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Chapter One: Storms and Dragon Dreams

It was a sickening feeling. To watch someone you loved die before you and slowly, painfully realize that there was nothing you could do to save them.

Eddard Stark leaned over the dying shape of his sister, Lyanna. The young woman was drenched in sweat. Every breath seemed to pain her, and her abdomen and the space between her legs was soaked in too much blood for someone so small of stature to survive.

Her body hadn't been able to withstand what must have been a difficult birth.

A wet nurse brought the babe to him and Ned took the infant—a baby boy—into his arms for his mother to see before she died.

Lyanna weakly lifted her hand to touch the babe's cheek with a shaking finger. She swallowed hard and her voice, hoarse and scratchy from screaming during her labor, was barely audible to her brother. "Ned, you—you have to protect them…"

Them?

He looked back at the nurse, but there was only one child. His sister had not birthed twins, so what was she…

He heard a crack, sharp and sudden, and was instantly alert. He clutched the babe close and the sound came again from—from the fireplace. Was that why it was so horribly hot in here?

A third crack was heard, followed by a thin screech, and Ned's face paled. What in the name of the gods—

His eyes locked onto a small, ovular object in the flames. It wriggled and wobbled, and then split open. A gangly, awkward shape crawled out of the hearth, shaking shell fragments from its body, and Ned's heart was seized by cold fear. He only barely registered that the wet nurse had fled.

It was a dragon. There was no other creature it could possibly have been. It stumbled onto the floor and looked up at him with bright, amethyst eyes. A startling contrast to its snowy white scales.

The dragon-infant leapt onto the bed and sniffed at the blood. Ned was a heartbeat away from unsheathing his sword and skewering the thing when it scrambled up to Lyanna and licked at her cheek, crooning sadly.

The girl's lips quivered. "It's okay…Ned—Ned my son, I need…"

"Is it—is it safe?" He choked out.

"She won't…hurt him," Lyanna gasped. He knelt quickly, heart pounding, blood racing and it took all the self-control he had not to break down in tears. His sister would be dead soon, he knew.

The dragon looked at the babe and chirped, tilting her head at the child. Ned watched as the babe, strangely quiet for a newborn, shuffled in his arms and reached out with a single, chubby hand for the creature. He almost pulled them apart, but the dragon pressed her snout to the babe's palm with a gentleness he wouldn't have thought possible from such a beast.

Lyanna's smile was pained, her eyes filled with tears. "Ned, you…you have to keep them sa..safe…"

Ned looked at her with wide eyes. She swallowed hard, crying as she died. "His name is Aegon Targaryen. The dragon is his…She hatched for him. My—my husband said she would."

Her husband. Rhaegar.

Who else could have given her the dragon egg?

Horror filled Ned. "Lyanna, oh gods…"

"He needs her," she begged him. "Please, Ned. Promise me."

He looked down at the babe, the heir to the Iron Throne—his nephew—and the snow-scaled dragon that had not pulled away from her…Rider? Brother? He didn't know anything about the magic of Old Valyria.

What had Lyanna and Rhaegar done? What had they done?

"Promise me, Ned. Promise me…"

Ned had to make several hard decisions immediately upon returning to Winterfell.

Lyanna was dead. Rhaegar was dead. Rhaegar's first wife, Princess Elia Martell, and their two children were dead. Aerys Targaryen, the Mad King, was dead. Robert Baratheon was King of the Seven Kingdoms. He now sat the Iron Throne.

Ned was the Lord of his House, the Warden of the North. His wife, Catelyn, had just given birth to their firstborn child, Robb.

He re-named Aegon Targaryen as Jon Snow and claimed him as his bastard son.

Even now, as he rode with Benjen—the only other person beyond Lord Howland Reed who knew the truth of what had happened in the Tower of Joy—with Jon safely within the walls of their home, he could not forget the look of shock and shame and fathomless disappointment on his wife's face. It had left a pit in his stomach, but the guilt was a price he needed to stomach.

They were riding to the Wall. To Castle Black. To the Night's Watch. His brother was going to take the Black and serve as a ranger. To keep watch over the second secret Lyanna had somehow birthed with Valyrian magic.

The dragon was being kept in a makeshift cage, held in one arm as they rode, and he had no idea why it had remained silent all this time. Perhaps he'd fed it enough to keep its mouth shut. Perhaps it was once again displaying that unsettling intelligence he'd witnessed when the creature was freshly hatched, and somehow knew it needed to stay quiet.

There was only one person he trusted to tell him anything about the dragon, and how to handle it.

Aemon Targaryen had been old before Eddard was born, his identity as former royalty largely forgotten by the current generation. He'd lived longer than most people in Westeros dared to hope for, to say nothing of the Far North. The Wall, of all places.

Ned had spoken to him only a handful of times when his father, Rickard Stark, had brought him and his brothers to Castle Black to meet the men of the Night's Watch. He didn't know the ancient Targaryen well, but he knew Aemon was a man of integrity, a man with a good heart. Rickard had always spoken of the dedicated Maester with great respect.

Now he arrived at the Castle—the last stronghold of the Night's Watch—and with a brief announcement regarding the going-ons of the south, requested to meet with the Maester himself, and Lord-Commander Jeor Mormont.

The meeting was conducted in utmost secrecy.

Ned told Aemon Targaryen of the fate of his House firsthand. He would not disrespect the man by allowing him to hear of his House's ruin from a secondary source.

Aemon was old, but for the first time in his life, Ned looked into the eyes of a man and saw dragonfire. The Maester was shaking not from cold, but silent rage, so great that Ned feared he might be having a fit for a moment. They waited until Aemon had settled some before he continued on.

"Aerys and Rhaegar paid for their crimes," he murmured. They were locked in the Lord-Commander's office, ensuring no one else could hear them. "But Elia and the children—they didn't deserve their fate. I know Rhaella has fled to Dragonstone with Viserys, and she may yet birth another child, but she's…she has a long history of stillbirths and miscarriages. At this point, Aerys has only one surviving child: Viserys."

"I see," Aemon whispered, voice quivering in rage.

Ned swallowed, looked at Benjen. His younger brother nodded just slightly.

"And so does Rhaegar."

Mormont stared at him, and Aemon blinked slowly.

Ned took a shaky breath and explained to them what he'd found in Dorne. When he was finished, and they watched him with stunned disbelief, he pulled up the cage and uncovered it—displaying the tiny dragon.

Mormont stood up in his shock. "Seven fucking hells."

The dragon only tilted her head at him, growling quietly. She didn't seem to feel threatened.

"Lyanna begged me—she made me promise to keep her son and the dragon safe," Ned told them. He stared at Aemon pleadingly. "The boy I claimed as my own—as my bastard. I will raise him myself. But the dragon—"

"She cannot remain south of the Wall," Aemon said immediately. He held a hand up, reaching for the cage with his failing vision, and when his fingers found the bars, the dragon perked up. She sniffed his hand and nudged what she could reach with her nose, purring at the contact.

Aemon's eyes filled with tears. "Oh. Oh, how I wish I could see you properly, little one."

"What's to become of them?" Mormont asked hesitantly. "The boy and the dragon? Do you mean to put them on the Iron Throne?"

Ned pursed his lips. "No. I will not start another war, not even if my nephew were to beg me to do so when he comes of age. Not even if we had the backing of a fully grown dragon. But I promised Lyanna I'd keep them safe, whatever the means. If…if that means keeping them separate forever, setting the dragon loose and ensuring that they never meet again, then so be it."

"That will not work."

They stared at Aemon, who had his eyes closed as the dragon tenderly nuzzled and licked at the Targaryen elder—she sensed the Valyrian magic in his blood, Ned was sure of it.

"She bonded with the babe. She will never forget him. One day, she might even come looking for him."

Ned's throat tightened. "If she does, it will give his identity away."

"Yes…They must grow until they can fend for themselves," Aemon agreed. "We will free the dragon beyond the Wall. She will have to survive on her own. You will raise the boy. One day, they will meet again. Whether he sets her free of her bond to him, or if they choose to fly away into exile together, the choice will be theirs."

Benjen looked at Mormont. "I came to take the Black. I will become a Ranger and…watch the dragon, to the best of my ability, wherever we set her loose."

"You will ride with me at first light," he replied. "There are a few places I can think of that might suit her. Caves. It will take us time to reach them, and it will be dangerous. But the dragon cannot be close enough to the Wall for our spotters to see her when she flies."

"It will be a harsh life," Aemon croaked. "She may not survive for long at all."

"It's the best we can do," Ned said. "We cannot raise a dragon. Her master is an infant, in any case. He can hardly command her."

Aemon nodded and looked at Eddard Stark with the dragonfire in his weakened, violet eyes. Targaryen eyes. "The fate of House Targaryen may well rest in your hands now, Lord Stark. I entrust you with the last great secret of my family. Our final hope."

Ned Stark dipped his head, unable to speak.

Benjen and the Lord-Commander rode out for over a week into the icy wilderness beyond the Wall. It was risky. It was dangerous. It was nigh-suicidal with just the two of them.

The Wildlings had been getting closer and closer to their territory as of late. But there could be nothing done about it. Life beyond the Wall was not for the faint of heart.

They found a gigantic cave in the mountains Mormont knew might serve as a suitable home for the creature, who was thus far unimpressed with her surroundings. She spat pure white dragonfire with increasing frequency to keep herself warm. It had startled them, but she did not seem to care.

When they reached the cave, Benjen opened the cage and set her loose.

The dragon stumbled out on the clawed joints of her wings awkwardly, spitting fire at the snow as if annoyed by it. She looked up at them with those bright, purple eyes—the same purple as the humans who had bonded to her species with their old magic.

"You have to go," Benjen uttered, hoping the dragon would somehow understand what he was trying to say. "Jon is—Jon is safe. He'll be safe. But you have to survive out here. We can't hide you."

She tilted her head at him, but she had listened raptly. Benjen swallowed. He knew he was expecting too much from an animal, but supposedly, dragons were incredibly intelligent. More intelligent than men according to Aemon, and he hoped the man's bias wasn't coloring that assessment.

The dragon flicked her tongue out at the men. She stared at Benjen for several moments, then Mormont, as if memorizing them. Then she crouched and threw herself into the sky.

Her first flight was sloppy and she nearly crashed as she flew into the caves, but she let out a shriek that heralded her arrival to this new, snowy world.

Benjen watched her go, and wondered if he'd just sent the last dragon in the world to an icy doom.

Ser Willem Darry knew that he did not have much time.

The Targaryen dynasty was on the verge of total collapse. Aerys and his firstborn son were both dead, along with Rhaegar's children.

Rhaella had just died giving birth in the worst storm in recorded history. Dragonstone would weather it, as the mass of black rock always did, and he was suddenly left in charge of her last surviving son, Prince Viserys Targaryen, and her newborn daughter, Princess Daenerys.

As soon as the storm ended, he knew the Lannisters and Baratheons would send ships to find and kill the last of Aerys' family. Though he knew the King was mad, he would not condone the murder of innocent children, and Willem had heard tell of the brutal deaths that had befallen Princess Elia and her offspring.

No, if they stayed, Viserys and Daenerys were as good as dead.

He stared out into the storm, watching the rain and waves rage around the island that had once been the seat of the Targaryen dynasty in Westeros, before Aegon the Conqueror looked west and wanted. He was praying a ship might survive those terrible waves.

Viserys was asleep now, and Daenerys was being cared for by a wet nurse and Dragonstone's Maester. Rhaella had had a long, unfortunate history of stillborns and birth-defected children. It was a price the Targaryen's paid for the centuries of inbreeding to keep their Valyrian magic strong, but even by their standards, the late Queen had lost more than her fair share.

He had to take the children far away from Westeros if they were to have the slightest chance of survival. Braavos would do for now. If they had to move, they would move. He had little doubt assassins would follow them one day, but if they laid low, perhaps…perhaps he could get Viserys and Daenerys to the point where they were old enough to survive on their own.

He stood up and left to the storage rooms. They would need to have supplies enough to get them to Braavos, and they had to be ready to leave at a moment's notice.

It was their only chance.

Years passed.

Dany was four years old when she dreamed for the first time.

She stood in an unfamiliar place, in an unfamiliar land. It was so white—whiter than anything she was used to seeing in Braavos. She was standing in…snow? She thought it was snow. She'd never seen it before, but Ser Willem had told her and her big brother about it.

She stood barefoot in snow, in her favorite yellow dress and was not cold.

Dany looked around and spotted another person not far away, standing between her and a large, black cave. She approached the other child—a boy?—and tapped his shoulder. He jumped and spun around.

He was close to her age. Or maybe he was her age. She couldn't tell. His eyes were a dark grey, so dark they were nearly black, and his hair was sable. He wore clothing meant for cold weather and didn't seem bothered by the snow, either.

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Dany frowned, puzzled. The boy tried to mirror her and also found himself voiceless.

They heard a deep rumble from the cave and turned with wide eyes.

Piercing violet eyes stared at them from within the dark. A creature started to emerge.

She woke up.

Little Dany stared at the ceiling of their home in Braavos, the night still black around her, and wondered.

She was back again, he thought.

Jon tilted his head at the strange little girl. She had to be about as old as him, and she kept showing up in his dreams. Not all the time—these odd dreams of his only took place perhaps once every few months, but they lingered in his mind and were impossible to forget.

She was unlike anyone he'd seen in Winterfell, with long silver hair and bright purple eyes. Her skin was pale, a milky white, and at times she looked like she was something more than human. It was hard to put into words. She often wore strange dresses, and she stood in the snow with nothing to cover her bare feet.

The five year-old Jon Snow thought that was dumb of her, but she never complained about the cold. Not that either of them could actually say anything here.

That was another thing—neither of them could talk. It was bizarre.

They heard the familiar sound of the creature in the cave and both of them looked from each other to the entrance. It got a little further out of the cave every time they dreamed, and he wondered what it was.

This time, it managed to get its snout out of the shadows before the dream ended. His last memory in the dream was of those startling purple eyes—just like the girl's—staring at him.

"Maybe it's a Dragon Dream."

Dany blinked at her older brother. "A Dragon Dream?"

Viserys nodded eagerly. "They are special dreams only Targaryens can have! Most of the time, they involve dragons, obviously. They are prophetic dreams."

"What's pro-fee-tic?"

"Prophetic, little Princess," Ser Willem corrected from the table, passing her a bowl of soup. She smiled and accepted the food happily. "It means they foretell the future. Targaryens have been having Dragon Dreams for generations."

"Oh," she sipped at her soup and smiled at the thought of the solemn boy and the strange creature in the cave. Was that a dragon?

"Or it could be just a regular dream," Viserys shrugged. "I'm more likely to have Dragon Dreams, I think. I'll be King one day, after all."

"I think it's a Dragon Dream," little Dany decided.

Viserys smirked, humoring her, as Ser Willem chuckled. "Your dreams are whatever you wish them to be, Princess Daenerys."

The next time he dreamed of her, she marched up to him and tried her hardest to talk.

It was kind of funny—seeing her mouth work and yet hear nothing come out. She frowned, nose scrunched up in a pout, and kept trying.

The girl managed to work herself up into a near-tantrum with frustration, Jon couldn't stop his silent laughter.

Until it wasn't silent.

"—op laughing, you—!"

They stopped and stared at each other, eyes wide. His giggles disappeared. The rumble from the cave sounded curious, but they didn't even look towards it this time.

Slowly, her lips curved into a huge grin. "I talked! I—"

The dream ended.

Jon woke up and frowned at the sudden end to the dream. "Fuck."

He'd heard his father say that word before. He'd tried to be quiet about it, which meant Jon probably wasn't meant to hear it. He'd heard the guards say words like that too, but they clammed up around him and Robb.

Despite his frustration, the child grinned. She had talked. He had laughed.

Maybe next time…

"My name is Jon."

She leaned towards him curiously. "I've never heard a name like that before."

The girl grinned and moved to stand in front of him. "I'm Daenerys."

"Dae—what?"

Dany pouted. "Daenerys."

Jon frowned. "Dane…air-iss?"

She rolled her eyes. "Just call me Dany."

"Dany," he tried. He smiled a little. "I like that. Dany."

Dany grinned. They heard the growl, deeper and deeper as time passed them by, and both children turned to the cave.

The creature's head fully emerged this time. They saw white scales, the same shade as the snow around them, and piercing purple eyes like Dany's. Like her brother's.

"I wonder if it's a dragon?" Dany tilted her head thoughtfully.

"A dragon?"

"Yes!"

Jon stared at the creature, who only blinked at them.

"A dragon."

The dream ended.

Dany hated it when her Dragon Dreams ended. Viserys told her nowadays that they probably weren't really Dragon Dreams, but she didn't care. She'd call them what she wanted.

"Jon," she whispered in the night, smiling. "Jon and the dragon."

Another year passed.

Dany was crying when Jon found himself in their shared dreams again.

"What's wrong?" Jon asked, panicking. He had no idea how to deal with crying girls!

"Ser Willem died! He's gone!" Dany wailed. She ran to him and he didn't know what to do besides hug her. "The—the servants took all our money! They kicked us out!"

Jon froze, eyes wide. What was he supposed to do? What could he say?

He was just a child. Both of them were.

The dragon's head left the cave and it didn't growl this time. It crooned sorrowfully.

Jon did what little he could to comfort her before he woke up.

That next morning, Jon made his way to his father's office. He managed to avoid Lady Stark's eyes on the short walk there. She didn't like him, and he didn't understand why.

He opened the door and peeked inside. His father was alone, but he looked up when Jon peered around the door, cocking his head. "Jon, is something wrong?"

"I had a question," he muttered.

Ned smiled at the boy and stood up from his seat, walking around to let the child into his office. He closed it behind them and crouched in front of Jon, playfully tousling his hair to make him giggle.

"What is it?"

Jon, in all his seven year-old wisdom, got straight to the point. "There's a girl."

Ned raised an eyebrow. This was not a conversation he'd been expecting for some years, yet. "Is there?"

"Her name is Dany," Jon frowned. "Um…Dane-erys. I'm not good at it yet."

He blinked when Ned Stark's face went deathly pale. "Daenerys."

"That's it!"

"You met this girl?"

"I see her in dreams sometimes," he admitted bashfully. "We talk."

Ned took a deep breath and Jon frowned again. Did he say something wrong?

"What do you talk about?"

"Just stuff," he shrugged. "We don't get to talk for long. I think maybe the dragon kicks us out."

"Dragon."

"Dany thinks it's a dragon. It's big and white."

Ned was staring at him as if Jon had grown an extra head.

"What?"

"Have you told anyone else about these…dreams?"

"Nuh-uh," he shook his head. "It's my secret."

"And you think they are real?"

"Maybe. They're strange."

His father pursed his lips for several seconds. "Let's keep your dreams a secret, alright? Just between us."

"And Dany!"

"And Dany, yes. Now, what did you want to ask me about her?"

"Um," Jon fidgeted in place. "She got kicked out of her house. She said servants stole all the money she and her brother had."

"I don't think there's anything we can do, Jon. We don't know where she is now."

He was visibly disappointed. "We can't help her?"

"Not right now," Ned murmured. "Perhaps in the future, if we find out where she is. Perhaps then."

Jon nodded. Ned put his hands on the boy's shoulders. "Jon, keep these dreams of yours a secret. I mean it. Speak to no one about Dany and the dragon. Do you understand?"

"I understand," Jon repeated.

"Good lad," his father smiled at him, then lightly patted his back. "Now—off with you. You'll be late for your lessons with Robb."

Ned stared out the window of his office, mind numb.

Months had passed since Jon had told him of the dreams he'd been having. Of Daenerys Targaryen and the dragon he knew was living beyond the Wall.

He'd received information from King's Landing, which was sent to all the Lords of the Seven Kingdoms, regarding the status of the Targaryen dragonspawn King Robert was trying to hunt down.

The guardian of the now ten-and-four years old Prince Viserys and six year-old Princess Daenerys Targaryen, Ser Willem Derry, had died from an illness. The children's money had been reportedly stolen by servants, and they were now wandering the streets of Braavos as beggars.

Robert was sure the end of the hunt was near.

Ned felt frozen. His nephew's dreams weren't just dreams.

Jon—Aegon—had been sharing dreams with Daenerys for years now. They were connected somehow, them and the dragon. How was that possible? Was it Valyrian magic? Gods, what other explanation was there? Was the magic of their forebears so thick in their veins that they could connect to each other from different continents?

Trepidation formed a pit in his belly. If Jon was right, the dragon beyond the Wall was alive. Years had passed…how big was it now?

He needed to speak with Aemon and Benjen. As well as—

"You asked for me, Ned?"

Ned jerked out of his thoughts and looked to the door, where his wife stood. Catelyn looked at him curiously; her husband was rarely caught off-guard as such.

He needed to do this. Catelyn didn't like Jon because she thought he was Ned's bastard. He'd decided to keep quiet for so long to make sure word of Jon's status as his illegitimate offspring had spread and died down to a largely uninteresting topic.

But now—now Westeros had quieted some. Now he could afford to trust someone else with the biggest secret House Stark had ever kept. And hopefully, allow Jon to feel the motherly love he'd never known in his short life, even if they'd have to keep it quiet to avoid suspicion. Catelyn suddenly warming to his bastard son would invite questions if they didn't keep up the ruse to some degree. 

"Close the door, love," he murmured. She did as he asked and came to sit in front of Ned's desk. He pursed his lips.

"I've kept a secret from you, Cat."

She frowned. "What sort of secret?"

"Jon."

Cat's expression hardened with distaste. "What about the—"

"He's not mine," Ned confessed softly.

She stared at him. "But you claimed him as yours."

"To keep him safe. To keep a promise I made."

Catelyn's eyes were wide now. Ned walked around the desk and knelt before her, taking his wife's hands. "I need you to swear to me with all that you are that you will never speak to another soul of what I'm about to tell you."

She searched his face for some moments, before slowly nodding. "I swear it."

Ned looked down, wondering how to say it. In the end, the Stark honesty did it for him.

"Lyanna didn't die of a fever. She died giving birth."

Silence filled the solar.

He didn't look at her. Cat's voice was weak—he could hear her shock and horror.

"His father…was…"

"He married Lyanna," Ned whispered. Cat made a strangled sound in her throat. "She named the babe Aegon."

"Ned—"

"You promised," he begged her.

"I won't speak of it," Cat reassured him, lifting her hands to his face. She forced him to look at her, and he could see the fear and disbelief in her eyes. "But Ned…that child is the heir to the Iron Throne."

"Aye," Eddard Stark swallowed harshly. "Him and his dragon."

She was speechless. Ned took another much-needed deep breath and told her everything.

It was nostalgic; Ned meeting Benjen, Mormont, and Aemon in the office of the Lord-Commander.

All of them had aged and weathered a fair bit over the past seven years. Aemon was completely blind now. It saddened him that the old Maester—the eldest dragon—would never set eyes on the last hope of his House.

"Have you seen her lately?" Ned asked quietly.

"My last glimpse of her was two months ago," Benjen reported. "Just got a quick look. She blends in well with the snow and takes off whenever I get too close. Her territory is huge. I have no idea exactly how far it stretches, but something that big has to eat a lot."

"How big is she?"

"Bigger than the largest cave bears we have."

"She's growing slowly in the cold," Aemon murmured. "She should be much larger by now."

"That might work out better," Benjen pointed out. "If she gets as huge as you say Balerion the Black Dread did, she'll be too big to hide unless she flies much farther north."

"Hmm," Aemon nodded.

"Keep up your work," Ned told them, dipping his head gratefully. "Aemon, if I could speak to you in confidence?"

They left then for the Maester's residence, with Ned guiding the blind Targaryen back to his chambers.

Once they were settled and comfortable, Ned got to the point.

"Jon has been dreaming of the dragon—and Daenerys Targaryen, who is in Braavos."

"The blood of my House flows strongly in them," Aemon breathed. "Dragon Dreams at their age…"

"He told me Daenerys and Viserys were exiled from the house they were living at when their guardian died. They're living on the streets now. Jon told me this months before any word of such a thing reached Westeros."

Aemon looked saddened by the news that the children were lost and alone so far away, but they could do nothing. "The magic of Old Valyria might be as powerful in Daenerys as it is in little Jon."

"What does it mean?" Ned pleaded.

"I cannot say. Dragon Dreams are…difficult to understand. Prophetic in nature. Perhaps they're meant to meet one day."

"Robert is convinced he'll have Dany and her brother dead soon."

Aemon's face hardened. "I pray he is wrong."

Ned nodded. For all that Aerys and Rhaegar had wronged his House, his family, he had never desired the deaths of innocent children. But Robert was obsessed with destroying all traces of the dragonspawn.

His reckless hatred for Rhaegar's family had not been sated when he killed the Targaryen Prince.

"I cannot help them now," he told Aemon. "But one day, maybe…maybe Jon will be able to do what I can't. I need to know when you think he should come here to reclaim the dragon."

At ten-and-two years old, Jon had no idea why his father had decided to take him to Castle Black and not Robb. He suspected it was because he was a bastard. Maybe he'd be expected to join the Watch, to honor his father.

Lady Stark had told him otherwise, but wouldn't explain everything. She just said he was going to see a member of his family he'd never met. That he would be staying there for some time, and that he would be able to visit Winterfell now and again. But he had to learn important things at Castle Black right now.

Lady Stark was kind. Jon vaguely remembered that she'd been a lot colder when he was only half his current age, but she'd warmed up to him over time. She was never open about it, but she offered him quiet kindnesses here and there when no one was looking. 

He certainly wouldn't complain.

He'd never stopped having dreams of Dany and the dragon. Jon had secretly always feared dreaming one night to find one of them missing, or even both.

He knew nothing about where the dragon was, and Dany had been living on the streets with her brother, who was growing ever-more…bitter. Unhinged. Jon didn't want Viserys anywhere near her, but he could do nothing.

Braavos was on the other side of the world. If Dany was actually real, he had no way to reach her.

He hoped she was real. She was becoming more and more beautiful as the years passed them. Bright-eyed, small, slender, fair, and perfect. No other girl he'd seen even came close.

Theon had poked fun at him once when he, Jon, and Robb were talking about girls. He'd asked why Jon never seemed interested in them, and the boy had only shrugged.

"They aren't that pretty."

Not like Dany.

Theon had suggested he was attracted to boys, and they got into a scuffle that Robb joined for the fun of it. Lady Stark had been exasperated to see the three of them in the courtyard, giggling and covered in mud.

It was worth it.

When he arrived at Castle Black, Ned introduced Jon to a few of the men, including the Lord-Commander Mormont, a great bear of a man with a large smile and a gruff voice.

Eventually, he was herded to the Maester's residence.

Jon felt a little uneasy at first, meeting that old man with sightless eyes and white hair. But he quickly realized that the Maester's eyes were…purple. Sightless, but they were the same shade of amethyst as…as…

"Who are you?" Jon asked curiously.

The old man laughed—a rough, weathered sound, but pleasant nonetheless. "My father was Maekar, the First of his Name. My older brother, Aerion, died before his time, and the crown passed to my younger brother Aegon when I refused the throne. Aegon was succeeded by his son, Jaehaerys, and the crown soon passed to his son, Aerys, who they called the Mad King."

Jon felt his blood rush with excitement. "You're a Targaryen?"

"I am Aemon, young man," the Maester chuckled, reaching towards him with friendly hands. Jon guided his own hands to the old man, who held them with a firm grip as they shook. "Lord Stark?"

"I thought it only right we tell him together," Ned said quietly.

Jon blinked at his father. "Tell me what?"

"Aerys had three children," Aemon told Jon. He walked over to his table and sat down with Jon's help. The boy and his father sat across from him. "The first was Prince Rhaegar, his eldest son. The second was Prince Viserys, his younger son. The third was Princess Daenerys, his only daughter, who is called Daenerys Stormborn for the terrible storm she was born into."

Jon's eyes widened. "Dany's—Dany is real?"

"She is!" Aemon chuckled. "Of Aerys' three children, only Rhaegar became a father before his death. He had a daughter, Rhaenys, and a son, Aegon, who were killed during the Rebellion twelve years ago. His third child, another son, he also named Aegon."

Jon frowned. "He gave his sons the same name? Why?"

"No one can say. Rhaegar is dead, as are both of his wives and two of his children. Only one—the third child, the youngest boy—yet lives."

"What happened to him?"

Aemon's mouth rose into a loving smile. "He sits before me."

Jon stared at him.

"…Me?"

"You dream of Daenerys Targaryen and a dragon," his…father? Ned watched Jon carefully. "It is not coincidence."

"I'm…what?"

"You, young man, are Prince Aegon Targaryen," Aemon murmured.

Jon looked up at Ned, eyes wide. "But I thought—"

Ned held a hand up, and his eyes were a little misty. Jon had never seen him look so sad. "Your mother was my sister, Jon. Lyanna Stark. I promised her I would protect you. That I would keep you safe. I had to hide what you truly were. If someone found out the truth of you, Robert would have hunted you down and destroyed you, along with the rest of our family."

Jon paled and swallowed, his nearly black eyes large. "Then...you're my uncle?"

"I am," Ned smiled. "And I could not be more proud of you. You are so much like your mother. I never knew Rhaegar personally, but you took after Lyanna more than I thought was possible."

The boy looked back at Aemon. "We're family?"

"We are, my boy," Aemon reached for his hands blindly, and Jon—Aegon—took them and squeezed with the ancient Targaryen. "You and I. Daenerys and Viserys. We are the last Targaryens in the world.

"And you are the last Targaryen bound to a dragon."

Jon grew still. "The dragon I keep dreaming about with Dany? That's real too?"

"She was born with you," Ned told him. "As Lyanna gave birth to you, the dragon egg hatched in the flames of the hearth near her. It was…Old Valyrian magic. I don't understand fully what happened back then. But the dragon bonded herself to you."

"Where is she?"

"Beyond the Wall. She could not stay here—it was not safe. Lyanna made me promise to keep you and your dragon protected. She said you would need the dragon one day. We've done the best we could for her, and so far she has survived."

Jon was quiet for a few minutes. "What am I supposed to do with her?"

"That is…really up to you. You cannot bring her back to Winterfell. Perhaps you can stay here at times to go out and meet her, but it is a dangerous road to reach her home. If you wish it, you could learn to ride her. But if you'd rather not, you could attempt to sever your bond with her and send her away. As I said, it's up to you."

The boy frowned. "I think I need to meet her first."

The older men let him think for a while longer. "What about Dany?"

Ned sighed. "Daenerys is…far away. We have no means to help her situation, wherever she is, but I understand that her and Viserys have recently taking up residence in Pentos. For now, at least, they aren't living on the streets anymore."

"Are they safe?"

"For the moment."

"But the King is hunting them."

Ned studied his nephew carefully. "You can't help them right now."

Jon pursed his lips. "If I trained the dragon…could I find a way?"

"That depends," Aemon piped up. "What do you envision to happen when you find Daenerys and Viserys? What will you do afterwards?"

"I would…find somewhere safe for them to live?"

"And you? If word travels of your true nature, King Robert will hunt you as well."

"I'll find a place for all of us to live, then."

"Would you try to reclaim the Iron Throne?"

Jon frowned. "I don't want to fight a war. I don't really want to be King, either."

"Viserys has been told all his life that he should be King. He will do anything to re-establish his family's place in King's Landing."

"Well…well, stuff that, then."

Ned snorted. Aemon chuckled.

"There are no easy decisions, and in any case, you need not make them yet," Ned patted Jon's shoulder. "But for now…for now, I think it's time you met the dragon that hatched with you. For you."

"And then we can think about how to help Dany?"

"Hah! Always about the girl, isn't it?" Aemon laughed.

Jon blushed and Ned tousled his hair, making the boy scowl a little.

"Perhaps we can think about how to help Daenerys, yes."

Dany found herself in the frozen woods again and spotted Jon, grinning at the sight of the solemn-faced boy. She ran over and hugged him, as had become something of a custom between them since they only dreamed of each other infrequently.

"Missed you," she breathed.

"Missed you, too," Jon's voice was muffled in her shoulder.

They released each other and Jon looked towards the cave. The dragon had yet to emerge, but they could hear it shifting.

"I'm going to meet her soon," Jon said.

Dany blinked. "Who? The dragon?"

"Yes. My father—sorry, uncle Ned told me about her earlier today," his smile was huge. "Dany—Dany, I'm not a bastard. I'm like you."

"What do you mean?"

"My real name," he licked his lips nervously. "Is Aegon Targaryen."

Dany's violet eyes grew large. "You're Rhaegar's son?"

"Aye. Uncle Ned hid me away after Robert's Rebellion, I guess. He named me his bastard so no one would suspect anything."

She didn't even think on the fact that he was calling Eddard Stark "uncle" and just absorbed the fact that she and Viserys weren't alone, that—that they had family still alive in the world. It brought her to tears.

Jon panicked when she cried. "What? What's wrong? Are you unhappy?"

"No," Dany hugged him again, more tightly and fiercely. "I'm very happy. Happier than you can imagine."

Jon—Aegon—held her there until the dragon rumbled, and they both looked up.

The white dragon's head and neck had fully emerged from the cave, piercing eyes fixed on them. Jon let Dany go and walked closer to it. The creature watched him curiously.

"I'm coming to see you soon," he whispered. "Very soon."

Amethyst eyes gleamed. The dragon snorted.

The dream came to an end.

Dany woke with tears in her eyes and a huge smile on her face.

Jon, she thought joyfully. Aegon.

She would not tell Viserys. He had long-since grown tired of hearing of her "Dragon Dreams" and dismissed them as foolishness on her part.

Jon had taught her some new words to call Viserys that made her laugh, even if she never called her brother by them out loud.

Vulgarity was fun.

Dany could see the light of morning peeking over the city, but she curled in her bed beneath the sheets and snuggled into her pillow, closing her eyes and hoping to dream a little more of the dark-haired Targaryen boy and the white dragon.

Jon thought he knew what cold was. He had no idea.

Uncle Benjen was leading him through the wilderness beyond the Wall. They had a long path they had to take, slightly to the west and farther north. The dragon was at least a week's travel away from Castle Black, if she wasn't hunting abroad at the moment. That would complicate things.

Not even the Wildlings strayed close to her territory, Uncle Benjen had said. For all the conflict the Night's Watch had with their northern neighbors, all of them—save Benjen, in secret of course—stayed away from the territory of a beast that slaughtered all intruders.

Benjen had found evidence of a few such incidents. They'd left him pale and shaking.

The dragon was not a gentle creature. How could she be, growing up in one of the most hostile places known to man?

"Remind me again why we're taking this…boy into the wild?"

Jon frowned at their other companion.

Ser Alliser Thorne, a knight of the Watch, had been sent by Lord-Commander Mormont to escort them to the dragon. Though Thorne had no idea what they were doing, he'd been given no choice but to go with them.

He wasn't a kind man from what Jon had seen. He was hard and bitter and cold.

He was also a Targaryen Loyalist.

Mormont had said as much. "Thorne is a harsh man, and he's been a pain in my ass for years now. But he's lived a hard life. When the Targaryens fell to Robert's Rebellion, he was given a choice by Tywin Lannister: take the Black, or face execution.

"If he sees you for what you are, and sees that House Targaryen isn't as dead as he thought, I can think of no other man who would be better suited to guard your journey. For all of his roughness, Thorne is a skilled fighter."

Jon didn't like him, but he knew that Thorne had an old, deep wound from losing to the rebels more than a decade ago. The fall of House Targaryen had apparently dealt a lot of damage to his own House.

Had he seen his family at all since then? Jon doubted it.

The Night's Watch was a lifetime commitment, after all.

Uncle Benjen glanced at Thorne. "We're escorting the boy to…an old friend. It's well away from Wildling territory. We should be safe enough."

"There's no such thing as safe out here, you dumb cunt," Thorne snapped.

There was a new word for Jon.

"Watch your mouth around the kid, you—"

It seemed he would be getting lessons in vulgarity today.

They came upon the cave as the light fell.

Jon grew excited the moment he saw the gaping mouth of the mountain and for a moment, he half-expected to see Dany in one of her dresses, barefoot and uncaring of the cold.

But the wind was freezing worse than he'd ever felt before, and Dany was not here with her sweet smiles and gleaming eyes.

Thorne looked downright murderous. "You want us to stay in there? What, so a bear can maul us?"

Jon leapt down from his horse and strode towards the cave. Thorne swore and dismounted, storming after him. "Stop, you stupid little—"

A deep growl echoed from the cave, and shook the ground. Thorne froze. Benjen froze. The horses whinnied nervously.

Jon kept going and stopped only a few meters away from the cave itself.

He stared into the darkness.

Thud.

"What the fuck," Thorne breathed. "What the fuck did you bring us to, Stark?"

Benjen didn't answer.

Thud.

Jon saw the gleaming amethysts high above him, approaching from the depths of the cave. They shifted from side to side, as weight was transferred from one foot to the other. He heard a loud puff of air from large nostrils, the sound of sharp claws scraping against frozen stone.

Thud.

He saw her.

The white dragon from his dreams loomed out of the shadows, her every breath exhaling steam. She rumbled deeply as she stepped forth on the talons of her wing-joints, and her back feet seemed to shake the earth with every heavy impact. She towered over him; staring down at Jon from twenty feet up.

The dragon stopped before him and observed in silence for a few seconds.

Then she reared up on her legs, came down with a shuddering impact, and bellowed in his face.

Her teeth flashed like swords in the night and her titanic roar nearly deafened Jon. He fought the urge to cover his ears and hide from the massive noise, which silenced the forest for miles and miles.

When she stopped, she closed her great jaws and observed him again.

He knew her. He had always known her. He was not afraid.

Her eyes gleamed with something like approval.

Jon took off one of his gloves and lifted his hand towards the dragon. She lowered her snout, still watching him sharply. There was a moment where she considered him, then pressed her nose to his hand.

She was warm. In this bitterly cold place, Jon didn't know something could be as warm as she was. The dragon crooned, a low sound as she twisted her head to meet his gaze with one of her huge, purple eyes.

"I missed you," he whispered, lips rising into a large smile. The dragon only blinked in response.

Her gaze went past him and observed the men behind Jon. He turned to look at them, still keeping his hand on the dragon.

Benjen was pale even in the darkness, holding onto the horses' reigns to keep them from bolting at the sight of the huge predator. Ser Alliser Thorne stared at Jon and the dragon, and put the pieces together.

There was only one group of people in Westeros—one House—who had ever tamed dragons.

And as he looked upon that great white dragon and the small, dark-haired child, the dishonored knight fell to his knees and bowed his head.

"Your Grace."

Chapter Text

Chapter Two: Kill the Boy

The campfire was quiet.

Jon was leaning back against the massive skull of the white dragon, who had warmed to him as if she were meeting an old friend for the first time in years. Which, technically, she was. He felt a kinship with her he couldn't understand. When he pressed his hand to her scales or met her eyes, it was as though they shared the same thoughts.

Brother. Sister. Rider. Dragon.

She blinked at him slowly and he heard her body shift slightly behind him. Her eye slowly closed, though she spared a moment to study Benjen Stark and Alliser Thorne before she allowed herself to sleep.

Thorne had barely taken his eyes off of the boy since he realized the truth of his lineage.

"I'm sorry for bringing you out here without telling you what we'd be doing first," Jon said softly.

"It is no trouble, Your Grace."

He frowned. "I'm not a King."

"You are the Head of your House, and you are a Prince. You are the rightful heir to the Iron Throne."

"I don't know if I even want to be King," Jon confessed. "There's only four of my House left. Aemon is old and has taken the Black, and I've no idea if Viserys and Daenerys will survive across the sea."

Thorne pursed his lips. Benjen studied the man warily. "It's not worth risking him in a war. He might very well be the last sane male of House Targaryen. We've gotten reports that Viserys is getting more and more unstable. He might have the madness of his father."

The knight scowled at that. "What about his sister?"

"Daenerys is fine," the boy answered softly.

"…How did you escape, Your Grace? They told us the Mountain—"

"Elia Martell wasn't my mother. My father married Lyanna Stark in secret. They named me Aegon, just like my half-brother."

Thorne's inhaled sharply. "I wondered why the wolves of all people took you in."

"We would hardly leave an innocent babe to die, Stark or otherwise," Benjen retorted. "Robert would've killed him if he knew the boy was Rhaegar's child."

"Mm. Still, I think it would be wiser if you posed as Princess Elia's son, Your Grace. As her Aegon Targaryen. If anyone unsavory hears the name 'Lyanna Stark' attached to you, they're going to put two-and-two together very quickly."

"Wouldn't they know, anyways?" Benjen queried. "The Lannisters presented the bodies to Robert in the throne room."

A murderous look came over Alliser's face. "You could still get away with it. The Mountain smashed in Aegon's face. His features were unrecognizable. You could say the boy was switched with another babe when the Lannisters sacked King's Landing, and the dragon would erase any further questions on the matter."

Jon shuddered at the mention of his half-brother's terrible fate, but he thought Thorne's idea was clever. "It's worth a try. I don't want House Stark to suffer because of me."

Benjen nodded, but he spared his nephew a gentle smile. "Come hell or high water, we'll always protect you, Jon."

"Your Grace," Thorne corrected him.

"Just Jon, Ser Alliser," the boy smiled dryly. "You can hardly go around Castle Black treating me like a Prince. Someone will take notice. You should get used to it."

"…Very well…Jon."

Thorne seemed uncomfortable, and now he looked back at the dragon sleeping behind the boy. "What happens now that you've claimed it?"

"I need to learn how to ride her. And fight with her, I suppose," Jon glanced at the dragon, who didn't react in the slightest to his movement. "I need to learn about my House."

"That's why Lord Stark sent you to Castle Black, then. For Aemon to teach you about the Targaryens and to train with the dragon?"

"I'm here to train with the Night's Watch, too," Jon said. "Father—uncle Ned—gods, I'm still not used to that. He's been teaching Robb, Theon, and I how to use a sword, but I still need a lot of practice."

"The Lord-Commander was hoping you'd be willing to teach him, Thorne," Benjen added.

"I wondered what that smug smile on his damned face was about," Thorne grumbled, but he didn't seem upset. "I'd be honored to teach you, Your—Jon."

"I appreciate it," Jon said gratefully. "But that's for when we get back to Castle Black. I think I need to be here for at least a few days with her."

"I suppose that means I'll be stuck camping with the wolf."

Benjen rolled his eyes, and Jon grinned.

Morning came and Jon took a deep breath.

He had no idea how to go about this. The dragon was awake, dozing on her belly as she basked in the sunlight. He watched as she yawned, exposing razor-sharp teeth that could skewer a bear.

Jon looked up and down the huge body. How best to get onto her back…

"I should've asked Aemon how to do this before we left," Jon muttered.

"It's not exactly like jumping a horse, is it?" Benjen agreed uncertainly.

Thorne's eyes were narrowed in thought as he considered the great creature. "You'll want to sit at the base of the neck, I think. Or just behind it. You might try climbing up the wing or shoulder."

He didn't have any better ideas. Jon walked to the dragon, who watched curiously. He lay a hand on her nose and she snorted, blasting him with hot air. He smiled despite himself.

Jon let his hand slide past her face to her neck, and started walking further down towards her body. She twisted her head, watching him with a rumble in her throat.

He set a hand on her massive shoulder and looked at the height he'd have to conquer to actually get on her back. His short stature wasn't doing him any favors in this instance.

Jon turned to the wing. It was low to the ground right now. Assuming he didn't slip trying to get up there, it was probably his best shot.

He put his hands on the massive limb and jumped up onto it, pausing to get a leg over her wing. The dragon seemed bemused by his attempt.

Jon slowly climbed up the wing, managing not to slip. He reached her back, and she suddenly shifted beneath him. With a gasp, he was bucked up onto the hard, armored scales, and scrambled to right himself. She was still moving, rising to her full height on the claws of her wings.

He saw a space at the end of two stormy-grey frills that ran the length of her neck, and scooted up the back until he fit neatly between them. The dragon's head was tilted slightly to look back at him, and then she crouched.

His heart lurched. "Shit!"

Jon reached forward in a rush to grab two of the thick spines on her neck just as the dragon lunged upwards, her wings pounding down to get airborne. He hugged his knees tightly to her as best he could and leaned close over her back.

This was nothing like riding a horse. Her body rose and fell in powerful waves with each thunderous flap of her wings. Before he knew it, they were hundreds of feet in the air. She loosed a roar, still climbing, and he gasped at the icy wind blasting his face.

She banked left and he almost slipped off her back—his heart was pounding and he held tight onto her spines because his life fucking depended on it. By the time she leveled out, he was breathless.

The dragon dove, folding her wings close to her sides for a few moments as they went into a near free-fall. She roared again, and Jon saw the ground coming up a lot faster than he was entirely happy about. He pulled on the flexible spines and she responded.

She curved back up, shaking her neck and trilling, as if she were enjoying herself. She flapped her wings and regained some altitude, soaring hundreds of feet above the snowy trees. Jon finally had a few seconds to catch his breath from the incredible rush of adrenaline. His lips rose into a giddy, laughing smile.

He looked around from over her shoulders at the ground beneath them and spotted the huge cave she called home. Jon tried to shift her spines in that direction, and he grinned when she turned.

So that was how he could guide her.

They spent over an hour in the air as he tried to understand how to direct the dragon. To master Dragon Riding would take a lot more time and practice, but it felt right.

Eventually, he decided he'd done enough, and guided her to land—roughly—by the cave.

Jon managed to remove himself from her back and stumbled down the wing, almost falling face-first into the snow when he finally touched the ground with a gasp. His legs and abdominal muscles were burning. Clutching onto her the way he had exercised different muscles than those he used for horse riding.

"Ow," he winced, but he kept his footing and slowly trudged to the campfire—or what had been the campfire, before his dragon's takeoff (and landing) buried it beneath the snow.

Benjen and Thorne waited until he was out of the dragon's reach before they approached. She didn't seem concerned, though, and had turned to nibble at a loose scale or something on her wing.

"Next time, warn us when you're going to—to take off like that!" Benjen exclaimed. "I thought you were just going to try mounting her!"

"Her idea, not mine," he said, still wincing. "I learned a lot, though. I figured out how to guide her. It's going to take getting used to, I think. Gods, my legs…"

"Could've been worse," Thorne said. "You could've fallen off."

"Point," Benjen admitted.

The dragon watched them for a moment, seemingly amused, and then launched herself back into the air, kicking up a frozen whirlwind that doused them in snow.

"Where's she going?" Benjen demanded.

"She's probably hungry," Jon said. "We just flew around a lot. I need to sit down, I think."

"We started working on lunch," Thorne said. "If she didn't just bury it in snow."

Jon snorted. He hoped not.

When Daenerys saw Jon in her dreams that night, she immediately found herself breathless.

The dragon was no longer in the cave, but sitting outside for all to see her splendor. Her head was lifted high, but as the girl watched, the dragon lowered her snout to meet Jon's hand. The violet eyes focused on her Rider for a moment before looking up at Dany herself.

Jon turned and grinned at Dany. His face said it all.

"You did it," she breathed. A huge smile filled her face and she ran over to him. Jon took only three steps towards her before she leapt and hugged him, and they laughed like giddy children. "Jon! You did it!"

The dragon rumbled, curling up as if to take a nap. Sleeping in her sleep, Dany thought, still laughing.

Jon pulled back just the slightest, still holding her arms at the elbows. "I flew with her."

"What was it like? Tell me everything!"

He told her all he could. Neither of them stopped grinning like fools all the while.

She was pretty sure he could've talked forever, but Jon stopped at some point and looked at her more closely. "Enough about me. I've only been on the one flight. I've got a lot to learn. How are you?"

Dany pursed her lips. "I'm doing alright. Viserys and I are staying with a Magister in Pentos right now. He's rich. Viserys loves it, but I know this merchant is probably only in it for the prestige. 'Housing the last Targaryens' for his own gain, I'm sure."

Jon frowned. "How is Viserys?"

"He's…" Dany hesitated and Jon's frown deepened.

"Did he hurt you?"

"No," she said quietly. "But sometimes I think he wants to. I try to just keep quiet around him. If I say anything, it's—it's getting hard for me to not set him off. Talking seems to irritate him if we aren't talking about his upcoming 'great conquest' of Westeros."

"Conquest? With what army?"

"He says there are thousands of loyalists in Westeros who will rise up when we return to strike down the Usurper," Dany said quietly. "And he's going to try and build his own army here in Pentos to help."

She looked up at him, and she couldn't tell if she wanted to be right or wrong. "Is he right? Will the people support us?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "Westeros is…quiet right now. But I know many of the big Targaryen Loyalists—the soldiers at least—were either exiled or executed."

She deflated a little at the undoubtedly honest answer. "Ser Jorah tried explaining something like that to Viserys before, but he wouldn't hear of it."

"Jorah?"

"A knight from Westeros who came to support us. He's nice," Dany said. Jon was still frowning. "What?"

"I feel like I've heard that name before," he mused, tilting his head. "Jorah...I'll ask about it before we meet next time."

Her lips quirked up. "Already planning to wake up?"

"I wouldn't if we had a choice," he admitted quietly. One of his hands tentatively rose to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, and Dany felt herself flush pleasantly. "I like talking to you."

"When did you become so charming?" She teased. Jon rolled his eyes, but he was smiling.

She loved that smile.

The dragon shifted behind him and they both stilled.

"Time?" Dany asked quietly.

"Aye," Jon sighed. It wasn't fair. They only dreamt of each other every few moons, and their time was so limited. "Stay safe."

"I will," she answered softly. "You too."

The dream ended and she still had so much left to say.

Dany opened her eyes and frowned, squinting against the morning light. She had to agree with Jon, she decided as she turned on her side and hid away from the sun in her pillow. She wanted to stay in her dreams, too.

Magister Illyrio's servants would probably be here soon to prepare her for a bath, Dany knew. She couldn't deny that she enjoyed the pampering, but it still felt…false. Veiled. Not done out of kindness, but for his own gain.

With a sigh, she resigned herself to another day. Maybe she'd be able to avoid Viserys outside of mealtimes.

Unfortunately, her brother was there as soon as she got out of the bath.

The servants moved aside for him at his request, and Dany watched him approach her warily. She was standing outside of the water, having just been dried, but still bare before him. She did not dare question him—Viserys wasn't the kind older brother she'd loved in her younger days at Braavos.

The way his eyes raked over her bare form made her repress a shudder. There was nothing kind about it. Although Daenerys knew the Targaryens often married brother and sister to keep the Valyrian magic in their blood strong and pure, the thought of being wedded to Viserys was nothing short of terrifying.

If she said "no" she was certain he would not care.

"You're growing again," he purred, lifting a hand. His fingers did not touch her, but they ghosted so close between her small breasts and down her belly that she had to physically resist the urge to step away from him. He wouldn't like that.

No matter how much it scared her.

His hand rose to hold her chin and study her face, as if searching for imperfections. He found none, from the satisfied look on his face. He took her bottom lip between his thumb and index finger, stroking the soft flesh.

"You're not quite ready, I think," he mused to himself. "Maybe another year or two. They won't be able to resist you then."

Her skin crawled and Dany fought tears until Viserys had turned and left the room. As soon as the door closed behind him, she threw a hand over her mouth and stifled a sob.

She wanted Jon. She wanted to hide in his arms and stay in the snowy woods with his dragon, where she felt safe. Loved.

Because here, Daenerys Targaryen might as well have been livestock.

Jon spent a month at Castle Black after his first week with the dragon.

He'd learned a lot. Although he'd only been able to spend a week with her before they had to return to the other side of the Wall, it had been a valuable experience. He'd gotten a lot better at flying her already—even though his muscles killed him afterwards—and when he returned to the citadel, Maester Aemon started teaching him High Valyrian as well as the history of House Targaryen.

He was shite at the language, but the history was interesting. It was the history of his father's House. Of his House.

Aemon was blind, but his mind was as sharp as it had ever been. He recounted the stories of Old Valyria to Jon. He told him of House Targaryen's origins, their earliest days in the Freehold, to how the Dragonlords left the ancient, advanced civilization of their ancestors before the Doom claimed everything.

What followed was the settlement of Dragonstone and how the Targaryens had shaped the island fortress to their liking with old magic and secrets lost to time. Before long, they inevitably arrived at Jon's namesake.

Aegon the Conqueror, as well as his sister-wives; Queen Visenya and Queen Rhaenys.

That brought up a question Jon had been wondering for a while now. "Why do Targaryens marry into their family like that? I thought it was wrong."

"In the eyes of some, yes," Aemon admitted. "But it was the way of the Old Valyrian gods the Dragonlords followed for countless generations, and it kept the magic in our veins strong. It certainly has its problems—inbreeding often does. But not always. It was the price we paid for our bond with the dragons. And though it is not as common elsewhere in Westeros, we are hardly the only House to have done so, though certainly more than any other. Does it bother you?"

Jon thought about that for a few minutes in silence. "I don't know."

"You are young. You have time enough to think about it more. It's not as if you have a sister to marry, in any case. It's more than likely you'll marry someone outside of our family."

Not a sister, no. He didn't think he'd like that, anyways. But…but Dany…

He shook his head. That was a question for him to think on as he got older, just like the question regarding if he had any interest in taking the Iron Throne back for his House. Right now, he just…wanted to learn.

But he did think that if he ever had a Dragon Dream one night, and Dany told him she was to be married, it would upset him. The thought formed a hot pit in his belly he didn't like.

He took a deep breath and focused as Aemon continued to tell him about the Targaryens, paying close attention.

He needed to learn.

Jon found himself sparring often with Ser Alliser on many days at Castle Black, when Aemon was otherwise occupied or needed some rest from their lessons. It was a sobering reminder that Jon's only family in Westeros was—well, ancient. For the love of the Old Gods, Aemon was a hundred years of age. Most people were lucky if they lived half that long.

He watched Thorne spar with the recruits first thing in the morning, beating them into shape—literally, most of the time. Many of them didn't know how to handle a sword at all, and he realized how lucky he was that uncle Ned had taught Jon something of swordplay already with Robb.

Thorne was a brutal teacher for the recruits, but when they were sent off for their other duties, and Jon met with the knight afterwards for his own training, there was a clear difference.

When they sparred, Thorne wasn't as brutal a fighter against Jon. He focused more on technique, and rarely did more than tap Jon with the sword when he scored a blow.

The recruits probably wouldn't complain so much if Thorne taught them like that, but Jon had a problem with it.

"Stop going easy on me," he frowned at the knight after Thorne scored another light blow on the boy's shoulder with the weighted sparring sword.

Thorne raised an eyebrow. "I'm not."

"You're barely touching me."

"You're just a boy. I could hurt you."

"If I have to fight someone for real, they're not going to care if they hurt me," Jon argued, readying his sword in his grip. "You can't go easy on me. I won't learn."

Thorne's eyes narrowed slightly as he considered that. Jon had the funniest feeling the knight was conflicted about hitting him because he knew the boy was a Targaryen Prince. "Very well."

He saw more steel in the knight's eyes and they began their fight in earnest.

If Alliser was holding back now, he wasn't holding back very much. He was more skilled than Jon, but also a lot stronger for his greater size. It didn't take much time at all for the first few rounds for Jon to be disarmed. He had to play to his strengths—his smaller size and greater agility.

On the fifth round, he managed to "kill" Alliser after ducking under a swing that would have struck his head and jabbing his sword towards the man's heart. But he slipped, and his practice blade struck the stomach instead.

They backed off. Thorne nodded. "Well done."

"I lost my footing. It was luck."

"It won't be next time."

No, it wouldn't be. Jon readied himself again and focused for their next bout.

He didn't return to Winterfell very often.

Jon had spent much of the past year learning at Castle Black, sometimes going beyond the Wall with Benjen and Thorne—usually once every couple of moons—to train with his dragon.

She was an independent creature who didn't mind the long absences; she'd been on her own for a much longer time, and Jon thought she actually preferred the infrequent visits. It gave her time to adjust to his presence, and he to hers.

Flying was the best thing he'd ever experienced in his life.

But he had to admit, when he dismounted his horse along with uncle Ned and spotted the little blur of dark hair and boundless energy that was Arya Stark racing towards him, Jon knew he'd missed Winterfell.

Arya leapt into his arms and he laughed, picking up her tiny shape and spinning her around as she giggled wildly. "Hello again, little wolf."

She grinned up at him, mischievous and full of vigor. Arya apparently resembled Jon's mother, Lyanna, a great deal—or so Ned had told him. She was a wonderful girl.

Lady Stark looked a little exasperated by Arya's rush to greet her cousin—though all the Stark children still thought Jon was Ned's bastard son, and thus their brother—but she only nodded at Jon, smiling. Robb already looked like he had a bad joke or two ready to annoy him with. Bran was vibrating with eager energy next to the youngest wolf, Rickon. Sansa…well, she was Sansa. The Tully blood was thick in her veins for how much she took after Catelyn.

She didn't like Jon, much like her mother hadn't before Catelyn learned the truth of Jon's parentage. Sansa had been taught that bastards, born out of wedlock, were not good people to associate with. Cravens borne of sin and bound to commit yet more. Ever the would-be aristocratic lady, she behaved as she was expected to.

Even if he had still believed himself to be a bastard, Jon thought it was all nonsense, but who was he to argue against their old customs? He couldn't snap his fingers and change their minds, no matter how much he wished to.

But Sansa's passive-aggressive dislike for Jon was easily ignored since the rest of his cousins loved him.

"So, are you going to regale us with all your adventures at the Night's Watch? Did you fight any Wildlings?" Robb prompted, grinning. "Maybe kill a White Walker? Are you Lord-Commander yet?"

"I flew on a dragon," Jon responded dryly.

Robb snorted and Arya giggled with Bran. Sansa shook her head, rolling her eyes. Jon smirked; they thought he was being sarcastic.

If they only knew…

"Come, children," Catelyn ushered them into the hall. "Your father and Jon have had a long ride. It's time for supper."

Jon met with uncle Ned and aunt Catelyn in the solar the next morning.

"So," Ned crossed his arms and smiled at the boy. "Now that we're alone, how have you been, Jon?"

"I flew on my dragon," he said, but he didn't contain his awe this time. "She's amazing, uncle Ned. We were so high up, the trees looked like little twigs covered in snow…"

He told Ned and Cat a lot of what he'd been learning, as well as a bit more about the dragon. He also spoke of his Dragon Dreams, and that prompted a frown from his uncle.

"So the reports we've been getting from King's Landing are true," he murmured. "Viserys is getting more…erratic."

"You think the madness is showing in him?" Catelyn asked anxiously, glancing from Ned to her nephew.

"I don't know," Jon bit his lip. "They had to sell Queen Rhaella's crown for food a while back. Ever since then, Viserys has just been getting more and more bitter. Dany's scared of him. She doesn't say it, but I can see it on her face when I talk to her about it."

"Jon," Ned sighed when his nephew looked up at him pleadingly.

"You're sure there's nothing we can do? That I can do?" Jon all but begged. "I don't want Viserys to hurt her."

"If we brought Daenerys Targaryen back to Westeros, Robert would kill her immediately and our family would be executed for treason," Ned told him seriously, silencing the desperate boy. "I would if I could, Jon. She's just a child, no older than you, and innocent of her father's crimes. But the King won't see it that way. It's dangerous enough that we've hidden you here in plain sight. Your features are Stark enough for us to get away with it, but there's no hiding Daenerys' Valyrian traits."

He was crestfallen, but knew that his uncle was right. Jon certainly didn't want to be the reason Dany was killed, nor the Starks.

"How do you keep hearing about them, anyways?" Jon asked, frowning suddenly.

"The King's spymaster, Varys," Ned looked grim. "Otherwise known as The Spider. He's been keeping tabs on the Targaryen siblings for a very long time now. They are apparently very slippery—even his agents have had trouble trying to keep up with them. Viserys and Daenerys appear to always be one step ahead of them, whether they realize it or not. He knows they're in Pentos, but not exactly where. I'm sure if they stay in the same place for too long that Robert will try to send assassins after them."

Jon stiffened and Ned offered him an apologetic look. "You can't stop them right now, Jon. You only just reclaimed your dragon, and you still have a lot to learn. If you were to try and stop an assassination, chances are you would die."

"I know it is difficult, nephew," Catelyn told him gently. She walked around the desk from Ned's side to place a hand on the boy's shoulder, squeezing him reassuringly. "Being helpless is never a good feeling."

"I don't want her to die."

"She has survived thus far," Ned encouraged him. "I think she'll be able to survive at least a little while longer."

Jon whistled quietly to get his dragon's attention. She was resting close to the campfire by the cave now that night had fallen, but wasn't sleeping yet.

She opened a great eye and studied him curiously. Jon pointed at the fire and murmured softly. "Dracarys."

It meant "dragonfire" in High Valyrian. Although the campfire certainly was not dragonfire, he was hoping she might get the idea.

She tilted her head and watched as Jon blew on the flames, causing them to flicker and twist. He repeated himself. "Dracarys."

Something in her eyes clicked and the dragon lifted her head towards the sky. Opening her maw, Jon gasped as a cone of pure white fire was poured out into the sky. The conflagration briefly blinded him and scorched the air with heat.

"Seven hells!" Thorne gasped.

Benjen's mouth gaped as the fire dimmed and faded. The dragon closed her mouth and rumbled, looking to Jon. He smiled at her hugely and her purple eyes flashed with satisfaction. "Good girl."

She snorted at the praise and shifted her head closer to him so he could lay a hand on her snout. Jon thought about the fire she'd just breathed; Aemon had told him that each dragon's flame usually reflected the color of their scales.

Unsurprisingly, much of her dragonfire was white—the color of the hottest fires there were.

Snowy white fire…

"Frostfyre," Jon murmured. She blinked at him, and he liked the way it sounded when he spoke it aloud. "Your name is Frostfyre."

Frostfyre growled and closed her eyes, intending to sleep. Jon's smile widened and he stroked her scales absently as the dragon rested.

Daenerys heard the name the next time he saw her, nearly two months later, and loved it.

"Frostfyre," she said, looking at the dragon. Frostfyre had learned her name quickly and looked over at the girl, who was now ten-and-three years of age. "It suits her."

Jon smiled and nodded. "I taught her the command to breathe fire, too. Dracarys."

Dany grinned. "Your High Valyrian still has a Northern accent."

"I do live in the North," he reminded her.

"It sounds funny."

"Funny, huh?" Jon lunged at her, wrapping his arms around Dany and tickling her mercilessly. "How's this for funny!"

Dany shrieked with laughter and squirmed to escape, but Jon kept tickling her until she was breathless. Eventually, she just went limp and he almost dropped her, causing them both to yelp. Jon managed to keep her on her feet and they both laughed some more, flushed and smiling so largely that their cheeks hurt.

She wrapped her arms around him and set her head on his shoulder, breathing deep. "I miss these."

"What? Hugs?"

"Mmhm. Viserys used to hug me. When I was little, I could crawl into bed with him if I got scared and he'd keep me safe. He doesn't anymore."

Jon had no answer but to hold her tight, for as long as their Dragon Dream allowed.

When she awoke in Pentos again, trying to linger on the phantom sensation of her friend's arms around her for just a little bit longer, Dany was quickly brought into her usual routine for the day at the Magister's manor.

It took the servants some time to get her ready, as it always did. When she was bathed and dressed, she went to the hall to break her fast.

On the way there, she spotted Illyrio speaking to Viserys quietly in a hallway. Both of them were smiling, and Viserys seemed incredibly interested in whatever the merchant were saying. She didn't linger and kept walking to the hall, but the sight made her uneasy.

Her brother was up to something, and she didn't like that.

"Faster, boy!" Thorne yelled.

Panic set Jon's heart racing as he urged his horse to pick up the pace. He glanced over his shoulder and swore at the sight of the Wildlings chasing them.

There were eight of them in all; aggressive, large men covered in furs and scars, brandishing beaten-up iron weapons. They yelled and jeered, running the three "Crows" down on their own horses. An archer took a shot from his mount and Jon watched the arrow miss Benjen by mere inches.

They would never reach the cave in time, but they were close.

He reached for the bond he'd felt more and more prominently between himself and Frostfyre and tugged, trying to alert her however he could.

The chase kept up. One of the Wildlings managed to get on Jon's flank and slashed at him, but he unsheathed his sword and parried, then cut at the horse's shoulder. The animal screamed and stumbled, bucking its rider from its back. Jon heard the crunch of bone as the man was hurled headfirst into a thick tree and knew he was dead.

The loss of their companion infuriated the Wildlings. One of them threw a dagger at Jon and although the blade's tip was mostly deflected by the thick furs he wore, he felt it dig into the back of his shoulder and gasped as the breath was knocked out of him.

Benjen shouted, Alliser pulled on the reins of his horse to face the Wildlings head-on, and—

A roar of fury drowned them all out.

The horses screamed as Frostfyre descended, taking down several trees with her huge claws as her purple eyes blazed. The dragon was enraged, locking onto the Wildlings with reckless intensity.

She had come for her Rider. His enemies would die.

She snarled and lunged forward, biting into one of the savages—and his horse—before twisting and throwing them aside in a mess of bloody chunks. Jon watched, eyes wide, as her massive tail slammed into two more horses and shattered their bodies. Their riders screamed.

The remaining four Wildlings were turning to flee for their lives, but Jon steeled himself and shouted.

"Dracarys!"

Frostfyre hissed and a river of white dragonfire poured out of her jaws. The Wildlings and their horses were immediately incinerated, as well as the snow, and charred the frozen ground beneath them black with heat. The trees in the path of her fury ignited, the frozen water coating them superheated in an instant, and left to burn.

The dragon sneered at the scorched remains of their enemies and sniffed for any signs of survivors, but found none. Her gaze immediately turned to Jon, curling her lip when she scented the magic of his Valyrian blood in the air.

Benjen carefully approached Jon on his horse, terribly aware of how Frostfyre was watching him with death in her eyes, and slowly reached for his nephew's uninjured shoulder. "The knife?"

"It's not bad," he replied tightly. "It's—it's stuck, but it doesn't hurt that much…I don't think it's very deep."

"It'll hurt more when the shock wears off. Better get it sorted out sooner than later," Thorne told them. "If it gets infected out here, we're fucked."

"We'll do it now," Jon said, carefully getting off of his horse. He held a hand to Frostfyre, who leaned forward to make contact. Benjen had to take the reins of Jon's horse to keep it from fleeing altogether.

"Thank you," he told the dragon. Frostfyre searched his face for several moments, then rumbled, satisfied that he'd live. She turned aside and shouldered her way through a few trees to reach the torched bodies of the horses and Wildlings she'd killed.

Jon looked away as he sat down with Benjen to get the knife out of his back, but he heard the way her jaws crunched through flesh and bone while the dragon ate her fill.

"In all my years, I never imagined I'd see something like that," Thorne muttered as he watched Frostfyre eat. He turned to the gap in the canopy where the dragon had first arrived and shook his head slowly. "For fuck's sake, she just plowed through the trees."

"She came for me," Jon replied. "She knew I was in danger."

"And we are very grateful she did," Benjen gently grasped the handle of the knife still stuck in Jon's shoulder. "This is going to hurt, but please don't give your dragon a reason to eat me."

Jon lifted his hand to his mouth, bit onto his sleeve, and readied himself.

Months passed.

Jon's lessons and training were coming along well. He was mostly fluent now in High Valyrian thanks to Aemon's patience, and he knew much of House Targaryen. His spars with Ser Alliser had also shown marked improvement. When they first started, Jon constantly went to bed with bruises from the knight's intense training.

Now Jon wasn't the only one going to bed sore every night.

He had gotten the hang of flying on Frostfyre during their time together, and the dragon was deeply attuned to him. She had grown somewhat, but Aemon had told him her growth would probably remain slow until she was in a warmer climate with food more readily available. Jon knew from flying with her on several hunts that she traveled immense distances to eat her fill when she needed to.

He was currently back in Winterfell. Jon had just turned ten-and-four and they were having a small celebration with his family. The life of the gathering was, of course, Robb and Arya—although Bran was quickly becoming a troublemaker in his own right—with Catelyn ensuring they didn't get into too much mischief.

Rickon was still young and only curious about everything. Ned was pleased for his nephew, and Sansa was…well, Sansa.

But he'd only been back a day when a letter arrived from King's Landing.

"The King is coming here?" Robb asked, startled.

"Aye," Ned's brow was furrowed deeply. "He did not say why, only that it was urgent. His family will be joining him; the Queen and their three children. I imagine they'll bring along the Kingsguard and several other knights, as well."

Jon pursed his lips. "When?"

"Soon. The letter was sent after they left. It might be a few weeks, but they're on the way already."

"…I should probably go back to Castle Black before they get here, right?"

"Why?" Bran asked innocently.

"Because he's a bastard," Sansa told her brother.

"Sansa," Ned sighed.

"It's the truth!"

Jon nudged Bran conspiratorially. "I just want to go exploring again. I'm not big on all this nobility nonsense."

His cousin giggled and the tension dissipated somewhat. Jon didn't care what Sansa said; if she wanted to be hurtful, she could be hurtful.

He knew the truth, and her words didn't so much as touch him.

Something was wrong.

Jon knew it the second he found himself in his Dragon Dreams and saw Daenerys. She looked like her soul had been crushed out of her.

"Dany?"

She looked up at him with big, tearful eyes. She'd grown a little in this last year, becoming more and more a woman, but still very much so a girl. Dany swallowed tightly.

"Viserys is selling me to a Dothraki barbarian."

The breath left Jon's lungs in a rush. His body went numb. "No."

"I saw him today," she wrapped her arms around herself. Around her slender body and the pale blue dress she wore tonight, with her fair skin, small breasts, silver hair, and wet eyes. "He's a savage. He didn't even say anything, he just—he looked at me like I was a piece of meat."

Jon was there in an instant, holding her, and the dam broke as Daenerys sobbed into his shoulder. He heard Frostfyre rumbling behind him, confused and concerned.

"What the hell is Viserys thinking?"

"He's—" Dany took a choking breath. "He thinks marrying me to that horse lord will convince him to join our forces when we come for the Iron Throne."

"He can't be that stupid," Jon said, horror in his voice. "Even if he gave them a thousand women, they won't listen to him!"

"He doesn't care! He so sure he's right because he's the 'rightful King!' He's—Jon, I tried to tell him no and—"

Her breath hitched and he stiffened. "What did he do?"

Dany sobbed again. Jon pulled back enough to look at her face. She said nothing, but the fear and sadness in her eyes told him everything.

"He  hurt  you."

"He struck me," she cried. "When I tried to tell him I didn't want the arrangement, he hit me and said it wasn't my place to argue. That it was necessary for him to take the Iron Throne. If I argue with him again, he told me I would 'wake the dragon' and…and I don't want to find out what that means."

Oh, a dragon was indeed waking. It was hot and enraged in Jon's belly, roaring and screaming like nothing he'd ever felt before.

For the first time in his life, he wanted to kill. Badly.

And Dany's fire was dying slowly. If Viserys sold her to this barbarian, Jon feared it might be snuffed out completely.

"When?" He demanded. "Where is it happening?"

"A month," she sniffed. "Not far from Pentos. The Khal is sending word out to other tribes, I think. To be there for our—our wedding. That's what Illyrio said."

Jon's mind raced. Pentos was far away to the southeast, across the Narrow Sea. He wouldn't be able to ride to Castle Black in time to get to Frostfyre, but he'd called for his dragon before, and she had answered. He looked briefly over his shoulder at her, and Frostfyre's gaze was understanding.

When he called, she would fly. And she could fly faster than any horse could possibly dream of running.

"I'm coming to get you."

Her eyes flew up to stare at him and Jon set his jaw. "Fuck whatever your brother wants. I'm coming on Frostfyre. He'll stop this or I'll make him."

"Jon, they will kill you! The Dothraki are too dangerous! The way everyone talks about them—they say only a fool would fight the Dothraki on an open field! All of their lands are open fields!"

"Open fields burn."

Dany fell silent and stared at him, wide-eyed. Jon pulled her forward and pressed his lips against the crown of her head. "I'm coming to get you if I have to set every damned field on fire."

"Jon," her voice cracked.

"I'm coming," he kissed the top of her head again. "Hold on, Dany."

He left in the dead of night.

Jon wrote a letter quickly in candlelight, packed a small bag of his belongings, and slipped out of Winterfell in the dark. The guards let him out without a complaint. His voice was short, clipped, and brokered no argument.

Whatever they saw in the shadows on his face, they did not question him.

He rode hard, stopping only when he needed to and tugging on his bond with Frostfyre all the while, using it to guide her. Two days passed before he saw her in the distance.

He dismounted and set the horse loose with a slap on its rump, running towards his dragon as she descended. Frostfyre had never been south of the Wall, but she could find him anywhere with the bond between them. She landed with a heavy thud and Jon scrambled up her wing faster than he ever had before. Everything he carried was in the simple bag he now shouldered, tied around his chest to keep him from losing it.

He settled between her frills at the base of her neck, grasped her spines, and spoke.

"Sōves!"

Fly!

Frostfyre growled and took two steps forward before throwing herself back into the air with great thunderclaps of her wings. Jon guided her southeast, towards the Narrow Sea, and Pentos beyond.

She seemed to already know where they were going. Maybe it was because Dany shared Dragon Dreams with him and the dragon, but Frostfyre fixed her route like an arrow and didn't adjust her course much at all.

They would be seen before too long, he knew. He didn't care. The time for secrets was over.

Jon Snow needed to stay in the North. He had to be Aegon Targaryen from now on.

It was reckless and probably the single most foolish thing he'd done in his life, but he would not stand by while Dany was sold to be a bed-slave to a Dothraki barbarian.

He was coming for her. Viserys could either give her up, or pay in fire and blood.

Aegon tucked himself closer to Frostfyre's back, urging her on. The dragon loosed a roar to announce her return to the southern lands.

Chapter Text

Chapter Three: Aegon

Aegon sat by the fire he'd started and stared at the map he'd taken before he left Winterfell.

Even though Frostfyre seemed to know where she was going already—whether she was guided by the Valyrian magic in Daenerys' blood, the Dragon Dreams, or some sixth sense he didn't understand, Aegon wanted to plot their course so he had an idea of what to expect. Where they should land to rest on the way to Pentos.

They had already flown past White Harbor and were currently resting on the edge of the Bite, well east of Old Castle. Aegon wanted to steer clear of human habitation as much as possible, ideally. He knew it was likely someone had at least glimpsed Frostfyre by now, despite how high they flew, but there was no need to expose them more than was necessary.

The waves of the Bite lapped at the rocky shores not far away. Frostfyre was elsewhere at the moment; hunting most likely.

He heard the familiar sound of heavy wingbeats and looked up. Speak of the devil.

His dragon landed close by, shaking herself with a low growl. He blinked when he realized she had something clenched in her claws—a deer. Or what was left of one, anyway. He could only see the upper half of the body; the rest was missing. Probably in his dragon's gut by now.

She seemed to be rather sated. Frostfyre sniffed the charred body, tore off one of the front legs, and turned away from the rest of the deer to curl up and rest.

Aegon bit his lip. He had kept his water supply full and had plenty to drink, but he hadn't eaten much in the last two days. He hadn't exactly been able to carry much on him.

He approached the deer's remains and looked at Frostfyre, whistling to get her attention. She watched him as he knelt to set a hand on the deer, but didn't look away from her. His eyes silently asked for permission.

She seemed to debate his unspoken question before snorting and turning away. She must've really eaten her fill. He was vaguely reminded of Sansa giving Bran whatever leftovers she didn't want, and the thought amused him.

Frostfyre was as close to a birth-sister as he'd ever have. Whatever Valyrian magic allowed her to hatch had seen to that.

Aegon pulled out his hunting knife and started to skin whatever fur was left on the deer. Frostfyre liked to make her meals nice and crispy—something Aemon had told him was common for dragons. They preferred to cook their prey before eating it.

Frostfyre seemed to like her meals a bit on the rare side, but that was just as well for Aegon. He didn't want to eat burnt meat.

He ate his fill and sighed in relief. He'd needed that.

Now he returned to the map to plot their course. From where they camped now, on the north shores of the Bite, he planned on flying south to the Fingers. They'd camp there tomorrow, then fly south through the Vale and past the Eyrie. His aunt Lysa lived there, but he had no intention of stopping by for a family visit.

After that, he wanted to make another stop southwest of Gulltown, again as remote as possible. They'd cross another stretch of water and head a bit east to camp on the edge of the Narrow Sea.

There, they would find the shortest crossing from Westeros to Essos. That would still be a long flight, but crossing the Bite would give them a rough idea of what to expect. Hopefully the weather would be kind.

Part of him briefly wished to fly further south to Dragonstone, which was directly across the Narrow Sea from Pentos, but that trip would be too long and would bring them closer to King's Landing than he was entirely comfortable with. Besides, Stannis Baratheon was the current Lord of Dragonstone, and he certainly would not be pleased if Aegon showed up out of nowhere.

No, Dragonstone would have to wait, if he ever visited the ancient, Westerosi home of his House in the future.

Once they reached Essos, he planned to give both himself and Frostfyre a brief respite. A day or two, perhaps, to recover their strength. By then, he'd still have about two weeks before Dany was due to marry the Dothraki Khal.

Perhaps within two days of that, they could be in Pentos.

Aegon knew what he had to do there. Just revealing himself with Frostfyre would immediately place him at the Head of House Targaryen. He would order Viserys to cancel the planned marriage for Daenerys to the Dothraki Khal, or he would force his uncle to do so.

What he didn't know was what he should do after he got Dany away from that mess. He'd had some time to think about it. It wasn't like there was much to do flying on Frostfyre besides thinking.

The most tempting option was simply to put Dany on Frostfyre's back and fly the hell away. But that was a child's solution, and he could not be a child anymore. He had to be a Dragon Rider.

He'd have to talk about it with them, but he knew they'd stayed in Pentos for too long. Dany had told him in some dreams about men who had tried to break into the manor—likely to murder her and Viserys—and been killed by the guards. The assassins weren't that skilled yet, but he did not want to chance that. Eventually, King Robert would get sick of the failures and buy an assassin who would succeed.

No, they needed to leave Pentos soon after his arrival. Aegon would have to plan that trip with Dany and Viserys, if his uncle was even open to the idea by the time he issued his new orders as Head of House Targaryen.

That was another concern. If Viserys refused to respect his authority as Head of the House, Aegon would be left with few options. He'd either be forced to cast Viserys out or execute him if his uncle's rage proved too extreme.

And he had little doubt Viserys' fury would be tremendous.

Aegon's mouth parted into a wide yawn. He was exhausted from the long days of flying and his body ached. He'd think on this more when they were soaring over the Bite. For now, he needed to sleep.

Ned Stark had his face buried in his hands. Stress roiled off of him in waves.

Jon had fled in the dead of night five days ago. He'd slipped a letter under the door to Ned and Catelyn's room, then snuck out of Winterfell with scarcely a sound.

He remembered the cold feeling in his gut when he recognized Jon's handwriting. Maybe he'd already known what he was about to read then, but he'd had to sit down on the bed with Cat before he opened it with shaky fingers.

He intends to sell her to a Dothraki Khal. I cannot let this happen. I do not know when I shall return. Give my love to my brothers and sisters.

Jon.

It had been short and vague, intended to mean little or nothing to all save those who understood what could cause Jon to leave in such a manner. Catelyn had taken his hand and squeezed it tightly as they both realized what had happened.

Jon had shared another Dragon Dream with Daenerys Targaryen and learned that Viserys was going to sell her to a barbarian. Why, neither of them knew for certain, but Ned could only assume the Mad King's last son wanted an army.

Now he was gone to try and stop the marriage.

"We might be able to catch up to him," Catelyn had urged.

"I'll send riders to Castle Black," Ned had already been thinking about who he could send with haste. "With any luck, they'll get to him before he gets to the Wall, even with that head start he's got."

He'd burned the letter. No one but he and Cat could know it had been written at all. It was too sensitive, even for how vague it was.

His riders had returned early this morning with Jon's horse, but not Jon himself. They'd found it roaming around about two days north of their home, and searching the area for any sign of the rider, they'd spotted a set of gigantic tracks belonging to a strange beast none of them recognized.

The men had apologized profusely, stating it was likely Ned's offspring was dead.

He knew better.

The dragon had come for him and now Jon was too far away for any horse to catch. For all Ned knew, he might have summoned it in the dream he shared with Daenerys. It had flown that vast distance over the Wall to his territory in just two days.

By now, Jon could be as far as the Vale. Even sending ravens out would be too slow. Nothing could fly as fast as that dragon.

Robert was still a few weeks away. Winterfell was preparing for his arrival, and Ned had quietly ordered his riders not to say anything about Jon's disappearance—simply that he'd left for Castle Black earlier than expected. He'd also ordered them to be silent of the giant tracks they'd seen. He would order a search party to investigate those soon, which he already knew would be fruitless.

But he had to keep up appearances. With any luck, the weather would erase most of them before anyone with a trained eye could make assumptions of the beast's true nature.

He'd told his children much the same, save the news of the beast. He'd told them Jon had left for the Wall a bit earlier than anticipated, on an urgent request from their uncle Benjen. All of them save Sansa were disappointed by the news, but accepted it readily enough.

He wished he could tell them the truth, but Catelyn was here to share the burden.

Even as he sat on the edge of their bed, knowing he should rest, she moved behind him on the furs to hold her husband close. "Have faith, Ned. He has a dragon protecting him."

"I know," he sighed. "But he's still so young, Cat. He's not ready to fight Dothraki."

She nodded and planted a soft kiss on his bare shoulder. Neither of them were in the mood for sex, but the intimacy was comforting regardless.

"We must focus on what we can do now, My Lord," she told him. "I will miss him, but I believe he will come back to us. He always has."

He twisted his head and they shared a kiss that was as much for their love as it was to calm the frayed nerves harrying them both. "Even so, I do not believe I will rest easy until I hear word of him alive and well."

"I do not believe I will, either," she admitted. "But I will comfort you as much as I am able, if you would do the same for me, My Lord."

Ned at last retreated into bed, pulling Cat up to the pillows with him. He dragged the furs over them and they curled up close together, taking comfort in the presence of their beloved while the absence of their nephew hung heavy over them.

All they could do now was hope.

Aegon was in trouble.

He had his sword already drawn, warily watching as a group of three men strode cautiously near him. Frostfyre was off hunting, but he was already pulling on their bond as urgently as possible.

He didn't know where they'd come from. They were halfway to their next main destination, currently camped in the mountains between the Eyrie and Old Anchor. Jon had been checking their course when he heard them coming, and by the time he was on his feet, they were already almost upon him.

"Who are you?" One of them demanded gruffly.

Aegon eyed the three of them. They were all armed. Mercenaries or bandits? He wasn't sure.

"That's close enough," he growled when they kept approaching. The men slowed, but kept inching closer. Aegon's eyes narrowed. "Stop."

"You're from the North," the man on the right said. "I recognize that accent."

"I have nothing of value for you to take," he snapped. "You are wasting your time."

"We'll be the judges of that. It's a pretty sword you've got there, boy."

Aegon had held the blade with the tip pointed downwards, but now he lifted it in a smooth motion and pointed it at the man who was starting to flank his left side. The man halted as Aegon glared at him dangerously. "Last warning. I have nothing to take and nothing to share. Be on your way or else."

"Or else what?" The man sneered, reaching up as if to swat the flat of the blade down.

It was the stupid move of a man believing he was staring down a frightened boy.

Aegon twisted in a flourish and his sword flashed, severing the man's hand. He screamed, clutching the stump now spurting blood, and the boy whipped towards the other two as they began to unsheathe their own weapons. He darted forward with a thrust, faster than they were expecting, and slashed the throat of another man. He dropped, clutching at the mortal wound.

The last got his sword out and Aegon engaged him, aggressively striking to drive the man against the rock wall behind him. Caught off-guard by the startling fury of the boy, his foe backed into the rock and trapped himself. Aegon smashed his guard open and drove his sword into the man's gut. He screamed in pain as the boy ripped his sword free, then grabbed his hunting knife and slit his throat.

He turned back to the last man, still clutching the stump of his wrist, and strode over to him. He was lying on his back, screaming, but before Aegon could put him out of his misery, a shadow fell over them.

Frostfyre landed hard, claws scraping against the rock, and eyed the screaming, bloodied man with disdain. She seemed disappointed there wasn't a fight to be had, but she loosed a blast of flame to silence him. Aegon winced, but at least he was dead now.

Her head lifted to regard him and she sniffed at the blood covering his furs—all belonging to the men he'd just slain. Aegon lifted a hand to her snout and shushed her.

"I'm fine, girl," he sighed. "But we should leave now."

She blinked at him and growled. Aegon took a few minutes to clean his sword of the blood on the cloaks of his dead enemies. He searched their belongings, but found nothing of great interest save some coin. He disliked the idea of stealing from dead men, but he would probably need the money. He took the coin, packed up his bag, and mounted Frostfyre.

They'd need to find a new place to camp for tonight. But for now, he didn't want to leave the bodies to rot. To be picked over by predators. For someone to find and wonder on their fate.

He pressed his lips as he looked at the corpses and steeled his heart for the distasteful task he needed to see through. Uncle Ned had taught him to be honorable. The Watch had taught him to survive.

"Dracarys."

Daenerys felt her heart torn between hope and despair.

The days after her Dragon Dream with Jon were some of the longest and most miserable of her life. She was being constantly reminded of her upcoming marriage to the Dothraki Khal, as merchants trickled in from around Pentos and other nearby towns to be a part of the celebration. Hoping to buy some favor from the barbarians, no doubt.

She stayed away from Viserys as much as physically possible. That wasn't hard, at least—he was always with Illyrio, planning things and discussing what it would take to ship the Dothraki to Westeros once their alliance was secure.

The only time he'd stopped to speak with her was one evening after dinner, perhaps a week after her last Dragon Dream with Jon.

Viserys had come to her chambers and taken her chin in his hands, studying her with a hunger that made her spine crawl. "It is a shame I won't have you for myself. I would ensure our bloodline stays pure and take you as my sister-wife, but the Iron Throne must come first. Perhaps the great battle to come will see your future husband dead. Should that be the case, rest easy sister, for I will bed you myself."

She'd cried herself to sleep that night. Viserys' proposition was even worse than the idea of being married to the Dothraki Khal. To be the whore-bride of a horse lord, then to be given to her brother for his own pleasure was a sickening thought.

Dany wanted to hope. She wanted to hope beyond hope that Jon was actually coming for her. Another part of her was terrified that all the dreams she'd had of him were just desperate fantasies her mind was creating to keep her going.

She had so little joy left in her life. Dany didn't think she could handle it if she found that Jon and Frostfyre were just…figments of her imagination.

And so on the nights between her last Dragon Dream and her upcoming wedding, Dany curled up beneath the sheets of her bed, hid in her pillow, and begged to any gods that existed.

Please, please, please help him find me.

She cried herself to sleep again.

Aegon looked east.

He was on Frostfyre's back in the early morning. They were on the edge of the Narrow Sea, just north of Dragonstone. Both of them were ready for the flight to come. The distance they had to cross was roughly the same as the Bite, if perhaps a bit longer.

It would be tiring, but they could not stop for a lengthy rest now. It had already been more than a week since Dany had told him what was to become of her. They still had some time, but staying in Westeros was too dangerous as it was. They needed to leave now.

It struck him as ironic. Hundreds of years ago and not far south of them, Aegon the Conqueror had looked west and seen the future. With Balerion the Black Dread, he had flown to Westeros in search of Seven Kingdoms to rule.

Generations later, a new Aegon Targaryen looked east with the dragon Frostfyre to save the last of his family.

He tucked himself close to Frostfyre's back and urged her to take the next great stretch of their journey.

"Sōves."

Frostfyre roared and launched herself into the sky. Beneath them, the Narrow Sea roiled. The weather had been clear so far, and Aegon could only hope it would remain so.

He was still getting used to the growing heat, but at least it was cool so high in the air. While he found the strength of the sun uncomfortable in his fur cloak and northerner's clothing, Frostfyre seemed to revel in it. The warmth of the south brought her energy she had lacked in the North, for all her great strength.

She had grown up in the cold and become tough. Hardened. In the heat, she was coming home, for dragons were fire breathed life, and the climate stoked the inferno within her blood. Gave her vitality beyond anything he'd seen in her before.

Frostfyre dove closer to the sea, her wings sending up a spray of water. With a trill, she blasted them upwards again. Aegon leaned into her motions as they flew with growing speed.

Westeros was behind them now. Essos lay ahead, and Pentos on its shores.

Daenerys lay ahead.

Frostfyre picked up the pace and Aegon grinned. Horses had been ruined for him from their first flight together. He loved flying.

A little less than two weeks before she was to be wed to the Dothraki Khal Drogo, Daenerys found herself breaking her fast in the morning with Magister Illyrio and Viserys. The servants bustled around them and close by, Ser Jorah stood guard.

She appreciated the knight's presence. Jorah was a source of solidarity for Dany, but he was never allowed to speak so long as Viserys was around. Sometimes, he told her stories of Westeros. She liked those.

"So, Princess Daenerys, I thought you might like an update on the proceedings of your upcoming wedding," Illyrio proclaimed.

The food turned to ashes in her mouth. She forced herself to nod and smile pleasantly, despite the sick feeling in her belly. "Of course, Magister."

"Splendid! So of course, a number of my partners will be attending to present you and your soon-to-be husband with gifts," the merchant told her. "It's looking to be quite the gathering. Most of our company will be Dothraki, it must be said. The Khal is bringing his whole khalesar along."

"I am pleased to hear it," she heard herself say, absent and withdrawn from the conversation as much as she could manage.

"I myself have a very special gift for you," Illyrio's eyes twinkled. "A treasure befitting a Targaryen."

That admittedly piqued her curiosity somewhat, but any questions regarding the special gift were suddenly left unspoken.

They heard something of a ruckus coming from outside. Viserys frowned and looked over his shoulder at the window, watching as guards and servants shifted around. Many of them looked confused or worried. "Is something happening?"

"Perhaps it's another one of my fellow merchants," Illyrio said, standing up. "I apologize for the interruption. I will eat with you later for—"

A servant suddenly ran into the room and fell to their knees, looking up at Illyrio. "Master! A beast is coming for the city!"

Illyrio's brow rose. "A beast?"

"Yes! They say it is huge!"

