to get the most benefit of that competing. Ghiscari handmaidens prepared her dark-blue trousers, white shirt and grey sleeveless tunic with white wolf’s head stitched on the left chest. This was her Stark attire and she loved to wear it just as same as black and red color of dragonlords.
Over it she wore a dun cloak. She took her Dothraki bow and arrow bag and went to join her father who was waiting for her on the ground level of the pyramid, they were to ride to the Archery Range.
Rhaella loved to go there, to practice with her horseman’s bow, but also with Westerosi longbow made of goldenheart tree from Summer Isles that her father gifted her for eleventh nameday.

Goldenheart wood made some of the best bows in the world, renowned for their great strength, capable of launching an arrow with such force that it could pierce through steel plate armor.
The bow was crafted of lithe, slender goldenheart wood and dyed red rawhide was wound around the grip . It was not as long as usual longbows since it was made for a child bowman, still it was nearly two feet over Dothraki bow.
A weapon of foot archer, meant to shoot from distance. Rhaella was very skilled horse archer, but she wanted to master the longbow as well.

They rode together, she and her father, to the mouth of Skahazadhan, in her lower flow the river was wide enough for ships to sail upstream for few miles which other slaver cities exploited when besieging Meereen thirteen years ago.
Mouth also had half a dozen islets; on one those, that was joined with the riverbank by wooden bridge, City Guard made its archery training ground.
Islet was large and long enough to serve that purpose with trees growing on it to provide both shade and targets for those who practiced there.

“Papa, is Muña still angry with you?” she asked Jon as they have slowly trotted outside the city walls, along the riverbank. Dark-haired man frowned: “What makes you think she is angry in the first place?”
“I just know. I can tell when she is angry with me or my sister, but when she is mad at you, Papa, that is different and I can tell that too.”
He smiled and said with seriousness: “So, you’re being observant about your parents, Rhaella Targaryen?” “I am, my lord father. As daughter should be.” she replied in same tone and smiled.
“Yes, my sweet, your mother does not approve something I have done last moon, something what I see as needed to be done. For her, for you and for Lya. And for two unborn Targaryens, too.”
“Drogon burned some tree.” silver-haired girl said shrugging “You say that was needed for the family, Muña is angry.”
“Rhae, have you been eavesdropping around your parents’ chamber?” Jon gazed at her disapprovingly. “No, father, I heard you passing by.”
“That’s eavesdropping.” “No, it is not. I was not sneaking under your chamber window to listen.” “Thank the old gods for that…” he said.
“I don’t like when mama is angry with you. Nor does Lya. For we fear that you will leave us.” girl said looking at him “And we don’t want to be without father again.”

Jon stopped his horse and pulled reins on hers: “Rhaella, my sweet daughter, no matter how mama and I get mad at each other, no matter how loud we quarrel sometimes, I will never leave my family. You and Lya have nothing to fear.
From where do these foolish thoughts come into your heads?” “When Ghiscari parents quarrel oft, sometimes man sends wife away or he leaves; some men take the children with them, some leave them with their mothers.
And temple priests then say that wedlock is no longer.” Jon sighed: “Rhaella, where was I born?” “In Dorne, Papa, but you grew up in Winterfell.”
“True. Where was Muña born?” “At Dragonstone.” “Are those Ghiscari places?” “No, they are not.” “Then, are your mother and I Ghiscari?” “No, father, you’re not.” she said.
“We are of Westeros, Rhae, as are you and your sister. What people of Meereen do with their marriages is not of our concern.” “Yes, father. But I was there only for a day.”
“Where?” “In Westeros.” He nodded placing hand on her back: “I know. Rhae, when I saw you and your sister for the first time, it was as a long nightmare ended for me.”
“You thought we were ghosts, Papa…” she smiled. “I did, didn’t I?” he chuckled
“My sweet girl, you are still only a child. You will get to see the world and I swear it; you shall see Westeros. But till then you can act as Westerosi no matter where you live in this world.”
Rhaella nodded: “I will, Papa. I swear that to you.”

She was silent for a heartbeat then said: “I wish babes were already born.”
“You want to play with your babe brothers or sisters, right? But, when they’ll be grown enough to play, you and Lya will not be children then, you’ll be young ladies.”
“No, Papa, I wish babes are already with us so mayhaps mama will not be angry with you anymore, you both will be happy with them.”
Jon looked at his daughter with both surprise and pride: “Rhaella Targaryen, you are wise beyond your age.” Her face glow with pride as well, she enjoyed every time when her father would give her praise.

Hooves of their horses clattered across the bridge which led to the islet where Archery Range was, it was a low overpass, some seven feet over the water of Skahazadhan at its highest part.
City Guard has established four barracks, Daggerleaf was on the southern side of the city, Waspwillow on the western side, closest to the port and Harpy's Gold on the east of the city.

All were named after plants that grow in Meereen and the Bay of Dragons. Once slaves and once slavers would not divide over flowers and bushes, Rhaella hear her father saying.
The eastern barracks having a harpy as part of its name was pleasing to city nobles. It was a concession Jon was willing to make, though some of former slaves misliked that and referred the place as only Gold or Eastern Barracks.

There were some thirty guardsmen at the training ground with Gidel zo Hehzan as commander of Archery Range. He was a man few years younger than her father, Rhaella could tell, lean and hard, with a white smile that clashed with his jet-black hair being drawn into a topknot and rest of his head shaved clean. Some called this a warrior haircut to hold an Essosi helmet firmly in place during battle, to others it was just giving honor to strange and exceeding hairstyles of once Ghiscari empire.
Gidel was nobleman and son of slaver.

He greeted Jon formally and invited him to share a cup of wine at the trestle table under a cypress tree next to which a commander’s tent was placed.
There will be a proper building on the islet, but works have been delayed for the next moon, much to Jon’s annoyance.
“Rhae, if you’d like to join Gidel and me…” “No, Papa, I am going on the other side of the range to practice.”
She liked to shoot her bows alone, not lined up with other archers, trainees from the City Guard, so Rhae always went on the opposite side of the islet, there were more trees to aim arrows at.
Though, she knew that there will be guards watching over her, hidden from her gaze. Father would never let her unprotected.