Jorah set his hand on his sword and looked at Viserys. "Perhaps we should see what all the commotion is about, Your Grace?"

"Yes," Viserys admittedly looked somewhat curious. "This event has drawn my interest. We will eat later. Have fresh food prepared for us by the time we return."

The servant looked all too happy to run off deeper into the manor, away from whatever was coming to Pentos.

They headed outside and the Magister summoned his personal guard, who surrounded them and escorted the group outside of the manor's grounds. Several more servants were running towards them, eyes wide and panicked.

"Stop!" Illyrio ordered them, frowning deeply. "What runs for us?"

"No! It flies!" A woman shrieked. "It FLIES—!"

Dany heard screams of panic in the distance and then a roar drowned them all out, shaking the land and sea and sky. Her head snapped upwards, eyes growing large, and the breath left her lungs.

She felt the moment when her heart stopped, then surged with hope anew.

From the far side of the city, a gigantic white dragon soared over Pentos, bellowing to announce its arrival. Its vast wings cast a huge shadow, which blotted out the sun as the creature flew directly above them. Every beat created a thunderclap of air and violet eyes pierced all beneath it.

The dragon shrieked again, and spat a lazy tongue of pure, white flame from its fanged maw through the sky. It flew over the city in a wide circle.

"Frostfyre," Dany breathed.

The dragon was real.

Illyrio made a very undignified scream beside her as Viserys grabbed Daenerys by the shoulders, almost thrashing her with his excitement.

"Do you see, Dany?!" Viserys exclaimed. "The dragons have returned for me! For the rightful King! They have come to give me their power!"

She only nodded absently. Disagreeing with Viserys on this matter would be very unwise.

They watched the dragon fly east, wheeling over a set of hills not far away. It seemed to be hovering there, and Viserys turned to Ser Jorah in a hurry. "Ready the horses! We must pursue it! I will claim the dragon as mine!"

Dany heard Jorah rush off to the stables, as well as several of Illyrio's servants as the merchant finally got his act together. Her eyes remained fixed on the dragon flying above the hills—Frostfyre was not going any further. She was waiting.

Jon, she thought with hope swelling in her heart, as she spun around and chased after Viserys.

They rode harder and faster than they ever had before, yet it still took them nearly half an hour to reach their quarry. The dragon was still airborne, circling that large hill to the east of Pentos.

Dany was riding with Ser Jorah. Ahead of her, Viserys rode at a frenzied pace to reach the great white predator. As they closed in, Frostfyre shrieked, prompting them to stop and dismount.

She flew down to meet them, flapping her huge, white wings until her feet hit the ground with a loud thud. They quickly tucked in so she could walk on the clawed joints and the beautiful head lifted high to regard them. Dany met the regal violets, the same shade as her own eyes, and saw the intelligence in them unlike any other animal.

Viserys practically threw himself from his horse despite Ser Jorah's shouted warnings and strode towards the dragon, eyes half-mad with joy and desire. "Great dragon! You have come for me! For your King—!"

Frostfyre's lip curled dangerously as he got closer, exposing huge fangs. She lunged forward in fast steps—faster than Dany would have thought possible—until she towered over Viserys and roared at him. It was a massive sound that made him stumble to a stop and stare, wide-eyed.

Jorah positioned himself between the creature and Dany, insisting she stay on his horse should she need to flee. He called out to Viserys cautiously. "Your Grace, it may be too wild to tame!"

"Silence!" Viserys shouted back. He slowed his approach, but her teeth, sharper than swords, still gleamed threateningly at him. "Come now…I am the blood of the dragon! Surely you sense it!"

"Aye, she senses it."

Viserys froze.

Dany's breath caught as a young man appeared on the dragon's back. The teenager's messy hair was a deep sable, almost black, and his eyes were such a dark grey that they reminded her of a moonless night. His skin was pale and a little red where she could see it. He bore clothing suited for a much colder climate than Pentos—furs and a black cloak, as well as gloves and boots of similar make.

There was a brooding set to his face; a certain quiet, and yet he was not timid. The dragon lowered herself to the ground to make dismounting easier for the boy, who carefully climbed down her great wing. Her eyes fixed on her Rider, and he lifted a hand to stroke her snout, gently pushing at the dragon's head so he could approach them.

When he stepped forth, his gaze flickered briefly from Viserys to Jorah, and then to Dany, where they fixed upon her for several moments. She felt as if she were being watched by one of the wolves she'd sometimes seen caged in the city, but this wolf prowled free.

And she felt no fear. She wanted to weep for joy, but kept her composure with deep breaths.

Jon.

Frostfyre watched him with the closest thing a dragon could give to love, and lifted her head back up to watch Illyrio's group reach them. She snorted a puff of air, growling when she decided the horses had come close enough. They didn't need any further warning.

"She senses your blood," the boy repeated. "But dragons only bond to one Rider at a time. Until I die, she will accept no one but me."

Dany glanced at Viserys, who seemed oddly unperturbed. In fact, her brother's smile returned to him. "Then you have come to commit yourself to my cause by sacrificing yourself, so the dragon will accept me? You will be honored forever as the one who helped House Targaryen most in our time of need—"

"I did not come here to die, uncle."

Viserys stilled and his mouth opened and closed wordlessly for a few moments. "Uncle?"

"It cannot be," Jorah breathed in front of her.

"My name is Aegon Targaryen. My father was Rhaegar Targaryen," the boy said. "And my dragon is Frostfyre."

"It cannot be!" Jorah repeated, frowning. "If the Prince had bonded to a dragon, the whole of King's Landing would have rejoiced. The dragon would have become public knowledge everywhere."

"My dragon's hatching was kept a secret. She was born after the Battle of the Trident."

The boy fell silent and the dragon crooned down at him. His lips rose into a small smile as he looked up at her, then turned back to his audience. His eyes kept flickering to Dany, and it seemed he wanted very badly to speak to her. She wished for the same.

Not yet, his eyes told her. She answered with the slightest of nods. Soon.

"We should make ourselves comfortable. 'Tis a long story I have to tell you."

It was hot in Pentos.

Aegon had already removed his dark cloak, which provided some relief. He still felt like he might melt, but he could hardly speak to his host without a shirt. That would not be a good first appearance.

He was trying very hard not to focus too much on Dany. He had that childish urge to walk over to her, take her hand, and bring her onto Frostfyre so they could fly off far and away, but he resisted that particular desire.

But there she was—silver of hair, violet of eyes, fair and perhaps more beautiful than he'd ever seen her in their Dragon Dreams of the winter woods.

By the time the Magister had a tent and comfortable seats brought out to them from his manor, it was nearly noon. Aegon had refused to go back to the city just yet, despite the man's assurances of their safety.

"I would like to discuss a few matters here and now," Aegon told them, projecting the authority he needed to make his position clear. "I do not trust easily. I would speak with you before I approach the city, to ensure you are not people who will slit my throat in the night."

He stared meaningfully at Viserys. His uncle had already asked the boy to die for him. He was far too hasty.

"Of course," he continued. "If you plan to kill me, it would be important for you to know that dragons are closely attuned to their Riders. Should harm befall me within your walls, she will react with her full wrath."

Frostfyre may not have understood all the words he spoke, but she understood his energy and intentions. She knew Aegon was firmly cementing the dominance of his position, and she spat a tongue of white-hot dragonfire directly into the air to compliment his threat.

He was satisfied by the wary—and fearful—looks they gave his dragon. They would not be stupid enough to risk Frostfyre's wrath. They understood that she would burn down the whole of Pentos and everyone in it if harm came to Aegon.

Good.

Little was said while Illyrio's servants brought all they needed to make themselves comfortable. Viserys was seemingly processing everything in complete silence, often looking from Aegon to Frostfyre. His eyes often lingered on the dragon with obvious hunger, and the boy did not like that.

Dany stood close to the horse and the knight who had escorted her here. He looked familiar, but Aegon could not quite place it.

When Illyrio's servants finally brought a tent, seating, and food out to them, Aegon had to hide his relief at the chance to sit down on something besides hard ground or the tough scales of Frostfyre's back. He settled onto an absurdly plush sitting pillow across from Viserys, Illyrio, and Dany, who sat on similar pillows. The knight stood behind the pair of Targaryens. Food was hurriedly brought out and served to them, along with wine.

Frostfyre watched them, curling up on the ground and shifting her head behind Aegon so she could stare into the tent. Her violet eyes pierced them all, but Aegon leaned back against her skull and rubbed at her scales absently. The dragon made a soft trill in response to his touch, but she did not look away from their host.

The knight seemed to recognize Aegon's clothing. "You've come from the North. From Westeros."

"Aye," Aegon said stiffly.

"How did you come to be here?"

"I received word that some of my House had yet survived," he answered. "Frostfyre was getting too big to hide, even in the far North. I felt the time was right to leave Westeros and seek out my last surviving kin."

Aegon had prepared this story as they flew to Pentos. He could not give away his true identity, could not risk House Stark. He'd taken Ser Alliser's suggestion from nearly two years ago to pose as Elia Martell's Aegon Targaryen, his half-brother whom had been murdered by the Lannisters.

"As for how I came to be here," Aegon stroked Frostfyre's scales and smiled. "I think the answer to that should be rather obvious, is it not?"

The knight nodded, and Aegon tilted his head. "You are also from the North. I recognize the look. Who are you?"

"This is Ser Jorah Mormont, nephew," Dany answered, speaking for the first time.

Jorah Mormont. The knight's features stood out to him now more than before. Younger than the Lord-Commander, but there was a clear relationship now that he was looking for it.

The delight he felt in hearing Dany speak outside of their dreams for the first time was poisoned by the identity of the knight. Aegon's eyes darkened as he regarded the man.

"Mormont," he repeated, his voice soft and lethal. "You wouldn't happen to be the Ser Jorah I heard tell of in Westeros? The one who was exiled for selling poachers into slavery?"

The knight stilled and Dany froze, eyes going wide. Frostfyre's gaze fixed on Mormont, matching the dangerous glare of her Rider even if she didn't know why he was angry with the man. It seemed like everyone had stopped breathing, for fear of inspiring the wrath of the dragon and her Rider.

"Aye," Jorah answered at last. "My greatest shame."

"My trust is already wearing thin," Aegon growled, still glaring at him. "I did not think you to keep this sort of company in your midst, uncle."

"Come now," Illyrio tried to settle the tense atmosphere. "We all have our sins, do we not? It need not make us into enemies. Ser Jorah has served your House honorably since he was employed to them, Prince Aegon."

"King," Aegon corrected, making the merchant blink. He needed to get this over with, even if he did not wish to do so. "I am the Crown Prince Rhaegar's heir, and thus I am the Head of House Targaryen, Magister. The rightful heir to the Iron Throne. You will refer to me as 'Your Grace' in the future."

Viserys bristled and Dany shot a nervous look at her brother. "You overstep your bounds, nephew. I am the heir!"

"No, I think not."

Viserys stood abruptly and Frostfyre snarled, baring her huge fangs and glaring at him. Aegon watched him unblinkingly, having not so much as flinched from the dragon's threat behind him.

"Do not challenge me, uncle," Aegon warned him while the man was frozen beneath Frostfyre's gaze. "I am forgiving, but my dragon is not."

Viserys looked ready to explode, but his eyes were fixed on the burning violets of the dragon behind Aegon, and he slowly sat down. His gaze fell to the ground and he breathed heavily. But he said nothing.

Submission.

Aegon watched him carefully for several more moments before looking up at Jorah Mormont. "I must confess, I am very tempted to pick up where Eddard Stark left off and execute you for your crimes. But I did not come here to shed blood. Daenerys, has he been good to our House?"

"Although he was not forthcoming with his past," she admitted stiffly, looking back at Jorah over her shoulder. "He has been kind and honorable for as long as I've known him."

Aegon studied Jorah for a few moments more. "I will not kill you. Not today."

The knight dipped his head uneasily. "Thank you, my...Your Grace."

Though Viserys stiffened at the title that was once his, he said nothing. Frostfyre's lip settled and the threatening air mostly dissipated. Aegon took a deep breath. He needed to settle his own anger, he knew. This was getting too intense.

"Forgive my short temper," he sighed, and his audience looked up at him, perhaps sensing the possibility of an olive branch. "I have flown from the most northern parts of Westeros all the way here to Pentos within the past two weeks. To say I am weary is…putting it lightly."

"It is understandable, Your Grace," Illyrio quickly seized on the chance to help the tension die. "That is an incredible distance to cover in so short a time."

He snorted. "It certainly is. I was even attacked while Frostfyre was hunting once."

"Were you injured?" Dany asked with worry in her eyes.

"No. The thieves were fools who thought me a helpless boy. I slew them," he answered. "I am also unaccustomed to the heat. I have lived in the far North for nearly all my life, after I was smuggled out of King's Landing as a babe. I am used to colder climates, and the heat has not been entirely kind to me."

"I will see to it that we find you clothing that is more comfortable for this climate, Your Grace," Illyrio promised, smiling at him. Aegon nodded gratefully.

"That would certainly be appreciated."

The Magister beamed and Aegon managed to smile in return. The air was finally starting to become relaxing.

"Now," he said. "My family has been apart for too many years. Viserys, Daenerys, I have longed to meet you both. I would share with you my story if you would share yours."

He tried to include his uncle. Viserys was already on a very short leash with Aegon, but he wanted to at least give him the benefit of the doubt. He had lived a difficult life, as had Dany, and he didn't want to be at odds with the man if he was willing to make some concessions.

Viserys didn't look eager, but he nodded. Dany just smiled, bright and happy, and Aegon felt himself settle down.

He knew much of their story as Viserys spoke, and Dany occasionally chimed in. That seemed to irritate her brother at times, but he didn't react aggressively towards her. Still, it was nice to hear what they'd been up to.

Until they got to the subject of Dany's marriage to the Dothraki Khal.

Her happiness seemed to die before his eyes and Aegon frowned. "Why are you selling her?"

"To gain the loyalty of the Dothraki. With the horse lords at my command, Westeros will fall all the more easily," Viserys told him, some light returning to his eyes at the idea of the conquest.

"They would be at my command, uncle," Aegon reminded him, causing the man to stiffen again. "And I fail to see how this would possibly convince them to follow you."

Viserys gestured to Daenerys. "The last Targaryen female is a priceless gift for the barbarians, nephew! Khal Drogo will be sure to follow me—us if we gift her to him!"

Dany was cringing further and further into herself, as if trying to hide from her brother. Aegon's eyes narrowed at her discomfort. "No, I think not."

"Your Grace—" Illyrio tried, but the boy shook his head, irritated.

"You could sell that Khal a thousand women and they would not follow us," Aegon told Viserys, who opened his mouth to protest. "The Dothraki do not obey foreigners, uncle. Their life is to raid and rape and pillage. You cannot seriously believe giving them your sister—just one woman—will be anywhere near enough to convince them to follow us across the sea, which they distrust deeply. All they understand is power. If you do not prove yourself to be more powerful than they are, they will never follow you."

"I have the Khal's word!"

"I would trust that Khal no farther than you could throw him. The horse lords accept concessions; if you do not keep giving them gifts, they will betray you. Is that not what your city does to discourage raids, Magister?"

"It is," Illyrio admitted. "But the promise of glorious battle is likely to sway the Khal."

"Likely? Not certain?" Aegon questioned sharply. The Magister hesitated before nodding slowly. "You would have me sell the last Targaryen Princess for a chance at an alliance? I disagree even further with this proposed marriage. No, I will not have Daenerys sold to be a whore-bride for a barbarian."

"The arrangement is already finalized!" Viserys protested.

"If we pull out of the marriage now, it is certain the city will suffer an attack, Your Grace," Illyrio agreed hurriedly.

"If that Khal is stupid enough to challenge a dragon on an open field, I will burn him, fields and all," he said flatly.

Illyrio pursed his lips. "Their arrows…"

Frostfyre snorted, mocking of the threat. Aegon's lips curled into a dangerous smile. "I would like to see their little sticks try to scratch my dragon's hide, Magister. No, the arrangement is nullified as of now. We will not be selling my aunt to warm the bed of a savage."

Dany looked ready to cry, but she kept her composure with practiced care. Aegon had to resist the urge to wrap her in his arms and comfort her.

Viserys threw his arms up, fuming. "Then how are we to get our army?"

"That is a subject we can discuss at length another time," Aegon told him. "I would not discuss war with my family whom I have just been reunited with. What we've spoken of thus far has been trying already. We will discuss Westeros another time, uncle Viserys. That I promise you."

The boy took a moment to bite into one of the orange fruits the Magister had brought here, and recoiled when he was met with a tough hide. He blinked at the food and Dany giggled.

"You must peel that particular fruit, nephew."

Aegon felt his cheeks heat up with embarrassment, but it made him laugh. "It seems southern food will take some getting used to."

That drew a few chuckles from his audience, and a large smile pulled at Aegon's lips. He was starting to feel more comfortable now. He waved away one of the servants who came to peel the fruit, extracting his hunting knife to skin it himself. He tried one of the pieces he'd cut once the hide was gone.

"It is delicious," he admitted. It was sweet and tangy; unlike anything else he'd eaten before.

"Many of our foods are, Your Grace," Illyrio promised. Aegon was sure that wasn't just a boast. He couldn't deny, he was excited to see more of Pentos.

He'd never been to the south, let alone south on another continent.

"I think it is time I told you my own story," Aegon confessed.

"Ah yes, the great mystery! How did you survive? Has anyone else from your House been hidden away, Your Grace?"

His smile died. "No. My mother Princess Elia was raped and murdered by the Mountain, Gregor Clegane. My sister Rhaenys met her end at the hands of Amory Lorch. I am all that remains."

Viserys' eyes burned with rage and Dany herself looked angry. Aegon shared that feeling; he despised those who had so brutally destroyed whatever family he had left. He might not want a war, but he wanted justice, if nothing else.

"How did you survive, Your Grace?" Ser Jorah asked hesitantly. "We heard tell the Mountain had dashed Prince Aegon's face against the Red Keep's wall."

Aegon scowled. "A few people loyal to our family swapped me for another babe and spirited me away. The other child was murdered in my place."

"A blessing," Illyrio began, but froze at the anger on Aegon's face.

"We do not celebrate the death of babes," he hissed. "The child was as innocent as I, and they did not deserve their fate. I do not even know the name of the one who died so I might live."

"It was not my intention to insult their sacrifice, Your Grace," the Magister told him quietly.

"I know. Forgive me; the topic is…sensitive. I do not enjoy speaking of those unjust murders."

"I imagine the death of your father and grandfather angers you deeply, as well."

"My father," he pursed his lips. "I do not know how to feel. He ran away with Lyanna Stark and started Robert's Rebellion with that act. Whatever happened afterwards, no one knows. But Aerys Targaryen deserved his fate."

"That is nonsense!" Viserys exclaimed. Dany stared at him with a hurt expression.

Aegon blinked in confusion. "I beg your pardon?"

"Nephew," Dany frowned deeply. "Our father was a great King, beloved by the people. You should not speak of him so."

He stared at her, then at Viserys. "What do you know of Aerys Targaryen?"

"More than you, clearly," he snapped.

"No, I don't think you do," Aegon said slowly. "You surely have heard of his crimes? His infamy?"

"Lies spread by our enemies!"

"No, Viserys," Aegon shook his head. "They are not lies."

Dany looked from Aegon to her brother and back again, confused. Behind her, Ser Jorah was pressing his lips as if to keep himself silent. "What do you mean? What crimes?"

"My grandfather," Aegon began. "Aerys Targaryen was a monster. You know that our family sometimes has ill health due to our lineage—the price we pay for being so closely bonded to the dragons, do you not?"

"Small sacrifices for our magic," Viserys dismissed.

"For some of us, aye," he admitted. "But Aerys was a madman. He was cruel, and after the Defiance of Duskendale he became truly insane. He burned people with Wildfire for the pleasure of it. When Rhaegar took Lyanna Stark, her father and brother rode to King's Landing to demand her release. Aerys arrested them both; he burned Rickard Stark alive while Brandon Stark strangled himself trying to save his father. And that's just one of his crimes."

The blood had drained out of Dany's face and was replaced with horror. Viserys was blustering against the perceived injustice towards his father.

"They were traitors! It was not their place—"

"Aerys raped Rhaella Targaryen, Viserys. His wife. Your mother."

Viserys was silenced and paled with anger. "That is a lie."

"It is not."

"You have grown up influenced by the men in the North," Viserys spat. "You have been poisoned by the traitors—"

"I grew up with the Targaryen Loyalists who hid me away, uncle. They told me these things."

"Then they were not loyal!"

"It was not loyal of them to tell me the truth of our family? I have heard all the tales of our history—everything from Old Valyria, to my namesake and his conquest of Westeros, and beyond. Our family has great men and women, Viserys, but Aerys was a monster. Look where we are now. He brought us to the brink of extinction with his madness."

Viserys didn't look like he agreed and that made Aegon wary. But any further discussion of the topic faded when Dany pushed away the plate of food placed beside her.

"I do not believe I am hungry any longer," she said hoarsely.

He didn't blame her. Hearing of Aerys' crimes had made Aegon sick the first time he heard of them, and the man was his grandfather. He could hardly imagine how it must have felt for Dany to hear these things.

Aegon felt even more tired. The long flight had already exhausted him, but he was well and truly drained now.

"I think perhaps the rest of my story can wait for another time," Aegon told them. "We have spoken much, and I am weary. I would see us continue this conversation tomorrow, perhaps."

Illyrio nodded, seemingly unwilling to break the silence. He snapped his fingers and the servants started to clean everything up. When the Magister finally spoke, it was hesitant. "Would you be comfortable returning to Pentos with us to rest in my manor, Your Grace?"

Aegon weighed the risks and finally nodded. "Aye. Frostfyre needs to hunt, anyway. I will return with you."

"Splendid! I will have your chambers prepared for you by the time we return. Erm…what about your dragon, Your Grace?"

He smiled and pat the white scales gently. "She will make her nest outside of Pentos. Cities are not suited to housing dragons. It would irritate her. I must strongly insist no one else approach her, however—Frostfyre is calm with me, but she does not like strangers when I am not here. If anyone gets too close, I think it likely she would kill them."

"I will certainly pass the message on to any of my colleagues who grow too curious," Illyrio told him.

"Thank you," Aegon slowly stood up, wincing at the soreness of his legs. "Let us ride to Pentos, then."

When they arrived at the lavish manor, Viserys immediately excused himself.

"I think I will go to my chambers for the rest of the day," his uncle said. "I have much to think about."

He took off without another word and Aegon watched him go warily. He couldn't decide if Viserys was better or worse than he was expecting. He hadn't lost his temper around Aegon yet, but he imagined Frostfyre's presence was mostly responsible for that. Now he'd see how Viserys was without a dragon glaring him down.

Illyrio also excused himself to meet with his colleagues and prepare for a feast in the evening to celebrate Aegon's arrival—a momentous occasion to gather the last Targaryens together, as he stated. If nothing else, the fat man moved much faster than the boy had entirely expected of him.

The servants showed him to his chambers and he stopped outside the door. Dany had walked with him there, along with Ser Jorah, who was still guarding her.

"That will be enough, Ser Jorah," Dany turned to look at him. "I would like some time to speak with my nephew in private."

He looked from Dany to Aegon. "Is that wise, Princess?"

Aegon raised an eyebrow at the man, but Dany smiled. "I will be safe."

"If I may, Princess Daenerys," Jorah tried again. "He may be your nephew, but we do not yet know his intentions…with all respect, Your Grace."

"It is understandable," Aegon replied, causing the knight to blink for surprise. "I am a stranger to you. Know that I do not trust you either, Ser Jorah, but I will never bring harm to Princess Daenerys. I give you my word on that."

He finally nodded, slowly. "Very well. Princess, should you need me, you have but to call."

Aegon watched the knight walk off, feeling somewhat uneasy. He didn't like how insistent Jorah was about remaining near Dany. He understood being wary of the newcomer, but he had questioned his Princess twice.

Maybe he was just tired and thinking too much.

Aegon stepped into his new chambers—a lavish room, to no surprise, with a large bed, comfortable sheets, and curtains blocking the light of the setting sun from the windows. It was still well-lit, but comfortable. There were a few sets of foreign clothes set aside on the end of his bed. Illyrio undoubtedly had gone ahead and requested something comfortable be brought to him.

Hopefully he wouldn't mess up putting them on the same way he'd tried to bite into the unpeeled fruit.

Dany closed the door behind them after ushering out a servant who had been doing some last minute touches on the room. Jon turned to face her.

Alone at last.

There were no winter woods, and her shoes clicked on the ground as she strode towards him. Frostfyre was far away, hunting on the plains.

Dany threw her arms around him and Jon caught her, holding her waist and squeezing so tight he felt the breath leave her. He buried his face in her neck and breathed her in. She smelled like flowers and some sort of foreign cream that reminded him of the sea.

"You came," she trembled, and he felt his shirt become wet with her tears. "Oh gods, you actually came to get me."

"Did you doubt me?" Jon asked, smiling.

"I feared for too long that you were just a figment of my imagination. A girl's dream."

"Dragon Dreams, Dany," he murmured.

"Years of them," she pulled back and looked at him, lifting a hand to touch his cheek. Her fingers were soft and warm, her eyes full of tears already spilling down her face. "I dreamed of you and Frostfyre for years."

"And we dreamed of you."

She laughed wetly and he lifted his hands to wipe her tears away, holding her face gently in his hands. She grasped his wrists and squeezed tight, as if reassuring herself that he was solid and real. "We do not have to part this time."

"No," he shook his head.

"Jon," she breathed. He pressed his lips to her temple. "Tell me you'll stay."

"I'm staying, Dany. I'm not going to leave you again."

And in that blissful moment, Daenerys Targaryen and Jon Snow held each other for the first time in their lives.

Chapter Text

Chapter Four: Pentos

It was not often that Illyrio Mopantis found himself so utterly stumped.

He had seen a lot of things in his rather fruitful life. A fortuitous meeting and partnership in his younger days with Varys, more infamously known as King Robert's spymaster "the Spider" had seen to that. He'd been housing what they believed were the last two Targaryens in recent years to keep a close eye on them, both for his own interests and Varys'.

He'd had a number of plans for them, mostly to supplant his own position, but all of those plans had been rather thoroughly upended and scattered with the events of yesterday.

A dragon was definitely something new to see.

He remembered seeing it fly over the city, more massive than he could have imagined and breathing white fire in a grandiose display of its terrible power. He'd believed Viserys would be killed trying to claim the beast.

Nothing could have prepared him for the sight of a child—a boy, not even a man—climbing down from the dragon's back as if it were just a horse.

Aegon Targaryen. The last surviving child of Prince Rhaegar. Supposedly. This was hardly the first time someone had claimed to be the long-lost offspring of royalty to claim riches for themselves. Illyrio had seen such things many times before. Sometimes he'd even encouraged it—for his own gain, of course.

He had arguments prepared to dismiss such claims. Against anyone else, he could have turned them away within a matter of minutes. He always had a plan for such events.

No plan he could have thought up would explain away the unquestionable loyalty the dragon held for the boy. Its very presence spoke of his royal blood. If anything, he had even more claim to the bloodline of Old Valyria than Viserys and Daenerys ever had.

Aegon Targaryen and his dragon had changed the Game. To what degree, he was not yet certain.

Plots and plans were immediately disposed of, but Illyrio let go of them easily. This child could be everything he and Varys had hoped for and more, if they played their cards right. He needed to be cautious with him. The boy could either be perfect or their worst nightmare.

If that dragon lived up even a little bit to the legends, it would be a terror on the battlefield.

He knew Jorah Mormont would undoubtedly send his own report to Varys regarding the arrival of Aegon and the dragon Frostfyre, but Illyrio needed to make a more in-depth assessment of the child before he sent his own bird songs to the Spider across the sea.

The Magister arrived in the hall to break his fast and briefly paused.

Aegon was sitting with Daenerys. Across from each other, they were eating and speaking eagerly, smiles and small laughter easily going back and forth between them. Ser Jorah stood behind Daenerys, on guard as usual.

Curious. Daenerys had been timid and frightened most of the time Illyrio had known her. Viserys' anger and short temper had seen to that. In the latest weeks, her upcoming marriage to Khal Drogo had made her even worse.

Now she looked like a flower in full bloom, happy to be in the sunshine again.

His arrival was quickly noticed by them, and the boy's gaze snapped onto his. Illyrio had to repress a shiver. The child's eyes were intense beyond his years—a dark grey, nearly black, brooding and sharp as they took him in. He was reminded of a wolf.

Time to play the Game with children.

"Magister Illyrio," Daenerys actually greeted him this morning. She almost looked happy to see him. "Please, join us."

"It would be my pleasure," he dipped his head, then looked at the boy for permission. "If that is alright with you, Your Grace?"

"Of course," the boy replied. His eyes were still fixed on the Magister. "Actually, I don't think we were properly introduced yesterday, were we? The conversation got away from us."

"Indeed it did," the Magister walked over to them, snapping his fingers at a servant who hurried to bring him a plate of food and a drink. "I am Illyrio Mopantis, Magister of Pentos. It is a pleasure to host you in my abode, Your Grace."

"I appreciate your hospitality," Aegon dipped his head, smiling back. "You've done my House a kindness, watching out for Daenerys and Viserys."

"No trouble at all," the Magister waved his hand. "It is quite the honor to house royalty in my city."

Illyrio studied the clothing Aegon wore—a loose, silken shirt and breeches that were much easier to wear in the heat of Pentos, both of which were of lavish quality. "Your attire suits you, Your Grace. I hope it is kinder on you in this climate?"

"Very much so. It's…unfamiliar for me to wear such thin clothing," he shifted somewhat uncomfortably. "But I expect I'll get used to it in time. I will not be returning to Westeros anytime soon, after all."

"If I may, Your Grace? Where exactly in Westeros were you hidden?"

Aegon pursed his lips. "Deep in the North. I cannot give you the exact location. I would not give up the people who saved my life and raised me."

"I can assure you, Your Grace, I am unsurpassed in keeping confidences."

The boy turned and stared at him. "You must remember what I said yesterday, Magister. I do not trust easily. I do not intend to insult you, but I will not answer that question."

It was a firm refusal, but a tactful one. Illyrio dipped his head. "Of course, Your Grace. I do not wish to make you uncomfortable."

Aegon's shoulders relaxed somewhat. "Thank you. I can tell you, however, that for the past two years, I've spent much of my time north of the Wall."

That was a surprise. Illyrio stared at him, startled. "North of the Wall?"

"Aye. Frostfyre was getting too big to hide south of it," he admitted. "I flew her north and there we stayed. I only risked trips further south on rare occasions to meet with those who raised me, to catch up with news around the world. It was on the latest meeting I heard tell of Daenerys and Viserys' survival."

That was an incredibly hostile land for…well—anyone to survive in. With the dragon it was certainly possible, but even so…

"It seems your guardians went to extreme lengths to keep you hidden from the world," Illyrio remarked.

Aegon shrugged. "I am alive."

There was no disputing that.

"What's it like beyond the Wall?" Daenerys asked curiously, eyes gleaming with light Illyrio had never seen before. It was remarkable how swiftly she'd warmed up to Aegon for how withdrawn she usually was. "The furthest north I've ever been is Braavos."

"It's…you can't imagine the cold," Aegon said quietly. "It seeps into your bones and if you are not sheltered and warm when night falls, you might never wake up in the morning. Wildlings roam great distances and they know those lands well. I was ambushed by them once."

"Goodness me! Wildlings?"

"Aye. They might very well have killed me," he admitted. "I only killed one before another threw a knife into my shoulder. Frostfyre saved me in the end."

Daenerys looked enraptured by the tale, if worried when he told them he'd been wounded. Aegon suddenly smiled. "She's incredible. You should've seen her—she flew down and knocked over the trees to get to me. The Wildlings never stood a chance after that."

Illyrio spared a moment of silence for the poor fools who tried to hunt down a boy and found themselves slaughtered by a dragon. How unfortunate for them.

"Your Grace, might I ask how your dragon was hatched?"

He frowned. "I wish I knew. My father figured it out somehow. I don't know exactly how it was done, but it's not as if I can ask him now."

Well, shit.

"A shame. Your guardians didn't have a clue, either?"

"No. It was Valyrian magic, that much I know," he murmured. His dark eyes were far away. "They said the dragon bonded to me as soon as it was born. She is my sister—or the closest thing I have to one, anyways."

Illyrio stroked his forked beard. "Hmm. Unfortunate. If only we knew how…"

Aegon frowned and glanced at him. "For what purpose?"

"Well," he cleared his throat. "Amongst the gifts I intended to present to Princess Daenerys for her—now cancelled—wedding are three petrified dragon eggs I managed to procure."

Daenerys gasped and Aegon's eyes gleamed. They were both so curious in that moment; every bit the children they were. "Wherever did they come from?"

"The Shadow Lands," Illyrio answered the Princess. "Of course, seeing as you are not to be married any longer, I think I should just gift them to you. A symbol of our friendship, no? It is not as if I can do anything with them."

He waved down a servant. "Bring me the chest with the dragon eggs from the gift chamber."

They waited for the servants, taking a few minutes to actually enjoy their food. Illyrio still needed to speak with Aegon on other matters, but they could wait for the time being.

Not too much longer, he thought. Cancelling the wedding would incite the wrath of Khal Drogo. They'd have Dothraki screamers attacking the city within the coming weeks.

The servants returned quickly with a dark chest and set it on the table carefully. Illyrio waved them away to perform their other duties and opened the chest himself, exposing the three petrified eggs.

One was deep green with bronze flecks. A second was pale cream streaked with gold. The third was black with scarlet ripples and swirls.

Illyrio picked up the green egg first and passed it to Aegon, who accepted it reverently. He did the same for Daenerys, gifting her the black. The cream remained in the chest.

"I've never seen one," Daenerys whispered. "Nobody placed a dragon egg in my cradle when I was born."

"Me neither," Aegon admitted, running his fingers over the green egg. "I don't know where my father found the egg, but it wasn't with me at my birth."

Interesting, Illyrio noted. "I wish I could provide you with live eggs, but this is the best I could obtain. The only living dragon left may very well be your female, Your Grace."

"…I don't think these are dead."

He looked up at Daenerys and blinked. She was staring at the black egg with unusual intensity. "It feels warm to me."

Illyrio reached over and set his own hand on the egg, but frowned. "It is cold to my touch."

"I feel it, too," Aegon murmured. "There is life in them."

The Magister glanced between them cautiously, noting how focused both Targaryen children were on the eggs. Another example of the magic in their Valyrian blood, perhaps? In Aegon, that was not surprising—the dragon had bonded herself to him, after all. But Daenerys sensing life in the eggs was something of a surprise to him.

She'd always been so meek. The opposite of a dragon, proud and fearless as Aegon struck him in their first meeting. Granted, the boy was still a boy, but he and Daenerys couldn't have been more different when they first encountered each other.

How very, very interesting…

"Perhaps the two of you should request Viserys join you to investigate this phenomenon further," he suggested, although privately he thought the idea of Viserys hatching a dragon was more than a little unsettling.

"Perhaps," Aegon seemed to stir out of his strange trance and frowned, shaking his head. "But not now."

Daenerys nodded and they returned the eggs to the chest. She didn't close it, however, and stood there, running her fingers over the petrified shells. "There must be a way to quicken them…I wish we knew more about Valyrian magic."

"We'll bring them out to Frostfyre another day with Viserys," Aegon promised her. "She might be able to provide a clue."

"Truly?" Illyrio couldn't hide his skepticism, but he was curious himself.

"Who better to know how to hatch a dragon egg than a dragon?"

A fair point.

Illyrio plopped a few grapes into his mouth and looked to the Targaryen male. "Your Grace, I wish I could continue entertaining you with these fascinating discussions, but I really cannot ignore the threat that will soon befall my beloved Pentos. As soon as Khal Drogo learns you have ended his engagement to Princess Daenerys, his wrath will be terrible. He was very interested in her."

Daenerys flinched and Illyrio saw something in Aegon's eyes that turned the calm grey into dark storms. "I will defend the city with Frostfyre. I understand you made the arrangement before learning of my existence, Magister, and I know it has put you in a difficult position. You have been kind to my House. I will not abandon your home to be raided by savages."

"Please be truthful with me, Your Grace. Do you think you and your dragon can stop thousands—if not tens of thousands—of Dothraki screamers?"

He saw a hint of the dragon sleeping deep in Aegon then, eyes glittering, mouth twisted in a scowl. "Have you ever heard of the Field of Fire, Master Illyrio?"

"I have," he nodded. "Aegon the Conquerer unleashed all three of his dragons upon House Lannister and House Gardner. But he had three, and you have one. And though your dragon is large, she is not yet as big as Balerion the Black Dread."

"Perhaps not, but the Dothraki will never expect her. They do not know how to fight a dragon and her appearance will startle their horses. Before they can regroup, I will burn through their ranks from the skies. I do not plan on fighting them fairly. My dragon is most powerful in the air, where their arrows will simply bounce off her hide."

The boy glanced at Illyrio again. "I would like to learn about this particular Khal and his khalesar, though. How they fight and where they are most likely to strike. It will make contesting them simpler for Frostfyre and I."

Whoever taught this boy about combat knew what they were doing, Illyrio thought. He was not speaking blindly of battle. He understood strategy and advantage.

Whether or not he and his dragon had actually been tested in combat together was another matter entirely, but he certainly seemed to have a good grasp of the fundamentals.

"I will speak with you of Khal Drogo and his khalesar tomorrow, then," Illyrio replied, smiling at the child. The young man nodded. "In the meantime, I believe you expressed an interest in exploring Pentos, did you not?"

"Yes," he admitted. Aegon looked away from Illyrio to the Knight standing near Daenerys. "But before that, I think I would like to spar with Ser Jorah. It's been a few weeks since I had the chance to practice my swordsmanship."

There was another difference between Aegon and Viserys. The boy's uncle only carried a sword to appear 'more Kingly' as he put it. Aegon carried one because he knew how to use it.

Jorah blinked in surprise, but dipped his head. "I would be honored to spar with you, Your Grace."

Daenerys finally closed the chest to conceal the petrified dragon eggs. She had been quiet while they talked about the Dothraki—any mention of Khal Drogo made her nervous. "I suppose Viserys will be eating later."

Illyrio was wary about that. He knew Viserys had taken a women into his bed last night, undoubtedly to fuck some of the tension out of his system. She was one of the handmaidens the Magister intended to gift Daenerys for her wedding—Doreah, wasn't it? Blonde hair, blue eyes...not quite like a Targaryen, but she seemed to suit Viserys' tastes. Perhaps he wasn't yet done with her.

Illyrio had provided women before to keep Viserys' lust under control, for he had desired Daenerys even when they were still planning her marriage to Khal Drogo. She was growing into a stunning beauty, and the Magister had wanted to ensure the Targaryen male did not do anything…spontaneous to his sister. Drogo would not have appreciated that.

Not that it mattered now.

But it worried him that Viserys hadn't yet shown himself, and he could tell from the expression on Aegon's face that he was similarly wary. Viserys had gone to his chambers in a quiet storm, his world upended with the sudden arrival of his nephew and the dragon.

He'd been a King yesterday. A Beggar King, but a King nonetheless. Now he was just another Targaryen male. The true King had a dragon.

His jealousy and insecurity would be tremendous. No, Illyrio needed to keep a close eye on Viserys now. It would not do to leave him to his own devices.

"Ser Jorah, could you meet me in the courtyard in perhaps ten minutes?" Aegon asked. "We'll need a pair of sparring swords, as well. But I'd like to speak with Daenerys and Master Illyrio for a moment in private."

Jorah nodded hesitantly, then took off with quick steps. Illyrio waved the servants out of the room, curious about the sudden request.

Once they were alone, Aegon looked from Illyrio to Daenerys. "Be honest with me. How is Viserys right now? You two know him better than I."

A dangerous question.

"He's…" Daenerys bit her lip. She looked at Illyrio, but he said nothing. "He's angry. Very angry."

"Angry enough to hurt you?"

She stilled and Illyrio shot him an incredulous look, but the boy's eyes did not leave the Princess. To his astonishment, Daenerys nodded. He knew Viserys had struck his sister before in anger, but she never admitted it.

"Stay at my side today," he told her quietly. "Or however long it takes him to calm down. Don't go anywhere alone."

"Your Grace, surely that's a bit much…"

Aegon shook his head, fixing Illyrio with a stare. "I know Viserys has had a hard life, but I will never allow him to beat Daenerys. I want to give him the benefit of the doubt; he's my uncle. I do not wish to be at odds with him, but things being the way they are…"

Illyrio pursed his lips. He had to concede that. Aegon had been forced to lay down the law immediately upon his arrival, and Viserys had suddenly found his power utterly stripped away from him. It was swift and harsh, but necessary for the boy to establish himself as the new Targaryen overlord.

That didn't mean it wasn't dangerous. Viserys wasn't as bad as his father, but he certainly had the potential to be. He wasn't Prince Rhaegar, who for all his faults, had at least been rational.

"His rage may take days to settle," Illyrio confessed quietly.

"Then we keep an eye on him, but he is never to lift a hand against Daenerys, nor anyone else. Allowing him to beat and bully people will only make him worse."

The boy was right. Before, Illyrio hadn't really cared because he thought Viserys was a lost cause. Aegon was willing to try to better his uncle. The Magister did not believe he would succeed, but he would give the boy credit; at least he was trying. More fearful men, new in his positions, might have cast Viserys out or even killed him.

Aegon was trying to be fair. Varys would like that. Illyrio certainly did.

Fairness was the trait of a good ruler.

It wasn't everything he wanted to know about the child, but it was a good start. There would be more talks soon enough. He'd check in on Viserys now, while Aegon sparred with Ser Jorah, and think about what other topics should be broached before they needed to address the upcoming Dothraki attack.

Dany walked with Jon to the courtyard, where he would be training with Ser Jorah. Her thoughts were heavy—heavy with worries of her brother's anger, Khal Drogo's wrath, and many other things.

They were alone for a few brief moments on the way to the courtyard and Jon took her hand, causing her to jump. He watched her closely, tilting his head slightly. The crease in his brow was worried.

"How are you?"

"I am…" Dany trailed off, uncertain how best to answer him.

He squeezed her hand and she squeezed back leaning into him for a second. "I do not know if I can sleep easily tonight in my chambers, knowing how furious Viserys is."

Jon was quiet for a few seconds. "If I asked it of Ser Jorah, he would guard your door. I can give him permission to deny Viserys entry. Or you could stay with me."

Dany quirked her lips up, feeling a spark of the mischief she often did around him in their Dragon Dreams. "Surely you are not trying to trick an innocent maiden into your bed, Your Grace?"

His cheeks turned red and she grinned at him. Jon tried—and failed—not to pout, and looked away from her. "I was only offering…"

"If you are comfortable with it, I would stay with you."

Jon's head jerked back towards her, eyes wide. "Are you sure? If you don't—"

"I trust Ser Jorah," she admitted. "But I would feel more at ease if I were not alone."

"If that is your wish."

"It is," Dany whispered, smiling at him. He returned it, but halted when she grinned again. "As long as your hands do not wander."

"You're a menace."

She laughed and they pulled apart, walking the remaining distance to the courtyard.

Ser Jorah was already waiting with two sparring swords. He was swinging one now, testing its weight, while the other was leaning against one of the columns enclosing the courtyard. He looked surprised when they emerged, Dany still giggling from her teasing of Jon. She stopped at one of the columns and watched her friend walk out to meet Jorah.

The young Targaryen male took hold of the other sparring sword and also started testing its weight, then frowned. He looked down at his tunic.

"This is going to flail all over the place when we're fighting," he muttered.

Jorah offered him a half-hearted grin. "Master Illyrio is fond of comfort over practicality."

"Mmm," Jon's frown deepened. He set the sword aside and for a moment Dany thought he was going to go and change in his chambers, but then he just lifted the tunic up and over his head. He folded it up and set it to the side, leaving him bare chested.

She did try not to stare, but her eyes studied him out of curiosity. He was pale and lean, and the muscles of his torso were strong from swordplay and dragon riding. The lightness of his skin made his dark hair and eyes stand out more, turning them nearly black in comparison.

He brandished the sparring sword a few times now that he was free of the loose, silken clothing, and nodded after a few moments. "This will do."

"Whenever you are ready, Your Grace," Jorah offered.

Jon grasped the sword with one hand at first, stalking with the Knight in a circle around each other. Though Jorah was larger, Jon was lean and almost certainly faster. Like a bear and a wolf, she thought absently.

Jon made a mock lunge and then immediately dove into an attack, the bait-and-switch jarring even for Jorah, but he blocked the swings easily enough. They engaged for a few seconds, then parted, circling again. Sizing each other up. Dany watched with interest; she'd never gotten to see a lot of swordsmanship in her life.

Jorah attacked this time, flicking Jon's sword tip aside before tapping him lightly on the shoulder. She jumped at the swiftness of the strike, and wondered how serious such a blow might have been were they using real blades.

Jon's eyes narrowed, but not in anger that he'd been hit. "Do not be gentle with me, Ser Jorah."

"Your Grace?" The Knight asked uncertainly.

"An enemy will not lighten their blows, and nor shall we. That is how I have always trained."

Jorah studied him for a few moments before nodding. Dany frowned. What did that mean?

When next they engaged, Jorah struck with much more force. He nearly blew Jon's guard open, but the boy dove past the Knight and managed to land a glancing blow on his flank. Jorah spun and struck Jon's back with a swing that made a loud crack against his bare skin.

Dany gasped, but Jon only hissed, spun around with fire in his eyes, and engaged Jorah in-full. They fought across the courtyard thrusts and slashes and cuts, striking one another whenever they could.

Jon seemed to pick up speed and strength as they fought. She recalled that he hadn't fought in some weeks—perhaps he was shaking off the rust that had built up in his time of inactivity.

He dove past a swing that almost collided with his neck and slammed his sparring sword into the base of Jorah's spine. The Knight grunted, wincing, and stumbled away.

They backed off, panting. Both were already coated in sweat—Jon more obviously with his torso exposed.

"There goes my back," Jorah chuckled.

"Don't go soft on me now, bear," Jon challenged. "How will you guard the Princess?"

That seemed to steel the Knight somewhat. They faced each other and charged again.

Aegon winced, rolling his shoulders as he and Dany walked down the streets of Pentos with Ser Jorah behind them.

"I'm surprised you can even walk after all of that," Dany told him dryly.

"I'm out of practice. I need to spar more," he sighed. It had been a while since he'd gotten beaten down like that. He'd scored several good hits against Jorah, but all things considered, he'd "died" more than he was entirely happy about.

He'd certainly be going to bed sore tonight.

She was showing him around what she'd seen of the city throughout her time in Pentos. Although Daenerys had primarily remained in Illyrio's manse, she had been exploring a few times with her guard.

Right now, they were heading to the harbor on the west side of the city. Aegon had never gotten to see ships like those docked at Pentos up close before. He'd only been to White Harbor once in his life with Uncle Ned, and that had been ages ago.

He noticed a lot of men with dyed, oiled, and forked beards. Illyrio was one such example of this practice, and it seemed to be common in Pentos. It wasn't to his tastes, but it was interesting to see.

Music was common throughout the streets, as well, with bards singing songs in tongues both familiar and unfamiliar to him. He heard one woman singing in High Valyrian and listened to the lyrics for as long as they could hear her. He wondered if Dany knew any of the songs they sung.

She led them to a marketplace, where vendors were selling fresh foods, trinkets, and a number of other items Aegon was somewhat lost on. While they walked, she told him everything she knew about the city she'd called home for the past two years. Everything from the people and cultures, its history, and how it compared to other Free Cities she'd stayed in.

Pentos had a history of slavery that was frowned upon, but it had managed to wriggle around the rules to some extent. The servants were paid, but the costs of their food and housing were much more, and they became filled with debt to their Masters.

He wondered how many of Illyrio's servants were actually slaves. He tried to shake that thought off for now and focused on listening to Dany's eager storytelling. It wasn't as if he could do anything about it at the moment.

"What do you think?" Dany prompted.

"There's a lot," he admitted, surprised by it all. "I've never been in a big city before."

"A little much for a boy who grew up in the wilderness?" She teased. He rolled his eyes, smirking.

"I'll manage."

One of the vendors caught his eye and he blinked at a large collection of shell necklaces and bracelets, woven with thin strings he'd never seen before. The shells were white and small; pretty things he'd seen only on the shores he'd camped on when he was traveling to Essos.

"See something that interests you, boy?" The owner, an older woman with graying-blonde hair, prompted in a bastardized Valyrian. That variation of the language was still somewhat alien to Aegon, but he could piece it together well enough.

"Just looking," he replied, wincing at how it sounded.

Her eyes glittered with amusement and she switched to High Valyrian. "Not from around these parts, are you?"

"No," he admitted, a little relieved she knew the variant he was more familiar with. Dany had stopped with him and was looking at the shells as well, curious of them. He had little doubt she'd seen them before, but Aegon also doubted she was able to walk along the shoreline all that often. Viserys had denied her that much freedom. Illyrio's manse was a beautiful cage in all but name.

"See anything you like?"

"They're all beautiful," she said.

Aegon pursed his lips for a moment, then glanced at the vendor. "Do you accept Westerosi coin?"

She blinked at him in surprise. "I do. My husband travels to and from Westeros to trade our more expensive wares. What do you have?"

He had brought the coin he'd taken from the thieves by the Eyrie along with him. Aegon was a little paranoid about leaving money in Illyrio's manse unguarded.

He felt he was perfectly rational with that decision, thank you very much.

"Not much," he showed her what he had. "Can I buy anything with this?"

She counted the money and then glanced amongst her wares before gesturing to some of the shell bracelets. "These are some of my simpler works, but they are just as well made as the others."

Aegon looked at Dany. "Do you want one?"

Her face lit up. "I would not say no."

He passed the woman the coins and she gave him one of the shell bracelets. Aegon offered it to Dany, who held her right hand up for him to slip it onto her wrist. He did so, trying not to focus too much on the sensation of his fingers on her skin, and let go when it was secure around her.

She held it up, twisting her hand around to study it with a large grin on her face. "It's lovely."

He offered her a slight smile in return, thanked the vendor, and they kept walking.

Later in the afternoon, Dany rode out on horseback with Jon and Jorah to check up on Frostfyre, who was nesting on a hill to the north of the city. She had returned from her hunt, and Jon wanted to see how she was doing.

It took them some time to get to her, but she wasn't as far away as she was when Jon first arrived in Pentos.

They stopped the horses a short distance away and dismounted. Jon handed the reins of his horse to Jorah, then offered a hand to Daenerys. "Would you like to meet her?"

She nodded eagerly and accepted the offered hand. Ser Jorah looked less thrilled with the idea.

"Your Grace, the dragon responded aggressively to Viserys yesterday. Do you think this is wise?"

"I will be with her," Jon promised. "No harm shall come to Daenerys. I promised you that already, did I not? I would not bring her here if I thought Frostfyre would threaten her."

The Knight slowly nodded. "As you say, Your Grace."

"I will be fine, Ser Jorah," Dany promised. He managed an uneasy smile, looking past them to the white dragon awaiting the two Targaryens.

Jon guided her to Frostfyre, who had been nibbling at the bones of one of her most recent kills. She looked up when they approached and growled lowly in greeting. The sound traveled straight through Dany, making her shiver. It was deep and powerful.

The dragon shook herself, sending the grey frills on her neck rippling. Dany watched her with fascination; Frostfyre had rarely been so animated in their Dragon Dreams.

"How is she?"

Jon lifted his spare hand and the dragon lowered her snout to touch him gently. He stroked her scales and she made a trill, watching them. "She loves the south. It's warm. I think it's much more comfortable for her than the life she lived beyond the Wall."

Frostfyre snorted at them, blasting warm air onto the pair of young teens. The dragon turned her attention from her Rider to Dany, tilting her head slightly.

Dany looked at Jon, who nodded encouragingly. She lifted a hand, holding it briefly for Frostfyre to smell, then slowly laid it upon the dragon's armored hide. Frostfyre's muscles twitched beneath her touch and she made a low sound almost like a purr. The dragon's pupils thinned and dilated as she studied Dany, sensing clearly the magic within her Valyrian blood.

"She's warm," Dany whispered. "I have longed to meet you, Frostfyre."

Jon offered her a sideways smile. His hands shifted from the snout to below the dragon's chin, scratching at the scales there. When next he spoke, his voice was casual.

"Do you want to fly?"

Dany's eyes grew wide. She turned to stare at Jon, then the dragon. "I've never…"

"Neither did I," he admitted. "Until I did."

She looked back into the dragon's amethyst eyes, which gleamed like gems. "Will she let me?"

"She will if I'm with you."

Dany's heart was already starting to pick up. "Show me how to get on?"

Jon grinned, all trouble and excitement. He guided Dany around Frostfyre's head towards her wing. Knowing what her Rider wanted, the dragon crouched low to make it easier for them to mount her.

Jon had to help Dany keep her balance as they scaled the great wing to Frostfyre's back. She was wearing a fine tunic and breeches—more comfortable for long walks and riding—so at least she wasn't trying to climb the dragon in a dress, but it was still new for her. Frostfyre didn't move much beneath them, but she shifted now and again, which made Dany feel like she might lose her balance.

But they made it to the back. Jon helped guide Dany to sit between the frills at the base of Frostfyre's neck, and he sat behind her. He reached around her, and she felt the front of his body press close to her back. The sensation almost knocked the breath out of her. He was warm and solid behind her, and she could barely think as he reached around and guided Dany's hands with his own. Together, they grasped a pair of spines between the frills. Frostfyre shifted beneath them, crouching in preparation to take off.

"Ready?" Jon's mouth was close to her ear, his voice low. The hairs on her neck rose and she only nodded, unable to speak.

"Sōves!"

At Jon's command, the dragon roared and launched herself into the sky. Dany gasped as the powerful body beneath them rose and fell in powerful waves, the wings creating deep claps of wind as Frostfyre climbed.

Jon's hands held her own around Frostfyre's spines and he pulled them back, encouraging the dragon to climb a little higher. She trilled in response and they gained altitude. Before Dany knew it, they were racing towards Pentos.

Frostfyre tilted slightly to the left and her heart lurched, causing Dany to yelp. Jon tucked his chin over her shoulder and spoke in her ear again, more loudly for the wind whistling past them. "I have you! I won't let you fall!"

The dragon leveled out as they soared over Pentos, and Dany heard screams beneath them. Frostfyre ignored the startled citizens and trumpeted, banking right towards the harbor.

Dany watched, eyes wide, as they passed over the highest sails of the biggest ships. Sailors yelled beneath them in shock and she laughed giddily. It seemed nobody was still quite used to the dragon's presence around their city.

Jon pushed their hands forward and Frostfyre dove as they passed all of the ships. She dove until they were flying so close to the water that Dany sometimes felt the spray kicked up from the dragon's wingbeats against her skin in a fine mist.

"Shall we fly to Westeros?" He asked jokingly. She laughed again and shook her head. "Where then?"

"Higher!"

"Higher it is!"

Frostfyre roared and they pulled on her spines together, encouraging the dragon as one to climb into the sky again. She flew upwards in a spiral, twisting and rising until Pentos was tiny beneath them.

They leveled out just below the clouds and Daenerys had the most ridiculous desire to touch them. As if sensing what she wanted, Jon let go of one of her hands and wrapped his right arm tight around her waist. "Go on!"

Dany let go of the spine and waved her hand through the cloud, feeling surprised when her fingers just passed through it. They were moist and cold, and left a fine layer of dew on her skin. She only touched it for a few seconds, because Frostfyre decided to bank slightly to their left, towards the city. She gasped and quickly returned her hand to the spine. Jon's arm squeezed around her and then rejoined hers to help guide the dragon.

She wished he'd kept it around her.

Jon's lips were suddenly close to her ear again and his voice was filled with mischief. "Hold on tight."

He suddenly pushed their hands forward. Frostfyre tipped her head towards the ground, tucked in her wings, and dropped.

Daenerys screamed.

She watched the ground rush up towards them, faster than she could have possibly believed. Her shoulders started wracking and she half-feared for a moment she was having a fit until it struck her that she was laughing.

They pulled on the spines and Frostfyre's wings snapped back out again, catching the air and slowing their descent. The dragon's back arched, pressing Jon tight around Dany's body as she pulled up, leveling out over the plains to the east of Pentos. Dany was still laughing uncontrollably, eyes teary from the wind blasts, but smiling so much her cheeks hurt.

Jon was laughing as well in her ear, and the dragon let out an eager trill. They wheeled her to the north and west, back to her nest. As they got closer, Dany spotted Jorah with the horses as tiny specks on the ground.

He pulled back on the spines a little and Frostfyre slowed down, wings flapping more heavily as their momentum drained and they descended. When she was ready to land, the dragon quite simply dropped her feet onto the hillside, then quickly folded her wings up to land on her joints in a pair of sudden impacts. Frostfyre shook herself and loosed a roar once she was back on the ground.

Dany was breathless, her heart was pounding so hard she could feel her pulse through every inch of her skin, and she felt so perfectly shocked. She slowly turned her head towards the dragon's Rider. He was still pressed close to her back, watching her face with a wide grin.

His dark hair was a windswept mess. His face was flushed. The gleam in his eyes was utterly impish.

He looked like a disaster and she thought she might love him.

"You have completely ruined horses for me, Jon Snow."

Jon burst out laughing and Dany decided she never wanted to get off of that dragon.

Dinner was a lavish affair, something which Aegon had expected, but not to this degree.

Apparently, Illyrio had invited many of his merchant colleagues—other Magisters of Pentos—to meet him officially. His arrival yesterday had been rather sudden, after all. Many of them had heard by now that the engagement between Daenerys and Khal Drogo had been nullified, and the new Targaryen overlord had promised to protect them from the raid that was certain to come when the Khal learned he would not get his prize.

All of them had, by now, at least glimpsed Frostfyre flying around Pentos. Any concerns they might have had before were washed away upon seeing the great white dragon. Confident in the dragon's ability to keep the Dothraki at bay, they were more than happy to celebrate the Targaryen's ranks increasing with such a prestigious newcomer.

It meant Aegon had found himself bathed and clothed by the servants so quickly and thoroughly that he was in something of a daze. He kept himself clean—of course he did, he wasn't a savage—but he'd never been so completely…well, scrubbed raw.

He was seated between Viserys and Daenerys, with Illyrio sitting on Viserys' other side to their left. Aegon was clothed in fine robes, as were his aunt and uncle, and of course Illyrio wore absurdly comfortable clothing. Aegon's robes were black and silver. Viserys' were a dark green and gold, and Dany's were black and red.

It was the single most expensive event he'd ever been to and Aegon had no idea what he was doing. Illyrio had stated it was rather simple, though. This dinner was purely for appearances, to ensure all the Masters saw the Targaryens together in a show of unity.

He was sure Viserys would have rather been anywhere but at his side, but Dany was bright and cheerful next to him. She had the chest of dragon eggs open beside her; another symbol of their House. Three eggs for three Targaryens. Illyrio had toyed with the idea of hosting the feast outside the city, near Frostfyre, but Aegon had quickly convinced him that the dragon would not tolerate that many people.

She had been tired the day before from the long flight, and the visitors had been small in number. She would grow irritated of a gathering like this most swiftly.

So they weren't feasting near the dragon, but the eggs were good enough for appearances.

Aegon glanced at Viserys, trying to gauge his uncle's mood. He'd heard from Illyrio that the older man had not left his chambers much throughout the day, instead brooding in solitude after he dismissed the girl he'd bedded the night before from his presence. Said girl was currently seated close to Daenerys, since she was meant to be a handmaiden for the Targaryen Princess. Doreah, he'd learned her name was.

Viserys did not seem to care that the woman he'd taken to his bed was seated just feet away. Aegon really had nothing to say about that; Doreah didn't seemed any more perturbed than Viserys did, at least. In fact, she spoke with Dany rather pleasantly, and he felt good seeing them get along.

It was past time Dany had some people she got along with in this place.

His uncle was stony faced, greeting the Masters quietly and saying little else. When they finally got a break from them, Aegon made an attempt to bring Viserys into the conversation.

"Would you like to fly with Frostfyre and I tomorrow?"

"No."

Fuck, he'd been sure that would work.

"You took my sister on the dragon today?"

Aegon nodded. "She enjoyed herself greatly."

"I care not," Viserys uttered. He leaned in closer to Aegon to speak under his breath. "You may not say it, but I know you desire her, nephew. I have hungered for her, as well. Is that why you came to Pentos?"

Aegon bristled, but quickly reined in his temper. His voice came out quiet and clipped. "I came here to join the both of you, uncle. We are the last Targaryens in the world, and our family has been apart for too long."

"That may be, but you have hardly brought us together. You have stolen my place and now you try to take my sister for yourself. If she will not go to the Khal, she should go to me—I would have wed her if I sat on the Iron Throne, anyways."

"This coming from the man who bedded another woman last night to vent his frustrations? No, I think not."

Viserys' lips thinned and Aegon scowled. "Never mind. I only wished to speak kindly with you, Viserys. If all you wish to do is spout insults, I will not bother you any longer."

"Wise of you not to wake the dragon."

The words made the boy's anger flare. He twisted his head to stare at Viserys head-on, and though his voice was soft, his words were fierce. "I know you have struck her before. Make no mistake, if you hurt her again, I will cut your hands off. You have been warned."

Viserys visibly colored with anger, but Aegon had had enough. He turned away from his uncle and took a breath, trying to focus on anything but the other male Targaryen. He was trying to be reasonable with Viserys, but the man made it so difficult. Aegon knew that from his uncle's perspective, all of this was obscenely unfair. His arrival had upended Viserys' world.

But he was trying to reach out, trying to at least be kind, and Viserys was spitting on the attempts. Aegon could only do so much before he might as well have been groveling at his uncle's feet, and he would never do that.

Perhaps it was too soon. He'd give Viserys more time and try again in a few days, maybe. Well, if he hadn't left their familial bond in ruins for threatening him should he hurt Dany again.

Aegon sighed. He had to be firm. It wasn't as if he wished to alienate Viserys, but he would never tolerate his family hurting each other.

Seven hells, how did uncle Ned do this? How did he lead a House? It was exhausting and Aegon had only been Head for a single day.

He felt Dany's hand slip into his own and squeeze. He spared her a glance and though she did not look at him, instead continuing to speak to Doreah, he squeezed back and took what comfort he could from her touch.

He would endure this evening, give Viserys more space, and try again in a few days…maybe by then his uncle would be more amicable to at least some casual conversation. Maybe.

He hoped.

Dany had already changed into her night clothes when she made her way to Jon's chambers, closing the door behind her after he called for her to enter.

She spotted him standing by the bed and watched as he looked over his shoulder at her nervously. Her gaze went past him to the huge bed and she couldn't help but laugh. He'd taken several pillows and split the space in the bed fifty-fifty down the middle, ensuring there was plenty of space for both of them and a barrier to ensure her comfort.

"I—erm," he cleared his throat. "I didn't really know what else to do."

"I appreciate your efforts to preserve my chastity," Dany grinned and walked up to her friend, delighting in the way his cheeks turned red. "You look a little flushed, Jon Snow."

"I'm not used to all the warmth yet."

"It is hot down here for a Northern boy," she admitted.

He smirked. "Know a lot of Northern boys, do you?"

"Just the one," Dany chuckled.

The lightness of the atmosphere only lasted for a few minutes. "So…you spoke with Viserys at dinner?"

Jon's amusement faded and he sighed. "He's…I tried to invite him on a flight with Frostfyre, but he just wanted no part of it. That conversation went downhill nearly as soon as I started it."

"How so?"

He pursed his lips. "He accused me of trying to steal you away. Now that your engagement to Khal Drogo is over, he wants you for himself."

Dany stiffened. "What did you say?"

"I told him no," he answered. "He's already hurt you; I do not trust him to be a kind husband to you."

Jon seemed to debate something before groaning. "I…also threatened to cut his hands off if he struck you again."

She stared at him in astonishment. "Jon!"

"I'm not going to stand aside and let him take his anger out on you," he said stubbornly. "I told him no and then I warned him of the consequences. I know it doesn't help things with him, but I'm not going to subject you to his…tantrums to get on his good side. We're family; we don't treat each other like that."

Dany sighed. "You honorable fool…"

"Thanks," he snarked.

"I never said it was a bad thing. You're a good man, Jon."

She stepped closer and wrapped her arms around his neck. Jon took a breath and hugged her tight in response. She missed hugs. He knew that.

"No more of this tonight," she told him. "I am weary, and would sleep."

"Aye."

"Sleeping means getting into bed."

"Aye."

"…I don't want to let go."

"Neither do I."

There was a steady silence for several moments before Dany at last pulled away and climbed onto one side of the bed. Jon did the same, settling on the other side of the pillow wall.

As soon as they were settled, Dany promptly dismantled the wall, setting the pillows beneath their heads. Jon stared at her as she scooted closer beneath the sheets and reached out with her hands for him.

Breathing shakily, Jon took her hands and pulled her close. Once she was close enough, Dany pushed him so he lay on his back, staring down at him. Every touch between them felt like lightning through her nerves.

She laid down and curled up beside him. They were both trembling as she took his hand and held it. In the darkness of Jon's room, neither he nor Dany dared to look away from each other until exhaustion took them and they lost their struggle to stay awake.

Chapter Text

Chapter Five: Dothraki's Bane

Almost two weeks had passed since Aegon had arrived at Pentos.

His hand rested on the pommel of his sword, running his thumb over the steel absently. The manse was full of tension. Servants hurried and bustled around, not daring to say much of anything.

Today was meant to be the day of Dany's wedding to Khal Drogo—now cancelled thanks to Aegon. They had not travelled to the agreed meeting spot south of the city where the wedding was meant to take place. The Khal would find nobody there. No bride for him to claim.

They had stood him up. Soon, he would come seeking them out to see what was going on.

He was waiting with Daenerys and Viserys at the manse, and Ser Jorah stood guard near them. Frostfyre was off hunting to the north, and that was fine. He didn't want their...guests to see her just yet.

Illyrio came bustling up the path, his fat jiggling from the hurried pace. "They're coming."

"How many?" Aegon asked.

"Drogo and a half-dozen of his Blood Riders. It's not a fighting force."

He nodded. Glanced over his shoulder. "Ser Jorah, if things get out of hand, your priority to to ensure not one of these savages gets anywhere near the Princess."

"Of course, Your Grace."

Viserys looked at him with aggravation clear in his face. "This is foolishness, nephew. When you see them, you will understand that I was right to arrange a marriage between the Khal and my sister."

Aegon shook his head. "Enough. Let's meet our unhappy guest."

He followed Illyrio out of the manse to the entrance of the lavish estate. As they got closer, he heard the sound of horses snorting and stomping the ground, their hooves clicking on the stone paths.

Aegon glanced over his shoulder at Dany. She looked afraid, but there was some steel in her eyes. She was ready to do this.

They rounded a corner and he set eyes on the Khal.

Drogo had copper-colored skin and black eyes. He was tall and muscular, towering over those around him on a lean, red stallion. He had a long, black beard and mustache, as well as black hair bound in an incredibly long braid, which was adorned with tiny bells. His hair hung down to his thighs, which Aegon knew was a symbol of his prestige amongst the Dothraki.

If one was defeated, they were forced to cut their braid—the greatest shame in their culture. Drogo's hair was longer than any person's Aegon had seen in his life. It had been grown throughout his lifetime, and the numerous bells decorating the braid told him of the many battles this warlord had fought and won.

This man had never been defeated in battle. Aegon was not stupid enough to think he had even the slightest chance at besting Khal Drogo in single combat. He was good, but this was a man who had lived by the sword in a culture centered around battle and conquest, and he stood above all of them.

Drogo was mighty. There was no other way of putting it. The mightiest Khal of his time.

But Aegon would not be fighting on the ground when the battle came to them.

Drogo looked angry. It was a quiet anger so far, but the black eyes were smoldering. The Khal's gaze snapped towards the Targaryens and he paused, frowning at the sight of Aegon who was unfamiliar to him.

He uttered something in a guttural language, his agitation clear. One of his Blood Riders spoke for him in the common tongue, and his voice carried a Dothraki accent. "Khal Drogo is displeased. Your people did not appear at the place we agreed upon. He demands his bride."

Aegon stopped directly in front of the Khal, just a few meters from his horse. It was a magnificent beast, he had to admit, with powerful muscles. The stallion snorted and tossed its head, but the boy was unimpressed.

What was a horse to a dragon?

"There is no bride here for Khal Drogo to have," Aegon answered. The Dothraki translator raised an eyebrow. The boy never took his eyes from Drogo, who was leering down at him.

The translator told Drogo what he'd said, and the Khal growled, speaking again in his rough language. "Who denies the Khal what was promised to him?"

"I am Aegon Targaryen, the Head of House Targaryen. I am here to apologize for ending the marriage pact we arranged; it was not Viserys' place to sell Daenerys to you. I cannot let you have her."

That translation didn't go over well at all.

Well, I am trying to be diplomatic, he thought as Drogo snarled and dismounted his horse, stepping forward until he stood directly in front of Aegon. The boy had to tilt his head back to look at the Khal, who was almost two heads taller than he was.

He spoke again. The translator did his work. "Khal Drogo does not care why. His bride was promised. He will have her. She will bear his children."

Aegon looked into the black pits of the Dothraki Khal's eyes. "No."

Rage flashed in them and Drogo spoke, almost shouting in Aegon's face. "Then you have promised the city to a raid unlike any before it. Khal Drogo will lead his khalesar to Pentos and we will ride through the streets! We will take all we wish! We will take all the women we wish! He will take the bride who was promised to him, and he will fuck her! Then he will give her to his Blood Riders! And if there is anything left of her afterwards, he will let the horses have a turn!"

The fury in Aegon's blood roared to life. Gone was the quiet wolf, watching and patient.

The dragon glared fearlessly at Khal Drogo, promising death.

"You tell Khal Drogo," Aegon snarled, unafraid of the enraged man before him. "That he will have only fire and blood. And that dragons eat horses."

With that, he turned around and left the Khal behind him, guiding Daenerys away. She was pale and trembling, but he did not let the Dothraki savage have the satisfaction of looking upon her any longer than could be allowed.

Daenerys sipped at her water, slowly allowing the fear she felt to fade away.

The atmosphere was still tense, but beside her, Jon was already sorting out his plan with Illyrio and Ser Jorah. They were discussing how best to handle the Dothraki invasion to come.

Viserys had left for his chambers.

"They'll hit us from the south," Illyrio said, placing his finger upon a marker on the map of Pentos and its surrounding countryside. "It's been a favorite strike point of theirs in past raids. The guard is thinnest there and they'll break through the gates in a matter of minutes. It is also the closest entry to my manse, so Drogo will likely take it to get to us."

"The terrain there is mostly grassland," Jon hummed. "We shall see them coming from a good distance away."

"Far enough away for you to get to the dragon and ride her into battle?"

"I'll be on Frostfyre before we see them coming," he decided. "We'll have someone signal to us that the Dothraki are on their way. When will they strike?"

"It'll be during the day," Jorah said. "Tomorrow, most likely. Drogo won't see a need to wait. Their horses have poor vision at night. They prefer to raid out in the open for all to see, anyways. It is better suited for them when they seek glory amongst the khalesar."

"I know I've asked this before, but are you certain you can best them with your dragon?" Illyrio asked, looking at Jon anxiously. "Drogo has the largest khalesar in the Dothraki Sea—some forty thousand strong."

"Not all of those are warriors," Jon reminded him. "A lot of them are women and children. They won't be fighting."

"Even so."

"I'll cut them off with Frostfyre's dragon-flame," Jon set his finger on the map and drew it in a straight line between Pentos and the perceived direction of the attack. "Their front wave will be forced to stop, then I'll fly over them and burn them to ashes."

"They might charge straight through the flames," Jorah pointed out.

"Even if they do, I'll weaken the charge enough that our archers should be able to pick off any stragglers. I don't plan on being gentle with them. I'll set all of those fields on fire if need be. If Drogo doesn't surrender, he's going to lose a huge portion of his fighting force."

"He doesn't know what surrender is," Illyrio insisted. "He has never been defeated in battle!"

"He has never fought a dragon before," Jon said flatly. "I will make him learn."

They didn't look completely convinced, but they'd already planned for the guards to be at the ready should the Dothraki actually make it to the streets of Pentos. The city wasn't allowed to have an army after Braavos had dominated them long ago. It was unfortunate, but it couldn't be helped now.

All of the Magisters had guards, however, and they would be prepared to fight when the Dothraki screamers came charging. It wouldn't be much. On their own, the city wouldn't stand a chance.

But they had Jon and Frostfyre, now.

Jon dismissed them, sending Illyrio and Ser Jorah to meet with the other Magisters and plan for the attack to come, as well as set up a signaling system.

He turned to Dany, still seated beside him in silence, and hesitantly set his hand on hers. "How are you doing?"

"I'm afraid," she admitted quietly. "I don't want to be passed around like a piece of meat to be raped until I die—"

"I will not let them touch you," he said fiercely.

"But I don't want to see you and Frostfyre get shot out of the sky, either."

"We'll be fine. Frostfyre's scales are thick. Their arrows won't so much as scratch her."

"You don't have dragon armor, J…Aegon," she protested, barely catching herself with his name. "If you're shot, you could fall off of her."

"I will be fine," he promised. "I give you my word."

"But if you're not."

Jon pursed his lips. "If the worst should happen to me…well, Frostfyre will kill every last Dothraki on the grasslands. I know she will; she won't be satisfied with anything less. But if I die tomorrow, you need to find Frostfyre again and bond to her."

"I can't."

"You can. She likes you, Dany. You've already flown with her before."

"I was with you. She's your dragon."

"She'll accept you when her Rider is gone."

"Don't talk like that. You just promised me not to die."

"Sorry," he murmured. Jon sighed before wrapping an arm around Dany and pulling her into a firm hug. She buried her face in his neck and grasped his tunic tightly between her fingers.

They didn't say anything; just held one another tight and close for as long as they could.

The rest of the day passed. The moon rose and fell. The sun climbed again.

Aegon's heart was already pounding in his chest. He'd barely slept. He was tense and didn't have much of an appetite, but he was as ready has he'd ever be.

He donned the thick furs he'd brought down from the North. From Winterfell. It didn't suit the climate, but they were the best clothes he had to deflect arrows, or at least mitigate the damage they could do. He was donning some light armor beneath the furs as well, just to be safe. It was hot, but necessary.

"Nervous?" Ser Jorah asked him as they walked to the stables. Jorah would ride Aegon out to Frostfyre, then return to Pentos to man the gates.

"Terrified," Aegon admitted.

"Good. Your instincts will be sharp," Jorah clapped the young man's shoulder. "We have faith in you, Your Grace."

"Some of you."

"Aye, I suppose so."

"You already have my orders," he looked up at the Knight and some of the intensity returned to his eyes. "If the worst should happen to me, you are to get the Princess as far away from the Dothraki as possible. Seek out Frostfyre and bring Daenerys to her—she will be able to bond with my dragon if I should die."

He hesitated and lowered his voice some. "Do not let Viserys claim the dragon. Under no circumstances is he to be trusted with that sort of power."

Jorah dipped his head. "As you command, Your Grace."

They found Illyrio waiting with Dany and Viserys. His uncle looked like he'd rather be anywhere but here—ideally, racing away from the city at full pelt. Viserys wasn't a fighter, that was for certain. Illyrio seemed anxious, but steadier than Aegon's uncle.

Dany met his eyes and he saw the panic she was trying to keep quiet.

"I'll return with Khal Drogo's braid," he promised them. "Or the ashes of it."

"Your Grace, given the circumstances, I would like to take this opportunity to tell you that what you are about to do is completely insane," Illyrio told him with a slight squeak in his voice.

Aegon didn't know why that made him laugh. Maybe he was so high-strung that he was getting a little crazy.

Illyrio smiled, his facial muscles a little twitchy, and Aegon was pretty sure he was thinking the same thing. "You remember the signal?"

"Three tolls of the bells."

"Good luck, Your Grace."

He looked at his uncle. "I know you despise me. Watch my dragon and I conquer the screamers, Viserys, and you will see we never needed them."

Viserys didn't say anything, just glared at him as if this whole mess was Aegon's fault.

He actually wasn't wrong about that.

Jorah was done getting the horse ready and mounted it, looking down at Aegon. "Are you ready, Your Grace?"

"Aye," he turned to the horse. Aegon was silent for a moment, then took a deep, shaky breath. "Fuck."

The boy turned around, took two steps to Daenerys, and kissed her hard. She gasped and held onto his shoulders, fingers digging into the furs of his cloak. He didn't linger and pulled back after just a few moments.

Neither of them said anything, but it took more self-control than he cared to admit to leave her behind and get onto that horse. He didn't bother looking at what was undoubtedly Viserys' outraged expression.

Aegon steeled himself as the horse ran out of Pentos towards the hills to the north, where Frostfyre was waiting. He tasted Dany on his lips and wished he could taste her again.

Khal Drogo and his Blood Riders led the khalesar's warriors to Pentos. A force of light cavalry some ten-thousand strong. Any more and the city would be boring to take.

He still could not fathom where a child had found the arrogance to refuse what was rightfully his. It was one of the worst insults he had ever received; and all who had insulted him before were dead.

He would add the fool boy to the list of those who had challenged him and lost. He was looking forward to fucking the woman he desired—who had been denied to him. Perhaps he'd even keep her around until she bore him a child.

His riders spotted the city ahead of them and they started to chant and yip, eager to raid. It had been quite some time since they'd been able to hit a city with this kind of force. The promise of conquest was a glorious sensation that stirred his blood.

He drew his arakh and his men followed suit, the din of their war cries rising to a fever pitch. Drogo heard, just faintly, the sound of the city's bells ringing in the distance. A meaningless alarm. Pentos did not have the forces to keep them at bay.

And suddenly, a sound unlike anything he'd heard before thundered across the land.

Khal Drogo's blood froze as a monster flew over Pentos from the north; a beast of white scales, with wings so vast they cast a shadow over the earth. It roared, shaking the air as it blazed towards them with the promise of death in its glare. On its back, his keen eyes spotted the unmistakeable shape of a human rider.

A Dragon Rider.

The horses screamed in panic, briefly resisting their masters before they continued charging. Even his own stallion faltered in the face of aerial death. The dragon's teeth flashed, its wings pounded as it dove for them, and it shrieked a war cry that made his khalesar's pale in comparison.

There was a brief moment where the dragon's bellow silenced the grasslands, and Khal Drogo heard a voice—the fool boy—roar at the top of his lungs.

"DRACARYS!"

Frostfyre's maw parted and a white inferno bathed the Dothraki's ranks. Aegon heard the screams of dying men and horses already piercing the air.

The savages had been caught completely off-guard. He wheeled Frostfyre to the west in a circle, and she spat more dragonfire at the Dothraki beneath them. She curved until she was ahead of the horde, then unleashed another torrent of flame directly in their path, cutting the horses off from Pentos.

He watched as the front line of horses scrambled to a stop in the face of that wall of fire. Several of them were pushed into the flames by the riders behind them, and he heard their screams join the song of death already filling the grasslands.

Frostfyre soared over them and drowned the stalling Dothraki in an ocean of fire. The plains were set aflame and the inferno spread rapidly, quickly trapping all those caught near the attack.

Arrows started flying at them and Aegon snarled, eyes darting further south. Whatever parts of the massive Dothraki horde hadn't yet been struck had rallied and begun to shoot at them. Their pointed sticks bounced off of Frostfyre's hide, causing her to growl with annoyance.

He pressed her to fly around the back of the Dothraki horde, gaining some altitude in the process. As they descended, he saw a number of the screamers turning to draw their bows. As one, they unleashed a hail of arrows.

Frostfyre snorted and reared back, flapping her wings in a powerful beat. The wind she kicked up stopped the arrows dead in the air and they fell uselessly back to earth. Aegon urged her to descend further.

His dragon flew directly over the horde, claws snatching some of the riders from their horses and impaling them. Her jaws snapped down to grab a screamer and when she threw him aside, his body violently split apart with a spray of blood.

The arrows were flying past him closer than he was happy about. Aegon pulled back on her spines to climb a bit, and then she blasted the horde with dragonfire. The stream travelled from the very back of the Dothraki and they flew all the way to the front of the khalesar, driving the horde into two halves.

By now, those who had been screaming for a raid moments before were now screaming in agony.

He hit the front of the horde again, reinforcing the wall of flames. A few Dothraki had actually gotten past it by forcing their horses to jump through the wall, but the numbers were pitifully small. They weren't even trying to charge the city now, instead stopping to shoot at the dragon dousing their ranks in dragonfire.

Aegon felt an arrow shallowly pierce his right arm, having managed to punch through his furs. But it was a mild wound at worst. He snapped his gaze onto the cavalry closest to the sea and shouted a battle cry, which Frostfyre answered with her deafening roar.

The dragon let loose another blast of fire. By now, the whole front half of the Dothraki khalesar was nearly consumed by the inferno. Only the easternmost forces were somewhat intact. The back of the horde was trying to regroup since the front of their khalesar had completely halted.

He wondered if Khal Drogo was already dead.

Frostfyre dove close to the screamers again, incinerating more and more horses with her tongues of purging white fire. The smell of burning flesh was filling the air such that Aegon had to fight the urge to gag.

He guided Frostfyre towards the sea and wheeled her back around to hit the Dothraki from the west. This time, he pulled back on her spines and she shrieked, flapping her wings and feeding air into the inferno she'd ignited. The flames ate the oxygen greedily and were fanned into a storm of heat and death, sweeping over the dying screamers.

They flew onwards, quartering the khalasar with another stream of dragonfire all the way from its western flank to the eastern edge. By now, he could barely see the Dothraki in the northernmost section of the attack, there was so much fire.

The back group was faltering. Frostfyre roared at them, outraged that they had not yet submitted to her terrible wrath, and Aegon led her on to strike again.

Another arrow barely missed his head, grazing past his left cheekbone so fast he couldn't react. Warm blood started running down his face. Aegon hissed in pain and anger. His dragon answered his fury.

She flew low again, snatching more screamers in her claws and ripping yet more apart with her teeth. Her jaws clamped down on the head of a horse and the beast crashed uselessly to the ground as it was decapitated.

They climbed to avoid more arrows. The mass of Dothraki was huge, but they were decimating the ranks of the horde.

Aegon's eyes trained back on the front of the cavalry and he saw them scrambling to turn around, to get the hell out of the flames that promised only death. Frostfyre climbed so he could survey the damage they'd done, well out of range of the arrows. His dragon snarled, belching fire as if eager for more.

The horde was struggling to get out of the dragonfire. Stray horses ran screaming in all directions; some of them were on fire, dying as they fled.

Aegon watched as the cavalry began to retreat south. A sizable group of survivors from the head of the raid, which had been hit the worst, found a passage between the flames and poured through it in an attempt to get free. He held his breath, ready to bring Frostfyre back down if they tried to wheel around back to the city.

They had annihilated the horde. Thousands were dead or dying, and the Dothraki had not so much as touched the gates to Pentos.

Would Drogo keep trying? Or whoever was in charge of the khalesar at this point?

He watched carefully as the horses worked their way through and around the fire to the south—and kept riding.

They were falling back.

Aegon flew after them.

Drogo urged the black stallion beneath him onwards as they rode south. His favorite red had been consumed in flames he'd only just avoided by leaping from the horse. He'd found the black devoid of its rider and mounted it himself.

He was covered in the ashes of his dead men and horses. Everyone who was still alive from the head of the charge was marred with what little remained of their roasted allies.

This wasn't a battle. It was a massacre.

For the first time in his life, Drogo ordered a retreat.

His men didn't even question it. The Dothraki scrambled to ride away from the winged death soaring over them. It had stopped its rain of fire, but for how long, he could not say. If they lost too many more men, his khalesar would be crippled—they'd lost too much as it was already.

Khal Drogo was a prideful man, but he wasn't an idiot.

He finally tasted fresh air, free of smoke and ash and death as they got clear of the field of fire, and led his warriors south. As long as that beast was in the area, they could not touch Pentos—he knew this. Their arrows were doing absolutely nothing to its thick hide, and it could unleash fire endlessly as far as he could tell.

It didn't even seem tired.

No Dothraki, Khal or otherwise, could hope to match it.

The monster of a dragon suddenly flew ahead of them, bellowing, and wheeled around until it was coming at them head-on again. The Khal opened his mouth, ready to shout and order the survivors to split off and get around the dragon, but he faltered when it flapped its wings, lowering itself, and landed with a series of heavy thuds.

The white dragon lifted its regal head high and roared, the blood streaming from its mouth belonging to his riders and their horses. It was crouched, prepared to attack on the ground or fly again to douse them in yet more dragonfire.

Drogo slowed his horse down and his khalesar followed suit. The beast wasn't attacking—yet.

He spotted movement on the back of the white terror and watched in astonishment with his khalesar as the fool boy appeared on top of the dragon. His disbelief grew more pronounced when the dragon all but knelt, lowering itself to the ground so the boy could climb down its wing and touch down on the plains.

The boy stood before the dragon—a slip of a child, short of stature with an arrow in his arm, blood on his face, and several more arrows stuck in the thick furs he wore, which had never pierced his flesh. He was nowhere near manhood yet, but when Drogo met his eyes, he was not looking at a child.

He was looking at a warlord who had challenged ten thousand of Drogo's cavalry astride but a single beast and won.

A stray horse, devoid of its rider, suddenly raced past the ranks of Dothraki. The dragon locked onto it and lunged in a quick step, snapping its jaws into the screaming animal. It shook the stallion with guttural snarls, nearly ripping the horse in half before dropping the dying shape onto the ground. The dragon loosed a breath of flame, cooking its latest victim, and began to feast with teeth sharper than swords.

The boy only spared his dragon a glance, then looked back at Khal Drogo. He spoke in the common tongue Drogo was not familiar with. The Khal turned to his khalesar and shouted for a translator.

He was tempted to just order a charge and skewer the child for slaughtering his warriors, but the dragon was currently chewing on a horse skull and watching him with dangerous, violet eyes.

He knew the fight was over. Khal Drogo dismounted the black stallion and walked towards the child with a translator behind him.

The dragon growled when they got too close and they halted, several paces away from the boy. The sound of the dragon crunching through horse bones was enough to keep him on-edge. At any moment, with a single wrong move, the beast would kill everyone that was left from the attack.

The boy spoke. His translator did his work.

"I am sorry."

Drogo's brow furrowed deeply as he watched the child speak, heard his words in a tongue he understood.

"This was not fair for you or your people. You were promised something that was not meant to be given, and I understand that was insulting. I tried to apologize for the failure of my uncle. I know that was impossible for you to accept. I know you were dishonored."

He felt annoyed. What was the child getting at?

"I will not bring further harm to you or your people," the boy said. "My dragon will not rain fire upon your khalesar again."

Drogo tilted his head. He intended to let them leave alive.

"But understand this," and now the boy took slow steps forward, coming closer and speaking until he stood directly before the Khal. The dragon followed him, remaining just behind her Rider. "If you threaten Daenerys Targaryen again, I will come for you and I will kill you. If you ever harm her, I will kill every last one of your khalesar."

His grey eyes were blazing; a match for the vicious fervor of the dragons purple orbs behind him. "And should any of your people ever kill Daenerys, I will set the Dothraki Sea aflame from the westernmost plains, to Vaes Dothrak and beyond. Your lands will be reduced to ashes. I will burn every last khalesar, I will kill every Khal that remains, and not a trace of your people will survive. That is what Daenerys Targaryen means to me."

Drogo had never been so tempted to kill someone in his life.

The child stood before him, tiny compared to the Khal, bleeding from a wound on his face, and glared up at him with intensity that did not suit a boy so young. The dragon growled behind him, but Drogo was blind to the bestial threat at the moment.

Aegon Targaryen did not fear him. Had never feared him, he realized—he remembered first setting eyes on the boy in the Magister's manse, and remembered how this brat had still possessed the audacity to look him in the eye and deny Drogo what was his, dragon or no dragon. The child was fearless. Absolute in his position.

Drogo wanted to kill him, but he also had to wonder where the hell this slip of a boy was keeping the massive fucking balls needed to ride that damned dragon and tell him—the greatest Khal of his time—what to do.

The Khal looked from the boy to his dragon, who watched the conversation with unsettling intelligence in its eyes. The beast was quiet for now—it had ceased to feed on the horse, and Drogo knew now the boy's threat the day before was no mere boast.

Dragons did indeed eat horses.

The Great Stallion had looked upon this child and given him a mount no horse could match. Even Drogo's finest steed, now dead in the inferno that had baked his warrior alive, would have never compared.

Drogo slowly reached for the thick hunting knife he kept. The boy's eyes flickered to the blade briefly, but he seemed unperturbed. His own hand reached for a knife within his cloak. The dragon hissed threateningly behind him, frills flaring out on its neck in a menacing display.

He held the knife tight in his hand, wanting nothing more than to drive it forward into the boy's throat. But doing so would guarantee the death of his khalesar—the dragon's mercy would cease to exist.

He could not do that.

So it was that Khal Drogo fell to his knees before the Dragon Rider, staring up at him. Even now, the child was barely taller than he was. He reached up, trembling, and took his braid in-hand. The knife came back behind his head.

The boy watched him, eyes dark, and Drogo felt like he was staring at a wolf.

With a jerking slash, he cut his braid.

He heard the warriors behind him dismount as Drogo held the length of his severed hair—longer than any other, for he had never cut it before in his life—between his hands. The bells attached to it rang quietly, and the Khal bowed, offering it to the Dragon Rider.

His khalesar fell to their knees behind him and bowed as well.

Aegon Targaryen waited until the entire khalesar submitted and then took the incredibly long braid from Drogo. He wrapped the length of it tightly around his left arm.

"Return to the rest of your people," the boy told him. "My dragon and I will not attack you again, as I said before."

He turned away and the dragon knelt, allowing the boy to climb upon its back. Drogo watched, feeling the terrible sting of defeat in his heart, as the Rider mounted his dragon, the braided hair wrapped around his arm a sign of his victory.

A reminder of Drogo's first loss in battle.

"Farewell, Khal Drogo," Aegon Targaryen called down to him. "I do not think we will meet again."

The dragon screamed at the survivors of its rage and launched itself into the air, pummeling them with powerful winds whipped up by the vast, white wings. Drogo turned and watched it fly back to Pentos.

He stumbled to his feet, as did the rest of his Riders, who stared at their Khal with shock. There was no insult in their eyes—not yet anyways, for his hair was now short and freshly cut. He had no braid; no bells to display for his victories.

Drogo watched the dragon fly and knew they had never stood a chance. He mounted his horse and gruffly ordered them to return to the khalesar. They would ride back to the Dothraki Sea.

He hoped never to see Aegon Targaryen and his dragon again.

Daenerys walked to the walls of Pentos with Master Illyrio and Ser Jorah. The morning air was crisp and clear; the western winds fresh from the sea.

Yesterday, it had smelled of death.

She still remembered watching Jon and Frostfyre flying over the horde of Dothraki screamers, remembered her disbelief and awe as the dragon set the whole of the southern fields on fire to devastate the would-be raiders. She had lost sight of much of the horde as they were burned to ashes behind a wall of dragonfire that cut them off from Pentos.

Two guards had minor injuries from stray Dothraki arrows, from screamers who had run through the flames and tried to attack before they realized the rest of their khalasar would never make it through the fire.

Jon had suffered an arrow in one arm and a thin cut on his left cheek. It would scar. Other than that, he was virtually unharmed.

Frostfyre's only wounds were small punctures in her wing membrane, where arrows that had not been blown away had struck her. They were already healing. She didn't even seem to notice them. As soon as the fight was over, she'd groomed herself of her meager wounds, then flown to the scene of carnage to pick over the bodies for her meals.

The city had celebrated massively; for the first time, the Dothraki had been repelled from Pentos without anyone suffering major wounds. No property had been damaged. The Free City was intact. Khal Drogo, the most powerful Khal of his time, had been soundly crushed in battle.

It was unheard of.

They found Jon looking over the ruins of the southern plains from the walls.

Dany looked out over them as well. The grasslands were scorched black, and some small fires still burned. They had glowed more in the night, lighting up the fields as the heat slowly dimmed and died.

She could see Frostfyre roaming around the devastation, sniffing at the charred bodies of Dothraki and their horses, and occasionally biting into them. It seemed she would not need to hunt for some time.

Dany's eyes trailed back to Jon. He'd been unusually quiet since the battle had ended.

"Your Grace?" Illyrio prompted.

Jon stirred and glanced at them. He was wearing a thin white tunic and dark breeches, as well as boots better suited to the climate of Pentos. His furs were being cleaned of the ashes he'd picked up through the battle.

She remembered how he'd returned with Khal Drogo's braid wrapped around his arm. Illyrio had immediately seen to it that the braid and its bells were put into a small chest for safekeeping; a priceless trophy of Jon's first major victory in battle.

He didn't look all that thrilled about it.

"I've killed men before," Jon said suddenly, his voice quiet. "I've ordered Frostfyre to kill men before. I've always only killed when it was necessary."

His eyes fell back to the burnt fields. They were utterly devoid of life, save the dragon who now scavenged her countless kills. It was a stark contrast—that snowy-white creature on a wasted, black plain.

"I know this was a necessary battle. I know I had to kill them, and yet…"

"You take no pleasure in it," Jorah finished for him. "Killing is never a pleasant course of action. Only fools and warmongers find joy in death."

Jon nodded absently. "Aye."

"It is wise of you to feel so, Your Grace," Illyrio told the boy. "Tyrants long for blood. Kings shed it only when it must be done."

The boy snorted. "I'm not much of a King right now, am I?"

"An issue that can be improved with time and patience. You have the goodwill of the people of Pentos. Already, our bards write songs of your victory, and our artists paint the Sea of White Fire."

"Is that what they have named this battle?"

"One of many names, yes! You and your dragon are heralded as 'Dothraki's Bane' throughout Pentos. That is no small feat, Your Grace."

"It doesn't make me happy," Jon admitted. "I don't think killing ever will."

Illyrio only beamed. "You will make a splendid King one day, Your Grace."

The boy managed a small smile. "I appreciate your kindness, Magister."

"And I appreciate you ensuring that my beloved city is still in one piece! The kindness of Pentos is all yours," the fat man responded. "Now, I know you have been out here for quite some time already. My servants will have food prepared soon. Will you return to the manse to break your fast with us?"

"I think I'll be here for a short while longer," Jon murmured. "But aye, I will return soon."

"Splendid. We shall eagerly await your return, Your Grace."

The fat man turned and left. Ser Jorah began to leave as well, but paused when Dany did not follow. "Princess?"

"Could you give me a moment with my nephew, Ser Jorah? I will walk back with him to the manse, I think."

Jorah looked from the Princess to Jon and back again, then nodded. He turned away and followed Illyrio—as well as the Magister's guards—back to the estate.

Once they were out of sight, and the only people around them were the citizens going about their morning routines, Daenerys stepped closer to Jon and slipped her hand into his. "How are you?"

"I will survive, Dany," he murmured. She lifted her other hand to cup his cheek, turning him to look at her. Delicately, her fingers traced around the thin cut from the arrow that could have very easily killed him had it shifted a few inches.

"Have you even slept?"

"No," he admitted. She could tell from the dark spots beneath his eyes. He looked exhausted.

"Talk to me, Jon," she told him quietly. "I want to help you however I can."

He was silent for a time. Then he lifted a hand to hold hers close to his face, turning to press his lips against her skin. She shivered at the sensation. Her wrist still donned the seashell bracelet he'd bought for her.

"I'm trying to decide what we should do now," he whispered. "We can't stay in Pentos much longer."

Dany frowned. "Why not?"

"As soon as King Robert hears about what's happened here, he is going to buy the most dangerous assassins he can afford," Jon murmured, looking into her eyes. He had protected her and the city from the Dothraki attack, but the fear was still there. Fear for her. "If we stay, we are asking to be attacked. You and Viserys have been lucky as it is."

She pursed her lips. "Where should we go?"

"I don't know. We could go south, to Myr or Tyrosh, but I don't know if I could stand the slavery. Lys is out of the question—the citizens killed whatever dragonlords and dragons resided there after the Doom of Valyria. I don't know if they could kill Frostfyre now, but I have no desire to find out. They would certainly kill us for being associated with her.

"I've always wanted to visit Old Valyria, but it's just a ruin, or so I've heard. We can hardly stay there for long. I don't want to go anywhere near Slaver's Bay. For however much bigger Essos is compared to Westeros, it doesn't have nearly as many cities for us to reside in."

Dany thought for a few moments. "Let's go to Braavos. It does not tolerate slavery and it is further away from King's Landing, anyways. We could stay there for a time and figure out what to do from there. If we took a ship, we'd have plenty of time to think about our next course of action."

"I don't think I can afford a ship," Jon scoffed.

"You know as well as I do Illyrio will give us one if we but ask. You could ask Pentos for almost anything at this point and they'd give it to you."

He was quiet for a time. "Do you think you remember where your old house is? The one with the red door and the lemon tree?"

Dany's lips curved upwards. "Maybe."

Jon thought for a few more minutes, then nodded. "Braavos it is."

She nodded with him. Jon looked at her for a few more moments before he sighed, then shifted closer to kiss her brow. "I'm glad this is all over."

"I am, too," she murmured. Dany squeezed his hand. "Come on—I need to eat. And you need to rest."

Jon's mouth curved into a lopsided smile, and he allowed Daenerys to tug him away from the wall and the field of ashes beyond it. He glanced back only once, then stepped a bit faster to walk beside her as they returned to Illyrio's estate.

Chapter Text

Chapter Six: He Who Swings the Sword

Two days after Jon and Frostfyre repelled the Dothraki raiders from Pentos, Daenerys found herself riding out to meet the dragon with her Rider and Ser Jorah.

Frostfyre was currently nesting back on the hills to the north of the city. She often ventured out to the incinerated field south of Pentos to scavenge the countless bodies she'd cooked during the battle, but for now, the dragon was resting away from the scene of carnage.

Just as well. Dany didn't want to go out on that field anytime soon. She wasn't sure if she could handle the smell of burnt and rotting flesh.

She held the chest of dragon eggs in her arms while Jorah led the horse to their destination. They wanted to see what Frostfyre thought of them; to see if perhaps she could provide some clue as to how the eggs might be quickened.

Dany knew there was life in them. Somehow…somehow she could sense there was the possibility that the eggs could hatch. She and Jon both had felt it—felt the warmth in them. Their Valyrian blood told them there was a chance.

Viserys had been conspicuously absent since the Dothraki attack. Jon had hoped that maybe his victory would gain the goodwill of his uncle, but it seemed that wasn't the case.

She wondered what her brother was thinking.

They stopped a short distance from Frostfyre, as they always did. The horses would not dare get any closer and the dragon had a very short list of people she allowed to approach her.

That list consisted exclusively of Jon and Dany. Anyone else would get the death glare and stay the hell away from her.

Or else.

Jon took the chest of dragon eggs from Dany so she could dismount her steed, and then they walked to Frostfyre while Jorah minded the horses. The dragon had been napping, but looked up as they approached, rumbling deep in her chest with a greeting.

Dany smiled at the dragon; she was blessed to see this beautiful creature so close. To see the gentle side of the most magnificent and dangerous predator in the world.

"Hello, sister," Jon set the chest down carefully and straightened, lifting his hand to meet the dragon's snout. Frostfyre blinked at him with her large, amethyst eyes, snorting warm air onto Jon and Dany both.

Dany knelt to open the chest. Frostfyre tilted her head slightly, curious of what the Targaryen girl was doing.

As soon as Dany lifted up the black and red dragon egg, Frostfyre's pupils dilated. She made a startled rumble, looking away from Jon completely in favor of the egg. Her nostrils flared, taking in the scent of it.

Dany stood, showing the egg to Frostfyre more closely while Jon took the green and cream eggs out of the chest, also displaying them to the huge female. The dragon's eyes flitted over the three eggs, gleaming and…and thoughtful.

She often wondered exactly how intelligent Frostfyre was. Some Maesters throughout history claimed that dragons were even more intelligent than men. Whether it was instinct, magic, or something else, she certainly seemed to know something.

"You sense it too, don't you? You know they're alive," Dany breathed. The dragon made a quiet growl. Her tail thumped the ground like a lounging cat's.

Frostfyre seemed to consider the eggs in silence for a while before her gaze lifted from them to the pair of Targaryens. Dany watched, curious, as the dragon looked from her to Jon and back again.

She suddenly shifted her head closer, moving until her snout was next to Jon, and carefully herded him closer to Dany. The boy allowed her to do so, bemused and fascinated by the strange behavior. Frostfyre pushed until he and Dany stood shoulder-to-shoulder, arms touching and as close as they could be with the eggs still in their arms.

The dragon pulled back then and studied her work. She leaned forward again, sniffing them. Her eyes narrowed slightly.

Frostfyre let out a long breath—almost a sigh—and pulled away, curling up to nap again.

Jon blinked and glanced at Dany. "Well."

"That was interesting," she murmured. "She knows, doesn't she?"

"I can tell she senses something," he admitted. "But the way she's reacting…maybe things aren't quite right for them to hatch. Not yet."

"Maybe."

He was still so close to her. They hadn't stepped away from one another just yet. "I wonder why she pushed us together. There has to be a reason. She doesn't do things like that normally."

"How would you know? Do you bring other girls to meet your dragon, Jon Snow?"

That made him smirk. "Afraid not. She's very particular about the people she likes."

"A wise woman," Dany laughed, looking at the dragon fondly. She knelt to return the black egg to the chest, to which Jon followed suit. "Let's head back to Pentos. I don't think she's going to tell us anything more today."

"As you wish."

His fingers brushed hers as they set the eggs back in place, and Dany had the ridiculous urge to grab and hold his hand simply for the sake of doing so. They hadn't had a chance to really be alone since the Dothraki raid.

Maybe tonight…

She pushed that thought from her head and closed the chest, then stood with Jon as he lifted the eggs and walked with her back to Ser Jorah.

"A ship to Braavos?"

Aegon nodded. "Aye. We plan on visiting the city for a short time, at least. Staying too much longer in Pentos would not be wise."

Illyrio raised an eyebrow at the boy. "Why not, Your Grace? You are loved by the people here, and I am more than happy to continue housing your family."

"I am aware, and I appreciate your hospitality," the boy said tactfully. "But as soon as word gets out that I've appeared here with my dragon, King Robert is probably going to react rather explosively. Daenerys and Viserys have been lucky enough that your guards have stopped any assassination attempts thus far. Who knows what he'll send when he learns I'm here with them?"

It was a valid point, Illyrio reflected. The Fat King would not take news of Rhaegar Targaryen's offspring surviving—and with a dragon in-tow, no less—well at all. His hatred of the Targaryen Crown Prince was legendary, as was his hunt to destroy all traces of the dragonspawn.

To find out he had not only missed a Targaryen, but that the dragon in question was Rhaegar's child—well, his wrath would be terrible. It would certainly be wise of them to disappear before Robert's next batch of killers found them.

Except for one thing.

"You want to avoid assassins, yet you are going to Braavos."

"Aye…" Aegon frowned in confusion and Illyrio was reminded that the boy was, in fact, still a boy. A learned one, yes, but it was clear more often than not that he still had much to learn about Essos.

"Have you heard of the Faceless Men, Your Grace?"

"I imagine I am about to."

"The Faceless Men are a guild of assassins stationed in Braavos. They can blend in nigh-anywhere, and are world-renowned as perhaps the most dangerous killers hidden in the shadows."

Aegon's eyes narrowed. "Then why didn't Robert hire them when my aunt and uncle were in Braavos?"

Illyrio smiled. Clever child.

"The Faceless Men are something of an enigma," he responded. "They worship the Many-Faced God, and their motives for accepting any given request are rather…mysterious. It is not always clear why they refuse or accept a request."

"So either they rejected Robert's previous requests, or he has no idea how to contact them."

"Correct."

Aegon pursed his lips. That brooding expression, so often on his face, was present again. "I don't plan on us making an announcement of our arrival in Braavos—quite the opposite, ideally. I'd like to keep our presence as quiet as possible while we're there."

"A wise decision. Especially given how chaotic King's Landing will be once word gets out of your existence," Illyrio stroked his beard. "If you were quiet and careful, I think you could hide safely in Braavos for a short time. Perhaps two months, or three if you are cautious enough. With the gifts my fellow Magisters and I have given your House, you will have money enough to easily find suitable housing throughout your stay."

"I thought the same," Aegon agreed, then looked at him with a little more intensity. "Master Illyrio, I would like to keep our travel plans quiet. No one else save you, myself, and Daenerys currently know we intend to leave soon. I would like to keep it that way—and keep our destination quiet."

"Of course, Your Grace," the fat man dipped his head. "I will have a ship ready for you soon enough. Perhaps in a week, you could set sail."

"Thank you, Magister."

He would, of course, be sharing this information with Varys—as would Ser Jorah, he suspected—but he also knew Varys would not give the information out immediately. He would let it trickle out slowly amidst the chaos of King's Landing.

The Spider would want to see how these new pieces on the game board played out. He would not give them up to die so easily, especially not when he realized how fascinating a piece Aegon Targaryen was.

No, Varys would allow the Targaryens to have some peace before his duties as Spymaster forced his hand. By then, hopefully Aegon and his family would have decided on their next course of action and left Braavos behind them.

Hopefully. The boy was used to hiding, but he hadn't been on the run before. His judgement would have to adjust quickly.

The day passed them by quicker than expected, and before she knew it, Dany was curled up next to Jon again as they fell asleep in his chambers. She'd abandoned her own sleeping quarters for the most part since his arrival; although Viserys had seemingly calmed and she no longer feared the coming of the next day, resting close to Jon soothed her—and, it seemed, her presence did the same for him.

She knew that particular decision of theirs had led to some rather gaudy rumors. She'd overheard some of the servants discussing it before, about how she'd seduced the Dragon Rider King into waging a war on the Dothraki, or how he had seduced the Targaryen Princess away from her marriage to a Dothraki Khal.

That last one made her laugh. As if she'd needed seducing to get away from Khal Drogo.

But there was no seducing to be had, whatever the servants said. Though they often held hands during their rest, neither of them sought for more. Not yet. They had dreamed of each other for years, and there was definitely attraction between them. Hunger. But being together now—it was more relaxed. No longer bound to end so soon.

They had time. That was the most precious gift that had been delivered to them upon meeting outside of their dreams.

Speaking of dreams.

Dany blinked when she found herself not in the winter woods, but in a tower—well, she assumed it was a tower, given she was looking out a window that was high above the ground below. She frowned at the unfamiliar setting and turned, stopping when she spotted Jon. He as well turned in place and tilted his head dubiously when he saw her.

"This is new," he said slowly.

"Look familiar?"

"Not at all."

There was a large bed in the center of the room, made proper and untouched. Though it was light outside and not cold by any means, she could see the fireplace was burning—

Dany and Jon stilled when a shape emerged from the flames. A tiny, white dragon with beautiful amethyst eyes.

Jon's mouth fell open. "Frostfyre?"

The dragon chirped and sat down on the floor; tiny and pure, snowy white despite all the soot in the fireplace. Despite clearly being so young, her gaze possessed that same, uncanny intelligence to them as her adult self.

Dany felt her heart melt at the sight of the infant dragon. She was simply adorable—her eyes were big, her wings small and still growing. Her tail curled up. She looked almost harmless.

She looked at Jon and saw him thinking. Saw him processing the sight. He looked back at the bed and stared at it in silence.

"Jon?"

"…I think this is the Tower of Joy," he whispered, turning to stare at her. "This is where I was born. Where Frostfyre was born. Uncle Ned said she hatched out of an egg in the fireplace after my mother gave birth to me."

Dany's eyes widened. Frostfyre chirped and darted close to their feet. She looked down after the dragon and realized that the three dragon eggs from the chest lay between them.

Jon knelt and picked up the green and cream eggs. Dany did the same for the black, which had always called to her more than the others. She looked at Frostfyre again.

"What are we supposed to do with them?"

The dragon's gaze flickered from them to the fireplace. Her egg had been hatched in fire. Maybe these three eggs needed the same to happen?

She looked at Jon and they seemed to share the same thoughts. They took the eggs to the fireplace and knelt beside it. Dany carefully started to put the black egg into the flames, but stopped, frowning.

"What's wrong?"

She said nothing and briefly set the egg down. Her hand pushed its way into the flames.

"Dany!"

He yanked her arm hard and pulled it away from the fire, staring at her as if she'd gone mad. Dany held her hand up to him.

Unburnt. Unharmed.

"It's not hot," she whispered, observing her flawless skin. "It doesn't burn."

Jon could only blink in disbelief. His eyes trailed to the fire and he slowly imitated her. She felt what was undoubtedly the same urge to yank his hand out from the flames, but he twisted it in the fire and when he retreated, his skin was also unmarred.

"It's warm, but it doesn't hurt," he frowned. His gaze went back to the flames, then he lifted the green and cream eggs, carefully setting them in the fire. Dany set the black in the center, running her fingers over the three siblings. The warmth of their shells seemed to grow.

Frostfyre growled, seemingly pleased by the action. The dragon stalked to the front of the fireplace, spun in a circle, and laid down to take a nap.

"Do we just…leave them?" She wondered.

"I suppose so," he murmured.

They heard someone walking up stone steps and froze, spinning around. From a lower level in the tower came two people; a man and a woman.

The man had silver-gold hair and dark, lilac eyes. He was tall, fair, and ethereally handsome, and he wore fine clothing the like of which Dany had never seen before. But what struck her more than his attire were the clearly Targaryen features he possessed. His expression was brooding, almost sad, and yet soft and happy all at once.

The woman was also fair of skin and beautiful, though rather shorter than her companion. Her hair was a deep brown, almost black, and her eyes were a deep silver. She wore clothing that didn't seem to suit such a lady—a tunic and breeches that, while finely made, seemed to be made for that of a warrior rather than a woman such as herself. She was smirking at the man, and the look on her face could only be described as wild and mischievous.

She spoke. Her voice and accent were familiar. Like Jon's. Northern.

"I have to say, I'm glad to be out of that dress," she sounded amused.

"I'm sorry I couldn't have prepared something better for you," the man replied quietly. "You deserved—"

She lifted a hand and placed a finger against his lips, causing him to stop and blink at her. Her eyes gleamed, but her smile was soft. "I married you. That's what I wanted."

He took her hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles. "And I you."

Her eyes left him and trailed to the fireplace, but she seemed to look right through Dany, Jon, and Frostfyre. "When do you think it will hatch?"

"I do not know for certain," he admitted, following her gaze. "My dreams were…frustratingly vague."

"Remind me again what the dragon told you?"

"'Father and mother, and quickened by fire.'"

She frowned. The way her nose scrunched up reminded Dany, again, of Jon. "I always thought dragons would be more straightforward. That's rather cryptic."

"I've read that Dragon Dreams often are."

"Well, I have an idea," she looked up at the man—her husband—and her eyes were full of love, but also dark with hunger. "The egg is within the flames. You might be a father already, but I am not a mother."

"No, you are not."

"Yet."

The man's breath stopped. He looked at her and she framed his face in her hands, whispered something Dany couldn't quite hear. He kissed her aggressively and she responded in kind, laughing into his mouth.

The dream ended.

She woke up.

Dany looked at Jon as his eyes opened wide and he stared at the ceiling for a while. Abruptly, he pushed the sheets away and moved to sit on the edge of the bed, his back to her.

Dany quietly moved behind him and hesitantly wrapped her arms around his torso.

"It was them," he whispered. She squeezed him tight, pressed her face against his shoulder. His hands rose to hold hers, clenched tight. She felt him trembling. "That was my mother and father."

Dany nodded slowly, something unfathomable quaking within her. The man—Jon's father, her brother—had undoubtedly been Rhaegar Targaryen. The woman could only have been Jon's mother, Lyanna Stark.

She'd never dared to hope she would ever be able to set eyes on Rhaegar. She barely heard about him, for all that Viserys had once idolized him. Jon—Aegon—took after her brother for his personality, as far as she could tell. He looked much more like his mother, Lyanna. Rhaegar's physical traits were barely noticeable on him. Maybe he'd grow tall one day, but as of now, Jon's appearance was dominantly reminiscent of the she-wolf.

She could feel the way his heart was pounding rapidly, every thrum heavy from within his chest.

"I was afraid to believe it," he was whispering, and she heard the way his breath was hitching. "When I first heard how Rhaegar had taken Lyanna away, and that his actions sparked Robert's Rebellion…I wondered what sort of man my father was, to do something like that. I feared the answer to that question. I feared perhaps my uncle had lied to safeguard my happiness. But he didn't lie. Rhaegar never kidnapped my mother. He never raped her."

"He loved her," Dany's voice cracked. Tears filled her eyes. "And she loved him."

A quiet sob left Jon, and Dany squeezed him so tight that both of them could scarcely breathe. They cried together—joyful and sorrowful and relieved to know, beyond any doubt, that Rhaegar had been good. That he and Lyanna had loved each other more than words could express.

She held him for a long time.

Aegon stood before the door and steeled himself.

It had been nearly five days since his victory over Khal Drogo and the Dothraki. Five days of recovery for him—both of his minor wounds were healing, though he had a thin scar on his left cheekbone now—and planning their next move. Illyrio had a ship being prepared for them. In perhaps four more days, they'd be setting sail for Braavos.

Five days and he'd seen next to nothing of Viserys.

He sometimes saw his uncle eating, but more often than not, he had servants deliver food to his chambers. The young handmaiden he'd been bedding—Doreah—had visited him several times.

Now Viserys had sent a request via another servant for Aegon to meet with him. He'd be lying if he said it didn't rouse his suspicions. He didn't trust Viserys, even if the man was his uncle.

This had to be sorted out now, before they were stuck on a ship with each other for the next two months. The ride to Braavos would be significantly longer than his absurdly fast flight from Westeros to Essos. No ship could hold a candle to a dragon, after all.

He knocked on the door. "Viserys? Uncle, I came to speak with you."

Aegon almost didn't expect an answer. He was a little surprised when he heard Viserys respond cooly. "Enter."

His eyes narrowed. Something wasn't right with his tone. He set a hand on his sword.

Aegon opened the door slowly and peered inside. Viserys was standing by the window, hands held in front of him and his back to Aegon. The Targaryen male seemed to be perfectly at ease.

He closed the door behind him. "You have made yourself scarce, uncle. Did I not show you that we never needed the Dothraki screamers?"

"Oh, you showed me," Viserys responded, his voice soft in a way that made Aegon uncomfortable. "You also showed me your intentions for my sister."

"Viserys—"

"Tell me something, nephew. Have you already bedded her?"

Aegon bristled. "Of course not. I would not insult Dany's honor by laying with her before…"

He trailed off, stopping himself, but Viserys caught it. "Before you wed her?"

"This is not the conversation I came here to have."

"Then what did you intend to speak of, nephew?"

Aegon pursed his lips. "You and I need to settle our differences, Viserys. We cannot be at odds with each other as we travel across the continent. Not when King Robert's assassins will be hunting us."

"His assassins are of little concern. They have all failed."

"Somehow, I imagine he will be more…extreme given that I've emerged from hiding with a fully grown dragon."

"Perhaps so. But what are assassins worth when the King is dead?"

Aegon stilled. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't you see, nephew? It's so very simple! You indeed showed me that we never needed the Dothraki. All we needed was but a single dragon. We will burn the Usurper out of our home in King's Landing, and we can simply sail from Pentos to Westeros to claim our rightful place!"

"It is not that simple. Westeros is more than just King's Landing and Robert."

"What is the whole of Westeros to the might of a dragon?"

"If I recall correctly, the Dornish once shot down a dragon."

"A lucky shot. They never would have killed Meraxes if I had been riding her."

"Lucky shot or not, Meraxes is long ago and far away. That is besides the point. All of this harbors on the idea that I will fly Frostfyre to King's Landing and burn the Usurper out in the first place. If we decide to retake the Iron Throne one day, I would not sit as King of the Ashes, and I would have to burn the Red Keep down, to say nothing of the city surrounding it, to conquer King's Landing with just Frostfyre. Taking over a city and defeating a Dothraki horde are two very different things, uncle."

"You see, that is where our opinions differ," Viserys said. "The Red Keep is full of traitors, and obviously the people who allow the traitors to live in our rightful home are no better. I see no reason we should not burn them out."

Aegon's eyes narrowed. "You are talking about slaughtering innocent people. I will never fly Frostfyre on such an attack."

"You might not, but I certainly will."

The boy stiffened. His tone carried a warning. "Viserys…"

Viserys turned, smiling benignly. "Ah, I see you came with your sword."

"You'll forgive me for finding little reason to trust you," he frowned. Viserys wasn't visibly armed. He didn't even carry that sword he normally showed off—and Aegon had never seen him use it in the first…place.

Maybe it was a sixth sense. Maybe he heard something. Hells, maybe he just knew.

Aegon spun around and saw a sword already over his head. He dove away, unsheathing his own sword with a slither of steel. He managed to block the thrust that was aimed for his heart, deflecting it out of the way.

His attacker was Essossi—dark of skin and ferocious. One of the guards. Not an Unsullied, but skilled enough. Aegon wasn't sure where the hell he'd been hiding, but he'd managed to sneak up on the boy well enough.

He was strong. Aegon locked their blades at the hilt, reached down in a blur of speed, and pulled his hunting knife out. He drove the weapon into the guard's shoulder. Although his foe grunted, he barely reacted to the pain. Aegon dove away again as the sword came in a sweeping motion again, attempting to behead him.

There was no chance to talk this enemy down. Whatever Viserys had bribed him with had the man determined to kill him. His every swing was fast and powerful, meant to deal fatal damage.

The door suddenly flew open and Aegon spotted a familiar blonde head. "Your Grace! Viserys, what—!"

"GET OUT!" Viserys roared at Doreah, who flinched.

Aegon seized his chance. "Doreah, get the guards!"

She scrambled to flee, but he had no idea if she would obey him or Viserys first. He wasn't sure if Doreah was more loyal to his uncle, as she had spent so much time in his bed as of late, but at least now the sound of the attempted assassination would be easier to detect throughout the manse.

Aegon deflected another blow and kicked the guard away. He made for the door, only to yelp when an arrow flew past his face. He whipped his gaze up and saw Viserys with a bow, cursing at his miss. His uncle started nocking another arrow.

Well, fuck.

The guard came at him again, agitated by the fact that Aegon was still alive, and slashed at the boy again. Aegon saw Viserys draw and blocked the sword strike, then lunged behind the guard. He heard a twang, a dull thunk, and the guard screamed with surprise and pain.

He fell to his knees, Viserys' arrow lodged in his back. As the guard fell, Aegon was given full sight of his uncle, who paled with his failure. He scrambled to nock another arrow, but Aegon lunged forward in a blur of motion and slashed the bow in twain.

Ser Jorah ran into the room, his sword already unsheathed. His eyes grew wide as he surveyed the scene, and jumped when the boy's rage was made abundantly clear.

"Viserys," Aegon snarled.

"NO! I am the dragon! I am the blood of the dragon!" Viserys screamed in fury. "I WANT MY CROWN! USURPER!"

Viserys lunged, hands reaching for the boy's throat, but Aegon smashed the pommel of his blade into his uncle's temple, stunning him. The man collapsed with a gasp.

Aegon sheathed his sword and glared from Viserys to the guard he'd bribed. He heard footsteps running in from the hall as Ser Jorah approached the downed guard. He spared only a glance for Master Illyrio, Doreah, and the half-dozen Unsullied soldiers that pushed their way into the room.

Illyrio seemed to realize what had happened before any of the others did. His lips thinned. "Are you injured, Your Grace?"

"I am unharmed," Aegon grabbed Viserys by his hair, fisting it painfully until the man shrieked.

"YOU CAN'T DO THIS!"

"I can and I am!" Aegon hissed, dragging Viserys along behind him. The man stumbled to his feet and scrabbled at his nephew's hands, but he had never been a fighter. His hands were soft compared to Aegon's, and he was still too stunned to put up much of a struggle.

Illyrio and the Unsullied quickly moved out of the way. Aegon was furious; he pulled harshly on Viserys' scalp and dragged the man out of his chambers and into the open space of the courtyard. Once they had more space, and Illyrio's Unsullied guards were surrounding them, Aegon shoved his uncle away and stepped back, a hand on his sword.

He glimpsed Dany emerging from the opposite end of the courtyard and saw the wide-eyed, stunned look on her face. Aegon steeled himself.

"You tried to kill me," he spat. "Tell me why."

"I am the rightful King! You have no claim!"

"I am Rhaegar Targaryen's son, and I am the last Dragon Rider," Aegon retorted. "I have the only claim!"

"You're a pretender! A usurper! You've taken everything from me! Everything that should be mine! You have no right to the crown! No right to that dragon! No right to my sister!" Spittle was flying from Viserys' mouth. His eyes were wild, desperate, and crazed.

"Enough! You tried to kill me. The Head of your House, the heir to the Iron Throne. Do you deny it?"

"You have to die! The dragon should be mine! Daenerys should be mine!"

"You admit to treason?"

"You are a usurper!"

"Did you try to have me killed, yes or no?"

"Of course I did, you stupid child!"

Aegon unsheathed his sword in an aggressive flourish and Viserys flinched, staring at him. His uncle's breath was rapid and heavy. His eyes were wide. Maddened.

He was wholly aware of Dany watching him. Almost everyone in the manse was present now, but he felt Dany's eyes the heaviest upon his person. Aegon breathed in deep through his nostrils. He reigned in his temper, tried to control himself. He couldn't carry out a sentence whilst drowning in rage.

It was proving to be too difficult for him to focus, and it took more willpower than he cared to admit to give his next command.

"Ser Jorah," Aegon forced out. "Throw him into an empty chamber and guard him. I will decide what to do with my uncle later."

"As you wish, Your Grace."

He sheathed his sword, turned, and stormed away from Viserys before the sight of his traitorous uncle convinced him to do something hasty. Aegon needed to breathe.

He wound up isolating himself in his chambers for a few hours, steadily regaining control of his anger. Nobody tried to bother him, which he was grateful for. He needed to settle down.

Even if he and Viserys had never been on good terms, it still stung to know that his uncle had thrown away all of Jon's attempts to be kind, all the possibilities that could have been had he just gotten over his own arrogance. The boy knew his arrival in Pentos had massively shifted the balance of power in the remnants of House Targaryen, had stripped Viserys of all the authority he'd previously held. He knew that must have felt beyond unfair.

But what else was he supposed to do? Viserys would never have ended the engagement between Dany and Khal Drogo. Westeros would never have supported a ruler who brought Dothraki savages to their lands. His uncle's plan had been foolish and hastily thought out.

However unfair his arrival had been to Viserys, his uncle had witnessed what Jon could do. He had seen Frostfyre's strength, had seen the bond his nephew shared with the dragon.

And he had wanted it for himself. Greed and lust had claimed Viserys. Greed for a dragon with whom he'd burn the world. Lust for a sister he had tried to sell to a savage.

It was so frustrating. He and Viserys were the only two young males of House Targaryen. Their family couldn't afford this sort of infighting. If the Targaryens had another Dance of Dragons, it would drive them into extinction forever.

They were on the brink as it was!

What was he supposed to do? If he were back in Winterfell, uncle Ned would have executed Viserys for such a crime. He'd be right to—Viserys had tried to kill him. He supposed he could just exile his uncle, but would that be crueler than simply killing him?

A knock sounded at the door. Jon wanted badly to send them away, but by now his anger had cooled and he knew he had to talk to the others.

"Enter," he called stiffly.

Dany slowly opened the door, followed by Illyrio. Jon beckoned them inside, and the entrance to his chamber was closed quietly. For a few moments, they looked at each other in silence.

"Were you hurt during the assassination attempt, Your Grace?" Illyrio asked.

"I was not," he answered, sighing. "The guard was not an Unsullied. I suppose that's the only reason Viserys managed to convince him to try and kill me in the first place."

"He was promised gold and a knighthood in Westeros," the Magister told him. "He will have neither; I have already had him executed."

No surprises there. Jon looked from Illyrio to Dany, who hadn't said anything yet. He took a deep breath and told them all that had happened in Viserys' chamber.

"There are three Targaryens left in the world," he murmured, purposefully omitting Aemon to keep their connection a secret. "All of them reside under this roof. If Viserys were anyone else, I would execute him for trying to murder me without question. Do I exile him, or do I kill him?"

He pursed his lips. "I need your advice."

"It is not an easy situation, Your Grace. He is your uncle, and it is true House Targaryen is in dire straits already," Illyrio admitted. "But if Viserys had succeeded, you would be dead. Your dragon would be without a Rider. I must beg your pardon when I say this, but your uncle would not be a good King—we would have been left with a lesser man to lead House Targaryen. Exile might be the easy choice, but it does not change that he tried to murder you for his own gain. I think you must execute him."

Jon swallowed and looked at Dany, worry in his heart. "Daenerys?"

She was quiet for a time, long enough that he wondered if she would actually answer at all. But she did, and when she spoke, there was steel in her voice and the sparks of dragonfire in her eyes—which he'd seen slowly returning to her since Viserys' authority over her was revoked and her engagement to Khal Drogo terminated.

"If you died, Frostfyre would be alone. I know you said I might be able to bond with her, but I would not see you parted from your dragon so young, Aegon. And for all that Viserys is my brother, I know he would try to kill me next if I bound myself to Frostfyre. He would kill both of us if it meant he could claim the Iron Throne."

She tilted her chin up. "Do what you think is right, nephew."

He searched her face for several moments. Daenerys did not waver.

"Very well," he finally decided. Jon stood from the edge of his bed abruptly. "I will hold a trial for him. He will be found guilty regardless, but I will hold a trial all the same."

"I will tell Ser Jorah. Once you try him, he will carry out the—"

"No," Jon interrupted the Magister. "He who passes the sentence should swing the sword. I will execute him myself."

Illyrio stared at him oddly for several moments, but nodded. "As you wish, Your Grace."

"Prepare the horses. Bring wood for a pyre. We will ride out to my dragon."

Night had fallen by the time they reached the dragon. Viserys had been bound, gagged, and blindfolded, and was being carried on the back of Ser Jorah's horse. Illyrio and several other Magisters were riding out with them to witness the trial.

The horses stopped and Jorah removed Viserys from the horse, taking off the blindfold and gag. Viserys gasped, glaring up at the Knight with fury in his eyes. "Traitor!"

Jorah said nothing as he dragged the Targaryen forward, shoving Viserys to his knees and placing a block in front of him, then backed off. Viserys looked away from the man and froze at the sight before him; Jon—Aegon—with his sword in hand and Frostfyre looming behind him. The dragon's amethyst eyes glowed dangerously in the low light, like gems promising death.

"Viserys Targaryen," Jon growled, his voice carrying an undercurrent of fury. "You are charged with attempting to murder the Head of House Targaryen, the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. Is there anything you wish to say in your defense?"

"You are a pretender and a thief," Viserys spat. Jon glared down at him, unfazed. "That dragon should be mine! My sister should be mine! The throne belongs to me! You are nothing!"

Frostfyre bellowed, a deafening sound that made Viserys pale and quiver in fear. Several of the Magisters—including Illyrio—jumped and shrieked. The dragon's maw parted and the slightest flickers of flame were visible deep in her throat.

Jon barely reacted to the dragon's rage. "If you have no intention of defending yourself, then your trial is over. I, Aegon Targaryen, Sixth of my Name, Bane of the Dothraki and Rider of Frostfyre, find you guilty of treason and sentence you to death. Have you any last words?"

Viserys' eyes were wide, perhaps only now realizing what fate awaited him. He looked from Jon to Frostfyre and back again. "Please."

Jon steeled himself and walked to Viserys' side. Jorah stepped forward and pushed Viserys down so his neck lay upon the block. The Targaryen man squirmed and screamed. "Dany, please!"

Daenerys said nothing. She did not look away. Jon could see her out of the corner of his eye.

Jon lifted his sword, took a breath, and swung.

So passed Viserys Targaryen.

He looked away from the headless corpse—twitching in its death throes—and up to the Magisters, as well as Ser Jorah. "Prepare the pyre. We will put him to rest tonight."

The servants hurried to do as he ordered. Jon did his best to ignore the smell coming from Viserys' body as the dead man's bowels relieved themselves of waste. He would see this through. Viserys was his uncle, even if he'd tried to kill him.

The pyre was constructed quickly and Jon helped Ser Jorah lift Viserys onto the pile of wood. He placed the head where it would have been in life and closed the eyes of his uncle. He hoped Viserys found peace now—found some way in whatever afterlife existed to be the young, happy boy Dany remembered fondly from her childhood days.

He'd been twisted by a cruel and desperate world, but he could rest now.

"I'm sorry, Viserys," he sighed. "I wish it could have been different."

Jon looked at Dany, who hadn't said anything yet. She walked over and lay a hand on her brother's paling face.

"Goodbye," she whispered.

They stepped away from the pyre. Jon looked up at Frostfyre, who watched him closely. The boy met his dragon's eyes and swallowed.

"Dracarys."

When they returned to Illyrio's manse, Dany followed Jon to his chambers. He was nervous—didn't know what to expect from her. Viserys had been cruel to her in his last years, but even so…

When the door closed and they were left in silence, he turned to face her and took a deep breath. He had so much he wanted to say, was hoping beyond hope that what he did hadn't alienated her from him.

Dany simply walked into his arms and held him tight. Jon hesitantly lifted his hands to hold her in response.

"Thank you," she murmured. "For doing it yourself."

"He deserved that much. Even if he was the way he was, I…I couldn't let someone else carry out his sentence. It had to be me. You understand, right?"

"I understand," her frame quivered. "I mourn the brother I had long ago. I'll remember him for who he used to be. Not who he was in the end."

"I'm sorry, Dany," Jon choked out, pulling back to cup her cheeks. He had to see her eyes—had to know she didn't hate him. "I'm so, so sorry."

"I know," she whispered. Her eyes were full of tears that flowed down her cheeks as he watched her. "I forgive you."

She leaned up and kissed his brow. Neither of them had anything else to say.

Their belongings were packed up. All the gifts from Illyrio and the other Magisters, the supplies they'd need for the trip, Daenerys' handmaidens, and a small crew of sailors to get them to their destination were aboard the ship dubbed the Fair Sea Maiden.

He hoped the weather would be as kind as the name of their vessel.

It struck Jon as odd that he'd only been in Pentos for a month. So much had happened in so short a time. Barely more than a week ago, he'd been flying into battle against Khal Drogo.

Not even two months had passed since he fled Winterfell to save Daenerys.

Their farewell with Illyrio was short, but pleasant. Jon wasn't sure if he truly hoped to ever see the Magister again, but he was grateful he'd left an ally behind and not an enemy. There was that, at least.

The captain of their vessel had been told their destination the night before—Jon had kept it a secret from most everyone to ensure the chance of Robert's spies picking up on their trail was mitigated. Now they were off at last, and he felt like he could breathe a little more easily.

He walked up to the bow of the ship, where Dany was leaning on the railing and looking out over the waves. Jon joined her, nudging her with his elbow lightly. She smiled at him and he returned it.

His eyes trailed over his shoulder as Pentos gradually became small in the distance. "I think we'll see this place again one day."

"Perhaps," she murmured. "But I mustn't linger on it. If I look back, I am lost."

Jon frowned at the melancholy in her tone. He took her hand and squeezed it gently. "You won't lose your way, Dany. I'll make sure you don't."

Dany blinked at him. She hesitated, then glanced over her shoulder at Pentos. Jon saw something in her eyes, vulnerable and unsure, but she looked regardless. Her hand tightened on his own, and he returned the pressure until at last she returned her gaze to him.

Her face was weary, but a little lighter for it.

They heard a roar and looked up, watching as Frostfyre flew over the ship. The dragon sang her song of farewell to Pentos and soared ahead of them up the coast. Jon wasn't worried about her—she'd be able to find him with their bond no matter how far she roamed Essos.

Dany's lips curved up into a genuine smile at the sight of the dragon and Jon felt a little joy return to him.

Braavos awaited them.

Chapter Text

Chapter Seven: The Game Changes

Hand of the King.

Eddard Stark looked out the window of his new office in King's Landing, eyes trailing over the city as the sun went down. Of all the things Robert could have asked of him, this was probably the last thing he'd expected.

The man who had fostered them both in their boyhood, Jon Arryn, was dead and gone. He couldn't believe it. Robert had ridden up from King's Landing to Winterfell to tell Ned personally, and he would be lying if he said he didn't appreciate that. For all of Robert's faults, he was a good man when it mattered. Well, most of the time.

They had mourned together. Then Robert assigned him as the new Hand of the King, and before Ned knew it, he was parting ways with the North. Robb had Winterfell now—Catelyn would help him lead. His son had learned well, and although he lacked experience, he was sharp of mind. 

It was just as well Robb had a chance to learn how to lead during peacetime. Ned remembered being forced to take over as Warden of the North in the aftermath of Robert's Rebellion. With his father and older brother dead, he'd been wholly unprepared for the role. Robb would fare much better than he had, he was sure.

Rickon would also remain in Winterfell—his youngest child was better off there, for he still had much to learn and a lot of growing to do.

Bran was crippled. His little boy. He would live, but he would never climb the walls again. The thought hurt his heart, made him long for home, and they'd only just arrived in King's Landing a few days ago.

Sansa and Arya had come with him to King's Landing, despite his uncertainty. Robert had suggested an engagement between Sansa and his oldest son, Prince Joffrey. They'd be spending time together at the capital to see how well they got along, before Ned committed his daughter to anything permanent.

Arya hadn't been as eager to come to King's Landing as her sister, but Ned had a few ideas to keep his youngest daughter entertained. Well, entertained wasn't the right word. She needed to be trained to use a weapon. Arya was Lyanna come again, and Ned knew she would need to know how to fight when she inevitably got herself into trouble.

The thought made him smile fondly.

His mind trailed to the last member of his family.

He'd heard nothing of Jon—yet. The most Ned had learned of the Targaryens was what he'd already known from Jon's letter before the boy fled Winterfell. Robert had received a raven on their way to King's Landing, informing him that Daenerys Targaryen was to be wed to a powerful Dothraki Khal, likely in exchange for an army.

Robert hadn't been happy, to the surprise of no one. Ned was sure the only time he'd see the man who was once his best friend smile for the dragonspawn would be when one of them met their demise.

But Ned had an uneasy feeling brewing in his gut. The Master of Whispers, Varys, had called for an emergency meeting of the Small Council tomorrow morning. Varys was normally soft-spoken—or so Ned was told—and he never insisted on meetings that were not scheduled as usual. He had even insisted the King be present.

Rumor was that he'd even called Tywin Lannister, who had been serving as a temporary Hand in Robert's absence, back from his ride to Casterly Rock. Ned didn't like that one bit. Tywin was one of the most dangerous men in Westeros, and he hadn't been a part of the Small Council since the days of the Mad King.

He knew there could only be one reason Varys wanted Robert's good-father to be present for this upcoming meeting.

The Small Council chamber was more lavish than Ned preferred, but it was what it was. He took his seat at Robert's right side, who hadn't attended a meeting of the Small Council in years. The King had held little interest in actually ruling the realm, and preferred for his advisors to do the work for him. He had to admit, the knowledge disappointed him, and yet somehow it wasn't a surprise. 

Robert had been born for war, not born to rule. The King himself had admitted as such.

Ned's eyes trailed over the others in the chamber. Varys, of course, sat beside him. The Spider, the Master of Whispers, the eunuch. A man of more secrets than Ned could fathom.

A true player of the Game of Thrones. Just for that alone, the Stark Patriarch distrusted him massively.

Across from Ned was the Queen, Cersei Lannister, whom he perhaps trusted even less. Lannisters were never going to be in his good graces. Less so the Lannister currently standing guard outside the chamber—Jaime. The Kingslayer.

Tywin, the Head of House Lannister, sat opposite Robert. On his sides were Petyr Baelish, or Littlefinger as he was sometimes called, and Grand Maester Pycelle. Between Littlefinger and Cersei sat Renly Baratheon, Robert's youngest brother and the current Master of Laws.  

It was quite the gathering. The King's other sibling, Stannis Baratheon, was absent though. Ned had heard the Master of Ships had left for Dragonstone when Robert refused to name him Hand. Clearly, Stannis had not taken the rejection well.

Ned was introduced to those who hadn't met him and he responded tersely, but respectfully nonetheless. No need to make more enemies than he already had in this nest of vipers.

"Good," Robert said once the niceties were done with. He looked at his Spymaster expectantly. "So, what's all the fuss about? There's wine waiting for me in my chambers."

"Of course, Your Grace," Varys dipped his bald head respectfully. When he looked up, he surveyed the gathering of their government. "The Game has changed."

"As so often it does, Lord Varys," Baelish drawled.

"Quite so, but rarely to such a degree as this. My birds have sung quite the song from the east," Varys admitted, causing the Master of Coin to raise a curious eyebrow. His gaze went back to Robert. "You received my message on the Kingsroad, Your Grace, about the wedding between Daenerys Targaryen and the Dothraki Khal, Drogo?"

"I did."

"Our hunt for the Mad King's family has been focused exclusively on Daenerys and her older brother, Viserys Targaryen, as we believed them to be the last of their House. However, it would seem that we missed one."

I knew it, Ned thought gravely.

The chamber grew quiet. Robert's face tightened. "Missed. One."

"Yes, Your Grace. A boy claiming to be Aegon Targaryen, the son of the late Prince Rhaegar and Princess Elia Martell, has appeared in Pentos before Daenerys and Viserys."

Ned raised an eyebrow at the specifics of the boy's parentage. Jon was impersonating his dead brother, who had also been named Aegon. Clever child, no matter how grim the act must be.

"This is nonsense," Cersei waved her hand dismissively. "That babe died."

"You mean he was murdered," Ned scowled fiercely, to the surprise of no one. It was no big secret he had massively disapproved of the slaughter of Rhaegar's family—especially the children, who had been free of sin.

"What difference does it make?" Cersei sneered. "He has long since rotted in the ground."

"I must concur with the Queen, Lord Varys," Pycelle admonished. "I was present when the babe was born, and I saw the body myself. The child is dead."

Robert did not look amused. "I saw what was left of Rhaegar's spawn with my own eyes. Did you call me here to waste my time, Spymaster? The brat is obviously some pretender claiming to be royalty so he can reap the rewards of such a position."

Renly and Baelish said nothing, merely glanced at Tywin. The Head of House Lannister was oddly quiet as he studied Varys, drumming his fingers on the hard wood.

Cersei looked down the table at him. "Father, surely you do not actually believe such an absurd claim?"

Tywin did not so much as glance at his daughter. His sharp gaze remained fixed on Varys. "You would not summon us here to regale us with mere rumors. What makes you so certain the boy is Aegon Targaryen?"

"Because the boy has a fully grown dragon, My Lord."

Silence.

Ned looked at Robert, saw the man go pale, then red in the face. Cersei rolled her eyes in disbelief. Renly had a brow arched, and Pycelle just shook his head.

Tywin only lifted his chin and considered the statement thoughtfully.

"You jest, surely?" Baelish tilted his head at the Spymaster. His eyebrows rose almost to his hairline.

"I do not. All of my birds present in Pentos saw the creature fly over the city multiple times. Our spy, Jorah Mormont, saw the beast with his own eyes, and up close," Varys reported to the rapidly paling council. "He described a dragon of white scales, near big enough to swallow a horse. Though the creature is not as large as Balerion the Black Dread—yet—it is without question an adult. The boy flew over Pentos to get the attention of Viserys and Daenerys, and was seen climbing from the dragon's back when they caught up to it on the surrounding hillside."

Mormont, Ned thought, scowling even further. He hoped Jon remembered the crimes that man had committed. With any luck, he'd never trust the disgraced Knight.

"This is impossible," Pycelle denounced immediately with a heavy frown. "Dragons have been extinct for a century."

"Evidently not," Varys said dryly. "Viserys attempted to claim the dragon for his own before Aegon showed himself, but the beast rejected him. Aegon told the Beggar King that a dragon only bonds to one Rider at a time. Until he dies, this white dragon will refuse another master."

"He is familiar with his family's strange magic, at least," Tywin admitted.

Robert was already breathing heavily. "Tell me about him."

"According to Mormont, the boy is quiet and solemn, but strong-willed and willing to exercise violence when necessary. He claimed his role as Head of House Targaryen immediately upon his arrival, wresting the title from Viserys, and then proceeded to cancel the marriage planned for Daenerys and Khal Drogo."

Ned felt a quiet thrill of relief on behalf of Daenerys Targaryen. He couldn't imagine how frightened that girl must've been, knowing she would have been wedded to a savage as a whore-bride, before Jon arrived and cut the wedding off. All he could think of was Sansa in Daenerys' position—his daughter would have been horrified were she in such a situation.

Renly whistled lowly. "I imagine the Dothraki didn't appreciate that."

"They did not," Varys pressed his lips. "And their opinions meant nothing, in the end."

"What do you mean?" Ned asked, frowning. He felt a sense of foreboding in the way Varys said those words.

Jon, what have you done?

"The Dothraki Khal, Drogo, was informed of the cancellation of his engagement to Daenerys the day it was meant to take place," Varys said. "They stood him up."

Baelish snorted. "Foolish children."

"You won't think so in a moment," the Spider continued, causing the man to blink curiously. "The enraged Drogo rode upon Pentos with ten-thousand Dothraki screamers. Your Grace, I believe you are familiar with a phrase common in Essos regarding the savages, are you not? 'Only a fool would face the Dothraki on an open field'?"

"It's the truth. They're the greatest light cavalry force in the world," Robert affirmed. No one argued with that—Robert had many faults, but he was a talented warlord. He understood war better than perhaps anyone in the room save Tywin Lannister, and even Tywin nodded silently in agreement with the King.

"Aegon Targaryen ambushed the Dothraki horde astride his dragon, Frostfyre, and burned them fields and all. Casualties numbered in the thousands—all Dothraki. In the end, the savages retreated. The dragon emerged unscathed. Pentos lost not a single man guarding its walls, and Aegon Targaryen walked out of the conflict with only minor wounds."

Ned could scarcely believe it. He had known the dragon was big, was undoubtedly powerful beyond his wildest dreams, but Jon had flown against an army single-handedly and won.

It sounded impossible, yet it was the truth. His nephew hadn't just revealed himself—he had displayed the full force of his dragon to the world. There was no going back now.

The world had just learned how dangerous he was.

"That is ridiculous," Renly protested. "Even with a dragon, surely…"

"No, it is not ridiculous in the slightest," Tywin remarked. "The Dothraki did not expect such a foe, nor are they even remotely prepared to face one of the beasts. Their arrows are simply not enough to pierce the armored hide of a fully grown dragon."

Robert looked like he was on the verge of having a fit. "How did he survive? Where has he been hiding? Where the fuck did he get a dragon?!"

"Ah, that's the interesting part," Varys replied. "According to the child, he was spirited out of King's Landing before Lord Tywin sacked the city. The boy was swapped for another babe, and a small handful of Targaryen Loyalists smuggled him—and presumably the dragon egg—far to the North."

"The North?" Cersei's eyes landed on Ned, burning suspiciously. "You have been lax in your duties as Warden, Lord Stark. Or perhaps you are not as honorable as you claim to be."

Ned bristled. "You think I, of all the people here, would hide a Targaryen and a dragon in my lands?"

"Well, if the shoe fits," she hissed. "You were so against the deaths of Rhaegar's family, after all."

"I am against the murder of children. Clearly, you are not. Let me remind you, my Queen, what I lost because of Aerys Targaryen and his fucking firstborn," Ned rose to his feet with a vicious snarl, knowing the slight against Rhaegar would only anger Cersei further. It was no small secret the Queen had been infatuated with the Targaryen Prince in her younger days, before Aerys had arranged a wedding with the Martells instead of the Lannisters. "My father. My brother. My sister. All of them dead! Might I ask what you lost?"

Cersei looked ready to spit back a biting retort, but Robert slammed his fist on the table. "Enough! Cersei, you will cease your accusations now! Ned, get yourself together, man!"

Ned sat down, still glaring furiously at the Queen. Robert glared from one to the other before fixing his eyes on Cersei. "The North is by far the largest and emptiest of all the territories in Westeros. Go in deep enough, and it's no stretch to imagine a small group could hide out in the wilderness somewhere."

"I concur," Varys agreed, looking to Ned with a slight nod, and then to Cersei. "As for the dragon—it would seem they went even further to conceal its presence in Westeros. When it got to be too large to hide, the boy flew the beast beyond the Wall. They have resided in that frozen wasteland for the past two years."

"There you have it," Robert waved a hand at Varys whilst looking at Cersei, still frowning deeply.

"Your vaunted Night's Watch couldn't spot such a creature flying over the Wall?" Cersei asked snidely, still unsatisfied.

"The Night's Watch is down to barely a thousand men and cannot keep up with all the posts it has manned in the past. I have sent in report after report regarding it's dwindling status and asked King's Landing repeatedly for help in boosting its ranks in light of the growing Wildling threat. Maybe if you'd bothered to send more the odd criminal or bastard to help them, the dragon would have been spotted sooner."

She scowled, but Ned's reasoning silenced her final accusation.

Tywin's index finger tapped the table thrice in the following silence. "Regardless of the boy's prior whereabouts, the fact of the matter is that he has emerged now, and he has a fully grown dragon at his command."

The Lannister Patriarch stood abruptly and walked to one of the windows, staring out at King's Landing with his hands folded behind his back. He was quiet for several moments.

"He must be dealt with."

"Is he still in Pentos?" Robert demanded.

"For now," Varys admitted. "Although I find it unlikely he will remain there for long. The child is reportedly more intelligent than Viserys. More wary. He will expect us to react to his emergence. But speaking of Viserys, it would seem the boy and his uncle are not on friendly terms. Viserys was extremely displeased to find his position upended by his nephew's sudden appearance."

"With any luck, he'll kill the boy and we'll be left to deal with the more foolish of the two," Robert grunted.

"Is that really what we want?" Ned asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You don't think Viserys will just ride to war if he kills that boy and claims the dragon for himself? He might not be as mad as his father—yet—but a man drunk on power can behave stupidly."

"What does it matter if he does?" Renly asked, frowning.

Surprisingly, it was Tywin Lannister who answered. His voice took on an edge.

"It matters! Because dragons have been extinct for over a hundred years! And not a single city in Westeros has been equipped to fight one since," Tywin spun around to regard the council, his expression severe. "If Viserys kills Aegon Targaryen and claims the dragon, he would be foolhardy enough to fly on us to battle immediately. And we are not ready to fight a fully grown dragon. It would burn King's Landing to the ground, as well as any other city he so chooses to strike. We would rather the dragon be in the hands of a boy who is more likely to retreat further east. That gives us more time to prepare for his monster before he sets his eyes on the Iron Throne."

Robert nodded, seeing the reasoning. He stood up slowly from his chair and looked at Varys. Ned saw a spark of the man he'd once been—the warlord.

"Have your birds report to us more frequently from now on. I want to know every damn move that child makes, every place the dragon is seen. If Aegon Targaryen does anything of even the slightest significance, I want to know about it."

"Of course, Your Grace," Varys dipped his head.

Robert's military mind was clearly already working again—shaking off the rust from years of disuse. His gaze suddenly shot back to the Master of Whispers. "What about the girl? She's not wedding the Dothraki barbarian anymore. What's become of her?"

"Nothing certain as of yet," Varys answered slowly. "But Mormont has stated that Aegon and Daenerys have grown…rather close in a short amount of time."

Dammit, Ned fought the urge to squeeze his eyes shut when he heard that. He knew Jon and Daenerys were very close because of their shared Dragon Dreams. Whenever Jon talked about her…Ned remembered what it was like to be young and in love. Seeing each other in person at last—well, they were teenagers. Was he really surprised their restraint was lacking?

Robert's nostrils flared. "I want the Dragon Rider dead before he impregnates that girl. Whatever you have to offer your assassins, offer it. Gold, lands, titles, I don't give a damn what they want. If they bring me Aegon Targaryen's head, they'll get it!"

Ned pursed his lips. Robert was on the warpath now. He had to be careful, and pray that Jon could stay one step ahead of the King's hunters.

Dany stretched her arms over her head in the sea breeze, squinting against the morning sun off their port side.

They'd been at sea for about a moon now, making a few short stops at small ports here and there. In a few weeks, they'd arrive at Braavos. Her lips rose up slightly at the thought.

They didn't know for certain where they'd be staying in the Free City, but she hoped beyond hope they'd find her old house with the red door and the lemon tree. If she could see it again, live in those walls even for a little while longer…

She heard the sounds of sparring swords whacking against each other again and glanced over her shoulder.

Jon and Ser Jorah were sparring on the deck behind her. It was one of the few places on the ship with enough open space for the activity, such that they wouldn't get in the way of the crew. Though Jorah wore a thin tunic, Jon was bare chested. The humidity and warmth of the Narrow Sea had proven to be more than he could bear when it came to physical exertion. The seasons hadn't started to cool just yet, after all.

Jon ducked under Jorah's last swing and thrust his weapon past the Knight's guard, driving the tip of the sparring blade into Jorah's belly. "Dead."

"Well done, Your Grace," Jorah praised, backing off so they could prepare for another bout. Jon's skill had been improving. Although he still lost often to the Knight, due to Ser Jorah's greater strength and experience, he was learning fast. Their matches weren't nearly as lopsided as they'd been when they started sparring.

Doreah appeared from belowdecks with a cup in-hand. She spotted Daenerys and walked over to her, carefully working her way around the pair of sparring men.

"Tea, Princess?"

"Thank you, Doreah," Dany smiled at her. "I appreciate it."

"It is no trouble," the handmaiden assured her. She looked over at Jon and Jorah. "Have they even eaten yet?"

"No, they have not," she admitted.

"Well," Doreah shot Dany a sly look. "At least the view is nice."

Dany felt her cheeks warm up. She sipped at her tea. "I have found little reason to complain."

Doreah grinned and Dany offered her a slight smirk in return. It was wonderful to have another woman to talk to. Viserys had denied her any truly close companionship with the servants before Jon arrived. He didn't think she should waste her time with them.

Things were different now.

"If you are interested, Princess," Doreah said suddenly. "I would like to talk to you in confidence. A chat between girls, if you like."

Dany tilted her head and only considered the idea for a few moments before nodding. She so rarely had the chance to do so before. "Of course. My quarters?"

"If that so pleases you," the handmaiden winked. Dany smiled at her conspiratorially and the two young women retreated back belowdecks, leaving Jon and Ser Jorah to their spars.

Dany's quarters were actually her and Jon's quarters—much like with Master Illyrio's manse, she preferred to stay with him. It was true insofar that they changed in separate rooms, but it was a delight to spend so much time together. Most nights were as they always were; talking for hours, catching up on all the things they'd never been able to speak of in their Dragon Dreams before sleep finally found them.

Those were wonderful nights.

Dany let Doreah in and the handmaiden looked around, smiling at the small, but comfortable bed. "I suppose you and the King wind up rather close to each other in the night, hmm?"

Dany's pale face reddened again. "We…well, yes. But we don't…you know."

"Oh, I know," Doreah's giggle caught her by surprise. "I know the sailors and other servants talk, but I grew up in Lys as a pleasure girl for a pillow house. I know an innocent maiden when I see one."

The Targaryen Princess pursed her lips. Doreah had been a bedslave before arriving in Pentos. Illyrio and Viserys had bought her to serve as Dany's handmaiden, although Dany had freed her immediately when she found out the older girl had been a slave. But Doreah was content to stay with them, as were the other two freed slaves chosen to wait on Dany—Irri and Jhiqui.

Doreah sat down on the edge of the bed and patted the space beside her, encouraging Dany to sit. She did so, watching the other girl as Doreah studied her curiously.

"I don't know if they ever told you why Viserys and Illyrio bought me for you, did they?"

Dany shook her head. The blonde woman grinned mischievously. "I was to teach you in the womanly arts of love."

The blush came back full-force and Dany cleared her throat awkwardly. "W-well…you don't need to do that now, Doreah."

"Perhaps not. But would you like me to?"

Dany snapped her gaze onto the other girl, eyes wide. "I'm sorry?"

"You might think you're good at hiding it, but you and the Dragon King are star-crossed lovers if ever I've seen them," Doreah teased. "I think the only ones who haven't noticed the way you look at each other are the two of you yourselves."

The handmaiden clasped her hands together. "But I can also tell the two of you haven't done much, if anything at all."

"…No, we haven't."

"Would I be overstepping my bounds if I asked why?"

Dany struggled with the prospect of actually answering that. She had never had another woman to confide in, and well…she wanted to. It was personal, yes, but…

Finally, she took a deep breath and spoke. "I'm…Jon and I are still getting to know each other, if that makes sense."

Doreah frowned. "Jon?"

Dany froze. Shit.

Her mouth opened and closed, and at last she covered her face in her hands. "I didn't mean to say that. Right, um. I need you to keep a secret."

"Of course."

Dany looked at Doreah, her voice dropping to a low murmur. "Jon is the name Aegon used when he was living in Westeros. He grew up with it—to better hide himself in case someone found him. It's the name he's most familiar with right now, and…I'm just more used to calling him by it in private."

"Ah," Doreah inclined her head in understanding. "Gods, whoever hid him really stopped at nothing to make sure he wasn't found, didn't they?"

"They wanted to keep him safe," she answered simply.

"I won't share his secret," Doreah promised again. "I give you my word."

Dany relaxed slightly. "Thank you, Doreah."

"Now," the handmaiden's voice became tinged with trouble again. "You and Jon are 'getting to know each other', as you said. How so?"

"We stay up together. We talk," Dany couldn't hide a shy smile. "Usually, our hands find themselves entwined in the night."

"Gods, Princess," Doreah giggled. "The two of you might as well be childhood sweethearts."

She's not far off the mark, Dany thought to herself. She and Jon had dreamt of each other since they were very small. In a way, they were childhood sweethearts.

"It does feel like we've known each other for forever," she said at last, working around the truth of their Valyrian magic.

"Do you desire more with him?"

Dany bit her lip. "I…yes."

"He clearly desires more with you."

"How can you tell?"

"Oh, Princess," Doreah's eyes gleamed. "He looks at you as if he were a starving wolf. Men are easy to read once you know the signs. He is young, eager, and utterly smitten with you. I can't say I particularly blame him, either."

Dany blushed. Gods, at this rate, her skin was going to become red forever.

"Is there a reason the two of you haven't sought out more?"

"Jon doesn't wish to dishonor me by…well, doing that before…"

Doreah's eyebrows rose high. "I see. He's one of those boys, is he?"

"What do you mean?"

"He's honorable to the point of madness. I suppose that makes sense. I wondered how on earth he exercised the restraint to not bed you when you are so close to him all the time."

Dany frowned deeply.

"Jon wouldn't—"

"I don't mean to say he'd take you against your will," Doreah stopped her gently, smiling at the younger girl. "I may not know him as well as you do, but I know he is kind. The Dothraki take women like a hound takes a bitch. Your Dragon King—he's a different sort of man."

"He's not mine."

"When you see how he looks at you, Princess, you will realize he was always yours," the handmaiden murmured.

Dany pursed her lips. She had to admit, she was curious. She wanted to know what Doreah saw that she'd clearly missed. "How should I…well, make him look at me, I suppose?"

"You could just be your beautiful self. But if you mean to try something a bit more…intense, I can think of plenty of ways."

"I do not think we are ready to do that. We've only kissed once as it is."

"Gods, you're even more innocent than I thought. But that wasn't what I was suggesting, Princess. Learning each other is more than just talking. It's physical, as well. Even if you don't go all the way, there are many ways you can learn one another. It would be good for both of you."

Dany tilted her head. "What sorts of ways?"

"First lesson," Doreah smirked, suddenly taking Dany by the shoulders and pushing her back onto the bed. The younger girl gasped, staring up at her handmaiden as Doreah shifted and straddled Daenerys, settling her weight on her lap. "Love starts at the eyes."

"The…the eyes?"

"Mmhm. You must always look in his eyes," Doreah slowly reached over to take both of Dany's hands, lazily intertwining their fingers. "It is said that Irogenia of Lys could finish a man with only her eyes."

"Finish a man?"

Doreah's eyebrows waggled suggestively. When it clicked, Dany felt like she blushed down to her toes. "O-oh! Um, it's definitely too early to talk about that. Jon and I have barely…"

"I know. But you'd be amazed how much the little things matter when you are together. It will make more sense over time," Doreah guided Dany's hands to her waist, showing her how to hold on as her hips rotated in lazy gyrations. "Even if the two of you decide to take things slow…even if you choose not to bed one another until you marry, there is more to romance than just kisses and sex."

Dany swallowed heavily. She was undeniably curious. The dragon inside of her was growling—a flame that had become more and more stoked as her freedoms became more pronounced.

Viserys had nearly suffocated her flames into nothingness. Jon had breathed life back into them. Now they were hot in her belly, and Daenerys wanted.

Feeling inexplicably energized, Dany lunged upwards, twisting Doreah and pinning her where the Targaryen girl had lain only moments before. Her handmaiden's eyes grew wide with surprise, but she grinned. "I knew there was a dragon in you somewhere, Princess!"

"I want to know more," she said quietly. Almost demanded. Fire burned in her eyes.

"Then I shall teach you as much—or as little—as you so wish," Doreah promised.

Another day at sea was behind them, Jon thought absently as he dried himself off from the quick wash he'd taken. He felt pleasantly tired—sparring with Jorah and helping around the ship where he could often left him so, but he'd struggle through another hour to talk with Dany more.

She'd been conspicuously absent for much of today. She and Doreah had gone off somewhere—probably their shared quarters—for some privacy. Jon didn't mind that at all. He remembered how he, Robb, and Theon would pull away from Sansa and Arya in Winterfell to talk amongst themselves, as boys often did.

Well, until Arya snuck up on them and scared the daylights out of the boys.

A fond smile pulled at his lips at the thought of his cousin. He wondered if she'd grown any while he'd been away. Sure, it hadn't been that long, but still…

Jon slipped into his clothes for the night and made his way to his quarters. Ever courteous of his friend's privacy, he knocked on the door first. "Dany?"

"Come in," she called back.

He stepped inside and spotted Dany sitting on the edge of the bed. She had the lantern, attached to the side of the ship's interior, burning for light. The sun had just set, and the darkness had quickly closed in on them.

Jon cracked a smile at her. She was also dressed for bed already, donning one of her comfortable nightgowns. "Hey."

"Hey," she returned, lips curved upwards.

"Did you have a good day? Barely saw you out there."

"I had some girl time with Doreah," she confessed. "It was enjoyable."

"I'm happy for you," he made his way to the bed and sat down next to her. Jon rubbed at his eyes, feeling sleep starting to cling onto him more tightly…

Suddenly, he was on his back, hands pinned beside his head, and Daenerys was staring down at him. The sleep left his body immediately.

His lips parted, but he was too startled to speak. She threaded their fingers together, never looking away from his eyes, and squeezed his hands tightly as she leaned over him.

"Tell me if I should stop," she breathed. Her violet eyes had their own fire, regardless of the flickering, yellow flame close by.

Jon could only watch, speechless and stunned and impossibly spellbound by the sight of her. Dany's hair fell forward, creating a silver-white curtain around them as her nose brushed his, then her top lip, and then she was kissing him lightly. His hands squeezed hers. Her weight atop him shifted and he gasped.

Sleep had been eradicated from his mind. His blood was on fire. The wolf and dragon both lodged deep in his soul purred as one.

She pulled back and his breath left him in a shaky exhale. His eyes were still wide and shocked. Dany watched his reaction—fiery and hungry, but he saw the anxiety there, too. The uncertainty. She wasn't sure if she'd been right to act in such a way with him.

A small part of him wanted to know where this had come from.

A much larger part didn't give the slightest of fucks. There was only Dany.

Jon pushed her hands back with his own, untangling their fingers, and wrapped his arms around her waist as he sat up. He slotted his mouth against hers and she reacted by dragging her fingers into his dark curls, scratching and pulling in ways that made shivers rush up and down his spine. Jon squeezed at her hips, fisting her gown.

It was a mess—their teeth scratched against each other more than once, causing them to hiss, but neither of them cared. Before long, they figured out what they were supposed to be doing. They slowed somewhat, but the fire still burned hot.

Dany's hips rolled atop him and Jon gasped into her mouth. Their tongues met—tentative at first, but the heat grew and they shifted to make the contact easier for them. It was unfamiliar and impossibly warm. Air ceased to matter to them.

Blood was rushing south and when Dany twisted her hips in a circle, Jon bucked into her motion. The friction was like lightning—she made a low keen in her throat that had him pulling her flush against his body. He felt her small breasts against his chest and their heartbeats were so powerful, they thrummed along every inch of his skin.

They pulled apart, gasping and flushed and wanting, wanting, wanting…

Jon almost moved in again, but Dany held a finger to his lips, still parted to breathe. He hesitated. Did he do something wrong?

"I know you don't want to go too far," she whispered, her breath ragged. Her eyes still had not left his, and he was riveted by those gorgeous violets. "We won't, if that is what you want."

"What do you want?" Jon asked, ever-giving.

"You," Dany swallowed. Her fingers were digging into his shirt, pulling at it unconsciously. "Us."

He pressed his forehead to hers, staring back into her eyes. Their noses brushed. He could taste her lips.

He scarcely wanted to breathe.

"Not all the way," he whispered. "Not tonight. But—more?"

"More," she agreed. Jon slid past her lips, kissing her cheek, the corner of her jaw—her skin was soft and so sweet. His mouth found her neck and he dragged a throaty sound from her parted lips that made him so fucking hard. She pulled at his hair and he trailed his lips down to her collarbone before she forced him to come back up for another kiss. Her hips rolled into his and Jon's eyes fluttered shut.

The ship carried them through the night and its long, restless hours.

At some point, the young lovers managed to find sleep—after they had exhausted each other for breathlessness, bruised their lips, and left more than a few bites and scratches to remember the night by.

Dragons were passionate creatures. The marks were going to be just fun to explain to their traveling companions.

But for now, they stood in the Tower of Joy again.

The eggs were still in the fireplace as they'd left them from their last Dragon Dream. Frostfyre's tiny shape was curled up by the flames. She looked up at them briefly before returning to her rest.

Dany followed Jon's eyes to the bed in the middle of the room. The lighting was dark—it must have been nighttime, but there were a few candles lighting the space.

Lyanna Stark was curled into Rhaegar Targaryen's side, dozing as he placed soft kisses on the top of her head. Both were covered by the bedsheets, and Dany was happy about that.

She was pretty sure they were not wearing anything beneath those furs, and she did not want to get an eyeful of her dead brother—Dragon Dream or not.

Lyanna's eyes were closed, but she spoke first. "I think it'll be a boy."

"It's a girl," Rhaegar argued softly.

"How are you so sure?"

"I have a son already," he told her. "An Aegon. I have a daughter, Rhaenys. That leaves—"

"Rhaegar Targaryen, do you mean to tell me you assume I will bear only one child for you throughout our marriage?" Lyanna cracked open an eye and half-glared up at him, though her lips were curved up into a smirk.

He pursed his lips. "The dragon has three heads…"

"Perhaps it should have five."

Rhaegar snorted and grinned. Gods, her brother looked absurdly happy. He'd been so somber the last time Dany had seen him, but when he smiled, he was a completely different person. "Perhaps."

Lyanna laughed and leaned up to kiss her husband. She then nestled her nose into his neck. "I'm sure it'll be a boy. If I'm wrong, and it is a girl, I'll entertain your delusions of grandeur and name her Visenya, since you're so eager to have your 'three dragons' as it were."

"Hmm," Rhaegar hummed. His head fell back on the pillow as he looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully. "If you're right…if it is a boy, what would you name him?"

"Jaehaerys," she murmured.

Dany heard Jon's breath catch and she looked over at him. His eyes were wide, his expression unfathomable. She reached over to take his hand, and he squeezed tight. She watched him swallow.

"Jaehaerys," his father repeated, and Rhaegar's eyes closed as he leaned his cheek against the top of Lyanna's head. "You said the dragon should have five heads. Who would be our last?"

Lyanna made a quiet sound. "We can talk about our last when my womb has quickened with our first."

"You have so little faith in me?" He sounded amused. Dany blushed furiously.

Lyanna bit his neck and Rhaegar yelped. The she-wolf was grinning. "The night is still young, O' Dragon Prince. You have plenty more chances to prove yourself."

The dream ended.

Dany came to, curled up into Jon's side much how Lyanna had been curled into Rhaegar's. She felt him wake and propped herself up on one arm to look down on him. Jon's eyes found her, and his expression said it all.

Lyanna had wanted to name him Jaehaerys. Why had she named him Aegon?

Chapter Text

Chapter Eight: On the Fair Sea Maiden

Ned sat in his office at the Tower of the Hand, and pondered.

The Crown was not in the most ideal of positions at the moment. They were massively in-debt, had harvests to reap before the colder seasons came in, and now of all times, had a possible war to plan for.

That would depend on if Viserys Targaryen killed Jon.

Ned knew beyond any doubt that Jon would never ride to war against Westeros unless something terrible happened. His nephew was not a warmonger—even hearing about how he razed down a Dothraki army did not convince Ned that Jon was full of bloodlust. The boy had flown halfway across the world to save Daenerys from the savages, and he'd done just that.

It wasn't like he could have negotiated with the Dothraki screamers, anyways. They settled things with blood.

But if Viserys killed Jon, all bets were off. If that happened—the worst possible situation—and Viserys claimed Frostfyre, Ned would do everything in his power to put the Mad King's son down. Which meant he'd also have to commit to putting the dragon down, as well; a task that could cost them thousands of lives.

He prayed to any gods that existed for such a thing to never occur.

Robert was already on the warpath as it was. Even if Tywin had convinced him in the end to lay off the assassination attempts on Jon for the time being—better to not make the job easier for Viserys—Ned's former best friend had found a new purpose in life. Preparing for this war he was sure was coming had brought back the warlord.

A day after the Small Council meeting that changed the Game of Thrones, Robert Baratheon had rather loudly concluded that he was a fat fuck.

Now he was burning that excess weight, gained from years of drinking and eating excessively. The Fat King was not going to go to war in such a state. He'd set himself on a brutal, punishing journey of self-betterment, spending each and every day exercising more than Ned ever remembered, even in their youth.

The Fat King wanted to bring back the Demon of the Trident. Ned feared he was determined enough to get it. The promise of war, the possibility of hunting down and slaughtering the last of Rhaegar's bloodline had sloughed off many of Robert's flaws seemingly overnight.

Not all of them, of course. He was still obstinate and stubborn, and Ned knew his friend would always be a whoremonger. But he was itching for a fight, and he'd be in as good of shape as he could manage by the time it found them.

If it found them.

Ned privately hoped that Jon would stay far away in Essos until Robert grew bored waiting and descended back into his prior, slovenly state. As bad as it was to hope for such a thing to befall his friend, (again) he didn't want Jon anywhere near the King if Robert got back into shape.

Robert would kill him as surely as he'd killed Jon's father. Rhaegar had been a skilled warrior, but even he hadn't been a match for the Demon.

But even if he never returned to Westeros—something that tore at Ned's heart; the desire to see his family whole, but also the desire to keep them safe—the Stark Patriarch knew that sooner or later, Westeros would come to Jon.

It was only a matter of time before Prince Oberyn, the infamous Red Viper of Dorne, began to track Jon down personally. Ned only hoped he wouldn't bring his Sand Snake daughters along for the hunt. Oberyn on his own was dangerous enough without his assassin offspring joining in.

A paw prodding his foot broke Ned's train of thought, and he glanced downwards at the small, white dire wolf. He cracked a smile and bent over in his chair to stroke the soft fur. "Need to go outside, Ghost?"

Ghost's tongue silently lolled out, and Ned decided he needed a break, anyways.

Ghost was but one of six dire wolf pups Ned had found not long after Jon fled from Winterfell. He'd found the massive, dead mother with her little still clinging to her belly, and decided they'd be suitable companions for his House. The Stark sigil was a dire wolf, after all.

All of his children had received a pup. The sixth, the runt of the litter, the odd one out, Ned would have given to Jon. But with Jon and his dragon on the eastern continent, Ned took Ghost for himself. Silent from the moment he was born, he had never made so much as a whine.

The white wolf, as well as his two sisters here in King's Landing—Arya's Nymeria and Sansa's Lady—were not fans of the climate, but they were adjusting as well as any of the Starks themselves.

Ned led his furry companion down the tower steps and to one of the castle yards, which he found occupied by Robert and his King's Guard. Most of the Knights were standing on the sidelines, but two of them were speaking to the King—likely guiding him on his chosen exercises.

At the moment, he was carrying a thick log on his shoulder and walking around the yard with it. The Fat King was sweating like mad, red in the face, but grim and set.

He finished one of his circuits and set the log down with a low growl of exertion, gesturing with one of his hands for a page boy to bring him a drink. The boy—obviously a Lannister from the gold head—hurried to obey.

Robert took a gulp and immediately spat the drink out. "Fuck the wine! Bring me water!"

Ned blinked. He was as surprised as the Lannister boy was, but he fortunately didn't have to scramble off to find the King the drink he wanted. He never thought he'd live to see the day when Robert of all people would turn away alcohol in favor of water.

Would wonders never cease?

"Father!"

Ned turned at the familiar voice and could help but smile at the sight of Arya rushing towards him with Nymeria and Lady hot on her heels. Behind her, he saw Sansa as well as Robert's daughter, Myrcella.

Nymeria and Lady quickly rushed to meet Ghost, tails wagging and yipping. Ned let the dire wolves have their fun while he waited for his daughters and their friends to reach him.

"Father!" Arya exclaimed again, eyes gleaming. "Is it true?!"

"You'll have to specify, little one," Ned ruffled her hair teasingly, causing her to jerk away with a playful scowl. "Is what true?"

Sansa and Myrcella reached them, slightly more out of breath than his youngest daughter. Arya looked around, as if she were about to deliver some great secret before she spoke. "A dragon? Is it true?"

Ned pursed his lips, but Sansa scoffed. "That's not the good part of the story! Who cares about the dragon?"

"I care about the dragon!" Arya retorted.

"Girls," Ned stopped their bickering before it got out of hand.

"Sorry, father," Sansa apologized. "But is the story true?"

He sighed and glanced back at Robert, who was back at another circuit. News of Jon's actions was getting around as quickly as had been expected—it had been a week since the Small Council received word of it. A dragon in the world again was momentous news, after all. "What exactly have you heard?"

"The Dragon King flew against an army of a hundred-thousand Dothraki and destroyed them all?" Arya demanded.

"Shut up! That's not what's important!" Sansa snapped.

"It was ten-thousand Dothraki, but yes, he defeated them," Ned answered Arya quickly, causing her to grin massively before he looked at Sansa. "What did you want to ask about?"

Myrcella spoke now, eyes gleaming. She was going to be as beautiful as Cersei one day, but she had absolutely none of her mother's snide, cruel nature. The child was pure and good, and Ned desperately hoped she remained so.

"Is it true the Dragon King flew to Pentos to save the Targaryen Princess from a barbarian?"

Ah, Ned smirked. Now he knew what had Sansa so worked up. His daughter was a hopeless romantic. It seemed she and Myrcella had found common ground in that sense. He really wouldn't have preferred this particular topic to be the one they bonded over, but it was what it was.

"I cannot say if he flew to Pentos specifically to save the Princess," he admitted, altering the truth of Jon's flight to Essos. "But it is true that he fought the Dothraki to keep the Princess from their Khal—their leader, to whom she was being sold."

Sansa looked ready to swoon, much to his amusement. Myrcella looked just as fascinated, but Arya rolled her eyes at the sight of her sister's latest romantic obsession.

"He must love her desperately to have endangered himself so, mustn't he?" Sansa sighed, smiling dreamily. "And she must love him. I'm sure they've already wed…"

"Seven hells, Sansa," Arya made a gagging sound.

Ned had to bite the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from laughing. If Sansa knew it was Jon who flew to the aid of the Targaryen Princess, she would have a stroke.

If only the secret wasn't one that would get him and probably his whole family killed as a result.

"Listen girls," Ned looked at them seriously. "It's all fine and good to ask questions about this, but be careful when you're talking about the Targaryens. As exciting a story as it makes, the dragon and its Rider are very real and dangerous. The King would not like to hear the tale being romanticized, understand?"

The children nodded, though Arya frowned. Ned went on. "Keep the fun parts of the tale to yourselves, alright? Perhaps when things calm down you can discuss it more openly, but for now—for now things are going to be tense in Westeros."

"Yes, sir," they chorused. Ned smiled at them kindly.

"Off with you, now," he told them gently. "I must return to work. Arya—would you mind keeping Ghost with you for the rest of the day? I believe he was getting restless sitting in the tower with me."

"Sure. He and Nymeria can get into trouble with me," Arya grinned.

She ran off with Sansa and Myrcella in-tow before Ned could object, and he sighed. He only hoped the trouble they found was minimal.

"It's wonderful to see the children getting along so well, isn't it?"

Ned stood up ramrod-straight, turning his head to the side of the yard as Varys approached him on silent feet. The Spider was looking after the girls, a slight smile on his face.

"Aye, it's good for them to play together," Ned agreed slowly.

"Quite. Children are the future of the realm, and if they get along, there's hope that the great houses might be more firmly unified in the future," Varys murmured. He looked back to Ned. "Forgive me; I overheard your talk with them on the way to meet one of my birds. The Dragon King has become quite the subject around King's Landing."

"I never thought it would take long for word to get out. A dragon in the world again is…"

"Either a beacon of hope or a symbol of death. It depends on the person to whom it answers, and whom you ask of it."

Ned nodded. The Spider made him uncomfortable, but he got the feeling Varys didn't mind. The man knew what he was in a way few did, and he accepted that role openly.

Varys glanced at him briefly. "I admire you, Lord Stark, but I hope you understand that you are living in a nest of vipers. This place is terribly dangerous for honest men. I urge you to be careful."

Ned wasn't sure what to say to that, so he just nodded silently and returned to the Tower of the Hand as Varys slipped off in the opposite direction.

"Must you go?"

Oberyn Martell, Prince of Dorne, had most of his things packed for what was undoubtedly going to be a lengthy trip. Well, hunt in this case. Not his first, certainly not his last, but probably the most interesting by far.

"I cannot ignore this, Ellaria," he answered his lover. Ellaria Sand, his beloved paramour and the mother of four of his eight daughters, watched him from the door of their chambers anxiously. She was his wife in all but name, for they were too free and fluid to be bound by anything save the love they shared.

"It will be dangerous, my love," she tried to reason with him. "The boy has a dragon."

"Perhaps so, but it will not be at his side forever. Dragons need to eat just as humans do. That is when I will strike."

Ellaria pursed her lips. "What if it really is him?"

Oberyn stopped packing for a second and looked over at her. His viper's eyes were a mix of sorrow and anger. "It cannot be, Ellaria."

"He has a dragon, Oberyn! That speaks for his blood on its own!"

The Prince turned away. He had seen the gruesome remains of his beloved sister. Had seen the crushed face of his baby nephew and the skewered body of his sweet niece.

"It cannot be him," Oberyn murmured. "I saw them all. It simply cannot be. I do not know how he got the dragon, but Aegon is dead. This…pretender is using his name and parentage for some reason, and I mean to know why."

He heard soft footsteps, and then Ellaria's arms were wrapped around his torso from behind. "My love, you might be sailing to your death. If the dragon finds you…"

"It is a risk I must take."

"You will go alone?"

"There is no time to summon my daughters around Dorne. The Dragon King was last seen in Pentos, and he will not stay long after such an incident. Essos is large—to make my hunt as short as possible, I must start tracking him now."

Oberyn turned in her arms and leaned down to kiss his lover fiercely. When they parted, he spoke against her lips. "I shall reach out to you when I can."

"Return to your daughters, my Prince," Ellaria commanded. "And to me."

He nodded, promising, and kissed her again.

This was foolishness.

Jaime Lannister stood at the door to Barristan Selmy's quarters. The day was over and his shift as Robert Baratheon's Kingsguard was done for now. Others would guard the King's sleep.

He could have been fucking his sister right then, but Jaime had made an excuse to her tonight. He was not feeling well. Cersei had been disappointed, but accepted his decision regardless.

It was not a lie. He'd not been feeling well for over a week now, although it was not illness that ailed him. He had long pondered the most recent events of the world, and now he was here, at the door to his Lord Commander's chambers.

But if he was being truthful with himself, the reason he turned Cersei away was because he just…couldn't bring himself to sneak into her chambers and have her. Not now. A week ago, he would have accepted, would have let her lust consume him as it so often had before.

That was before stories of dragons reached them. Before a child fought a Dothraki horde for the daughter of a woman Jaime had failed so many times before in his younger days.

The door still remained closed before him.

What was he even doing here?

What was the context of that first question?

Jaime shook his head and lifted his hand, knocking on the door. He heard Barristan call to his guest, and entered the room.

The senior Knight was sitting at a small table, enjoying a modest dinner. He seemed surprised to see the younger man entering his room. "Ser Jaime."

"Ser Barristan," he returned, walking over to the table. "May I join you?"

"You may," the Lord Commander nodded. Jaime took the chair and for some moments, there was an awkward silence between them.

"The King has been pushing himself," Jaime said at last. "I wasn't sure if he would, but if he keeps this up, he might just get back into shape."

"Robert Baratheon is the most bullheaded man in Westeros once he sets his eyes on something he wants," Barristan remarked. "It would seem the warlord in him has returned with the appearance of the Dragon King across the sea."

Jaime nodded silently, looking down at the table. Barristan's brow furrowed. "What is wrong, boy? You haven't said a single sarcastic word since you entered my quarters."

The younger Knight didn't answer for a while.

Barristan waited patiently. He'd known the Kingslayer from the time he was just a squire. Now in his early thirties, anyone who knew him would understand that this strange quiet of Jaime's was unusual. Where was the mocking sneer and sarcasm?

"I still dream of those nights, when the Mad King ruled," Jaime finally said, his voice soft and pained. His eyes, Barristan thought, were very far away. "So often I can't stand it. I can hear her screaming. I always say 'we are sworn to protect her.' And always I get the same answer. 'Not from him.'"

The Lord Commander seemed to age a decade. "Jaime…"

The way Aerys Targaryen had treated his wife, Rhaella, had scarred Jaime forever. Seven hells, he was barely a man in those days. No more than seventeen summers.

He'd stood outside the Queen's chambers and listened to the Mad King rape his wife, powerless to act.

"There are times in my dreams when I force my way into that room and I kill him," Jaime confessed. "But it never stops her screams. Her cries. It is always too late."

Barristan was quiet for some time. "I never dream of it so vividly. But I hear her voice on some nights. It pains me."

The Kingslayer drummed his fingers absently. "I heard tell you are thinking about retiring."

"I have seen many years of service. I think I am due a reprieve, before another war starts."

"I don't believe you."

Barristan raised an eyebrow. Jaime still didn't look at him.

"The Dragon King—he's still only a boy. He can't be more than…what, ten and four? Ten and five?"

"…Something like that."

"I was still a squire at that age. A child. A child flew across the Narrow Sea for someone he'd never met. He rode to war for someone he didn't know…and he won. What does that say about us? We knew Rhaella for years…and we did nothing."

"We swore an oath," Barristan reminded him.

"What sort of oath forces a Knight to listen to his Queen be raped while we guard the King who rapes her?"

"…I don't know."

"I've been rotting away in this place," Jaime murmured. "I do not know what I'm doing here anymore. The codes and morals I upheld when I first took my vows feel worthless these days."

Guard for a King who drank and whored and hunted children.

Monster who watched little boys be pushed out of tower windows.

Lover to his own sister, allowed her lust to control him.

Father of false heirs, whom he could never be a father to.

"You're going to seek out the Targaryen children," Jaime said after some time.

Barristan grew still. "I have considered it. I wish to meet them, at least."

"I'm going with you."

"What?"

"I couldn't protect Rhaella," the Kingslayer uttered. "I could not help her children after they fled Dragonstone. I told myself day after day I could do nothing. That it was beyond my power to do anything about them. How can I keep saying such things when a mere boy took those words and spat on them?"

"He spat on them with dragonfire."