First, she took off the unstrung bows and arrow bag from the saddle, her father was still standing next to her, watching her do it, and then she unclasped her cloak, took it off and tossed it over her shoulder. “I am going now, father.” she said and when her gaze went to him, his eyes shone of pride again: “A direwolf tunic… and a white direwolf at that.”
“I have Stark blood, Papa and a right to wear this sigil.”
“Yes, you do…” he knelt and hugged her “…you don’t look like a Stark, but you’re more wolf than some of your kin in Westeros.”
“Would you… would you like it more if I were to look like a Stark, like Lya?” she asked keeping her head on father’s shoulder.
He parted hug the very next moment, but his hands stayed around her: “Don’t ever ask or think that again. Ever. I love you more than life itself, sweet daughter. Just as I love your sister. Yes, Lya and I have Stark looks but we are dragons like you and mama.
And you have blood of Kings of Winter no matter how lilac your eyes are or how silver your hair is… you’ve said some silly things today, Rhaella Targaryen. You’ll make me angry with you if you keep doing that.” he said smiling and hugged her again
“Now, go… you have some trees to kill.”
“Avy jorrāelan, Papa.” “Avy jorrāelan, ñuha byka perzys.” he replied “(I love you, my little flame.” )

Rhaella strung both her bows and made sure two additional bowstrings she brought with her are ready in case those placed on the bow would snap, then she put leather glow on her right hand, one she used the pull the bowstring and a leather armguard on her left hand, one she held her bow with. She chose a tree and stood about thirty feet from it and strung an arrow lightly in her Dothraki bow, drawing back her arm pulling the arrow and string with it to her ear. It whooshed past her and landed a little to the left of the knot in the bark she'd been aiming for. She nodded approvingly.
Good enough...she thought, ...but I can do better.
She let loose rest of her Dothraki arrows, over a dozen of them, all landing around the first, it felt satisfying to shoot with her bow, she could not come to the islet for whole two weeks.
Time to rest a bit. she concluded. Archery takes practice and strength and to use a horselord bow Rhaella had both, she was releasing arrows from a horseback since she was five years old, riding with Dothraki boys.
Their sisters could not dream of it, but Lyanna and she were khalakki, daughters of Khaleesi and qoy zhavorsa blood of the dragon, and no one in Vaes Dothrak dared to question their right to learn to ride and use bow at the same age as their sons.

“Qoy verzhavorsa”, she said aloud “I am blood of the dragonwolf. Of Rhaegar and of Lyanna, of Jon and of Daenerys. Of Aemon Dragonknight and of Rodrik the Wandering Wolf. And longbow will not better me. Not today.”

Westerosi bow was harder for her to master. It was longer than Dothraki bow and demanded more strength from the archer, arrows were somewhat longer too.
Draw was different as well, Dothraki archer would use pinch draw, holding the end of the nocked arrow between his thumb and forefinger. Longbow archer would draw the arrow with one finger over the arrow and two fingers under.
Rhaella has heard stories of the archers from lands of Yi Ti who claimed their bows to be best in the world, that could out range any bow which existed.
It was said, and she heard that talk when travelling from Qarth to Port Yhos aboard Nymeria, that Yi Ti archers have two kinds of arrows, one longer and one half as long, a crossbow bolt lookalike.
This short arrow is released from their bows by using a straight piece of wood which grew in their hills, its length as common arrow, with inside carved like a pipe.
Archer would use the short arrow, placing it in that carved wood to be shot from the bow. Yi Ti archers used that short arrow for its greater range, higher speed and better piercing through armor.
She heard one sailor saying that Yi Ti archer can never train with short arrows before outlanders and for one who would dare to do so punishment was death.
Range of the Yi Ti short arrow was said to be more than three hundred yards. Rhaella remembered some crewmen laughed at that, but lands east of Qarth had their many mysteries. Archery might as well be one of them.

She chose a different tree to aim at with her Westerosi bow and took the first arrow from the bag, the fletching of the arrow was white feather, one of seagull.
Nock, draw, loose… she repeated in her mind before her actions with the bow… eyes on the target, not on the arrow…
First arrow struck the tree trunk where she wanted.
Sȳrī gaomagon, Rhaella Targārien, girl congratulated herself in tongue of her forefathers, iā līrigon kesā āeksio. Well done, Rhaella, you will master this bow. then hit the tree with six more arrows, all within five inches circle from where first hit home. She paced slowly to the tree. It was not very hot day in the city and here it was even more pleasant, with breeze coming from the sea inland. Save the guardsmen, only other living things on the islet were birds nesting in tall trees or bushes.

Black cormorants flew overhead to their nests on the northern riverbank to feed their young. Some of them were on the islet, not far from Rhaella, standing on the fallen trunk of a pine, close to water, drying their wet wings after diving for fish.
Girl ignored them and they ignored the girl. Had they been geese, she would be tempted to strike one down with arrow.

Suddenly, all the black wings were up in the air, birds were scared away.
She could hear splashes of water, her pace hastened, she reached the tree and quickly took all her arrows from the trunk, placed all but one at her belt.
One arrow she held close with her bow and cautiously walked towards direction from where the sounds were coming, keeping close to the tree line. When she was close to the river, she saw the cause of the splashing noise.
A boy was coming out of the water, struggling through the brownish shallows, he was coated with mud which covered his naked body, there was a loincloth that should hide his manly parts, but now it was a rag that covered next to nothing.
He’s not much older than me, she thought, skinny fellow.
Meereen, as any other city, had its poor and Rhaella concluded he is one of them, mayhaps he fell from one of the fishing boats, there are many at the river mouth or he tried to swim across the river and failed.
Then she saw shackles on his wrists joined with short chain.
A runaway prisoner…came to her mind.

“Keligon!” she yelled at him, hidden behind the trees. He looked at the direction from which the word come at him, but kept on going.
“Keligon, vestran!” she shouted again, this time her voice accompanied by an arrow that landed before his feet. (Halt, I say!).
Boy jumped away from the arrow very moment it hit the ground…as his feet were not shackled, he found cover behind a tree trunk that lied close by, half sunk in the mud.
Soon, arrow struck that trunk, passed easily through rotten wood and grazed his shoulder which made him grunt when he felt the pain. “Māzigon hen!” Rhaella yelled at him (Come out!) He yelled back: “I don’t know what you are saying!” Then he cursed.
She was surprised, boy spoke Common Tongue with same timbre as her father.
“Come out!” she repeated. “So you can strike me down easier… no!” Rhaella loose another arrow in the trunk, this one missing his leg for mere inches. “Damn you!” he yelled.
“Come out and I will stop. Or I can continue. I have enough arrows. And enough time. And I am not the one with arse bare in the mud.”
There was silence for a while. “All right, I’m coming out.”
He rose up, ready to duck behind the trunk that very moment, but as no new arrows came, he remained standing. He held his hands on what remained of his loincloth, covering his nether parts.
“I can’t see you.” he said “You should show yourself, that’d be fair.”
Rhaella scowled: “I decide what is fair, stranger. Not you. Not someone who escaped from city gaol.”
“I escaped from slaver ship, not gaol...” “Liar!” he shouted back “There are no slaves in Meereen.”
“I know, that is why I went overboard when ship came close to this city.” boy replied.
“Nice tale, a child of three namedays would not believe it.” she dismissed it.
Boy shook his head: “Just let me get out of this mud, I beg you. Can I come up there?”
“You can. Walk slowly, keep hands where they are.” she said.
“I am nearly bare as you can see. What can I hide?”

Rhaella watched as he climbed up to the trees, she knew that guardsmen who kept eye from a distance can see him now and soon they’ll be upon this mud covered boy. He looked left and right, trying to make out where she was hiding.
She stepped out with arrow nocked and bow drawn, aiming at him. He rose his shackled hands before his face: “Hey, you said you’ll not shoot any more arrows!”
Then he exclaimed: “You’re a girl! Seven hells!” “And you are an idiot if you could not tell that I am a girl by my voice.” she replied calmly and then lowered her bow, but keeping the arrow nocked.
In a heartbeat, she could nest it in this boy’s heart.
He looked at her, befuddled, and then his eyes widened: “You… you’re wearing wolf’s head… of House Stark!” “I am. Of what use or concern is that to you?”
He placed his hands on the chest: “My name is Hallis, Hallis of House Hornwood. We’re bannermen of Starks.” He barely finished uttering the last word, when he was thrown down on the ground by two guardsmen who tied boy’s legs with the rope and then one of them dragged him away, boy tried to resist but to no avail.
Rhaella watched this untroubled and then said to the man of City Guard who remained with her: “Ivestra ñuha kepa nyke jorrāelagon naejot ȳdragon lēda zirȳla. Se jiōragon bona valītsos mirros naejot ruaragon zȳhon ñelly.”
(Tell my father I need to speak with him. And get that boy something to cover his body.)

House Hornwood, she recollected her reading of Northern noble families as she walked to the commander’s tent where her father was, sigil is brown bull moose with black antlers on orange shield, words Righteous in Wrath, seat castle Hornwood. Them and Mormonts were the only houses that answered the call when father fought against Boltons.
If this naked boy covered in mud truly was one of them, he ought to know all this and more. If he’s not, gaol awaits him.

Rhaella learned from her father to despise liars.
When enough people make false statements, words stop meaning anything. Then there are no more answers, only better and better lies.
She hoped this boy was not lying. Part of her wanted to meet more Westerosi people and he was of her age.
And Northerner. Rhaella wanted to learn why her mother never had much good to say about those men, men with whom her father grew up, men whose blood runs in her veins as well.

Chapter Text

Queenscrown, Westeros, year 316 After Conquest

TORMUND

He looked at the dead Northern soldier. Blood which coated his breastplate, covering the sentinel trees displayed as sigil.
He must have been one of the Tallhart men, he thought.
Another dead man was there, antler dagger nested in left eye. his sword, bloodied, lied at his side. Broken spear was sticking out from his hip.

Searching around for more foes, Tormund found that there weren't any. His axe made his way up.
He was on the roof of Queenscrown, fallen enemies all around him.
His eyes just briefly touched the yellow coated merlons of this tower, now bleached by the sun and mere passing of time.
Next thing what his axe struck was a pole with direwolf banner which went down to the lake surface with its last flutter.

He could hear the cheering of his men and spearwives coming from beneath, some stood in the lake, water reaching to their chest, others were on makeshift rafts.
Free Folk! Free Folk!

Old stone tower on this small island in the lake for his people became something that must be taken, conquered, ruined, put to torch.
For Night’s Watch, Queenscrown once was a remainder, a cherished memory of king and queen that granted them more land to sustain themselves and to keep many generations of Tormund’s forefathers on the northern side of the Wall.
Today, this tower stood for wish of the Wolf Queen to conquer lands of the Gift and those beyond the Wall. Wolf Queen, he called the woman of same hair as his was which ruled in Winterfell. Both lands of the Gift were given to them by a man who ruled North before this queen, man who kept his word, no matter the cost.

Who knows where’s little crow now… old Norren brought me his direwolf, blabbering about a woman and two little girls who took Snow with them. Hah, Ghost would leave his master only if he were dead or across the sea.

He slowly went down the steps, making sure not to step on any of the dead bodies of those who fell preventing the wildlings to reach the tower’s roof.
Blood was still dripping from the blade of his axe. The sounds of his men looting the fourth and fifth floor echoed all to the entrance of the tower.
Tormund stepped out and took a deep breath of fresh air. All around him cheered once again. Free Folk! Free Folk!

Aye… Free Folk. But are we truly? Do these southerners from Iron Islands fight for our cause or are we fighting for theirs? Could we now, this very moment say to that man Bronn and his sell...swords to leave our lands, or are we long past that moment… he dwelled upon…war is meant for young and I’m no boy anymore, my daughters now have daughters of their own. And sons. If this lasts another year of so, it will fall upon them to cut down some poor fuckers of House Tallhart or Dustin or whatever their cursed names are.

“You have a face that I wear when thinking of young pussy.” man in dark chainmail said, getting off the raft which last came to the island. “Bronn! You old fucker! You’ve missed all the fun here!” Tormund greeted him loudly and slapped across the back.
“I am not a selfish man, Tormund, you and your boys…” then he saw three women with bows and spears coming from the tower “…and girls were more than enough for these Tallhart shits.”
“Aye, we were. Now we shall torch the damn place, tower and these ruins of a village, Wolf Queen will have nowhere to keep their spare men, there is no shelter from here to Last Hearth, tens of leagues down south. It’ll be hard for them to defend Mole’s Town now.”
“Yes, our ginger Stark won’t be happy to hear the queen’s crown has burned…
” Bronn smirked “…shite, you’re ginger too, but I like you. As much as I can like a fucking wildling.”
Tormund laughed: “You’re a different kind of animal, eh, Bronn? I’ve to say you ain’t that bad yourself, for a kneeler from south.”
“Well, my ginger friend, get ready to scratch many southern kneeler heads with that axe of yours.”
Tormund lifted his eyebrows: “More of those Vale knights are comin’?”
Bronn shook his head: “No… worse scum than them. This… Wolf Queen as you call the Stark bitch has called men at arms from south to come here to help North to fight us.
And they’re coming. Scores of them.”
“Of what kind of men are you speak?”
“Knights without land of their own, then freeriders and those are better among the lot, I wager many cutthroats, thieves and rapers will take their chance against us.
I speak of men like I was once.”
“You still are like that men, Bronn” red-haired wildling grinned.
“No, I ain’t. Unlike those fuckers coming for kiss of your axe, I’ve known to choose the winning side.”