"Even so."

Barristan frowned deeply. "How can I trust you? How do I know you intend to help them? How do I know you won't stab them in the back, like you did the Mad King?"

"Because I won't," Jaime said simply. When the older man opened his mouth to object to such weak reasoning, the Kingslayer shook his head. "Whether you wish me to join you or not, I am going to seek them out myself. If I do not leave now, I do not know if I will have the strength to try again later."

"You father will be furious. Your sister. Your King will be furious."

"No more so than they will be with you. They will be in no position to stop me. By the time they discover where I have gone, it will be too late."

"You don't make any sense. Have you gone mad?"

Jaime finally looked up at the Lord Commander. "With respect, Ser, I don't know if I've been fully sane since the night I first heard Rhaella's screams."

Barristan stared at him for several minutes.

"Well? Am I sailing with you, or am I going alone?"

"…Two days. You will meet me by the Iron Gate at dusk. A friend of mine—a merchant—is sailing home to Pentos. We will sail with him."

"Two days. The Iron Gate at dusk."

Barristan shook his head. "I don't fully trust you with this, Ser Jaime. You understand why. But I know you cared about the Queen. That is the only reason I am giving you this one chance to prove yourself capable of honor again."

Jaime nodded silently. He stood to claim a goblet from the nearby cupboard, filling it with water. Barristan didn't like to drink a lot of wine these days.

He returned to the table and offered the goblet in a toast. "To Rhaella."

Barristan quietly tapped his own cup against the younger Knight's. "To Rhaella."

The past week, Daenerys reflected, had been perhaps the happiest she'd experienced in years.

The weather had been pleasant. The sun was shining, the breeze was good, and her company on the Fair Sea Maiden was pleasant.

Very pleasant, it must be said.

Dany grinned against Jon's lips, grasping the hem of his tunic and pulling it up. They parted just long enough for him to help her remove the clothing, and then he was cupping her cheek with one hand to pull her in for another kiss. She hummed happily into him.

Once they'd gotten a taste of each other, they just couldn't stay away. It was sweet and thrilling, and it set their blood alight. Of course, they spent much of the day on-deck, interacting with the crew and their allies, but they were sharing a cabin. All that time alone together—well, what were a pair of enamored teenagers to do?

They hadn't gone too far in their romance, new that it was. That had been a decision made on the first night Dany made her affections really known to Jon, and his to her. But they were eager and curious to explore all of this. To learn each other, as Doreah had put it.

And if nothing else, they were certainly eager to learn.

Curled up in his lap, Dany let her fingers trail down his shoulders and chest to his belly, causing Jon to shiver. She loved the touch of his bare skin. He was warm and solid beneath her hands, rising and falling with his every breath. There wasn't much light in their cabin—the sun had already set, and they only had the lantern going—but it was enough for her to see him clearly enough.

She tensed her nails, dragging them against his flesh, and Jon made a little noise in his throat that had her giggling.

"That's not fair," he gasped against her mouth.

"What isn't?" Dany asked, feigning innocence. They both knew she was fully aware of how he reacted to her scratching at him. As if it were possible not to know—she could feel how hard he was against her thigh.

He didn't answer. She pulled away from his lips and nipped at his neck, causing him to whine. "Dany."

"Answer me," she smiled against his neck, lifting her hands to grasp his hair and scratch at his scalp.

Jon swallowed hard as she pressed her lips to his throat again. "I'm the only one half-dressed."

"You can't take a nightgown off halfway."

"I think you could."

"Do you?" Dany blushed, but her grin was mischievous. Her blood was aflame with her affection and desire for him. For every little bit of Jon Snow. "Prove it."

Jon's eyes flew to hers, widening. "…Really?"

She pursed her lips and nodded shyly. His hands rose to her shoulders, teasing the straps of her gown and slowly pulling them aside…

A knock on the door had them both freezing in place. From outside, they heard a muffled voice call quietly. "Your Grace? Princess?"

Jon pulled his hands from her shoulders and let his head fall against her neck. "Oh, come on…"

"One moment!" Dany called to their guest. She laughed quietly at her lover's disappointment and kissed his forehead. "Another night."

They pulled apart and Jon reluctantly donned his tunic again to hide the scratches Dany had left on him, while she tried to smooth over her appearance as much as she could. Once they were somewhat put back together, Jon opened the door to their cabin.

Doreah stood in the entryway, eyes darting from one to the other. "Forgive my intrusion. It was not my intention to disturb you."

"It is forgiven, Doreah," Dany smiled at her handmaiden, but blinked at the uneasy expression on her face. "Is something amiss?"

"I…I need to speak to both of you in confidence," she said quietly. Her eyes were a little frantic—desperate.

Jon frowned and nodded, stepping away to let her inside. He closed the door behind Doreah, then turned to face her. "Are you unwell?"

Doreah's eyes flashed towards the door, as if she feared someone might be listening in. When she spoke it was so quiet he scarcely heard her. "It—it might be nothing. But I thought you should both know."

Dany reach for her friend's hand and squeezed it firmly. "We are here to listen, Doreah. You can tell us, whatever it is."

The older girl swallowed tightly. "My moon's blood is late. Very late."

She had to digest that statement for a few moments before the implications actually struck Daenerys. The color drained out of her face. "You mean—"

"I don't know," Doreah was quivering. Dany flashed a glance at Jon and saw how pale he'd become as he realized what she was saying. "I—most of my…clients in the past were careful, and if they weren't, I kept moon tea to ensure I never conceived. But Viserys wasn't careful and—and everything since has been so much…"

Her eyes were watering and Dany brought the young woman into a tight embrace as the damn broke and she cried. "I just forgot, and we don't have the ingredients for moon tea on the ship."

"Shh," Jon hushed her. He moved to the door and cracked it open, eyes darting around the dark hallway before he shut it tight again. Dany could see his mind already wracking furiously.

He stepped close to them, his voice barely a breath. "Doreah, are you sure Viserys is the father?"

"I am," she whispered. "He was the only man I've been with since I arrived in Pentos from Lys. I haven't had another man between then and now."

"Have you told anyone else about this?"

She shook her head and Jon pursed his lips, glancing at Dany. She had no idea what to say.

"How certain are you?"

"I—I've never…" Doreah sobbed quietly into Dany's arms. "I've never carried a child, but I've known other girls from Lys who have. I was sick the first few weeks we were on the ship, but I wasn't the only one. I've had a few more…episodes of sudden illness in the mornings. I thought it was just seasickness, but I haven't bled weeks after I should have."

"Alright," he took one of her arms and with Dany, guided her to the bed. "Lay down and rest. I need to speak to Daenerys in private for a moment."

"I'm sorry," Doreah cried.

"Hush," Dany soothed her, helping the young woman lie back. "You have nothing to be sorry for. Calm yourself, Doreah. We will keep you safe."

They helped her settle into the bed, with Jon tucking the blankets over the young woman and Dany speaking softly to her until her tears were gone. She was exhausted and curled up in the bed, trying to release her stress.

Once she was calm, Jon gently pulled Dany out of the cabin and to the deck of the ship. There was a small detail of sailors still awake to keep watch for pirates, but no one else. They walked to the stern of the ship, ensuring they were alone, and took a few minutes to process what they'd learned.

Even then, Dany hadn't quite come to terms with it.

Jon watched her, his expression unfathomable. "Dany."

"She might be with child," Dany whispered. "My brother's…"

He bit his lower lip. His voice was breath on the wind, barely audible."Dany, if she is carrying a child, no one can find out the father is Viserys. If Westeros hears of this, Robert will kill her just to make sure he gets the babe, too."

She nodded, swallowing tightly. Something of her brother might have survived his death. Maybe…maybe the best of him.

"If his seed took root in her womb," she started. "If—if this is true…we must hide the truth of the babe. At least until it is born."

He frowned and she smiled at him wryly. "You were fortunate, taking after your mother so strongly. You could have kept the truth a secret forever, if you wished. This babe might take after its father. Both of the parents are fair of skin and light of hair."

"We won't know until it is born," he argued. "But you are right. At least until she's given birth, Doreah cannot tell anyone the babe was sired by Viserys. She must tell those who ask that the father was a client in Pentos. A guard she took a fancy to, or something along those lines…"

Dany suddenly stiffened. "How many people on this ship know Viserys bedded her?"

Jon stilled and did a mental tally. "You and I…Irri and Jhiqui. Ser Jorah."

"We should swear them to secrecy."

"No," he shook his head immediately. "We give them the same story Doreah will give everyone else."

"You don't trust them?"

Jon looked out into the black sea. "I don't know. Irri and Jhiqui are…probably trustworthy. They'd have little reason to betray us after we freed them."

Dany studied his face. "But you do not trust Ser Jorah."

He shook his head slowly and turned to look at her eyes. "I trust my uncle's judgement and I remember Jorah Mormont's story keenly, Daenerys. Whatever his reasons, he sold men into slavery. I do not know what he is doing here or why."

"He is employed to us. He has been a good friend and ally."

"For what purpose? A Northman serving a Targaryen? With the history between them? Jorah would have been a young man when my father ran off with my mother. He would have been called to war against Aerys Targaryen."

Dany searched his face. There was no anger or dislike towards Jorah in his voice, just the truth of what he knew of their ally. "How can we be certain?"

"Unless we catch him in the act of betrayal," Jon murmured, never leaving her eyes. "The only thing I can think of is testing him somehow. I don't know how we would do that, though."

"We must be careful," she agreed.

"You know I'm not out to get him, right?" Jon's gaze was earnest, hoping she would understand. "I don't want to be correct about this. I know his father, and I'm even fond of the man Jorah Mormont is now, but you and I…that baby growing in Doreah's womb—we're the last of House Targaryen. I cannot risk our lives to chance. I must know where his loyalties lie."

"I know," Dany leaned up on her toes to kiss his lips softly. "I hope you are wrong, as well. I want the old bear to be a true friend to us. But I could not stand it if something happened to the child. If Viserys really is the father…this babe would be the last thing I have left of my brother."

He gathered her in his arms and squeezed her firmly against him. "We must always trust each other. No lies, no secrets. Everyone else must earn it, as much as I hate it must be so."

Dany nodded and nestled in his embrace. "You left one dragon out."

Jon kissed her brow and she felt his lips curve to smile. "True. Mustn't forget Aemon."

They were quiet for some time, and then Jon sighed. "If Doreah is with child, I will legitimize the babe when they are born."

Dany frowned and looked up at him, confused. "Legitimize them?"

"Viserys and Doreah were not married. In Westeros, the babe would be a bastard child."

"Like what you thought you were," she said quietly, understanding. He nodded.

"As a King, I can legitimize the child as far as Westeros is concerned," he told her. "Our House is hardly in a position to turn away such a child."

"Not that we would even if we were."

"No, we certainly never would. I never want to see another child suffer for what their parents did. You and Viserys had too much of that."

Dany lay her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes and taking a long breath. This evening had become more…complicated than she'd expected. Gods, not an hour ago, she'd been goading Jon into removing most of her nightgown.

That seemed as if it were ages ago already.

"We should tell Doreah our plan," she said at last. "But Jon…if we find out beyond any doubt that she's carrying, we have to find a place to hide her until she gives birth."

"We can't stay in one place for too long," he argued.

"I know, but it might be too dangerous to move her a lot," Dany whispered. "The women in our family—especially in these latest generations…childbirth has been such a heavy toll on them. Even the women who weren't Targaryens. Both of our mothers were…"

Jon sucked in a sharp breath. "I didn't think of that. Even…well, Princess Elia was mostly fine, but giving birth to my half-brother was difficult. I remember learning she was warned that carrying a third child might kill her."

"My mother had miscarriages and stillbirths more than any other woman I've heard of," Dany swallowed. "And Lyanna…"

They both said nothing for some time.

"We'll have to think of something," he said at last. "I do not think it should be Braavos, but anywhere save large cities risks a Dothraki attack. Frostfyre cannot remain in an area for too long to guard us from them—she will attract too much attention. She must be allowed to roam."

"We will consider that part of our plan in the morning, I think," Daenerys suggested. "For now…we are tired and weary, and we must reassure Doreah that we are prepared if she is carrying."

He nodded again, planted another kiss on her forehead. They remained in that embrace for some time longer before retreating back to their cabin.

Chapter Text

Chapter Nine: Braavos

Daenerys watched Jon spar with Ser Jorah and pondered.

They were a mere day from Braavos. The number of ships in the area had greatly increased, but they had yet to be bothered by one of them. She knew the chances of piracy being a risk decreased the closer they got to the city.

Braavos did not tolerate piracy in the slightest. Being home to the Iron Bank meant that thievery was heavily punished. She wondered if the servants who stole their coin after Ser Willem died had justice dealt to them afterwards.

It was hard to believe almost three months had passed since Jon arrived in Pentos to find her. That felt like ages ago. They'd been at sea for two months now.

Jhiqui had confirmed Doreah was with child. The offspring of her brother, Viserys. His seed had taken root in her belly almost as soon as Jon and Frostfyre appeared to them. Gods, he might have even quickened her womb that first night Jon spent at Illyrio's manse.

Targaryen men, Daenerys knew, had few fertility problems compared to the women.

Doreah was keeping the father's identity a secret, as they'd requested of her for the safety of Doreah herself and her unborn babe. If there was still a spy amongst them, reporting to Robert's Small Council, the news would have assassins after the mother to kill the child.

It sickened her, that men were willing to murder a pregnant woman just to ensure they killed off a bloodline they disliked. That was a fate she might one day face, she knew. If she ever conceived a child, Robert's fury would be terrible.

Jon would probably also lose his mind with worry. She wouldn't be surprised if he strapped her to Frostfyre and sent her to the other side of the continent.

Her lips rose briefly at the thought. She was certainly thinking rather far ahead, but she couldn't imagine another man being her husband—being the father of her children. Given what they'd been through together over the years, between the Dragon Dreams and his coming to her rescue…well, was it even possible for there to be a better choice?

Their relation wasn't a problem. An aunt and nephew was a tame match by Targaryen standards, and even the Starks had wed uncle to niece in the past. Jon had made it clear that didn't bother him at all—his eagerness to return her affections attested to that.

Well, she tried to settle the flush on her face as she recalled some of their nighttime escapades. Thoughts for another time.

Jon finished his spar with Jorah, panting in the heat, and backed off. They'd just about tied, but Jorah had won the bout with one strike more than the young Targaryen.

Jorah took a moment to get a drink of water with Jon, then returned to the middle of the deck, bringing two sparring swords with him—one of which had not seen much use. "Princess, are you ready?"

Dany nodded and joined him.

It had been a rising impulse, an urge in her blood as the dragonfire Viserys had nearly snuffed out slowly rose back to life within her. She was free of her shackles. Spreading wings that had atrophied and now longed for the sky that was hers by birthright.

And when she learned Doreah was with child, the dragon in her demanded she do something to contribute to the protection of her friend.

So she had requested Ser Jorah teach her how to fight.

He'd only given her a raised eyebrow, taking in the stern set of her face before he agreed. Whatever he'd seen in her, he wisely did not question it.

Jon outright encouraged it. When she'd brought the idea up to him, it put a gleam in his eyes and a fierce smile on his lips.

He didn't even seem surprised.

Dany had no delusions that it would be easy. She'd never held a weapon in her life, as opposed to Jon and Jorah, who had both wielded blades for years—the latter for decades. But she would not remain a Princess who needed to be saved by the Dragon King whenever trouble found her.

She was a dragon, and she would fight like one.

Jorah handed her a sparring sword and she blinked at how light it was. She frowned at him. "It's not as heavy as I thought it would be."

"It's not meant to be heavy," Jorah admitted. "This one isn't weighted. The ones King Aegon and I use are weighted to mimic real swords. I believe it would be wiser to teach you the moves first before I give you a weapon with weight—that way you won't swing it around as carelessly."

"I can be careful, Ser Jorah."

"I believe you, Princess," he replied patiently. "But this will get your body used to swordplay. We can work on your strength in the meantime, as well, so you will be prepared to use a real weapon when the time comes."

She relaxed then, reassured that she wasn't being coddled. Dany had donned a pair of breeches and a light tunic for her lessons—she certainly had no intentions of fighting in a dress if she could get away with it, that was for sure.

"We'll start with posture," Jorah told her. He stepped to her side and she watched him raptly. He demonstrated a simple fighting stance with his training sword for her, which she attempted to copy.

"Bend your elbows a bit," he coached. "Don't stand so rigidly. You want to be able to move quickly—your build is similar to the King's in that aspect. Both of you are built for speed. You won't be able to overpower most enemies with brute force, as I sometimes do. That might become possible when you grow older, but for now, you want to be flexible and fast enough to dance around your foes."

Dany took a breath, studying his posture and shifting hers to try and match him. Jorah stepped closer to help her move into the proper stance.

Jon watched them with interest, but she was focused on her lessons. She would not let her lover distract her—this was important.

She would fight beside him one day, and he beside her.

"That's it," Jorah praised as she finally got the pose down. "It will come more naturally to you in time. The moves will become ingrained as you learn more."

He stepped away and matched her pose. "Now, we will begin with..."

Dany watched, and learned.

Everything hurt.

Dany fell back on the wooden deck when they were done, gasping for breath and sweating like she never had before. Her muscles ached, sore in ways she didn't know they could be.

After her first swordplay lessons, Jorah had inflicted upon her a series of physical exercises to improve her strength and stamina. It didn't take long for Daenerys to realize how far she had to go—she'd never had to exert herself in such a way before.

And while yes, she had definitely asked for this and would not quit now, she still wanted to throw her sparring sword at the old bear…until she felt better.

"Don't sit still," Jon approached and leaned over her, offering his hand. "Walk around for a bit, or keep standing until you get your breath back at least. If you don't let your muscles cool off properly, they'll cramp up. Makes it worse later."

"I'll take your word for it," Dany groaned, accepting his hand and letting Jon pull her to her feet. She gingerly walked around the deck, chest still heaving for air.

He smiled encouragingly. "Give it time. It's always hard at the beginning."

She walked to the edge of the railing and leaned on it, looking out over the sea. Jon joined her, offering her a water-skin to sip from between breaths.

After a few minutes in which she caught her breath and felt distinctly less pained, she flashed a glance at her companion. "Is Frostfyre nearby?"

Both of them were connected to the dragon in a way, but Dany's bond with Frostfyre was tenuous and weak compared to the bond with her Rider. Jon could feel Frostfyre anywhere.

Dany had not felt Frostfyre's presence for more than a week now. The dragon was roaming the Essosi coast, flying a fair distance inland to inspect the territory while they sailed. She had flown around the boat a couple of times in the past months, sometimes diving beneath the waves to fish before taking off again.

But she never stayed for long. Daenerys could sense Frostfyre's restless need to explore these unfamiliar lands. Though she checked on her Rider's voyage now and again, she wished to fly.

Frostfyre would not be denied her freedom, not that Jon had any desire to restrict her.

She watched as he closed his eyes for some time, feeling for his dragon through their bond. "She's…closer than she's been lately, but still a ways off. Somewhere to the southeast. My guess is she's still roaming the mountains."

"It's a good thing right now, is it not?"

"We are trying to be discreet when we get to Braavos. So yes, it's a good thing."

"You miss her."

"She's my sister," Jon murmured simply.

Dany reached for his hand and intertwined their fingers. Both of them were hot and sweaty, but she didn't mind.

"You did not seem surprised when I suggested this," she said after a while. "My learning to fight."

"I'm not," he admitted, grinning at her. "There's a fierce dragon in you, Dany. It suits you."

"Hmm," she hummed. "Well, seeing as we are the only two Targaryens left, we will have to make do with only an Aegon and Visenya, Your Grace. There is no Rhaenys for us."

Jon's eyes gleamed with mischief and he leaned closer, whispering into her ear. His voice sent a thrill along her spine. "Neither of them could match you, Daenerys. You are more beautiful than Rhaenys, and one day you will be as dangerous as Visenya."

"Down, boy," she pushed at his bare chest lightly, cheeks ablaze with color. He grinned at her cheekily, but she knew the compliment was sincere. Her gaze trailed along his face to the thin scar on his left cheek, just below his eye—a reminder of the Dothraki arrow that very nearly killed him.

"So Braavos," Jon said a moment later. "You remember where your house was, right?"

"Once I get into the neighborhood, I know I'll remember it," she agreed. "Viserys and I roamed the streets for years. It was…hard. I remember going to sleep most nights hungry. But I remember the city well. I had to learn it quickly."

Jon squeezed her hand comfortingly. She would never find herself in such a situation again.

"I would like it if we could remain there for a while," she admitted. "But I know we might switch locations a few times. We'll be living on the southwestern islands at first. It's isolated from most of the temples, but it's close to the Sweetwater River. We will need that. The fish market will be close, as well. We will need to purchase a small boat."

"It's a good thing Illyrio and the Magisters made us decently rich," Jon commented thoughtfully. She hummed in agreement. "We should be fine. We won't be staying permanently, but if we can manage to hide there until Doreah gives birth…"

"We have our plans, Aegon. We have talked about this many times now. If things become complicated, we will fall back on our other options."

"I know. Forgive me—I am…still adapting to this lifestyle. Hiding in the North was easy. Everyone was protecting me, or I was beyond the Wall."

She leaned against him, hoping to offer some reassurance. He turned his head to kiss her temple in response.

Not much longer now.

Alliser Thorne dipped his head to the Lord Commander and took the message they'd been sent with him as he left Mormont's office.

Castle Black was its usual, depressing self—colder than hell, dreary, and full of grim-faced veterans. Or delusional, optimistic recruits.

They'd learn quickly. He was already prepared to throw the Tarly boy at Aemon and be done with him. It was painfully obvious the large, young man wasn't going to thrive as a warrior. Thorne had seen the like before.

But he was visiting the Maester for an altogether different purpose at the moment.

He knocked on the old man's door and was called to enter. Thorne did so quickly, trying to avoid getting too much snow in the room.

"How are you, Ser Alliser?" Aemon asked from the seat at his small table.

"Well enough," he answered gruffly, walking over to sit across from the ancient Targaryen. "I have news from the capital regarding your family."

"Jon?"

"Yes," Thorne unfurled the letter they'd received from King's Landing, written by the new Hand—Ned Stark, himself.

"'A Dragon Rider declaring himself as Aegon Targaryen, son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell, has appeared in Pentos. He has joined his remaining kin, Viserys and Daenerys, and has become the new Head of House Targaryen.'"

"He works fast," Aemon chuckled.

Thorne snorted. On that, he had to agree.

"'Aegon's dragon is large and battle-tested. He took on a horde of Dothraki screamers some ten thousand strong with the beast, and conquered them. This was done to prevent Daenerys Targaryen from being wed to a Dothraki Khal.'"

The Knight muttered a curse under his breath. "That damn boy."

"He must have dreamed of her again," Aemon mused. "She would have told him her plight. It explains why he flew off in such a hurry."

"It was reckless. He's not ready to fight Dothraki."

"His dragon is."

"Suppose I can't dispute that," Thorne admitted grudgingly. "He's an exile now."

Aemon hummed. "What else does the letter say?"

"'The boy is likely to vanish from Pentos soon. He will likely take what is left of House Targaryen with him. Spies suggest the boy is unlikely to mount an attack on Westeros, but are wary Viserys may try to kill him to claim the dragon. Keep alert until further word reaches us.'"

"That will have all of Westeros on-edge, at least until they know his next move," Aemon decided. "Is that all?"

"Yes," Thorne closed the letter back up and sighed. "He's out of our reach. No one else could teach him the way we did. No one has your knowledge of the Targaryens."

"He learned much. Perhaps it was earlier than we would have preferred, but he has grown well."

The Knight nodded slowly. "With any luck, he'll have someone in Essos to teach him more swordplay. He won't slack off, at least. He never has."

"No, he has not."

"But still…of all the things to fly off for…"

"Love is the death of duty, Ser Alliser," Aemon sighed, his blind eyes rising up as he leaned his head back. "What is duty to a woman's love?"

"It could've gotten him killed. It still might. If Viserys does not kill him, there are Robert's assassins and a hundred other ways for him to die in Essos."

"True. But he has done well here in the North, and beyond the Wall. He is a survivor."

"Hmm," Thorne grunted.

"He will be careful now. He knows he must be," Aemon murmured. A smile rose on his lips. "Perhaps we will hear in our next message of them that Jon and Daenerys have married. I would dearly wish to see my House reforged in their image."

"You're as bad as a gossiping maiden," the Knight scoffed, which only made his companion laugh.

"When you get to be as old as I am, you find that you do not much care what people think of you. I have earned the right to dote on the survivors of my House, I think. To wish them the best."

"Well, I suppose I could drink to that. I don't want to hear that the boy is dead, in any case."

"What is this, Ser Alliser? Are you actually fond of him?"

"Bah! Fuck off, old man," Thorne stood up and left the Maester's quarters. Aemon chuckled behind him, and the grizzled Knight did not smirk. He did not.

But he might've had an extra drink in the evening to toast Jon for roasting a horde of Dothraki.

Jaime had stepped off the trader's ship and onto the shores of Essos for the first time in his life just hours ago.

It had taken them slightly less than a month to reach Pentos. He and Ser Barristan no longer dressed as Kingsguard Knights. They both wore dark cloaks, but of thinner material and with clothing better suited for the hotter climate.

The foreign city was already an improvement over King's Landing in his opinion—it didn't stink of shit. Not like the Westerosi capital, anyways.

It was late in the evening, and as agreed, they had helped the trader who sailed them to Pentos unload his cargo. They would spend the night at his home, with his wife, and then set out on their own in the morning.

They sat down with the man and his wife for a modest dinner in their house. It was a simple residence and not large, but homely. Comfortable. A number of seashell necklaces and bracelets, along with other crafts of similar make were kept in some crates.

"So," the woman began, looking from Jaime to Barristan. "My husband tells me you are searching for the Dragon King?"

"That's right, my lady," Barristan nodded. "And the rest of the Targaryens."

"Mm," she hummed. "Well, they've left the city already. About two months ago, I think it was. Perhaps a little less."

"Do you know where they went?"

"I'm afraid not," she admitted. "You could ask a few of the sailors up and down the seaboard. Perhaps one of them would know. The captain of the ship they took is one of our seasonal visitors. I do not know him well."

"We wish to meet them," Jaime told her. "To offer our support, if we can."

"Well, if you do manage to find them, you'll only be meeting two."

He stiffened in his chair. "Why is that?"

"Word is the Beggar King tried to kill the Dragon Rider," she scowled. "After all that boy did to keep Pentos safe from the Dothraki…"

"Did he succeed?"

"No."

He honestly sighed in relief. Jaime didn't want to imagine a man with Viserys' reputation getting his hands on a dragon.

One Aerys Targaryen in his lifetime was too much as it was, thank you very much.

"What happened? In the end?" Prompted the trader, curious of his wife's tale.

"They say the Dragon King held a trial for the Beggar," she went on. "Obviously, he was guilty. The boy beheaded his traitorous family himself."

Jaime blinked in surprise. Normally, a King wouldn't sully his hands doing such a thing. Though, he admitted, it wasn't as if Aegon Targaryen had an executioner at his beck and call.

Hmm. Interesting.

"Have you seen the field in the south, yet?" The woman asked.

"We have not. It was dark when we got here," her husband admitted.

"Go to the walls and take a look in the morning," she insisted. "It's starting to grow back slowly, but the plains are still black from dragonfire and bones litter the fields. The Dragon King was not gentle with the Dothraki screamers."

Jaime intended to do just that, as did Barristan from the look on his face. Both of them needed to see what the dragon could do with their own eyes.

Later, when they'd retired to their rest, Jaime pondered.

He lay on the floor, his head on his pack as he stared at the ceiling. Every day, he wondered if coming here was the right decision. He knew his father and sister back home would be frantic—and furious. They wouldn't realize where he'd gone just yet, but with Barristan gone as well, they'd put two-and-two together quickly enough. His father would, anyways.

But no matter how much he questioned his decision to leave Westeros, he couldn't bring himself to regret it.

Jaime just…he needed to see them. Those days in the Red Keep when he served the Mad King had never stopped haunting him. He hoped, perhaps foolishly, that meeting the Targaryen children would…would what? Put his mind at ease? End the horrors in his dreams?

What did he even want?

You know what you want, his thoughts reminded him. You need to know.

He blinked slowly. Sleep was steadily creeping up on him. What nightmares would haunt him tonight?

Darkness, at last. And then—

"YOU'RE HURTING ME!"

"Burn them all!"

"We are sworn to protect her!"

"BURN THEM ALL!"

"Not from him."

"BURN THEM!"

Jon stared at the colossus looming above them.

The Titan of Braavos was a grand wonder of the world he never thought to see in his lifetime. It was an immense construct—four hundred feet high at the head, built out of granite and bronze, and with a leg on two different islands. Its sheer size was beyond his wildest dreams.

Even Frostfyre lacked the presence of this statue. But he doubted it could fly and breathe fire.

Daenerys looked joyous to see the Titan again, and he remembered she'd grown up with the colossus always on the horizon. It was the defender of Braavos, a tribute to the legacy of the people who had build this great city.

"Is it not incredible?" Dany proclaimed.

"I knew it was big, but I never imagined…" Jon trailed off, still stunned.

"Shall I tell you about it?"

"Please do."

She looked right in her element, leaning comfortably on the railing as they approached the stone giant. "The Titan is the guardian of Braavos. It is both a fortress and a lighthouse. As the sky darkens, its eyes become lit with great braziers of flame to guide ships. And when a ship approaches, the Titan roars to warn the Arsenal of Braavos."

"It roars?"

"You'll hear it soon enough," she told him. "Many, many times. To herald sunrise and sunset, and the hours of the day, it roars. There's nothing quite like it."

Sure enough, as they neared the Titan, Jon heard a terrible, grinding blast of noise, drowning out every other sound nearby. It was a different kind of bellow to Frostfyre's war cries—the Titan's voice could only be compared to the shifting of a mountain.

He wondered how they made such a sound.

They passed beneath the Titan, between the immense legs. Jon looked up and realized there were murder holes beneath the armored skirt, guarded by iron bars. He could easily imagine soldiers in those, assaulting any enemy ship that dared to threaten the city.

"Welcome to Braavos," Daenerys told him, grinning widely. Jon matched her, eyes alight with fascination.

Their ship was small enough that it wouldn't need to be searched by the Arsenal of Braavos—nobody wanted to make them particularly known in the city. From the Titan, they sailed south along the western edge of the lagoon, towards Ragman's Harbor.

It was the poorest, roughest, and noisiest of the ports. A good place to disguise their arrival.

The plan was to sleep on the ship until they could find more permanent housing. It would be staying in Braavos for at least a week or two so the crew could rest and restock before their next voyage. The captain had told Jon that the Fair Sea Maiden would next be sailing for the Free City of Lorath.

That gave them some time to find a place to stay for the coming months. With any luck, they'd be fortunate enough to do so discreetly.

But for now, they would rest. It was in the latter half of the day—the crew and passengers of the Fair Sea Maiden were eager to set foot onto solid land, get their bearings, and rest.

The next day, Daenerys led Jon and Ser Jorah into the streets of Braavos at first light—as soon as the Titan roared to announce the new day.

Gods, but the city hadn't changed a bit in the years since she'd left with Viserys. It was the closest thing she knew to coming home. She knew every street, every turn of a corner. The faces had changed, but the people were somehow still the same.

She led them south of Ragman's Harbor, towards the largest, southernmost isle that made up the southwest corner of Braavos. Once she was there, it was hard to ignore the way her pulse raced. She both hoped and dreaded what she would find.

Would she even recognize the one place she had called home so long ago? Was it even possible for her to live there again?

Dany saw the familiar shape of certain houses leaning against one another, as was common in Braavos, and knew she'd found the right street. She took a deep breath.

A hand slipped into hers and she turned her head. Jon squeezed gently, watching her with those dark, solemn eyes, and inclined his head towards the street. She swallowed and kept going, tugging him after her.

She slowly led them down that street, counting the houses as she went—not daring to look ahead for fear of what she'd see.

One…Two…Three…

She prayed to every god worshipped in Braavos, for there were many of them.

Four…Five…

…Six.

Dany looked up at the house on her left.

A red door faced her. A lemon tree, looking somewhat wanting for water, still stood tall and proud by the window on the left. The house was a little more weathered than she remembered, but it was here.

She felt her bottom lip quiver as something indescribable formed in her belly. Daenerys blinked away tears and steeled herself. She didn't know if they would live here yet.

Jorah had stepped forward to read a small sign on the side of the house, close to the door. "It is available for rent. The owner lives in one of the northern sections of the city. Is this the one, Princess?"

"If…if the price is within reason," she swallowed. It was hard to say those words. She wanted to just say yes, to tell the Knight to do whatever he needed to get the house.

Jon gently pulled her against his side. "Ser Jorah? Would you be willing to speak with the owner on our behalf? I think the Princess and I should return to the ship for now."

"If that is your wish, Your Grace."

They returned to the ship a while later.

Dany was a bundle of restless nerves, but Jon tugged her to their cabin and sat on the bed. He pulled her into his lap, tucking her smaller frame into him, and held her tight. She buried her face in his shoulder and just breathed.

Seeing the house had twisted her heart painfully. She didn't know how she'd feel about seeing it again, though she had longed for it in the past, but Dany hadn't expected herself to react quite so strongly.

He hummed a song from deep in his throat, something slow and a little melancholy. Dany closed her eyes to focus on it, listening to him above the background din of people outside.

"What song is that?" Dany asked quietly.

"It's about Jenny of Oldstones," he confessed. "The woman for whom Prince Duncan Targaryen threw away the Iron Throne, because he loved her so. She…I think she would have been your great aunt."

Daenerys hadn't known that. "Viserys never told me about her. Or Duncan. He probably didn't think they were important, if Duncan threw away the Iron Throne."

"He would have thought them fools," Jon agreed.

"What happened to them?"

Jon leaned his cheek on the top of her silver head. He was silent for some time before he finally sighed.

"They died."

Dany pursed her lips. "Can you sing?"

"I can," he answered. "Whether or not I am any good is another question entirely."

The corner of her mouth rose in a slight smile. "Could you humor me?"

"Try not to laugh too much."

Jon took a breath, parted his lips, and sang quietly. Jenny of Oldstones filled the cabin with its soft, longing, and melancholy melody, given life with his voice.

He wasn't bad. It surprised her a little—Jon didn't strike her as the type to necessarily be talented at singing. But with some practice, she felt he might become rather good.

The song ended shortly—it wasn't particularly long. Dany didn't open her eyes. "You should sing more. You'd be good if you practiced."

"Mmm. Maybe when it's just the two of us."

"My personal bard, the Rider of Frostfyre," she smiled when he chuckled in response. "Will you sing another song?"

"Any preferences?"

"Whatever comes to your mind."

He paused for a moment. "Very well."

Some hours passed.

They ate with the sailors of the Fair Sea Maiden who were still on-board, as well as Dany's three handmaidens. Doreah was doing well in the early stages of her pregnancy as far as Irri and Jhiqui could tell. Most of the sickness had faded, though she would undoubtedly do better once she was on solid ground. They intended to find a midwife to check up on her as soon as they could, to ensure she and the babe were healthy.

Jon took Dany onto the deck after a while and helped guide her through some of Jorah's swordplay lessons while the Knight was away. It was a welcome distraction, even though her mind was far and away.

It was just past noon, right after the Titan roared, when Jorah returned.

Dany had just gotten changed into a clean tunic and breeches when she heard a knock on the door. She frowned at first. Jon knew what she was doing in here, as did her handmaidens.

Once she was presentable, she opened the door and stilled. Jon stood with Ser Jorah before her.

She tried not get her hopes up, but she couldn't help it. Neither of the men said anything for several moments and she felt her rare temper rise.

"So?" Dany burst out.

Jorah held up a simple, metal key. She stared at it uncomprehendingly for several moments. The Knight's smile was large, and Jon grinned along with him.

"Are you ready to go home, Princess?"

They sailed the Fair Sea Maiden to the southwest isle early in the afternoon, after finding the captain not long after Jorah returned.

Since they were renting out the place, they had secured a small dock for residents of the city. It certainly shortened the distance needed to travel to the house, which wasn't far from the water to begin with.

The men got to work unloading everything they owned, although Dany insisted on taking the dragon eggs herself. After she unlocked the red door and stepped inside for the first time in nearly eight years, she couldn't help herself.

She carried the chest of dragon eggs to the first room in the north side of the house, next to the lemon tree. Dany took a shaky breath and pushed the door open to the room—to her old room.

It was a little different from what she remembered, but the bed frame was the same. The sparse furniture had been moved around. She'd move it back to how she remembered today, she vowed.

Dany set the chest of dragon eggs on the edge of the bed and walked to the window, opening it up so she could look at the lemon tree. It was dry—she would water it back to life soon. She wanted to see those leaves as green and lush as she remembered, wanted to pluck lemons off the tree like she had when she was a little girl.

She heard quiet footsteps and turned around. Jon stood in the doorway, watching her with a soft smile.

"What is it?" Daenerys asked.

"You just…" Jon shook his head slowly. "You're glowing."

Her lips rose and her cheeks colored. "I am?"

"Aye," he slowly stepped into the room and looked around. With the window open, it was bright and full of sunshine.

Dany left the window and walked to the door, closing it slightly. She ran her fingers along the wood beneath he handle and traced the shapes of animals she'd secretly carved there when she was little.

"It's almost exactly how I remember it," she confessed softly. "Some things had grown fuzzy in my mind, but it's…somehow it's all coming back to me now."

Dany looked away from the door to the bed. She walked back to the window and a bit to the side, where she remembered her sleeping place to have been once before.

"Right here," she whispered. "I had my first Dragon Dreams right here. This is where I dreamt of you and Frostfyre for the first time."

She looked up at him and blinked. When had he approached her?

"You're home, Dany," Jon murmured. His hands rose to cup her cheeks—her eyes were watering, he was becoming blurry.

"I'm home," she cried and laughed, throwing her arms around his neck and burying her face in his shoulder. Jon held her close, kissed her sweet, and the world was more right than she could ever remember.

Chapter Text

Chapter Ten: Unrest

Varys, more infamously known as "the Spider" as he was known in court, was at his heart a man who served the realm. He held loyalty only to those whom he believed would best serve Westeros, and perhaps even the people beyond it. He played the Game of Thrones well. One of the puppeteers in the shadows, spinning his webs and listening to the songs his birds sang to him.

It was certainly not a Game for the faint of heart. He had done many distasteful things to get from the slums of Lys to the Small Council Chamber. He held no illusions as to what he truly was. People were disgusted by him, and Varys thought quite rightly that they should be.

He was not a good man. But he tried his best to do what good he could manage, even if it meant no one knew of his efforts. Even if he was always looked upon with disdain and suspicion, he would try to make the world better however he could.

It was a sordidly difficult task these days. No matter how much rot he removed, yet more took its place.

He took his seat at the Small Council for their latest meeting. Nobody looked particularly happy to be there, he thought. Even the young dire wolf sitting on the floor between Ned Stark and the King looked less than thrilled to be present, but it was a loyal beast who rarely left the Hand's side.

Eddard, he knew, was on the trail of Jon Arryn's death. He'd realized the man's untimely demise was a murder and had begun to investigate it quietly. Well, as quietly as he could. Stark wasn't that subtle amidst the vipers of King's Landing.

Already, he was treading dangerous ground. He suspected the King's children weren't what they seemed, Varys was certain. After all, one of his birds had told him just yesterday that Eddard met one of Robert's bastard sons, and the Stark Patriarch was sharp enough to recognize young Gendry Waters for what he really was.

He needed to speak to Ned soon, in private. The Hand of the King was a good man whom Varys would really rather not lose to a knife in the back.

King Robert looked…well, better was perhaps a stretch. He had been losing significant amounts of weight, but his body was still larger than most men. Not as fat as before, but loose skin from his prior, slovenly lifestyle would never really go away.

Losing so much weight in such short amounts of time hadn't done the King any favors, either. He'd been ill twice in recent months from his frenzy to get back into shape, and his eyes had grey circles beneath them. Though the Grand Maester had urged him to slow down and lose the weight in a healthier way, Robert refused to listen with the bullheadedness he was known for.

But this particular meeting, Varys knew, would make Robert's condition perhaps even worse.

"What news?" The King rasped. He was still recovering from his latest bout of illness.

"Some good news, Your Grace," Varys dipped his head to the man. "My birds tell me Viserys Targaryen is dead."

There was a near-visible weight lifted from the shoulders of all those present. Their greatest worry in these past months was that Viserys would murder Aegon Targaryen and claim the dragon, Frostfyre, for his own. The guard had been doubled, always scanning the skies for the Mad King's son to fly in and assault King's Landing.

"Thank the Seven," Robert sighed. "How did it happen?"

"Viserys tried to assassinate Aegon," Varys explained. "The boy fought off both his uncle and the assassin—a guard whom Viserys bribed. The guard was killed by his master. Aegon gave Viserys a trial and sentenced him to death. He was subsequently executed."

He did not mention that Aegon had executed Viserys personally. If the boy turned out to be a good ruler one day, the mark of a kinslayer was not one he needed, legal execution of a traitor or not. If he turned out to be a bad one…well, it was useful blackmail to turn the realm against a tyrant.

Nor did he mention that Aegon had executed Viserys by reasoning of an old Northern moniker; "he who passes the sentence should swing the sword" Illyrio had quoted to him. The description of the boy's appearance from reports some months earlier was now painting a more definite picture of the child's true nature.

Perhaps Eddard Stark wasn't as hopeless a liar as Varys had feared. If his suspicions were correct, there might be hope to keep the Stark Patriarch alive in King's Landing.

Robert seemed satisfied with the death of Aerys' last son. "Where are the Targaryens now?"

"They left Pentos not long after Viserys was executed. I'm told their leave was done quickly and quietly. Apparently, even the captain did not know for certain where they were going."

Renly Baratheon drummed his fingers on the table. "The boy's smarter than his uncle, I'll give him that. He knew they were being spied upon."

"Indeed," Varys nodded in agreement. "We believe they went north, but until Jorah Mormont sends his own songs, I cannot be certain."

"Weren't Viserys and his sister living in Braavos for some time?" Pycelle queried. "They could go there. It would be risky. They cannot hide the dragon there, but Daenerys would be familiar with the city."

That's exactly where they are by now, Varys thought privately. But he would not say it.

No, "Aegon" Targaryen was growing more and more interesting with every song Varys heard about him. The child was young, but already firm, honest, and from all accounts he'd heard, good. It was early days yet, and Varys was not so foolish that he would invest all his resources into the boy, but Illyrio had expressed much greater intrigue in the child than he ever had Viserys.

His songs whispered to Varys the possibility of hope. The possibility of a good, just Targaryen male who was sorely needed.

But not yet, Varys knew. The boy was still a boy, and he would be most cautious. For now, the most he could give the child was a little time to keep ahead of Robert's assassins. He would listen and see if Aegon's integrity held up.

He would not put another Mad King on the Iron Throne, if that was what Aegon Targaryen turned out to be. He hoped beyond hope that the boy would take after Rhaegar, who for all his faults, would have made a great King.

So instead of reporting their current location, Varys pursed his lips. "It is possible they could go to Braavos, but from what I've heard of the boy, it is hard to say. Aegon is cautious and wary. He might see Braavos as too risky. He certainly knows his aunt and uncle stayed there for some years. I intend to have my birds travel south as well as north, just to cover more ground. It will take time."

"He can travel quickly with that dragon of his," Robert grumbled. He was displeased, but understanding. "Where is the beast?"

"Somewhere in Essos, Your Grace. It flies vast distances, or so I am told. It is not always with its Rider."

"That makes it easier to kill him."

"It also makes it easier for him to hide, Your Grace," Baelish pointed out.

The Not-So-Fat King nodded, conceding the point. "Keep searching for him. I want to know where he is as soon as possible."

"Of course, Your Grace," Varys dipped his head.

"Now, is there any word of my wayward Kingsguard?" Robert demanded.

Ah, yes. That wonderful conundrum. Varys saw the way Cersei colored furiously, undoubtedly still befuddled and enraged by the disappearance of her twin—her lover. Well, Ser Jaime had clearly decided his time in her bed was at an end, so former lover might be a more accurate term.

A not insignificant part of him was relieved Tywin wasn't here for him to deal with in-person. The Lannister patriarch had returned to Casterly Rock not long ago.

He would have been lying if news that Barristan Selmy had disappeared surprised him. The man had adored Rhaegar as if the Prince were his own son. To hear Aegon Targaryen was alive and well—of course he was going to at least meet the boy.

But Jaime Lannister? Varys could only assume, and none of his assumptions possessed a shred of proof. Only whispers.

"Nothing yet," Varys admitted.

"No one knows anything?" Robert looked around the table. He scowled when no one answered him. "Where they are and why?"

"That old man has betrayed you," Cersei spat. "I never liked him."

"Then explain why your brother has disappeared with him!" Robert retorted.

"It is possible Ser Jaime has gone with Ser Barristan to kill the traitor and the Targaryens in one fell swoop," Baelish suggested. "I find it difficult to believe the Kingslayer of all people would turn on us."

"I gave him no such command," the King snapped. "He was sworn to serve the King. Leaving in the dead of night with his Commander, going off someplace only gods-know-where against my orders…that is treason."

"I cannot believe they would sail to Essos together," Ned shook his head.

"And why not?" Baelish, ever the shit-stirrer, asked pointedly. "Where else would they go, so secret and so soon after hearing of the Dragon King?"

"If it were just one of them, I could believe it," Ned reasoned. "The Kingslayer sailing off to kill off the rest of the Targaryens, I could believe. He's reckless enough to do it, and he's already shown himself capable of going against his vows. Ser Barristan, as well. Everyone at this table knows the man adored Rhaegar Targaryen. I could believe it if it was one or the other. But both?"

"Why not both?"

"You mean to tell me the Lord-Commander of the Kingsguard was foolish enough to trust a man who slew his own King when he set sail to meet the grandson of that same King?" Ned stared at Baelish, then at Robert. "Did you appoint an idiot at the head of your Kingsguard, Your Grace?"

"At this point, I am not sure who I appointed," Robert scowled.

"Then the Kingslayer himself. You think that man would let Ser Barristan—one of the most experienced and seasoned Knights in the Seven Kingdoms—go to his King's greatest rival? He would have killed Barristan on the spot or turned him in the moment he learned of such treachery. No, I cannot believe they conspired together to sail to Essos. It must be something else."

"All of this is just speculation. It means nothing," Cersei scowled before snapping her gaze onto Varys. "I expect you to alert us as soon as word of my brother reaches your birds."

"Of course, my Queen."

"What else?" Robert asked of his spymaster.

And now the truly bad news.

"Balon Greyjoy is dead."

The Spider's announcement sent the room into silence. "In his place, the once-exiled Euron Greyjoy has taken the Iron Islands and openly rebelled. He has proclaimed himself King of the Isles and the North, and is amassing the Iron Fleet."

A pin could have dropped and resounded loudly through the chamber.

"What?!" Cersei shrieked in rage and disbelief. Even Baelish seemed stunned, despite his usual glee for such chaos.

Robert Baratheon's face was sickly pale. Ned Stark's normally grim expression had become gaunt with horror.

"What is his target?" Renly demanded.

"The Dragon King."

"Why?"

"In his travels throughout the world, Euron has acquired a Dragonbinder Horn from Quarth, originally retrieved from Old Valyria. The Horn is inscribed with magical Valyrian runes and supposedly, the master of this object can use it to control dragons. I suspect that as soon as word reached him of the Dragon King in Essos, he started plotting to seize the dragon for his own purposes—mostly likely claiming the Iron Throne. He also has in his possession a dragon egg, which I suspect he intends to try and hatch."

"The fucker works fast, I'll give him that," Renly breathed. "Did he kill his brother?"

"Balon supposedly fell off a bridge to his death a day before Euron's ship, the Silence, came into port."

"So an assassin," Baelish stated flatly.

"Most likely. Victarion was displeased with his brother's arrival, to say the least, but it appears Euron has more or less cemented his position. His fondness for the Old Ways of the Ironborn are well known, and popular amongst a large sect of them. I am certain we will hear of raids along the coast before long."

"All ports must be heavily guarded immediately," Ned regained his composure. "Lannisport first and foremost. We must reach out to Lord Tywin. Euron is the most dangerous Greyjoy of his time and the Iron Fleet is one of the strongest in Westeros. We must be—"

Robert slowly reached up to the center of his chest, looking even more pale and sickly than before. His nostrils flared to breathe in short and fast.

Everyone froze. Ned spun towards Pycelle. "Grand Maester, attend to your King."

Pycelle shot out of his chair as Robert tried to take a drink of water and choked on it, curling in on himself as he coughed violently. Ned and Renly made their way over to him quickly, trying to help Robert breathe while the Maester tended to the man, coaxing him to relax.

Then Robert all but fell out of his chair and Varys knew things were only going to get worse.

Tyrion Lannister was not having a good time.

Since arriving at Winterfell, things hadn't been too bad, he supposed. He avoided most of his family and partook in the pleasantries of local brothels. Much was as normal, though it was certainly colder. When his family returned to the south, he rode to the Wall to see that great wonder of the world for himself.

The men of the Night's Watch were grim and mostly boring men. Aemon Targaryen, the Maester of the Citadel, was perhaps the only person of interest to Tyrion for his great knowledge. The one man who could hold a good conversation.

He had enjoyed the old dragon's company. So much so, he almost regretted leaving.

But it was cold as fuck and he longed for the warmth of the south.

Then he returned to Winterfell with the intention of delivering plans to help the now-crippled Stark boy ride on a horse before he headed back south. That, he believed, was where his life had gone to shit.

Because Lady Catelyn Stark believed he was responsible for an assassination attempt on Bran that took place after her husband left for King's Landing, despite the fact that Tyrion had delivered his gift to Bran before her and Robb Stark, the young Lord of Winterfell in Eddard Stark's absence. The dagger of Valyrian steel, supposedly his, was shown to him and he really couldn't believe that nonsense.

"Why on earth would I draw up plans to help your son ride a horse—something he will never do on his own, I might add—if I intended to kill him?" Tyrion asked Catelyn incredulously. "And beyond that, what sort of imbecile arms an assassin with his own blade?"

"You should watch your tongue, Imp," one of the Lords spat.

"Why? Am I starting to make sense? Gods forbid!"

The Lord stepped forth with a hand on his sword, but Robb waved him off quickly, frowning at the dwarf. He was silent for some time. "Why would you help my brother?"

"I have a tender spot in my heart for cripples, bastards, and broken things," Tyrion answered. "How did you even come to the conclusion that the dagger belongs to me in the first place?"

Robb looked to Lady Stark, who answered him stiffly. "An old friend of mine, Petyr Baelish, claims the dagger was once his, and that he lost it to you in a wager. He said he bet on the Kingslayer while you bet on Loras Tyrell in a tourney on Prince Joffrey's name day, and that Tyrell won."

Tyrion stared at her. "You mean to tell me Lord Baelish convinced you that I bet against my own brother, known far and wide as one of the greatest Knights in the Seven Kingdoms? Do you understand how absurd that sounds?"

"If you insult the Lady one more time, Imp—" That Lord was really getting on his last nerve now.

"I am not insulting Lady Stark, My Lord," Tyrion interrupted. "I am asking if she can see the evidence through unbiased eyes. I understand that someone has tried to murder your boy. I understand that you are looking for someone to blame. If someone did such a thing to my brother, I would feel the same way."

"Your brother who murdered his King?" Robb's eyes narrowed.

"Meaning no offense, My Lord, but I would have thought your family would be in full support of that particular murder," Tyrion replied. "But my brother is perhaps the only person in the world who actually cares about me. I implore you to think. I brought your brother the means to ride on a horse again. Why on earth would I do such a thing if I was returning from the Wall and expected to find him dead?"

"What reason would Petyr have to lie to me?" Catelyn countered.

The dwarf heaved a sigh. "I do not know, My Lady. I do not know Lord Baelish well."

The argument might have gone on, but a messenger suddenly ran into the room and after bowing, handed a sealed letter to Lady Stark, which she passed to Robb. The young Lord opened the letter and scanned it, his eyebrows rising higher and higher as time passed, his face becoming bloodless.

When he finally looked up, the boy looked as if he'd aged a few years.

"News from King's Landing."

"Of what nature?" Tyrion queried.

"King Robert Baratheon is dead," Robb declared. "A heart attack. Joffrey Baratheon has claimed the Iron Throne in his stead. Viserys Targaryen is dead across the sea in Essos. Euron Greyjoy has rebelled and proclaimed himself King of the Isles and the North. Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Jaime Lannister have disappeared, and are believed to have defected to join the Dragon King."

Tyrion could not have been more stunned. There was too much to process. The rest of the hall seemed just as shocked.

His rational mind filtered through the first few pieces of news. Robert had died from a heart attack. Unsurprising, he was not a particularly healthy man. Viserys Targaryen was dead. Also not that surprising—perhaps an assassin had gotten to him. Euron Greyjoy was a wild card and this was bold enough to be a believable course of action from him.

But Jaime had abandoned King's Landing, their sister, and his children, to sail across the sea and join the family of the King whom he'd slain?

What?

He heard someone speak and jerked out of his thoughts. Tyrion stared at Robb, who was watching him with sharp eyes reminiscent of Ned Stark's, although the boy himself looked more Tully than anything.

"Forgive me, I was…I do believe I was too lost in thought to hear you, My Lord," Tyrion apologized. "Could you repeat what you said?"

"Why would your brother join the Dragon King, Lord Tyrion?" Robb asked again.

Tyrion's mouth opened, but nothing came out. He shook his head slowly. "I do not know, My Lord. I do not know."

The boy's finger tapped on the table surface for several moments. "I do not think you tried to kill my brother."

"Robb," Catelyn started, but her son held his hand up. She pursed her lips, clearly displeased.

"But I also cannot let you leave until I am certain you had nothing to do with the attempt on his life," Robb finished.

"Am I to be a prisoner then?"

"No. You will be treated as a guest," the boy decided. A prisoner in all but name, Tyrion thought. "You did my brother a kindness, giving him the means to ride again. I find it difficult to believe you would gift such a thing for him if you meant to see him dead. But you understand how suspicious this all seems to me, do you not?"

Tyrion nodded. "I do, My Lord."

"Then you will remain here as my guest until we can be certain you had nothing to do with it. You will be treated fairly whilst in our walls, but you will always have a guard."

The Imp knew it was likely he would not get a better deal than that. He certainly didn't want to rot in a Winterfell prison cell. "Thank you, My Lord. If I can be of any assistance, all you need is to ask."

Robb nodded, satisfied, and ordered one of the guards to escort Tyrion to his new quarters.

Arya was bored.

She'd been learning swordplay since she arrived in King's Landing with the Braavosi water dancer, Syrio Forel, and that had been one of greatest experiences of her life. She'd had free reign to explore the Red Keep to her satisfaction, and she'd been training Nymeria whenever she wasn't busy with her other commitments.

Then the King had died.

Just the other day, the Red Keep had flown into a frenzy of activity, and now that blonde cunt Joffrey was sitting on the Iron Throne. Her father was tense, but Sansa was only too pleased to see the Baratheon boy rise to the throne. She was still living in her delusions of grandeur, hoping to marry the young King and become Queen as she'd always dreamed.

But their father had confined them to their rooms in the Red Keep, wary and uncertain about who their allies were following Robert's death.

Arya looked at Nymeria, who was curled up close to her master on the bed. The dire wolf was growing quickly. She was longer than Arya was tall by now, as big as a fully-grown normal wolf. But she would grow to be almost as large as a horse one day, the girl knew.

She stroked the wolf's ears, and Nymeria whined happily. She knew the wolf missed her littermates. Ghost was with Ned all the time now and Lady was, of course, with Sansa.

Ugh. Any thoughts of her sister ruined Arya's mood.

"Why is Sansa such an idiot?" Arya asked Nymeria. "Anyone with eyes could see Joffrey is an arse."

The wolf only flicked her ears in response. Arya felt their connection keenly—a bond that had grown more and more pronounced as time went on. Lazily, she reached for it in her mind and then…

She was tugged out of her thoughts and suddenly, she was in a different body. Covered in fur, with four long, thin legs, and a tail wagging lazily behind her. Her wet nose prodded at a girl—herself, she realized—and she saw the child's eyes were a foggy white, unresponsive despite the touch.

Arya jerked back into her body quickly, gasping from the strange sensation, and stared at Nymeria. The young wolf barked and licked her master's face.

She had dreamed of becoming Nymeria before, but she'd never done it while she was awake.

"Whoa," Arya breathed, grinning hugely. "Can we try that again?"

The wolf's tail wagged eagerly. Arya reached for Nymeria in her mind once more.

Perhaps it wouldn't be so boring in her room, after all.

Jaime leaned against a thick tree as he sat down, sweating and panting as they took a break.

He and Barristan had purchased a couple of horses in Pentos and were now riding north through the Flatlands to reach Braavos. They'd find a ferry to take them there when they reached the northern coast, or so they'd been told.

Essos was hot. The journey would be long—probably a few months, so he'd best get used to it.

They'd stopped by a small creek, which was little more than runoff from the larger rivers leading out of Dagger Lake to the east. They'd hug the water system as much as they could to keep their thirst quenched—it would be needed if they wished to reach Braavos in good time.

Everything they'd heard suggested Aegon and Daenerys Targaryen had sailed to Braavos. If nothing else, it would be an information hub they could use to try and track the Targaryen children down.

Barristan sat down close by, leaning against a tree across from Jaime as the horses drank. "Warmer than the Kingsroad to Winterfell, isn't it?"

"You could say that," Jaime agreed. "You've been to Essos before?"

"Once, in my youth," Barristan admitted. "But it wasn't a long trip. Still, I went out of my way to learn Valyrian after that. And what dialects I could manage."

"Good. Because I do not speak a lick of it."

"I have noticed," the older man chuckled. He took a drink from his water skin and looked over the horizon of the plains to the west. "How were you intending to find them without knowing Valyrian?"

"Make friends with someone who knows it and the common tongue, like your trader friend."

"And after that?"

"Follow what rumors I could. I may not enjoy hunting as Robert does, but I understand how to track down a quarry when I must."

"For the life of me, I still cannot quite believe you are willing to go against your father's wishes like this."

"I've been going against my father's wishes the moment I decided to keep my white cloak after Robert's Rebellion," Jaime admitted. "He wanted me to be his heir."

"Why didn't you?"

He was silent for a time. "Did you know that Rhaegar asked me to protect his family when he left to fight Robert?"

"I did. I was there."

"When I slew the Mad King, I took a moment to sit," Jaime confessed. "I had to…process what I had done. The days, hours, and minutes up to that moment had been chaotic and terrible. I was not of my right mind. I sat down on the Iron Throne to breathe. To try and decide what I was supposed to do next. Before I could get up out of it, Eddard Stark ran into the throne room."

His face hardened. "I was seized for my betrayal of Aerys. Before I could even think to go to Rhaegar's family, I was tossed into a cell. I found out from my father when he came to release me what had happened to Princess Elia and the children. When he told me the Mountain and Amory Lorch had killed them, I was enraged. The last command of my Prince—failed. I rejected my father's command to absolve myself of my white cloak after Robert pardoned me. I could not bring myself to serve him."

"So you kept your cloak out of spite?"

"Not exactly…I hoped perhaps I would be able to still protect Rhaella and her children when they returned from Dragonstone," Jaime scoffed, shaking his head. "Fool boy that I was. I should have known they had no intention of bringing a Targaryen back to the Iron Throne. It took me too long to realize that. When I learned Rhaella had died giving birth and the children had been whisked away, I…"

The blonde Knight looked down at his hands. "It felt like all of the good things I'd been fighting for were dead and gone. What was the point? So I remained in King's Landing, yes. I served to keep my sister and her children safe, but…I believe I have only been making excuses."

"Excuses for what?"

Jaime smiled bitterly. "Perhaps I will tell you the reason why one day, Ser Barristan."

"Can I guess?"

"You can."

Barristan pursed his lips. "Rhaella. You were assigned as her personal guard for quite some time when you were appointed as a Kingsguard. I remember you even discovered a plot against her."

"The Faith of the Seven had agents in the Red Keep who had been poisoning her over the years," Jaime responded. An old rage burned hot in his belly as he remembered those days. "Trying to ensure she couldn't birth another living child after Rhaegar. It's why Viserys was born so weak. Why she miscarried and bore stillborns for so long. I caught one of them in the act of spilling something into her drink one day."

"I remember that. The King and his guard heard the commotion you caused and we rushed to see what was the matter. You were quite the picture of fury, Ser."

"I was younger and much quicker to anger, I admit. Pycelle identified the drug as a poison meant to reduce one's fertility. Aerys was enraged."

Barristan shuddered and Jaime grimaced. The Mad King had tortured the man responsible for poisoning Rhaella for days, getting names and information out of him before finally burning him alive. Not because he cared for Rhaella, but because those agents had been preventing his children from being born. His legacies.

His wrath had been terrible. When it was discovered from the tortured screams of those agents in the Red Keep that the Faith was behind the poisoning of the Targaryen Queen—well, he'd nearly purged the Sept of Baelor trying to kill every traitor responsible for the conspiracy, and many more he suspected of treason.

"Anyways," Jaime sighed. "Aerys was…I suppose pleased with my discovery of the Faith's treason. He ordered me to remain as Rhaella's personal guard for a long time after that. For nearly a year, I protected the Queen from anyone who sought to do her harm."

"Anyone but Aerys."

The Lannister man scowled darkly. "Yes. Anyone but him."

"She was a good woman. Better than Aerys deserved."

"Any woman would have been more than Aerys deserved," Jaime growled. "But Rhaella was more than any man deserved."

Barristan's eyes gleamed with something like realization, and then great sadness. "You loved her."

Jamie said nothing. He'd said too much, he knew—his rash, headstrong nature had not faded entirely from his younger days.

The old Knight seemed satisfied with whatever he saw on the younger man's face. "I won't torment you further with my questions for today. I want to believe you wish to protect what is left of Rhaella's family—but understand that if I catch a whiff of betrayal from you, I will ensure you never see them. Understand?"

"Perfectly well."

"Good. Just so long as we have an understanding."

Jaime turned away from Barristan and let his thoughts drift away from him. He'd wondered for a while what the Targaryen girl would look like—Daenerys. All he'd heard so far was that she was incredibly beautiful, that she would become a stunning woman one day.

He wondered how much of Rhaella he'd see in her. If the girl was anything like her mother, he would serve her until his dying days.

Daenerys stood at Doreah's bedside while the Braavosi midwife did her work, holding her friend's hand to comfort her.

Irri and Jhiqui were elsewhere at the moment cleaning the house, while Jon and Ser Jorah were retrieving clean water from the Sweetwater River. They would be back soon, she knew.

When the midwife was done, she smiled at Doreah and Dany. "You are doing well. Almost four moons along, yes?"

"Yes," Doreah nodded, looking nervous. Her hands fell to her belly, which was now starting to round with the child growing within her womb.

The midwife's face became gentle. "Your first?"

"Yes."

"The fear is common," she said reassuringly. "You need not fret, dear. You are healthy as can be and the babe is doing well."

Dany spoke then. "Can we count on you to continue helping us? And to keep Doreah's condition discreet?"

"Of course. I will stop by twice a moon to check on you, and you know where to find me should something happen. I will never be far."

"We appreciate your assistance," Dany smiled at her gratefully.

The midwife dipped her head, gave them some advice to keep Doreah and the babe healthy for the coming weeks, and then took her leave. When Dany closed the door behind her, Doreah sighed. Her hands still rested on the little bump beneath her dress.

Dany lifted one of her own hands between them, glancing up at her friend. "May I?"

Doreah smiled a little and nodded. Her hand rose to guide Dany's to the swell of her belly, and the Targaryen Princess felt a joyful thrill rush through her. That was her brother's child growing, coming closer and closer to the world outside…

"How do you feel?"

Doreah shook her head. "It is…well, I confess it feels more real now, but it has only made my worries grow."

"We will keep you safe. You and the babe."

"I know. I believe you, it's just…it is frightening. I never thought I would become a mother, much less…"

She trailed off before she said too much. The identity of the child's father was still a secret known only to Daenerys, Jon, and Doreah herself. And so it would remain secret, at least until the babe was born.

If the child displayed Targaryen traits, well…

Daenerys banished those thoughts. They would cross that bridge when they got there. For now, Doreah needed her support.

"Come," she guided the young woman away from the door. "You can rest a little more. The King should be back soon with fresh water for all of us."

Doreah nodded. "The fireplace?"

Dany beamed and led the way, sitting her friend in a comfortable chair close to the flames.

Dany herself knelt by the fireplace and ran her fingers over the three dragon eggs nestled in the flames. She and Jon had both decided from their Dragon Dreams of the Tower of Joy that the siblings needed to be kept in flames.

It was something of a tricky order. Firewood had to be brought in by a barge, as chopping lumber from the islands that served as windbreakers for Braavos was illegal. It meant the wood was expensive to buy—more expensive than they were entirely happy about, given how much was needed to keep the fireplace burning. Even though they had plenty of money from the gifts they'd received in Pentos, there was no need to spend their coin carelessly.

They had purchased a small ship for personal uses, and though it took up a whole day, Jon and Ser Jorah had gone out to harvest some firewood from the mainland to the south. The task exhausted them, but it was necessary.

The eggs were now being warmed all day every day—convenient since the days here were cool. Though they were still in the midst of an incredibly long Summer, Braavos was north enough that most days were cool, and even chilly in the mornings and nights.

Dany adjusted the cream-colored egg slightly in the nest. She and Jon both had discovered that their strange immunity to fire was not something confined to their Dragon Dreams. Flames did not burn them, and could only lick warmly at their flesh.

It meant the house was always warm, but it didn't bother the residents too much. Doreah, in fact, found it to be most comfortable. If she wasn't in bed, most often she was found nestled in her chair by the fire. It comforted her, and Dany had caught her more than once absently stroking her growing belly whilst staring into the flames in a trance of sorts.

Dany looked over her shoulder and sure enough, Doreah's eyes were already locked onto the flames and eggs. She glanced around the room, ensuring they were still alone, and then spoke softly.

"Do any of them call to you?"

Doreah's gaze jerked from the flames to Daenerys, frowning slightly in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"The eggs," she explained. "Do…I am not sure how else to put this, but do any of them tug your attention more than the others? For me, it is the black."

Dany set her hand on the black and red dragon egg, feeling the pulse of heat beneath her palm more intensely than any of the other siblings. "It always feels the most alive to me. As if it is calling for me to set it free."

Doreah was silent for some time before she answered. "I do not feel anything quite like that. But…I confess, I am at ease when I am looking at the cream. I cannot explain it."

Daenerys nodded. "I wonder if your babe is responsible for that."

The young woman seemed startled. "You…you think so?"

"It's possible," she shrugged. "Your child has dragon blood in their veins. The magic of Old Valyria. Perhaps they are meant to be a Dragon Rider one day."

Doreah shivered. "One day, perhaps. But for now…"

"I know," Dany replied softly. "Forgive me; I was speaking my thoughts aloud."

"There is nothing to forgive, Princess."

The front door opened then, and Daenerys looked past Doreah. Her smile grew at the sight of Jon and Ser Jorah entering the house, carrying small barrels of fresh water. She rushed to help them.

"Here," Jorah passed her one on the way to the kitchen. "We still have two more on the ship. I'll fetch them."

"Thank you, Ser Jorah," Dany said gratefully. They settled the barrels down and the Knight quickly turned to go and retrieve the last of their new supply from the boat.

Jon wiped his brow of sweat. "Whew."

"Still not cool enough for you outside?"

He chuckled. "This is a warm summer day in the North."

"Mm," Dany grinned at him.

"Is the midwife already gone?"

"Yes. Not long before you both came back."

"And?"

"Doreah and the babe are doing well."

"Good," Jon sighed, relieved. He laughed again. "Is it odd that I'm rather heavily invested in the child?"

"Not at all; I am, as well."

She approached him, eyes gleaming with mischief. "It makes me wonder what you'll be like when we have a child of our own to dote on."

Jon's cooling face flushed bright red again. Dany laughed, delighting in his stunned features. But he quickly regained himself and smirked, lunging for her.

His arms wrapped around Daenerys and then his hands were tickling her, causing the girl to squeal with laughter. She wriggled to escape, but he was merciless with his revenge for her teasing. Eventually, they both fell to the ground, still laughing wildly.

Breathless and giggling, she turned her head to look at him. His face was split in a wide grin, and his hands had—for now—ceased their torment of her skin.

"You are a menace," he told her, still laughing.

"You make it too easy," she returned.

"Perhaps so," he admitted. His humor faded somewhat as his teeth worried his lower lip. Jon's voice fell to a quite murmur. "I…I would be lying if I said I hadn't thought about it."

Dany's eyes widened as he looked back at her nervously. "Really?"

He nodded, clearly still worried about how she'd take that. Daenerys lifted a hand to his cheek and he clasped it in his own, turning his head to kiss her palm. "I know such things should not be in my mind. Now especially, since we're waiting on Doreah to give birth. We haven't even…"

"Been married?" She finished softly.

Jon pursed his lips. "Do you want that? Want me?"

Dany twisted in his grip and held his face in her hands so she could kiss him, soft and slow. "Yes. Gods, Jon—who else could I possibly want for my husband?"

"Any man would want you."

"But they are not you," she whispered against his mouth. "Not one of them is equal to my Dragon Rider."

Jon swallowed hard, but he looked relieved. She smiled somewhat. "You doubted yourself?"

"Well, I hoped, but I didn't want to assume…"

"Silly boy."

They giggled together, still nestled close on the floor of the kitchen. "When?"

"After Doreah's babe is born."

Dany blinked in surprise. "That's five moons away. Why so long?"

"It's…it's foolish of me," Jon confessed, shaking his head and laughing quietly. "I want to…well—I want to court you properly."

It brought a wide smile to her lips. "Is that a Northern tradition?"

"Sometimes. Unless someone is in a rush to marry, there's usually some time before the wedding itself when the man and his would-be bride get to know each other. To ensure they match well, you see."

"I see. Do you believe we will not match well, Your Grace?"

Her tone was teasing, ensuring him it was a jest. Jon's dark eyes were lively as he looked at her. "I merely wish to prove that I am worthy of you."

"You rode to war against a horde of ten-thousand Dothraki for my sake."

He didn't back down, still smiling at her as he inclined his head. Dany laughed. "Well, then I will humor your needless attempts to charm your way yet further into my life, Your Grace."

Jon leaned up to kiss her again, only to blink when a finger was lain upon his lips to stop him. Vivid amethysts sparkled with amusement. "You can start after you have bathed. You are a mess."

"And yet here you are."

"I am in need of a bath as well, I confess," she admitted. When he smirked, she swatted his shoulder. "No, you may not join me."

"Rejected by the most beautiful maiden in the world," he teased. "However will my broken heart recover?"

"Well, the sooner we both clean up, the sooner you will get a chance to try and charm her again," Daenerys grinned. She stood and he rose to his feet a moment later, slipping his hand into hers.

In a Braavosi Inn near the heart of Ragman's Harbor, a man wrote a short letter to be sent to Westeros. Some of his men would take it to their King today, who had undoubtedly already made his move in the Iron Islands. He would stay in the city to keep watch on their quarry. Would sent letters to more of their crews operating in Essosi waters under unmarked sails.

Euron Greyjoy would learn soon that the Dragon King was hiding in Braavos—a long sought-after conquest the Crow's Eye had wanted for years. With any luck, the Iron Fleet was already gathering, and this information would give him a target to pursue.

The plan would be months in the making—perhaps more. Who knew if the Dragon King would even remain in Braavos?

But even if he did leave, Euron would want Braavos for his own. The Bastard Daughter of Valyria would be his.

He finished writing and sent the letter on its way.

Chapter Text

Chapter Eleven: Secrets in Moonlight

Eddard Stark had no idea what Varys wanted from him when the Spider requested a meeting. He'd been in a daze for the past week.

Robert was dead. Cersei's bastard son—and Joffrey was a bastard, he was certain—sat on the Iron Throne, and if that wasn't bad enough, he had another Greyjoy rebellion kicking off in the North. To make things even worse, Euron was after Jon, and he possessed a tool that might be able to control Frostfyre.

Nothing was more horrifying than the idea of Euron fucking Greyjoy being in possession of a fully grown dragon.

What was he supposed to do? They couldn't have Joffrey on the throne if he was illegitimate. The Iron Throne would therefore belong to Stannis Baratheon, Robert's younger brother, and Ned was more confident in his ability to rule than the Boy-King who was quickly becoming drunk on his newfound power.

But Euron had declared himself King of the Isles and the North. His domain! Robb had been doing a fine job running Winterfell in his father's absence, but he wasn't ready to lead a war, much less against the Crow's-Eye. And Theon—gods, what was the boy thinking now? Was he eager to rebel? Or was he as afraid as everyone else now that his father was dead and his uncle was preparing for war?

He needed to be in Winterfell.

He needed to do his duty as Hand of the King.

Eddard stirred as a quiet knock sounded on his office door, and then Varys was slipping into the room. He locked the door behind him and then strode to the large desk, sitting across from Ned. For a time, they sat in silence.

"My condolences on the loss of your friend, Lord Stark," Varys began quietly. "I know you and Robert were fostered together."

"Aye," he replied slowly. "He should have been more careful, but Robert was always…too stubborn. He had not been healthy for some time."

"No," Varys agreed. He was quiet again for a few moments. His voice fell to a hush. "You are on the trail of a very dangerous secret, My Lord."

"Which one? This place is a tangled nest of secrets."

"You know which one. The King's children are not what they seem."

Ned stilled. "You know."

"I do. I have known for quite some time."

"You did nothing?"

"Without unquestionable proof? With the risk of Cersei's father holding a sword over the neck of anyone who made such accusations? I need something concrete. Whispers and words are not enough, short of Cersei or Ser Jaime openly admitting to it. You know this. It is why you've been seeking out Robert's bastard children."

"Have you been following me?"

"My birds are everywhere, Lord Stark. When something happens in King's Landing, expect that I often know of it before anyone else."

"Joffrey cannot sit on the throne. He has no claim."

"No, he cannot. And no, he doesn't. But you cannot remove him now."

"Why not? He's dangerous! Surely you see that!"

"You forget that I was the Master of Whispers during the reign of Aerys," Varys reminded him, his face ashen. "I know well what Joffrey will lead us to. He is cruel and arrogant in nature. He will lead the realm to ruin if he stays on the Iron Throne."

"Then why leave him there?"

"Announcing his bastardy to the realm will trigger rebellion after rebellion. We cannot afford to plunge all of Westeros into war—Euron's rebellion is already bad enough as it is. And we have no one we can replace Joffrey with that will improve our current situation."

"Stannis—"

"Stannis' claim is worth nothing without proof of Joffrey's bastardy, as well as Tommen's and Myrcella's," Varys reminded him. "As far as the realm knows, they are Robert's true born children. And you know the moment someone claims that the children were borne of incest between Cersei and Ser Jaime, Tywin will fly into a rage. He will do everything in his power to crush such rumors. Beyond that, no one would believe Jaime would abandon his children for the Dragon King. There is not enough evidence to remove them peacefully."

"Then we are meant to sit on the sidelines and do nothing? Support a bastard who has no claim to the throne, a bastard who might ruin the realm with his cruelty?"

"Not nothing. We can prepare. Act quietly in the shadows. I know you dislike such things, but Joffrey will not be a good ruler. Before long, he will sow the seeds of his own destruction. He is already not particularly endeared by the realm."

Ned pinched the bridge of his nose. "What do you suggest I do?"

"Return to Winterfell."

His gaze jerked back up to the Spider, who had a crease between his brow. "Why? If I'm here, I might be able to mitigate some of the damage Joffrey will do."

"Cersei knows you are on the trail of her children's parentage," Varys told him quietly, and Ned grew still. "She has her own spies. She knows, and she is no ally of yours. With Robert no longer here to protect you, it is only a matter of time before she moves to remove you permanently."

"The North would revolt if another Stark was murdered in King's Landing."

"She has Tywin's backing and more importantly, both of your daughters are here."

He understood immediately, gut clenching at the thought of Sansa and Arya at the Lannister's nonexistent mercy. "Hostages."

"They will neuter your Northmen," Varys said. "Your Kingdom will not win that fight, Lord Stark. Not with Euron already laying his eye on the North. You need to be in Winterfell to deal with him. You cannot die here and leave your son to deal with all of that. I have heard that he is a promising young man, but he is too inexperienced to handle a Kingdom in revolt as well as two wars."

Ned hated to admit it, but Varys was right. The North on its own simply wasn't enough to conquer the Kingdoms to the south. Robb would be overwhelmed and…well, that was really all he needed, wasn't it? His son needed him back home to help guide him through this disaster.

"I will resign then," he decided. "And leave as soon as possible."

"Not publicly," Varys urged. "Do not resign publicly. Losing your position as Hand will only give Cersei more room to have you killed."

"Then what—"

"With your permission, I can see to it that you and your daughters are smuggled out of King's Landing on a ship to White Harbor," the Spider murmured. "You may be familiar with Ser Davos Seaworth? He assisted Stannis Baratheon at the siege of Storm's End during Robert's Rebellion."

"You would have me slink out of King's Landing as a coward?"

"I would have you return home with your life intact," Varys corrected sharply, staring at Ned with surprising intensity. "You are one of the few men in the Seven Kingdoms who does not seek power for his own gain. You seek to make your home, your realm, a better place, and you are perhaps the only man in a strong position capable of doing that. You are Eddard Stark, and you mean something."

Ned's eyes narrowed. "How do I know I can trust you?"

"You cannot. I know well what I am, Lord Stark. I am not the sort of man who should be trusted. But everything I do, I do for the good of the realm. To ensure its people can rest easy and look forward to good, prosperous lives, if not now then in a better future. If you must trust one thing about me, trust in that."

"…You understand that is not much for me to go on. You ask me to place much faith in you, and your arguments encouraging me to leave are sound, but you do not give me good reason to put my life and the lives of my daughters in your hands."

"I know," Varys pursed his lips for some time. He seemed to be considering something, and Ned waited to see what the Spider would say next.

"The Dragon King is in Braavos."

Ned raised an eyebrow. "You have not reported such to the Small Council."

"There is much about your nephew that I have kept quiet."

His blood froze. "What are you talking about?"

"You are better at lying than I previously assumed, Lord Stark, but 'Aegon Targaryen's' Northern traits stand out too much," Varys murmured. "The boy looks nothing like Elia Martell's son did, despite his clear Targaryen descent with the dragon at his side. And when he executed Viserys, he spoke a phrase I know to be words of your House. 'He who passes the sentence should swing the sword', I believe the saying is."

Eddard said nothing. Varys continued, his voice quiet. "It wasn't hard to put the pieces together after I heard those things. You returned from Robert's Rebellion with the body of your sister, Lyanna, and a baby boy. You took him as your bastard son, but you are one of the most honorable men I know, and I find it nigh impossible to believe you would betray your wife so soon after you were wed. That boy was the sole stain on your honor. It was a superficial mark all along, wasn't it? You wanted to protect your sister's child."

Still, he said nothing, but his silence was damning enough. Varys was picking the truth apart.

"He's Rhaegar's son, isn't he?"

Ned slowly, almost imperceptibly nodded. What could he say to all of that? Any denials he could come up with would not hold to Varys, not when the evidence was in his face.

"Why keep this from the Small Council?" Ned demanded quietly.

"Because you would have been killed. Your whole family would have been persecuted for hiding that boy. Even Robert's friendship with you would not have spared you from such a fate."

"What will you do with the information?"

"Nothing," Varys answered. "The time is not right. His parentage must be kept secret. But…if I have figured it out, others will do the same in time. You might have passed the boy off easily as a Stark before, but now that he's emerged as a Targaryen, the truth will be realized quickly. I know Lord Baelish is already too curious of him for my liking."

"What threat is Baelish?"

"That," Varys said sharply, startling Ned. "Is exactly the attitude he wants you to have of him. Say what you will about me, Lord Stark, but I know Lord Baelish and this is the truth: Littlefinger is one of the most dangerous men in Westeros. Do not trust him. He is already fixated on your family."

"For what purpose?"

"He loves your wife—obsesses over her. He has since he was a boy. You remember he challenged your older brother for her hand, do you not? He has never let that go. He's been keeping tabs on Sansa already. I suspect he will approach her as soon as he is able to do so."

Ned was reeling. "Every time I think this nest of vipers couldn't grow any worse, I realize it is yet more poisonous than I feared."

"The Red Keep is where honest men go to die," Varys admitted grimly.

He was backed into a corner, Ned realized. The noose was tightening around his neck, tighter than he'd known.

He looked up at a man he found to be dishonorable, untrustworthy, and unlikable.

"What would you have me do?"

"As I said before, I will smuggle you out of King's Landing with help from Ser Davos," Varys explained. "Once you are in White Harbor, you will be safe to ride to Winterfell undeterred. If you write a letter of resignation as Hand of the King, stating that you feel your home needs you now because of the Greyjoy rebellion, I can set false trails suggesting you have taken the King's Road. It will buy you time. But you are needed in the North, alive and whole."

"What will you do?"

"What I have always done. I am the Master of Whispers. I will spread the songs of my birds as is needed. The Game of Thrones is more perilous than ever."

Ned set his jaw. "And Aegon?"

"With Robert gone and Euron in revolt, I suspect the hunt for his head will lighten, but I will endeavor to keep him one step ahead of any assassins," Varys said. "If you have raised that boy to be half the man you are, Lord Stark, then in a few years…he might be the perfect candidate to put on the Iron Throne. Daenerys would have to legitimize him once the truth of his parentage gets out, but he would be accepted under the right circumstances."

"…He is not illegitimate."

"Excuse me?"

"Rhaegar married Lyanna," Ned confessed. Varys' eyes widened. "She told me. Aegon is his true born son."

The Spider sucked in a sharp breath. "Do you have physical proof of their union?"

"I do not," he admitted.

Varys pursed his lips. "I knew Rhaegar. He would not have done such a thing carelessly…There must be a record of their marriage somewhere. I will seek it out as discreetly as possible. We will need it."

"I do not know if Aegon even desires to be on the Iron Throne. He does not seek power."

"I have not met him, but he already sounds like an improvement over the three Kings I have served in my lifetime, Lord Stark. But that is a matter some years ahead. For now…for now, let us try to keep your family and the boy alive. The world is about to plunge into madness."

Ned's heart was pounding. He could already feel that tension in his body, the dread of knowing these coming years would see the deaths of many men who loved life.

"I will write my letter of resignation," Ned said at last. "And I will leave it here, on this desk, when the time comes. When do you intend to help us escape?"

"Tomorrow night."

"So soon?"

"You do not understand how close you are to death. Any later and your head might be removed. Pack only what you need with your daughters. Do so discreetly—let no one know of your plans to leave. Business as usual."

Varys removed a piece of paper from within his robes and slid it across the desk to Ned. "You will meet Ser Davos at the Mud Gate. Follow these instructions. Throw this into the sea as soon as you meet him. If you want me to keep the vultures off your and Aegon's trail, I must be alive to continue doing so."

The Spider watched as he read the parchment over. "This will be the last we see of each other for some time, My Lord."

Ned nodded slowly. "If you speak truly, then I thank you. But I do not trust you."

"Good. Keep it that way."

Varys made a bow, then turned and exited the office. Ned leaned back in his chair, rubbed his face, and prayed that he hadn't just made a terrible mistake.

Something was going on.

Arya could tell. Her father was tense—more so than normal, though he tried to hide it. Ghost seemed anxious, and it was rubbing off on Lady and Nymeria, as though they sensed something was wrong. She had learned quickly to trust the instincts of the dire wolves.

That evening, when their father would normally be finishing his work for the day, he showed up at her door.

Ned stepped into her room with Ghost at his heel. "Come on. We're going on a walk through the city."

Arya blinked. "Really?"

"Really," he tried to smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Bring Nymeria with you. You have your dagger?"

She grinned, reaching to her bedside table to grab the sheathed weapon. With a quick flip, she caught it with practiced ease. "Always."

His smile seemed more genuine then. "Come."

They stopped by Sansa's room next. She frowned at their intrusion.

"Father, I was about to prepare myself for dinner," she told him.

"We're going to take a walk first," he said.

"But—"

"No buts," Ned shut her down firmly. "Bring Lady."

Sansa huffed, but did as she was told.

With the wolves in tow yipping playfully at each other (save the silent Ghost, of course), Arya could have believed that her father just wanted to spend time with his daughters—something he didn't get to do often these days. But she couldn't shake the feeling that something was strange about her father.

"Ah, Lord Stark! What a pleasant surprise!"

Ned stopped in his tracks as Petyr Baelish turned a corner some distance ahead of them and approached with a wide smile on his face. The wolves stopped as well, watching him carefully. Arya narrowed her eyes.

She didn't like Baelish. There was just something about this man…

"Lord Baelish," Ned replied gruffly.

"And young Lady Arya," Petyr dipped his head to her and she only raised an eyebrow, unimpressed by him. Her disdain only grew when he beamed at her sister. "And the lovely Lady Sansa."

Sansa reddened prettily at the compliment and Arya resisted the urge to gag. Gods, her sister was hopeless. Petyr stepped forward to offer his hand to her, as Arya had seen him do for other ladies in the Red Keep, but he was stopped when all three dire wolves curled their lips and snarled aggressively.

"Lady! Stop that!" Sansa chastised. Her partner utterly ignored her. Lady had more sense than her master, Arya thought.

Baelish pulled back, eyeing the wolves warily. "Lord Stark, have you considered putting chains on them?"

"The symbols of my House are not slaves to be caged and mocked," Ned retorted. "They are loyal to us. And they are great judges of character, I have noticed."

"On that we will have to agree to disagree," Petyr decided. "Where are you off to at such an hour?"

"I thought I would enjoy some rare time alone with my daughters to explore the city. I do not wish to neglect them, despite my duties."

"King's Landing can be a dangerous place to wander in the dark, Lord Hand," Petyr warned, looking worried for them. Arya felt something in her gut curl, and she had to resist the urge to encourage Nymeria's aggression.

"It's a good thing I have my sword, then," Ned set his hand on the hilt of Ice. "And better still that we have our wolves. I think we will be well-guarded. In any case, we will not be long. I am weary from my work, and would rest soon."

"Of course. Being Hand in such circumstances must be quite busy," Petyr said sympathetically. He bowed lowly, winking at Sansa. "Well, in that case, I do not wish to intrude any longer on your family time. Until next we meet, my Lord and Ladies."

He slipped away then down another corridor. Ned's hand did not leave the hilt of Ice until he was gone completely.

"Come, girls."

They left the Red Keep and headed south, following the wall of the city borders. The wolves took up positions around them, following some unspoken cue. Ghost trailed at the back, Lady on Sansa's flank, and Nymeria at the front.

Ned spoke to them, asking about their day and what they'd been up to. How their studies had progressed. Typical questions. And yet…Arya still couldn't shake that feeling of tension in the air.

They walked for quite some time and darkness was falling over the city, save the numerous lamps lighting the street, but the closer they got to the eastern wall of the city, the darker it became.

Sansa finally stopped, frowning. "Father, where are we going?"

"We are walking," he answered, putting a hand on her back and encouraging her to keep going.

"I am tired…there will be no hot food left if we do not return soon."

"That is not something we need concern ourselves with, Sansa."

Her sister huffed and Arya wanted to roll her eyes. She really couldn't tell that something was wrong, could she? The wolves had stopped playing altogether.

They reached one of the city gates, not yet closed, and a man slipped around it from the outside. She heard her father let out a quiet breath.

The man had a short, trimmed beard of graying hair and a mostly bald head. He was dressed in good clothes, although they weren't the clothes of a nobleman. When he spoke, it was with a Flea Bottom accent.

"Lord Stark," the man spoke, gruff and quiet. "You made it."

"Aye. Are we ready?"

"We are."

"Ready for what? Who is this?" Sansa asked with a frown.

"No time to explain," Ned told her. "Come."

"Father! Tell me what—"

"Sansa, now is not the time."

His voice had a rare edge that shut Sansa up immediately. Their father only spoke like that to them when he was serious about something or holding his anger back. All of his children knew to silence themselves when Eddard Stark took that tone, for he so rarely put it to use.

They slipped out the Mud Gate and made their way to the shore of the river, where a pair of small boats were waiting for them. Davos took one with Arya, Nymeria, and Ghost, while Eddard took the other with Sansa and Lady.

As soon as they were on the water, Sansa glared at her father, unimpressed with this surprise. "Where are we going?"

"We are going to Ser Davos' ship," Ned answered. "And we are sailing to White Harbor."

"What?!"

She was sitting in front of her father and in an unheard-of move, Ned's hand thrust out and clamped around Sansa's mouth. His daughter watched him with huge eyes, and even Arya froze, breathless. The boats were close together, and it was not lost on her that the wolves were dead silent. Lady didn't even growl at Ned's action towards her master. Davos glanced up and down the banks warily in case someone heard Sansa's outburst.

"You will listen to me and not speak a word," Ned told his oldest daughter, voice quiet and severe. "I am your father, and this city is not safe for us any longer. If we stay, the Queen Regent will find an excuse to execute me and the two of you will be prisoners of the Lannisters. Your mother and brother are at home with the threat of the Greyjoys bearing down on them, and they need us. We. Are. Leaving."

He released Sansa after a moment, and she just stared at him, pale and shaken. Ned pulled a piece of paper from a pocket in his coat, tossed it into the river, and continued to paddle the boat towards Blackwater Bay with Ser Davos.

Robb was awoken by a whine from Grey Wind.

He frowned, looking up at the dire wolf whom had just leapt onto his bed, tail wagging and whining urgently. The boy lifted his hand to the wolf, touching him reassuringly, and yet Grey Wind did not settle.

"Easy," he hushed the wolf. Grey Wind licked his face and then leapt from the bed, padding to the door. He looked back to his master, whining again.

Robb climbed out of bed, took his coat from the dresser nearby, and opened the door so his wolf could go. Grey Wind kept glancing back at him, convincing Robb that he was meant to follow. He grabbed his boots and quickly donned them—Grey Wind was normally a patient companion, but he seemed unsettled by something. Excited.

The young Lord of Winterfell followed his wolf out of the castle interior and into the courtyard. Grey Wind led him to the east gate, where his guards stood at attention when they recognized him.

"M'Lord," they said gruffly.

"Lads," Robb dipped his head to them. "Anything to report?"

"Nothing, M'Lord," one of the guards shook his head. "Oddly quiet out there, though. Seems even the wind has stopped its wailing."

"Hmm," Robb glanced at Grey Wind, who scratched at the gate with a paw, then glanced up at him. "Open the gates."

They did as he ordered, giving Robb a look of the world outside Winterfell's keep. Grey Wind padded out, but he didn't go far. He stopped some five paces outside the walls, and Robb followed him. His guards stood protectively behind their young Lord.

Grey Wind sniffed the air, the ground, and then he lifted his head and howled long and low. Robb tilted his head, curious of the behavior. Grey Wind usually only howled as such when he was with his littermates.

He froze as he heard an answering howl, but not one he recognized. It was deep, strong, and belied a beast far larger than his companion. Robb stared out into the tree line some distance away and watched as a shadow slipped from the foliage.

"Wha's that?" One of the guards asked nervously. "A horse?"

"Do not move," Robb ordered them, watching Grey Wind's behavior carefully. His companion's tail wagged yet more furiously than before. "Do not even speak."

He heard them gripping their spears tightly behind him and Robb didn't blame them. The shadow loping towards them was as large as a horse, yes, but it was moving all wrong. The head was held low, the tail longer and more nimble. As it grew closer, he could see the shoulders rolling in a way he recognized in only one kind of beast.

From the depths of the gloom, a pair of gleaming yellow eyes locked onto them. He heard soft footfalls, unnervingly quiet for so large a creature. It slowed its gait as it neared them, and then he saw the beast in-full.

It was a dire wolf—fully grown, black as night, and bigger than he could have ever imagined. The beast stood at eye-level with Robb, and yet if it held its head higher, he thought it might be taller than him. But its muzzle was lowered to meet Grey Wind, who yipped and suddenly ran to the beast.

The huge wolf's tail wagged lazily in comparison to its smaller kin, but it seemed pleased by the sight of Grey Wind. Robb's wolf greeted the giant with a frenzy of licks to its muzzle. It made a low growl and he watched Grey Wind fall to his side and expose his belly—a show of submission.

Satisfied with that, the larger wolf rubbed itself against Grey Wind affectionately. It twisted as Grey Wind leapt to his feet and ran around the giant, and Robb wondered on it before realization struck him.

They'd only ever found the dead mother in the woods. They never had seen any sign of the litter's sire.

He was pulled from his thoughts when the huge wolf stopped playing with Grey Wind and approached him. His guards shifted and the beast snarled at them, loosing a fierce growl that made Robb's spine crawl. It was the sound of the greatest natural predator the North had ever known.

"Stand down," he ordered the guards. "He means us no harm."

"But—"

"Stand down."

They did not question him again.

The black beast padded up to him slowly, even as Grey Wind ran back to Robb and sat loyally at his side. The wolf studied Grey Wind for a moment before it returned its attention to Robb.

He slowly lifted a hand, wary, but unafraid of the piercing yellow eyes. If this wolf wanted him dead, he'd be dead. And Grey Wind would never have brought him out here if the giant male meant them harm.

The wolf sniffed his offered hand, then lifted its muzzle to brush the wet nose against Robb's forehead and hair, still sniffing. He stayed still, patient and calm as he could manage. There was a thrill in his blood, but he did not show fear.

Never fear.

The wolf pulled back after a few moments, and the gleam in its eyes showed it was more intelligent than a common beast. Like Grey Wind, it recognized the bond the Starks held with its species.

The blood of the North ran in Robb's veins as much as it did the wolf's.

Seemingly satisfied with the boy, the wolf looked back down at Grey Wind, rumbling deep in its throat. Grey Wind yipped, lifted his head to lick at the muzzle of the huge male in response.

The wolf glanced at Robb one more time, turned, and then raced off southeast. With scarcely a sound, it was gone.

Robb let out a long breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.

"Old Gods save me," one of his guards finally gasped.

"Where'd it go M'Lord?" The other asked hesitantly.

"I'm not sure," he admitted, kneeling to pet Grey Wind. "I suppose we'll find out when he comes back."

And the wolf would come back, he knew. It had left Grey Wind in charge of the pack—or at least, that's how it seemed to Robb. But it had every intention of returning to its pups.

"I think we've had enough excitement for tonight," Robb decided. "Back inside. Close the gates."

Jon had to admit this was probably one of his riskier endeavors, even though it had merit.

Now that they were more or less settled into Braavos, he wanted to ensure he kept his training up. Jorah was a good sparring partner, but there were problems with dueling the same man over and over again; namely, that he wouldn't get any experience with other fighters.

He knew Jorah's tricks inside and out now. He needed to be able to fight someone else.

"Your Grace, I do not think this is wise," the Knight told him.

"You're probably right," Jon admitted, feeling nervous himself.

This had actually been Dany's idea. Having grown up in Braavos, she knew the city and its people better than any of them. When Jon had talked to Jorah about the problems of constantly sparring with the same partner, she'd had a suggestion.

The Braavosi had an interesting, unspoken tradition when night fell: anyone wearing a sword could be challenged to a fight, usually to display their skills. Such men were more commonly known as bravos. They were lovers of sword fighting and many of them congregated in the night at the Moon Pool, not far from the Iron Bank.

"As long as you don't start talking about courtesans, you should be fine," she told him. "Most of the swordsmen here just enjoy a good fight. They don't kill each other unless they have a serious quarrel with one another."

"It's still risky," Jorah admonished.

"I need to learn, Ser Jorah," Jon told him. "Until Daenerys can fight properly, you and I are the only ones keeping them safe. If I do not train with other swordsmen, I will become stagnant."

"And if any of them try to kill you?"

"Then it's a good thing I'm not carrying a sparring sword tonight."

Jorah's lips thinned. "As you wish, Your Grace."

He knew Jorah didn't approve, and Jon agreed that it was a risk. But it was a calculated risk. Not all of these swordsmen would be assassins and he doubted they would recognize him. But Dany was more noticeable, so she donned a dark cloak with a hood to cover her more prominent Targaryen features.

They needed more guards beyond Ser Jorah, but they had to make do with what they had at the moment.

Dany and Jorah stood a short distance away, at the edge of the Moon Pool, as Jon stalked out into the open square on his own. It was a huge space, with people bustling around. Musicians and bards were playing and singing, bringing the city to life even in the dark of night.

Jon's hand was resting openly on the handle of his bastard sword, and it wasn't long before a Braavosi man took notice of him. He had a sword as well, long and thinner than Jon's, but when he unsheathed the blade it was done so with an expert flourish.

"You look eager, boy," the man spoke in Valyrian, smiling. "Care to test your skills?"

Jon grinned and unsheathed his sword. "Gladly. I've never dueled a bravos before."

"You are of Westeros, aren't you? Your accent is clear," he chuckled.

"Aye. What are the rules? I confess, I am new to the traditions of your city."

"First to yield. Some aim for first blood, but I long only for a good fight."

"As do I," Jon agreed, settling himself into his usual fighting stance.

People were already clearing away from them, some watching with interest. Jon and the Braavosi man circled each other, and then the swordsman lunged in a flurry of motion.

He was fast, Jon realized, barely blocking the first few jabs from the thin blade. It was so much different than any fighting style he'd encountered—based entirely on speed rather than power. Jon wasn't slow by any means, but the light, thin sword was difficult to keep up with.

He parried what strikes he could, giving ground and only forcing the other swordsman back with a powerful swing. The bravos was undeterred, light on his feet and unafraid. Jon watched him carefully as his blood thrummed, eager for the thrill of the fight. The music around them rose into a frenzied pace.

Jon went on the offense now, rushing in and stabbing once, then moving into a series of complex moves meant to disorient a foe and put them on the defense. The Braavosi swordsman backed off, but he didn't appear to be overly perturbed by the attack.

The boy overextended and leapt to the side when the man's sword almost found its way to his throat. He barely avoided a loss by doing so, but was forced to back away in order to regain his footing as the swordsman pressed his own attack.

"You are good," the man complimented. "Slow, as most are from the West, but good."

"I have a lot to learn," he admitted, swatting the thin blade away from his body once again.

Jon yelped as the swordsman suddenly parried the end of his blade to the side and rushed into his guard, bringing the tip of his sword beneath his throat.

The man's eyes gleamed with amusement. Jon sighed, smirking. "I yield."

"A good fight," the bravos stepped away. Around them were some admiring cheers—the match seemed to be seen by the spectators as good sport. "But you do not look satisfied yet, my young friend."

"I plan on fighting a lot more before the night is up. Only way I can learn."

"You have spirit," he laughed, then turned around in a dramatic flourish. "Does anyone else wish to show our young Westerosi swordsman the beauty of a Water Dance?"

He was surprised when a few men stepped forward, all of them eager for a good fight. His first sparring partner laughed as they began to argue amongst themselves.

"You are going to be something of an interest for them, my friend," he said quietly to Jon. "Westerosi swordsmen do not often partake of our traditions here."

He scanned the swordsmen who were interested in a fight, of whom there were four. "I would like to duel them all."

"Ambitious of you. I did not ask—what is your name?"

"Jon," he answered. "And you?"

"Terro I am called."

Jon nodded, putting the name to memory, and stepped forth to confront the arguing bravos. They looked up at him as he approached.

"I do not care who fights me first," he told them. "But I wish to duel each of you."

Perhaps he sounded more audacious than he'd intended, but they all laughed and it seemed their conflict came to an end. Terro stepped to the side and called to one of the men. "Orbelo, why don't you try first?"

"First to yield?" The bravos prompted.

Jon flourished his sword, undeterred by the loss of his first match. "Aye. Shall we?"

Orbelo smirked, unsheathed his blade, and battle was joined.

In the end, Jon did better than he'd hoped.

He'd defeated Orbelo and the other bravos, quickly learning that to best them, he needed to move swift and rely less on sheer power. He dueled Terro again, but was defeated once more despite a much closer match.

By the time he was done, he was panting and covered in sweat, but he felt so alive. The thrill in his blood was a hot, eager pulse.

He sat down by the Moon Pool, not far from Dany and Jorah, who had been content to watch amidst the crowds. Terro sat next to him, grinning.

"You are a good duelist, my young friend," Terro praised. "Will you return to the Moon Pool for more fights?"

"Aye. It's been a while since I've had a fight like that," he sucked in a breath, chest still heaving somewhat.

"I am here most nights," the bravos told him. "Meet me again whenever you so wish. Given more practice against our Water Dancers, you could find yourself with one of our famous courtesans before winter passes us by."

Jon flashed him a grin. "I'm flattered, but I am afraid I'm already spoken for."

Terro laughed, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "I see. Is she a great beauty?"

"Aye," he admitted. "And I think I am keeping her waiting."

"There is nothing quite like a woman after a fight," Terro chuckled, standing up. He offered Jon his arm, which the boy accepted, and hauled him to his feet. He winked, his voice suggestive. "Enjoy the rest of the night with your love, my young friend."

If he blushed, it was lost beneath the flush of warmth already on his face from the fights. "And you."

He returned to Dany and Jorah in quite the fine mood.

"You did well, Your Grace," Jorah admitted, smiling at him for a moment before he became stern. "I hope you did not become too attached, however. Bravos aren't to be trusted."

"Terro will be a good sparring partner," Jon admitted, his voice quieting. "But aye, Dany's already told me about them. Most of the bravos are here to show off for courtesans of their liking."

"Indeed."

Dany's eyes were gleaming. "You made quite the show out there. They fight so much differently than you or Ser Jorah."

"It took me some time to figure out how to fight them," Jon agreed, locked onto the shining violets. "I think I will have to duel many more before I can defeat them consistently."

"I see. Shall we return home for the night, then?"

He nodded, but his eyes didn't leave hers. Jon leaned in, shifting her hood somewhat so he could kiss her. She hummed into his mouth, lifting a hand to hold his face.

Ser Jorah coughed and they broke apart, but the fire had been stoked between them. "Your Grace, we should go before someone else challenges you."

"Aye," he said, and very reluctantly pulled away from Dany. She took his hand after adjusting her hood again, and they slipped away from the Moon Pool to return home.

It felt like lightning was dancing on her skin. She and Jon periodically squeezed each others hands as they made their way to the house with the red door, exchanging short looks that belied the heat building up between them.

Watching him fight had brought the fire in her blood to a boil. She knew she was no match for a bravos yet, but it didn't stop her from wanting to join in. The dragon in her heart was snarling and excited. She had energy to burn, and she knew exactly how she wanted to handle it.

When they stepped into the house, Dany pulled Jon close to the fireplace, where the dragon eggs were still nested. Irri, Jhiqui, and Doreah were likely already asleep—it was late, after all. Jorah locked the door and retired to his own room.

She removed her hood and leaned towards him, holding a finger to his lips when he moved to kiss her again. Jon blinked, watching her curiously. Dany shifted so her mouth was next to his ear.

"Bathe yourself and come to my room," she whispered. She felt him shiver and when she pulled back, his dark eyes were smoldering. "Be quick."

Dany released him and strode off to her room, leaving the door unlocked. She remained in her cloak, sitting on the edge of the bed. Her pulse was wild and it felt like ages passed before her door was opened.

Jon had changed into a thin tunic and breeches. His hair was still damp, droplets of water on his skin, and his eyes were black pits.

She stood up as he closed the door and walked to him, impatient and hungry. The door had barely closed before she took his face in her hands and kissed him roughly. Jon made a low sound in his throat and wrapped his arms around her waist, moving forward and causing her to backpedal towards the bed.

Dany pulled away from his mouth, moved her hood out of the way, and then grabbed his tunic near his belly. "Off."

Jon needed no further prompting. She watched eagerly as he almost tore it from his body, leaving his torso exposed for her eyes. Dany unclasped her cloak and tossed it aside after his tunic. She donned similar clothing to him, although she was still more covered—for the moment.

She didn't intend to remain so for long.

She was hungry for him. Her lips found his skin, bit at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. Jon hissed, pulled back and then kissed her more fiercely still. He bit at her bottom lip and Dany gasped, running her hands up his stomach and chest and to the back of his neck, where she pulled and tugged at his damp, dark hair.

Dany felt the backs of her thighs touch the bed. Feeling bolder than ever, she placed her hands to Jon's chest, pushing him away a bit. Before he could speak, she reached down to her own tunic to pull it up and over her body, leaving the whole of her upper body exposed to his gaze.

His pupils were blown out, eyes wide as he took her in. "Fuck, Dany—"

She didn't want to talk. She pulled him back to her, kissing him hungrily. The feeling of his bare skin against hers was intoxicating. He held her hips, hands slipping to her back and all around wherever he could touch her. Her naked breasts were pressed close to his body. The sensation of her teats dragging against his chest made her gasp.

His fingers ran up and down her spine, making her shiver even though the heat forming between them was burning her alive. Heat pooled low in her belly as her legs hit the bed again, and then Jon's hands were sliding to her arse, squeezing and lifting her onto the mattress where he sat her down. She parted her legs and wrapped them behind him, tugging him against her with her knees.

Jon pulled away from her lips and kissed her cheek, her jaw, throat, down to her collar. He looked up at her briefly, panting and flushed, his eyes wild. Impatient, Dany brought her hands up to tangle in his dark locks and pushed his head down to her breast. He mouthed at her skin, unpracticed and sloppy, but she was too electrified to care. He gathered her up in his arms, holding her close. His teeth found her nipple and Dany let out a soft moan.

He pushed her gently onto her back to make it easier. She felt his hips grinding into her, felt the hard length of him beneath his breeches against her and shuddered. One of his hands found her untouched breast and squeezed, kneading at the soft mound. He put a little too much pressure onto her and she winced, making a low growl.

"Not so rough," she gasped, pulling his head up away from her breasts.

"Sorry," Jon sucked in a strangled breath and came back down to kiss her again. She swallowed his moans as he breathed hers in.

She could hardly blame him. He had no idea what he was doing—gods, neither did she for that matter, but she didn't care. There was only the heat, the feeling of their joined dragonfire pulsing white-hot in their veins, and the sensation of his skin against hers.

She curled her legs further around him and pulled him tighter against her body. Dany's fingers scratched at his scalp when he took her hips in his hands and made a jerky thrust against her, grinding against that searing pool between her legs.

Dany pushed at his chest, pushing him back further until he was standing before her again. She sat up and her fingers found the waistband of his breeches.

It was only now that she paused, a little nervous, and looked up at him. Jon swallowed hard, realizing what she was thinking.

"I…" Dany bit her lip. "We don't have to…"

"I want to," he whispered. "I want—I want to touch you."

She felt her whole body flush, warm and needy, and let go of his breeches. Jon blinked at her, then froze when Dany reached for her own clothes and slowly pushed them down until they pooled on the floor at her feet. She pressed her legs together self-consciously, shyly glancing up at his face as Jon stared at her.

He knelt before her, looking up at her eyes, and Dany shivered when he pressed a kiss to her knee. His hands reached for hers, intertwining their fingers and squeezing gently. She squeezed back in response, grounding herself with his touch. It helped her relax, to watch him and touch him as he slowly pressed kisses further up her leg.

He stopped before he went too far up and looked back at her face, eyes searching. "Is this alright?"

Dany nodded, pursing her lips when he kissed higher up her thigh. Her legs were still pressed together, but she started to part them as Jon stoked that flame in her belly once again. She let go of his hands and brought them back up to his head, running her fingers through his hair. Jon's hands found her hips and rubbed her skin soothingly.

Dany let out a sigh, shuddering when his mouth kissed the inside of her thigh, close to the juncture of her legs. She looked down at him, watching him edge closer to her most intimate parts. "What are you doing?"

Jon stopped and glanced at her face. "I want to kiss you."

Her lips twitched up into a breathless smile. "Haven't you been doing that?"

"I mean…I want to kiss you there."

Fuck.

Dany felt her mouth go dry. The arousal coursing through her grew more pronounced until the wetness between her thighs became too much to ignore. Jon waited for her reaction and did nothing until she made a tiny nod.

He gently pried her legs apart a little more and kissed low on her belly, dragged his lips further down. Dany whimpered and tugged at his hair in response. Her breath grew more ragged when his lips brushed against her there, and then his mouth found the wetness of her sex.

Dany fell back onto the bed, breasts heaving as she gasped for air. Jon's arms shifted around her, pulling her legs up so they were laying over his shoulders. It let him pull her closer so he could get to her more easily. She felt his tongue press flat to her womanhood, then pushed into her—

"Oh fuck, oh gods…" Dany made a strangled moan and slipped into her Valyrian mother tongue without even thinking about it. "Jon, what is this?"

He pulled away and she whined from the loss. His returning Valyrian was low and rough, and when she looked down at him, she could see his lips were shiny with her wetness. "Do you like it?"

"Yes, do not stop."

His eyes were black in the low light and he returned to lap at her wetness like a kitten with cream. Dany threw her head back and sounds she didn't even know she could make left her throat in a wordless song. She squirmed, legs clenching and hands grabbing at anything she could reach—his hair, her hair, the sheets…

She looked down at him and whimpered when she realized he was watching her. Her lover attended her dutifully, watching the way she reacted to every little thing he did to her. One of his hands shifted and she felt his fingers rub against her folds, rougher than his tongue and clumsy with his inexperience.

Dany reached down to his hand and took his fingers in hers, pulling them to that little bundle of nerves she had touched many a time before. "Like this…like—yes—"

Her breaths grew heavy and fast, the touch of his fingers and the way his tongue was sliding through her slick folds was just—

She couldn't—

Dany ground her hips against his face as she felt that coiled heat in her belly ripple tight, and then she threw her hands over her mouth because the release that ripped through her was too intense for her to stay silent. She screamed into her hands, spine arching off the bed and trying desperately to keep herself from waking up the house.

Her body shuddered with every breath. She was hot and soaked in sweat. Her legs quivered, she felt so perfectly sated…

Jon lifted himself up from between her legs and she let them slide from his shoulders, falling limply over the edge of the bed. Dany looked up at him with hooded eyes and reached for her lover.

"Come to me, love."

Jon hummed, pressing lazy kisses up her body as he climbed up onto the bed. Her muscles jumped under his touch as his lips danced over her belly, to both of her breasts and nipples, her collarbone, throat, and then finally her lips. She didn't care that she could taste herself on his tongue, for she was boneless, limp, and utterly relaxed.

He pulled both of them further onto the bed so their heads rested on the fluffy pillows. Jon nestled himself close to Dany's side, and she became aware of his own arousal pressing against her hip from inside of his breeches.

She pulled back from his lips and reached down for the waistband of his pants. Her fingers dipped past them, touching the skin above his manhood, and he breathed sharply.

"Yes?" Dany whispered for his permission, kissing his cheek. She wanted to bring him to his own release.

Jon just nodded and she pushed him onto his back, then let her hand push further down until her fingers brushed his cock. He made a low whine in his throat as she grasped him in her hand. She squeezed, not really certain how to go about this. Doreah had told her a little about this particular method of pleasuring a man, but she'd never done it before.

He reached down to join her hand with his and showed her how to stroke his manhood, the skin smooth and warm. She watched his face, mesmerized as his head fell back and his eyes fluttered closed. There was something exciting about watching Jon come undone, to see him in such a vulnerable state because of something she was doing to him.

He was panting, body quivering and arching, and it didn't take long before a strangled moan left him and Dany felt liquid heat cover their joined hands. Jon sank into the bed, gasping for air.

She sat up briefly to tug his breeches down and off, leaving him as naked as her. Dany wiped the mess of his seed from their hands on the clothing, then tossed it aside onto the floor. She couldn't bring herself to care about much else at the moment. She was tired and buzzing pleasantly.

Jon managed to pull the blankets over them and they snuggled close together, nearly purring with contentment. Dany pressed a loving kiss onto his shoulder as she curled into his side. Her heart was full, she was warm, and she was happy.

That was all she needed.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twelve: Names

Ned watched the sun rise from the bow of the ship, eyes fixated to the south. Throughout the night, he'd half-expected to see another vessel from King's Landing come after them.

If they didn't know yet, they'd realize soon that he and his daughters were gone.

Arya was managing well enough. She was sleeping with Nymeria and Ghost for the time being in his cabin. Sansa was in her own room with Lady.

The thought of his eldest daughter made Ned sigh. She'd been distraught by their sudden leave of King's Landing, to say the least. They'd left behind most of their possessions to escape the Red Keep unnoticed, including her jewelry and dresses. But more than that, she didn't seem to fully understand why they'd been forced to leave.

He needed to talk to her. Sansa had been living with her head in the clouds for too long. It was partially Ned's fault—he and Catelyn loved to dote on their daughters, but they'd clearly spoiled her too much. She would never survive with that attitude, especially not now.

He was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of boots on the wooden ship, and he looked back to see Ser Davos approaching him.

"Begging your pardon, Lord Stark," the man dipped his head. "Are you doing well?"

"As well as can be expected," he admitted. "Thank you again for this."

"There's nothing to thank. Lord Stannis has spoken to me about you," Davos told him. "He says you're the most honorable man he's ever met, though he says it can make you foolhardy at times."

Ned snorted. "Well, he's not wrong—I'm aware of my faults. I see Stannis is as blunt as ever."

"It serves him well, most of the time," Davos admitted, smiling somewhat. "Our greatest strengths are often our weaknesses."

"True enough."

The Onion Knight reached into his coat. "I was instructed by Lord Varys to give you this once we were well on our way to White Harbor."

He offered Ned a letter, which the man accepted and opened up.

Lord Stark,

I write this letter following our last meeting. The entourage you brought with you from Winterfell will be heading north on-foot by the time you get this. Their path will be riskier than your own, but it was the best I could do under the circumstances. I have also sent Gendry Waters—Robert's bastard. Cersei is purging the country of his children as we speak.

Alas, I suspect you will soon be hunted. My birds have told me Lord Baelish intends to report to the Queen Regent that you are spreading malicious rumors about the true nature of her children. Her wrath will be terrible, but more worrisome is that this will worsen the chaotic state of Westeros. I do not know how much help you will receive against the Ironborn threat from the other Kingdoms.

I also fear the boy's identity will be brought into question sooner than either of us hoped. The spies of Baelish and Pycelle are starting to bring their own information in. His Northern origins will be brought to suspect soon.

I urge you to get ahead of their reports. Bring the tale to your Northern Lords before they hear of the boy from someone else. I suspect your best chance will be when you call your banners to deal with Euron. You must influence them with your word before they are poisoned by another.

Good luck to you.

Ned folded the letter back up and let out a long breath. While he was happy to hear about Jory Cassel and the rest of his people escaping the Red Keep, Varys' warning that the realm would soon know—or at least suspect—Jon's identity was alarming. He'd known that once Jon revealed himself with Frostfyre that the ruse wouldn't last, but he'd hoped it would be longer than this.

At least he and his daughters were out of King's Landing before the truth came out.

Varys was right. He needed to talk to the Lords of the North about Jon before they were influenced by the words and rumors of the south. Ned would not hold anything back any longer. He would take the narrative by the head himself.

There was an additional problem Varys had outlined: he could not expect help from the other Kingdoms against Euron. They would likely deal with the Ironborn whenever they came into their territory, but they would not help the North if they thought Ned was falsely accusing Joffrey and his siblings of being bastards borne of incest, even if that was what they really were.

He suspected the Stormlands would rebel against the Crown for it—he knew Stannis already had his doubts about Robert's supposed children, and Renly wouldn't take that lying down, either.

But the moment the other Kingdoms realized he had hidden away the Dragon King and Frostfyre in his own home, they would likely reject his calls for help entirely. Such treason would not be looked upon kindly, especially if those in the Red Keep started to poison Jon's reputation.

Ned pursed his lips. He needed help to deal with Euron's Ironborn, or else he risked the North being crippled in a bloody war that would last for years.

A thought struck him, and his eyes drifted to the northeast. Jon was in Braavos with Daenerys.

If he called, would his nephew answer? Would he take the risk, after all he'd given up to save Daenerys? He'd thrown himself into exile on a foreign continent for the girl. Coming back to Westeros was nigh-suicidal for them…

But Euron would come for him eventually. He had the Dragonbinder and a dragon egg on top of that.

He needed to think. Ned put the letter into his coat and headed belowdecks to find something to drink, so he could focus.

They were dreaming of the tower again.

Daenerys watched as Rhaegar took Lyanna's face in his hands and kissed her sweet. The two of them lay their foreheads against one another, and Dany could see that her brother's expression was tight. Dark circles lay beneath his eyes.

He was wearing black armor, with the sigil of their House, a three-headed dragon, decorating the chest-piece in rubies.

"You will come back to me," Lyanna whispered. She took his hand and guided it low to her belly, just starting to swell. "To us."

"I will fight for nothing less, my love," Rhaegar murmured, kissing her brow. "But if…if the worst should happen—"

"Your nightmares do not mean we are doomed," she told him fiercely. "I do not care what the dragon told you."

"What else could it mean?"

"What about the first prophecy it gave you? 'Father and Mother, and quickened by fire'?"

Rhaegar pursed his lips, pulling back to look at her. His amethyst eyes, darker than Dany's, were wet. "I don't know if it's meant for us."

"Who else would it be for?"

"Our son."

Lyanna stilled as Rhaegar's voice broke. "I saw him. A Stark boy with the white dragon. It was never meant to hatch for me, it was meant for him. And he wasn't alone. There was a girl. A Targaryen girl."

"She could be our daughter, Rhaegar! That doesn't mean—"

"My mother is with child again."

Lyanna's breath caught. Rhaegar swallowed. "I hope I'm wrong. Gods, Lyanna, I want to be wrong more than anything. I don't want to believe this new prophecy is meant for us, but we must prepare for the worst. If our son must grow up without us—"

"Rhaegar, no," her voice broke.

"'Only death can pay for life'," he whispered. Dany felt her skin crawl when she heard those words. She heard Jon whimper beside her and reached for his hand, squeezing until it hurt. By the fireplace, Frostfyre let out a mournful cry that brought tears to her eyes.

"I fear this rebellion may lead to the destruction of our House," he told her. They were both of them crying. "If I fall, my guard will take you, our son, and the dragon to the North. They'll keep you and the babe safe. If you die, and I live…they'll—they'll bring him to me. I don't know how I could raise him without you, but…"

"I cannot imagine our son growing up without you, either," Lyanna cried. "What if…what if we both…"

"Then he must be taken North. Hidden with the dragon. If our House dies, he might be the last Targaryen. My mother and Viserys are at Dragonstone by now, but…we will see. Elia, Rhaenys, and Aegon are being kept in the Red Keep by my father. He won't let them go to safety."

Lyanna looked up at him with eyes filled with horror. "But…your son and daughter are just children!"

"He doesn't care," Rhaegar shook his head, swallowing hard. "He doesn't care. My father is broken beyond all reason."

She looked down at the ground. He sighed. "If House Targaryen is reduced to just our son, I want you to name him Aegon."

Lyanna frowned until he explained. "If my dreams are true, he'll look more Stark than Targaryen. But if he's discovered, he…he could use the name of my other son to protect your family. Do you think they would take him in?"

"I think so," she whispered. "I hope so. But I do not think naming him Aegon will hide the truth of him for long…the Stark traits are nothing like the Dornish. He won't look like Elia at all."

Lyanna paused, then her voice tinged with a brief, dry humor. "Assuming our world does not burn to the seven hells, I will name him Jaehaerys. I do not want his true name to be a deception."

"If it keeps what is left of our family alive after this madness…"

She nodded tightly. "Very well."

Rhaegar cupped her cheek again to kiss his wife. "It does not please me, either. But that is the worst-case scenario. Should fate take us down any other road, I would see him named Jaehaerys, as well. Having two sons named Aegon would be confusing."

Lyanna cracked a slight smile. "Indeed."

They heard footsteps coming up the stairs and then a Knight stood by the entrance to their room. "Your Grace, we cannot linger any longer."

"I know. Thank you, Ser Arthur," Rhaegar sighed.

He looked down at Lyanna and they kissed one last time. "Goodbye, my love."

"Goodbye," she whispered.

And then Daenerys woke up.

Jon was already in tears, waking with a choked gasp beside her. She was cradling him close in an instant, kissing the top of his head and holding him tight. Their nakedness meant nothing to her.

"Oh, Jon," she pressed her lips to his brow again and felt her own tears fall from her eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

It was some hours, when the first stirrings of morning's light were trickling through the cracks of her window, before Jon calmed down.

He was still curled up into her, his face nestled in her neck as Dany ran her fingers soothingly through his hair, held his hand between them, and pressed kisses upon his face to help him settle. His breathing finally slowed to its natural, steady pace, but she could sense he was still distraught.

How could he not be?

Jon leaned into her a bit more. "Thank you."

She just squeezed his hand in response.

He was silent for a time. "I don't know who I am supposed to be anymore, Dany."

"Who you are supposed to be does not matter," she chastised gently. "Who do you want to be?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "Jon Snow is what I've known for so long, but it's the name of Ned Stark's bastard son. Aegon—Aegon is a name I was given to protect the Starks. A mummery of a dead brother I will never meet. But I have never called myself Jaehaerys. I know it's what my mother and father wanted for me, but I have never called it mine."

Dany was quiet for a moment. "We have the names you were given from before you were born. Aegon was a disguise to protect the Starks who raised you as their own. Jaehaerys is the name your parents wished for you to have. And Jon…Jon is who you know yourself to be. Perhaps that is your truth. You are not a bastard. You are a true born son of the Targaryen dynasty."

She took his face in her hands and lifted it so she could look into those tired, dark grey eyes. This close, she could see the tiniest flecks of violet—the only trace of Targaryen lineage in his features. "You are Jaehaerys Targaryen. Jon to those closest to you. One day, you will shed Aegon to honor your brother, and you will be Jon…Jaehaerys in-full."

He looked exhausted. "…That's going to take some time to wrap my head around. Gods, how is a child born with three names?"

"You are just that special," she told him, smiling. It got a weak laugh out of him, but seeing his lips rise was a wonderful shift from his stressed expression. "Jaehaerys."

His nose wrinkled. "That's going to take even more time to get used to."

"And I will be here to help you with it every step of the way," Dany promised. "But you will always be Jon for me."

He nodded and nuzzled back into her neck again. "Well, Jon, Aegon, and Jaehaerys wish to sleep here beside you for the whole day, Princess."

Daenerys couldn't help but smile widely. "As much as I would love to humor such a request, Your Grace, our companions will soon be up to clean my room. They will likely find our current circumstances to be rather scandalous."

Jon grumbled. "We could tell them to leave us alone."

"But then how would you court your intended as you wished?" Dany asked teasingly.

"I have a few ideas."

She smacked his shoulder, laughing, and watched as light returned to his face.

Some time later, when they were cleaned up and dressed—and had, for the most part, made sure their nighttime escapade remained a secret—Jon and Daenerys found themselves with Doreah by the fireplace.

The dragon eggs were still being kept warm in the flames. Jon knelt by the fireplace and reached into the fire, making a few minor adjustments to the way the eggs were arranged. They shifted sometimes as the logs burned and crumbled to ash.

"That truly does not hurt you, Your Grace?" Doreah asked. For all that she'd seen Dany and Jon put their hands into the flames, it never ceased to make her anxious.

"I can feel the heat," he answered. "It is hot, but it does not cause me pain. It is…not soothing, but something like that."

Doreah tilted her head from her chair. Her belly was swelling more these days as the child in her womb grew. She was nearly five moons along. "Do you think my child will really…"

"We will see. There are plenty of Targaryens in history who never rode dragons," he murmured quietly, glancing back at her. Doreah pursed her lips, as though she couldn't decide whether or not she wanted her baby to be a Dragon Rider at all. He didn't blame her. He loved Frostfyre, but he knew how dangerous it could be, to be what he was.

"Dragon Rider or not," he told Doreah. "The child is still one of us. We will protect them."

The blonde woman smiled gratefully, dipping her head in response.

Dany stood by her chair and reached for Doreah's shoulder. "Have you thought of any names yet?"

"No," she admitted, then looked from Jon to Daenerys. "I wanted to ask about that, Princess. I would like to give my child a Targaryen name, if you would allow it."

"Of course," Dany beamed, moving around Doreah to sit by Jon near the flames. She sat facing them, Doreah to her left while Jon and the dragon eggs were on her right. "Shall we start with names for girls?"

"That would make me happy, Princess."

"Well then…" She leaned her head back. "Let us start with the first Targaryens who came to Westeros from Old Valyria. There was the daughter of Aenar, named Daenys, better known as Daenys the Dreamer. She was said to have had the Dragon Dreams that warned her father of the Doom before it could consume our House with the other Dragonlords. Next was Elaena, Daenys' daughter…"

She continued from there, trying to recall her family tree as best she could. She knew well the most prominent members of House Targaryen, having memorized as many of them as she had learned. What she didn't remember or know, Jon filled in for her—he knew much of their House's kin from the years he spent under Aemon's tutelage.

"Much of our House in the past few centuries is descended from the line of Aegon and his sister-wife, Rhaenys," Daenerys murmured. "Their son, Aenys, had…five children, I think? Two daughters, if I recall: Rhaena and Alysanne, who married the first King Jaehaerys after King Maegor's death."

"Six children," Jon corrected, and Dany blinked at him. "Alyssa Velaryon had a third daughter, Vaella. She died in her cradle."

"Vaella," Dany murmured, putting the name to memory. She frowned. "Rhaena had two daughters by her brother, Aegon. Aerea and Rhaella. Rhaella was also the name of my mother. Then Jaehaerys and Alysanne had…a lot of children. Jon how many—"

"Thirteen."

Even Dany's eyebrows rose high at that. Doreah spluttered. "Thirteen?!"

He couldn't help but smirk a little. "King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne's love for each other was something of a legend. Their reign was the longest and the greatest, or so I was taught. Jaehaerys ruled for fifty-five years."

"My word," Doreah breathed.

Jon looked into the flames and Dany wondered if he was thinking of the name his parents wished for him—the name of a peaceful, wise King who had been the pinnacle of the Targaryen dynasty in Westeros. She thought it suited him better than Aegon. He had never wanted to be a conquerer.

"Jaehaerys and Alysanne loved their children," Jon murmured. "Their daughters were…Daenerys, Alyssa, Maegelle, Daella, Saera, Viserra, and Gael."

"Still…thirteen children!"

"A bit much for your tastes?" Jon asked, chuckling.

"I think that's a bit much for anyone, Your Grace," Doreah shook her head in bewilderment. She looked from him to Daenerys after a moment, and her eyes became somewhat mischievous. "How many do you think you want?"

Jon's eyes widened in surprise and he glanced at Daenerys for a moment, both of them flushing with color. Doreah looked all-too amused by their uncertainty.

"We haven't talked about it," Dany told her friend.

"Yet," Doreah smirked. But she let them off easy and lifted a hand to her belly, rubbing at the swell. "May I hear some names for the boys now, Your Grace?"

"Certainly," Jon agreed, pleased to have avoided that particular topic for the moment. "Well, if we're starting again, there was Aenar, the father of Daenys the Dreamer. He brought House Targaryen over from Valyria, as Daenerys said before…"

They went on like that for some time. Doreah mulled over several of the names suggested to her, but House Targaryen was massive. There were probably names Jon and Daenerys had left out simply because it was difficult to remember them all. The chaos of the Dance of Dragons and the Blackfyre Rebellions only made things more difficult.

They eventually reached the end of the family line.

"King Aerys II and Rhaella had…" Jon frowned, tilting his head back in thought and lifting his fingers as he counted in his head. Daenerys stared at the number as it grew, eyes wide in surprise. She'd known that her mother had birthed more than three children, but she didn't know exactly how many.

"Eight? I think it was eight," he said quietly. Jon shook his head after a moment. "But most of her children were sickly. Rhaella suffered through many miscarriages, as well. Few of her babes survived past their first year, if I remember right. She only had two daughters; Shaena, who was stillborn, and Dany."

"I see," Doreah murmured. "What of her sons?"

"My father, Rhaegar," Jon answered, his face pained. "And Viserys, of course. They were the only sons she had who survived infancy. The others were…Daeron, Aegon, and Jaehaerys. She had another stillborn, I think, but I cannot recall the name of the babe."

"That poor woman. I cannot even imagine…"

"My mother's fate was not a kind one," Daenerys agreed softly. She had not known the names of her dead siblings until now. The thought saddened her—she had already lost Viserys and would never see Rhaegar outside of her dreams with Jon. But to imagine that she might have had many more siblings, all of whom were lost before she took her first breath…

"No. And now we reach the end of the Targaryen line," Jon looked up at Doreah. "My father and mother had my sister, Rhaenys, and I. And now your child with Viserys. That's where we are now."

"How do you even remember all of that?" Doreah asked, looking impressed.

"There's a lot I'm sure I do not remember clearly," Jon admitted. "The civil wars in our family make everything complicated. I learned a lot about them during my life in the North, but without a physical family tree to look at, I cannot say if I've recited all the names of our House. I certainly do not know many names beyond those Targaryens who came to Westeros. There are the Gods of Old Valyria, of course, but beyond that? I know next to nothing of the Dragonlords who perished in the Doom."

"I have a lot to think about," Doreah proclaimed. "I hope I do not bother the two of you if I ask about this again. I certainly will have trouble remembering all of these names."

"No trouble at all," Dany replied, smiling.

Ned Stark set his eyes on White Harbor and felt relief course through him for the first time in the past three months.

It had taken them quite a while to get here from King's Landing. Ser Davos had insisted on taking a more indirect route to reach their destination, to ensure they were not followed by any of the Lannisters or their allies. Though it consumed much time, it had left them safe in the end.

When he set foot on the docks of White Harbor, Lord Wyman Manderly was waiting for them.

The Lord of White Harbor looked relieved to see them. He took Ned's arm in his and squeezed it firmly in friendship. "Thank the Old Gods and the New. We feared for your life, Lord Stark. Many rumors have pervaded Westeros since you vanished."

"Aye," Ned agreed. "It was not what I wished, but King's Landing was more a nest of vipers than I feared. Ser Davos is likely the only reason I live and my daughters remain free."

He would not mention Varys. He couldn't. The Spider, for all his intentions, was not a trustworthy man. His Northmen would not like to hear his moniker brought up.

"I will see to it that you have our hospitality before you ride home to Winterfell," Manderly told him, smiling.

"I am thankful for it. But my work must begin now," he said. "Our voyage has left us pressed for time."

"Of course," Manderly began to lead him towards New Castle, with Sansa, Arya, and Ser Davos in-tow, along with the dire wolves. The wolves seemed happier than anyone to be off the ship. "How may I serve you, My Lord?"

"I must summon our armies and the Lords of the North to Winterfell," he began. "Many ravens must fly today. I will need to write several letters."

"You will have all you need to do so. What else?"

"I will hear the news we have been absent for at sea," Ned continued. "What is happening in King's Landing?"

"Nothing good," Manderly admitted. "The Queen Regent has sent ravens throughout the land declaring you a traitor. She says you falsely accused her children of being bastards borne of incest between herself and her brother, the Kingslayer."

"And?"

"None of the men in the North believe her. You know our people. The South has always been in suspicion, and the Lannisters more than most we have little trust in. They were more outraged that you disappeared. We all feared for your life."

"I will explain all I can when my bannermen are summoned to Winterfell. Anything else of note from King's Landing?"

"House Baratheon did not take the news kindly, either," Manderly said. "Stannis and Renly seem to think there is truth to the Queen's accusations towards you. Not that you falsely accused her children of being bastards—they seem to believe you are right."

"But that's nonsense!" Sansa, who had been hurrying to keep up with them, protested. "King Joffrey is—"

"A bastard, Sansa," Ned stopped and turned to face her. All the guards paused with them, listening with Manderly as the Warden of the North spoke his truth. "Or at least, I have little reason to believe he is Robert's true born son. Him and his siblings. I met a number of Robert's bastards in King's Landing, and I have searched long and hard through the history of House Baratheon.

"All of his bastards were black of hair and blue of eyes, as have been many more true born children of their House. Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen are all blonde of hair and green of eyes. There is not a single Baratheon trait in them. They are pure Lannister."

Sansa paled. "But that doesn't mean…"

"It is true that without Cersei or the Kingslayer's open admittance I cannot prove it beyond a shadow of doubt," Ned told her. "But I have met many Baratheon children and their blood always flows strong. Their traits are clear. Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen are devoid of any and all of them."

"Stannis and Renly seem to think the same," Manderly added grimly. "By line of succession, Stannis has claimed himself to be the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms. He and Renly have both taken up arms against the Lannisters. War hasn't started yet, but it's in the wind. What will we do about it, My Lord?"

"Nothing yet," Ned replied, looking at the Lord of White Harbor. "What about Euron Greyjoy?"

"The Iron Fleet have been reported to be raiding up and down the west coast. They haven't invaded far inland yet, but Euron Greyjoy has made it clear he means to take the North for his own. He hit Flint's Finger not a moon ago. They say he'll be sailing for Torrhen's Square next."

"He'll use it as a staging point to strike at Winterfell and the rest of the North," Ned growled. "We must make haste."

When they reached New Castle, Lord Manderly was quick to usher them into his solar while food and drink was brought in for them. Ned told them he would be busy for a time, but he wanted his daughters and Ser Davos present as well.

He had made a big decision while they sailed to the North.

"I will ride out at first light with the wolves and any men you can spare, Lord Manderly," Ned told him. "I would have you send the ravens out with our departure. I will write all the necessary letters to summon my bannermen tonight."

"It will be done, My Lord," Manderly dipped his head.

"Ser Davos," Ned looked up at the man who had saved his life and the lives of his daughters. "I must make a selfish request of you."

"If it is within my power, I will help you, Lord Stark."

He took a breath. Steeled himself.

"I need you to take Arya to Braavos with a letter to summon Aegon Targaryen to Winterfell."

Silence filled the solar.

Manderly spluttered. "The Dragon King? For what reason?!"

"He will help us crush Euron Greyjoy and the Iron Fleet," Ned told them. "I have thought long and hard about this. Euron possesses a Dragonbinder Horn said to be capable of binding a dragon with its magic, as well as a dragon egg. He means to claim the dragon Frostfyre for his own to conquer Westeros. If we strike now with the Dragon King himself, before he can take them by surprise, we will stop an even greater threat from terrorizing the realm."

"How could you even suggest such a thing? The boy is the child of Rhaegar Targaryen, the same man who stole away your sister and killed her!"

"He did neither of those things," Ned said quietly. Manderly stared at him, eyes wide, as did Davos and his daughters. "Much is not what it seems. But I cannot explain yet. I intend to share this information with all of my bannermen in Winterfell—including you, Lord Manderly.

"But I will make this clear: I would never summon the Dragon King if I did not know beyond a shadow of doubt that he is our ally. And he is. That boy was raised from infancy in the North. He is one of us. You must trust me on that. When I send out the call, he will answer. That dragon of his will make the losses our people suffer a fraction of what they would be if we fought the Iron Fleet without them."

Ser Davos licked his lips nervously. "This will mean war, Lord Stark. If you ally with this boy…"

"War is already coming to us. The boy's identity will be discovered soon enough," Ned sighed. "The spymasters in King's Landing will see to that."

"His identity?" Sansa frowned. "What do you mean, father?"

"I will explain everything in Winterfell," Ned looked from Davos to Manderly. "The boy is not a conquerer. He is not evil. And with him on our side, Euron will fall. If I have it my way, this is going to be the very last Greyjoy Rebellion."

"Stannis and Renly will not like this."

"Neither will Tywin Lannister, Joffrey, and most of Westeros. I am aware. Believe me, I am all-too aware of what is going to happen. But it is going to happen whether we like it or not. Even if I do not summon him, the wheels of fate are already turning."

Davos pursed his lips. "Why send your daughter? It is a terrible risk, Lord Stark."

"Not as risky as you think," he sighed, looking at Arya. "Jon is with Aegon."

"Jon?!" Arya half-shrieked. "What is Jon doing with him?!"

"I thought he was at the Wall," Sansa also looked stunned, but her face was screwed up with distaste. "It's where the bastard belongs."

"Bastard?" Lord Manderly frowned. "Your bastard son, Lord Stark?"

"Aye. He is with Aegon and Daenerys now in Braavos. Arya will know him when she sees him. They will never harm her, and if she goes, they will know my message is true and not a trap."

The Lord of White Harbor regarded him carefully for several moments. "He is truly our ally?"

"That boy would die for us," Ned told Manderly. "For the North."

Ser Davos studied him carefully for several moments. "If you bring him here and defeat the Iron Fleet, depose Euron Greyjoy…what then?"

"Then…" Ned pursed his lips. "Then he will likely return to Essos. He will not wish to endanger Daenerys more than is necessary, and Westeros is not safe for Targaryens. Perhaps it never will be again."

"He'll go away just like that?"

"If it is what is best for all of us, yes."

"He won't want the Iron Throne?"

"He never has. He is a good child who does not seek power."

"…You seem to know him well," Davos said cautiously.

"As I said, I will explain everything as soon as my bannermen are summoned to Winterfell. Even if he refuses my summons for some reason or is unable to answer them, I mean to tell them all who he is."

The Onion Knight mulled it over for some time. "What would you need for me to do once I reach Braavos with your daughter? Assuming we even find him there?"

"He will likely request you bring Daenerys to Winterfell with Arya," Ned admitted. "I would have you do so. If he fights to protect our people, I would see that we can do at least that much for him in return."

"Suppose that makes sense. But how am I meant to transport a dragon?"

"I imagine the dragon is too large for any ship to carry, Ser Davos. Once he answers the summons, he will probably fly ahead of your ship straight to Winterfell. With any luck, he will arrive there with my bannermen. It will make explaining things easier."

Davos nodded slightly. "Very well. I'll do it."

"I will see to it that you are well-rewarded for your services," Ned told him. "My House owes you a tremendous debt."

The Onion Knight smiled at him. "It has been my pleasure to help you, Lord Stark. I only hope you speak true about the Dragon King. I have a wife and son to go home to, you know."

"I would never ask this of you if I believed you would be threatened by him."

"Very well. I trust you. We will leave at first light tomorrow."

Ned let out a long breath. "Arya, prepare yourself. I will take Nymeria with us to Winterfell—I imagine she has seen enough of the ship."

"Yes, Father," Arya agreed, feeling excitement swell within her.

She was going to see a dragon!

They had been living in Braavos for nearly five moons now. Jon let out a breath in the nighttime air near the Moon Pool, ready for another night of sparring amongst the bravos.

The past few moons had been quiet, but a good sort of quiet. They hadn't encountered any assassins (yet) or found themselves threatened by much of anything. Living underground the way they did meant they didn't receive word of Westeros often these days, but a few things had reached their ears.

The death of King Robert and the ascension of his son, King Joffrey, to the Iron Throne had been huge news for them. With any luck, it meant they wouldn't be hunted quite so viciously, but they could not relax completely.

Hearing about Ned Stark's disappearance after the King's death had been less comforting for Jon. He wished he had some idea as to where his uncle was—he'd fly to help him if he could, but without any idea as to where Ned was, he could do nothing.

That reminded him of perhaps the greatest con of living in Braavos.

He had met with Frostfyre on brief trips outside of Braavos, when he and Ser Jorah left to gather more firewood for the dragon eggs, but not nearly as much as he'd like. He missed his dragon, but she couldn't stay in the city. She stayed far away from it, roaming the mountains of the Andals to the south. He didn't want to chain her down, but he wanted to see her more often.

They would still be here for some time, he knew. Doreah was large with child. The babe would be born in the coming weeks for certain, if not sooner. Once it was born, they'd spend a little while longer in Braavos to ensure the child was healthy, and then they would leave.

His lips rose into a smile.

He and Daenerys were going to marry before they left. They already had a sept in mind. It would be a quiet, private ceremony, but it would bind them together in the eyes of men.

He couldn't wait. He and Dany spent almost every night together. Oftentimes they would lie beneath the sheets and simply talk. On some days, they were so tired they just curled up together and fell asleep. And on more nights still, they would fall into bed to have new adventures and explore one another.

It had been absurdly hard to not just have each other in-full, but somehow they'd managed to wait. Once they were married, there would be nothing to hold them back.

Jon's fifteenth name day had come and gone, as had Dany's. Though they were not fully grown, they were certainly old enough to be wed by now. It wasn't uncommon for some to be wed at an even younger age.

He shook those thoughts from his head as he spotted Terro, the bravos he'd sparred with many a time on these grounds. Jon had managed to defeat Terro in the past months, and he'd become rather good at defeating all but the best of Water Dancers.

Ser Jorah and Dany were watching him amidst the crowds, who by now were quite familiar with the young Westerosi swordsman.

Jon started to approach Terro when a stranger he did not recognize slipped from the crowds and made his way towards him. He blinked at the man, who was clearly a foreigner judging by his features.

He was tall, slender, and graceful, with thin eyebrows and black eyes. His hair was lustrous and black, and he wore fine clothes that were exotic, as well. A large spear was strapped to his back.

Jon stared at him, reaching for the handle of his sword. The man stopped a short distance away, studying him for a few moments.

"What's your name, boy?"

"Jon," he answered, eyes narrowed. Something about this man wasn't right. He shifted his stance, watching him warily. He caught sight of two men in hooded cloaks not far away in the crowd, and his alarm increased. "Who are you?"

"That depends."

He drew his sword slowly. "On what?"

"Your name. I saw you with the Targaryen girl and that Mormont. Are you Aegon?"

Jon's eyes flashed back towards Ser Jorah and Daenerys, who were already hurrying towards him with worry in their eyes. It was a nearly fatal mistake.

The man had his spear in-hand and slashed at him rapidly. Jon barely ducked under the swing and backpedaled, scowling. "Who are you?"

"My name is Oberyn Martell," the man hissed angrily. "My sister was Elia. Aegon was my nephew, pretender."

Fuck, Jon mentally swore, stepping away from a jab by the spear. This was the Red Viper of Dorne!

"You are making a mistake!" Jon snarled, parrying a stab with his sword.

"Oh?" Oberyn glared at him. "I do not think so. You are clearly not my nephew."

"Will you just listen for—"

"No."

He swung the spear again and Jon ducked under it, only for Oberyn's foot to fly up and strike him in the chest. He was nearly flung backwards, barely parrying another stab from the spear, but he knew there was no way he'd win such a fight. The Red Viper's notoriety in Westeros was legendary. Not only was he a talented warrior, but the rumors said he had a nasty habit of coating his blades with poison. A scratch could mean death.

"Jon!" Dany was there then, and Ser Jorah as well. He held a hand out to keep Dany behind him, but she had a dagger at the ready. Though she wasn't yet ready to fight with a sword, she'd learned to use knives and smaller blades well enough in the recent months.

Oberyn's eyes flashed with annoyance at the Targaryen girl. "Back off, Daenerys. You have been fooled."

"I have not," she snapped. "Who are you?"

"This is Prince Oberyn," Jorah told her grimly. "Elia Martell's brother."

Dany paled, but then steeled herself. "You are making a mistake, good-brother."

"This pretender is—"

"Prince Oberyn."

They all stopped as the two cloaked men Jon has spotted before came in behind Oberyn, though they kept their distance. When they removed their hoods, he saw an old, gray man and a tall blonde with striking green eyes.

Oberyn's eyes were blazing, but Ser Jorah paled, inhaling sharply. "Your Grace, Princess, you must run."

"There is no need for that," the old man told them, holding his hands up placatingly. The blonde said nothing.

"Seven hells there isn't!" Jorah retorted. "You brought the Kingslayer here!"

Jon felt his blood run cold. The blonde man was Jaime Lannister!

Dany's breath came sharp and fast beside him. This was the man who had slain her father, madman or not.

Jaime stared at her, his eyes wide. Jon did not like that in the slightest.

"If we might speak in private," the old man offered, flashing a glare at Oberyn. "Without threatening them, Prince."

"You expect me to allow this pretender who sullies the name of my nephew to live?"

The old man blinked in surprise as he studied Jon. "You are Aegon Targaryen?"

Jon glanced at Dany, who bit her lip. High Valyrian left her in barely a whisper. "Oberyn won't stop until he learns the truth."

"He might kill us anyways. All of them might."

"It's our only chance," she told him, voice wavering. She was trying hard to hide her fear. "Frostfyre—"

"She's already—"

"Enough," Oberyn snapped at them, growing tired of the whispers. "Do you claim to be Aegon or not, boy?"

"…I am not Aegon Targaryen," Jon admitted quietly. Ser Jorah spun towards him with a stunned expression, but he ignored the Knight. "But I am Prince Rhaegar's son."

The old man frowned deeply. "How can that be?"

A dragon's roar silenced any further questions.

Frostfyre's enraged scream shattered the whole of Braavos into silence as the dragon dove from the sky, the moon behind her growing wings from her silhouette. People screamed and began to flee as the great, white fury came down, wings flapping hard until she landed protectively over Jon, Dany, and Ser Jorah. She lowered her skull towards the three men and howled at them dangerously, teeth flashing and eyes blazing, fire glowing from deep in her throat.

Oberyn, Jaime, and the old man all froze, pinned by her terrible, predatory gaze.

His heart calmed some. They would still have to leave quickly—get to Doreah and the others somehow and get the hell out of Braavos—but now…now they had a chance. He was just grateful Frostfyre had been hovering near the city lately. She had been missing him.

And she would defend them now, no matter the consequences.

He lifted his hand and Frostfyre leaned towards him, but her teeth were still bared and her snarl was still vicious as she glared death at the men. Jon took comfort in her presence and matched her fury with his own. Dany was being threatened. All of them were, and he would not stand for it. "Do you believe me now?"

Oberyn stared at him, then the dragon, then back again. "Who are you?"

"Drop the spear or you burn," he ordered flatly. Frostfyre's jaws were bathing the street with threatening embers. Oberyn lowered the weapon, but did not let it go. Jon's grip on his sword tightened. "Drop it!"

The old man had not lowered his hands, but he also showed himself to be no threat to them. "Let's all put down our weapons. Ser Jaime and I are not here to threaten you."

"You didn't come with him?" Jon nodded at Oberyn, already at the height of suspicion.

"I do not need turncoat Kingsguards to track down a pretender," Oberyn snapped.

"I took Aegon's name to protect the people who raised me, and I am sorry for that," Jon retorted. "It gives me no pleasure to do so."

"Who raised you, then? Who are you?"

He was grateful Frostfyre had scared away the locals. Or at least, they were all far away, far where they would not hear him speak. Dany took his hand and squeezed it reassuringly.

What choice did he have? If Frostfyre attacked, the citizens of Braavos would take it the wrong way. He didn't want to make an enemy of the city.

Jon swallowed. "My name is…Jaehaerys Targaryen. I am the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. I was born at the Tower of Joy, in Dorne. Ned Stark raised me in Winterfell as his bastard son, to protect me from King Robert."

Oberyn's face became ashen, as did Jaime's and the old man's. Jorah was staring at him with eyes as large as the moon. Dany did nothing but hold his hand tight.

Frostfyre's low growl brought the steel back to his spine. "Now give me a good reason as to why I should not incinerate the three of you where you stand."

Oberyn's eyes flickered to Daenerys. "You knew about this?"

"I did," she admitted, tilting her chin up.

"And you did nothing? Allowed him to sully your nephew's name?"

"What right do you have to demand anything of me?" Dany hissed at him. "You and anyone else from Westeros? You would have left me to be sold like livestock to a Dothraki Barbarian, so I could become a whore-bride to a savage! Jon—Jaehaerys is the only reason I haven't been raped and defiled for the past year!"

"It is not his place—"

"You have nothing to demand of us!" Dany shouted back, fully enraged now. "Where were you, where was Dorne, when my brother and I were on the streets begging for food? When we were running from assassins? You have no right to tell us how we can survive! How we protect what little is left of our family!"

Oberyn opened his mouth and Frostfyre drowned him out with another furious bellow, shoving her jaws so close to him that he could stare down her gullet as she nearly deafened him, Jaime, and the old man. 

Jon glared at Oberyn. "I did not take my half-brother's name out of ill-will. I did it to protect the Starks who saved me from King Robert and the Lannisters. They did more for me than you did for Daenerys. Stand down now, turn away, and I will let you leave alive. I have no quarrel with you, Prince Oberyn. But if you threaten my and Daenerys' safety one more time, I will not hesitate to kill you."

The Red Viper's eyes were narrowed, undoubtedly caused in-part by the pain of his ringing ears.

The old man hesitantly moved forward, pausing only when Frostfyre's gaze snapped onto him with a threatening growl. "Your Grace…"

Jon studied him for a moment, frowning. "Who are you?"

"My name is Ser Barristan Selmy," he answered. Jon tilted his head slightly. This was Barristan the Bold?

"And what are you doing here with the Kingslayer?"

"We came to pledge our swords to you."

Dany glared at the Lannister. "Do you take us for fools?"

"No, Your Grace," Barristan replied calmly. "I speak the truth. Even Ser Jaime—"

"Jaime Lannister betrayed his vows and slew Aerys Targaryen," Jon reminded him, flashing a glare at the blonde man, who had still not moved his gaze from Daenerys. He looked like he'd seen a ghost. "Aerys may have been insane, I need more than that to not kill him where he stands."

Oberyn was slowly backing off, his spear lowered as he watched Jon and Daenerys. Jaime finally stirred and looked away from Dany to Jon. Slowly, he unsheathed his sword. Frostfyre hissed threateningly and Jon was a second away from commanding her to burn the man alive.

The Kingslayer slowly knelt and threw his sword away to their feet. He looked at Jon and then Daenerys again.

"I came to serve Queen Rhaella's last child, if I could," he told them. Jaime swallowed. Jon almost startled when he realized the man's eyes were wet with tears. "Gods, but you look just like your mother, Princess…"

"Do not trust him, Your Grace," Jorah warned.

Jaime lowered his head. "Kill me if you wish. It is true I slew King Aerys. It is true I failed to protect Princess Elia, Rhaenys, and Aegon. I deserve to die, Your Grace. You would be right to kill me where I stand. But if you let me live, I will swear on whatever honor I have left that I will protect the Queen's daughter to my dying breath."

Jon frowned at him deeply. He glanced at Daenerys, who was staring at him with a convoluted mixture of fear, anger, curiosity, and desperation.

"Your Grace," Jorah urged. "You should kill them now."

Jon pursed his lips, studying the three men again. Oberyn had backed off, spear reattached to his back and staring at the ground as he processed what he'd learned. Barristan still remained passive, eyes fixated on Ser Jaime.

The Kingslayer remained on his knees, his sword at Jon's feet and ready to die.

Frostfyre took the matter into her own hands.

The dragon's head snaked forward towards Jaime, puffing hot air onto the man. She growled at him and he slowly lifted his head to stare at Frostfyre's deadly violets. The dragon breathed in his scent, sniffing once, twice…

She suddenly paused, studying him more closely. Jon watched the interaction curiously.

He half-expected Frostfyre to eat Jaime or burn him alive, but the dragon tilted her head slightly and then pulled away. She twisted to look at Jon, and though she was still on-guard, her rage had abetted somewhat. A rumble sounded from deep in her throat.

Jon's gaze flashed to the Kingslayer again, who remained waiting for his sentence. They were fortunate everyone in Braavos had been scared into their homes, far and away from them. It was eerie how empty the huge square around the Moon Pool was, but he would not complain about the solitude for the time being.

He looked at Daenerys. She glanced from Jaime to Frostfyre, and then back to him. Slowly, hesitantly, she nodded.

"…You will not die tonight," he decided at last.

"Your Grace!" Jorah protested.

"Enough!" Jon snapped. He was still wary. "We will take your weapons and you will come with us. If you try to betray us, mark my words, Frostfyre will burn you alive. She has your scents now, as well. She will follow your smell home to Westeros and annihilate everything you hold dear."

Truthfully, he had no idea if his dragon would go that far, but he would not take chances with these men. They would learn the price of betrayal now or suffer the consequences.

Barristan nodded and removed his sword, tossing it to them, as well as a dagger. Jaime did the same, removing a knife and passing it their way.

Jon stared at the last of them. "Prince Oberyn?"

The Red Viper pursed his lips for several seconds. He couldn't seem to decide.

Jon really didn't want to kill this man. "You have every right to be angry with me. But I did not choose to be born to Rhaegar and Lyanna. I did not choose the circumstances that forced me to take my half-brother's name. If you must only ever trust one thing I have to say, trust that."

Oberyn studied him for a while. Jon was about to order him to disappear or die when he nodded at last, removing his spear and tossing it to them—along with five daggers and knives.

Jon took Daenerys' cloak with a quiet request, wrapped up their weapons in it, and then offered it to Frostfyre. She took the bundle in her claws and launched herself into the sky. She could not follow them to their home.

Jon kept his sword unsheathed, as did Ser Jorah, and Dany had her dagger at the ready.

"You get those back only if you speak the truth and do not betray us. For now, you will do as I say," Jon ordered.

The three men nodded. Quickly and quietly, they spirited away in the night, fleeing into dark alleys before the citizens of Braavos found the courage to emerge from their hiding places.

Just for good measure, Frostfyre roared overhead, frightening the people one last time.

Chapter Text

Chapter Thirteen: Confession

Nobody save beggars were in the streets of Braavos now, not after Frostfyre's furious bellows had consumed the sky above the city. Even the street rats were cowering until they were certain the dragon was gone.

Jon and Ser Jorah walked Ser Jaime, Ser Barristan, and Prince Oberyn ahead of them, swords at the ready. Dany strode beside Jon with a dagger in her grasp, glancing around and behind them to ensure they weren't being followed.

"Left turn here," Jon ordered. The men did as he asked without complaint.

He had no idea how he was going to handle these three. Oberyn was the most aggressive, but he'd started to calm down a little. Not that Jon took that to mean much of anything.

Barristan he judged to be the most trustworthy for the time being. The man was a figure of legend, a Targaryen Loyalist who had bent the knee to Robert after Rhaegar's death at the Battle of the Trident. He didn't blame him for choosing life over death, and he'd come here now to pledge his sword.

That would have been entirely more believable if he didn't bring Jaime fucking Lannister along with him.

For the life of him, Jon had no idea what the man's angle was. He had been more outwardly emotional upon seeing Daenerys than Jon could ever have expected, and he'd been willing to die right then and there for his crimes.

Maybe he should have killed him.

But Frostfyre's interest in him was unusual. She didn't treat him like a Targaryen—she would have tried to touch him at least were that the case—but his scent intrigued her. The dragon knew something. Jon was rabidly curious as to why she'd stopped intimidating Jaime in favor of studying him.

He grumbled to himself. He was going to have to figure out why his dragon had done such a thing. She had no qualms about ripping men to pieces. Sparing the Kingslayer the way she had meant something.

"Another left," Jon commanded. They were on the street where their home was now.

Dany suddenly stopped in her tracks and Jon paused. "What's wrong?"

The other men also stopped, and the three at the front turned only slightly to look at them.

"I thought I heard…" Dany trailed off for a moment, frowning.

Not far away, Jon heard the muffled sound of a woman screaming in pain. His blood ran cold as his eyes jerked back to the house with the red door.

"Doreah!" Dany gasped, racing ahead of them.

"Princess—Your Grace!" Jorah protested as Jon bolted after her, straight past their prisoners.

He got to the door before Dany and threw it open, flinching as a shriek filled the air. Fearing the worst, Jon stormed to Doreah's room, the entrance to which was wide open.

Irri and Jhiqui were bustling around Doreah, who lay on the bed gasping in her nightgown. She was on her back, covered in sweat with her legs propped up. A contraction ran through her body and she let out another wail.

The babe is coming now, Jon realized with horror. He spun around as Dany shot into the room to her friend's side. Jorah was standing at the door, his sword to the three men behind him as he peered into the House.

"Go get the midwife," Jon ordered immediately.

"Your Grace—!"

"Did I fucking stutter?!" Jon snarled, causing the Knight to jump and rush off. He glared at the three men, who watched him warily.

"You three…" Jon bit his lip, flashing a glance into the house. He couldn't keep an eye on them here. With a growl, he moved aside. "Get in. Go by the hearth and stay there."

He could hear Dany speaking with Irri and Jhiqui in Dothraki as he guided the men into the house, sword at the ready, and directed them to stand on the far side of the fireplace. Jon retreated toward the door to Doreah's room and carefully closed it. He didn't want them to see.

Doreah screamed again from inside her room and Jon silently prayed.

It took only a few minutes before Jorah returned with the midwife, who bustled into the house and began to give orders. "Hot water and rags, now."

"Jorah, get one of the barrels," Jon told him. He sheathed his sword, not having a choice, and stormed to the fireplace. They had a steel pot used for boiling water next to it, but he'd have to remove the eggs.

He knelt and reached into the flames. Jon heard a startled gasp and then someone pulled him back harshly.

"Have you lost your senses?!" Jaime demanded.

Jon scowled and thrust his hand at Jaime's face, forcing him to look. "I will forgive that only because you know nothing about what I can do! Fire does not burn me. Now be silent and get out of the way!"

He turned back to the flames and reached in again, pulling the dragon eggs out one at a time and carefully setting them on the ground. He was aware of the stunned expressions on the faces of his prisoners, but he didn't care at the moment. Jorah was already back with a small barrel of water, filling the pot. By the time the three eggs were removed, it was full enough for the moment.

Jon and Jorah heaved the pot onto a rack over the flames, and Jon threw a few more logs in to get the fire going hotter. It would take time to boil, but it was a start.

"Get the rags, towels, whatever we have," he told Jorah. Jon stormed back to Doreah's room, which only slightly cracked open. Her cries were filling the house. He peered inside and found the midwife kneeling between Doreah's open legs. "The water is heating now. What else?"

"Where are the towels?"

"Here!" Jorah bustled past Jon and dumped a huge armful of them into a chair, which he pulled up next to the bed.

"Good. You men—out, now."

"You need anything, you have it," Jon told her, but he knew better than to question the woman. He knew nothing of childbirth.

He flashed a glance at Dany, who was staring at him with fear in her eyes, and he wished more than anything he could comfort her somehow. But he and Jorah obeyed the midwife and left the room, closing the door behind them.

Jon walked back to the fireplace, grabbing the chair Doreah sat in so often and taking a seat. He leaned down to the floor and picked up the cream dragon egg, holding the warm object close to his body.

He lifted a hand and rubbed his brow stressfully.

"Your Grace?" Barristan said hesitantly.

"What is it?" Jon sighed.

"Is there any way we can assist?"

"The midwife says we are not needed any longer," he answered, looking up at the three men. "The best way we can help is to stay out of their way. They'll be coming in and out to get hot water soon, I think."

He was quiet for a moment before gesturing to them. "You can sit if you want. We have chairs in the dining room, if you wish to get them."

"Thank you, Your Grace," Barristan dipped his head. He and Jaime briefly left to get the chairs, while Oberyn merely sat upon the floor. Jorah stood just behind his King, a hand resting on the pommel of his sword.

"How did you do that?" Oberyn asked.

"Do what?"

"The flames. You…you are unharmed."

Jon sighed, leaning his head back. He stroked the dragon egg in his hands in an attempt to calm down. "Fire cannot kill a dragon, Prince Oberyn. Daenerys and I—we have more Valyrian magic in our blood than many of our ancestors ever did. I do not know why."

"Daenerys doesn't burn, either?" Jaime looked startled as he set his chair down near the wall and took his seat. Barristan mirrored him.

"No, she does not."

"What is that you have? If I might ask?"

Jon looked down at the cream object. "A dragon egg."

Oberyn sucked in a sharp breath. "Your dragon laid them?"

"No. These were supposed to be gifts to Daenerys for her wedding to Khal Drogo in Pentos," he scowled. "After I called the arrangement off, the Magister gave them to us. Petrified dragon eggs are of no use to him."

"Petrified?"

"Time has turned them to stone," Jon admitted. "But we think there might be a way to quicken them."

Hopefully not the same way Frostfyre's eggs was quickened, Jon thought with a lump in his throat. Had Lyanna's death been the catalyst to let his dragon hatch? Or had it been his father's demise? Perhaps both?

He didn't want to know.

Irri bustled out of Doreah's room, rushing to the steel pot with several towels. Jorah helped her move the water away from the flames so she could wet them, then she hurried back to the birthing room.

Doreah's next cry sent a shiver down his spine. He was by no means an expert, but that didn't sound good at all.

Jon looked up at the Kingslayer wearily. "Why are you here?"

"I came to serve Rhaella's daughter," Jaime told him quietly. "If you'll allow me to do so."

"Why now? If you are so loyal, why did you never seek her out?"

"I have been lost for a very long time, Your Grace. Queen Rhaella—I was her personal guard for over a year. I was very fond of her…when she died, when I learned that my father had orchestrated the murders of Princess Elia and her children—"

"—Tywin did give the order?" Oberyn hissed furiously.

"Let him speak," Jon snapped, studying Jaime.

"When they were gone, I was…" Jaime looked down. "It felt like I had lost every good thing I had sworn to protect. I gave up. I let myself go down a road of bitterness and depravity. I was just done."

His fingers caressed the dragon egg in his lap. "So you gave up on Daenerys and Viserys."

"I thought it was just Viserys at first," he admitted. "I was kept in the dark for many days following the death of King Aerys. No one trusted me, as you can imagine. All I knew for some time was that Rhaella was dead and Viserys had been smuggled away. I didn't know Daenerys had been born until some months afterwards…and by then, I had no idea where to look."

Just Viserys? Jon thought, frowning. It sounded as though he cared only for the life of Daenerys. Why?

He brushed the question away for the time being and focused on the Kingslayer again.

"I have no illusions as to what my grandfather was, Ser Jaime," Jon told him quietly. "I know well that he was an evil man. The things he did—he should have been ripped from the Iron Throne long before you killed him. But I would know what pushed you to do it."

Jaime looked uncomfortable, but Jon would not have it. "If you want me to give you even the slightest bit of trust, if you expect me to allow you to guard Daenerys at all, I need to know these things. If you cannot do that, I will take your head right here."

He didn't care if he sounded harsh or unfair. He wouldn't leave their fates to chance.

Doreah let out another bloodcurdling wail and he forced himself to keep his nerve.

The Kingslayer nodded. His gaze trailed to the hearth and its crackling flames.

"Have you heard of Wildfire?"

"I have."

"The Mad King was obsessed with it," Jaime confessed, and his eyes were haunted. "He loved to watch people burn. The way their skin blackened and blistered and melted off their bones. It brought him pleasure. He burned anyone he thought was against him. Lords he didn't like, Hands who disobeyed him…Aerys saw traitors everywhere."

The Kingslayer's jaw tightened. "So he had his pyromancers place caches of Wildfire all over the city."

Jon's blood froze. "What?"

"He ordered caches of Wildfire to be placed everywhere," Jaime repeated, swallowing. "Beneath the Sept of Baelor, the slums of Flea Bottom, houses, stables, taverns…even beneath the Red Keep itself."

Barristan and Jorah were pale, even in the low light. Oberyn was staring at Jaime as if he'd grown a second head.

"By then, Rhaella and Viserys were on Dragonstone and the King had ordered me to remain by his side. A hostage, you see," the Lannister Knight looked away from the flames, blinking spots out of his eyes. "Finally…the day of reckoning came. Robert Baratheon marched on the capital after his victory at the Trident. But my father made it there first, with the whole Lannister army at his back. He promised to defend the city against the rebels."

Jamie scowled. "I knew my father better than that. He's never been one to pick the losing side. I told the King as much. I urged him to surrender peacefully. But he didn't listen to me, of course. He didn't listen to Varys, who told him the same thing…but he did listen to Grand Maester Pycelle. That grey, sunken cunt. 'You can trust the Lannisters', he said. 'The Lannisters have always been true friends of the crown'.

"So, we opened the gates and my father sacked the city. Once again, I went to the King, begging him to surrender. To get Princess Elia and her children to safety, at least. And he told me to bring him my father's head."

The Kingslayer's face was ashen. "Then he turned to his pyromancer, whom he had named Hand of the King in those last hours. 'Burn them all', he said. 'Burn them in their homes, burn them in their beds…'"

Jon realized with a shock of pure horror exactly what Aerys had ordered his pyromancer to do. He had meant to turn the whole of King's Landing into a gigantic pyre, to burn every last soul in the city.

Doreah's screams only made the chill in his blood and the horror in his mind worse.

"Tell me," Jaime spat out, nearly trembling from memories that had never truly stopped tormenting him. "If you were a man sworn to serve the King, and that King ordered you to take your father's head and stand by as tens of thousands of men, women, and children burned alive, would you have done it? Would you have done nothing?"

Even Barristan lowered his eyes from Jaime, his expression gaunt and sick. Jon did not look away. He couldn't.

"First I killed the pyromancer," Jaime told them gruffly. "Then when the Mad King turned to flee, I drove my sword through his back. 'Burn them all', he kept saying. 'Burn them all'. I don't think he expected to die, he…he meant to burn with the rest of us and rise again. Reborn as a dragon, turn his enemies to ash. I slit his throat to make sure that didn't happen."

None of them said anything for a time. There was only the sounds of Doreah's cries as she fought to bring her child into the world.

Jon finally broke the silence between them, his voice hoarse. "If this is true, why didn't you say anything? Why didn't you tell Lord Stark when he found you?"

"Stark," Jaime snarled, his face twisted with rage. "You think that the honorable Ned Stark wanted to hear my side of the story? He judged me guilty the moment he set eyes on me, set eyes on my sword soaked in the Mad King's blood."

He opened his mouth, wanting to protest, and faltered. Would his uncle have listened to Jaime? With his great penchant for honor? Knowing the reputation of the Lannisters, seeing the evidence of Jaime's betrayal for himself?

Would he have listened?

A thought struck him. "Who else knows about this?"

"My sister Cersei. King Robert knew, but he's dead now, of course," Jaime muttered. "Beyond that, just the men in this room."

Jon's felt whatever blood was in his face quickly flee. He had never heard this tale before, and it should have been widespread. "Was the Wildfire removed?"

"I told King Robert and the pyromancer who took over after I killed the old one," he said, but his voice was defeated. "Robert never took my word seriously. Grand Maester Pycelle always warned him that my memory was addled from being the Mad King's hostage for so long. I told Cersei when he wouldn't listen, and she promised to do something about it. But I was unsure…The pyromancer said he'd handle it, but I was confined to the Red Keep for so long afterwards…I never got to see if they took it out."

"Jaime," Jon breathed. "Tell me King's Landing is not sitting atop caches of Wildfire."

The Kingslayer looked up at him, and Jon saw the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. "I'm not sure."

"Fifteen years and you never bothered to check?!" Oberyn demanded.

"Who do you think I am?!" Jaime snapped back, his fury returned in a split-second. "I am the Kingslayer! Oathbreaker! Man without honor! Especially back then, and it never got any easier over the years! I have always been watched and judged! My word meant nothing! I asked my sister time and time again, and she always told me the Wildfire had been dealt with. But I know Cersei and…and I do not think she was telling me the truth. Besides that, I never knew exactly where the pyromancers put it. Aerys always had me at his side when they were being deposited."

"You could have told your fellow Kingsguard!"

"Yes, the Kingsguard!" Jaime spat, mocking and angry. "The men sworn to protect the King above all else, who stood by and listened to their Queen's cries as she was raped by that King! So great was their honor to defend their monarch! Do you know what they told me when I said we were sworn to protect the Queen, too? As I stood outside her chambers and urged them to help me stop it?! They said we are to protect her, 'but not from him'! You think they would have listened to my excuses, my reasons for breaking my oath?"

"Even so—"

"ENOUGH!" Jon roared. He took several deep breaths, trying to calm down. Doreah's cries were growing weaker, and he desperately tried not to focus on that.

"Arguing about it doesn't help," Jon tried to reason, staring at the cream dragon egg in his lap. He had to focus on that. His mind was reeling and his temper was flaring. He needed to be back in control of himself. "Jaime tried and nobody listened. Whether or not he could have done more is irrelevant now."

He rubbed his face, squeezed his eyes shut. "None of us can do anything about the Wildfire. No one in King's Landing would listen to us, and no one in the Seven Kingdoms can convince Cersei or King Joffrey to do a damn thing about it. The only way the Wildfire goes is if they're removed from power."

"And how do you plan on doing that?" Oberyn asked tightly. "You have no armies."

"You think I am not aware of that?" Jon snapped. "I never had any ambition to claim the Iron Throne. All I wanted when I came to Essos was to protect Daenerys. That's why I am here. You are in more of a position to do something about it than I am, Prince Oberyn."

"So it's my responsibility now to tell the realm that the capital is sitting on caches of Wildfire?"

"Don't twist my words. What do you suggest I do? Fly to the Red Keep with my dragon and tell King Joffrey his golden arse is seated above a pyre? Even if he doesn't take it as a threat, I'll sound as mad as my grandfather."

Barristan spoke up. "His Grace is right. There's nothing we can do right now. But it's not a threat we should ignore, even if you don't mean to reclaim the Iron Throne."

"I don't want the Wildfire there any more than you do. It needs to be removed and destroyed," Jon replied. "I can…I don't know. Perhaps I can get word to Lord Stark in Winterfell. If Joffrey is removed from power, he might be able to do something about the caches."

"He'll wonder where you got the information," Jaime pointed out quietly. "As soon as my name is brought up—"

"I'll deal with that," Jon sighed. He could feign to his uncle that he and Dany had shared Dragon Dreams about the Mad King's plot, as much as he disliked the thought of lying to him. "But it's still an idea that is far and away."

They all fell silent and Jon suddenly froze.

It was too quiet.

He rose from his chair, setting the egg down with its siblings, and strode to the birthing room. He turned his head and listened. A child's cry graced his ears.

Jon slowly opened the door and looked inside. His heart stopped at the sight of all the blood between Doreah's legs, at how pale and weak she looked on the bed. Doreah held her babe to her breast, crying as her child suckled. Dany was there, helping to keep the babe close, for Doreah was too weak to do so.

"Visenya," Doreah sobbed, her voice hoarse and ragged from her screams. "Her name is—Visenya."

Irri, Jhiqui, and the midwife were cleaning up the soiled sheets. When the midwife spotted him, she approached. Her expression was grim.

When she spoke, her voice was quiet. "You should seek out a wet nurse as soon as possible. I do not expect her to survive the night. It was a difficult birth."

Jon felt a lump close up his throat, taking in Doreah's broken body, and nodded tightly. "Can you give Ser Jorah an address? A recommendation?"

"I can," she murmured. "Are you the father?"

"No," he whispered. "But the babe is my cousin."

"My condolences," she dipped her head, but before she could leave, he grasped her arm.

"Could a Maester help her now?"

"I doubt it," the midwife told him, glancing back at Doreah. "I was a healer before I was a midwife. I've done as much as they would. There is…not much else to do. It's up to her now. I can seek a Maester out with your Knight, if it pleases you."

"Please," he requested, then she bustled out of the room to speak with Ser Jorah.

Jon walked into the room quietly, trying to stay out of Irri and Jhiqui's way as he approached Dany and Doreah. Dany saw him and his heart broke at the sight of the tears in her eyes. Her bottom lip quivered.

"Doreah?"

The woman looked at him, her face wet from tears and pale from the blood she had lost. "Your—your…"

"Jon," he said softly, taking her hand. "Just Jon, Doreah."

"Jon," she swallowed, crying again. Her babe was suckling at the breast of her dying mother. "Please…"

"She'll be fine," he promised. His eyes were stinging. "You have my word. She will be happy and free and we will protect her for all her life. And when we are gone, dragons will protect her in our place."

"I'm afraid. I don't…I don't want to die. I want to be with her…"

Dany dropped her head to the bed beside her friend and sobbed. Her whole body shook with her cries.

"Don't give up," he choked out. "Fight. Fight to be with her as long as you can. Visenya needs you."

He took her empty hand and guided it to the child on her breast. "That's your daughter. Now, you tell the God of Death to fuck off, because she needs you more than he does."

It brought a shaky smile to her lips. "Alright."

"Say it," he told her quietly. "Hearing yourself say it helps."

Doreah swallowed, took a shuddering breath. "Fuck off."

A broken laugh left Dany beside him and he couldn't help but smile weakly. "There you go. Dany is going to stay here with you, and whatever you need, she will get you. And I will be here at a moment's notice."

She nodded, closing her eyes and trying to rest without falling into the clutches of death, whose fingers were stretching towards her closer and closer.

Jon knelt next to Dany and gently cupped her cheek. Her face was soaked in tears and he brushed them away with his thumb before kissing her sweet. "Do you need anything?"

She swallowed. "The dragon eggs."

"Done," he murmured.

Doreah made it through the night, if only just. She had a terrible birthing fever that would not break, and her body was already weak. Irri and Jhiqui, as well as the midwife and Maester they'd brought in were doing all they could.

The wet-nurse was currently in the chair by the fireplace Doreah had frequented, though she'd pulled it a bit further away, as the heat made her uncomfortable. Visenya was suckling at her breast. Doreah's body needed to heal now—the demands of feeding a babe was something she couldn't afford.

Dany had to focus on Visenya as much as she could. Her whole being felt hollow. Jon had told her Jaime's story, the reason why he killed her father, when they were sitting beside Doreah as she rested.

She wanted to believe that the Kingslayer was wrong. That he was a liar who just said those things to keep his life.

But knowing the sort of monster her father was…she thought it was possible he was telling the truth.

Dany blinked away the wetness in her eyes and watched little Visenya. The babe had the shape of her mother's face, but her silver hair and the peek of vivid, purple eyes spoke of her true heritage.

Any chance of hiding her Targaryen roots was a thing of the past. The traits she'd inherited from Viserys were too damning to be ignored.

Nobody had gotten any sleep last night. Jon had seen to it that their three…guests? Prisoners? Daenerys wasn't sure, nor did she especially care right then. But he'd seen to it that they at least had something comfortable to rest on. Pillows and blankets, even if they were confined to this room at the moment.

Everyone was in there, save those tending to Doreah.

She wasn't blind to the stares of the three men, who watched the babe curiously. In the end, it was Prince Oberyn who broke the silence.

"She has Targaryen blood," he stated. It wasn't a question.

She and Jon exchanged a look, but he only blinked, leaving it up to her. What use was there in hiding it now?

"She does," Dany admitted. "My brother's daughter."

"A bastard, then."

Jon's face twisted into a scowl. "It does not make her any less one of us, Prince."

"I did not say that," he replied calmly. "I have sired eight bastard daughters and I have claimed them all as mine. I raised them. Taught them to fight, gave them the freedom to choose if they wished to wed or not. They are mine in all the ways that matter, bastards or true born."

Dany felt herself relax somewhat. They wouldn't tell them yet that they planned to legitimize Visenya. Well, Jon had already done so the moment the babe was born, but it wasn't on paper yet. Whenever they got around doing that.

"What is her name, Your Grace?" Barristan asked gently.

"Visenya," Jon answered tiredly.

"A strong name for a strong girl."

Dany sighed. She looked amongst the three men, all of whom appeared as weary as her. "Why are you three here? Why seek us out?"

"Jaime and I intended to serve you," Barristan answered. "It is true I bent the knee to Robert after my King fell at the Trident. I chose to live. But when I heard His Grace had flown to Essos and protected you, I couldn't ignore my old loyalties any longer."

Jon frowned. "Your King died in King's Landing."

"No," Barristan shook his head and looked at Jon meaningfully. "Rhaegar—your father—intended to depose Aerys after he had put an end to Robert's Rebellion. He told us the realm had suffered enough under the rule of your grandfather. All the Kingsguard who fought with him that day at the Trident swore loyalty to him. He was my King in the end. Not Aerys."

Dany's eyes flashed over to Jaime. "Did you know about this?"

"Rhaegar left me in the capital since Aerys had demanded I stay," Jaime answered. "He never asked I bend the knee to him—it would have gotten us both killed—but he told me he intended to change many things when the rebellion was put down. In the end…well, none of it mattered in the end."

She was quiet for a moment. "You say you came to serve my mother's child. Why?"

Jaime leaned back tiredly, drumming his fingers on the armrest of his chair. "Your mother was the most wonderful woman I have ever known. From the time Aerys took me as a Kingsguard and assigned me to her—so I could learn to defend royalty, or so he claimed—she was special. She was beautiful and graceful, kind and witty. When she was away from the Mad King, sometimes she would even smile."

His eyes fell away from the Princess. "Of course, I only met her after she'd been at Aerys' mercy for decades. She was never as fierce as you are. She was a dragon whose fire had been snuffed out."

Dany felt a lump rise in her throat. Her mother had deserved more than the life she'd been forced into—a life married to her brother, who spiraled into insanity and abused her in the worst ways possible.

"Whatever your misgivings about Ser Jaime, Princess Daenerys," Ser Barristan spoke again, his voice gruff, but gentle. "His loyalty to your mother was beyond question. During his time as her guard, he discovered a plot against her by the Faith. Several leaders in the Sept of Baelor had been slipping poisons into her food and drink over the years, to ensure she couldn't give birth to another healthy child after Rhaegar was born. Jaime caught one of them in the act. I remember that day well—he was not particularly gentle with the perpetrator."

It felt like the ground had fallen out beneath her. Someone had been poisoning her mother?

She remembered the names of the siblings she had lost, the ones who had been stillborn or died so soon after they came into the world, and felt nausea building in her stomach.

"Why?" Jon choked out.

"The Faith and the Targaryen dynasty were always on uneasy ground with each other," Barristan admitted. "The Targaryens answer to neither gods nor men. The practice of wedding brother to sister was taboo to the Seven. I cannot say for certain why they chose to poison Rhaella, but given that your family had been so greatly reduced in number over those recent years…it is possible they sought to bring an end to a line of so-called heretics."

She glanced at Ser Jorah, silently asking for confirmation. Though he seemed reluctant to add truth to anything their…prisoners had to say, he gave her a tight nod. He could believe that.

"What happened to the men responsible for the plot?" Jon demanded, his voice hard.

"I was discovered throttling the man who I caught trying to poison Rhaella," Jaime confessed. "By the King, Ser Barristan, and several other Kingsguard. When I told the King what I'd discovered, well—he was enraged. Pycelle told him what the poison was meant to do and then Aerys tortured the traitor. Got names out of him. He tortured and executed many septons who were named, and many more he believed to be traitors anyways."

Dany choked out a weak laugh, garnering the attention of the others. "Viserys always made King's Landing, the Red Keep, and the Iron Throne to be this…illustrious seat of power. A splendid city that was the crown jewel of our forebears. The more I hear about it, the more it sounds like the worst place imaginable. What sort of men poison babes in their mother's womb?"

"Monsters," Jorah answered. "Not men."

"Then it seems the Red Keep is full of monsters."

The fact that Barristan, Jaime, and Oberyn had anything to say about that didn't reassure her at all. She swallowed hard, steeling herself, and glanced at the Red Viper.

"Why did you come? Aside from killing my intended?"

Oberyn blinked at her in surprise. "Intended?"

"Jon and I mean to be wed sometime soon," she told him. "But that is truly none of your business. Was your sole purpose in coming here to take his head?"

The Red Viper was quiet for a moment. "It is true I came to avenge what I believed to be a slight against my dead nephew's name. To strike down a pretender who dared to claim such a thing for his own gain. But I meant to offer you asylum afterwards, if you were interested."

"Asylum where? Dorne?"

"Possibly," Oberyn shrugged, looking somewhat contrite. "In-truth, I came here somewhat rashly and of my own accord. I certainly did not bother to tell my brother Doran."

"Nonetheless, it was a poorly thought-out plan," she said stiffly.

"I have never been known for being particularly cautious," he admitted. "One of my faults, I am aware. But I have helped you hide before."

Dany frowned. "How so?"

"I came here once. To this very house, when you were but a little girl. I gave Ser Willem resources to remain hidden here. We, along with the Sealord of Braavos, discussed a plan to betroth your brother to Princess Arianne Martell in exchange for Dorne's help in reclaiming the Iron Throne from House Baratheon. We would help your family depose Robert Baratheon, and you would help us destroy House Lannister to claim vengeance for the murders of my sister and her children."

She froze. "I never heard of this plan."

"I do not believe Viserys was aware of it. Ser Willem's death threw everything into chaos. By the time we learned of his demise, the two of you had vanished."