Tormund remained quiet, he pondered a while. Enough for once Master of Coin of Six Kingdoms to note: “You have that pussy face again.”
“You say dozens of those southerners are coming here to fight for the Wolf Queen. My people have no more men to put against them.”
“And that worries you?” Bronn said with sneer. “Sure as fuck it worries me!” “
"You’ve got it all wrong, Tormund. Sansa calling southern scum to come here and bleed for her is good tidings for your people.
That means she has no more men. While your wildlings and the Ironborn are more than enough to break those fuckers, she lured north promising them land and coins.” “Ha…” Tormund tilted his head “…I like it better your way.”
“Of course you do. No, get one of your lads to fish that Stark banner from the lake, I plan to send it to Mole’s Town on a mule together with head of the commander of Queenscrown wrapped in it. When good job is done, one should inform your foe about it.”

“Aye. One should.” he agreed and finally dipped his axe in the lake water to clean it of blood.
As smoke rising from this burning tower will not do that.

Last River, Westeros, year 316 After Conquest

It did not get the name out of folly. It truly was the last river of Westeros south of the Wall, the northernmost stream of water in once Seven Kingdoms.
Its flow was nearer to the castles of the Night’s Watch than it was to Winterfell.
Once House Umber ruled the land on either side of the river, since they have perished in the war against the Night King, this was now Land of the Queen, directly under ruler of Kingdom of the North.

The Last River's headwaters are a number of streams in the northern mountains which as they descend into forest covered land, some forty leagues north of the Long Lake, join together and form this river that flows past the Kingsroad and then through the Umber forest.
Castle of Last Hearth is not more than six leagues away from the northern bank of the river which then continues south and east between the castle of Dreadfort and castle Karhold to the Shivering Sea.

Kingsroad bridged the Last River in the forest, some claimed these woods once were the northern edge of wolfswood, a vast Northern forest that stretched for tens of leagues, from shores of Bay of Ice to Winterfell. Bridge was small when one would compare it with crossing at the Twins or with most of the bridges in the south, those overpassing Trident, Blackwater Rush or Mander, still it was enough for thousand and a half men on horse and foot to cross the river.

Ser Malcolm of House Branfield commanded the cavalry of this host.
Branfields were a minor southern house from the Reach. They fought for House Targaryen during Robert's Rebellion, after which all of their lands were taken from them.

Malcolm, now in his late thirties was knighted after the Battle of the Blackwater, he rode into it with Tyrell forces.
He was hedge knight since he was one and twenty years old. For years now he felt as an old man, too old to still be a hedge knight. Most of his ilk were younger men.
Hedge knights were named so for most of their worldly wealth was in their arms and horses and they generally had to sleep outdoors, often under a hedge.
Most hedge knights traveled in search of service to noble houses and often attended tourneys to earn money and display their prowess in hopes of being hired and making a name for themselves.

As he trotted along the northern bank of the river, Malcom recalled that hedge knight Ser Arlan of Pennytree never ventured to the North with his squire, Dunk, as he thought that there were no hedges in the North, and all the woods full of wolves. Dunk was known to every living man in Westeros as Ser Duncan the Tall whose squire was Egg.
Later that boy ascended the Iron Throne as King Aegon Targaryen, Fifth of his name.
Malcolm never slept in the hedges, he had skills needed to stay in service of lords in the Reach and Westerlands.
That service lasted long enough for him to have a roof over his head, cooked meal to eat, bed and oft a warm smallfolk woman in it and a stable for his horse.

Now he came North, for second time in his life, and this time it was much further north than first time when he visited holdfast of Ironrath where his sister Elissa Branfield was wed to Gregor, heir to House Forrester of Ironrath, merely three moons before the Robert’s Rebellion. Ironrath was a wooden castle south and west of Deepwood Motte as Forresters were vassals of House Glover and staunch Stark bannermen.

Malcolm knew that during Robert’s Rebellion his sister was torn between the loyalty to both houses, despite being married to Lord Gregor but ultimately chose House Forrester.
It proved to be wise choice since House Stark and all their bannermen won that war and brought an end to three hundred years long reign of dragonlords.
He never fathered any children nor he intended to for there were no land he could pass on his heirs and he knew it will lead to House Branfield becoming extinct.
Till now, till he heard of this call from Sansa Stark, Queen in the North, asking for all able men at arms to come and fight for her kingdom which she will honor and reward with lands and titles. Malcolm mayhaps felt too old to be a hedge knight, but to be a lord of his own holdfast, no matter how small of a lord he would be, he felt as in prime age.
As well as to found his own house by wedding and bedding some northern noble daughter.

Men he marched north with were a ragtag bunch of all sorts, landless knights like him, freeriders, aging veterans of wars from the past decade, younglings who barely learned how to wield a sword without slashing their own face, smallfolk who once served as pikemen, axemen and spearmen and many of their sons who barely came of age.
All coming North, hoping to find a better life once the savages from beyond the Wall are defeated and the krakens pushed back to their shit-stained islands, hoping not to find death at the tip of wildling spear or by the blade of Ironborn throw axe.

Malcolm has always found odd how precious little his fellow southerners know of the North, even those who had some education.
Some decade and a half ago, many believed that land of everlasting ice and snow begins at the Neck and stretches all the way to the Land of Always Winter.
Now, they believed that fertile land of green pastures goes from Moat Cailin to the Wall and is ready for taking. Some of it surely was, but not all of those coming from the south will find a piece of land to call it their own. Many in the end will have that much of Northern land as it suffices for a shallow grave.

He urged his courser mare, a fine warhorse of mouse-dun coating, back to the bridge, his men were encamped on the southern bank of Last River, resting before continuation of the march northwards, to Mole’s Town.
Word of Queenscrown being put to torch they have received at Winterfell, while making camp there. That was five days ago.
Bad news for the garrison of Mole’s Town, holdfast at the lake and the nearby village was a gods given place to held reserves, of men, of arms, of food. It also prevented both wildlings and the Ironborn to cut off Mole’s Town from the south, notion that there is another Northern force nearby would render any such thought as useless.
Now, nearest men of Queen Sansa were at Last Hearth, a good ninety leagues south of Mole’s Town.
It was of utmost importance to retake the Queenscrown and establish a new fort with palisade and moat there since the lake tower was now a charred ruin.

“A pale grey dragon on a dark brown-red shield.”
Bronn whispered watching a man on a horse of dun color riding along the riverbank back to the bridge through brass and leather telescope. He was hidden in the treeline on a small hill, some eighty yards from the river. “Sigil of House Branfield. Once of Kinshall. Now of nothing.”
“What happened to that… Kinshall.” “Ah, his family fought for the wrong side. That will usually make a noble arse homeless.”
“I thought this fucker will never leave. And I need to piss. Had he stayed bit longer I’d soiled my breeches.” Tormund whispered back, annoyed “Do you know this man.”
“If he is who I think he is, aye, I know him. We fought against Stannis Baratheon together. We were knighted the same day.”
“Stannis…” Tormund spat saying that name “…he burned Mance alive. Mean fucker. Big woman killed him.”

Bronn frowned: “Then she was not lying… I’ve never believed her when she spoke how her blade delivered justice to Stannis Baratheon.”
“Is he a good fighter, this Branfield.” “He is. But one can’t say that for the lot he is leading. We should cut through them like knife does to butter.”
“Or piss through snow.” “Don’t poke my ears with this piss talk, pull out your cock and take that damn piss already.”
“I’m going. When I get back, I will also take a look with that glass and leather pipe the Ironborn gave you.”
“It’s called telescope, you ignorant wildling cunt.” Bronn hissed.

Tormund crawled back, deeper behind the treeline, then he got on his feet and after finding a proper tree, relieved his bladder.
Being at the northern bank of Last River was the most southwards he went since the war with the Wolf Queen started.
This is taking a great risk, he thought, these southern warriors are only across the river, not even ten leagues from here is Last Hearth with Stark garrison there.
We could find ourselves trapped between two enemies. None yet knows we’re here, but if they do… good thing that this forest is thick enough to hide thousands of men. And there is bit more than half a thousand of Free Folk that wait among pines, oaks and evergreen. Wait for a nightfall when those longships of the kraken sons should come up the river.

“Here’s your glass and leather…” Bronn passed him the telescope “…tell me what you see.”
He grabbed it and place the rear end on his eye: “Mhmm… what sorcerer has made this thing. They all look as if they were ten feet away.”
“No sorcerer. Men at sea use this to see at distance. Now, what do you see over the river?” “Tents, men, horses, guards on the bridge.” Tormund replied. “Aye…what else on the bridge?” brown-haired man asked grinning as always.
“A log filled with wooden spikes, no… five or six such logs on the bridge, a man barely can pass between them.”
“And you know for what that is?” “To stop the charge? Of horses?” “Aye.”

Bronn frowned “Their commanders are no fools. They’re safe now that no surprise attack of cavalry can come from the bridge.
Them spiked logs, hedgehogs you may call them, will slow down any charge of mounted men, and then their archers and spearmen can do the job with ease.
And men on foot charging will meet the same.” Tormund asked: “Then we must go across the river.”
“We must. What do you see on the riverbank? Are there any guards there? Or dogs?”
“Aye, there’s guard and dog with him, I’d say every thirty yards…”
Then his eyes widened: “What’s that hanging around cow’s neck?” “Bell, surely.”
“I’ve never heard of any such thing.” Tormund wondered “Who put bells on a cow?”
“Haha, you don’t have cow north of the Wall, eh? Cow is pricey animal, milk and meat you get from it and all that you can make from milk or meat.
“I make sour goat's milk stronger than any of that grape water you southern twats drink.” he hissed at Bronn “I don’t put the bell on a goat and then take that goat and bell to war with me.” “You’ve never warred against southerners. Those fucking wolves of Winterfell lack imagination. But, this lot across the river… they’ve come for blood money, Tormund. Never forget, they would kill every last one of you Free Folk if you gave them a chance.”
“I will not.” he gritted his teeth.
“Now, we better rest, it won’t be nightfall for many hours.” Bronn yawned, laying on his back.
“Aha, you’re getting more tired from fighting than in your youth. It happens to me also, more and more oft. We’re not boys anymore, Bronn.” “Aye, I do tire killing other men. But, when fucking begins to tire you, then you have a problem.”
“Does it tire you?” Tormund chuckled.
“Before the fight begins, I intend to fuck one of your spearwives beyond her wits, yellow-haired thing, not so tall for a wildling woman but with ass firm as a rock.” “Elsera? She will bite your cock off.”
“She did not last night. She sucked it like it was coated with honey.” once sellsword said with mocking smile.

Red-haired man watched how the warm bronze sunlight was swallowed by the horizon. The bright sunny day engulfed in darkness.
A beautiful darkness, one that shields you form your enemy’s eyes.
At nightfall the familiar trees and rocks of the daytime took on new and ominous forms.
It was as if by stealing their colors the night also stole their friendly spirits and replaced them with malicious demons.
The lack of bird song made the woods eerie and he imagined every leaf flutter or twig snap to announce the arrival of a dangerous man or beast.
Somewhere in the distance an owl sounded, followed by quick response of another owl.
Dangerous men have arrived, Tormund said to himself as he cautiously walked along the treeline of the riverbank, brown-haired once sellsword pacing next to him.

“You surely took your bloody time.” Bronn scoffed at the man who seemed as leader of the men in salt-stained leathers and chainmail hauberks.
“Your mother wouldn’t let me go, Bronn.” man replied.
“Aye, I know how that’s like. Yours is still picking hair of my balls from her teeth.”
“One day I shall split open that dumb head of yours, my lord.”
“You won’t be alive to see that day, Harlaw, for I’ll slit your fucking throat the night before.”

Earl Harlaw grinned menacingly at Bronn before extending his arm into handshake:
“You rats of green lands think it’s easy to sail upstream in northern rivers these days. Wolves have been stretching chains from one riverbank to another wherever they can,
luckily they don’t have enough men to lay ambushes at those blockades but it’s enough to slow us down.”
“How many of you are here?” “Quarter of thousand, four longships and some smaller boats.”
“Good. Those fuckers across the river outnumber you five to one.” Bronn smiled.
“Mounted men?” “Every fifth, as I could tell.”
“Heavy horse?” Harlaw asked. “Aye, mostly.”
“Then we must attack them now, while they sleep. How many of your men are here, Tormund?”