"And you never bothered to send anyone to come and find us, I see."

"Doran sent men to seek you out," Oberyn confessed quietly. "Obviously, they failed."

"Obviously."

"Dorne is still your ally, Princess."

"Are they? And will they ally with Jon?"

The Viper glanced at her lover, and pursed his lips. "Doran would not support Rhaegar's bastard son, no."

"Not a bastard," Daenerys told him coldly. "Rhaegar married Lyanna Stark in Dorne. Jon—Jaehaerys is a true born son of House Targaryen."

Oberyn's eyes widened as he studied Jon with renewed interest, as did Jorah, Jaime, and Barristan. The Prince seemed to consider that before he sighed. "Even so, my brother is a fool in his own right. He won't support him—a boy who represents Rhaegar's betrayal of Elia."

"I did not ask to be born under such circumstances, Prince Oberyn," Jon pointed out tightly.

"I am aware. I can even accept that you only took Aegon's name to defend your family. It's true that Robert and the Lannisters would have slaughtered House Stark for such a betrayal. But it won't change what your birth represents to many people, Jaehaerys."

"Then an alliance would be pointless," Daenerys told him. "If they will not support Jon along with me, there is no reason to talk about such a thing."

"Princess," Jorah said hesitantly. "The Dornish would be powerful allies. Perhaps we can still…"

She held a hand up to silence him and looked at the three men. "Let me make sure you understand something. Jon and I will stand together wherever we go, regardless of what people think of it. Be that here, elsewhere in Essos, or in Westeros, I care not. He is mine as I am his, even if we are not yet married."

"With all due respect, Princess, you have known him for less than a year," Oberyn pointed out. "I know I am in no position to argue such a thing, but that is a lot to claim for how short a time you have been allied."

Dany glanced at Jon, exchanging a long look with him. He nodded at last. "They've already seen me pull the dragon eggs out of the fire. They know how strong the magic in our blood is."

Jaime frowned. "What does that have to do with anything?"

She looked over to little Visenya, who was being rocked by the wet-nurse now to sleep. "Have you ever heard of Dragon Dreams, Ser Jaime?"

"No."

"They are prophetic dreams given to those with the blood of House Targaryen. Not all of us have them, but it started with Daenys the Dreamer, who came to Dragonstone from Old Valyria with her father. She dreamed of the Doom some years before it took place and saved our House from extinction."

Barristan tilted his head. "Rhaegar used to have dreams like that. Nothing quite so dramatic, but he dreamt of a dragon who gave him a prophecy in the later years of his life. He told me about it once. What did it say again…"

"'Father and mother, and quickened by fire'?" Jon said softly. Barristan jolted, face going white.

"How do you—"

"Jon and I have Dragon Dreams rather often," Dany confessed. "We dreamed of each other and Frostfyre, his dragon, from the time we were little children. I was four namedays old, in this house, when I met him. I have known him longer than anyone else now that Viserys is dead."

The room fell silent, save for the crackling of the flames.

"Neither of us really know why we dream the way we do," Jon admitted. "Maester Aemon from Castle Black—Aemon Targaryen—he taught me as much about our House as he could before I left. I don't know if it's because Frostfyre was born with me, or if Daenerys and I just have more powerful magic in our blood than the Targaryens that came before us, but we have Dragon Dreams more than anyone else I am aware of."

"Mmm. It's the reason Jon was able to get to me with his dragon," Dany said. "We dreamed of each other some time before I was to be sold to Khal Drogo. I told him what would happen to me. He rushed to his dragon, climbed upon her back, and flew halfway across the world to stop the wedding. He scorched the Dothraki khalasar to protect me. A boy of ten-and-four."

She looked at Oberyn, Jaime, and Barristan. "Jon is the most loyal friend I have ever had. No one else from Westeros chose to risk their lives to come and protect me. None of you would have, do not deny it. But he did. He gave up any and all sanctuary he could have kept in the North to keep me safe."

Her gaze fell back to the Red Viper. "So if your brother tells you he will support me but not Jon, you will politely inform him that he can fuck off to the seven hells for all I care."

Oberyn snorted, not even hiding his smirk. "I think I might do that, if only to see the look on his face, Princess."

Jon's lips rose into a slight smile, but it quickly faded. "Well, you three will not die by our hand—for now, at least. I'm grateful I won't have to execute you today. I am going to be rather busy."

Dany frowned. "Doing what?"

"I need to meet with the Sealord of Braavos," he groaned. "Frostfyre landed in the middle of the city, even if she didn't hurt anyone. I must apologize and ensure him we are not a threat."

"She was protecting us."

"He doesn't know that, and I do not want him sending soldiers around the city to arrest us at first sight," Jon muttered. He stood up and rubbed his face. "I need to clean myself up before I meet with him."

He studied the three men. "…Ser Jorah and Ser Jaime will remain here. I want Prince Oberyn and Ser Barristan to come with me."

"Your Grace," Jorah started to protest.

"We are outnumbered," Jon pointed out. "I can defend myself, but you are the only sword I have to my name that I trust right now, Ser Jorah. You will defend Princess Daenerys and Visenya to your dying breath. Is that understood?"

The Knight sighed and dipped his head. "It is, Your Grace."

"Good."

"Why am I coming?" Oberyn asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Because you know the Sealord of Braavos," Jon listed off. "Because you started the fight that drew Frostfyre to the city in the first place. And because I will kick you out of this house if you don't."

"I could find a brothel to stay at instead."

Jon did not look amused. Oberyn let out a long-suffering sigh. "Very well, Jaehaerys."

"Your Grace," Jorah reminded him tightly.

"He has not pledged anything to me, Ser Jorah," Jon reminded him, striding out of the room so he could clean up. "I am not his King. Leave it alone."

The Dornish Prince looked up at Ser Jorah, smirking slightly. "Do you have food here? I am rather hungry."

Jorah looked ready to take Oberyn's head and be done with it, but with a glance from Daenerys, he just growled and made his way to the kitchen.

Ned's legs felt like they wanted to fall off of his body, but he did his best to ignore the pain.

They'd been riding hard for Winterfell now that the ravens had been sent. If they rode any harder, the horses would probably die, but time could not be wasted. Not with Euron Greyjoy slowly making his way North. Not with the Lannisters coming for his head.

Sansa certainly had not been pleased about any of this, but by now, she was so tired she didn't have the energy to complain anymore. He supposed that was a blessing in its own way. She was going to toughen up on this trip a little, at least. He hoped.

They made camp quickly and settled down to eat and rest, all of them exhausted. The horses were all lying down as well, desperate for sleep, and the dire wolves were nestled close to their masters. Nymeria, in Arya's absence, had chosen to settle down with Ghost near Ned.

Lord Manderly leaned against a tree, groaning. "Lord Stark, if I may speak freely?"

"Yes?"

"You are a slave driver, My Lord."

Ned snorted. "I would not push this pace if it were not absolutely necessary."

"These are my best horses, meant to run long and hard," Manderly told him, chuckling. "I have never seen them so tired."

"They are magnificent animals," he admitted.

They all fell into a companionable silence, mostly because they were too tired to do a lot of talking. Sansa was half-asleep on Lady when the dire wolf's head suddenly rose, sniffing the air.

Ghost and Nymeria matched her a moment later. Ned only blinked at them, but then froze when he heard a thunderous howl fill the woods.

"What is the name of the gods?" Manderly struggled to his feet, as did Ned and the Knights who came to guard them.

The dire wolves rose, leaping to their feet with sudden energy, and returned their own howls, though Ghost's cry was silent as ever. Sansa rushed over to him and he wrapped an arm around his daughter to keep her close. "What are they doing, father?"

"I suppose we'll find out in a moment," he muttered. Ned unsheathed his sword, as did the Knights and Manderly when they heard another howl, closer than before. The dire wolves were wagging their tails, yipping excitedly.

The horses struggled to get up, neighing with alarm. Two of Manderly's Knights rushed over to calm them down.

Ned heard twigs cracking and bushes rustling in the darkness not far away. He watched as a great shape loomed out of the shadows. Piercing yellow eyes locked onto him and he felt the breath leave his lungs.

It was a dire wolf—fully grown, black as night, and nearly as big as their horses. The beast padded into the clearing they'd chosen to make camp in, eyes shifting around to study the paling men.

Before anyone could do anything, Ghost, Lady, and Nymeria rushed over to the huge wolf, sniffing and licking and bouncing around it. The great wolf lowered its snout, snorting and briefly growling so they all fell to their backs and exposed their bellies in a show of submission.

"Father…" Sansa whispered hoarsely. Her face was white, stunned by the sheer size of the predator before her.

"Easy," Ned whispered back, slowly lifting a hand to order Lord Manderly and the Knights to lower their weapons. "I don't think it means to harm us."

The black wolf, satisfied with the submission of the pups, lifted its huge head to stare at Ned. It took a few steps towards him, shoulders rolling with muscle, and stopped so it could look at him.

Gods, but he was barely any taller than it was when it lifted its head high. Ned wasn't a short man by any means, but the dire wolf before him was gigantic.

He held his hand up, offering it to the wolf, and the beast lowered its snout to sniff him curiously. But it never took its eyes away from his.

At last, it pushed its muzzle into his hand, rubbing against his hand. It was strong—full of warmth and life, though it bore a few old scars. Ned looked over the beast and then to the younger dire wolves, who were still bounding around the adult with joy.

Their mother was dead, but was this perhaps the father that had been missing? Dire wolves lived in packs just as regular wolves did. Perhaps he'd been seeking his mate and pups out all this time…

Ned pushed his hand past the muzzle of the predator, running his fingers through the thick, black fur. The beast rumbled, pleased, and pressed its nose to his cheek. Its tongue licked him gently.

"You are one of us," Ned whispered to the wolf, whose eyes gleamed with sharp intelligence. "Aren't you?"

The wolf threw his head back and howled, long and powerful, and the three pups mirrored their sire to howl with him. Ned couldn't help but smile as the great beast lay on the ground, content to rest while his pups rubbed against his thick fur, still yipping joyfully.

Their pack was nearly whole again. When Jon returned—Ned had to believe Arya would find him in time and bring him back to Westeros—the pack would be united in-full, stronger than ever.

Chapter Text

Chapter Fourteen: The Call

Ferrego Antaryon was the Sealord of Braavos, and at his side was Quarro Volentin—the current First Sword of Braavos.

Jon was recognized quickly when he approached the Sealord's Palace with Ser Barristan and Prince Oberyn, and they were soon allowed entry. Apparently, Frostfyre's sudden appearance the night before had caused no small amount of alarm for the rulers of the city.

Unsurprising.

They stood before his court, with guards around them and the First Sword standing close to Ferrego's side.

"So you are the Dragon King," Ferrego said, studying him.

"I am," Jon admitted.

"I must confess, when I heard about a Dragon Rider who had burned down a horde of one hundred thousand Dothraki in Pentos, I was expecting someone…taller."

His lips twitched up into a slight smile. "It was ten-thousand at best, My Lord. But aye, I know I am younger than most people expect."

"I hope that your age does not hinder your ability to explain why your dragon chose to land in the middle of my city."

"That would be mostly my fault, I'm afraid," Oberyn spoke up, garnering Ferrego's attention. The Sealord frowned at him, recognition in his eyes. "I attacked the boy rather brashly for a…misunderstanding on my part. The beast was merely defending him. No one was hurt and he sent it away quickly."

"It's been some time since I saw you last, Prince Oberyn," Ferrego murmured. "But you are correct that no one was hurt. Quite a few people pissed and shit themselves, but the dragon did not damage any property, nor did she bring anyone to harm…Can I have your word she will never do such a thing again?"

"Frostfyre will come for me if my life is in danger," Jon admitted, pushing on when the Sealord raised an eyebrow. That wasn't the answer he wanted to hear. "But she will never damage the city or harm anyone who does not deserve it. In any case, we intend to leave Braavos soon. We have overstayed our welcome, I believe. Perhaps a few more weeks, so one of our handmaidens can recover from her recent childbirth, and then we will leave."

"How long have you been in our city? I have heard from several of my bravos that you are a frequent participant in the duels outside my palace."

"Almost seven moons now. We wished to keep our presence quiet. After our battle against Khal Drogo's khalesar in Pentos, we decided it would be best to lay low, to avoid any of King Robert's assassins who would come looking for us. I heard tell that he was not pleased to discover I existed."

Oberyn snorted. "That's putting it lightly."

Ferrego's mouth twitched up into a slight smirk. "Well, I imagine your endeavor to conceal yourself has been mostly successful, then. If an assassin had gotten to you, I believe your dragon would have made herself known rather sooner."

"Aye, My Lord."

"You've stayed in my city for some time now and your dragon has not threatened anyone before, nor did she do any damage to it now," the Sealord drummed his fingers on his armrest. "If you swear to me she will stay away from the city until you decide to depart, I see no reason I should not let you go free."

"You have my word," Jon agreed. "Frostfyre and I are not your enemies. My family has come to love this place. And Braavos is the closest thing Daenerys has had to a home. Your city holds a special place in our hearts."

"I am glad to hear it. You will be welcome back as long as you wish—just without the dragon."

He dipped his head. "It is your city. I shall follow your rules."

Ferrego relaxed a great deal at that. "Well, now that I am reassured you are not a threat to my city, I must confess that tales of the Dragon King have intrigued me greatly. I would invite you to a feast to welcome you to Braavos, overdue that it is."

Jon pursed his lips. Ideally, he'd prefer to not make another public appearance, but he had only just gained the Sealord's acceptance. He couldn't really refuse such an invitation. "Would you allow Princess Daenerys and two of our men to join us?"

"But of course."

"Then I accept."

"Splendid! The feast will take place tonight. Come to my palace when the Titan roars to announce nightfall. We shall have much to celebrate, I think."

They left the Sealord's Palace unharmed and unhindered. Jon was just relieved it had gone well—it was a good thing the Sealord was a reasonable man.

"You handled that well," Ser Barristan praised him.

"Lord Stark gave me the same education as his firstborn son, Robb. My cousin," Jon admitted, smiling somewhat fondly at the memories. "I've watched him hold court more times than I can count."

"I do not envy you that," Oberyn admitted, stretching his arms over his head. "Doran was always the politician. I'd rather fight and fuck."

Barristan shot him a disapproving look, but Jon just laughed, to which the Prince smirked.

"I think we'll all need to get some rest today," Jon decided. "None of us slept last night. Will you all stay at our home? Or do you already have another place to rest?"

"Ser Jaime and I were staying at a tavern," Barristan told him. "Not that we left anything there."

"I was staying on a ship I took from Dorne. My men are probably wondering where I am by now," Oberyn admitted.

"You should go back and put them at ease," Jon told them. "You'll need your rest for the feast tonight."

"Oh, I'm invited, am I?"

"I did tell the Sealord I'd be bringing two men with Daenerys and I," he shrugged.

"Is this an order?"

"Am I your King?"

"No."

"Then no, it's not an order. But I suppose I could invite Ser Jorah instead…"

"Ha!" Oberyn chuckled. "Well, I certainly won't turn away a good meal. I'll meet you at the Palace tonight."

"We'll see you then," Jon told him, watching the Prince make a beeline to the western side of the city. He was going to one of the nicer ports, the young man decided. It was hard to imagine the Red Viper's ship making port in Ragman's Harbor.

Barristan stepped in beside him. "You intend to leave Ser Jorah with Visenya and her mother?"

"I do. He's the only Knight in my command I can trust at the moment," Jon said, flashing him a sideways glance. "Meaning no offense."

"None taken. You are wise to take care whom you place your trust in," the old Knight replied. He was quiet for a moment before he sighed. "But I am afraid I must fracture that trust, Your Grace."

Jon stopped walking, frowning at the man. "How so?"

"Ser Jorah has been reporting to Varys—the Spider—on your movements to the Small Council in the Red Keep."

The boy froze. "You know this how?"

"The Kingsguard stand outside the Small Council chamber to guard it from unwanted visitors. I have overheard his name being brought up multiple times in the context I just told you. I expect Ser Jaime has likely heard his name before, as well. He is the only spy Varys has that has managed to report anything of value."

"Such as?"

"I am not sure as of late—Jaime and I have been on the road to Braavos for some time, but Jorah was the one who reported on the details of your arrival in Pentos and described your dragon to King Robert. Beyond that, I cannot say. From what I understand, he was assigned to report on Daenerys and Viserys in exchange for a royal pardon to return to Westeros."

Jon's hand clenched the grip of his sword. He'd hoped they'd shaken off the last of the spies in Illyrio's manse. Jorah had been good to them, despite his history.

But maybe he hadn't shaken off his treasonous ways, after all. Even so…

"You understand I cannot accuse him of such a thing without proof of his treachery," Jon told the Knight softly. "If you speak the truth, you will have gained some of my trust. But I need evidence of Jorah's treason beyond the word of a man I barely know."

"I understand," Barristan dipped his head acceptingly. "I only wished to inform you of what I've heard."

"And I thank you for it."

The Knight smiled as they began to walk again. "You have your father's bearing, you know."

Jon glanced at him, his brow still furrowed. "You mean Lord Stark?"

"Him as well, but I mostly mean Prince Rhaegar," Barristan corrected. "He was a talented negotiator and had a level head on his shoulders. He also had a tendency to brood quite often. You resemble him greatly when you are deep in thought, Your Grace."

The young man's brow rose, along with a slight smile. "You must tell Daenerys and I about him sometime."

"It would be my pleasure."

"A feast?" Daenerys repeating, frowning slightly.

"Aye. I did not think it wise to refuse him," Jon confessed to her. They were in her room, about to rest for at least a few hours. "He was gracious for accepting my apology so easily."

"I think you did the right thing," she agreed, then sighed. "I just…do not like the idea of leaving Doreah and Visenya here while we are out celebrating."

"I know," he shrugged off his tunic, tossing it aside as she approached him and set a hand on his shoulder. The other hand rose to cup his cheek, and then she was pulling him into a slow, languorous kiss.

"I suppose I'll be able to put one of the dresses I got from Master Illyrio to good use, at least," she murmured.

"I suppose so," Jon lifted his hands to hold her hips lightly. "How is Doreah?"

"She's…holding on," Dany lay her head on his shoulder, but he guided her to the bed before she could get too comfortable.

She allowed him to tug her beneath the sheets and curled up. Jon held her from behind, wrapping his body around hers. Dany felt him press a kiss to her cheek and her lips twitched into a smile. "The Maester says her fever hasn't broken yet, but that she's survived this long is a good sign. If the fever breaks…"

"She'll make it," Jon murmured. "She told the God of Death to fuck off."

Dany giggled tiredly.

"Visenya?" He asked next.

"She's eating well enough thanks to the wet nurse, but I think she knows she's not with her mother. She cried for a while after you left for the Sealord's Palace."

Jon was quiet for a few moments. "I haven't gotten to hold her yet."

"There will be plenty of time for you to dote on your cousin," Dany promised. Her eyes were closed as she snuggled her back into his front. Jon squeezed her affectionately.

"What do you think of them? Oberyn, Barristan, Jaime…what do you make of it all?"

"I think I would have preferred it if they were all just a bad dream," she admitted. "But some of the things they've said make a lot of sense. Even Ser Jaime…his story explains so much."

"Do you believe him?"

"I believe my father was mad enough to place caches of Wildfire all over King's Landing."

"I think so too. The question is…do we trust them with our lives?"

"They could have killed us," she pointed out. "Before Frostfyre got to Braavos, we were outmatched. Maybe you and Ser Jorah could have bested Prince Oberyn on his own, but him, the Kingslayer, and Ser Barristan? There would not have been a more opportune moment for them to kill us. We were completely unprepared. It's not as if the bravos would have stopped them, anyways. People die fighting by the Moon Pool all the time."

"Mmhm," Jon suddenly yawned behind her. Dany turned her head to kiss him again.

"No more of this," she whispered against his lips. "Rest now. Talk later."

"As you command, Princess," he nuzzled her neck, his voice humorous to make her giggle one more time, and then they were both slipping away to their dreams.

Jaime managed to get some rest after Jon returned with Ser Barristan. It was several hours of hard sleep his body greatly appreciated after all the excitement of the night before.

He woke up not long before dusk and washed his face. He'd need to bathe before going to this feast the Sealord had invited them to. Jaime was somewhat surprised the young King had decided to bring him along with Oberyn and the Princess, but he assumed he wanted Ser Jorah to remain behind and guard the babe.

Or maybe he just thought Jorah and Barristan wouldn't enjoy a celebration as much as he would, being the old men that they were. The thought filled him with some amusement.

Jaime was making his way to the main room when he almost bumped into the wet nurse, who was carrying Visenya again. She brightened upon seeing him. "Ah, good timing! Would you mind holding her for a few moments? I need to get something to drink and she needs someone to rock her."

"Uh, of course," Jaime managed, carefully taking the babe in his arms and feeling entirely uncomfortable there. He was, with little doubt, the very last person in the house they wanted to hold this child.

She squirmed in his arms, whimpering, and Jaime carefully began to rock the girl as he made his way to the main room. It had been a long time since he'd had to do this, but Visenya seemed to calm shortly after he got started. Perhaps his body remembered what to do. Myrcella and Tommen had been easy to settle. Joffrey...not so much.

He couldn't help but study her features, taking in the silver hair and violet eyes that were darker than Rhaella's had been. Jaime lost himself in his thoughts, adrift in old memories.

He heard footsteps and glanced towards them, hoping for the wet nurse to return, only to freeze when it turned out to be Jon. The young King blinked at him, surprise in his eyes.

"Your Grace…I assure you this was not my idea," Jaime started.

"I see," Jon appeared to be somewhat amused. "Well, she seems to be doing well. You're surprisingly good at that."

He allowed himself to relax a little, seeing as the Dragon King wasn't about to rip his head off for holding the babe. "I got some practice years ago when my sister's children were born. Joffrey never liked it, but Myrcella and Tommen were good babes."

"I should like to hear about them sometime," Jon murmured. He sounded curious, and it reminded Jaime that despite him being forced to grow up quickly or die, he was still a child in his own right. Almost a man, but not quite there.

"I have much to tell you of them," Jaime replied. "Though some things I'd prefer to keep between us, if that suits you."

"I do not see why I couldn't do that," he said thoughtfully. "As long as you understand that I won't hide things from Daenerys."

"I wouldn't expect you to."

"Good," Jon approached them and held his arms out. "May I?"

"Of course," Jaime carefully shifted the babe to Jon's arms. "You are her family, not I."

Jon cradled the child somewhat less skillfully than Jamie had, but he'd clearly done this before. Visenya reached up with a small hand and grabbed at his nose. The King smiled softly, nuzzling the little fingers with care.

Jaime felt like he was intruding on something that wasn't meant for his eyes. He quietly took his leave to go to the kitchen, but paused when he heard Jon's voice as he began to sing.

"High in the halls of the Kings who are gone, Jenny would dance with her ghosts…

"The ones she had lost, and the ones she had found, and the ones who had loved her the most…"

He felt the breath leave his lungs and had to lean back against the wall, eyes wide. Gods above, he sounded so much like Rhaegar.

"The ones who'd been gone for so very long, she couldn't remember their names…

"They spun her around on the damp old stones, spun away all her sorrow and pain…"

Jaime dared to glance around the corner, watching the young Targaryen King sing gently the song Rhaegar himself had composed. The babe was silent, watching and listening to him with the innocent wonder of all young things. Jon's expression was gentle, slowly turning in place as he rocked her.

"And she never wanted to leave…never wanted to leave…never wanted to leave…never wanted to leave…never wanted to leave…never wanted to leave…"

It was strange, but somehow the way he sung cemented in Jaime's head beyond anything else—beyond his Dragon Dreams, the way fire left him unburnt, and even the bloody dragon—that this boy was Rhaegar's son.

He felt someone touch his arm and spun around, freezing when he saw Daenerys there with a finger on her lips. Her eyes were bright as she peeked around the corner as well. Jon's back was currently to them, and he was too focused on Visenya to have noticed anything.

"They danced through the day and into the night, through the snow that swept through the halls…

"From winter to summer, then winter again, 'til the walls did crumble and fall…

"And she never wanted to leave…never wanted to leave…never wanted to leave…never wanted to leave…never wanted to leave…she never wanted to leave…"

He trailed off into silence, but kept humming the tune for Jenny of Oldstones from deep in his throat. Jaime heard Visenya coo in response and pulled away, not wishing to be seen. Daenerys seemed amused by his attempt to hide and stepped back so she wouldn't be noticed, either.

"He's good," she murmured. "I've told him so before."

Jaime shook his head, still a little stunned. "He sounds like his father. Rhaegar loved to sing."

Dany's eyes flashed with longing and grief, but she said nothing more. Instead, she stepped away from Jaime and approached Jon and Visenya. Jaime watched her join them for only a few moments before he slipped away. He had already intruded too much.

The feast was, as expected, over the top given how spectacular the Sealord's Palace was.

Daenerys sipped from a cup of light wine, going easy on the liquor for the night. Jon was doing the same. Neither of them were particularly fond of alcohol, and as they were not yet fully grown, their tolerance was lower than most.

The Sealord had announced their presence to quite the gathering of merchants, the like of which were rather eager to meet the last Targaryens—especially after Frostfyre's sudden appearance the night before. As had happened in Pentos, they were showered with gifts.

She really had no idea where they were going to put them, but at least many of the gifts were small since the feast had been last-minute.

She exchanged a glance with Jon and he smiled at her. "Ready to escape yet?"

Dany smirked. "I do not think our host would find that to be acceptable behavior, Your Grace."

"Probably not," he admitted. Jon pursed his lips, looking shy as he had when they first met almost a year ago. "You look beautiful."

She flushed pleasantly. Dany had chosen to wear a flowing, sleeveless dress that left her back open. It was red and black—the colors of their House, and hugged her growing figure nicely. Below the waist, it fanned around and behind her in short waves, stopping just above her ankles. As she often did, she donned her seashell bracelet, something which suited Braavos as a coastal city.

Jon himself was also garbed in Targaryen finery courtesy of the Magisters of Pentos. A fine black tunic, as well as dark breeches and boots, lined with the bloody red of the three-headed dragon. Their sigil was cast in colored metal, pinned to Jon's chest above his heart.

The dark colors suited him, made him striking and even more handsome, she thought.

"You do enjoy flattery, don't you?" Dany teased.

"Aye," he answered shamelessly. She laughed at his grin.

Jaime sat to Dany's left, the Sealord to Jon's right, and Oberyn on Ferrego's other side. The arrangement was mostly meant to show them as allies—to put the people attending at ease after Frostfyre had so alarmed them.

The Sealord suddenly set his hand on Jon's arm to get his attention, gesturing to the back of the room as the doors opened. Much of the room went silent for a moment, then filled with cheers. Daenerys craned her neck, curious to see what was the cause of such excitement.

A beautiful woman strode through the doors with a number of bravos escorting her. She was young and lovely—perhaps ten-and-eight at least or twenty name days, Dany guessed. Her skin was a light brown, her hair black, and her breasts full—accentuated by a gorgeous yellow dress that accentuated her curves in all the right ways.

Prince Oberyn whistled. "Fuck me, now there's a beauty."

"Who is that?" Dany asked of the Sealord.

"That is the most beautiful and famous courtesan in Braavos," Ferrego answered, not taking his eyes off of the woman as if reluctant to waste even a second doing so. "Lady Bellegere Otherys, the Black Pearl of Braavos. She is the most desired woman in Braavos—perhaps the world. She sleeps upon rose petals and wears silken skirts that rustle when she walks. Great Lords beg and render themselves bankrupt to share her company for a night. It's rare to see her away from her barge."

Daenerys raised an eyebrow at the description. Jon exchanged a glance with her, and she was strangely pleased that he didn't seem as enamored by the woman as everyone else was.

Perhaps sensing her thoughts, he leaned over to whisper in her ear.

"She might be beautiful, but I prefer violet eyes and silver hair."

That made her lips rise and he gave her a quick peck on the cheek. They turned together and watched as the courtesan approached them. Bellegere was the epitome of female sensuality, her hips swaying in a way that was natural, yet entrancing. Her pouty lips were tilted upwards slightly, her dark eyes gleaming. Even Daenerys had to admit the woman was otherworldly with her beauty.

Bellegere stopped before them and when Dany glanced to the right, she saw that Oberyn and the Sealord were openly undressing her with their eyes.

Ugh.

"Welcome to the Sealord's Palace, Lady Bellegere," Ferrego welcomed her graciously. "We are most pleased to host you."

"And I am pleased to be here," she replied, her voice rich and cultured. Her eyes focused on Jon, then Daenerys, and back again. "The two of you are the dragons, then?"

"We are the last of House Targaryen, yes," Jon told her.

"If I might say so, you don't look much like a Targaryen from what I know of them," Bellegere told him, looking to the Princess next. "Princess Daenerys does, on the other hand."

"Aegon took after his mother strongly," Daenerys explained. "But he is Rhaegar Targaryen's son. My nephew."

"I see," Bellegere's lips rose into an interested smile. "We share a distant relation, then."

That caught them both off-guard. Jon tilted his head. "How so?"

"My family goes back many generations to the first Black Pearl of Braavos," Bellegere told them, crossing her arms beneath her breasts. Dany watched her cleavage rise subtly and wondered if she was trying to seduce them. "She was a Pirate Queen who became the lover of Aegon IV Targaryen. Their eldest daughter, Bellenora, became a courtesan under the same name, and her female descendants after her did as well."

"This is true," the Sealord nodded. "All Braavosi know the story. She has dragon blood in her veins, just as you do."

If Dany remembered right Aegon IV, known more infamously as "Aegon the Unworthy", had not been a stellar example of a Targaryen King. He had been the one to catalyze the Blackfyre Rebellions by legitimizing so many of his bastard children. Amongst many more unsavory things, it had to be said.

Still, she couldn't deny that this particular bloodline of his had turned out to be startlingly beautiful. She imagined the dragon blood was probably heavily diluted by now, but it was an interesting connection, nonetheless.

"Given how much our House has been reduced in recent years, I'm pleased to hear something of our bloodline has endured outside of Westeros," Daenerys admitted.

"The world can be a small place at times," Bellegere agreed. She leaned towards them—yes, she was definitely taking advantage of her breasts now, Dany thought—with a conspiratorial, but hopeful smile. "But I was wondering if I might ask the two of you a favor, Your Grace?"

"What would that be?"

"Would you allow me to meet the dragon, Frostfyre?"

Jon pursed his lips and exchanged a glance with Daenerys. "See her, yes. Meet her…might not be wise."

"How so?"

"She can be aggressive with strangers," he admitted, looking at Bellegere. Dany was somewhat amused to see him focusing hard on her eyes, given that the courtesan's breasts were rather exposed to their eyes. "You must understand, she is not a pet."

"I imagine not," Bellegere sounded amused. "But I would be more than pleased simply to lay eyes upon her, even at a distance. I did not get to see her when she appeared yesterday."

Dany relaxed. "Aegon can probably encourage her to fly over the city briefly. But she cannot land in Braavos again. We do not wish to make light of Lord Ferrego's forgiveness for the incident yesterday."

The Sealord nodded in response, pleased to see that his forgiveness had not been forgotten.

"That would more than please me," Bellegere smiled, pulling back. She half-turned, gesturing to one of her bravos, who hurried forward with a box in his hands. "Princess Daenerys, as I understand it, you have lived in our city before, have you not?"

"Many years ago, when I was still a little girl, yes," she murmured. "My brother and I lived together with our guardian until he died from an illness, and then we were forced onto the streets when our servants stole our money."

"I see. My condolences for your suffering," Bellegere murmured as she set the box on the table in front of them. "But I have something you might like to have back in your hands."

Dany blinked. "What would that be?"

"Some six years ago, when I was still but a girl, unflowered and untried, my mother took a certain man to her bed in exchange for this. He claimed he got it from the two Targaryen children who were begging for food on our streets."

Bellegere opened the box and reached in. When her hands re-emerged, Dany's breath left her lungs.

Bellegere held a crown in her hands, a slim circlet of Valyrian Steel with a sizable ruby embedded in the center, and smaller rubies in petal-like structures on the sides in sets of five. Daenerys would have recognized it anywhere.

"My mother's crown," Dany choked out, eyes going wide.

Jon stared at her, startled, and then his eyes flew to the crown. Bellegere smiled at Daenerys gently. "The man who took this from you and your brother was truly cruel. You could have gained so much more than just food for such a crown. I believe this should go back to House Targaryen. Do you not think the same?"

Dany looked up at her with tears in her eyes. "How can I possibly repay you for—"

"Let me see the dragon, Frostfyre," Bellegere told her. "As close as you believe to be safe. In any case, I certainly won't be living less comfortably if you have it back. But I hope you might remember to see me whenever you visit Braavos."

"Of course," Dany quickly schooled her features and wiped her eyes, accepting the crown from Bellegere with trembling hands. She ran her fingers over the steel, the rubies, and a long-accepted gap in her heart was slowly filled again. Mother…

"Dany?" Jon regained her attention with a gentle touch to her arm. She looked up at him and he held his hands out for the crown. "I think it would look better upon your head, don't you?"

A lump rose in her throat and she nodded, relinquishing the crown and bowing her head just long enough for Jon to carefully place it upon her. The steel rested there, cold and light, and yet she would never forget the weight of it.

Bellegere beamed. "Now you look like a Queen, Princess."

Dany laughed, smiling at the courtesan with true happiness. "You are a kind and wonderful woman, Lady Bellegere."

"I am pleased to receive such a compliment," Bellegere replied. She glanced to Jon and back to Daenerys. "Might I invite the two of you to my barge for the night? Wandering around with what you have now, with swords at your belts—many bravos will undoubtedly feel tremendous greed from the sight of them."

She and Jon exchanged another look, and Dany nodded. "I think we would appreciate such an invitation."

Bellegere's barge was a thing of luxury, to say the least.

It was richly embellished, and massive—the biggest of any courtesan's in Braavos. The Black Pearl's legacy had turned it into a place of comfort, merriness, and most noticeably sensuality. A number of other courtesans served in Bellegere's home, and Jon had already heard a few of them through the doors of their chambers with company.

The sounds he'd heard were—well.

Oberyn looked only too pleased to be present. Jaime was distinctly uncomfortable, on the other hand, though he wore a stoic mask, nonetheless. Bellegere saw to it that their gifts were kept safe in a chamber set aside just for Dany and himself. Another across the hall was set up for Jaime and the Dornish Prince.

"We'll see you in the morning, then," Oberyn told them, eyes gleaming with lust. "Although I think I might be spending my night with someone other than Ser Jaime. Might there be a place to mingle with your guests, Lady Bellegere?"

"Bow of the barge," she told him, looking rather amused.

Oberyn offered them a bow and strode off. Jon only shook his head slightly in bemusement.

He glanced at Jaime. "Go ahead and rest, Ser. We shall see you in the morning."

"As you command, Your Grace," he replied. "If you have need of me, I will be just across the hall."

Jaime was quick to retreat to his chambers. Bellegere meanwhile showed them into the room Dany and Jon would share that night. It was surprisingly large, with a massive bed covered by silken sheets, and cups of scented oils and rose petals. The lighting was low and the atmosphere was different from anything Jon had ever experienced before, and yet it was enticing to say the least.

The door closed behind them, leaving himself and Dany alone with Bellegere. The Black Pearl of Braavos clasped her hands before her.

"I hope the room is to your tastes," Bellegere proclaimed. Her eyes gleamed with mischief. "No one shall bother the two of you."

Jon reddened and he could see Dany's pale face flush in the low light. The suggestive tone was easy to notice, and their embarrassment caused Bellegere to laugh. She opened the door and slipped out, flashing them both a teasing smile from her pouty lips. "Enjoy your rest, my young dragons."

The door closed and the two of them were left in an awkward silence for a few moments.

"Well," Dany said at last. "She's…interesting."

"Aye," he agreed. "It's strange to imagine that she's descended from Targaryen Kings like we are."

"Mm," she hummed. Dany removed her mother's crown and held it in her hands, turning it slowly to take in every detail she had forgotten over the years.

Jon walked up behind her, wrapping his arms round her waist. "I'm happy for you."

"I never thought I would see this again," she whispered. "Losing mother's crown was what made my brother so bitter. When we had to give it up for food, he gave up his happiness with it…If he'd only lived long enough to see us get this back, maybe—"

"Don't," he stopped her gently. Jon pressed a kiss to her cheek. "Don't do that to yourself, Dany. Viserys rests now."

"I know," Dany stared at the crown for a few moments longer, then pulled away from Jon to set it on a small table next to the bed. She turned to face him next, eyes solemn. Unwilling to let her end the night with sorrow in her heart, he walked until he stood before her and cupped her face in his hands, slotting his mouth against hers.

"I want you to be happy," he murmured against her lips. Jon trailed his kisses to her cheek, her jaw, and then her neck. Her hands rose to his hair, twining her fingers through his dark locks. "Let me make you happy. Let me love you, Daenerys."

Dany pulled him to her, stumbling backwards towards the bed, and they fell together into silken sheets that smelled of rose petals and the sea wind.

The next day saw them taking a ship owned by Bellegere out of Braavos, after they'd dropped off their new gifts at home.

Jorah was still there, watching over Doreah, Visenya, and the household, of course. Jon had insisted Barristan, Jaime, and Oberyn come with them to retrieve the weapons Frostfyre had flown off with.

They sailed to the mainland not far south of the city, to a patch of empty coastline. Once there, they went to the shore in small rowboats. Bellegere had a number of her bravos guarding her, while their own company remained close to Daenerys.

She watched as Jon closed his eyes, reaching for his bond with the dragon. Before long, they heard the familiar bellow that could only belong to Frostfyre.

The great, white dragon soared overhead from the southeast, circling above them. She cast a shadow upon them as her wings blocked out the run, now high in the sky. Jon walked ahead of their company a fair distance as Frostfyre came down to land. Her wings kicked up a storm of dust and debris, and then she landed with the heavy thuds of her powerful, clawed feet.

She was eager to lower her head and meet Jon, growling in content when he set a hand on her snout and rubbed her scales. Dany glanced at Bellegere and saw the wonder shining in the older woman's eyes.

"That's incredible," Bellegere breathed. "She will not hurt him?"

"Frostfyre is no ordinary animal, My Lady," Daenerys told her. "Dragons are as intelligent as men—if not more so. They have a different way of thinking, for they are not human, but they know friend from foe, and they are capable of love and hate just as we are. Jon and Frostfyre were born together…as he came into the world, so too did she. They are brother and sister. Twins, one could say."

"How did that come to be?" Oberyn asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Valyrian magic."

"I wonder why he never tried to hatch the egg for Rhaenys and Aegon," Jaime murmured absently.

Oberyn looked irritated by that, but Daenerys cut it off before he started something. "'Only death can pay for life', Ser Jaime. That was another prophecy Rhaegar saw in his Dragon Dreams. The magic used to hatch Frostfyre…the price was Lyanna Stark's life as she died giving birth. Or maybe it was my brother's death when he fell in battle against the Usurper. We don't know."

That silenced Oberyn's retort before he could open his mouth. They all fell into a grave silence.

She spotted the bundle of weapons they'd given Frostfyre near one of her feet. It was a little worse for wear—it had been clenched in her claws, after all—but from what she could see, everything was still intact. She supposed the Prince and ex-Kingsguard would be getting their weapons back, after all.

But more than that, she focused on Frostfyre herself. The dragon had not been seen by her or Jon often over the past several months, but she was noticeably larger. Whereas once she had been capable of biting a horse in half, Dany wondered now if she could in fact swallow one whole. The warmth of the south and abundance of food was clearly doing her great favors. Jon was positively tiny by comparison.

She was still nowhere near as large as Balerion the Black Dread, who had been capable of swallowing mammoths, but her size was still mind-boggling.

Jon turned then and called to them. "Dany! Bring Bellegere!"

Bellegere looked startled. "Really?"

"It seems like she is in a good mood," Dany told her. "Come on. Just stay close to me."

She took Bellegere's hand and slowly guided the courtesan towards the dragon. Bellegere waved down her bravos when they hesitantly started to follow them—a wise decision, all things considered. Frostfyre didn't like to deal with lots of people.

Dany felt Bellegere trembling somewhat as they grew closer to the huge, white dragon. Frostfyre's violet eyes flicked from Jon to the women, and she studied them curiously.

They took slow steps to Jon, and he met them with an easy smile. "Do not be afraid. She won't do you harm."

Bellegere only nodded, her eyes wide as she stared at Frostfyre up close. The dragon twisted her head slightly to stare at the courtesan, studying her with that uncanny sharpness. Dany lifted Bellegere's hand slowly holding her at the wrist as Frostfyre sniffed them, breathing deep.

She pressed Bellegere's palm to the dragon's scales. The courtesan let out a gasp.

"She's warm!" Bellegere exclaimed, eyes wide.

"Dragons are fire made flesh," Jon told her. He ran his hand along Frostfyre's jaw and neck, slowly walking beneath her body towards her feet. Dany stayed with Bellegere, cooing to Frostfyre. The dragon's nostrils flared and she fixed on Dany somewhat more sharply, head tilting with interest.

Dany wondered if Frostfyre could smell traces of Visenya. The way her pupils thinned and dilated was similar to when the dragon had met Daenerys herself.

Perhaps she was realizing that another Targaryen had come into the world.

Jon returned to them after a few minutes, though he hadn't brought the bundle of weapons. He did, however, hold something in his hands.

"Lady Bellegere," he murmured to get her attention. Jon showed her what he held—five of Frostfyre's snowy-white scales. They were an inch thick, harder than steel, longer and wider than his hands. Yet Dany knew they were surprisingly light; they had to be for the dragon to get airborne at all. "A gift for you."

Bellegere stared at the scales with wide eyes and accepted them reverently. She looked up at the dragon, who watched them. "She does not mind?"

"Frostfyre sheds many scales as she grows," Jon told her. "I just pulled some of the loose ones. It is not much, but…"

"You belittle your gift, Your Grace," Bellegere chastised him, beaming. "To meet your dragon up close and to be gifted such beautiful armor from her own hide—that is not a small favor in my eyes."

Dany smiled. "I think it is the least we owe you for helping my mother's crown find its way to us."

"Well, perhaps next time you are in Braavos, you can entertain me with a flight?"

"Perhaps so," Jon answered.

Frostfyre rumbled and pulled back, startling Bellegere. Dany set a hand on her arm. "Do not be afraid. She likely wishes to go hunting."

The dragon turned around, took two quick steps further down the beach, and launched herself into the air with a shriek. Her wings pounded down as she twisted above the ocean, sending up sprays of seawater, and then she wheeled towards the east and disappeared from sight.

Bellegere let out a long breath, looking shaken save for the huge smile upon her face. "Fortune has blessed you, Your Grace."

"In many ways, My Lady," Jon agreed, looking after his dragon fondly. "In many ways."

Frostfyre had left Jaime's, Barristan's, and Oberyn's weapons for them to retrieve when she flew off. They returned to the house with the red door after parting ways with Bellegere, just as the sun was beginning to descend from its high peak.

Prince Oberyn waited until they were all indoors before he cleared his throat to get their attention. "I believe this is where we must part company."

Daenerys raised an eyebrow. "You are going home?"

"I am. I have learned the truth, and now there is no reason for me to remain here," he said simply. "Besides, Doran will undoubtedly want to know what I've discovered."

Jon watched him warily. "I trust you will not put forth any information that will threaten the safety of House Stark, then?"

"With all due respect, Jaehaerys, your Northern features are impossible to ignore," Oberyn pointed out. "It would not surprise me if the truth of you has come out when I return to Westeros—or at least been suspected."

The boy's eyes narrowed and the Prince lifted his hands in a gesture of peace. "But I will not share that information with Doran until it gets out some other way. You have my word on that. I have been convinced that you did not take Aegon's name out of ill will."

"Good. You tell your brother that one day, I do intend to seek out retribution for what happened to your sister and my half-siblings. Even if I do not come for the Iron Throne, I will see Tywin Lannister, Gregor Clegane, and Amory Lorch get what is coming to them."

The Prince's eyes darkened. "On that, we agree."

Oberyn looked next at Daenerys and dipped his head. "Our time together was not always friendly, but I am pleased to see your lot in life has improved, Princess. It is my wish that we might one day be able to repair the damage that was done between our families."

"One day," she nodded.

He had nothing to say to Ser Jorah, Jaime, or Barristan. With a slanted grin, he bowed to them one last time and then twisted on his heel, leaving them behind.

"Are you sure it is wise, Your Grace?" Jorah asked, frowning. "Letting him leave after he's learned so much information about you?"

"Killing Prince Oberyn or imprisoning him would only convince the Dornish that we are their enemies," Jon reasoned. "He deserved answers, and he got them. Should he betray our trust, then we will not owe them any further courtesy, will we?"

Jorah nodded in acceptance. Barristan spoke next. "What is our next move, Your Grace?"

"We cannot remain in Braavos much longer, I think," Jon admitted. "But we cannot yet leave. Not while Doreah is healing and Visenya is still so newly born. We'll remain for some weeks and plan our next travel route."

"Frostfyre's appearance here will undoubtedly draw unwanted eyes to us," Dany agreed.

"With King Robert gone, I imagine Westeros won't be pursuing you quite as intensely," Jaime pointed out.

"Perhaps not, but it's still too risky for us to remain in the same place for so long, especially so close to the coast," she replied. "Visenya is too vulnerable and we have only four swords to our name for now. I'm still not good enough with a blade to be a reliable defense."

Barristan's eyebrows rose. He looked startled. "You are learning to wield a sword, Princess?"

"I am the blood of the dragon, Ser Barristan. I was not born to be a quiet Princess who knits and bows and submits myself to the whims of men," Daenerys told him. "Though I confess, I still have much to learn. I am no seasoned warrior yet."

"We can discuss more of our plans in the evening, when we've finished our tasks for the day," Jon said. "For now—we need to replenish our supply of fresh water from the Sweetwater River, and we have more mouths to feed. Ser Jorah, if you would take Ser Jaime to sort out our water problem. I'll take stock of our food and get some coin ready for when we go to the market."

"As you will, Your Grace," Jorah dipped his head. He and Jaime left then, but Jon watched them go with slight wariness in his eyes. He hadn't forgotten Barristan's warning, but he wouldn't damn Jorah unless he found evidence of treachery. For all he knew, Barristan was trying to trick them.

He sighed and left to go take stock of their food stores in the kitchen.

Doreah's fever broke five days after she gave birth to Visenya.

It was a massive relief for all of them. With the worst behind her, the young woman began to heal at a much better pace. A week after she was rid of the birthing fever, the Maester declared she was healthy enough to feed Visenya at her breast again.

"Your body can afford such an expense now," he had told her while Dany and Jon listened in close to their friend. "I urge you not to travel for perhaps another half-moon, but you are recovering well."

With a more accurate timetable now in place, the group started to plan their next move. They decided to head further inland to the city of Norvos. There, they'd be further from Westeros and less likely to run into any assassins—not to say that it wouldn't be dangerous at all. None of them were naive enough to believe that.

They needed to start working on their long-term goals. Dany and Jon did not want to go after the Iron Throne—at least not now, but they needed to find a place to settle somewhere so they wouldn't have to keep jumping from place to place every so often.

It would be better for Visenya, as well. She was still so young, and a life on the roads of Essos was not an easy one for a babe. It made them seriously consider staying in the Free Cities for longer than they normally would, until she was stronger.

Dany and Jon meant to wed soon, as well. They'd decided to go through with the ceremony a few days before they left Braavos. Both of them were rather excited for that, as one could imagine.

For now, Jon led Dany through one of the marketplaces in Braavos, enjoying some time together. Jaime was shadowing them, donning traveler's clothes with a simple, grey cloak to conceal his sword for the most part.

"Here," Dany spotted a red fruit she was fond of and hurried over to the vendor. They exchanged words in Valyrian for a few moments before she handed over some coin and came away with a handful of the treat. "You must try this one."

She offered some to Jon, and he bit into it. The fruit was sweet, and he hummed as he savored it.

"It's good, isn't it?" Dany's eyes gleamed as she enjoyed her own snack. "I love these."

"I can see why," he smiled, nudging her in a friendly way.

"Do you want one, Ser Jaime?" Dany offered one of the small fruits to the Knight. Jaime seemed to consider it before shrugging and accepting the gift.

They were walking further up the Sweetwater River towards the Moon Pool, where the marketplace extended, when they heard someone calling.

"Jon!"

Jon paused mid-step and frowned, turning to and fro to search for whoever was calling. He looked further north and spotted someone working their way through the crowd—

His mouth fell open as he recognized Arya Stark rushing towards him.

"JON!" She shouted, eyes alight and grinning widely.

"Arya!" Jon gasped, bolting towards her while Daenerys watched with bewildered eyes. He scooped up his sister and spun her around, squeezing the life out of her.

"Oof! You're crushing me, you dolt!"

Not that she was any better. She was choking him with her arms wound around his neck so tightly. Jon set her down on her feet and pulled back, staring at her with wide eyes and holding her arms tight. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here? What are you doing here?" Arya shot back, still grinning from ear to ear. "Father said you were here with the Dragon King! You won't believe what's happening back home! King Robert died and Joffrey's a bastard and we had to sneak out of King's Landing to make sure father wasn't executed and—"

"Slow down," Jon held a hand up, overloaded by her chattering.

"You're Jon Snow?"

His gaze rose up to a man that followed Arya; he was older, with a mostly bald head and greying hair, but kind eyes.

"Oh—this is Ser Davos!" Arya told him. "Father asked him to bring me here."

"What for?" Jon frowned deeply. "What's going on?"

"Jon?"

He looked back at Daenerys and Ser Jaime, who were slowly approaching them. His lover was staring from Arya to Ser Davos and back to him. "Is everything alright?"

Davos paled upon seeing the Kingslayer. "Lord Snow, you do know who this man is, don't you?"

"I do," Jon waved the concern away. "He's not a threat to us. Look—let's get back to our house. I can tell there's a lot to talk about."

Davos didn't relax, but Arya was vibrating with energy, at least. "Can we see the dragon?"

"Later, little wolf," Jon promised.

To say Ser Barristan and Ser Jorah were surprised when Arya and Ser Davos returned to the house with Dany, Jon, and Ser Jaime was an understatement. But there surprise didn't hold a candle to what Arya and Davos were telling them.

When Arya finished their tale, their eyes were wide and Jon's mind was reeling.

"Well," Jaime remarked calmly. "We left King's Landing for a few moons and it all went to hell."

"That, Ser, is what we call an understatement," Davos grunted.

Jon wasn't fixated on that. He looked at Jaime with a stunned expression. "Is it true? Are Cersei's children really yours?"

Jaime didn't speak for a few moments. Finally, he sighed and nodded. "Yes."

"You were cuckolding the King with your own sister?" Jorah's mouth hadn't yet closed from when it had fallen open.

Barristan looked ready to tear Jaime's head off for what he'd done. Arya had an expression of disgust on her face, though Dany was just surprised. She and Jon had less disapproval towards the concept of incest, although Jon was definitely uneasy with the union of siblings.

"Cersei and I…" Jaime started, his eyes far away. "When we were younger, when we were children, it felt harmless enough. We were young and stupid. Just kids. Then I left for King's Landing to serve as a Kingsguard. I met Queen Rhaella, and I lost her. After that—I just stopped caring. The world was fucked. Everything was fucked. I didn't care what Cersei goaded me into. I let her do what she liked because if I got caught and died...well, so what?"

"So what? So what?! You and your sister created a false dynasty while you were serving in the Kingsguard!" Barristan roared, a hand on his sword's grip. "Did your vows mean nothing?!"

"Don't act like you weren't aware of the others," Jaime scoffed. "I was hardly the only Kingsguard who had a lover."

"YOU WERE FUCKING THE QUEEN!"

"You want to take my head? Then take my head," the Kingslayer snapped. "Take it in the name of the King we cheated, who built his throne on the bodies of dead children. Take it in the name of the Kingsguard who ordered me to do nothing as my Queen was raped by a madman. Go on—take it."

Barristan started drawing his sword, but Jon waved him off. "No beheading is to be done under our roof."

"He just confessed to treason!"

"I know," Jon rubbed his furrowed brow. "Gods above and below, what were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that nothing really mattered in the world anymore. I was already a dishonorable man who slew the King he'd sword to protect. No one would miss me if I were gone."

"You killed a madman who was going to turn the whole of King's Landing into a pyre," Daenerys growled sharply. "That is very, very different."

"No one believed me. It wouldn't stop their distrust anyways. What was the point?"

"Stop," Davos held a hand up. "I'm sorry, what are you talking about?"

And so Jon filled in Davos and Arya as to what the Mad King had intended to do to King's Landing—and what Jaime had done to stop him.

"Seven hells!" Arya's jaw dropped when the story was over.

Davos' face was bloodless. "You mean to tell me my family has been living above caches of Wildfire all this time?"

"You and every other soul in the city," Jaime admitted grimly. "Not that Robert ever listened to me. Nor did Cersei ever do anything about it."

"Well," Arya swallowed. "Joffrey's a cunt, but Myrcella and Tommen are nice. I guess you saving the city makes up for all of that, doesn't it?"

"Good deeds don't erase treason, Lady Stark."

"First, I'm not a Lady. Second, what you did shouldn't be ignored! King's Landing could have been turned into a pile of ashes!"

"You both make good points," Daenerys agreed. "But I'm more inclined to let Ser Jaime off light since Robert Baratheon got his throne by slaughtering my niece and nephew. His legacy should end as undeserving as it started."

She looked at the Lannister Knight. "It doesn't make you any less of an idiot."

He just shrugged, looking tired. "I know my faults. I've never denied them."

Barristan took a deep breath, reigning in his temper. "Fine. Then what are we to do about Lord Stark's summons?"

Arya frowned. "Shouldn't you ask the Dragon King about that? Isn't he in charge of all of you?"

Daenerys felt a smile tug at her lips and she glanced at Jon, who seemed to be contemplating how to break the truth to her. "Jon and I make the decision together, Arya."

"Why? That doesn't make any—"

"Arya Stark," Dany inclined her head towards Jon, who watched his sister—well, cousin—nervously. "Jaehaerys Targaryen, the Dragon King."

Arya stared. Her gaze went from Jon to Dany and back again. "What?"

"Are you ready for another story?" Jon asked, smiling hesitantly.

And so they filled Arya and Ser Davos in on that tale, as well. The story of Rhaegar and Lyanna, as well as the truth of Jon's parentage and why he was hidden away in the North.

Poor Davos looked as if he were having a crisis. "I need something to drink."

Dany was mostly sure Arya was broken. The girl's mouth was opening and closing, eyes huge as she regarded Jon. He watched her reaction nervously—clearly worried as to how she'd respond.

Finally, Arya leapt up and ran to him, punching Jon in the shoulder.

"Ow!" Jon yelped.

"You flew on a dragon to another continent to fight a horde of Dothraki and you didn't bring me?!"

She punched his arm again and then began to storm back and forth across the room, trying to process it all. She suddenly froze and spun on her heel to stare at him.

"Wait—that one time you came back from the Wall and told us you flew on a dragon—"

"I actually flew on a dragon, yes."

"I thought you were being smart!"

Jaime snorted and Dany pursed her lips, trying not to laugh.

And then Arya's face became filled with an odd mix of disgust and glee. "Oh gods, Sansa was swooning over you."

"What the fuck?"

This time Dany did burst out laughing by the utterly baffled look on Jon's face. Arya just shook her head.

"Not important," she decided after a moment. "I still have a million questions for you, but you'll answer father's call, won't you?"

Jon exchanged a glance with Daenerys. It was risky to say the least—neither of them had expected to be anywhere near Westeros for at least the next few years, let alone now.

Except…

"We can't ignore Euron Greyjoy," Dany told him. "If he has this…Dragonbinder Horn, he might be able to take Frostfyre. That's to say nothing of the dragon egg he has. If we join forces with your uncle, at least we'll have an army to help us stop him."

"Father said he was going to tell in the North about the Dragon King," Arya said. "To help them understand why he was calling him—you to arms."

"The Northmen are stubborn bastards," Jon muttered, frowning. "It's dangerous. If it were just Frostfyre and I, I'd be there in a heartbeat, but Dany—"

"I'll be fine."

"What about Doreah and Visenya?"

"We'll take them with us," she said, looking to Ser Davos. "You were meant to bring us back to White Harbor, weren't you?"

"That was the plan," he confirmed.

Dany turned back to Jon. "Doreah is well enough to travel now and Visenya isn't at such a great risk. Ser Jorah, Jaime, and Barristan will go with Ser Davos to guard them. Irri and Jhiqui will be there as well."

"Where will you be?"

"I'll be flying with you to Winterfell."

Jon frowned and opened his mouth, but she could already see the argument forming in his mind and cut him off. "You and I are equals, Jon. When you appear in Winterfell before the Lords of the North, I will stand beside you."

"It's dangerous…"

"Our life is dangerous," she pointed out. "But if they support us, give us a safe place to stay at least until the war is over…isn't that what we really need right now? And more than that, I don't want you to reject your family for our sake. When we are married, they'll be my family, too."

"Married?" Arya's eyes bulged.

Jon didn't let his gaze leave Dany's for some time. He was silent, searching and thinking hard about everything they'd learned.

Finally, he took a deep breath and nodded.

"Then we'll answer the call," he decided. "We're going to Winterfell."

Chapter Text

Chapter Fifteen: I am His, He is Mine

They prepared to leave for Westeros over the course of the next few days. Ser Davos was stockpiling his ship with fresh supplies for the voyage. Dany and Jon's people didn't have much they needed to pack up—they were ready to go whenever the ship was.

There was a problem, however.

"What do you mean you aren't coming?" Dany demanded.

Jorah pursed his lips. "If I go to the North, I will be imprisoned and killed within a week."

"Ser Jaime is carrying the same risk, and he's going," she pointed out. "We would protect you."

"Jaime has a defense for his most criminal action—saving King's Landing. I have none."

Jon frowned. "He's…not wrong, Daenerys. If we take him to Westeros, the Northmen will probably kill him. But we also have no idea how long we'll be there. We'll have no way to support you back here in Essos."

"I can take care of myself as long as need be," Jorah replied. He looked at Dany for a few moments as she contemplated this new conundrum. "Listen, why don't I stay here in Braavos? I can find work in this city easily enough. I'll keep the house for you. It's not much, but I'd still be serving you in my own way. I won't even have to lose my head to do it."

That hit a soft spot in Daenerys, because Jon knew she really, really didn't want to leave the house with the red door behind for just anyone to take over. She glanced at him and he nodded. "It's up to you, Dany."

She considered it for a few more moments before making her decision. "Then I hereby charge you with safeguarding our home here in Braavos, Ser Jorah."

Jorah dipped his head. "As you wish, Princess. It shall be done."

Jon could say that he was slightly more relaxed about leaving Jorah behind in a way because if Barristan was right, then their spy problem was (probably) solved for the time being, although he wasn't so sure about Jorah's motives for holding the house down. Would he set a trap for them here when next they returned?

Thoughts for another time—namely, when they returned to Essos, whenever that might be. For now, they would leave Jorah with a fair bit of coin they'd gotten from selling some of their less-needed gifts. No need to leave their housekeeper with nothing for his services.

Everyone else was coming with them, even Jaime and Barristan despite Ser Davos' hesitance. They would be sailing with him to guard Doreah, Visenya, Irri, and Jhiqui. The trip would take them a month and a half or so, as it had for Davos and Arya to get to Braavos in the first place.

But there was one important thing to do before they left the city.

They stole away to the sept they'd chosen some time ago in the cover of night.

Dany took a deep breath as Arya helped her finish the ties to her dress and stood up, doing a slow twirl in-place. "How do I look?"

"Jon won't stand a chance," Arya grinned. Dany smiled in response. They were in a small room, lit only by candles as the light coming through the windows had long-since faded.

Her heart was pulsing fast beneath her skin. In a matter of minutes, she'd be married. She and Jon had decided to have the wedding now, before they left for Westeros. It was never going to be a particularly grandiose affair—they wished for it to be quiet and personal, so as to avoid unwanted attention. But even so, it was a secret union. They would be bound together as husband in wife in the shadows, guarded by the night and cloaks and daggers.

Daenerys didn't care. As long as they had each other, the when and where ceased to matter.

They'd brought only a few people with them to the sept. Ser Barristan was with Jon at the moment, serving him as he'd served Jon's father, Rhaegar. Arya, of course, was present to watch her brother be married and help Dany with anything she needed done by another woman.

Dany had her own Knight to escort her to her beloved.

She stepped out of the room with Arya behind her and looked up at the blonde man standing by the door. Jaime studied her with unreadable eyes, caught somewhere between pain and happiness.

"You look just like your mother, Princess," he told her quietly. His voice was thick. "She would be proud to see you now."

Such words brought her joy and grief both. Dany's gaze remained upon his. "Ser Jaime. You were once my mother's sworn protector. Will you walk with me?"

Jaime swallowed hard and Dany thought she saw a flash of something wet in his eyes. He dipped his head wordlessly to her and offered his arm. Daenerys took it lightly, and they walked down the corridors to reach the room where she and Jon would be wed.

They reached the hall and she set her eyes on the alter, where Jon stood waiting with Ser Barristan not far from his side. The septon stood in the center, and with a deep breath, Daenerys approached on Jaime's arm to join them.

She released the Knight as she took her place across from Jon, unable to take her eyes away from him. He in-turn could stare at no one save her, eyes wide and full of wonder. Both of them were garbed in the finery of House Targaryen, he in black, she in red, and each with the sigil of their House of the color of their intended.

They joined hands, his left to her right, and turned to face the septon as he came forward with a ribbon of cloth, wrapping it around their clasped hands to symbolize their union. His voice was quiet, yet loud in the silence of the empty sept.

"In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls. Binding them as one for eternity," the septon finished tying the ribbon 'round their hands, smiling at the pair of them. He stepped back a moment later. "Look upon one another, and say the words."

She turned with Jon, eyes meeting his and drowning in the dark depths of his gaze. Her own voice sounded very far away.

"Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. I am his and he is mine. From this day until the end of my days."

There was a short moment where they stood there, staring at each other in frozen time, and then Jon's lips slotted against her and Dany let her eyes close, heart full and warm. She squeezed his hand bound to hers tightly and he returned the pressure.

She heard the septon saying something—no doubt completing the ceremony—but Dany was deaf to his words. Nothing in the world mattered save Jon. Her husband.

The last dragons, intertwined and sealed together until death chose to part them.

They stopped only for a few moments at the red door.

Jon glanced at Dany, smiling softly at the overcome expression on her face. This was the closest thing to a home she had ever known. She had grown up here, loved, and laughed. Lived here.

Now she'd been married here. Would spend her wedding night beyond that scarlet door, in the comfort of their home.

He squeezed her hand lightly and she stirred out of her reverie, flashing him a wry smile. They entered the house as one.

Irri and Jhiqui were sitting with Doreah and Ser Jorah by the fireplace, which still nested the dragon eggs in its heat. Visenya was cradled in the arms of the young mother, who smirked at the sight of them.

Ser Jorah dipped his head as they came into the house with the rest of their small entourage behind them. "Your Graces."

Dany let out a short laugh. "Gods, I suppose I'm not a Princess anymore, am I?"

"You are a Queen, Your Grace," Doreah grinned. "And now you must claim your King. We left some food and wine in your room for when you two, ah…take a break."

"Seven hells," Arya made a gagging behind them and Doreah burst out laughing, prompting the Knights to chuckle and the Dothraki handmaidens to giggle. Jon felt his face heat up, but couldn't fight the smile stretching across his face. Dany colored as well, her lips rising.

"The rest of us should retire," Jorah announced, giving the couple some mercy. "Ser Barristan, Ser Jaime, would you join me in my quarters for a drink or five?"

The two Knights nodded, following Jorah to the opposite side of the house while Doreah guided Arya towards her own room with Visenya still in her arms. Irri and Jhiqui retired to their quarters, leaving the Dragon King and Queen alone in the room.

"Well," she glanced at Jon, eyes full of light and gentle mischief. "Shall we?"

He could only nod wordlessly, too afraid of opening his mouth and saying something foolish. Jon let Dany tug him towards her room—their room now. Gods, as if it had ever been anything but their room since they'd come to Braavos for how often he spent the night in her bed, but now they were married. Any need for secrecy, for discretion was gone now.

The only light was from a few candles lit around the room. A tray of food and a pitcher of wine, along with two glasses was on one of the tables away from the bed.

Jon turned away just long enough to bolt the door, giving them some extra assurance that they would not be disturbed. Not that he expected anybody to do so.

When he looked back to Dany, it was just in time to see her crimson dress slip from her body and pool around her feet. A lump rose in his throat as he took her in. He'd seen her bare many times before, but this was different. Now she was his in every way that mattered.

Gods, but she was beautiful. Her skin was fair like porcelain, her hair a silver cascade over one shoulder. Twin amethysts stared out at him above rosy cheeks, exotic and familiar all at once. Her breasts were small, the muscles of her arms, belly, and legs toned from all the training she'd done over the months. Her hips curved sweetly, and her thighs were pale and luscious like the rest of her.

She was delicate, a slender wisp of a girl, yet she glowed like a flower blooming towards the sun.

Dany stepped towards him on silent, light feet until she stood before him. Jon was riveted in place, unable to move or speak.

Her lips curved upwards into a light smirk, as if realizing that he was frozen by the sight of her. Dany leaned up and pressed her mouth to his even as her hands began to work on removing his tunic.

The feeling of her tongue pushing past his teeth finally broke him out of his spell, and then he was lifting his arms to help her remove his clothing. Jon threw it aside and one of his hands cupped her cheek, deepening their kiss. The other found its way to her hip, stroking her bare skin as he guided her back towards the bed. Her breath shuddered into his mouth as they stumbled blindly away from the door.

When the backs of her thighs hit the bed, Jon took her by the shoulders and pushed her down gently, splaying her over the sheets. Dany swallowed as his eyes swept over her, reaching up to bring him down. He kissed her sweet again, then pulled from her lips to kiss her cheek, her throat, and further down. He kissed the swell of her breast and found her nipple, sucking it into his mouth to tease it with tongue and teeth until she whimpered.

He pulled back only when her teat was rosy red and perked from his attentions, then gave its sister the same affection. Dany's body grew hot beneath him. He felt a thin sheen of sweat form on her pale flesh.

Jon's lips finally left her breasts alone, trailing down to her belly. His eyes watched her chest rise and fall in deep breaths, and she watched him in-turn. Her violets were hazy, anxious and excited all at once. She knew what was coming.

His tongue dipped to her bellybutton, feeling the muscles beneath his mouth jump slightly. His hands stroked at her hips. As he kissed her naval, her legs parted for him and her breaths became a little faster.

Jon nipped at the inside of her thigh and Dany inhaled sharply. A primal, focused need built up hot in his belly—he could practically taste her already. The scent of her arousal was heady in the air.

Forgoing his teasing as he often liked to do, Jon was quick to close his mouth over the juncture of her thighs. Daenerys let out a throaty moan as he wrapped a hand around her leg to hold her in place and used the other to help open her up for him.

Her gasps and cries were quiet, but full of urgency and raw desire. His tongue lapped at her like a kitten with cream, and his fingers slipped through her folds to give her something to grip inside of her. One of her hands found purchase in his hair, pulling and tugging on his black locks whenever he did something she really liked. His tongue dabbed at the nub at the apex of her mound and a strangled cry left her.

"Jon," Dany gasped. He watched her teeth sink enticingly into her bottom lip as she twisted her head to the side. Her other hand was clenching the sheets in a death grip.

She looked down at him and her eyes were nearly black, pupils blown out and hungry for him—for everything he was and everything he intended to give her.

He felt her clenching around his fingers and tongue and removed his hand from her slit, instead grasping her legs firmly with both of his arms to keep her in place when she tried to squirm away from him. His tongue delved deeper into her, teeth scraping at her most sensitive bits as he drew out more of the nectar pooling from her folds. A shudder ran through her body and then her back arched, wild and sharp. Her hand left the sheets and clapped over her mouth to stifle her cries as she came undone.

Jon lapped up her wetness, a pleased smile curling the corners of his lips as he felt her quivering beneath his ministrations. She tugged on his hair, but he did not stop—not yet. He wanted her nice and relaxed for what was to come.

Dany's voice lifted again, her thighs shaking and clenching. Her other hand left her mouth and drove down into his hair with the other, making a mess of her tangled black locks as she keened. Jon didn't stop until she was dripping like a freshly split peach and his jaw was soaked in her essence. Only then did he lift his head up, and she quickly tugged him to her mouth.

She hummed into him, still shaking as she tasted herself on his tongue. Valyrian came out of her mouth. "Want you."

Her hands let go of his hair and reached down, fumbling for his breeches. Jon kicked off his boots, refusing to leave her mouth for anything. He managed to keep himself propped up with one arm and used the other to help her push away his breeches and smallclothes, leaving his body as bare as hers.

She wrapped an arm around his neck and reached down between them. Jon let out a gasp as she took his hard length in-hand, stroking urgently. His whole body tensed and froze, tight as a coiled spring.

"Dany," her name came out in a broken moan. She squeezed him in response and Jon trembled. Fire blazed in her eyes, purple and black with need.

Jon gasped as she flipped him with a powerful move, switching their positions. Dany straddled his thighs, rubbing her slit up and down the underside of his length as her hands pressed against his belly. His toes curled and his hands came up frantically to hold her hips, desperate to hold onto her. He felt her fingernails scratch at his skin as he grew painfully hard beneath her rocking.

They had never gone this far before, always stopping before the temptation became too much to resist. But there was nothing holding them back now—they were husband and wife.

Dany lifted herself up onto her knees, hovering over Jon, and took the length of him in-hand. Jon's breath came faster and harder as she rubbed the tip of his cock against her slit, coating him with her wetness. His hands kept hold of her hips, squeezing and massaging the soft skin and muscle beneath his touch.

She looked down at him and he swallowed, nodding. His heart was trying to beat itself out of his chest.

Dany caught the tip of his manhood in her folds and then braced her hands against his chest, slowly sinking down onto him. Jon's head fell back and a sound left his throat that he didn't even know he could make, a low whine full of wanton desire. Dany's breath came in shallow pants above him, taking him in inch by inch.

Faster than he expected, he was fully inside of her. Dany was seated again on his hips, trembling and bent over his body. Her whole body quivered and he felt her cunt clenching hot and slick and tight around his cock.

"Fuck," she whimpered. "Jon."

His hand trailed past her hips to grasp and squeeze her arse, guiding her in a gentle rock against him. The slightest slide of his length through her folds made both of them gasp. Everything was too sensitive—the way her skin chafed against his, the scratching of her fingernails on his flesh, the way her hair tickled his belly while her head was bowed over—

He bucked his hips without thinking and she let out a little cry. Jon barely managed to still himself before impulse could seize him again, fearing he'd hurt her, but then she started rocking herself above him, grinding him as deep against the depths of her cunt as his cock could reach and he gave in.

They didn't really have a rhythm—it was frantic rocking and bucking, hasty and urgent. Sweat covered his body, plastered his hair to his forehead. He felt it bead and drip to pool at the base of her spine, and the heat between them was almost unbearable. The sheet beneath them quickly became damp.

New in the act that they were, Jon could tell immediately he wasn't going to last. She felt so fucking good around him and the anticipation building up over the past several months to this moment was just too much for him to handle.

He started to slide one hand back around to rub at her slit, but then Dany rose up and sank back down—barely halfway, but the way he was drawn out and pushed back into her was—

Jon's spine arched and he sucked in a breathless gasp as pleasure raced up and down in spine like a bolt of lightning. He squeezed her hips with bruising force, pulling her fully against him so he reached as deep as he could. Dany gasped as his length clenched, and then he was spilling inside of her, chest heaving and trembling from his release.

He was dazed, limbs like jelly and his mind muddled with the feel of her—of the liquid heat encompassing him in a moment that stretched into a brief eternity.

He came back to himself after a few moments, still weak, but hard enough that Dany was still grinding into him. His throat was dry when he swallowed, reaching for the hood of her cunt and rubbing his fingers against her the way she liked it.

Dany keened, squirming against his touch, but he sat up, wrapping an arm around her waist to keep her in-place so he could press and tease her nub. Her hands gripped his shoulders, forehead pressed to his and whimpering, gasping as she worked her hips in frantic jerks against his touch. He murmured nonsense to her, barely coherent until he felt her clenching around his softening cock. A shudder went up and down her spine and she sank her teeth into his neck, muffling a wail of pleasure.

She all but collapsed against him, her breathing ragged. Still weak and boneless himself, Jon wrapped his arms around her and fell back into the bed, panting with her atop his body. She shifted, dismounting him so she could curl up into his side. Jon glanced down and watched his seed dripping out of her folds and onto her thighs.

Dany pressed a kiss to her throat, to the bite mark she'd left that he'd no doubt wear for days to come. Valyrian left her lips without a second thought. "Love you, love you so much..."

"And I you, my sweet," he whispered back, kissing the top of her head. His hand rubbed up and down her hips and belly and ribs, up to her shoulder and back again. She snuggled against him as they caught their breath, leaving lazy kisses upon one another and murmuring sweet nothings.

When they finally regained some coherency, Dany looked up at him, smiling softly. Her cheeks were ruddy and warm, her fingers dancing over his chest like she was trying to feel every inch of him. "Well. That was something."

"Aye," he smiled back, but he felt a little anxious. "Were you—"

She lifted a hand to press a finger to his lips. Her voice was rather amused. "I can see you overthinking."

"I just want to be good for you," he replied, kissing her finger.

"And I you," she giggled. Her hand cupped his cheek. "The night is still young. We have plenty of time to learn each other."

"I might need a drink," he admitted. She laughed in response.

"Me too."

Neither of them moved immediately. The moment was too sweet. Curled up close to one another, the pair of young newlyweds were content to just rest and recover from their coupling. There would no doubt be more to come further into the night.

For now, the warmth between them, that sense of wholeness and love was all they needed.

On the day they were to sail out, Jon found Dany in the room that had become theirs. She was lost in her thoughts and memories, and jumped when he came up behind her to hug his lover—his wife. Jon pressed a kiss to the side of her head, taking her hands in his and holding her close.

"We'll come back one day," he promised. "Maybe we can even buy it from the owner permanently next time we're here."

"I know. I'll still miss it," she murmured. Jon turned her in his arms and kissed her sweet.

"There will be many days and nights for us here, yet," he whispered against her lips. Dany hummed agreement and kissed him back. They relished in the quiet peace of their home for a little while longer.

Then they said their farewells to Ser Jorah, the house with the red door, and departed Braavos.

They made their way to the strip of coastline where Jon had introduced Bellegere to Frostfyre. Once there, he, Dany, and Arya were rowed to shore.

He closed his eyes and waited, calling for his sister.

It took a few minutes. She'd been farther away this time than before. But she heralded her arrival with a roar, causing Arya's eyes to shoot skyward and grow wide. He could hear Davos' men yelling in panic on the ship.

Frostfyre flew over the trees from the east, slowing her descent as she approached and landing heavily. She shook her neck and let out a loose growl before regarding her Rider and his companions.

Jon smiled and turned to Ser Davos and the men who had helped row them to shore. They were pale, barely daring to breathe.

"I know my uncle trusted you with bringing Arya to us," Jon said, regaining their attention. "And I thank you for that. But this is the part where I warn you that if your men betray us and bring any harm to my people, then you get to deal with her."

Frostfyre leered at them, snapping her jaws threateningly. Davos nodded slowly. "They'll be perfectly safe with my crew, Your Grace. No worries to be had."

"Good. Forgive me—I have to be a little threatening," he shrugged, smirking. Jon glanced at Dany and Arya. "You two are flying with me. It'll take us five days to get to Winterfell. Maybe six."

Arya gaped. "Five days? That's it?"

"Frostfyre flies fast. She might be a bit slower with three people on her, but she's grown a lot since last I flew her across the Narrow Sea," Jon admitted. "We'll be fine."

He strode up to the dragon and lay his hand on her snout as she lowered her head to meet him. Frostfyre rumbled, purple eyes staring into his greys. Jon stroked her scales lovingly. "We're going back to Westeros for a while, sister. You remember, don't you?"

The dragon blinked at him slowly, letting out a soft growl. Jon gestured for Dany and Arya to come closer. Dany, of course, was accepted quickly. Frostfyre took a bit longer to inspect Arya, but she was one of the smallest humans the dragon had ever encountered, and clearly didn't garner much interest.

Arya was vibrating with energy as Jon guided her hand to rest upon Frostfyre's scales. "I'm touching a dragon. Jon, you are my favorite brother forever."

He smirked and inclined his head towards the dragon's wing. "You haven't even flown yet."

Jon looked past them to their escort. "Ser Davos, we'll be fine from here. Fair winds and good tides to your journey."

"And fair winds to you, Your Grace," Davos nodded, then motioned for his men to get back in the rowboat.

Jon moved to Frostfyre's wing with Dany and Arya, and the dragon knelt. He helped them onto her back with a bit of maneuvering. They had Jon in the center with Arya in front since she was smaller, and Daenerys holding onto Jon from the back.

"Everybody ready?" Jon prompted. Dany squeezed his waist in response and Arya nodded so fast Jon briefly feared her head might fly off.

He reached around Arya and clasped Frostfyre's spines with their hands. Jon intended to show his sister—she might have been his cousin by blood, but she was Jon's sister as much as Frostfyre—what it meant to fly a dragon.

"Sōves!"

Frostfyre roared, took three steps along the beach, and launched herself into the air with a powerful thunderclap of wind. Arya shrieked, half-frightened, half-gleeful as they climbed into the sky. Frostfyre's body began to rise and fall in powerful waves as Jon helped Arya guide the dragon west, towards the peninsula just south of the Fingers. A straight shot across the Narrow Sea.

Jon felt excitement rushing through his blood. The sun at their backs in the morning light, they flew for Westeros.

Eddard Stark sat in the Great Hall of Winterfell, now filled with the Lords of the North—all of whom had answered his summons. They'd arrived one by one, some before him, some afterwards.

Only Houses Tallhart and Reed were not present—Ned had ordered Ser Helman Tallhart to remain in Torrhen's Square, to fortify their defenses since the Iron Fleet was headed his way. He swore help would soon be coming, but he would not pull the man from his lands when they were under threat.

The raven he'd received in return had been grateful for Ned's understanding of the situation, and the Tallharts swore to follow whatever course of action the Warden of the North decided would best defend their home.

Lord Howland Reed, one of his oldest friends, was going to stay in his position at the Neck to monitor the coastline of Ironman's Bay and keep an eye on the King's Road for any sign of suspicious activity from Lannister allies. It would have been an extensive journey for Reed to begin with, so Ned had requested he remain in his territory for now. He would keep his friend updated with information via ravens.

And with luck, his nephew would arrive at Winterfell in the coming days.

With his Lords now gathered in the Great Hall, Ned rose from his seat at the high table to speak. Robb was at his left, Catelyn his right. Sansa and Bran were present as well, though Rickon was in his room with Maester Luwin—he was still too young for a war counsel. Lying on the stones in front of the table were six dire wolves, each seated before their masters.

Grey Wind, Ghost, Nymeria, Lady, Summer, and the huge, dark-furred male that had become Ned's partner—Blackfreeze.

As Ned stood, Blackfreeze—by far the largest of the wolves—let out a thunderous howl, silencing the hall in an instant. The Lords stopped speaking amongst themselves and turned to face the Warden of the North.

"My Lords and Ladies," Ned began. "Thank you for answering the call to arms. Not since the Mad King's reign have we faced such a threat to our lands. To our families, our honor, and our integrity. We face great threats that have come to us swift and sudden, and we must be unified if we are to keep our people safe."

There was a great cheer in response. The loudest always made themselves well-known. Jon "Greatjon" Umber and Rickard Karstark chief among them. Others were quieter—Roose Bolton never made a sound.

"In the southern lands, a false King sits on the Iron Throne. In my time at King's Landing, I grew suspicious of Robert's three children. I investigated and I learned a terrible truth: Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen Baratheon are not his true born offspring at all. They are bastards born of incest between the Queen regent, Cersei Lannister, and her brother, the Kingslayer. It was for this discover that I was declared a traitor to the crown. It was for this reason that I was forced to retreat back to my pack here in the North, lest I be executed for false accusations and see my daughters taken as hostages of the Lannisters."

There were shouts of uproar and anger towards the southerners. None of the Lords had really believed that their Warden was a traitor, and to hear that Ned, Arya, and Sansa's lives had been put at risk by the Lannisters only served to infuriate them. Never mind that Ned had been forced to slip away from King's Landing—they didn't call him a coward for that.

"I expect Tywin Lannister will not sit idly by while I am still called Warden of the North. But the lions are not the only threat we face. In the seas to our west, Euron Greyjoy has murdered his brother, Balon, and declared himself to be King of the Isles and the North," Ned emphasized, and even Roose Bolton made a sound of anger at this. "He has risen up in rebellion against Westeros and means to claim the Iron Throne."

Dacey Mormont scowled. "The traitorous squid thinks us so weak he can claim our lands and the Iron Throne? He is even madder than I thought!"

There were many cries of agreement, but Ned's face became grim.

"I wish I could agree with you," he admitted, and the hall fell silent. His bannermen frowned at their Warden's words. "But Euron Greyjoy has chosen this moment to strike for a reason: in the east, as you all have heard by now, a dragon has appeared. The spies in King's Landing informed me that Euron possesses a Dragonbinder Horn from the ruins of Old Valyria, which could control that dragon. He could wrest it from the young Targaryen King across the sea and use it against us."

Now many of their faces were pale. Greyjoy rebels they could handle—they'd crushed Ironborn rebellions before. The southern Lords as well could be bested with a good commander, which Ned Stark certainly was.

But the North had bent the knee to dragons long ago, for so long as they lived.

"We must crush Euron Greyjoy before he can take the dragon," Ned told them. "I dare not rely on the south to do this for us."

"Best we do the job right ourselves!" Lord Glover declared.

"That is my thinking, as well. But we have no navy to take the fight to the Iron Islands," he pointed out. "And we might not be able to capture enough ships from the Ironborn when we drive them out of our lands. They are superior seamen to any and all of us, much as I dislike admitting it."

"Then what are we to do?" Lady Mormont demanded.

Ned took a deep breath and glanced at Catelyn. His wife nodded slowly.

This was the moment.

"I have a plan," Ned announced. "And it is already in play. But before I explain it to you, I must tell all of you a story."

He looked out over the Great Hall, across the Lords and Ladies whom he had summoned.

"In all my life, I have only ever told one significant lie. I told it to my family, I told it to the men who followed me. I told this lie to the King himself."

Robb frowned and turned his head towards his father, as did the rest of his children. His bannermen stared at him in bewilderment.

"This all starts nearly sixteen years ago. My family received word that the Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen had kidnapped my sister, Lyanna Stark, and disappeared with her somewhere in Dorne. You all know what happened next. Lord Arryn called the banners after my father and brother were murdered by the Mad King. We rode for vengeance. We rode to reclaim my sister from the dragon who had stolen her."

There were growls and mutters of agreement. Some of these men had fought in those very battles alongside Ned.

Ned rapped his knuckles on the table to silence them. He took another breath. "But Lyanna Stark was never stolen from us."

Now the silence was palpable. He pushed on. "Oh, I believed she had been. All of us did. When we rode to war, we did it because we believed my family had been taken and killed by the dragons of the south. My brother and father were murdered by Aerys Targaryen, aye. But not Lyanna.

"When the war neared its end, I rode to Dorne and I found my sister in the Tower of Joy, guarded by three Kingsguard. Those men were not there to keep a woman hostage. They were there to guard royalty."

Ned swallowed. "My sister died in a bed of her own blood as she gave birth to Rhaegar's last child."

"So she was raped, as we feared," the Greatjon scowled.

"No," Ned shook his head. "She told me she had married the Prince. Rhaegar never stole her. They ran away together like star-crossed lovers."

The faces of his men were pale, disbelieving, and stunned.

"Lyanna died and I came back to the North as the Lord of Winterfell. I came home with her bones and her baby boy in my arms…whom I claimed as my bastard son."

He heard a strangled gasp from Sansa to the side before his men let out cries of shock. Blackfreeze snarled, silencing them again when they proved too rowdy to quiet down themselves.

"I never betrayed my wife," Ned confessed. "I took my sister's son as my own. Because I promised her I would keep the babe safe."

"You hid a Targaryen child in your keep!" Roose Bolton stared at him with something like disgust. "You lied to your King, the man you grew up with in Jon Arryn's care."

"Aye, I lied to him. I lied to him after I saw Robert Baratheon smile as Tywin Lannister brought in the remains of two little children, even younger than my Rickon," Ned growled. "I saw Aegon Targaryen's head caved in—a babe whose face was nothing more than a mess of blood and brains. I saw Rhaeneys Targaryen's body stabbed full of holes. I saw Elia Martell nearly cut in half after the Mountain raped her. Say I was wrong not to tell those men about my nephew, Lord Bolton."

The silence that answered his demand was enough.

"I named the boy Jon Snow," Ned continued. "I raised him here, with my children, in the ways of the North. But he was not alone when I found him with Lyanna. Rhaegar had left something behind in the Tower of Joy meant for his son: a dragon egg in the flames of the fireplace. As my sister died, the dragon hatched."

More uproar, and this time Blackfreeze had to loose another thunderous howl before the men quieted, though they kept speaking in hushed whispers. Ned pressed on before things could get away from him. "The dragon I sent beyond the Wall, where it could do no harm to our lands. When Jon was old enough, I started sending him to Castle Black and beyond to tame the beast, should ever he have needed it. As you no doubt have heard, he did, in fact, need it."

"He fled the North!" Protested the Greatjon. "He left us for the lands across the sea! For the other dragonspawn! He abandoned his kin!"

"He rode to save his kin!" Ned bellowed. "Jon took the dragon and flew across the sea to prevent Daenerys Targaryen from being sold to a Dothraki Horse Lord. Imagine a girl barely any older than my Sansa, sold to be a whore-bride for a barbarian, so her mad brother could get an army of savages. Would you have let such a thing happen to your family? Even those you'd never met? Do you doubt that I would ride to save your families, even if I did not know them? Is that not my duty as Warden of the North?"

"He is not the Warden of the North, My Lord," Lord Bolton pointed out. "It is not the same."

"He is the Head of House Targaryen," Ned said flatly. "It was his duty to keep that girl from being sold into slavery. I am only proud that he had the courage to leave Westeros on his own to do that duty—a boy of ten-and-four! A boy of ten-and-four flew across the sea to lands he'd never seen before, to protect someone he had never met, and fought a war on his own to safeguard his House! Tell me what that is if not courage?"

Ned sat down hard in his chair, half-glaring over the masses. "Aye, he left the North. He left to save what remains of his father's side of his family. But he is also half Stark. He is more his mother's son than you can imagine. Lyanna Stark's blood runs strong in him."

"Then where is he, if he is so loyal a Stark?" Lord Karstark demanded.

"He is coming here."

The Lords and Ladies of the North froze as Ned answered the question further. "When I sent out my ravens, I also sent my daughter, Arya Stark, across the sea to Braavos. Jon is currently living there with Daenerys Targaryen. Arya will find him, and I believe fully that he will return to us—that he will fly here with Daenerys and his dragon to answer the call to arms."

"That is treason!" Lord Glover shouted. "We have no need for dragons in the North!"

Many of the other Lords began to agree and Ned felt his heart sink. He was trying to think, trying to decide what else he could tell them to convince them of his decision, when Robb stood up at his side and roared above the din.

"SILENCE!"

The bannermen faltered and stared at Ned's son. Robb took heavy breaths, turning to stare at his father for several moments before he spoke again.

"I didn't know about this. All my life, I thought Jon was my brother. This all sounds completely fucking mad to me," Robb exclaimed viciously. "I have thousands of questions and I need them to be answered."

He jerked his gaze out over the bannermen. "But even if he isn't really my brother, I grew up with Jon Snow. The blood of the North runs through him maybe deeper than me. He looks more Stark than I do—I've heard that many times, and it never bothered me. Maybe he has dragon blood in his veins, but he is also a wolf! He has always been a wolf of Winterfell!"

Robb sounded completely and utterly infuriated, even if he wasn't sure who he was angrier at right then. "My brother grew up here with us. As one of us. You think he chose to be born as the son of a Targaryen Prince? You want to cast him aside for something he had no control over? Tell me, My Lords and Ladies, does my Tully blood make me less of a Stark?"

He glared across the hall when no one said anything. If anything, it only made him angrier. "ANSWER ME!"

Still, there was silence.

"If my father sent out the call to Jon, he will answer," Robb snapped. "And when he gets here, then you can hear him speak. You can hear out his reasons for leaving. You can hear out why he came back to help us. I promise that you will find the answer is the same as for any of you: he left to defend his family, and he came back to defend his family.

"And tell me this: when my brother comes back with a dragon who will fight for us, are you actually going to turn him away? My brother took on an entire Dothraki horde with that beast if the stories are true! What chance do the likes of Euron Greyjoy and Tywin Lannister have against the men of the North with a dragon behind us? King Joffrey will piss and shit himself like the coward he is!"

Roose Bolten again responded with disdain. "And what do you think is going to happen after we clear out all your brother's enemies for him, boy? He'll claim the Iron Throne for himself, put the dragons back in power."

"If you said that knowing Jon, My Lord, I'd laugh in your face," Robb retorted, causing the Lord of the Dreadfort to scowl deeply. "But you don't know Jon. Not yet. Here is what I tell you, men and women of the North! Wait for my brother to get here, speak to him yourself, and see if you can still make yourselves believe that his love for the House that raised him is false."

Robb sat back down, drumming his fingers on the table. He still looked half-furious, but his vitriol had settled with his impassioned spiel.

Ned looked out over the gathering of his bannermen. "If I've guessed right, Jon will be here with his dragon anytime within the coming weeks. It flies faster than any beast the sky has seen. When he reaches us, I ask you to listen to my nephew. See for yourselves if he is North enough for you to ride into battle with."

He stood up then. "That is all for now. Dismissed."

Robb was still reeling when he joined his family in the Godswood some hours after the meeting in the Great Hall. None of their bannermen had chosen to leave Winterfell after learning about Jon, but he could tell the likes of Roose Bolton and a few others were thinking about it.