He could tell on Harlaw’s face that idea of meeting heavy armored knights is not to his liking.
Ironborn fared badly in open battle against mainland armies of Westeros, that much was known. Sea was their domain, after all.
“Five hundred, all ready to dip their blades in southern blood… no offence.” “None given and none taken...”
replied the Ironborn with scarred face, wearing dark coated armor with sigil of silver scythe on breastplate
“...I ain’t bloody southerner and who knows from whence this bastard came.” He pointed at Bronn.
“Last night I came in your sister’s arse. Finest fuck I’ve ever had.”
Grin was instantly wiped from Ironborn’s face: “Pray to whatever gods you believe in that we never meet as foes; I’ll have trouble deciding what to cut first, your filthy tongue or your small cock.”
“Not all men have small cocks, Earl, they’ve have lied to you to make you think better of yourself.” Bronn smirked.

“Enough of this shite.” Tormund said to both “Soon them on the other side will hear you word-fucking each other… There’s twice as many of them than us.
We must attack sudden and cause havoc in their camp. Or we don’t stand a chance.
And there’s Last Hearth behind us, if they come behind our backs and this fight here still lasts…”
“We’re fucked.” Bronn concluded, with Harlaw nodding.
“I care not of their foot soldiers, half of them are no fighters of any kind…” Ironborn leader said “…it’s horsemen we must deal with. Where they keep their mounts?” “On the southern side of the camp, you couldn’t see it even if it were still day.”
“We must spook their horses, make them scatter. At least as many as we can. Them coursers and destriers of knights are trained beasts, they will stand their ground even without their riders.” Bronn said “But other horses, they fear fire and noise as any farm animal.”
“If we feign the attack on the bridge…” a thought came from Harlaw “…it will raise alarum in their ranks, all their eyes will be there, not on the rest of the river.”
“Every man we send to charge on that bridge will most likely die.” Bronn said “How many of our own are we ready to sacrifice? I ask you this for replacing a skilled man at arms is becoming more difficult for all in this war.”
“Thirty. Two scores, at the most. Both mine and yours.” Harlaw said looking at them.” “Good. It’s agreed then.”
“Tormund!” came a muffled shout from the woods. He looked in that direction, two of his me were hastily pacing towards him.

“Kauldr, what is it?” “A rider came, Sigmar’s boy, he says that column of riders has left Last Hearth with sundown and are coming this way.”
“Fuck!” both Bronn and Harlaw yelled.
“They will flank us. We must act sooner than we wanted.” Ironborn man said.
Bronn spat on the ground: “We choose twenty men, ours and yours, and they’ll attack the bridge after the rest of our men have crossed the river.
I’ll take no more than thirty men and ride north to slow those fuckers from Last Hearth down.”
“Hey, how many archers do we have between us?” Harlaw asked. “Sixty, give or take.”
“Send them across first. Tell them to prepare fire arrows. We must kill their heavy horses. If those knights mount up, they will smash us into the ground.
You do realise that, don’t you?” Harlaw looked at Tormund.
He replied: “You don’t have to tell me what heavy horse can do; I saw Mance Rayder’s army ruined by knights of Stannis Baratheon. And there were tens of thousands of us.”

Ser Culler Tarwick gazed at the stars, they have filled the night sky as pale corn into freshly turned ground.
To him it seemed as a token of life in the darkness, a sense of warmth springing from this cold northern night.
No matter the years that have passed, no matter how many such encampments he had guarded since he was just a boy squire, Culler saw each night sky as a fresh gift given anew. It was the moment anyone that knew him would see his eyes smile and his breathing deepen just a little.
He slowly walked from the south side of the camp, meeting new man on guard each twenty yards, most of them stood by the torch that was tied to a wooden pole,
all is quiet they would tell him when he passed them by. The trees were veiled in the lightest of mists, coming from the river, their trunks somber brown with sable cracks that gnarl the bark. As his eye travelled to the edge of the woodland, they become silhouettes against a blanket of white.
“Fog is coming, m’lord…” next guard told him “…common thing for such a river. I’ve seen it thick as a stonewall back home, in Riverlands.”
“I’ve seen the mists of Riverlands too.” Tarwick replied. Or was it smoke, he mused, for we have burned that wretched lands from east to west.
He was with Lannister army then, during the War of the Five Kings.
The mist swallowed the riverbank, it smothered the greens of the leaves, the grasses and the underbrush. It leached out their color, turning everything the same stony grey.

Culler’s eyes went on the bridge, mist enveloped it as well, he could see the flickering light of torches which were placed along its entire length.
Then he saw a dark silhouette rushing through the mist, coming from the northern side of the bridge, then another and another…
“Sound alarum!” he bellowed at the closest guard and unsheathed his sword.

He rushed towards the bridge, he could hear shouts of guards behind him, loud, rabid bark of camp dogs, a furor that all this caused in the camp.
“To arms! To arms!” Trumpets and drums sounded off next.
For some reason, unbeknownst to him, he turned around and saw the man from the Riverlands slumped over the ropes of the fence and shadows running in the mist to the south side of the camp. Horses, they’re after horses.
He grabbed the shoulder of first man who crossed his path:
“Run to the commanding tent, do you hear, they’re coming from both sides!”
“I was ordered to defend the bridge, m’lord!” man replied confused.
“Fuck the bridge, do as I say, man! Go!”

Sounds of fighting were already coming from the bridge, steel meeting steel and screams when steel met the flesh, also sound of bodies falling in the water beneath.
A dozen and a half crossbowmen stood or knelt at the south end of the bridge shooting at the attackers whose charge slowed down when they met the spiked logs, those less fortunate among them impaled themselves on those spikes after being hit by crossbow bolt.
This will not last long, Culler thought, a truly foolish attempt. Unless…
Noises coming from the south side of the camp were equal as these on the bridge. They’re fighting there…there the true attack is taking place.

He saw a knight on a courser riding towards the bridge, longsword in hand and shield of brown-red coating with grey dragon, wearing dark-blue brigandine and halfhelm. “Ser Malcolm! Ser Malcolm!” Tarwick shouted and waved his hands. Mounted man was soon at him: “Ser Culler, one should expect you at the bridge.”
“My lord, they’re not after the bridge, they are attacking far side of our camp, where our horses are!” “Seven hells!” Branfield cursed “Can you follow me on foot, Ser?” “Aye!” “Then we charge south! Stop every man who rushes to the bridge and turn him south!”

Some of the horses broke out from the camp, aimed towards the tree line.
At the head was the stallion, his chestnut coat as fluid as water, stocky limbs moving faster than Tormund would have thought possible.
The soft forest soil was no match for their hooves and in their wake, sods were flying in an arcing spray. Their heads were extended forwards but their ears flat back, puffs of moisture escaping from their nostrils. Sleek beauties, muscles that roll underneath the supple coat that hangs majestically on the frame.

A flowing mane that unfurls and whips as the wind calls it, feet that pound the ground in a mighty gallop.

Tormund has not seen such horses for many years, for more than a decade, ever since knights of the Vale came North.
These were destriers and coursers, majestic animals, not garrons he was used to. And they were highly trained as one of the Ironborn learned when he tried to get hold of one destrier and all he got was a hoof in the chest, he fell and horse nearly crushed his head with next blow.

“No quarter given! No quarter!” he heard shouts coming from the camp, but those were not his men or the Ironborn.
Something is wrong, crossed his mind as he charged in the direction of those shouts.
His heart sunk when he saw dead bodies in animal hides and salt-stained leather and wounded being hacked to the death with axes and maces.
Most of those dead were riddled with arrows and bolts. They have charged right into the part of camp where enemy’s bowmen were.

It started good. When Free Folk and the Ironborn archers went across the river, using a shallow part, some three hundred yards down the stream and then sneaked upon the camp through the forest, a signal for attack on the bridge was given.
Forty men, wildlings and sons of kraken battled the guards on it but it did not last, not as they have hoped it will.
Southerners had their crossbows there and those forty men were cut down soon. Few managed to save themselves by jumping in the river.

When attention of those in the camp was on the bridge, an arrow storm came over the south portion of the tents, where cavalry was. But not all of it.
As this was not a proper army, not yet, most of the knights refused to share the same portion of camp with freeriders while some set tents with their own countrymen, men of Riverlands with their own and men from the Vale with theirs. Arrows struck hard on the freeriders and part of Valemen, killing both rider and horse, while rest of the animals galloped into the forest, spooked by fire arrows.

“Charge! Charge! Free Folk!” the archers, seeing the disarray in the camp, grabbed their swords and axes and stormed in the lines of enemy tents. Ironborn followed the suit.
They were smashing the freeriders with ease, them not being able to form a decent defence line.
Tormund knew their archers were supposed to wait for the rest of their men to join the attack.

Then, knights and other riders of Riverlands came in full charge, swords and lances descended on the archers.
Tormund saw it all, over a score of heavy horsemen hacking their way through his men.
One rider swung his mace left and right, crushing skulls of those who came before his horse.
Tormund swung his axe at him, blade struck man’s breastplate. He stared down at the blood that began to leap from the wound, then blood came from his mouth as well and he slumped over in his saddle. Tormund had no time to enjoy this victory as lance grazed him at the back of his head, a freerider rode past him and impaling another of wilding archers. “Pull back, pull back, you fools!!” he shouted at his men, realising things took turn for the worse.
“To the river! To the river!” Earl Harlaw yelled at his own “We shall regroup there!”

Culler Tarwick pulled out his sword from a wildling spearman, blade caught him from the back and this small figure fell on the ground with high pitched scream. He turned the dead body over with his foot: “A woman, a damn woman…” he said looking at the light-brown hair whose tresses fell out from the hood of her animal hide coat. “Whore…” he spat on her and charged further, towards the melee which was now moving to the riverbank.

He smiled seeing that nearly hundred men from the camp were now mounted and all rushed their horses in that direction.
No shield wall can sustain this, he thought. Behind him, scores of foot soldiers followed. Swords, spears, axes…eyes thirsting for blood.

“Come on, come on, men!” he yelled “We’re pushing those savages into the river!”
He saw Malcolm Branfield coming from the side of the bridge, at the head of three scores of armored knights, Stark banner waving high over the riders.
They went into charge soon after.
No shield can sustain this. No pike can repel this. And it could not.
Attack of heavy horse from two sides shattered the wildlings and the Ironborn who lined up along the riverbank, others who retreated in disarray escaped with their lives.

Next morning southern warriors continued their march North across the bridge on the Last River.
Bodies of half a dozen dead wildling spearwives, naked, hung beneath it. Branfield ordered it as a message, to his Northern allies and to the enemy alike.

Tormund knew most of those women, since they were only children, but that night Free Folk lost one third of those who came at the Last River.
The rest left, those who could walk retreated on foot to Queenscrown, wounded were taken by Ironborn longships down the Last River, on a third day after the battle those ships have reached Hardhome. Earl Harlaw will have to report to his queen at Dragonstone that seventy men of Iron Islands fell at the Last River.

Upon return to Queenscrown, he heard that Bronn was successful in slowing down the horse column from Last Hearth, harrying them throughout the night, in the end making the commander of those riders to halt their march south until daybreak. That made possible for three hundred of Free Folk to retreat north without meeting another mounted enemy.

We shall never go that far south again, wildling leaders and chieftains agreed after the defeat at the Last River, our war is at the Gift and north of the Wall, in the lands we know best.
Two days after battle, Tormund sat at the shore of the lake where burned Queenscrown tower stood.
Soon, the southern swords who serve the Wolf Queen will arrive here and his men will have to retreat further north.

She’ll rejoice now, the ginger woman at Winterfell, he thought,
southern knights gave her first victory after many moons. And many moons more this war shall last.

Chapter Text

Tarth, Westeros, year 316 After Conquest

LORD OF STORM’S END

For many centuries kings and rulers of Stormlands kept their fleets along the western coast of Tarth, its mountains shielded ships against storms and made the Straits of Tarth more peaceful than the waves of Shipbreaker Bay. He knew stories of Tarth, the island was said to be beautiful, with lakes, waterfalls, high meadows and green vales.
He also knew that here are no gemstones on the island and that Tarth is called the Sapphire Isle for the striking blue color of the sea that surrounds it.