Jon. Gods, Robb couldn't believe what he'd heard in there. His brother was a true born Targaryen son, not a Stark bastard. He was, for all intents and purposes, the rightful Heir to the Iron Throne!

Eddard joined them, bringing along with him Theon. The Greyjoy Heir had been in a state of fury ever since he'd learned that Euron had murdered his father, but finding out about Jon's true parentage had managed to shock him out of his rage for the first time in weeks.

Sansa stood up from her seat on the Heart Tree's roots when her father approached, rushing up to him. "Is it true? Everything you said?"

"Aye," Ned admitted quietly. "All of it."

"Why didn't you tell us?!" His daughter was distraught. "I treated Jon like—"

"Like a bastard?" Robb snapped, making Sansa flinch. "As if you should have treated him any differently in the first place."

"Robb—"

"No," he cut his mother off angrily. "That damned Septa of yours has spewed enough nonsense to fill my ears for a lifetime. To hell with that. Jon was my brother when I thought he was a bastard, and he's still my brother now that he's some long-lost Targaryen Prince."

"He's right," Theon agreed quietly, but Robb's scowl quickly twisted to the Greyjoy Heir. Though Theon was ten-and-eight, three years Robb's senior, he was undaunted by the older boy in any way.

"Oh, now you think so? All you used to call him was bastard this, bastard that," the boy snarled.

"Robb, that's enough," Ned said firmly, pushing on before his son could keep going. "The blame lies with me. I kept the truth from all of you. You couldn't have known."

"That doesn't make the way they treated Jon right."

"No, it doesn't. And they'll have to make that up to him however they can when next they see him," Ned agreed. "Let that be a lesson. Jon didn't choose the circumstances of his birth any more than you did—any of you."

Sansa bit her lip and nodded jerkily, eyes wet. Theon just looked like he was trying to shrink into himself under the weight of Robb's fury.

"Tell us the truth," Ned's eldest son demanded. "All of it, right from the start."

The Lord of Winterfell nodded, took a breath, and told them everything he could.

When he fell silent, the children needed some time to wrap their heads around everything. He waited patiently for them to do so.

Theon shifted his weight uneasily from one foot to the other. "This is all absolutely mad."

"Is it mad?" Sansa asked. "Jon flew off to rescue Daenerys from a barbarian. It sounds noble to me."

"I meant everything about this in general was mad, but I suppose that's slightly less mad," he admitted. "He's still crazy for flying across the bloody ocean to save a girl he'd met in his dreams of all things."

"That's romantic!"

Theon just glanced at Robb helplessly. The eldest Stark son shook his head. "You think he'll bring Daenerys here?"

"I know he will," Ned admitted. "Even before he flew off to help her, Jon was attached to her. What I heard from the spies in the Red Keep—well, they're getting closer fast."

"Isn't she his aunt?" Theon pointed out.

"Aye, but even our family has wed uncles to nieces and other such matches in the past," Ned told him. "And beyond that, they're Targaryens—even if only half of Jon is the blood of the dragon, loving his aunt is tame by their standards."

"It's still a little queer."

"You tell that to someone who is in love, see where it gets you."

Robb pursed his lips. "When will he get here?"

"Soon," Ned told him. "He'll come. I know he will."

"…I'm still furious with you, but I'm glad you told us the truth, at least," Robb said grudgingly. "But no more secrets, father. None like this, ever again."

"I only did it because I had to keep my sister's son safe," Ned replied. "You have my word that I'll never keep such a thing secret from any of you ever again."

"Good," the boy began to stride out of the Godswood. "Then I'd best inform the servants to prepare a room for our guests before they get here."

His brother was coming back. For all of Robb's fury towards his father and the idiotic behavior of their bannermen, he was thrilled by the prospect of seeing Jon again.

Cousin by blood, yes. But brother in everything that mattered.

Dany winced as she sat down next to Jon by the fire he'd started, rubbing at her sore legs.

They'd flown long and hard the past three days. She was thrilled to see Westeros from the sky, even if the territory they'd covered belonged almost entirely to the Vale. Only today had they crossed into the North. The problem was that riding Frostfyre as hard as they had was rough on the travelers. Her abdominal and leg muscles burned. Arya had nearly fallen off of the dragon by the end of that first day when they crossed the Narrow Sea.

They were currently camped just a bit north of Moat Cailin according to Jon, and a bit west of White Harbor. Being back in Westeros seemed to invigorate the boy, who knew and understood the wilds of these lands.

Arya was already curled up in a blanket, dead to the world once she'd eaten and drank a little. They couldn't exactly bring a lot of supplies on dragonback, save for a couple of packs Daenerys and Jon had carried with them. Thankfully, they'd gotten some extra food from Frostfyre—at least, whenever she deigned to bring the remnants of her kills back to them.

Today they'd been lucky. She'd found a herd of deer and consumed several of them, but brought back the remnants of a half-eaten doe. The dragon lazily granted them the last half of her kill once she was satisfied that her enormous gut was full.

Jon wrapped an arm around Dany's shoulder, rubbing her arm as he leaned his head against hers. "How are you?"

"Exhausted," she admitted. "Sore."

"Me too," he murmured.

Dany closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her nose scrunched up. "We need a bath."

Jon snorted. "Aye, that we do. I'll introduce you to the hot springs beneath Winterfell."

"Hot springs?"

"Have you ever seen such before?"

"I have not."

"You will love it," he told her. "The water is wonderfully hot. It melts away the tension in your muscles and bones, and it banishes the cold."

"It sounds lovely."

Jon hummed. He was quiet for a bit longer, but then he sighed. "We need to plan what we'll say to the Northern Lords. My uncle can only say so much to convince them."

"You don't think they'll obey their Warden?"

"I don't know. They're hard sons of bitches who don't forget a slight easily. 'The North remembers', as the saying goes. They're not going to just forget about what House Targaryen has done to them in the past two decades. What I do know for certain is that they are men and women of action. Perhaps we can find a way to prove we're on their side before they decide to let my uncle fight the Greyjoys alone."

Dany considered the conundrum for some time. Jon had told her about the people of the North many times before. She'd wanted to know as much about his home as she could—the lands, the people, their culture and history…It was enlightening to hear about the faraway Kingdom of ice and snow.

Given everything Jon had told her over the past several months—and sometimes Jorah, since he'd also grown up in the North—Dany knew more about the North than any other Kingdom in Westeros.

They were a hardened, stubborn people, as set in their ways as the unthawing ice that made up the Wall deep in the North. Until her ancestors came to Westeros, they had been ferociously independent and unwilling to give the southern Kingdoms any sort of dominance over them.

"We'll think of something," she murmured, taking Jon's hand and squeezing it tight. "We should talk to your family and decide on what to do. If we make any big decisions without the Warden of the North's approval, they might see us as would-be conquerers. That will only push them further away from us, don't you think?"

"Aye," he admitted. "You're right. I just worry…"

Dany twisted her head and kissed him sweet. "We'll be fine, my love."

Jon returned the affection, humming against her mouth before they nestled close together. Once they were as comfortably settled in as they could manage, sleep found them quickly.

Ned was in the courtyard of Winterfell some days after he'd told the North the truth of Jon Snow, dealing with some of his bannermen who continued to pester him with questions about his nephew.

He couldn't really blame them, even if they were driving him mad. He'd turned the heads of every soul in his Kingdom. Robert's Rebellion had been built on a lie, even if none of them had known it until the bloodshed was already over.

Of course, the questions about Jon weren't his only issues. Tyrion Lannister was still in his castle since Robb and Catelyn had suspicions that the dwarf was involved in Bran's accident somehow. Though Ned was more certain by now that Tyrion had nothing to do with it—especially since the "evidence" was a note from Peter Baelish to Catelyn, which Ned distrusted deeply.

That being said, he could hardly let Tyrion go home right now. Not with Joffrey and Cersei calling for his head, and Tywin's forces stirring according to reports from the south. More than that, it would be seen as a sign of weakness to his bannermen, who were already on-edge after Ned's declaration of Jon's true parentage. So it was that the dwarf was an unofficial hostage for the time being.

Now Theon followed Ned at his side, a scowl on his face. "Please, Lord Stark! Asha will side with us, I know she will! She'll choose us over Euron if you give her a chance!"

"I told you, I'll think about it," he answered. "It's been a long time since you've seen your sister, Theon. I won't judge her until I meet her, but right now she's in Euron's ranks."

"Why should we trust a squid in Euron's fleet?" Greatjon demanded, causing Theon to sneer at the huge man. "She's probably kissing his feet like the rest of them!"

"Don't talk about my sister like that!" Theon snarled. "Our uncle is a madman! For all I know, she's a prisoner on Pyke!"

"Or maybe she's fighting for your uncle like a good little Ironborn," Lord Bolton said mockingly. "Spreading her legs for whoever—"

"Shut up," Robb suddenly ordered.

Bolton's eyes flashed. "You aren't the Warden of the North, boy! You give me another order—"

"Quiet!" Robb roared, causing the whole courtyard to quiet and turn towards him, staring. But he wasn't fixated on the Lord of the Dreadfort. He held a hand up when Lord Bolton made to spit back a biting retort, pointing to his ear. "Listen!"

Ned stopped walking and cocked his head, mirroring his son. He heard the faint bustle of people around Winterfell, the wind blowing through the keep…but there was a strange series of thuds far and away, steadily growing louder…

"What is that?" Theon asked, frowning. "What's that noise?"

The quiet was suddenly shattered by a roar unlike anything Ned had heard before. His eyes jerked upwards, growing wide.

From the blanket of clouds above Winterfell, a great shape descended in the light of the sun, now falling past its zenith. The wings spread vast lengths, further than he could have imagined. It began to circle above the castle as it came lower to the ground, loosing another bellow to declare its return to the North.

"DRAGON!" One of his men yelled on the wall. Shouts and screams filled the air.

Ned's mouth fell open as he took in the sheer size of the beast, now flying so closely to Winterfell's highest tower that it darkened the ground beneath it. Old Gods save him, the dragon was over a hundred feet long, and its wings were twice that length from tip to tip. Its jaws were large enough to nearly swallow a horse from what Ned could tell. When it roared, it drowned out all other sounds, and its wingbeats pounded the air like thunder.

Suddenly, the stories of Jon taking on an entire Dothraki khalasar with this creature alone were a lot more believable.

Frostfyre wheeled around Winterfell several times as Ned shouted for his Lords to join him outside the south gate—he could see the dragon slowly descending there.

He stopped with Robb and Theon at his flanks, and Catelyn just behind him with Sansa, Bran—carried by Hodor—and Rickon. Their wolves joined them, the younger ones whining nervously until Blackfreeze silenced them with a snarl. At their backs stood the Lords of the North and their men, who watched the dragon with wary, fearful eyes as she lowered herself to the frozen earth.

She was just as Ned remembered, he reflected. The beast's scales were the color of freshly fallen snow, with grey frills along her neck like clouds filled with frozen bounty. Her claws were black as pitch, the eyes piercing, royal violets.

Frostfyre flapped her wings more rapidly as she neared the ground, kicking up a whirlwind before she simply dropped down onto her legs with a heavy impact. The wings folded up so the beast could stand on her clawed joints, and the dragon lifted her head high to shriek once again.

Blackfreeze howled in response at Ned's side, thunderous and loud, though even his cry did not drown out the world as the dragon's did. Even so, Frostfyre tilted her head at the wolf, eyes gleaming with unsettling intelligence.

Then the dragon…knelt, for lack of a better word. She held her body close to the ground, and Ned's breath caught.

He saw the shapes on the dragon's back shifting. Jon slowly helped Arya down Frostfyre's wing first, and then a girl with silver hair who could only be Daenerys Targaryen.

He didn't approach—the dragon was passive for now, but her lips were curled back into a sneer that exposed massive fangs, sharper than swords. Anxious as he was to see his daughter and nephew again, he was not stupid enough to approach Frostfyre.

She was not so little anymore that he could put her into a cage.

Daenerys slipped her hand into Jon's, and then they were approaching Ned with Arya on Jon's other side. The dragon lifted herself back up, but she continued to watch them all from above. Though she was not as tall as the eighty-foot high outer walls of the castle, she was an imposing presence nonetheless.

Arya was quick to rush up to him, leaping into Ned's arms and hugging him tight. "Father!"

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Welcome home, little wolf."

She pulled back, grinning widely, and he could see in her gleaming eyes that Arya had seen things she'd once only dreamt of. What must it have been like, Ned wondered, for her to ride a dragon just like Visenya Targaryen of old, the warrior Dragon Queen she'd so long admired?

He looked up as Jon approached, smiling large at the sight of his family. Even so, he dipped his head somewhat nervously. "Lord Stark."

"Gods, none of that, Jon," Ned ordered, releasing Arya so he could wrap Jon up in his arms and hug him tight. Jon was quick to return the affection, squeezing with strength he didn't have when he left Winterfell.

And taller—Lyanna's boy was almost as tall as Ned was now. He was coming into the impressive height Rhaegar's blood had passed onto him. There was a new scar on his face, just below his left eye, and he wondered what had caused it.

Jon pulled back and then glanced at his companion, who seemed somewhat anxious. "Uncle, this is my Queen, Daenerys Targaryen."

The title was significant—by naming her his Queen, Ned realized the two of them had married. He was only briefly startled by the revelation, but not at all surprised.

"My Lord," she curtsied, offering him a smile. Ned took her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles, returning a smile of his own.

"I'm glad to see you doing well, Your Grace," he murmured. "Welcome to Winterfell."

"I've longed to see this place for many years now," she told him. "Jon has told me so much about the North and his home."

She sounded excited, even if she still looked a bit nervous. Ned couldn't blame her for that, but he relaxed upon hearing her words. She wasn't here reluctantly. He watched as her eyes flickered to the dire wolves, and he saw no fear—simply curiosity.

Jon was fascinated, as well. "Dire wolves?"

"Aye. Found them not long after you left to go save Daenerys."

"They're beautiful," Dany exclaimed. "What are their names?"

Ned already liked her. "This one here is mine. Blackfreeze. He's the father of the pups. Robb's is Grey Wind, Sansa's is Lady, Bran's is Summer, Rickon's is Shaggy Dog, and Arya's is—"

"Nymeria!" Arya exclaimed, leaping for a wolf standing close to Sansa and Lady. She knelt as the dire wolf jumped for her, bowling the girl over and covering her face in licks.

Jon looked at the white wolf seated next to Blackfreeze. "And who is this?"

"Ghost," Ned answered. "He was the runt of the litter, a bit quieter than the others. He stayed with me for a time before Blackfreeze joined us."

Dany knelt and held her hand out to the white wolf, whistling to encourage him. "Come on, little one. I will not hurt you."

Ghost's tail wagged as he approached her, first sniffing, then licking her hand. Dany laughed, moving to pet him. "He's so soft!"

Jon was smiling down at her fondly and Ned could see that the boy was a goner. Daenerys had his heart in her hand, no questions asked.

His nephew turned briefly towards the dragon. "This is Frostfyre. She does not like strangers much, but she won't harm you unless you deserve it."

The dragon snorted out a cloud of frozen air, making a low rumble in her throat. Jon watched her for a few moments longer, and then Frostfyre turned in-place so she was facing away from Winterfell. Ned watched as the dragon launched herself back into the sky with a shriek. She wheeled around in the air, turning northward, and flew off out of sight beyond Winterfell.

"Where's she going?" Arya asked.

"Off to hunt," Jon answered. "She's hungry from the flight, and she likes her peace and quiet. She won't threaten our people, you have my word."

Ned nodded. His nephew knew the dragon well, and he trusted Jon's judgement. "Very well. Let's get you three inside, shall we? You look like you need some warmer clothes, and we have much to speak about."

"Thank you," Jon smiled at him. Dany stood up, pulling away from Ghost, and took Jon's hand again as they followed the Warden of the North into Winterfell with his family and bannermen.

Chapter Text

Chapter Sixteen: To War

They took the remainder of the day to rest from the long flight.

Once Lady Stark had found them both clothing that fit them properly, Jon and Dany slipped away to the hot springs beneath Winterfell. The springs were accessible by a tunnel attached to the Guest House, lit by torches and braziers.

They quickly stripped themselves of their traveling clothes and Dany toed the steaming water, briefly surprised by just how warm it really was. Jon was already stepping into the springs slowly, hissing at the heat until he'd settled in up to his shoulders.

"Gods, I missed this," he sighed. Dany watched, amused, as he let his head fall back and closed his eyes.

Though the steam-filled air was warm, she was still naked and longed for the heat of the water. Slowly, she eased herself into the springs as well. It was like taking a dip into liquid fire, all-encompassing and perfect. The tension in her muscles, the aches that had built up over the past week or so of long days flying on Frostfyre's back began to melt away.

She let out a little hum of satisfaction and leaned against Jon, content to rest against him. His hand found its way around her waist, keeping her snug against his side. Dany rested her head on his shoulder and he set his cheek upon her hair.

For a few minutes, they were content to simply be—to soak in the hot water and relish in the peace and quiet. Then Jon reached behind them, fumbling around the towels they'd set to the side until he found the brush he'd borrowed from Lady Stark at his request.

Dany blinked as he shifted them a bit so she was leaning back against his chest. She couldn't help but smirk when she felt his manhood becoming hard between their bodies and twisted, waggling her eyebrows mischievously. "Well, it seems you're not as tired as I thought."

Jon snorted, laughing. "I guess not. Wet your hair, will you?"

She took a breath and dunked herself beneath the water for a moment, pulling her into the silent void under the surface. She was back up in a second, taking a breath while her hair was plastered all over her head.

Jon carefully gathered her hair up behind her head and began to run the brush through the silver locks, working out knots and tangles that had formed from the near-constant windblown state it had been in over the past few days. Dany only allowed herself to be self-conscious for a moment as she realized what a mess they must've appeared to be when they first arrived on Frostfyre at Winterfell.

She quickly dismissed such feelings, realizing she was being silly. Nobody who rode a dragon as much as they had lately was going to look like the epitome of beauty when they arrived at their destination.

Dany closed her eyes as Jon worked the tangles out of her hair. A thought struck her in her lazy, comfortable state. "Have you done this before? You're good at it."

"I used to brush Arya's hair all the time," he murmured. "She's always off getting herself into trouble. Getting messy. I used to brush it for her so Lady Stark wouldn't suspect half the mischief she'd been up to."

She giggled. "You must tell me about it sometime."

"You should ask her yourself," Jon hummed, carefully working through a particularly stubborn knot. "I know she'd love to talk with you more."

Dany felt the same. The funny thing about riding on dragonback was that it didn't actually provide a lot of opportunity for talking. With the wind constantly whistling loudly in your ears, you needed to yell to make yourself heard. They'd tried that only for a bit before Frostfyre got tired of the shouting and roared to silence them.

None of the trio had been stupid enough to irritate the dragon any further.

And of course, after a long day's flight, they were too tired to do much more than set up camp, eat, and sleep.

There was time now to actually get to know her husband's family. Dany was looking forward to speaking with all of them. Hearing about Jon's adventures with Robb and Arya was one thing. Being here, where she could get to know the brothers and sisters he'd grown up with for most of his life—well, it was a different matter entirely.

Jon shifted again behind her and then he was working soap through her hair, massaging her scalp, and Dany felt like she could die happy.

"Gods, that feels good," she murmured sleepily.

"Mmm," she could hear the smile in his voice. He kept it up until she needed another rinse, and by then her hair was luscious and silky-smooth once again.

"Your turn," Dany told him, going for the soap while Jon dunked himself beneath the hot water.

It felt sweet and relaxing—caring for each other in such a way. It felt right.

Once they were both thoroughly cleansed and lulled to near-sleep by the hot water, the two of them got out of the springs, dried off, and changed into their new furs and warm, winter clothes. They were sweltering inside of them until they got back outside, where Winterfell's courtyard was dark and swirling with freezing wind.

But of course, that was just outside. By the time they reached their bedchamber—a room set up in the same wing as the rest of the Starks—they were once again a bit too warm for comfort.

Dany was quick to close and bolt the door. The fireplace was going, crackling low and warm with dim light. She barely waited for it to be locked before she was stripping herself of her clothes again.

It was too damned hot right now.

Jon clearly had the same idea. Inside of a minute, they were both once more naked as the day they were born and curled up beneath one of the furs on the bed together. Dany wrapped herself around Jon from behind, curling the length of her body around his back and nuzzling into his neck.

He reached up to his chest and held her hand, which was slack against his heart. "What do you think of Winterfell so far?"

"I think I didn't get to really see much of it today, but I already love it for the hot springs and the dire wolves," she answered quietly. "And this wonderfully fluffy bed."

Jon snorted. "All the beds here are fluffy. They all have furs."

"Will you show me around tomorrow?"

"Of course. We'll make sure you're dressed nice and warm—it's cold up here for a southern girl," he teased.

Dany's lips curved up and she planted a lazy kiss on his neck. She felt him shiver against her. "I think I'll be warm enough."

"Going to add a few extra layers?"

"I'm not sure I'll need them after I'm done fucking you in the morning."

Jon audibly swallowed and Dany giggled. Whispered into his ear. "Sweet dreams."

"Little minx," he breathed shakily, but she could hear his smile in his voice.

Dany closed her eyes, running her thumb lazily against his skin, and fell asleep to the warmth of Jon's body beside her.

Jon woke up in the morning with a strangled gasp, eyes flying open.

"Well, that was quick," Dany's voice teased.

His gaze whipped down to where his wife was leaning over him, his cock in her hand as she slowly worked him up to full mast. She leaned down, brushing her hair behind her ear as she lapped at him with her tongue before wrapping her mouth around the head of his member, eliciting another choked moan from her husband.

It wasn't the first time she'd done this particular action, but Dany had never woken him up in such a manner before.

She didn't spend too long pleasuring him with her mouth—the idea was to wake him up and get him hard. He could see her spare hand between her legs, rubbing at herself, and he was fully awake immediately.

They hadn't lain together since just before they left Braavos. Granted, a week or so wasn't that long, but they were still newlyweds eagerly exploring each other in the bedroom. Both of them were pent-up and hungry for their beloved.

Her eyes gleamed, full of mischief as she watched him. She let the head of his cock fall out of her mouth with a wet plop and her tongue darted out to lick at her lips.

Jon growled, thoroughly ruffled from her teasing, and lunged for her. Dany grinned unabashedly as her husband flipped them so he was on top of her. Now his head went down between her legs and she gasped as he serviced her with his tongue.

She was already slick with arousal. Jon pulled himself from the apex of her thighs, climbing up to bite at a nipple as he thrust into her cunt fully. Daenerys arched beneath him with a low cry, scratching at his neck and back as they built up a frantic pace in their morning tryst.

It wasn't long afterwards the he was resting his head upon her belly, hugging her close while she ran her fingers lazily through his hair. They were both sated, warmth and euphoria flowing pleasantly through their blood. They would have been content to lay there for some hours had they been allowed to do so.

A knock on the door shattered that dream.

"Jon? Are you awake?" Arya called.

"Well, of course he's going to wake up with you shouting like that!" Sansa scolded her younger sister.

Jon grumbled into Dany's tummy, causing her to giggle before he lifted his head and called back. "What?"

"Sansa and I are going to break our fasts. Do you want to join us? Or are you fucking again?"

"ARYA!"

Sansa sounded positively scandalized. Dany burst out laughing and Jon's crankiness evaporated at the sight of his wife so obviously happy. He felt a smirk come over his lips. "If I say aye, will you leave us be?"

"Aye to what question?"

"Does it matter?"

"No, I suppose not."

"Then aye!"

"Gross!"

Dany let out another peal of laughter and Jon grinned, pressing kisses to her belly until she swatted at him for tickling her. She called back to Jon's sisters. "We'll be out shortly, Arya!"

"Alright!"

Jon let out his own giggles as Dany lured him up to kiss him again, smiling largely against his lips. "Just as well, I'm famished."

"Well, we started the morning out right," he snickered.

"That we did," she agreed, beaming happily. Jon rolled off of her and she climbed out of bed to the pile of clothes on the floor they'd left the night before. He watched her bare arse as she walked, appreciating his wife's beauty unapologetically.

His eyes were drawn to her mound, flushed pink from their love making and dripping with his seed as she pulled her smallclothes on. Dany turned around, unsurprised to see him watching her, and smirked. "Later, my love. We've had our fun for the morning."

"We could skip the morning meal."

"I think not. We both need to eat."

His stomach growled at the prospect of food and Jon flushed. His wife giggled as he reluctantly accepted that she was right.

His mind was still focused on the recent and rather pleasant memory of their latest coupling. Jon pulled on his breeches and walked over to Dany as she pulled on her fur coat. She looked up at him as he took her hips in his hands, blinking curiously at his brooding expression.

"What? What's the matter?"

"Do you…" Jon pursed his lips and one of his hands slid 'round her hip to press flat against her naval. "We've obviously not been careful since we married…do you think—"

She seemed to read his mind and pressed her finger to his lips, cutting him off. Her eyes were conflicted, but soft nonetheless. "If your seed quickens in my womb, I shall never be unhappy about it, Jon. We both know our life together isn't going to be easy. There may never be a truly good time for such a thing to happen…so whenever my belly rounds with child, we must cherish it every chance we get."

"I know," he sighed. He leaned his forehead against hers, breathing deep the scent of her. "I just worry."

"And I love how much you worry. I love how much you care," Dany murmured and kissed him sweet, then took his hands in hers. "Come. We have a busy day ahead of us."

They broke their fast with the Starks in the Great Keep rather than the Hall, which was full of Lord Stark's bannermen at the moment. Jon showed Daenerys to a dining room used by their family on days when they wished for more private meals.

As soon as they arrived, a body covered in white fur padded towards them, tail wagging high behind it. Dany gasped with delight as Ghost rushed up to her and Jon, and she knelt to pet the growing dire wolf. "Well, hello to you, too!"

Jon grinned and knelt with his wife, just as eager to interact with the young, white wolf despite his more quiet approach. Ghost gave Dany a lick on her cheek and then shifted, rubbing his body against them so he could lick Jon next. Both of them came away with a coating of white fur attached to their clothing.

Not that either of them minded. Ghost certainly didn't care that he was covering them in fluff.

"Don't suppose the dragon is that affectionate in the mornings," Robb called to them from the table. Jon's brother was smirking at them. His own dire wolf was chewing on a bone by his feet—Grey Wind, wasn't it?

"Frostfyre likes to spend time with us, but she likes her space more than the wolves, it seems," Jon answered. He saw Arya sneak some of her food to Nymeria, which the young wolf quickly dispatched before Lady Stark took notice.

The whole of his family was already present. He and Dany barely sat down before one of the kitchen staff came in with fresh plates of food for them.

"Did you both sleep well?" Catelyn asked.

"Oh, it was perfect," Dany replied. "Spend a week flying on dragon back and camping on the ground, and an actual bed is a gift from the gods."

"I'm glad to hear it. You all looked exhausted yesterday."

"We flew as quickly as we could," Jon told her. "I wasn't sure how soon you needed us here."

"You got here faster than I dared to hope," Ned murmured, smiling at them. "But enough of that. I understand congratulations are in order. Arya said you two were wed not long before you left Braavos."

"That's right," Dany exchanged a beaming smile with Jon. Arya made a gagging sound and Bran giggled, much to Lady Stark's chagrin.

"That is hardly appropriate, Arya," Catelyn chastised.

"You didn't have to listen to them all night," Arya grumbled.

"ARYA STARK!"

Robb threw his head back and started cackling, and even quiet Ned chuckled as Jon and Dany both reddened. Sansa looked even more embarrassed about the subject than they did. Bran and Rickon were blissfully confused, but Cat only shook her head in exasperation.

"Already broke the new bed in?" Robb teased. "Looking to make some little dragons?"

Jon scowled. "Come on, Robb. We haven't even started eating."

"Speak for yourself," Arya snickered, biting into a biscuit.

"Well, I for one hope the two of you are blessed with as many children as you wish for," Ned told the pair of them.

"Thank you, Lord Stark," Dany said gratefully. "We hope for the same."

"Mm. Let us eat, and then we can discuss what awaits us today," Ned declared to his family.

They enjoyed their meal together for some time, talking amongst each other and catching up on some of the latest going-ons of their lives. Arya and Robb pelted Jon with questions about Frostfyre, while Dany managed to get Sansa, who seemed hesitant and nervous, to tell her more about Winterfell itself. Occasionally, Ned or Catelyn would interject briefly, but for the most part, the Lord and Lady of Winterfell were content to watch the younger ones interact.

Maester Luwin dropped by when they were almost done and handed Ned a few letters—no doubt word from ravens they'd received, as well as a few reports requiring his attention.

Ned shuffled through them briefly, but frowned at one of them. He passed the letter to Cat. "From your father."

Cat raised an eyebrow and accepted the letter, breaking the seal to read it.

Robb watched his mother as her brow creased into a deep furrow. "Not good news?"

"No," she admitted, setting the letter down and pursing her lips. "It would seem my sister is to wed Lord Baelish."

Ned's eyes jerked up from his scanning of the other letters. "Baelish?"

"Petyr apparently made quite the offer. Lysa accepted without even consulting my father. She just sent him a message saying she was to wed him in a few moons' time."

Jon felt absolutely clueless. "Who is Petyr Baelish?"

Ned sighed and filled him in.

Jon's mood worsened upon hearing that the snake of a man had been plotting against his family, and his fists clenched when Ned told them that Petyr had been essentially stalking Sansa when they were at the Red Keep. He might not have had a good relationship with his sister, but he didn't wish any misfortune upon her.

Sansa was pale when she heard what Baelish had been doing and looked rather ill. Catelyn as well appeared ashen.

"What happened to that sweet boy my father took in as a ward?" Lady Stark whispered, aghast.

"I do not know, my Lady," Ned reached for her hand, squeezing it gently in an effort to comfort her. "But the man he has become is dangerous, and he is no friend of ours."

"Would your dragon eat him?" Robb asked Jon tightly, as angry as his brother.

"I do not want her to become ill," Jon growled.

"Pardon me," Dany interjected, frowning a little. "But wouldn't marrying Lady Arryn make Baelish the ruling Lord of the Vale?"

"Not quite. He'd be acting Lord until Lysa's son comes of age," Ned explained. "But Robert is…he's always been a sickly child. And he's never been allowed to really grow up. His mother hovers over him to the point of madness."

"Lysa has not been of her right mind for a very long time now," Catelyn agreed softly.

"Baelish is in the Lannisters' pocket," Robb said. "If he takes the Vale, we'll have two enemies on our southern borders, never mind the Greyjoys to our west. We'd be surrounded."

"He won't be able to call the banners. He's acting Lord, not Lord Paramount."

"He'll be able to call them if Robert is dead. He'd inherit the title through his marriage to Robert's mother," Robb pointed out. An uncomfortable silence followed that troubling statement.

Jon rapped his fingers on the table. "Do you think your father would bring Robert Arryn here? If you suggested fostering him in Winterfell?"

"He might, but Lysa absolutely won't," Ned shook his head.

"Lysa couldn't stop him if Robert chose to leave," Sansa said. "He's the future Lord of the Vale. He outranks his mother. His bannermen would have no choice but to escort him to Winterfell if he ordered it."

"It could keep him safe," Jon agreed. "At least write to your father about the idea. If he can convince Robert to come meet his cousins here in Winterfell, it might save his life. Tell him what you can about what Baelish has been up to in King's Landing or hint at it somehow. As long as Robert is alive, he cannot call the banners against us."

Cat exchanged a look with Ned and he nodded slowly. "It's worth a try. Your sister certainly won't like it, but she cannot deny Robert if he decides he wants to go."

"I'll write my father a letter," she decided. "But if he says no, we might have to change our plans to deal with the Vale as well as the Westerlands in the battles to come."

"Not necessarily," Dany said slowly. "If we just need to get Robert Arryn somewhere safe, there is another option we can try to convince him with."

"What would that be?"

A smile curved her lips up as she turned towards Jon. "Do you remember how Visenya Targaryen won the fealty of the Vale?"

He tilted his head for a few seconds before a grin came over his face. "Aye."

"What story is this?" Catelyn asked anxiously.

Ned remembered well enough. "You are not kidnapping the young Lord Arryn on your dragon."

"It's technically not kidnapping if he accepts an invitation for a flight that just so happens to end up in Winterfell."

"Jon," Ned sighed.

He held his hands up. "It's only an idea in case we can't get Robert Arryn here through other means. I know we need to focus on Euron Greyjoy right now."

"Aye," Ned clasped his hands together, leaning forward on his elbows. "And we must have that discussion now before we formally introduce the two of you to the Northern Lords."

Jon nodded. "You've told them all about me, haven't you?"

"I told them the circumstances of your birth and why I chose to hide you. I told them why you left—to protect Daenerys from the Dothraki. It took some convincing, but they haven't revolted against us yet, so there's that."

His expression tightened. "That bad?"

"There were a number of critics who were not thrilled with the idea of Targaryens coming to the North, aye," his uncle admitted. "I had to play rather heavily on your Northern blood and that you grew up in this keep with my own children."

"All of which is true."

"They need to see it with their own eyes. They need to see you behave as a Northerner," Ned sighed. "You know how they are."

"Aye," Jon sighed. "Well, it's a good thing we're here to fight a war. We'll prove ourselves through actions."

"If they're half as stubborn as you've told me, I must say I am inclined to agree," Dany pursed her lips thoughtfully. "They're not going to just up and like us because we offer pretty words about how Jaehaerys and Daenerys Targaryen have come to help them. They're going to need to see us in action, fighting for their cause."

Catelyn raised a confused eyebrow. "Jaehaerys?"

Jon looked from Lady Stark to his uncle, who seemed just as perplexed by the name. "You remember my Dragon Dreams, don't you?"

"Dragon Dreams?" Arya echoed.

"They're prophetic dreams," Dany explained. "Only those with Targaryen blood experience them. They don't always make sense and they always seem to differ. Jon and I—we dreamed of each other for years before we met in-person. He only knew to come find me in Essos, to fight the Dothraki, because I told him what was going to happen to me in one of our dreams."

"I thought that was what happened," Ned murmured. "Your note was vague, but it was enough for me to guess that Daenerys must've told you what her brother was planning to do."

"Aye," he nodded. "That was the final straw for me. Viserys trying to sell her was—"

He cut himself off and Dany reached up to take his hand and squeeze it. Jon had to close his eyes for a moment. "I couldn't let it happen. I'm sorry I left only a note to explain, but I was desperate."

"We understand. We only feared for your safety."

He dipped his head and then pushed on. "Back to the Dragon Dreams—Dany and I have been sharing them since we were…what, four name days?"

"Mm," she hummed. "I was still living in Braavos at the time."

"When we met in-person, it wasn't long afterward that the…setting of our dreams changed," Jon explained. "We used to dream of each other outside of Frostfyre's cave beyond the Wall. We assumed it meant we were supposed to be together, the three of us. Once we were—Dany and I started dreaming of the Tower of Joy, in Dorne."

Ned grew very still. His adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly. "Your birthplace."

"We've been dreaming of them," he told his uncle softly. "My mother, Lyanna. And Rhaegar, my father. We've dreamed of Frostfyre when she was still so small. You never told me she was no larger than a cat when she hatched."

Catelyn's face was pale. The Stark children looked maddeningly curious, but their father was beside himself. "You got to see them."

"We have," Dany affirmed, nudging her husband to shake him from some of his melancholy. "Jon broods just like his father."

That got a smile to crack the solemn expression on his face. "Aye. You know, you told me Arya was a lot like Lyanna, but gods."

"Am I like her?" Arya asked curiously.

"Let's just say that if you ever marry, your husband will have his hands full," Dany giggled.

Ned snorted and Arya pouted, but she still seemed interested in the aunt she'd never met.

Jon bit his lip. "But we've gotten to watch them—we've seen the way they spoke when they were together in the Tower. Rhaegar thought for sure I would be a girl. He already had an Aegon and a Rhaenys, so he assumed I'd be female. His Visenya, I suppose, to complete the old set. Lyanna said I'd be male. She wanted to name me Jaehaerys."

"But she named you Aegon," Catelyn murmured, frowning towards Ned. "Didn't she?"

"She did," Ned confirmed gravely.

"They had the same idea we did—to hide Jon's identity to protect the Starks," Dany told them. "My brother had Dragon Dreams as well, or so we learned. He thought Frostfyre would hatch for him. A dragon in his dreams gave him a prophecy—'Father and Mother, and quickened by fire'. They assumed the dragon would hatch when the two of them had a child together."

"And she did," said the Warden of the North.

"Yes," Jon sighed. "But that wasn't the prophecy that came true for them in the end. Rhaegar had another dream before he rode off to war. 'Only death can pay for life'. That was the prophecy they fulfilled to hatch my dragon."

The room grew quiet for a time. Dany broke the silence in the end. "We aren't sure which one of them it cost to hatch the dragon. Whether it was Lyanna when she died giving birth to Jon, or my brother when Robert slew him at the Trident…maybe it was even both of them."

Ned was pale, his face empty of blood, but he steeled himself and tried to focus on anything but the prophecy that had left Jon an orphan. "But the other foretelling the dragon gave in your brother's dreams—who was that for then?"

"Maybe it's for us," Jon exchanged a glance with Dany. "Or it could be for our children, or our children's children. That's just it, we don't know."

"Best not to focus on it too much, then," Catelyn decided, frowning. "So…your name?"

"Rhaegar seemed to think House Targaryen might meet its end when Robert's Rebellion was finished," Jon answered. "He feared for his other children since Aerys wouldn't let them leave the Red Keep. If the worst happened, they decided to name me Aegon to protect the identities of the Starks—Lyanna meant to take me to the North if Rhaegar fell."

"And then I found you," Ned breathed. "And I took you North all the same."

"Aye. Neither of them wanted my name to be a lie…and my brother's name should be his alone, I think. So I've taken Jaehaerys as my name. I don't know why she didn't tell you what they wanted to name me in the end."

"She was so weak when I found her, Jon," his uncle squeezed his eyes shut, fighting tears. "Gods, she barely got the words out as it was. I don't think she had the strength to tell me what she wanted to name you."

Catelyn reached for her husband's shoulder, her touch a soothing balm in his grief. "She did the best she could with what strength she had left. Even if she couldn't give us the name she wished you to have, she sought to protect you with her last breath."

"She must have been a strong woman," Robb murmured.

"Aye," Ned let out a choking laugh. "And stubborn to boot. Lyanna—gods above and below, she could've dragged the whole of the Seven Kingdoms kicking and screaming to get what she wanted."

He needed a few moments to compose himself, regaining his fortitude. "You are certain then? That you wish to be known as Jaehaerys?"

"Jon has always been my name to those closest to me," he replied. "Aegon was the name I took to protect my family here in the North. Jaehaerys is the name my parents wished for me, and I think it must be the name I use for everyone save those I love."

"So I can just keep calling you Jon, then?" Arya prompted, looking a bit confused. "You having three names is already giving me a headache."

Jon cracked a grin. "Yes, little wolf, you can always call me Jon. Dany does the same."

"Good. I like Jaehaerys more than Aegon, but it's a mouthful. Jon is easier."

"It's his true name though, isn't it?" Sansa asked, frowning. "It's the name of a King."

"Call me Jaehaerys if you want, but I'm still getting used to it," Jon shrugged. "Jon is easier for the moment."

Robb drummed his fingers on the table. "On the subject of Kings…"

The room grew heavy again.

"We're not here to claim dominion over Westeros," Dany said flatly. "Neither Jon or myself want that. Certainly not now, in any case. King's Landing sounds like a nightmare the more we hear about it."

Ned nodded gravely. "That's putting it lightly. We barely escaped the Red Keep with my head attached to my shoulders. The Lannisters own the capital and the Iron Throne."

"What are you the rulers of, anyways?" Sansa asked curiously.

Jon took a breath. "We are the rightful rulers of the Seven Kingdoms. We are the Heads of House Targaryen, the Dragon King and Queen. The titles are there, but in reality, we don't rule much more than just ourselves. We answer to no one, but we have only a handful of people to follow us and nothing in the ways of lands. We certainly don't have a throne."

"You do have a damn big dragon, though," Robb pointed out.

"Frostfyre is our only saving grace," Jon admitted. "She's my sister and the most dangerous fighter in Essos and Westeros. Having her on our side is like having an army on wings."

"Your credibility as rulers in the Seven Kingdoms will be more respected when the dragon makes her strength known," Ned admitted. "It will certainly reignite the respect of old Targaryen Loyalists."

"We shall see," Dany looked up at the Warden. "What is the situation in Westeros right now? We've heard whispers in Essos, but beyond finding out that Robert Baratheon died and Joffrey rose to power, all we know is that Euron Greyjoy has risen in rebellion. We know that Joffrey and his siblings are illegitimate bastard children, but what else is going on?"

"The situation is dire, to say the least," Ned told her grimly. "Joffrey Baratheon is not Robert's trueborn son, as you've heard. They are bastards borne of incest between Cersei and Jaime Lannister. I've met some of Robert's bastard children in King's Landing, and the Baratheon blood runs strong in them. Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen are pure Lannister.

"As far as the wars to come, things have been going from bad to worse. As you can imagine, Cersei was not pleased that I escaped King's Landing with Sansa and Arya. She and Joffrey have accused me of treason by attempting to usurp 'the rightful King' and are calling for my head. Tywin Lannister will not take such a threat to his legacy lying down, either—I'm told the Westerlands are already beginning to stir and prepare for war against the North."

Ned took a breath. "Stannis Baratheon and his younger brother Renly are also taking up arms, but they are of the same opinion as myself—they believe that Joffrey is a bastard unfit to sit on the Iron Throne. Stannis has proclaimed himself the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms, and is preparing for war against the Crown. I meant to ally with him as much as I could, but I do not know if he will support us now that you have come to our aide."

Jon frowned. "Should you have called for us, then? You would have had the Stormlands…"

"Stannis would have had to fight through the Westerlands to get to us," Ned sighed. "It would have taken him months to reach us—if not a year or more. Had we been fighting the Lannisters alone, I might have tried for an alliance, but Euron Greyjoy's rebellion is a threat the North cannot handle alone, not with Tywin bearing down on us from the south.

"He commands the Iron Fleet, and now apparently has possession of a Dragonbinder Horn and a dragon egg. The Ironborn raids in addition to the Lannisters would have seen the North brought to ruin, and that would be before Euron hunted you down to try and steal Frostfyre."

"If the horn works in the first place," Dany pointed out, her eyes narrowed dangerously. "It's a relic of Old Valyria, built by Valyrian Dragonlords for Valyrian Dragonlords. It might not work at all since Euron doesn't have a drop of Targaryen blood in his veins."

"That may be," Ned admitted. "But the Crow's-Eye is one of the most dangerous men I have ever known. Though he is the maddest of all the Greyjoys, he is intelligent, adaptable, and ruthless. I cannot believe he would bring an old relic from a bygone era, from a dead civilization, to war without knowing for certain that it worked."

That brought an uncomfortable silence down upon them. Everyone in the room knew that if Euron stole Frostfyre with the Dragonbinder, she would burn the world down.

"We don't know for certain how it works. We don't know how much control the horn will give him if he successfully steals my dragon," Jon told them softly. "She might be able to fight its effects. But I'd rather bring the fight to him than let him ambush us. At least we'd have a chance to destroy the horn before he can try to steal her."

"That was my thinking. You'd have a better chance at capturing and destroying the horn before it can be used against you if you had the North fighting alongside you," Ned agreed. "And if he has somehow gotten the dragon egg he owns to hatch—well, Frostfyre will still be massive compared to a young dragon. She could pluck it from the sky with no trouble at all."

Dany exchanged another look with Jon, both of them silent for some time. "We'll have to plan around getting the Dragonbinder and taking the dragon egg. I don't think it will hatch for him, but if it does, Frostfyre will be able to capture it easily enough. It takes time for dragons to get as big as she does."

Jon nodded. "We can add it to the clutch we already have."

"Clutch?" Ned frowned.

Arya's face lit up. "They've got three dragon eggs of their own."

Robb's eyes widened. "Really? What, your dragon laid them?"

"No. Frostfyre hasn't laid any eggs. These eggs were meant to be gifts for Dany's wedding to Khal Drogo, before Frostfyre and I told him 'no'," Jon admitted. "They're petrified. Time has turned them to stone, but we can sense life in them. It's hard to explain—I think the Valyrian magic in our blood responds to them somehow. There's a way to make them hatch. Frostfyre seems to think so, as well, but we don't know how to hatch them yet."

"Where are the eggs now?"

"Traveling here with most of our people, on Ser Davos' ship to White Harbor."

"And who are your people?"

Jon's lips formed a tight line. "Dany's handmaiden, Doreah. Viserys got her with child before he died, and her daughter, Visenya, is my newborn cousin. I've already gone about legitimizing her. House Targaryen is too small to turn her away."

That seemed to surprise the Starks, but only briefly as Jon went on. "Besides them, Dany's other handmaidens, Irri and Jhiqui—they were formerly Dothraki before they came into our service."

He took a deep breath. "And two of our Knights, Ser Barristan Selmy, and Ser Jaime Lannister."

Ned's mouth fell open out of pure disbelief. "The Kingslayer—"

"We know," Daenerys cut him off, raising a hand. "Believe me, we know. We had the same thoughts you are no doubt having now."

"And yet you brought him into your service," Ned's brow furrowed deeply. "What convinced you?"

Dany took over and explained everything that had happened in Braavos, from the moment they were approached by Jaime, Barristan, and Prince Oberyn. By the time she was done, the Starks were frozen and bloodless. Well, most of them. Bran and Rickon didn't seem to fully understand the implications, thankfully.

The two youngest Starks looked bored, but the older ones were horrified.

"Wildfire," Ned's voice was hoarse.

"Still spread around King's Landing," Jon said grimly. "He told Robert and Cersei. Robert didn't listen, probably didn't trust him, and Cersei—I'm not even going to guess what goes through her mind."

"I didn't ask him," the Warden whispered. "I thought he was following Tywin's orders, just as the Mountain and Amory Lorch did when they murdered Elia and her children."

"How do we confirm this is the truth?" Catelyn demanded, her face was ashen.

"The only way to know for certain is to search King's Landing for one of the caches," Dany told her. "But Ser Jaime is useful to us even beyond that. He's already confessed to us that he and Cersei are the true parents of Joffrey and his siblings."

Robb glanced at his father. "If he testifies to the whole of the Seven Kingdoms that the King on the Iron Throne is a bastard, they'll all rebel against the Lannisters. Even Tywin and the Westerlands won't withstand that kind of assault."

"If we can get word that far south in the first place," Catelyn pointed out.

"Ser Davos will want to return to Stannis Baratheon's side once he leaves Jon's people with us at White Harbor," Ned answered. "He might be our answer. If Jaime writes a letter of confession to give to Stannis, he can do the rest of the work for us."

"It will still take months. Jaime won't arrive in White Harbor for another moon at least."

"We will deal with the Greyjoys for now and pray the Lannisters are slowed down by the Neck long enough for Davos to get word to Stannis in the south," Ned decided. "In any case, Tywin won't act recklessly. He knows Stannis is a threat. He won't be able to dedicate all of his forces to destroy us. That buys us time—maybe enough to deal with Euron."

"If it comes to it," Jon started hesitantly. "Frostfyre and I can raid the south. A single attack on Lannisport or Casterly Rock will force Tywin to withdraw."

Ned pursed his lips. "Something for us to consider if the situation worsens for us. I would rather not send you so far south without us to support you if it can be helped. For now—for now, we must confer with the Lords of the North, and see how they respond."

"Getting Robert out of the Vale before Lysa weds Baelish, Jaime Lannister coming to White Harbor, Joffrey, Cersei, and Tywin declaring war to the South, Euron's rebellion in our western seas," Robb listed off. "Have I missed anything?"

"Don't forget that we have to convince the Northern Lords that Dany and I are on their side. And we must convince them strongly enough that none of them will try to slit our throats in the night."

"They're too stubbornly honorable to do such a thing."

"Tell that to Roose Bolton."

"I will deal with Roose Bolton," Ned shook his head. "A man of the Flaying House he might be, but he's not a fool, even if he was rather outspoken when I told the North about Jon and Daenerys. Let's fill them in first, then see what comes of it."

He stood up, and with him, so too did the Starks and Targaryens, and the small pack of dire wolves. "I suppose we are ready, are we not?"

Jon took Dany's hand. Ghost, who was quickly becoming rather fond of them, stood beside the Dragon King and Queen. "I suppose we are. Shall we, then?"

Dany sat beside her husband at the high table in the Great Hall, looking out over the Lords of the North.

Ned introduced them as Jaehaerys and Daenerys Targaryen and then dove into his briefing, which consisted of much of their conversation over the morning meal a little over an hour ago. Several times the men in the North made their voices heard, loud with shock or rage, and always they were silenced by Ned's dire wolf, Blackfreeze, either with a snarl or a thunderous howl.

"That concludes the situation at hand," Ned proclaimed and sat down. The Hall was bustling with voices.

It was only a matter of seconds before the Greatjon made the most prominent elephant in the room known.

"Do you mean to rule over us?" Demanded the Greatjon as he stared at Jon and Dany with suspicious eyes.

"No," Jon replied immediately. "We came because my uncle asked us for help. I grew up in these lands from the time I was an infant, Greatjon. I will not see my home ravaged by Ironborn raiders. My dragon and I will burn Pyke to the ground before they get within a hundred miles of Winterfell."

That got a few grunts of satisfaction among the gruff North men. Roose Bolton, ever the shrewd man, wasn't quite buying it. "And I suppose you'll be wanting our fealty afterwards? Your price for helping us?"

"If the North thinks we've earned it," Dany told him smoothly. "My husband tells me the Northerners are men and women of action, and I rather like to think the same of us. Pretty words are worth little to your people, are they not? Everyone in this room knows not one of you will trust us—much less declare for us—until you see us fighting alongside you in battle. Or do I have it wrong, Lord Bolton?"

That won them a few more nods and a bit of relief amongst the Northerners. It was something of a novelty for them—speaking to rulers who understood the ways of their people.

"In any case, neither Daenerys nor myself mean to march on the Iron Throne anytime soon, if ever," Jon announced. "King's Landing and the Red Keep are cesspools of corruption and treachery—it is not a place either of us are eager to visit, let alone live."

"Where do you intend to live afterwards, then? Here?" Dacey Mormont asked curiously.

She and Jon exchanged glances. "Ideally, we'd like to reclaim Dragonstone, the home of our ancestors. But we understand it is currently under the control of Stannis Baratheon. That is a subject my husband and I will have to deal with when we meet with him, but regardless of where we find ourselves after Euron Greyjoy and Joffrey Baratheon are deposed, we intend to remain allies of House Stark and the North, if you will have us."

The voices had lowered to quiet murmurs. There was still some suspicion, but Dany knew they'd never quell it completely until they proved their mettle by fighting in battle.

For now, it would do.

"Are we satisfied with our newest allies for the time being?" Ned demanded. When he got no loud declarations against his question, he grunted and pushed onwards. "Good. Then we can discuss our plan to deal with Euron Greyjoy and the Ironborn."

"We'll need ships," Lord Manderly proclaimed immediately.

"Aye," Ned agreed. "We'll capture as many ships from the Iron Fleet as possible and take them for our own. We can establish a base at Torrhen's Square once we drive the Ironborn away from their shores, move south to Flint's Fingers, and then sail for the Iron Islands."

"And how do you propose we capture that many ships?" Greatjon called. "Last time, we had the Royal Fleet to help us."

"This time you have a dragon," Jon reminded him. "Frostfyre will drive the ships to shore, where the men will surrender or die. If they attempt to fight, they will learn quickly that dragonfire is more dangerous than any of their arrows."

"They might not surrender, Jon," Theon made his voice known tentatively. "These men serving my uncle follow the Old Ways."

"My dragon incinerated a khalasar of ten thousand Dothraki screamers, Theon," Jon answered. "If I can make a renowned Khal surrender, I can make an Ironborn fleet bend or burn."

The young Greyjoy pursed his lips and nodded. "I hope you're right. Depending on how dedicated they are, they might destroy the ships before we can capture them."

That got some worried voices. Lord Glover spoke up. "How are we to capture Pyke if we don't seize enough ships?"

"We'll have to build ships if we cannot capture enough," Ned proclaimed. "It will take time, but we cannot leave Euron Greyjoy alive and to his own devices. This time, we must break the Old Ways of the Ironborn forever. There cannot be another rebellion after this."

"How do we manage that?" Lord Bolton asked.

"Euron and his brother Victarion will be executed," Ned stated flatly. "As will any other Ironborn who refuses to submit."

"We did much the same the last time Balon Greyjoy rebelled," the Lord of the Dreadfort reminded him. "And that clearly has not worked."

"No," Jon admitted. "And you are right in thinking it will not last. Three times the Ironborn rebelled for their Old Ways before they were stopped, and now they have done so again. They will never be satisfied. One day, they will decide to raid and rape and pillage once more. If that is to come to an end forever, the Old Ways must be destroyed permanently."

Theon frowned. "How?"

"With Fire and Blood," Dany answered softly.

No doubt they would have asked further questions on the rather ominous statement, but the doors opened and a servant hurriedly ran around the room to Lord Stark with a letter in his hands. There were some quiet words exchanged as the Warden opened the sealed message and read it over.

He set it down after a moment and his face was set in a grim scowl. "Ser Tallhart has sent us a new report on the status of the Ironborn invasion. He had several of his scouts head west along the Stone Shore to search for ships seeking to flank us and they confirmed a small fleet of eight ships is heading north—possibly towards Bear Island."

Dacey Mormont stood immediately, fury in her eyes. "Bastards! I must return home to stop them from ravaging my island!"

"You would never make it there in time," Jon replied, holding a hand up when she made to venomously protest. "Send a raven to warn them, but as for the ships—leave them to Frostfyre and myself."

Dacey faltered, as did the rest of the hall. Jon turned towards Lord Stark. "Your men will be marching to Torrhen's Square in a few day's time, yes? I can take Frostfyre with Daenerys and we can scour the coastline to destroy any ships from the Iron Fleet we come across. We'll stop them before they can reach Bear Island and rejoin the army afterwards."

Ned furrowed his brow in thought. "How long would it take you?"

"If we leave tomorrow at first light, we can be at the Sunset Sea by tomorrow evening," Jon replied. "Then Dany and I will fly Frostfyre south along the coast to the Stone Shore. We could take a few days just to be thorough, but even then…we could regroup with the army in a week's time at the most."

"That's it?" Robb demanded, stunned.

Dany smirked. "Frostfyre can fly across the Narrow Sea from Essos to Westeros in a single day. She is the fastest creature on the face of the earth. No horse, ship, or bird can compare."

The Northmen looked stunned, but Jon focused on Lady Mormont. "Send a raven to your home, warn them of the Ironborn heading their way, but tell them we have forces moving to stop it. With any luck, they'll only need to be on guard."

Dacey exchanged a glance with Lord Stark, who nodded. "I will show you to my solar once we are done here. We can have a raven flying within an hour."

"So be it," she decided, and her eyes bored back into Jon and Daenerys. "I must put my faith in you, young dragons."

"Your trust will not be misplaced," Dany promised. "The enemy will be burned and sunk long before they reach your island."

Jon nodded, and there was fire in her eyes and her husband's.

Jon fell back into bed with a groan after the long day they'd had.

After getting the raven out to Bear Island, he and Dany had spent no short amount of time in war council with his uncle, Robb, and the Lords of the North, planning their military movements up to Torrhen's Square. Their forces were to be mustered and on the move in two days time, and of course he and Dany were flying to deal with the Ironborn moving in on Bear Island first thing tomorrow.

"I'm going to miss real beds," Jon decided.

Dany laughed and moved to join him once she had changed into her nightgown, but a scratching at the door gave her pause. She opened it slightly and then laughed again when Ghost pushed his muzzle through the crack, trying to get inside. Jon smirked as his wife let the young wolf into their room, closing the door behind him.

Ghost wagged his tail and licked Dany's cheek when she knelt to pet him. "I'm going to miss you, too."

Ghost leapt silently onto the foot of the bed and curled up after making sure Jon got a few loving licks from him. Dany climbed in beside her husband, snuggling him beneath the furs as the dire wolf made himself comfortable.

"Well," Jon's voice was teasing. "I was planning on getting you out of that gown, but…"

Dany's eyes were glowing with laughter. "Another night, my love. It's not every day we get to sleep with a dire wolf to guard our rest."

"I wonder why he's so attached to us," he murmured.

"I think it's you," she confessed, and he blinked. "You've got wolf's blood in your veins as much as the blood of the dragon. All of his siblings and his father have taken a Stark for a partner—maybe he has chosen you for his."

Jon was quiet for a time. "I do not know if Frostfyre will like sharing."

"Frostfyre cannot guard your rest as he can," she pointed out, smiling. "Nor is she quite as wonderful a bed companion."

Jon grumbled and nosed at Dany's neck. "Not every night, gods forbid."

He felt her amusement as pleasant vibrations in her throat. "No, certainly not. I must make sure my poor husband is not left feeling unloved."

He hummed in response. Then sighed. "Is it wrong that part of me wishes for you to stay here, where you are safe and warm?"

"No," she admitted. "But I will not be happy without you here at my side, nor do I wish to let you fight without me. Though I am not yet as able a warrior as you, I will no longer stand idly by while you put your life at risk."

Jon nodded and squeezed her gently, to which her hands came up to carve her fingers through his sable hair. He sighed at the contact. "I love you."

"And I you," Dany kissed the top of his head.

"When this is over," he murmured. "I want to take a few days where we spend time with my siblings. With my family. Maybe by then, Doreah and Visenya will be in Winterfell with us. You scarcely got to meet them outside of all this…politicking and war council."

"I know. I would be happy to spend time with all of them. They seem to be wonderful people."

Dany suddenly pulled his face up to press her lips against his. Jon sighed into her mouth, whispering against her when they paused to breathe. "There is a wolf on our bed."

"He does not need to go anywhere for me to kiss my beloved," Dany breathed back.

No, he did not, Jon silently agreed as he pulled Dany closer and kissed her sweet, for as long as they could before sleep took them.

Chapter Text

Chapter Seventeen: A Frozen Scream

Jon looked out over the Sunset Sea and squinted against the fading light.

He and Dany had flown straight to the coast, well ahead of where they were expecting the approaching Ironborn fleet to be at the moment. It meant they had more ground to cover, but at least they'd be less likely to miss the ships.

Frostfyre was currently elsewhere, no doubt hunting after the journey to the ocean. She seemed to sense they were here to do some hunting of their own—there was an energy and aggression to her he'd not seen since they anticipated the Dothraki assault in Pentos.

Jon turned back to their small camp. Dany was sipping some fresh water they'd melted from the snow around them, sitting in the little tent they'd managed to pack. They'd managed to bring some actual gear with them for the trip rather than what little they could carry in the bags upon their backs.

It had taken some doing, but Ned insisted they go prepared. So it was that Jon had strung together a makeshift litter of sorts to carry their supplies, which he managed to secure upon Frostfyre's back with her spikes as anchors. She'd been curious, but barely even noticed it. The weight was nothing to her and if she felt their supplies strapped and pinned to her spikes, she didn't acknowledge it in any way.

He wished they had the time and knowledge to make an actual saddle for the dragon, but Frostfyre was huge and her body was not like a horse's. If that wasn't enough, there wasn't a soul alive who remembered how to make a saddle for a dragon. That secret may very well have died out with the last of the Dragon Riders before Jon came along.

He imagined it would certainly be possible to design a saddle for Frostfyre if they could find records of the old Targaryen saddles, but the most prominent issue was that his dragon was still growing. In fact, as far as he knew, dragons never truly stopped growing. Only Balerion the Black Dread had ever reached some peak of growth as a dragon, and that was after he was already more than two hundred years old. Frostfyre was still a teenager.

Dragons grew fast when they were young, he remembered from Aemon's lessons at Castle Black. It seemed to be largely dependent on how much food they had readily available, and apparently was also influenced by magic.

He wasn't sure on the details of the latter. Frostfyre had grown rather slowly in her early life according to his uncle Benjen, and had only been a bit bigger than the great cave bears beyond the Wall by the time she was seven years of age. Aemon had theorized that the terrible cold was hampering her, and Jon also wondered if the difficulty of finding food in that frozen world had stunted how quickly she grew.

And yet by the time Frostfyre and Jon were both twelve, she had gone through such a growth spurt that she dwarfed even the great mammoths said to roam in the deep North. She'd been more than seventy feet long when Jon first met her, and her growth had only escalated in the years that followed.

So something had changed in the five years before Jon met Frostfyre. Was it the magic at the Wall finally influencing her? Some other source of magic? Had she somehow found a glut of food that let her grow so large? A combination thereof?

So many questions. Frostfyre had only rarely gone hunting with Jon when they were together beyond the Wall. She seemed reluctant to take him too far away from the cave, where Benjen and Alliser would camp while he was learning to fly with her. From what he'd seen, she would hunt deer, elk, and moose easily enough. Even bears were not safe from her hunger when she could find them.

But there were plenty of those to find in the immediate territory near her lair, and Benjen had said she used to fly much, much farther away. Perhaps there was more food to be had elsewhere beyond the Wall?

The snapping of fingers broke Jon out of his thoughts.

Dany was smiling up at him, amused. "You were lost in your own world."

"Sorry. Did you need something?"

"Just wanted to see what was on your mind," she confessed.

Jon sat down next to the fire, poking at the logs with a stick. "I was just thinking about what Frostfyre must have been eating to get so big beyond the Wall. There's game out there she can hunt easily enough, but sometimes I can't believe how large she got before we finally left Westeros."

Dany hummed thoughtfully. "Maybe we should fly her up there one day and see where she takes us. It could be interesting."

"It's also freezing like you wouldn't believe," Jon laughed. "We'd need more layers than this, that's for sure."

"I'll take your word for it," Dany looked out over the Sunset Sea. "How are we going to find them? There's a lot of water to cover."

"Bear Island is a good distance northeast of us," Jon gestured further up the coast. "They won't be anywhere near it just yet. We'll sweep down the coast in loops, I think. Each morning, well circle north and then curve around south, just in case they manage to sneak by us in the dark."

"And when we find them?"

"If we spot any ships, we'll fly down to make sure it's actually the Ironborn and not a merchant or something," Jon shrugged. "If they're Ironborn, we strike. They'll have golden krakens on their sails. Should be easy enough to recognize."

"Hmm. I don't suppose there's any chance we can capture the ships?"

"No," he shook his head. "There's only two of us and I would never trust them not to stab us in the back at the first opportunity. We'll have to sink them."

"You won't hear me arguing about it," she murmured. "These Ironborn sound like the Dothraki, in a way."

"They're pirates. They raid and rape and pillage like the Dothraki," Jon admitted, scowling. "Or at least, those who follow the Old Way do. But we can't exactly ask each and every one of them what they believe, or trust them to be honest. The Dothraki have a perverse code of honor, but they don't stab each other in the back. They don't get any prestige in their khalasars for doing such things—it's dishonorable to them. These pirates have no such code."

Dany's eyes narrowed. "So we burn them into the sea."

"Aye."

"Well then," she reached for some of the dried strips of meat they'd packed for the trip. "Let's eat and get some rest. We'll need it."

The wind blew by and she briefly shivered. Jon cracked a smile. "Cold?"

"Yes," Dany smirked at him. "Your Queen needs you to keep her warm, Your Grace."

"Then my Queen shall be warm," Jon chuckled, shifting over to sit beside her. They huddled together for warmth, wrapping a blanket around their bodies as they ate before it was time to rest.

At first light, they were in the air again. Frostfyre let out a bellow once they were ready to go. Jon and Dany had packed up their supplies, strapped them back to the spikes upon her back, and taken off.

The great white dragon soared over the ocean. Though the coast remained in sight, they were a fair distance out, and able to scour a large chunk of territory as a result. They flew in loops back and forth, closer to the shore and then farther out to make sure they didn't miss any ships anchored by the calmer waters of the shallows.

The first day yielded nothing.

On the second day, they found their quarry.

It was just after midday that Dany patted Jon's arm urgently. He turned towards her and she pointed down to the east, nearer to the shore perhaps two miles out. Jon followed her prompting for a few seconds before he spotted a collection of sails, which almost blended into the dark waters beneath them save the small spots of bright color adorning them.

He met Dany's eyes and nodded, then he turned Frostfyre towards the ships. Dany's arms wrapped around his waist more tightly as the dragon began to descend, flying closer. They came upon the ships in no time, approaching from above so as to disguise themselves with the sun at their backs.

When they were so close Jon felt like they wouldn't be able to hide much longer, he pushed Frostfyre on to increase the pace. She let out a roar as they descended, wings pumping to pick up speed.

He could hear vague shouts as they flew directly over the ships, and he spotted men moving frantically on the decks. But Jon's eyes were only for the golden krakens adorning the black sails.

They'd found their prey.

Frostfyre pulled up as they wheeled around, intending to come at the ships from behind. Jon could see the Ironborn mustering their men, but he had no intention of giving them a chance to fight back.

Not that they had a chance to begin with.

Frostfyre came down close to the waves, her wingbeats sending up sprays of salt water as she screamed a challenge. Jon felt heat racing through his blood and as his dragon quieted, he let out a battle cry.

"Dracarys!"

The dragon made that low purr in her throat, and then white dragonfire bathed the ocean. Steam immediately filled the air as she vaporized the sea with her heat, and then they strafed clean over two of the Ironborn ships.

The first vessel took the blast directly and quite literally exploded. Men screamed as the fire consumed them, leaping overboard in fruitless attempts to save themselves. Most of the pirates caught in the core of Frostfyre's infernal breath were turned to ash instantly.

The second ship had started to turn by the time Frostfyre came around for her attack, but its starboard flank was blown wide open by the inferno. The vessel was already going over by the time the dragon began to climb again.

Jon wheeled Frostfyre in a loop to the west, intending to broadside the other ships. None of them were in any sort of line, but he wanted to keep them on their toes—never giving them a certain pattern to follow as his dragon destroyed their ships.

Once more she came down, blasting another ship into smithereens. Jon heard arrows whistling by and grimaced in annoyance. He spotted two of the missiles bounce harmlessly off of Frostfyre's face as she finished her second run, and watched as her head snapped towards the offending vessel. Her violet eyes blazed angrily.

The dragon twisted so sharply that Jon and Dany were almost thrown off of her back. His heart lurched as Frostfyre shrieked in rage, but a grin found its way onto his face.

Oh, they were in trouble now.

Frostfyre dove for the ship whose archers had been unlucky enough to actually get her attention. Instead of blowing it wide open with her fire, she flared her wings out upon approaching the ship and her clawed feet came forward like a gigantic bird of prey.

The Ironborn screamed as Frostfyre's talons dug into the wooden hull of their ship, and with sheer power even Jon hadn't realized she possessed, the white dragon heaved the ship near-clear of the water and dragged it into another vessel, upon which she dropped it.

The target of her wrath was flipped upside-down and crashed onto its sister vessel, splitting both of them in half with the impact and setting them to sink in an instant. Frostfyre roared with vengeful satisfaction.

More arrows were starting to fly, and though Frostfyre ignored these, Jon was getting tired of them. He didn't want to prolong this until one of the archers got a lucky shot and hit him or Daenerys.

"Dracarys!" Jon shouted again. Frostfyre came at the Ironborn fleet from above this time, her armored belly utterly impossible to pierce with the Ironborn arrows. She bathed the sea in flames, consuming vessel after vessel until only one remained.

Jon wanted something from this particular ship before they destroyed it. He patted Frostfyre's neck and shouted another command he hadn't tried since they learned to fly together north of the Wall.

"Ūndegon!"

Catch!

It was a skill that had needed some practice to perfect—devastating a target with dragonfire was easy. Their first attempts at this had been abysmal failures, for his dragon hadn't quite understood exactly what she was supposed to be doing. Fortunately for them, Frostfyre was a quick learner.

Benjen had helped him to catch a rabbit once and Frostfyre had watched as Jon let it go and caught it again, keeping it unharmed each time and repeating the command. It only took two tries before she got that intelligent gleam in her eyes that told him she knew what he was going for.

She would catch the target in her claws, but would not immediately kill it.

Teaching her to restrain her terrible power had taken some doing. Several unfortunate undulates had not been lucky enough to avoid being skewered by her claws the first few times, or had been crushed when she landed.

The dragon snarled and looped around, eyeing the last ship like a shark to search for a suitable target. Jon let her take the lead—this was her hunt.

It didn't even take a minute before she shrieked and lunged towards the ship, her claws once more splaying out to snatch at one of the Ironborn. Jon heard a muffled scream, which didn't fade as they pulled away from the ship, and grinned.

Now they had a prisoner.

"Dracarys, Frostfyre!"

His dragon let loose one final bellow as she curved around, that deadly purr an ominous warning in her throat before white flames consumed the last ship. The vessel was blasted apart, its sail burning to nothing atop the waves. Jon could see a few men clinging to debris, but they were no longer a threat. If they didn't drown, they'd burn to death or die some other way.

Satisfied that the threat was dealt with, he wheeled Frostfyre around back to shore.

As soon as they landed upon one of the cliffs, Jon dismounted with Dany and unsheathed his sword. She pulled free her dagger, which was better suited for her slighter frame.

Frostfyre had to land carefully when she had live prey in her claws. It essentially involved dropping them just above the ground, then landing quickly and lightly pressing her foot upon them before they could flee. "Lightly" being the key word. If she wasn't delicate enough, she could snap bones like twigs and perforate organs.

It was not an easy task for so large a creature.

Jon heard a quiet groan of pain as his dragon curved her head to inspect the body pinned beneath her massive foot claws. He approached slowly and knelt beside the Ironborn, who only had one arm free. The man was ashen-faced, his mouth spotted with bile, but he wasn't bleeding as far as Jon could tell. He was sick from the capture and flight, but not dying.

With a word, Frostfyre stepped off of the Ironborn fully. He'd be badly bruised and Jon would be surprised if he didn't have a broken rib or two, but he was alive.

Unwilling to leave their prisoner to his own devices, Jon slammed the pommel of his sword into the man's temple, rendering him unconscious.

"Dany, can you get some of the ropes from the bag?"

"Yes," she answered. He heard her murmur to Frostfyre as Jon flipped the man onto his back and began to pat him down, searching for weapons and anything of value. Three daggers, a short sword, (which he promptly threw over the cliff) some coin, and little else. As far as he could tell, this Ironborn was a simple soldier.

Still, he might be useful. His appearance would hopefully be enough to reassure the Lady of Bear Island that her home was no longer in danger.

But for now, Jon didn't want him to get any ideas about escaping whenever he woke up with what was likely to be a terrifying memory and a rather delightful concussion.

Robb gently urged his horse to move a bit faster, so as to keep up with his father near the head of their army.

They'd left Winterfell some days ago. Progress was steady, from what Robb could tell. He'd never marched with an army, but his father seemed to be satisfied with how much ground they'd covered thus far.

Unfortunately, he had not anticipated the dwarf currently riding a pony between them.

"I still cannot quite believe a dragon came to Winterfell and nobody let me see it," Tyrion Lannister grumbled, and not for the first time. "The only thing I wanted for my name day as a child—there and gone before I could even lay eyes upon it!"

Robb snorted. Tyrion had been dragged along with them, just in case the Lannisters got any funny ideas in their heads and they needed a hostage to barter with. They were confident he wouldn't try to flee, however—in addition to wanting to see the dragon for himself, Ned had also informed the dwarf that his brother was heading to White Harbor under Jon's orders. That particular detail, the promise of seeing Jaime again, had been what swayed him to behave.

With Ned all but confirming that Petyr Baelish was not trustworthy in the slightest, Catelyn had dropped her suspicions of the stunted Lannister. Robb doubted his father actually trusted the dwarf, and neither did he for that matter, but Tyrion wasn't the most terrible company. He was smart and witty now that he had some rather great things to look forward to.

He also had a sense of humor that would make Catelyn's ears bleed, but Robb found him to be rather amusing all things considered.

He still needed to find out how that joke about the jackass and honeycomb in a brothel ended.

"You'll see the dragon soon enough," Ned assured him. "Jaehaerys will be rejoining us within the week."

"Jaehaerys," Tyrion muttered, shaking his head. "As if the dragon wasn't enough to leave my poor illusions of reality in tatters. You are infinitely more devious than I gave you credit for, Lord Stark."

Ned grimaced. "I'm not sure if devious is the right word for what happened."

"You concealed a Targaryen male in your own keep as your bastard son, paraded him right under the noses of every noble who ever visited your domain, and hid a dragon beyond the Wall. And you kept it a secret until the time was necessary for you to bring the truth to light. Devious is, in fact, the word for it, and you are decidedly better at deception than I would ever have guessed."

"Then consider it a rarity. I have no love for cloaks and daggers in the shadows."

"Thank goodness for that, because if you were so inclined, you could probably rule the world with such deviousness," Tyrion remarked.

Robb smirked. "You say you are quite fond of dragons, Lord Tyrion. What can you tell me about them?"

"Did your…cousin not regale you with tales of the beasts? He does have one, you know."

"He's my brother in all the ways that matter," Robb corrected. "And unfortunately, he didn't get to say much. His visit was brief—the bloody Ironborn sailing for Bear Island forced him to leave earlier than I'd have liked."

"Fair enough. Anything in particular you want to know? Dragons are a rather vast subject."

"How big do they get?"

"Depends on the circumstances," Tyrion admitted. "By most accounts, dragons don't truly stop growing until they die. The biggest dragon known to Westeros was Balerion the Black Dread. It was said that he could swallow a mammoth from the cold wastes of Ibben."

Ned frowned. "I've seen the dragon skulls in the Red Keep. Balerion's is gigantic, but only Vhagar ever approached that size. I suppose the majority died young, then."

"That's part of the reason," said the dwarf. "But there's more to it than that. Dragons do not do well in captivity. The three dragons Aegon used to conquer Westeros ranged for hundreds of miles, hunting and flying free as they were meant to. Then the Targaryens started chaining them up in the pens of the Dragonpit. They had plenty to eat, yes, but they didn't fly nearly as much."

"You can't exactly have them fly across the countryside eating all the livestock in Westeros," Ned pointed out. "The smallfolk would not appreciate that."

"Perhaps not, but it is a fact that the dragons started to grow more slowly after they were chained up," Tyrion reminded him. "By the time Balerion died, he was so large and weak that he could only fly thrice around King's Landing before he had to land. He wouldn't even have made it to Dragonstone."

"There must be more to it than that, though," Robb protested. "The dire wolves live in the kennels at Winterell, and they're still growing bigger."

"Your wolves are considerably smaller, have a maximum size they can reach, and get plenty of freedom to wander around," Tyrion nodded towards Grey Wind, Ghost, and Blackfreeze, the three of whom were stalking at the head of the army beside their masters. "But you're right, it wasn't just that. Oh, chaining them up stunted their growth, but many Targaryen dragons still grew to great sizes, even if none of them ever reached the same prestige as Balerion."

"Then why?"

"Think on this," the dwarf began. "The dragons of Old Valyria lived and thrived for thousands of years, but over a mere century and a half, they all died out here in Westeros. Hard to believe, isn't it? The greatest of all creatures simply dying out over the course of a few generations? What could cause such a thing? They had all they needed, and yet they all died out, dragons young and old."

Robb frowned deeply, racking his mind for an answer, but the mystery was just that. There didn't seem to be any obvious explanation for the doom of the dragons.

"What did all the dragons of the Targaryen dynasty have in common once Aegon completed his conquest of Westeros?" Tyrion prompted.

"…King's Landing," Ned answered. "They were all staying at the Dragonpit."

"Correct! They were all living in the same place, were fed the same food, and were cared for by the same handlers whenever a Targaryen wasn't riding one of them. And yet those who didn't die in battle with one another seemed to just slowly fade away. Rather unusual ending for such fiery creatures, isn't it?"

It clicked.

Robb's gaze twisted sharply to the dwarf. "Foul play?"

"I suspect so," Tyrion shrugged. "I don't have any proof, but it's the only logical answer that makes any sort of sense. There were many people who were displeased with the Targaryens suddenly amassing all of Westeros under their rule. But the Targaryens had one thing all those other Lords and Ladies simply didn't: dragons. Get rid of the dragons and they're just people."

"How do you go about killing dragons without anyone noticing?"

"Well, few weapons can so much as scratch beasts the like of Vhagar or Miraxes. Unless you get a lucky shot through one of their few vulnerable spots, like the eye. The smaller ones could have been brought down with a scorpion bolt before their armor got too thick, and the babies of course—well, babies of most species can be killed by just about anyone with a pointy stick."

"Their food," Robb suddenly realized. "Poison?"

"Probably. Likely in steady doses to gradually weaken them. Nothing so extreme as to be noticed immediately. Perhaps it would have eventually been noticed if the Dance of Dragons never took place. But by then, dragons were dying left and right, usually to each other. Within a few generations, the last dragons were no larger than cats. The last one that hatched was deformed and died shortly after its birth. Perhaps the poison that weakened its mother affected the hatchling within. Perhaps that is why the other eggs never hatched."

Robb shook his head slowly. "That's mad."

"A terrible and quiet ending to the most grand of all creatures," Tyrion agreed, inclining his head.

"Not an ending," Ned corrected, and his gleaming eyes were looking to their west. "Not yet."

"No. Perhaps an interlude would be—"

Tyrion was cut off by a thunderous bellow overhead, which resulting in no small number of panicked horses and men. The dwarf himself was bucked off of his pony, landing on the ground with a thud that knocked the breath out of him. Ned snatched the reigns before the animal could flee.

From the west, Frostfyre flew over them, letting out another shriek to announce herself to the army of the North. The vast, white dragon made deep thunderclaps of air as she flapped her wings, wheeling around towards the back of the army and then flying towards the front.

Tyrion was staring up at the aerial titan with huge eyes, stunned into speechlessness. Robb dismounted his horse with his father, expecting their march to pause for a short while at least. He could already see some of Dacey Mormont's banners approaching as she rode up to the front of the company.

Robb helped the dwarf stand as Frostfyre descended, flapping her wings heavily before she landed with a loud thud. The dragon lifted her head and bellowed, which seemed to be her version of greeting them. It made Robb's ears ring, and he wondered how it was that Jon and Dany were not yet deaf.

Frostfyre was not a quiet creature.

He grinned as he spotted his brother dismount, but frowned as Jon walked around to Frostfyre's leg and began to untie something attached to the limb. The dragon twisted her head, growling lowly as Dany began to remove their gear from her back.

"Seven hells," Tyrion breathed. "I knew you said it was big, but…"

"Believe me, I thought the same thing when I first saw her," Robb admitted. "Best we stay back until they sort things out."

Dany was quick to take their gear from Frostfyre's back—it wasn't like they had much with them in the first place—set it on the ground, and then approached Jon at the dragon's leg. Robb wondered when a Queen had last been so hands-on in Westeros. She certainly didn't shy away from physical work as he knew Cersei did.

Gods forbid if the Queen regent of the Seven Kingdoms had to so much as lift her own pitcher of wine.

Robb's humor faded as he watched Jon and Dany drag a man away from Frostfyre by his arms. Their prisoner appeared to be unconscious, but his face was a rather sickly shade of green.

They dumped him at Ned's feet and dusted their hands off. Jon let out a sigh. "Hello."

"You've been busy," Robb's father remarked as Dacey arrived with her small company of soldiers. She dismounted quickly and frowned at the man, who Robb had quickly realized was an Ironborn soldier.

Frostfyre seemed content to take a moment to groom herself, if the nibbles at her scaled wings said anything. Robb hoped she wasn't going to get too comfortable there.

If the dragon decided not to move, the army would have to go around her. They wouldn't play that sort of game.

Arguing with dragons generally didn't end well, he was sure.

Dany brushed her windswept hair back behind her head and looked up at Dacey. "We sunk the Ironborn ships. Eight boats set aflame and destroyed. Bear Island isn't under threat anymore."

She seemed more than a little relieved from what Robb could tell, but she just nodded. "Thank you. And who is this?"

"I had Frostfyre snatch him off the last ship we sunk," Jon explained. "He didn't take to flying very well, and I doubt he's anyone especially important, but he might know something about where the Iron Fleet is moving right now."

The man let out a pitiful moan, to which Robb's brother winced. "He's also probably got a few broken bones. Frostfyre grabbed him with her claws. People are small and she's…well…"

They all looked back at the positively gigantic dragon, who steadfastly ignored their stares and kept up on her grooming. No further explanation was necessary.

"You taught her to take prisoners?" Ned asked incredulously.

"I taught her to catch things without killing them. Mostly," Jon shrugged a little helplessly. "It took some practice. She crushed most of the deer she caught the first few times. Landing isn't easy when she's got something caught in her claws."

"How did you teach a dragon to catch something alive?" Tyrion sounded bewildered. Jon raised an eyebrow at the sight of the dwarf, but he answered the question nonetheless.

"With a rabbit."

Dany smirked at the flabbergasted expressions on their faces and looked down at their captive. "Well, we have one Ironborn prisoner with us now. What are the odds he'll talk?"

"After what you put him through, I don't think it'll take much to make him speak," Ned decided. He glanced from Jon to Dany, and smiled proudly. "Well done, both of you. Let's get you some horses—unless you wish to keep riding the dragon?"

"She needs to go hunt and rest for a bit," Jon said, shaking his head. "We'll take the horses. I'll send her off. We don't need to stop yet, do we?"

"No," his uncle shook his head and then looked at Dacey. "Would you like to guard our…guest, or should I?"

The Lady of Bear Island glared at the prisoner with smug satisfaction. "I'd be quite happy to keep an eye on him."

"We stripped him of his weapons," Dany told her. "Those we could find, anyways—a short sword and a few knives. You might search him again to be sure he's not hiding anything else."

She nodded and gestured with her men to seize their prisoner. The Ironborn victim managed to get only a brief stab of sympathy from Robb.

The man truly did look and sound absolutely miserable. Frostfyre was not gentle with prisoners, no sir.

Jon turned back to said dragon and approached her, whistling to get her attention. Robb glanced at Tyrion as the dwarf stared at the vast, white creature with reverence. He couldn't help but share that sense of awe as Frostfyre lowered her skull to meet Jon.

His brother was murmuring something to the dragon, who let out a quiet trill that didn't suit a creature of such immense stature.

"Gods, I saw the skulls in the Red Keep, and I collected pictures and sculptures of them when I was a boy," Tyrion told him absently, still captivated by Frostfyre's majesty. "Now I see it with my own eyes and it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

"Even more beautiful than that woman you told me about with the great big tits from Dorne?" Robb asked teasingly.

"Different sort of beauty. Don't ask me to compare a dragon to a nice pair of tits. That's not fair."

Robb barked out a laugh at the answer.

By the time the army came to a stop at the end of the day, Jon was exhausted.

They'd flown hard with Frostfyre to rejoin the army so soon after destroying the Ironborn fleet, and once he'd sent the dragon off to hunt and rest, they'd ridden on horseback for several hours before stopping to make camp at last. The good news was that the cooks were making actual food and they had a much nicer tent than the one they'd strapped to Frostfyre for their hunt.

Jon was lying on his back in the furs they'd set up, more comfortable than they'd been since their stop in Winterfell. His belly was full, he was warm, and he was tired. He'd sleep hard tonight and would be ready to march with his family first thing in the morning.

Dany joined him not long afterwards. She'd been busy with something when he came back to their tent just a few minutes ago. Jon opened his eyes as she made her way over to him and curled up beside her husband. She let out a sigh as he wrapped an arm around her, tossing a leg across his waist.

Jon kissed her sleepily, humming from the soft, heady warmth. When they parted, she tucked her face into his neck and took a long, deep breath.

"How long until we get to Torrhen Square?" Dany asked.

"A little less than a moon," he mumbled. "The roads are a bit nicer, so we might get there sooner than later."

"Mm," she hummed. She was quiet for a moment. "I started my moon's blood today."

Jon looked down at her. Dany sighed. "I know a march to war isn't a good time, but I was still hoping just a little…"

"Me too," he admitted quietly.

"We should be more careful," she told him. "At least until the war is done. I know we talked about it at Winterfell, and I still feel the same way I did then, but it's…not worth the risk right now, I think."

"I agree. Gods, I'd fly you straight back to Winterfell."

Her lips rose into a little smile. "I know you would. So until the fighting is done, you are not to finish inside of me anymore."

"What if I forget?"

She smacked his chest lightly, drawing a laugh from them both. Jon squeezed her closer and planted a deeper, more loving kiss upon her lips. "We'll get there. I promise you that. When the fighting is over, I want to take you back to Winterfell and marry you again underneath the Heart Tree. We'll feast and celebrate with my family and the people of the North, and then I will make love to you every night afterwards so your belly rounds with our babe."

"Promises, promises," she murmured in a sing-song voice. "Let us sleep now, Jon. I am weary, and my moon's blood is not making me more comfortable."

"Is there anything I can do?"

She was quiet for a moment and then reached around for his hand, pulling it down to her abdomen. With her guidance, he slowly, gently worked at the spots that were causing her the most discomfort.

"Just like that," she sighed.

Jon did not stop until she had slipped off to sleep, and only then did he let himself go to join her in their dreamless slumber.

Tywin Lannister generally did not enjoy surprises. He was not a man of great humor, nor did he especially care to be. Gifts were not a surprise most often, and when they were, he found them to usually be unnecessary.

Jaime disappearing was not a good surprise. His second son's dwarfism was also a surprise he did not take to.

To say nothing of the Dragon King across the Narrow Sea.

There were a few notable exceptions of course. He did rather enjoy when a plan worked out better than he'd expected. Usually the only surprises the Old Lion actually liked were surprises that involved his enemies dying faster than anticipated.

Today was not a good surprise.

Amory Lorch, summoned from Harrenhal, strode into Tywin's latest meeting with his other military commanders, standing at attention at the foot of the table. The Lord of Casterly Rock raised an eyebrow. He had certainly not called the Knight here for this briefing.

"What do you want?"

"The Silence just made port."

Tywin's other eyebrow joins the first. "You are certain?"

Lorch nods. "The Crow's-Eye himself is demanding you speak with him on the docks."

Perhaps the mad pirate was even more mad than Tywin had anticipated. "He is demanding for me to behead him. Very well—let us greet our new prisoner."

He led his men out of the room and to the stables, where they would ride their horses to the dock for this unexpected meeting. Tywin barked orders, setting the forces of Casterly Rock and Lannisport into motion.

Euron Greyjoy was a madman, but Tywin still didn't like this. The Crow's-Eye was too cunning to just walk into the enemy's hands. Whatever he was doing here, he had a plan to get out after making such a brazen move.

Tywin's eyes scanned the horizon as they descended from the Rock to the docks of Lannisport. The sky was covered by clouds, but the sea was empty. There was no entourage of Greyjoy vessels from the Iron Fleet to back Euron up.

He frowned deeply with suspicion. For what purpose was the madman here?

It took them some time to reach the docks of Lannisport, but when Tywin arrived he was satisfied to see that it was sufficiently locked down. Several ships were surrounding the Silence, ensuring it was blocked from leaving whenever Euron wished.

He dismounted his horse and stalked towards the eerie vessel with Gregor Clegane and Amory Lorch at his back, as well as two dozen of his bannermen in lines behind the pair of Knights. Tywin scowled at the sight of the ship in-question.

The Silence was a galley with a single mast, black sails, and dark red hull—supposedly painted as such to disguise the blood that was so often spilled upon it. On the prow was a mouthless maiden of black iron with long legs, a slender waist, high breasts, and mother-of-pearl eyes.

True to its name, those on board the ship were silent. Tywin had heard the stories—Euron's crew were all mutes from throughout the world, whose tongues Euron himself had removed.

Still aboard his ship, watching him march down the docks, was the Crow's-Eye. A tall, pale man with black hair and a dark beard, and a patch over his left eye. What was visible was a glittering blue eye, nearly glowing in the shade of the clouds above.

Tywin studied him briefly, then made a show of regarding the Silence and all of his forces surrounding the lonely vessel. Only then did he look up at Euron Greyjoy, who said nothing all the while.

"Well?"

Euron tilted his head slightly. "Well, what?"

"You are in my port," Tywin said simply, as if speaking to a child. "Surrounded by my ships and men with no way out. Unless your Iron Fleet can make itself invisible, I saw none of your ships waiting nearby to support you. You are alone."

"So I am."

"Hm. Well, if that's all, I have plans to invade the North that must be seen to. Once Ser Gregor puts your head on a spike outside my castle walls, I'll throw the rest of your body after your ship when it is sunk."

Euron's mouth curved upwards into a smile. "You aren't any fun, Old Lion."

"If I wanted fun, I could let my men carve you into little pieces and watch them be thrown to the seabirds," Tywin replied, his voice dry.

"Now there's something I haven't tried before," the Crow's-Eye said thoughtfully. "I should try that when I get my hands on Eddard Stark. See how long it takes for the birds to eat a wolf."

Tywin snorted. "You seem to be under the delusion that you are leaving my lands alive."

"I'm in the waters. Are the waters yours?"

"Now that you mention it, they are, in fact, mine. And I am tired of seeing your ship in one piece at my docks."

Tywin lifted a hand, ready to order his men to storm the Silence and put the Crow's-Eye out of his misery.

"Are you sure these waters are yours? These lands?" Euron prompted. "They look like mine. I could have sworn I own that lovely castle up on the hill."

"I'm afraid it doesn't suit a man of your tastes."

"We shall see," Euron shrugged. "I have come with a proposal."

About damn time. "And only now do you speak of it."

"Support me as King of the Seven Kingdoms," purred the Crow's-Eye. "And I shall let you live."

Tywin didn't have time for this nonsense. He turned away from Euron. "Kill them all."

"Pity."

Tywin glanced back as Euron waved a hand, and for a moment the man wondered if he had an archer or crossbowman hiding somewhere on the ship to take him out, but nothing like that happened.

A sound filled the air of Lannisport like nothing he'd ever heard before—it was the screaming of a thousand souls, and as Tywin heard it, he felt as though his bones were aflame and searing his flesh from within. His forces all cringed when they heard the noise, and he scowled, fighting the very unwelcome sensation in his bones.

The screaming rang out long and loud, and then faded to silence.

Euron lifted a hand up towards the sky.