In eleven years of his lordship, Gendry of House Baratheon, Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, came to Tarth only once, to attend the burial of lord Selwyn Tarth.
With his death, House Tarth has seen its end. On the following day, few petty lords from Tarth begun their petitioning to Storm’s End, each saying that he is the proper one to be the new lord of Evenfall Hall, two of them calling upon their ancestry coming from King Edwyn Evenstar while others claimed that Ser Galladon of Morne, the Perfect Knight, was the root of their family tree. He dismissed them all.
It was not yet proper time and though it was uncommon and he was not obliged to do it, Gendry wanted to know opinion of Ser Brienne of Tarth on the matter of new rulers of the island. He felt and thought that was fair. There was no hurry, the castellan of Evenfall Hall ruled ably over Tarth and he would never allow that ambitions of island lords rush his decisions.

He did not expect to come to Tarth again so soon, but he had to.
Two days have not yet passed since Andrew Estermont, Master of Laws, came with escort of twenty men to Storm’s End with demand which was not pleasing to his ears. House Estermont of Greenstone were a noble family from Stormlands, their holdfast and land were island Estermont, east of Cape Wrath.
They were sworn to House Baratheon of Storm's End and Lady Cassana Estermont was Gendry’s grandmother.
She wed Lord Steffon Baratheon and had three sons by him; his own father Robert, Stannis and Renly.
He knew that his grandparents drowned both during storm in Shipbreaker Bay, maester Pylos told him that account, they were returning from Volantis where they have tried to find a suitable bride for Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, son of Mad King, Aerys the Second.
That quest, ordered by king himself, ended in failure. And costed their lives.

“How will of the gods or fate, whatever one may choose to believe, my lord, can play cruel twists…” Pylos said when he told him of that tragedy
“…lord Steffon could not find a proper maid of noble birth from an old Valyrian bloodline for Prince Rhaegar, he afterwards married Elia of House Martell which Mad King detested. He even refused to touch or hold his first grandchild, Princess Rhaenys, complaining that she smells Dornish.
After two years being wed with Elia, Rhaegar disappeared with Lyanna Stark who were betrothed to your lord father, late King Robert.
One can only guess what course would history of Westeros have taken if Steffon and Cassana returned from Volantis with Valyrian bride for Rhaegar.
Aye, my lord, fates of House Targaryen and House Baratheon seem to be woven together since the days before Conquest and never unwoven .”

Woven together…fancy words I’ve never heard in a smithy as a young man, but a fitting one. It was Targaryen queen that has made me a Baratheon, after all my uncles and their families were gone. And now, my father’s cousin, lord Andrew Estermont has come to Storm’s End with warrant for Arya Stark. Accusing her of treason without much explaining.

“Lady Stark is not at Storm’s End, my lord, she has spent three weeks here but now she is at Tarth where her ships are being repaired.”
Gendry said to his kinsman who sat on the Small Council of King Bran.
“It gave me no pleasure to come here with such a task, but Lady Stark is charged with treason and her presence at King’s Landing is requested.” Estermont replied. “Should that mean a dungeon awaits her? That is no small charge, treason. What did she do? As her host I deserve to know that much.” he asked.
“Lady Arya is sister of Queen Sansa; she is the Princess of the Northern kingdom and sister of our king as well. Hardly a black cell awaits her.”

“I don’t find that amusing, you do know her father was kept in black cell before he was killed.”
Estermont could tell that Gendry mislikes his light tone on the matter.
“I am sure that Arya Stark will be kept in house arrest until these accusations are proven or dismissed as false.”
“And I am still waiting to hear what is she accused of.” he said.
“During her time in Meereen, only a few moons ago, Lady Stark sided with House Targaryen against the interests of the Realm. And Kingdom of the North as well.”
“House Targaryen? Is this a jape, Lord Andrew? They’re gone for over ten years now, Queen Daenerys was killed by Jon Snow, once Warden of the North in the Red Keep.
Who is this jester or a fool that has accused Arya Stark of siding with extinct house?”
“King himself, my lord.” Master of Laws replied dryly.
“Then he is not well informed. Which I find odd, since I know somewhat of his powers and sight.”
“I am not here to question His Grace’s order, Lord Gendry. Neither should you. Yours is to bring Arya Stark to King’s justice.”

He did not like the tone Estermont was now addressing him:
“I understand what my duty is in this case. I shall see to it that Lady Stark comes to capital in one sennight time.
Mayhaps I’ll escort her myself. Is that satisfactory?”
“Yes, it is, my lord. I shall say once more, I do not enjoy us to meet for such purpose.”
“Neither am I, cousin.” Gendry replied, being falsely polite.

He accompanied Master of Laws to the very gates of Storm’s End, they parted ways cordially.
As he saw them rode off north, towards Kingsroad that will take them to the capital of Six Kingdoms, Gendry rushed to find maester Pylos.
He was coming out of the kitchens, chewing on last bit of cinnamon baked apple.
“Maester… we’re sailing to Tarth right after dinner.” he said in one breath.
“My lord…?” Plyos said in manner that was both confirming and asking.
“That ciphered letter Aelyx Celtigar brought to me from Ghoyan Drohe. We both had our doubts about the hand which wrote it.
And doubts of whom did lord Celtigar truly saw there. Now I have no such doubts, this visit I had from King’s Landing removed them entirely.”
“Then it is our late Queen who wrote it…” Plyos realised he has just uttered a nonsense “…I meant to say, our Queen which we believed to be dead, my lord.”
“Aye… and I now have to speak to Arya, she owes me a rather long account of what she was doing in Essos last many moons.”
“Should I alert the captain of the New Fury that you require ferrying to Tarth?”
“No, maester, a cog will do.” Gendry replied. He was not about to travel to Sapphire Isle on a war galley.
“It is not mine to ask, my lord, but I can tell you’re troubled.” Pylos cautiously inquired.
“Maester, I’ve been placed before greatest trial since assuming lordship. I fear that no matter what I shall do, it will be wrong thing to do.”

I loved a maid as fair as summer
with sunlight in her hair.
I loved a maid as red as autumn
with sunset in her hair.
I loved a maid as white as winter
with moonglow in her hair.

Myrish sailor on Nymeria cheerfully sung the Seasons of My Love, a song from his city, Myr, though it was both sad and sweet song whose words spoke about passing of life. Men on decks paid no attention to him singing, they were busy as ship was under repair.
Over a moon and a half has passed since Arya Stark’s ships have survived that hellish storm which had passed over the Narrow Sea and struck Crownlands with its unleashed fury, hitting heavily King’s Landing itself. Both were now anchored at small port of island of Tarth.