What answered was something like a blizzard given a voice, a shriek like a howling stormgale that brought to mind the coldest winter storms the world had seen. Tywin's gaze snapped upwards and the blood in his veins froze cold as ice.

A beast dove from the gray clouds above Lannisport, unlike anything he'd ever seen in his long life. It was bright blue—the color of frozen crystals, and seemed to be carved from ice itself. Frozen wings spread out wide, casting a vast shadow. They looked like frozen feathers, yet they were sharp as blades. A pair of powerful legs were tucked in beneath its body with razor-like claws of ice clenching at the ready. The tail was long and ended in a thick structure not unlike the flail of a chain.

The head was perched on the end of a short neck and adorned with a crown of icy horns, blunt and as frozen as the rest of its body. The only thing giving it away as a living thing were the shining blue eyes, glowing unnaturally bright in the low light.

Then the ice dragon parted its jaws and its freezing scream filled the air. A cyclone of silver-blue wind burst free of its mouth and the temperature seemed to drop instantly.

Euron turned away from Lannisport towards the ships in the bay and swept his hand in their direction. The dragon shrieked and dove down on great blue wings. Tywin could only watch as its frozen breath turned the sea and ships to ice, leaving a great swatch of frost in its wake. Any of his men caught in the dragon's cold fire met their doom immediately, trapped in ice and dead in seconds. There were no screams as they were consumed, just an eerie silence.

The dragon then landed on one of the ships it had frozen, spitting more of that cyclonic, freezing breath all around it until it was standing on a solid platform of ice. When it stood on both legs, tucking its wings to its side like a gigantic bird, it towered over those beneath it from nearly thirty feet up. Its mace-like tail swung casually to the side and decimated the prow of another ship.

Euron looked back to Tywin, his arm once more rising. The dragon fixed its gaze on the Crow's-Eye, who held its power at his command.

What he directed it towards, the beast would destroy.

"Now then," Euron said rather more cheerfully than Tywin was entirely happy about. "Shall we discuss terms? Or shall I leave you, Casterly Rock, Lannisport, and all your men behind as frozen corpses?"

The Old Lion had not taken his eyes from the ice dragon. This was not the same beast Varys had reported dwelled across the Narrow Sea. The Dragon King's mount was a fire dragon. Those creatures he knew about—there were records of them dating hundreds of years back.

Tywin had never heard of an ice dragon. What gods-forsaken place had the pirate traveled to in order to acquire such a beast? Clearly he could control it with that wretched Dragonbinder Horn—that must have been the screaming sound he'd heard before the ice dragon had appeared. So it wasn't just some mummer's toy used to inspire fear.

What little he'd seen of the beast was enough for him to believe it was too powerful for him to fight. The creature was a hundred feet long, easy, and he had little doubt that just a few passes over his home would see Lannisport and Casterly Rock buried in ice.

He could try to kill Euron before the dragon struck, but the Crow's-Eye would undoubtedly order the dragon to kill Tywin himself before the deed was done. He could not die yet. His family's legacy was in jeopardy.

He could only win this if he played the long game with cloaks and daggers. At least he was familiar with that.

Mind racing and fighting a scowl, Tywin dipped his head. "Very well. Let us discuss terms."

Chapter Text

Chapter Eighteen: The Crow's-Eye

Exile from Pyke and the Iron Islands meant little and less to Euron Greyjoy.

One of his younger brothers was throwing a tantrum over Euron fucking the man's wife. So what? The whore had begged for it. Eventually.

Well, he didn't care. He'd been getting bored of Westeros, anyway.

He took his crew of thralls aboard the Silence as he always did and sailed off to explore the world. Let Balon and Victarion squabble for power on those wretched islands. They could have them, for all Euron cared. The Seastone Chair never meant anything to him.

So he set sail. He first went south around Westeros, occasionally raiding some unsuspecting fishing village on the coast when it so suited him. The Dornish put up a better fight than the cunts in the Reach. Their women were more fun, too. He was pretty sure he'd fathered a bastard or two on that stop.

Not that it mattered. Euron wasn't going to raise whelps like Balon or Victarion wanted to. "Legacy" and all that nonsense was pointless in his mind. If someone wanted his seat, they'd have to claw it out of his cold, dead hands. Make him bleed for it. If they couldn't wrest his position on their own strength, they deserved to die when they failed.

With Westeros behind him, Euron sailed east across the Summer Sea. Lys was an enjoyable stop. Nice whores, though they were expensive. He decided he wouldn't stop there again for pleasure. No cunt was worth that much coin.

He didn't bother with Volantis yet. Euron had longed to sail the Smoking Sea through the ruins of Old Valyria. Few sailors dared to test their mettle in those waters—fewer still survived.

A couple of his men caught Greyscale while they passed through the ruined landscape. Euron cut their throats and threw them overboard. Idiots should have known better than to try and touch anything in this cursed place.

Nobody else had been stupid enough to search for treasures after that.

Euron himself had no use for treasure, in any case. It was part of the reason why his men followed him so loyally—he was not the typical Ironborn Captain who took the lion's share of plunder. He'd take some coin for himself now and again, but his men got most of the loot. They were welcome to it.

Well-paid men were generally loyal men.

Of course, he'd had one or two try to betray him over the years, so they could take all the plunder for themselves. Euron had enjoyed beating them bloody, carving their cocks and stones from their nethers and stuffing them down the throats of the would-be mutineers. There was something laughable about the traitors choking to death on their own cocks.

If they were going to kill him, they could at least get it right the first time. Euron wasn't an idiot like his brothers. He knew how to deal with plots and assassination attempts. He'd dealt with them before, and he would deal with them again.

He would deal with them until one lucky bastard could actually get the job done.

Slaver's Bay was enjoyable enough, he supposed. It had taken him a year to sail to the infamous home of the Masters, and it was grand enough a sight. Great Pyramids filled the city of Meereen, and the likes of Astapor and Yunkai were glorious in their own right, if not quite so splendid as Meereen itself.

The "Wise Masters" were stuck-up pricks who thought themselves oh-so superior, but Euron had seen their like before. They were small men with small cocks and huge egos. He'd have loved to listen to them squeal as he tore them from their seats of power and exposed them for the sniveling cowards that they were, but the Unsullied were not to be trifled with.

He'd gotten to see the eunuch warriors in action against a Dothraki assault once. They were bloody good at killing people. Euron could appreciate that. He was tempted to purchase a few of them for his own means, but they had no ambition. They were just killing machines, without cocks or a sense of self.

He quickly grew bored with them and left Slaver's Bay, probably leaving behind at least one more bastard with his blood.

Euron thought about sailing west again, perhaps to see the likes of the Free Cities for himself. Braavos was out of the question, of course—the city was notorious for how it dealt with pirates. Maybe he'd sail close enough to see the Titan and then keep going.

But there was still more to see in the easternmost places of the world.

So he sailed for Qarth.

Euron made some stops by Old and New Ghis just to slake his curiosity. They weren't much different from the cities of Slaver's Bay, still run heavily on slavery. The Masters of New Ghis thought they were tough shit, just because they were descended from an old empire that had fallen over five thousand years ago.

Euron had seen the ruins of the Great Pyramid of Ghis. Dragonfire had turned the city into a smoldering oblivion. If New Ghis believed itself to be so damned amazing, it was only because the dragons were all dead.

Some months after he left Ghiscar behind him, Euron reached Qarth.

It was certainly different from any city he'd seen before. Euron thought all women across the world should wear those dresses with a breast exposed.

Qarth was a trading city connecting Essos to the rest of the old world much farther to the east. It was rather wealthy, and Euron would admit he found himself curious of many things he saw there. If there were towns nearby the city itself, he thought it would be worth raiding them. Perhaps he'd even keep something for himself beyond some coin and a woman to warm his bed until he grew tired of her.

Eventually, he found himself in the House of the Undying—the seat of power of Qarth's warlocks. It was said that many may enter, but few would leave.

Euron did not fear them. He accepted the shade of the evening he must drink in order to enter, according to the warlock Pyat Pree. The fuck kind of name was that meant to be?

He followed the man's instructions, if only to see what all the fuss was about. Magic was interesting to him—power he did not understand was usually of interest to him.

He did not really know what he was meant to be looking for in the House of the Undying, but after a time, he stumbled upon a room with a great object on display in the center.

It was a strange horn—a massive thing, nearly six feet long and made from some material he did not recognize. It had a black gleam to it, and was banded with red gold and the unique metal he recognized immediately as Valyrian steel.

He set his hand upon it, not remembering when he approached the object in the first place, and felt warmth emanating from the horn. The bands were covered in strange glyphs he could not read.

This was not a simple treasure, he knew. This was something else.

"You are a curious man, Euron Greyjoy."

Euron turned his head only slightly when he heard Pyat Pree speak. He didn't know when the warlock had entered the room—he could've sworn he'd been alone ever since he'd entered the House of the Undying, but there the man was.

"How so?"

"Your path has led you to a wonder of the ancient world," Pyat Pree murmured. "Behold, for what lays before you is the horn of a dragon long-dead. The Old Valyrians crafted it many centuries ago with their magics. It is a Dragonbinder, and those who master it may claim the loyalty of a dragon who hears its cry.

A Dragonbinder. Euron regarded it with some intrigue for a few moments before he shook his head and stepped away. "The dragons are all dead."

In more ways than one, he reflected. House Targaryen itself was now decimated after Robert's Rebellion.

"For now," whispers the warlock. "But one day, they will return. It is known."

"Well they aren't here now," Euron muttered, and he left the way he came. Somehow, it felt like he had no further reason to stay here, and yet he could not bring himself to feel disappointed.

When he left the House of the Undying behind, he turned to look at it one last time, his eyes narrowed in thought. He was sure there was more in the House, but it would not be worth pillaging.

Euron had a very small list of places he had sworn never to raid. This House joined that list—for now, at least. Magic was still too unknown to him.

He chose to sail west. He'd had his fill of the far east for the moment.

Several years went by and Euron sailed the Silence through many shores and seas before he took the channel of the Narrow Sea to the north.

Now back in familiar waters, his crew proceeded to raid and rape and pillage as they saw fit. It was like coming home in a way, Euron thought with a chuckle. They bounced back and forth between Essos and Westeros, raising hell and havoc wherever they struck.

He kept drinking shade of the evening after his visit to the House of the Undying. Soon, his lips turned blue from drinking the elixir as often as he did. His dreams were strange things, filled with visions that made perfect sense and no sense at all, and when he woke only rarely did he remember what he had seen.

The Silence made its presence lesser when they snuck daringly close to Braavos in the night. Euron got a good look at the Titan in the moonlight, its eyes fiery braziers, and admitted it was an impressive sight.

If he could find a way to take Braavos, he would do it, if only to claim the Titan for his own. Though he did not partake in treasure often, wonders were something he could lust for, he thought.

Not that it was worth it if he died first. He'd have to think about how to best raid the city—any plan would take years to put into action, in any case.

He sailed along the southern edge of the Shivering Sea, raiding more towns and fishing villages on the way. This was the farthest north he'd ever been in the world, and he wanted to see more.

As they sailed, he learned that the frozen island of Ib was home to mammoths and unicorns. Ever curious, he decided to visit to see if he could find them.

He wondered what they tasted like.

They raided more as they got further north, if only to acquire warmer clothing. Euron and his crew had gotten soft in the warm lands of the south. He quickly whipped them all back into shape.

Ib wasn't quite what he expected. He thought it'd be a frozen wasteland, but it was covered in snowy forests and grasslands, visible even from the shore. He saw large mountains in the distance, too—supposedly, that was were the unicorns lived.

The people were too uptight for his liking. Only those with an Ibbenese host could venture into the lands beyond the Port of Ibben.

Euron sailed around the port to the west of the landmass, made anchor, and explored to his content. Wherever he stood was his land. The laws of men meant nothing to him.

He did get to see a small herd of mammoths, but could not think of a way to kill them. They were immense beasts, with great thick tusks and deep pelts of fur. Arrows would be useless against them.

It wasn't worth the risk.

Euron did, however, manage to kill a unicorn.

When he shot the thing from a ledge on a nearby cliff, he found himself rather disappointed by the sight of it. The "unicorn" was little more than an especially hairy mountain goat with a bizarre horn growing from the top of its head.

It tasted alright, he supposed. The meat was stringy and tough, but not especially delicious. He kept the horn for himself.

They stopped by a small village to the far north of the island nation, as far north as Euron intended to go into the Shivering Sea. The people were alarmed when they made port, but he didn't give a damn. He was cold, hungry, and ill-tempered at the moment.

He heard some interesting stories from the whalers who ventured into the northern waters beyond Ib—stories of lights in the sky and the cries of creatures made from ice.

The tales were enthralling. Euron bought himself a coat of thick mammoth's fur and decided he wanted to see the lights with his own eyes.

The Shivering Sea was aptly named. It was fucking cold like Euron had never experienced before.

If he'd guessed their course right, they were even further north than the likes of Skagos and the Wall in Westeros by now. The Silence was full of food and supplies to keep the crew fed and warm during their voyage to the furthest reaches of the northern sea.

Whalers rarely went much further than this. Euron pressed on.

It was nearly two months before they saw the White Waste.

He'd heard about this place—a wilderness of ice and snow with a shoreline that receded and expanded with the seasons. Given that it was Summer, he could get further in than he would have been able to in Winter.

No one lived up here. There were no raids to be had, and Euron was certain they'd be attacking any whaling vessels they saw on their way back to Ib.

The day they arrived was spent moving up and down the deck to keep warm—at least for his crew. Euron had kept a woman he'd stolen from Ib for himself and spent his time fucking her, mostly just to keep his cock from freezing off.

At night, the temperature dropped yet further, but the lights in the sky consumed the world.

Euron set his eyes upon the fluctuating colors, the twists of green and blue and red, and claimed another sight few men had ever seen for himself. The shade of the evening he'd drunk not long before they emerged made them appear even more vibrant. He saw faces and places in the lights as he stared up at them, lost to time.

And then he heard it.

At first, he thought there was a blizzard coming their way, but then Euron saw a shape flying across the lights on gigantic wings. It screamed, and the sound was like a glacier in its death throes.

It could only have been a dragon. As he watched, a second dragon appeared, and then they shrieked at each other with terrible fury. Euron and the crew of the Silence observed their battle from far away, watching as the titans clashed in the sky, gouging and tearing and ripping at each other.

Finally, the bigger of the two caught its foe in its claws, sank its teeth into the neck, and tore the second dragon's head off. It shrieked its victory and flew away as the body plummeted to the frozen wasteland below, crashing with a sickening thud.

Euron made sure the victorious dragon was gone before he started barking orders. "Take us over there!"

His silent, tongueless thralls did his bidding.

They only approached by rowboat when morning came and the temperatures had risen somewhat—even though it was still colder than the seven hells.

Euron clutched his mammoth cloak around him and stepped near the body of the beast, and the breath he let out was a thick mist of fog.

It was a dragon made, seemingly, from pure ice, and it was a goliath of a beast. Euron remembered the tales of Balerion the Black Dread, said to be the greatest dragon Westeros had ever seen, and knew immediately that Balerion was smaller.

Walking the length of it, he guessed the dragon was nearly four hundred feet long—an absurd size for any living thing. The Silence was utterly dwarfed by its sheer mass, and yet the dragon that slew this one was yet bigger.

He approached the skull and stared at the lifeless, dull blue eyes—both of which were as large as Euron's entire head, if not bigger. The teeth were longer than his swords and thicker around than his leg. Hell, it could have swallowed a mammoth with little trouble, he suspected. The blood oozing from the back of the decapitated skull was an eerie blue, and made a hissing sound when he prodded it with the tip of his sword.

His blade could not scratch the dead dragon. The hide was too thick and tough. Even a hammer could not break through the frozen armor. Euron picked up a shattered piece of its horn, a tiny fragment that had broken off in the fall, and scowled. He may as well have been holding an especially durable icicle as far as anyone else would be able to tell.

But as he stared at the dragon, he remembered his visit to Qarth almost nine years before.

Could the Dragonbinder work on an ice dragon? The Valyrians had never tried it as far as he knew, but they lived in a land of fire.

What use would they have for ice, even if they could tame one of these beasts?

Euron kept the piece of horn and left the rest of the corpse behind as he strode for the rowboat with purpose in his step. He needed to speak to a warlock.

He didn't even have to travel all the way to Qarth, as it turned out. Just when the Silence was about to enter the Smoking Sea of Old Valyria, a year after he had seen the battle between the ice dragons, fortune smiled upon him.

Euron captured a ship from Qarth, which just so happened to carry upon it Pyat Pree and three other warlocks—along with the Dragonbinder itself.

He sat Pyat Pree across his desk on the Silence and placed the horn fragment of the ice dragon he'd obtained. The warlock, who had been less-than-pleased about the capture of his ship, stared at it with wide eyes.

"What is this?" His voice sounded hungry.

"It is a piece of an ice dragon's horn," Euron told him. "I took it from the body of an ice dragon that was killed by one of its own kin."

The warlock set his bare hand upon it and yelped at the terrible cold that stung his skin. Euron smirked—the horn was as cold as it had been when he took it from the dragon's body. Even when he wore gloves, it was a terrible, piercing freeze that could strip flesh from the body if one held it for too long.

It made for an interesting toy when he needed to punish someone.

"There is power inside of it," Pyat Pree declared, not surprising Euron in the slightest.

"Where are you taking the Dragonbinder?" Asked the Crow's-Eye.

"To Westeros," was the answer. "We have seen the signs and all shared the same visions—a dragon has come back to the world! The blood of Old Valyria has not yet died, and the last Targaryens will move soon in the coming years. We must take the dragon before they do."

It was a surprise, but Euron had seen and heard stranger things in his life.

"Can the Dragonbinder take an ice dragon?"

Pyat Pree's brow furrowed. "I do not know. Perhaps…if you give me the horn, I might be able to divulge some answers for you."

"Do it. You and your warlocks are my guests," Euron told him cheerfully. He'd always have a dagger at the man's back for when the warlock inevitably tried to cheat him.

He knew this type of man well.

"It will require a blood sacrifice."

"I have blood to spare."

The warlocks were able to divulge much more than Euron anticipated.

Along with the Dragonbinder, they'd brought a collection of tomes from the House of the Undying, all studies on dragons and the magics of Old Valyria.

After slaughtering a thrall Euron had recently picked up in Essos and spilling his blood all over the frozen dragon horn, the warlocks cast several spells and enchantments. The process took some hours, as they chanted beneath the black sky of a moonless night.

The deck of the Silence was lit only by three torches, held by Euron's thralls. Pyat Pree took the blood-soaked horn from the ice dragon, writing in glyphs through the dripping red with his fingers as he spoke in languages old and mystical.

As he approached the Dragonbinder, so much larger than the tiny fragment Euron had acquired from the corpse of the ice dragon, the black horn glowed with red glyphs of its own, the color of deep fires. Pyat Pree held the ice horn above the Dragonbinder, and Euron watched a single drop of blood fall upon the Valyrian artifact.

The horn screamed, for lack of a better word, a cry like a thousand dying souls, followed by the howl of the ice dragon that had died to its greater kin. Pyat Pree's eyes rolled into the back of his head and he shook as if seizing, but he kept chanting and held the ice dragon's horn above the Dragonbinder as it dripped blood, drop after drop after drop.

The flames of the torches whooshed out all of a sudden and the temperature dropped noticeably, and with a final shriek from the Dragonbinder, the icy horn in Pyat Pree's hand shattered into a thousand bloody fragments.

It was only the next morning when Pyat Pree came to Euron again.

"It can be done."

Euron raised an eyebrow. "Can it?"

"Indeed. I was skeptical, but the Dragonbinder dominated the piece of the ice dragon you gave me," said the warlock. "That is why it shattered."

"Will it just kill any ice dragon that hears it?"

"Nay—it will dominate their will if the Dragonbinder's Master deems it so."

"And how does one become the Master of the Dragonbinder?"

"I do not know. Not yet."

Pyat Pree was lying. Euron imagined he was reluctant to divulge such information because the warlock himself was likely the current Master. No matter. He'd figure it out.

He spent the rest of the day poring over the books the warlocks had brought with them, offering them a chance to rest and recover from their voyage with the bounty of his own ship. They seemed uncomfortable, but did not deny him—not after he'd provided them such…wisdom.

Euron searched furiously for passages about the Dragonbinder and at last found what he was looking for.

By the next morning, Pyat Pree's body was dumped overboard after Euron bathed the Dragonbinder in the warlock's blood. He slashed his own arm open and spilled his own blood upon the horn, the glyphs of which glowed in response.

"Blood of the former, blood of the new", or so the book had told him. It was a simple ritual—with the warlock now dead at his hand, Euron had the only claim to the Dragonbinder.

He put the other three warlocks in chains and tossed them belowdecks in case he needed them for something else.

And then he sailed to the Shivering Sea once again.

Unfortunately for Euron, finding another ice dragon was not easy.

He'd been incredibly lucky it seemed to witness two of them so close to the water when first he came to the White Waste. Though he eventually found the body of the dragon that had died in that fateful battle, he saw no sign of any other ice dragons.

He took what he could from the dragon's corpse—more pieces of its horn, broken fragments of its razor-sharp wings. Chunks of its icy armor were brittle enough to take off with a good swing of a hammer here and there.

It was the happiest the warlocks had been since he'd commandeered their treasure and lives for himself.

He didn't give a damn about this possible Targaryen dragon in Westeros—the ice dragons, as far as he could tell, were bigger and more importantly, within reach. If he could find them once, he could find them again.

The problem was the Dragonbinder.

Blowing into the horn killed the one who did so, unless they were Dragonlords in their own right—or so the tomes claimed. The first time he'd ordered one of his men to blow into the horn, his lips had been charred. Cutting him open had revealed his lungs to be black, as though burnt from the inside-out.

So he couldn't just command a thrall to blow into the horn every damned day and hope a dragon would answer the call of the Dragonbinder. He needed these men to get him to-and-from the mainland in Essos until he was successful in his mission.

Claiming an ice dragon could bring the rest of the world to heel. No one else had ever done such a thing.

He had researched them for many long hours, sending men to the libraries of Essos and Westeros in search of their lore. Much of it was nonsensical, but a curious passage in the library of Volantis explained why the dragons weren't found in the frozen land beyond the Wall in Westeros.

The ice dragons had not been seen in Westeros for thousands and thousands of years. They had long left the Land of Always Winter behind, fleeing as if from demons unknown to the world, and took to the White Wastes forevermore.

Euron had to wonder what could frighten such beasts of immense size and power. If the tales were true, perhaps the lands beyond the Wall were home to far more dangerous things than the odd Wildling settlement.

No matter. He had no interest in the lands beyond the Wall. But if he could get one of these ice dragons to do his bidding—well, his brothers would see how small their eyes really were.

Why settle for Pyke when he could have the world? The Iron Throne, Braavos, Slaver's Bay—even the lands beyond.

What was west of Westeros? With a dragon at his command, perhaps he could find out. Old empires would bow to beasts that put even the fire dragons of Old Valyria to shame for their sheer size.

He could become King of the whole goddamn world if he so chose. King of wherever he walked or sailed.

But first, he needed one of the beasts at his heel.

It was nearly a fortnight of sailing along the shores of the White Wastes when Euron heard that familiar scream in the sky.

He couldn't tell if it was the same dragon that had killed its kin, but it was still damned big—bigger than the dragon that had died, for sure. One of his thralls hurriedly blew into the Dragonbinder and collapsed soon after its screaming voice tore over the land.

Euron watched, blood pounding as the ice dragon trembled and spasmed in the sky, screaming in confusion and fury. It nearly fell out of the air several times, spitting what might as well have been a blizzard from its frozen jaws.

The Dragonbinder's glyphs glowed fierce and red, and then suddenly faded. The ice dragon shrieked one last time and flew farther inland as fast as it could, away from them.

Euron was seething.

The Dragonbinder had failed. He brought the three warlocks to him, all of them gaunt and thin in furs that swallowed their filthy robes.

"Explain," he demanded. "Why didn't it work?"

"We cannot the sure," one of them said hesitantly. "Perhaps the dragon was too powerful for the horn to claim."

"Your leader was sure it would work. He said the Dragonbinder dominated that piece of the ice dragon I brought to you."

"That may be, but not one of us carries the blood of a true Dragonlord. That likely influences the effect it has on the dragons. And perhaps the creature you tried to claim was too large and old. I suggest trying a smaller one. A younger creature might not resist the magic of the Dragonbinder as much."

It was the best he could do, but they still had to sail back to the mainland to resupply and recover from the difficult trip. Time would be wasting, and if what the warlocks said was true, the fire dragon in Westeros would be growing. Surely it wouldn't be as big as Balerion the Black Dread by the time he returned, but every year it would become larger and more problematic to deal with.

He pushed away his rage and began to plan as the warlocks were dragged away to their residence below decks. He was patient. He could wait.

Three expeditions to the White Wastes yielded nothing over the next few years.

On two of those trips, he never saw another ice dragon at all. The one he did, it was again too large and managed to resist the Dragonbinder long enough to flee.

The only consolation Euron had was the beasts went away from the Dragonbinder's call, and didn't approach to try and destroy it. He'd have been long-dead if that first dragon chose to fight rather than turn-tail.

Robert's Rebellion had come to an end nearly twelve years ago. How time went by, Euron reflected. But still he did not give up.

He would do this. The ice dragons responded to the Dragonbinder. He just needed to call to one that was smaller and less-resistant to the spell of the Old Valyrian artifact.

Euron sailed north for his fourth trip to the White Wastes.

Three days after they arrived at the frozen shores, a bit further to the west than they normally explored, the Crow's-Eye found what he was looking for.

The Silence came around a glacier to a small bay. Euron was standing near the prow of the ship and went stock-still when he set eyes on the creature on the shore.

It was an ice dragon—closer than any of the living ones he'd seen, for sure. It hadn't yet noticed them, seeing as its frozen skull was currently tucked into the body of a dead whale. The crystals adorning its face were a bloody red, stained with the ichor of its prey.

Euron stared at it. The dragon was big, but it was considerably smaller than the ones he'd seen before. Sixty feet? Seventy? It was a fraction of the size of its much larger kin.

Within minutes, the Dragonbinder's howl filled the air.

The ice dragon's head tore free of the whale's corpse and it let out a shriek, stumbling backwards and shaking its head as if in pain. The creature's tail thrashed, pulverizing the ice around it as the thick mace slammed down again and again.

Euron scowled as it tried to spread its wings and ordered another thrall to blow the Dragonbinder again. The second, eerie howl had the dragon throwing its head back and wailing. The wings tucked in close to its side and it crouched low to the ground, shivering from head to toe.

Fuck, this was the closest he'd ever gotten. He had memorized what was to be done now long ago. Euron slashed his hand open and pressed it against the hot surface of the Dragonbinder, hissing at the pain as he barked orders for the rowboat to be lowered into the water.

His men hurried to bring him to the shore and he screamed at the Silence to sound the Dragonbinder again when the ice dragon struggled to rise. He would not fail again.

The horn's agonized voice made the ice dragon collapse onto its side, keening and gasping for breath. One of its wings flailed and seized, and for a moment Euron feared that third call might have actually killed the dragon.

He leapt onto the shore, freezing water splashing on his thick boots, and raced to the dragon. His bloody hand, still oozing red, came up to touch the ice dragon's frozen snout.

His blood turned colder than the Shivering Sea, rushing in glacial currents throughout his body. The dragon convulsed at his touch, one, twice, thrice it spasmed and kicked out with its powerful legs. The blue eyes pulsed, trying to resist.

"Stay down," Euron snarled, pressing his hand to the dragon harder. The skin of his palm was blistering and freezing against the icy hide, but the pain was nothing to him.

The dragon's jaws parted and it shrieked, a sound that made his bones feel like they would splinter and shatter from cold.

The Crow's-Eye gnashed his teeth and ripped himself free of the dragon's muzzle, losing most of the skin on his palm, then shoved his bloody hand onto the frozen armor next to that gleaming blue orb.

He glared into the dragon's eye and roared at the top of his lungs. "STAY DOWN! YOU! ARE! MINE!"

The dragon convulsed again and Euron was about to order the Dragonbinder to sound once more—he would kill the fucking thing if it wouldn't submit to his will. He had had enough of these dragons resisting his commands.

And then it slumped over, the fight gone from its heart.

He watched the blue eye glaze over, and the ice dragon made a long, deep sigh. Euron glared at it suspiciously for a minute, but it did nothing. He felt a strange connection to the beast—a silent, formless chain that bound it to his mind.

He yanked the bloody mess of his hand away, sneering at the stain of flesh and frozen blood stuck to the dragon's hide, and stepped back. The dragon watched him intently.

Euron stared at it in silence for a time. And then he spoke.

"Stand."

Its blue eyes pulsed at the command and slowly, the creature pushed itself up to stand on its powerful legs. The wings were tucked into its side, and it looked like a gigantic bird in a strange sort of way.

It watched him, waiting for another order.

Euron smiled a devil's smile.

He learned quickly that the dragon obeyed his will, be it silent or spoken, and that it was most obedient soon after the Dragonbinder sounded.

The call of the Valyrian relic no longer caused the creature pain, as far as he could tell. It wasn't fighting the magic anymore—it had submitted to the spell, and thus to Euron himself.

The range of the Dragonbinder didn't seem to matter, either. Euron sailed back to Ib and after raiding a small village, ordered one of the men he captured to blow into the horn, purely for his own interest.

It took two days, but the dragon arrived. It had been drawn to the call, to the magic that bound it to Euron, or so the warlocks told him.

He let the dragon slaughter a herd of mammoths out of sheer delight. It ripped the beasts apart with icy claws and teeth, and it gorged itself on the rich meat.

Euron took some for himself and his crew. He found mammoths to be more delicious than the unicorn he'd killed so long ago.

Whatever the case, he sent the dragon back to the White Wastes now that he was certain it would come whenever he called for it, wherever he might be. No matter how far he sailed, even at the southern shores of Dorne, he could still feel the connection the Dragonbinder had created between him and the ice dragon.

He would keep his trump card a secret until it was time to wage war upon Westeros.

Euron would start at Pyke. He would take the Seastone Chair from his miserable brothers and ravage the North. Then he would work his way down through the Vale, the Westerlands, and everywhere else with a growing army and an ice dragon at his back.

Once Westeros was his, he would turn his eyes to Essos. And, perhaps, beyond.

He would take whatever he wanted. He would sit in the Iron Throne and put Robert Baratheon's head on a spike for his own amusement. He would fuck the Queen Cersei and keep her as a salt wife until he got bored of her. He would feed Eddard Stark to the ice dragon when it so suited him.

He'd freeze the Titan of Braavos in a block of dragon's-ice and then ravage the city as no one else ever had. He'd take their famous courtesans for himself to warm his bed, and then he'd go to Volantis, Lys, and Slaver's Bay. He would make the "Wise Masters" piss and shit themselves when they saw what true power was, and then he would make them squeal like pigs as he pit them against each other in the fighting pits for his own entertainment. He'd take the dragon to New Ghis and remind them that they were nothing but the descendants of a people who had been cowed by dragons lesser than his.

Wherever he chose to go would be his.

Of course, he needed to figure out where the last Targaryens were, and find the fire dragon said to have hatched in Westeros. He wasn't sure if it could be bound to the Dragonbinder as well, but even if it couldn't be his, he'd capture it. If it would answer to the Targaryens, he'd take them into his ranks and they would fly the dragon on his orders.

If they resisted—well, the ice dragon would eventually get larger than any fire dragon ever had. He'd slaughter them all if they refused to submit.

Euron grinned savagely as he set his eyes on the Iron Islands for the first time in fourteen years. He knew that Balon was still in charge of their House, but it would be such a shame if something were to happen to his dear little brother…

Even with a dragon at his command, there was nothing quite like plotting a good, old-fashioned murder.

Balon was dead. It had been almost comically easy to have someone push his brother off of a bridge.

Euron was the Head of his House now, and proclaimed himself to be the King of the Isles and the North. The Ironborn remembered the Old Way, and it was popular amongst many of them. With Balon gone, Euron found it simple enough to oust Victarion from the position and put his dead brother's daughter in her place. Asha Greyjoy was a rebellious little thing—she'd even managed to flee before his men could capture her the night he seized power.

Well, he'd keep an eye out for her, but it was no skin off his back if he never saw the little cunt ever again.

His plans were already in-motion. The Iron Fleet was being built up to its full strength for the first time since the last failed Greyjoy rebellion. Before long, they'd be raiding the coastline of Westeros to seize the supplies they'd need for a much larger-scale invasion of the North. Eddard Stark wouldn't know what hit him.

And Euron had already seen to it that the Dragonbinder had sounded at the Kingsmoot when he crowned himself. He could feel the ice dragon flying to Westeros from the White Wastes. It would take time to get to the Iron Islands, but it would get here soon enough.

Once his most powerful weapon was here, he'd be more secure in his position.

Then his conquest of Westeros would begin—a conquest the like of which had not been seen since the days of Aegon Targaryen himself.

Dragonstone was full of old magic. She could feel the echoes of the spells cast by the Targaryen Dragonlords even hundreds of years after their deaths.

Melisandre stood on the cliffs overlooking the seas to the west, towards the mainland. Although she'd stopped by Dragonstone on her voyage to Westeros, this was not to be her place to stay. The visions she'd seen in the flames had told her as much.

Stannis Baratheon was an interesting man, but he was not the Chosen One of her Lord. Melisandre had known that long before she arrived in these foreign lands. His desire to be King of Westeros, backed by his younger brother against Robert Baratheon's heir Joffrey, was of no interest to the Red Woman.

The Dragon King and Queen—they were the ones she needed to meet. She had seen their faces in the flames, seen them riding a white dragon into battle.

She would sail for the mainland today, and she would go North to find the young Targaryens. They had to be warned. Had to be prepared for what lay ahead.

Melisandre remembered the vision that had finally driven her from Volantis to seek the King and Queen out for herself—the most wondrous and terrible vision she had ever been privileged to see by the will of the Lord of Light.

A dance of dragons.

A Dance of Ice and Fire.

Chapter Text

Chapter Nineteen: The Battle of Torrhen Square

It wasn't the Tower of Joy this time.

Daenerys sat on a riverbank with Jon and smiled as Frostfyre lifted her head out of the gently rushing water. The dragon, it seemed, had chosen to bathe herself in this particular dream. She shook herself, rumbling at them.

There was a campfire close to them, and within the fire were the three dragons eggs—present despite the fact that they were still on a ship somewhere in the Narrow Sea.

There was two small ships—poleboats, Dany thought—anchored by the bank. They were tiny things compared to Frostfyre, who dwarfed the boats despite being partially submerged herself. Around them bustled a small group of people, none of which they recognized at first, but then Dany startled at the sight of Master Illyrio from Pentos among them.

He sat across the fire from another man—a worn-down warrior, she thought, with dyed, blue-gray hair and pale blue eyes, and though his beard and eyebrows were graying, she saw red roots upon closer inspection. He wore a red wolf-skin cloak, along with a practical tunic, breeches, and boots fit for a life on the move.

Beside the man was a younger one—a boy, maybe only slightly older than herself and Jon. He was fair of skin and also had dyed blue hair, though he was clean-shaven and his violet eyes were prominent upon his face.

"This cannot be," the older man uttered, his brow creasing deeply. He looked nearly enraged. "Rhaegar never would have sullied himself with the likes of—"

"Whether you believe it or not, Varys has confirmed it," Illyrio cut him off. "The Dragon King is Rhaegar's son."

The man scoffed. "Dragon King…A mummer's dragon, more like."

"Mummers don't command real dragons, Old Griff. I watched the child and his beast destroy Khal Drogo's khalasar with my own eyes. Bones belonging of thousands of scorched Dothraki still litter the plains south of Pentos. The boy and his dragon are very real."

Griff's jaw tightened, his scowl intense. The boy beside him was also frowning, but he wasn't quite as angry. "What does this mean for us?"

"Varys is not quite sure as of yet," Illyrio admitted. "He's investigating the child himself, as I understand it. There is much that must be uncovered before the whole truth is laid bare before us, but we thought it wise to inform you of this development."

"What about Daenerys?"

"They became very enamored with each other during their time together at Pentos, Young Griff," Illyrio answered. "I would not be surprised if they have since wed."

"A problem that can be solved by killing the wolf's whelp," growled the older man. Dany's grip on Jon's hand tightened and they both stared at him, committing the man to memory. Whoever he was, he was an enemy.

"I know this is not the news you wanted to hear," the Magister told them. "But that is the state of the world now. This young Dragon King has shifted the balance of power irrevocably. Viserys already tried and failed to kill him. Daenerys has allied herself to him. The odds are against you, now."

"We will need the Golden Company perhaps sooner than later," Griff muttered. "Do we still have your support?"

"You do," Illyrio nodded slowly. "Although I confess, I do not know if they will pledge fealty to you now that a new Dragon King has emerged with a dragon to fight for him. Varys and I have discussed the matter and we believe you should make contact with this Dragon King first—if nothing else, his dragon will prove invaluable when you conquer Westeros."

"So you mean to remove him."

"I have said nothing of the sort."

"Then what are you suggesting?" Griff snarled. "That we let him take the Iron Throne? This bastard—"

"That bastard has a fully grown dragon at his disposal, since you seem to keep forgetting that rather important piece of information, and she is terrifyingly loyal to him," Illyrio said softly, but firmly. "You certainly still have a place in the world, but there are some things you simply cannot fight against. Cut your losses and make an ally of him—you will fare better to stand with him rather than against him."

Griff's face contorted in rage, but the boy held a hand up to him with a gesture borne out of authority. "I have much to think about."

"Varys has sent you an extra helping hand, as well," Illyrio turned towards a gathering of his servants and snapped his fingers. At his command, a young woman hesitantly stepped forward, clearly rather nervous. "This is Nyssa. She will serve you well. Varys suggested it was in your best interest to keep her around when you sail to Westeros."

"Very well. You and Lord Varys have not led us astray yet," Young Griff said cautiously. "I understand you both must also be scrambling to understand how this Dragon King came to be."

"It is a mystery we intend to unveil in-full," Illyrio dipped his head. "But for now—might I suggest we start planning your voyage to Westeros? I've received word that the Dragon King intends to wage war against Euron Greyjoy on behalf of the North."

"The North," Griff looked even more irritated than before. "The bastard's wolf's blood shows his true colors. He is no Silver Prince."

"Meet him first, Old Griff," Illyrio waved away the man's aggravation. "Then you shall see."

Daenerys found herself standing beside Jon in the large tent set up for Lord Stark's military meetings. They were camped not far from Torrhen Square after a trek that lasted several weeks. Before long, they would be meeting with Ser Tallhart to drive the Ironborn forces dug in on the shores around the stronghold.

Their latest Dragon Dream had raised many questions, but few answers. Neither she nor Jon could really understand why they'd dreamt of the Magister with strangers who clearly had some hostile inclinations towards them—well, towards Jon more specifically, but an enemy of her husband was an enemy of hers.

They'd wait to see what else would be revealed by their dreams, if anything. With some luck, they'd find out exactly who they were up against. At the very least, they knew these "Griffs" were not friendly, and were currently somewhere in Essos, most likely.

They were far away for now. A threat to consider at a later date.

The priority at this moment was Euron Greyjoy.

"What do the scouts say?" Lord Stark asked, glancing at Lord Bolton.

"Most of the pirates are camped on the western banks," he reported. "A few more camps set south at the bend of the river, and a handful more to the east. They've got guards posted, but you know how Ironborn are. They're sloppily organized off of their ships."

"Good. Jon?"

"Daenerys and I took Frostfyre to the Stone Shore yesterday, as you all know," her husband answered. "We didn't see any enemy ships or camps that could flank us from the west. We mean to fly to the river system that comes up from Flint's Fingers tomorrow to make sure there we won't be any enemies on our eastern flank, either. It's possible they've taken Barrowtown. We expect to be back by dusk—we want to be thorough."

"The less likely we are to be ambushed, the better I'll sleep," Ned admitted. "Lady Mormont? Has our prisoner divulged anything useful since his last interrogation?"

"I fear we've scared all the useful information out of him, My Lord," the Lady of Bear Island grinned dangerously. "He wasn't particularly important to begin with. We know they've got a makeshift shipyard built in Ironman's Bay, close to the woods of the Neck for easy access to lumber. It seems they mean to increase the number of ships they have available to them."

Lord Manderly frowned. "More ships are only good if they have the numbers to crew them all. The Ironborn aren't so numerous that they can mass-produce a gigantic fleet capable of conquering Westeros."

"Euron's plotting something. Whatever the case, I'd rather we take those ships from them," muttered Ned. "But first thing's first—we retake the territory around Torrhen's Square. Once the fighting starts, Jon and Daenerys will take the dragon and bottle off the throat of the river. No ships will escape that way. We'll capture or kill every Ironborn we come across and take their ships for ourselves. How many do we expect to face?"

"The ships themselves number around forty-and-five," Lord Bolton said. "All of them are from the Iron Fleet, given their size and the crests on their sails. Each is crewed by at least a hundred Ironborn, but I suspect there will be more. At least forty-five hundred men, possibly up to fifty-five hundred."

Jon whistled. "That's a big commitment for the Iron Fleet. Do we know who's in command?"

"We spotted the Iron Victory docked at the western bank, so I suspect it's Victarion Greyjoy. It would make sense, seeing as he's trying to capture a castle like Torrhen's Square to hit the rest of the North. He's not been here long. The castle walls have seen better days, but from the looks of things, they've only been besieged by smaller forces. My guess is Victarion came in with reinforcements recently to complete the capture."

"Their biggest force is here on the western bank," Ned tapped his finger thoughtfully as he leaned over the map on the table they were gathered around. "Probably between three or four-thousand men. Another thousand to the south, perhaps five hundred and more to the east."

"It's a small force compared to ours," Lord Umber grunted. "We raised what, eighteen-thousand swords?"

"Aye, and my cavalry should be joining us soon enough," Lord Manderly admitted. "But the terrain isn't favorable for us. The riverbank is to their backs, so they can just retreat to their ships when we come for them. More than that, space on the bank is going to be tight for so many men. We might have the greater numbers, but under the circumstances, it's time that will overwhelm them in the end. We'll suffer larger losses for it."

"It's still almost half their total fleet," Robb crossed his arms. "The Iron Fleet as we know it stands around a hundred vessels with a few more to spare. If we capture or destroy the ships sent to siege Torrhen's Square, it'll cripple their forces."

"That may be, but it won't be enough if they mean to build yet more ships by the Neck," Ned reminded him. "The Iron Fleet isn't the only military force of the Iron Islands. They can raise perhaps twenty-thousand men total, and four hundred more ships in addition to the hundred-and-change belonging to the Iron Fleet. I'd guess Euron has the other major Lords of the Iron Islands moving their ships to various points of interest while Victarion leads half of the Iron Fleet for the actual assault. The latter half of the Fleet I'd wager is with Euron himself."

"Frostfyre and I could find the shipyard, destroy it, and be back here in five days," Jon suggested.

"No," Lord Stark shook his head. "I want to capture the shipyard and its ships. We can use it as a launch point to hit the Iron Islands. Since the Westerlands stand against us right now, I dare not lead our forces any further south than the Twins. With any luck, Lord Reed will be able to help us organize an assault the Ironborn aren't expecting—they're intruding on his territory in the Neck, after all."

"Where is Lord Reed, anyways? Why didn't he answer the summons?" Dacey asked, frowning.

"I requested he remain in the Neck with his men so we'd have a force in the south to trap the Ironborn at Flint's Finger. We'll have to retake it before we move for the Iron Islands. Once we defeat the forces surrounding Torrhen Square, I'll send him a raven to locate the exact position of the shipyard they've built on his shores."

Their meeting came to an end as one of Lord Stark's men made his way into the tent. "My Lord, Ser Rodrik and the rest of our people sent to King's Landing with you have just arrived at the camp!"

Ned's shoulder's visibly slumped with relief. "Thank the gods. Bring them here. My Lords, if you would inform our soldiers that the attack will commence in two days. Our plans will remain the same as we've discussed on our march. Dismissed."

The Lords and Lady Mormont all gave their brief goodbyes, then they shuffled out of the tent. Dany and Jon remained with Lord Stark and Robb, as well as Theon when his Lord made a quiet murmur for him to stay. The Starks were all the young man had now—them and his thirst for vengeance against Euron.

They didn't have long to wait, but when the Knight in question arrived with the entourage that had gone to King's Landing with Lord Stark a year earlier, they were in for a shock.

Dany of course didn't recognize any of the weary souls who were ushered into the tent, but their resident squid certainly did. Before Lord Stark could get a word out, Theon set eyes on someone whom she first believed to be a man due to their shortly-cropped hair, and let out a cry of shock.

"Asha?! Asha!"

Even the ever-stoic Lord Stark froze in surprise as Theon rushed around the table and was swept into a tight embrace with Asha Greyjoy—his sister, Dany realized.

Then Theon let out a whoosh of air as Asha nailed him in the gut with a sucker punch.

"Get off," she growled, snickering. "I'm happy to see you too, but not that happy."

"Bitch," Theon wheezed, glaring at her.

It was a rather odd group of companions the Knight had gathered together, Dany thought to herself curiously. A sullen Septa and a tall boy with striking black hair and blue eyes were most notable. That wasn't mentioning the Greyjoy woman who had arrived with them.

"Lord Stark," Ser Rodrik knelt before the man, who quickly ordered him to stand.

"I'm relieved beyond words to see you alright, Ser," Ned told him. "All of you. Splitting up from our people was one of the most difficult decisions I've made in a long time. I beg your forgiveness for leaving you to take a separate escape with my family at King's Landing."

"There's nothing to forgive, My Lord," Rodrik shook his head. "The Lannisters would have had all of our heads on spikes. We were all lucky to escape the capital with our lives."

"Agreed," Ned nodded.

"If I may, My Lord?" Rodrik gestured to his companions. "Most of our other people are being set up in tents as we speak, but I've brought with me Septa Mordane."

"But of course," he dipped his head to her. "I hope the roads were kind to you."

"Kind enough," Mordane sniffed. 

She caught sight of Jon and glowered, causing Dany to frown deeply. She'd heard of this woman before, but said nothing for now.

"In addition," Rodrik continued. "I've brought with me the smith Gendry Waters, as requested."

"M'lord," Gendry bowed nervously.

Ned stared at the boy for some time before smiling slightly. "I'm glad to see you've arrived safely, Gendry. We'll speak together soon, I think. There is much I have to tell you about."

The boy looked utterly bewildered, like he couldn't imagine what Ned Stark would have to speak to him about, but he only bowed again and remained silent.

Now the Knight glanced at their squid companion, his mouth a tight line. "And this—"

"—I can introduce myself, thanks," Asha interrupted, facing Lord Stark without fear. "Theon already cracked it out, anyways. I'm Asha Greyjoy, the daughter of Balon Greyjoy."

"We'd gotten word you'd escaped the Iron Islands when Euron took over, but we weren't sure of your fate," Lord Stark admitted, studying the young woman. "I'm grateful to see you survived."

She scoffed. "Bloody lucky I did. Your Knight here would still be weeks out if I didn't let him onto my ships."

Ned raised an eyebrow and glanced at Rodrik, who sighed. "We were making our way around the lake far east of here when Captain Asha found our camp. She was about to make her way to Winterfell when I told her you'd be marching for Torrhen's Square instead—"

"—and the rest is history," she cut him off again, causing the Knight to glower somewhat. Dany let her lips rise in amusement. Asha was obviously a blunt woman with a barbed tongue to match. "You don't have to wonder much why I'm here. I want Euron dead. The fucker killed my father and he wants me in his bed, I've heard."

Theon made a gagging sound. "What?"

"You heard me right," Asha sneered. "Mad fucker fancies himself the start of some new Dragonlord dynasty or some shite with his bloody Dragon Horn and that egg he keeps on Pyke."

Dany's eyes narrowed. "True dragons do not burn. He'll be disappointed to find out that he does."

Asha looked at her then, brow furrowing as she took the younger woman in. "Who the fuck are you? Pleasure girl from Lys?"

"My name is Queen Daenerys Targaryen," she answered, her smile rather smug as the newcomers all froze. "This is my husband, King Jaehaerys Targaryen, rider of the dragon Frostfyre."

Asha's face was priceless, but Septa Mordane's spluttering was even more so. "No—this boy is Lord Stark's bastard, not a—"

"He's the Targaryen Dragon King, Septa," Ned interrupted gruffly. "There is much I have to tell you all, but understand that Jaehaerys—Jon, as you know him—is the last surviving male of the Targaryen dynasty. He and Daenerys came to Westeros at my request to help us defeat Euron and the Ironborn threatening our lands."

The men and women looked utterly thunderstruck. Asha tilted her head at them, glanced at Lord Stark, then back again. Her eyes were still comically wide. "You're not fucking with me, are you?"

"We've all seen the dragon ourselves," Theon told her. "You'll see her soon enough. She's bloody huge. Burned down eight Ironborn ships on their way to Bear Islands like it was nothing."

Ser Rodrik tore his eyes from Jon to look at Lord Stark. "Are we backing their claim for the Iron Throne?"

"No," Jon answered for his uncle, shaking his head. "We're here to help protect my family, but Daenerys and I—we will not demand the North back our claim for the Iron Throne. Too much damage between House Targaryen and the North needs to be repaired before we discuss such a thing, if we ever discuss the Iron Throne at all."

"Damage that will be repaired soon enough," Ned Stark added gently. "In any case, House Targaryen has decided to stand with us against the Ironborn threat and House Lannister should they choose to assault us."

Asha shook her head in bewilderment. "Well fuck, if that's not the best news I've had since my cunt of an uncle took the Seastone Chair."

Lord Stark set his stern eyes on Asha again. "You mean to assist us, then?"

"I do," she nodded. "I've got five ships at my command, about a hundred and thirty good men, give or take. It's not much—could only sneak out so many when Euron took over—but they're all beached at the lake east of us, crewed and all. Could use some extra supplies, though. We left in a bit of a rush, as you can imagine."

"Let me know what you need, and I'll see what I can do," Ned told her. "We'll be taking Torrhen's Square back in two days, and capture as many of the forty-five-odd ships surrounding it as we can with the dragon's help. Then we mean to sail to Flint's Finger and recapture it."

Asha grinned nastily. "Last I heard, Lord Drumm should be sailing to Flint's Finger. He's supposed to go to Torrhen's Square afterwards to support our uncle Victarion."

"I can't believe he's supporting Euron after the bastard murdered our father," Theon scowled.

"Victarion is a decent enough commander, but he's dumb as a stump," Asha snickered, her voice mocking. "He heard Euron preach about 'bringing back the old ways' and followed him like the obedient little bitch he is. Still, don't think he'll be too hard to capture or better yet, kill."

"He'll certainly be answering for his treason," Ned decided. "How many men did you bring here?"

"Left most of my crew with my ships," she admitted. "Just in case any other Ironborn ships decide to sail up the river. Don't want them sinking my little fleet. Only brought about a dozen men with us on-foot. Wanted to travel light and fast."

"Well, you made good timing," Jon remarked, glancing at his uncle. "I'll take Frostfyre out tomorrow to the lake. We'll scout further south—make sure there aren't any ships moving for Asha's position."

"Agreed. If you see any, destroy them, like we discussed."

"What, with the dragon?" Asha asked.

"I can't exactly burn them to the riverbed with a torch and a few swings of my sword," Jon pointed out.

"Snarky little scrapper, aren't you?"

Jon smirked and Dany couldn't help but agree with Asha's assessment of her husband. Jon did have a rather amusing sarcastic streak.

"Let's make sure you're all settled into camp," Lord Stark decided. "Then we'll fill you in on the rest of what's happened."

King's Landing had not changed much since last she'd been there, Melisandre reflected with some discontent. At least the view upon the ocean was the same.

In some ways it had improved. Aerys Targaryen had been in power when last she was here, and her every move had to be made with the utmost care. Joffrey Baratheon wasn't as bad yet, but she had no intention of introducing herself to the arrogant young King. His temperament was ill-suited for a ruler, much less the King of the Seven Kingdoms.

She'd seen firsthand what could happen when power was put into the wrong hands.

Soft footsteps neared her and she only turned her head slightly in response. "I wondered if you'd show."

"Morbid curiosity on my part," Lord Varys sighed as he came to stand beside her, but he did not look at the Red Witch. "I confess, when we last parted, I rather hoped that would be the last I saw of you."

"Fate drew me back to these shores."

"Fate is a lie told by those who would use gods to lead men."

Melisandre cracked a slight smirk. "Circumstance, then."

"What do you want?"

"I intend to seek out the Dragon King in the North. I'm sure you are aware of his presence by now, are you not?"

"My birds informed me of his visit to Westeros, yes. How did you come to know of it?"

"My visions in the fire."

Varys' voice became tinged with dislike. "Ah, yes. Your magic."

"If I recall correctly, you were rather desperate for the magic of my Lord last we saw one another."

"Desperate times call for desperate measures, My Lady. No matter how distasteful."

"Well, regardless, the Dragon King will be facing a most dangerous foe on the shores of your country," Melisandre murmured, and her eyes became very far away as she stared over the horizon. "Euron Greyjoy is more deadly than you can fathom."

Varys said nothing. She glanced at him slightly. "But you already knew that."

"My birds in Lannisport tell me Euron raided the city with a beast only told of in myths," Varys slowly confessed. "An ice dragon. From what they tell me, I can only assume it is of size very near that of the dragon under Jaehaerys Targaryen's control."

"A Dance of Dragons is coming. A Dance of Ice and Fire."

"I fear you are right," the Spymaster admitted reluctantly. "The conflict could very well decide Westeros' future. If Euron wins, the world might be plunged into chaos. I am undecided on Jaehaerys, but of the two, I know which one is certainly more reasonable."

"Indeed," Melisandre agreed with a dry voice. She paused for a moment. "Jaehaerys?"

"'Aegon' it seems was a diversionary name. His true name is Jaehaerys, or so my birds tell me. The offspring of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark."

"Ah. So the Pact of Ice and Fire was fulfilled," she murmured.

"I suppose so, in a way."

They both fell silent for a time. Varys eventually broke it.

"What do you want from me? I gave you Aerys' corpse in exchange for your services, at no small risk to myself. And though I understand you took a rather vast risk as well to perform the task I gave you, I do believe our business has concluded. We are even."

"I need only a horse. The Lord will guide my way," she replied. "In exchange, I gift you this."

She offered him a piece of paper, which Varys took after a moment of consideration. "And what is this, might I ask?"

"I know why you hate magic so," she admitted to him. "I rather thought I'd give you the location of the sorcerer who unmanned you. Well—where he was last seen by my people, in any case. I'm sure you know already, but he does not often remain in one place for long."

"I have my own leads," Varys said, but he regarded the writing thoughtfully. "But your assistance is appreciated, My Lady. You will have your horse. Wait outside the Dragon Gate at sunrise. I will have your horse sent to you."

"Very well. I will not part from you with words to see you again, for I know you have no wish to do so."

"I don't imagine you needed magic to tell that, did you?"

"No, I did not," she smirked again. "Farewell, Lord Varys."

"Farewell, My Lady."

And with that exchange, the Spider went his way, and the Red Witch remained. She needed to do some thinking before she retired for the night.

There was a long journey ahead of her.

Robb was at the head of the army beside his father as their forces fanned out into position on the eastern and western riverbanks of Torrhen Square. There was a grim silence in the air, a tension that would soon snap.

He'd never been in a battle before. He'd seen death—his father had brought him and Jon out to deal with deserters from the Night's Watch. But he hadn't had his mettle tested like this.

There was a desperate hope that it wouldn't come to a fight. That their plan would run the Ironborn so scared that they would just surrender immediately. But Theon and Asha both suggested the pirates would put up a fight for at least a little while before they gave up.

Before they'd set out that morning, he'd stood in the tent with Jon, Daenerys, and Theon while the former two were fitted in light armor for the battle to come. It was odd seeing Daenerys wearing armor, but she refused to let her husband ride into battle alone again. Robb couldn't help but admire that.

"I confess," Robb suddenly admitted to break the tense silence. "I think I'm afraid."

"Good," Theon replied bluntly. "It means you're not stupid."

"To be afraid is to be brave," said Jon, a fond lesson they'd both gained from Lord Stark. Robb cracked a shaky smile.

"Were you afraid when you went out to battle the Dothraki? It can't be that frightening, fighting on the back of a dragon."

"Gods, I was terrified," Jon confessed, surprising Robb. "If we'd failed, the Dothraki would have pillaged Pentos and Khal Drogo would have gone straight for Dany."

He saw the shudder go through his brother's body and Dany stepped close to grasp his arm. Jon pressed his forehead to hers, briefly closing his eyes.

He pulled back after a moment and looked at Robb. "Besides, you have no idea what it's like to have all those arrows flying up at you. They might as well be flies for Frostfyre, but my cloak came out looking like a pincushion. I took an arrow in my shoulder and another one almost got me in the eye. See?"

He gestured to the scar on his cheek, just below his left eye. A thin blade of pale skin that belied how close he'd come to death.

"What's it like to get shot?" Theon asked, only half-joking.

"It's like a sharp punch that goes deep into your body," Jon grimaced. "You feel it for ages afterwards."

"Good thing we're all carrying shields, then. Most of these Ironborn are probably going to shoot at us from their ships for a while before there's any close fighting."

"We'll drive them to the banks as fast as we can," Daenerys murmured, turning towards the two young men. "Be safe."

"And you as well, Your Grace," Robb dipped his head to his goodsister. Blood or not, Jon was his brother, and Daenerys was family as far as he was concerned. "Try to keep my brother from doing anything unusually stupid."

She cracked a slight smile. "I will endeavor to bring him back in one piece, I promise you that."

As he stared out at the Ironborn ships, now full of their men who had abandoned the shore entirely for the time being, he felt that fear again. The pirates were shouting and jeering curses and insults towards the Northerners, all manner of profanity leaving their fouls mouths.

The Northerners withstood the verbal abuse in grim silence. Robb glanced at his father, who stood close to him. Blackfreeze was on his far side, with Ghost between father and son, and Grey Wind on Robb's opposite flank. The two young wolves were big enough now to kill a man, certainly, but it was Blackfreeze who briefly silenced the Ironborn invaders with a thunderous howl.

The sight of the gigantic, black wolf was enough to make some of the pirates nervous, although they were still rather bold on their ships.

It would not last.

His Lord father unsheathed Ice and lifted it high into the air without a word. At his signal, their war horn was blown three times in steady succession.

There was a brief pause, filled only by further jeers from the Ironborn, and then all sound was drowned out by the furious scream of a dragon.

Robb's eyes rose as Frostfyre descended from the sky, using the noon-high sun behind her to conceal her initial approach. She opened her great jaws and roared again, coming down on the river further south and sweeping towards the north.

He heard a low, rumbling purr unlike anything his ears had received before, and then the dragon unleashed a blast of white fire upon the ships farthest away from the bank. She surged over them, blowing apart ship after ship until four vessels were sinking. The Ironborn crewing them screamed their death throes as they were burned alive, many of them reduced to ashes from the initial assault.

"Seven hells," Theon gasped to Robb's left, and the young man couldn't help but silently agree. Frostfyre's wrath was a terrible thing—to destroy entire ships in mere seconds seemed impossible, but she did it with seemingly no effort at all.

The dragon swept up, screeching as she wheeled around to come in for another pass, and Robb caught a glimpse of Jon and Daenerys' small shapes upon her back. The initial assault was meant to terrify the Ironborn, to make them realize that staying on their ships was a death sentence. Frostfyre would not destroy more of the ships than was necessary, if it could be helped.

Some of the ships were already making their way to shore—better the Northmen than the bloody dragon raining hellfire down upon them. He could see a man whom he believed was Victarion Greyjoy aboard the Iron Victory screaming orders, but there was only chaos now.

None of these pirates had expected a dragon to attack them. Fear was consuming their minds.

Frostfyre flew low over them, screaming so loudly that Robb felt his ears ache. He could only imagine how terrifying it must be for the pirates to see that immense beast above their heads, promising fire and blood with her song of death. She twisted along the bank, heading to the eastern shore to scare the rest of the pirates their army would be facing.

As she continued to terrorize the Ironborn, the first longship of the Iron Fleet hit the bank. Pirates scrambled off of the vessel, unsheathing swords and nocking arrows on their bows.

The tip of his father's sword fell from the sky and pointed at the pirates as more ships beached themselves. "ATTACK!"

The Northmen finally broke their silence with a mighty roar, loud enough to briefly match the dragon for the sheer number of them. Robb unsheathed his sword with the rest of the army and charged, a shout tearing from his lungs as the dire wolves howled for death.

He engaged the enemy with his father and Theon, as well as Ser Rodrik and Asha Greyjoy. Robb parried a blow meant for his head from an Ironborn cutlass and shoved his sword into the man's gut. The pirate made a gurgling scream, blood spilling from his belly, and collapsed.

There was no time to think about the first man he had killed. Another Ironborn was already there, a mace in his hands. His father darted forward, slashing the man's leg open with Ice to make him fall, and Robb removed the pirate's head with a sweep of his sword.

"Make for the ships! Board the ships!" Lord Stark roared above the din of screaming men.

Robb followed his father and Ser Rodrik while Theon broke off with Asha to make their way towards another Ironborn vessel. They were already surging at the portside of a ship, the Northern army easily crushing the disorganized and startled pirates still reeling from the sudden dragon attack.

Northern archers were raining hell down on the pirates still on-deck, preventing them from stopping the men climbing aboard their ships. Robb climbed after his father, finally grasping the railing of the longship, and vaulted over onto the deck. More pirates were waiting for them, jeers and screams filling the pounding in his ears as he engaged the enemy with his father and Ser Rodrik. Briefly, they were overwhelmed and panic seized him, but then more Northmen clambered onto the ship like a swarm of ants and the Ironborn were beaten back.

He slew another man, this time cutting deep into his throat such that it sprayed blood in a foul cloud all over Robb's armor, and then the din was overwhelmed by another scream from the dragon.

His gaze flew upwards as Frostfyre returned to the western fork of the river, fury in her voice. She wheeled around, a snarl baring her teeth, and locked onto the Iron Victory. Jon must have been guiding her.

Robb couldn't help but freeze as the dragon's wings flared outward and her taloned feet came forward like a gigantic eagle's. She grasped the Iron Victory by its starboard flank and pounded her wings.

The momentum of her rush and the force of her mighty wings almost lifted the fucking ship from the river, and then Frostfyre dragged it along the water towards the shore. She screamed in rage as the vessel crashed into another, bashing it out of the way, and then she released the Iron Victory such that it slammed into the shore and bowed over onto its portside. The Northmen scrambled to get the hell out of the way, and pirates aboard the Iron Victory screamed as they were thrown from their longship or crushed beneath it.

He was gaping as the dragon regained altitude, flying directly over Torrhen Square with a shriek of victory as she returned to the eastern fork of the river to continue terrorizing the Ironborn being dealt with by Greatjon Umber and Lord Bolton. Robb's shock was blown from him as an arrow took him in his armored shoulder. The impact made him flinch, and he returned to the fight before his idiocy—freezing in the middle of battle, did he have a death wish?—got him killed.

By now, seeing the Iron Victory beached and bowed over had the rest of the pirates making for shore. A few tried to retreat further south down the river, hoping to flee, but they were intercepted by the dragon, who blasted a line of fire in their path that set a great swath of the river into pure steam.

That was enough to encourage them to beach their ships.

Robb fought with Lord Stark along the vessel, killing any of the pirates who dared try to attack them—which was quite nearly all of them. Only a few dropped their weapons and fell to their knees, begging for their lives.

Many had picked up the infamous Ironborn war cry, "what is dead may never die!"

Those men quickly found out that death did, in fact, leave them dead.

The ship was taken completely in minutes that seemed like hours. Robb led a group of men belowdecks, killing and capturing what few pirates remained, and then returned to the deck of the longship. He spotted his Lord father and made his way to his side, surveying the fight.

"The ship's secure," he reported, blood thrumming in his veins. "What now?"

Lord Stark scanned the ships being boarded and conquered with an eerie calm that did not suit the chaos of the battlefield. "You take Ser Rodrik with a company of our men, and go assist Lord Bolton. We have this area under control. Be swift."

"Yes, father," Robb blurted out, then shouted for Ser Rodrik and hurried to get off of the longship.

They were quick to gather the men they needed and hurried south to join the fighting there. Grey Wind joined him, racing alongside his master—the dire wolves couldn't board the ships, but they were doing their bloody work on the pirates who made landfall. The muzzle of his companion was dripping red, his tongue lolling out as he panted.

Frostfyre wheeled above them, screaming her demands for submission from the pirates, and flew low above the ships. Robb spared her a quick glance, spotted Jon and Daenerys leaning down upon the dragon's back, and then they were gone to continue terrorizing their enemy.

Lord Bolton was doing well. The Bolton men were joined by the Mormonts and Karstarks, and were swiftly overwhelming the ships beaching themselves. Robb shouted to the Lord, who was commanding his men from the back, and quickly gained his attention.

"Where are we needed, My Lord?"

Bolton swiftly gestured to the ships furthest east. "Domeric is taking the most recently beached ships. Assist him."

Robb nodded and rushed off with Ser Rodrik and their men to help the Lord's son. The blood pumping through his veins, the stench of death in the air, and the sound of dying men pervaded his senses. Time flew past him, yet it seemed like ages.

He found Domeric Bolton fighting a group of Ironborn as they struggled to reach the ship that was their target. With a shout, Robb and his forces joined the fray and helped beat the pirates back, slaying them in droves. Grey Wind leapt at a pirate fighting Lord Bolton's son and seized him by the throat, spraying blood into the air with a savage snarl.

Domeric spared him a glance and a grateful nod, and then they were climbing over the railing of the longship together to seize it from the pirates that remained.

Robb scrambled over the rail and was quickly engaged by an Ironborn with a sword. He beat the weapon back and then a blade thrust forward, gutting the pirate before Domeric kicked their attacker away.

They fought savagely against the Ironborn for a few brief seconds before Frostfyre's furious roar filled the air again. The dragon landed on a ship that was refusing to beach itself and instead had been firing arrows on the men waiting at the bank, her great weight sending the vessel rocking and sinking. Her tail thrashed, snapping the high mast like a twig and flinging it into the river. The dragon's head snapped forward, quick as a snake, and seized a man in her jaws. When she threw him away into the river, he was ripped apart into several distinct, bloody chunks.

Robb let out a cry of pain as a dagger was thrust into his side, but the mail armor he wore kept it from piercing too deep. He backhanded the man responsible with his fist, snarling, and removed the pirate's head with a vicious swing of his sword.

Domeric grasped his arm. "You alright?!"

"I'm fine!" Robb growled, wincing at the burning pain, but he felt like he could keep fighting. "Take some of the men belowdecks! I'll take the rest on top with Ser Rodrik!"

Domeric nodded and with a shout, led his Bolton men into the belly of the ship. Frostfyre let out another roar and launched herself from the ship now crushed and sinking into the river. The vessel loosed a deep crack of wood and groaned as it bowed over to its watery doom.

At least none of the other Ironborn captains were stupid enough to repeat the mistakes of that particular pirate.

Robb caught his breath, glared daggers at the pirates bunched up at the helm of the ship, and led his men to the next fight with a furious shout.

They fought hard for what felt like hours. Robb lost himself to the bloody rush of the fight, slashing at any pirate who did not drop their weapons and fall to their knees. The air stank of blood and shit, and the roaring of the dragon and the screams of dying men might have deafened him had it gone on much longer.

And then suddenly, the air began to quiet.

Robb leaned on his sword, panting, and looking around wildly for the next fight. But the only pirates left alive were those who had submitted to capture. He lurched towards the steps that led belowdecks, but found Domeric already coming back up.

The young man took him by the shoulders, staring him up and down. "Still alive?"

"Aye," Robb grunted. "You?"

"I'll make it. Ship's secure on my end."

"Mine as well."

They headed to the railing to look over the carnage, but it seemed the fighting was nearing its end. The dragon was only circling above Torrhen Square now, surveying the battle below.

"Gather the prisoners," Domeric commanded of his men. "Get them off this ship."

The Bolton forces quickly deigned to follow his orders. Robb glanced at Domeric, only a few years older than himself. "We should rejoin your father, see where we're needed next."

"Aye," Domeric agreed. Robb left Ser Rodrik in command of the ship and disembarked with the Bolton heir, rejoining Grey Wind on the ground. His wolf had a slight limp in his back leg, but was otherwise unharmed.

They found Lord Bolton swiftly—the man was still at the back, commanding his forces with sharp, barking orders. He locked onto the two younger men as soon as he caught sight of them.

"Report."

"Ship's secure. What's left, father?"

"Not much," Roose admitted. "The Greatjon has dominated the ships to our east and Lord Stark is just gathering prisoners now. We're doing the same here."

He looked at Robb. "Rejoin your Lord father. We can take it from here."

"Ser Rodrik is in command of the ship we took," Robb told him.

"I'll have some of my men relieve him. They'll rejoin you soon."

Nodding, Robb glanced at Grey Wind. "Come, boy."

He took a quick, deep breath, and began to make his way towards the Stark forces to the northwest with his wolf padding loyally at his side.

They were only halfway there when Robb heard a screech, and then Frostfyre was landing with a thunderous impact. Jon dismounted quickly, Daenerys just behind him.

Robb froze when he realized Jon had an arrow in his leg, but his brother managed to limp forward so he could throw his arms around him. Robb crushed him in his grip, wincing at the stab wound in his side.

Jon backed off quickly, spotting the fresh blood. "You're hurt."

"It's not bad," Robb grimaced, focusing on the arrow. "You got shot?"

"When we landed on that ship," Jon muttered, glancing at Daenerys as she joined them. She had a fresh cut on her arm, where Robb suspected an arrow had grazed her, but she hadn't taken a clean hit like Jon.

"I'm to join father and see what's left for us to do," Robb told him.

"We'll come with you," Jon said quickly.

"Oh, no you won't," Daenerys took his arm and held him still, her glare stern. "Don't think I can't see your leg shaking. You can barely stand on that. We stay with Frostfyre."

"But—"

"Jon, the fighting's done," Robb interrupted him. "You did everything you have to. Just stay here, I'll send someone to get that arrow out of your leg."

Jon tried to protest, but Dany was adamant and his leg wasn't going to deal with the weight he was putting on it. Groaning, he finally gave in and slowly sank to the ground with the help of his wife. Frostfyre loomed over them, concerned for her Rider enough that she disregarded Robb and Grey Wind.

Robb and his wolf quickly made their way around the protective dragon and hurried to rejoin his Lord father. The blood rushing in his veins was slowly dying down, replaced by a growing exhaustion he could feel in his bones. His wound ached, but he marched on.

The day passed by in a blur after that. The Ironborn prisoners were gathered and marched further inland, away from their ships that were now under the control of the Northern army. Ser Tallhart, the Lord of Torrhen's Square, opened their gates now that the siege was at an end and quickly set about assisting their allies.

Robb was lying down on a bed in the keep now, close to Jon. Both had minor injuries—the dagger hadn't driven too deep into Robb's flesh thanks to his armor, and Jon's arrow wound hadn't pierced anything vital. They'd be sore and in pain for a while, and Jon would no doubt be limping for a bit until he healed, but they'd make it without any permanent complications.

Dany sat beside her husband, a bandage wrapped around her left arm where the arrow had grazed her. Grey Wind and Ghost were curled up together between the beds. Both of them needed a bath—gods above, Ghost was more red than white, and they stank, but neither of them had been badly wounded. Grey Wind had a mild limp like Jon, and Ghost a cut to his shoulder, but it wasn't deep.

They'd survived this battle mostly intact.

The door to their room opened and Robb jerked out of the exhausted daze he'd fallen into, trying to sit up when he spotted his father entering the room with Lord Bolton, Domeric Bolton, and the Greatjon. Even a careful dose of milk of the poppy wasn't enough to stop his wince at the burn in his side, however, and he quickly lay back down.

Ned Stark glanced from his son to his nephew, and sagged in relief. "You're both alright, then. Thank the gods."

Robb nodded and took a better look at them. His father had a few bandages, but nothing serious. The Greatjon as well, although his left hand was bandaged up pretty tightly. Lord Bolton, of course, was unharmed, and Domeric—

"What happened?" Robb blurted out when he saw the young man's left arm in a sling.

Domeric scowled. "One of the prisoners got the bright idea to try and jump me when I turned my back on him. Put a knife in my arm, but he's dead now. Fucking pirate."

Jon sat up, gingerly avoiding any attempt to shift his leg as he faced the men. "How are things?"

The Greatjon grinned rather madly. "Bloody excellent! We lost some men, aye, but barely anything compared to the Ironborn! Captured all the ships your dragon didn't sink nice an' easy!"

Jon winced. "I'm sorry about that. I tried to make sure Frostfyre destroyed only a few of them."

"Seven hells, boy, don't apologize for that," Lord Bolton grunted. "We captured thirty-eight ships. A third of the Iron Fleet's total forces, and Victarion Greyjoy. Most of the Ironborn forces were killed, but we've taken a few hundred of them as prisoners alongside their commander. By comparison, we lost only around a hundred men. Hundreds more are wounded, but that's nothing to what we've dealt to Euron's army. You performed your task well."

"Thousands of men are still breathing tonight because of what you and Daenerys did, Jon," Ned agreed, smiling at him. "You have no reason to be ashamed."

Jon's face colored, but he said nothing and dipped his head in acceptance of the praise. Robb couldn't fight a chuckle—Jon was too humble for his own good sometimes.

"What do we do now?" Jon asked, frowning. "How can we help?"

"You can help by staying here and not stressing that leg," Ned told him sternly, already seeing the protest rising in Jon's eyes. "No, you will stay here with Robb. You serve us best by healing and ensuring your injuries don't become infected."

"He will not be going anywhere, Lord Stark," Daenerys assured him, offering Jon a daring eyebrow. Jon sighed and inclined his head in agreement, and now Robb couldn't help but snort.

"You're not going anywhere, either," his father said then, raining on Robb's parade.

"I could help you. I'm not that badly injured."

"You took a rusty Ironborn knife in your side. You. Will. Stay."

Robb knew that look in his father's eyes well and came to the immediate realization that he would not win the argument brewing between them. He was also too tired to make the attempt. "Yes, father."

"Good. In any case, there's really not much you two can do at the moment, anyway," Lord Stark admitted. "The prisoners are under guard and we're coordinating with Lord Tallhart to restock Torrhen's Square with supplies they lost during the siege. At most, you'd be helping to repair some of the ships, but Theon and Asha have that handled."

Lord Bolton looked at Jon again. "Where's your dragon now?"

"I sent her off towards the Stone Shore to hunt," Jon answered. "She's hungry and all the blood in the air was making her agitated. I don't want her to get used to eating people if I can help it. Even pirates."

"Will we have a problem if she comes back?"

"I don't think so. At worst, she'll want to see how I'm doing. She's always a bit more aggressive when she knows I'm hurt. If she comes back, I'll call her down to see me and then send her off again. The further away she is from Torrhen's Square right now, the better."

The Lord of the Dreadfort nodded, satisfied with the answer.

"What about Victarion Greyjoy?" Robb asked.

Ned's face hardened. "We'll execute him in a few days' time. He's locked up in the dungeons right now, here in the keep. I intend to interrogate him first for information."

"And after that, when all our men are feeling a bit better, we'll throw ourselves a feast," the Greatjon declared, grinning widely. "We've won a great victory, after all!"

Robb only inclined his head, too tired to think of a victory feast. He'd be more up to the idea in a few days, he told himself.

After he'd gotten some rest and given Grey Wind a much-needed bath.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty: Fear and Love

It was a relief to set foot on dry land again after over a moon at sea, Jaime reflected.

Crossing the Narrow Sea to Essos and back again within the same year was not something he was eager to repeat. Truly, he didn't mind sea travel, but he did prefer it when the ground wasn't swaying beneath his feet. Even now, he was still trying to remind his body that there weren't waves rocking the world around him.

White Harbor was nice enough. The people were suspicious of them, of course—especially Jaime himself—but they fed and clothed the little group of travelers, and provided them with a warm, comfortable residence to recover from the long voyage.

Jaime imagined that meant negotiations had gone well between his King, Queen, and the Lords of the North.

He sat back in a chair near the hearth and cradled the tiny shape of Visenya Targaryen in his arms. The babe was currently sleeping fitfully, her little breaths strong and audible over the soft crackling of the fireplace.

Jaime had gotten used to holding Visenya rather regularly on the voyage. Their whole group made sure the child was loved and properly cared for when Doreah needed time to rest. She'd taken to sea travel well enough for so young a babe, and she hadn't gotten sick during that time—that was the biggest concern they'd had.

But she'd remained healthy and she was still doing well now that they were back on dry land. She was a strong little girl, he thought fondly.

The sound of the door opening had him turning his head carefully, so as to avoid jostling her. Barristan walked into the room with Ser Davos, who was meant to be leaving soon to rejoin Stannis Baratheon in the Stormlands. Both of them looked rather grim, and Jaime did not like the look on their faces in the slightest.

"Something is amiss?" Jaime asked without really needing to.

"Yes," Davos took a chair as well as Barristan, and they both shifted as quietly as they could manage to keep from waking Visenya.

Barristan's stern eyes softened when they found Visenya. Though the old Knight and Jaime would probably never be close friends, the Targaryen children they served bridged the gap enough that they wouldn't let open animosity damage their fragile alliance.

The young dragons deserved better than that from them.

"What news?"

Davos clasped his hands together and looked at Barristan for a moment. "Several matters. Do you want the good news or the bad news first?"

"I'm not picky. Just spit it out."

"Well, the good news is that your Dragon King and Queen have engaged the Iron Fleet with the Northern army at Torrhen's Square. They fought a rather lopsided battle and dominated the Ironborn forces. Both of them are fine."

"And the bad news?"

"The bad news is…" Davos hesitated and glanced at Barristan, who just looked back with weary eyes. "Euron Greyjoy apparently has used his Dragonbinder Horn to get his hands on an ice dragon of all things. He took the beast to Lannisport and used it to force Lord Tywin to back him in the war."

Jaime's blood ran cold. "No."

"It's true," Barristan grimaced. "He's promised Euron your sister's hand in marriage as well as the Iron Throne. King's Landing is in chaos. Joffrey isn't taking the news well at all."

Of that, he had little doubt. Joffrey and Cersei both would be screaming with rage to learn that Tywin was backing Euron Greyjoy now, dragon or no dragon. There would be fear. Euron was possibly even worse a match for the throne than Joffrey—Jaime wasn't blind to the many faults of his spoiled son, but he didn't think Joffrey was as insane as the Crow's-Eye.

That didn't mean he thought Joffrey was a good King. He knew the boy was too power-hungry and demanding to be a good ruler.

Hopefully, he wouldn't dig himself too deep. Jaime knew Joffrey wouldn't have much of a future in Westeros once he was inevitably deposed, but he didn't want to see him dead. The same held true for Cersei. His sister had a lust for power and pleasure, and he knew she had used him for her own gain, but he didn't want her dead.

His heart twisted in conflict and he forced himself to focus. Rhaella's daughter and Rhaegar's son had his loyalty now, and they always would. And now, they were in danger.

"Can they win against this ice dragon?"

"I'm not sure. No one really knows anything about the beast, but it's as large as the King's beast, or so they say. With any luck, she'll be able to kill the monster. Fire melts ice, after all."

"Here's hoping," Davos sighed. "As long as Euron has this…thing under his control, none of us are safe."

Jaime swallowed tightly. "What else?"

"Word is that Stannis and Renly are on the move," Davos grunted. "Moving towards King's Landing. Now that they know Tywin is focused on the North, they want to stake their claim on the Iron Throne."

That made sense. "King's Landing is a fortress. Even then…such a siege will still take months. It'll keep them busy."

"Agreed," Barristan admitted. "It also seems Stannis and Renly have been at odds with each other. They have very different ideas of how the Seven Kingdoms should be run. It seems the only thing keeping them united is the desire to see Joffrey deposed."

"Well, if they destroy themselves, it'll mean one less threat against Daenerys and Jaehaerys," Jaime mused, then glanced at Ser Davos. "Meaning no offense."

"You follow your King, I follow mine," the man replied simply. "Such is the way of the world."

Jaime nodded and looked down at Visenya, still deep in her dreams. "Is there anything else?"

"Well, Stannis and Renly have declared hostilities against the North for supporting the Dragon King," Barristan muttered. "They're not going to make the trip themselves like Tywin, but another conflict is in the air."

"What about the Kingdoms in the south?"

"Dorne's been quiet about it so far. They're going to sit back and see what happens, I imagine. The same with the Tyrells. They've supported Stannis and Renly so far to get Joffrey off of the throne—I suspect because of Loras Tyrell's…relationship with Renly, but they've not openly committed to any one side."

Jaime cocked his head slowly. "I confess, I'm a little surprised by that. I'd have thought Olenna would have all but thrown an alliance at the Baratheons."

"Maybe if Renly was going to be King," Davos shrugged. "But it's no secret that she and Stannis do not see eye-to-eye. Stannis is already married, anyways. The Queen of Thorns isn't going to set up a significant marriage proposal with Renly if he's only next in-line to the Throne. A 'second son' so to speak won't be good enough for her."

Things were quiet for a bit before Davos continued. "Well, I still intend to support Stannis, but I will urge him to seek for peace instead of war. I don't think your dragons would be poor rulers. Inexperienced, perhaps, but nothing like the Mad King. There's been enough death already, I think."

"On that, we agree," Barristan nodded. "You will leave soon?"

"I will. Though I think I shall not be telling my King exactly what I've been up to," the Onion Knight admitted, sighing. "Subterfuge is not preferable to me, but I will do what must be done."

"We are thankful for your help," Jaime told him. "If there's anything we can do for you, just send the word. I don't think our King and Queen will soon forget what you risked for us."

Davos' lips twitched up into a slight smile. "No, I think you're right on that. But whatever the case may be, I wish you well. I hope your rulers see Euron and his beast struck down. The world is at risk so long as they are alive."

The two Knights murmured agreement, and then Barristan escorted Davos out of the room with the soft click of the door shutting. The aged warrior then returned to his chair and sat down, rubbing his face exhaustedly.

Jaime felt Visenya twitch in his arms, but the babe was only shifting to make herself more comfortable. She had her thumb in her mouth, sucking on it in her sleep, and he couldn't help but smile a little.

"An ice dragon," Barristan muttered quietly, shaking his head. "Gods, we should be on the front lines with them."

"I know. I want to be there, as well," Jaime pursed his lips. "Perhaps when we get to Winterfell…"

"We'll have to send them a letter and ask permission. Even if Winterfell is the home of their Stark family, I don't think Jaehaerys or Daenerys would appreciate us leaving those they tasked us to protect without asking."

He nodded silently. "We could send a raven to Torrhen's Square now, and get an answer by the time we arrive at Winterfell. Lady Manderly might be kind enough to grant us that favor. She'll probably need to message Lord Manderly, anyway."

"I'll ask her about it," Barristan decided. He then glanced at little Visenya. "How long have you been here with her?"

"An hour, I think. Doreah needed to sleep. The voyage exhausted her more than any of us."

"I know. I worried she'd take ill again, but it seems she and her daughter are made of sterner stuff than I thought."

"Agreed."

Barristan clasped his hands together in front of him, staring into the flames. "If the worst happens to our King and Queen, I need your word that you will stay with me and help protect Visenya, Ser Jaime."

"You have it," he said without question. "I know my word may not mean much to you, but I won't stray again. I swore to guard Rhaella's blood with my life, and so I shall."

"Good."

Jaime meant that. He'd never let go of what little he had left of Rhaella Targaryen ever again.

Never.

Olenna Tyrell looked out over Highgarden, humming to herself in thought as she enjoyed some fruits and cheese for her lunch.

Margaery sat beside her, with Mace and Willas across the table. They'd come together at Olenna's summons, though Loras was in Storm's End with Renly and Stannis. The fool boy, she thought. She was fond of her grandson, but he thought too much with his cock and not enough with his brain.

Stannis and Renly had made it clear they wouldn't ally with the North due to Lord Stark's "betrayal". Honestly, Olenna didn't give a damn whether the man had hidden Rhaegar Targaryen's son in his own keep. The fact of the matter was that the North was allied with the only force in Westeros that stood a ghost of a chance against Euron's monster.

Ideally, she would have preferred to wed Margaery to the Dragon King himself, but it had been confirmed that Jaehaerys had married Daenerys Targaryen. Queer, perhaps, but hardly the most unusual match she'd heard of—a nephew and his aunt. It was tame by Targaryen standards, and even acceptable by the standards of the Houses throughout Westeros.

Forging a marriage alliance with House Targaryen was impossible for the moment. But the Starks, who were close family with Jaehaerys, were not off the table. Robb Stark, the heir of the North, was said to be a striking young man—handsome, kind, and perhaps even intelligent enough one day to not be a bumbling fool like Olenna's son.

"Mother, I do not think this is wise."

Cue the fool.

"Tell me why you think it is not wise, my son," Olenna requested.

"Why? Should that not be clear? We cannot ally with the Targaryens! As for the Starks—they've betrayed their rightful King! Stannis will not—"

"—Stannis will sooner sit and wait for Euron and his beast to kill us than bend his pride," Olenna scoffed. "Eddard Stark has so far done only what he must to keep his House and lands safe. I certainly wouldn't have refused an alliance with the Dragon King if Euron was knocking on our door, threatening to murder our family and rape our women. Have you considered what he'll do to your daughter if he wins?"

Mace paled a bit, but stuttered on. "But—but even so, if the Targaryens win, they'll just do the same!"

"Will they? You think a boy raised by Eddard Stark is going to be prone to insanity? And from what I've heard, Daenerys is more like her mother than her father. A boy with Eddard Stark's sense and a girl with Queen Rhaella's gentleness—I rather think you couldn't get much further from Aerys Targaryen if you tried. Besides that, they are children. They are malleable. Euron Greyjoy, on the other hand, is not."

Willas pursed his lips. "I think grandmother has a point, father. I'd rather see the Targaryens returned to Westeros than watch Euron Greyjoy raze and rape his way across our home. Can you imagine what he'd do to Margaery, young and lovely as she is?"

Mace swallowed hard. "Still…"

"Let me do the thinking here, my son," Olenna ordered. "Stannis is already married, and I've no need to tell you that a sham marriage to Renly will not suit us well, especially when neither of them have any intention of dealing with Euron in a way they can win. If Margaery marries into House Baratheon, we will have only a little power in King's Landing, and less when one of the dragons comes to claim the Iron Throne from them."

"But Loras and Renly are lovers, mother. That will add some weight to our alliance."

"False weight," she reminded him stiffly. "A lover is not a spouse, and Stannis does not approve of his brother's frolicking with your son. No, anyone whom Renly marries will never have any true influence so long as Loras occupies his bed, and Loras will never have authority beyond his status as a Knight. That is not enough."

Mace threw up his hands. "Then why Robb Stark?"

"Use your head, boy! He is the heir to a Great House, and the sworn brother and blood cousin to the Dragon King. Robb Stark is one of the most eligible bachelors in the Seven Kingdoms. Since I would much prefer the Targaryens win this war against Euron, that would make him the heir to a House closely allied to the King with a fully-grown dragon at his command. I do not need to tell you that if Euron and Tywin are defeated, Stannis will not last against the wrath of a dragon. Or have you forgotten what happened to House Gardner?"

Her son cringed and crossed his arms, considering the reasoning of his mother. Honestly, Olenna felt like she was one of the only people in this bloody country who used her brain these days.

"The Starks do not fare well in the south," Olenna continued. "Even if Lord Stark keeps some influence in King's Landing when this war is at its end, the men of the North will not likely maintain a lasting presence in the Red Keep. Who then, will they turn to when they have need of southern allies?"

She watched as it finally clicked in the eyes of her oaf son and stifled another sigh. About bloody time.

"Us," Mace said slowly.

"Yes, us," she repeated mockingly. "And even if the rumors are true, that the Targaryens are wary about returning to the Iron Throne, they are still powerful allies. We would still be allied with House Stark through marriage, and we could keep a presence in King's Landing that can be grown over time with our alliance to Stannis and Renly."

"How exactly would we be able to help them, grandmother?" Margaery asked curiously. "If I marry Robb Stark, we'd be allies, but how do we help them fight Euron?"

"Simple. We commit a portion of our forces to helping Stannis siege King's Landing—gods, won't that be a momentous waste of time—and the rest of our armies attack the Westerlands while Tywin is busy taking on the North. The Targaryens can focus on defeating Euron and his monster while we take away Tywin's attention. If they win—pray gods, let them win—then in conjecture with the marriage contract, we can ensure Eddard Stark and Jaehaerys Targaryen march to help depose Joffrey Baratheon, should Stannis fail to do so."

Willas nodded slightly in thought and then let his lips rise into a slight smirk. "Can we assume you've already seen to it that a letter is on the way to the Starks?"

Olenna fought a smile. At least one of the men in her House wasn't an idiot. Thank the gods she'd kept Willas close in his childhood, and now Margaery as well. Her grandchildren wouldn't be idiots—well, most of them, anyways. The jury was still out on Loras, but Garlan was smart enough for her liking.

"Mother!" Mace protested. "You cannot be serious!"

"Do I appear to be in a jesting mood, son? No. I have already sent a letter detailing what I have told you to Lord Stark. Though it will take time to reach them, with any luck we will see Margaery wed Robb Stark inside of a year. We'd be more fortunate still if they manage to kill Euron and this monster of his."

She waved away any further protests. "No, enough of your complaining. I will not sit idly by while Euron Greyjoy tries to reave and rape his way to our home. We will ally ourselves to House Stark and the Dragon King one way or another, and you should pray to the gods that they win this war. Keep this conversation quiet from Stannis and Renly. The last thing I need right now is their bickering directed at me. Now, begone with you, Mace! You have work to do, I am sure."

Her son was still spluttering in disbelief, but he knew better than to test his prickly mother when she tired of his presence. He muttered his goodbyes to Willas and Margaery, and then quickly took his leave.

Olenna harrumphed and plucked another grape from her plate. "I swear, your grandfather turned your father into an oaf just like him. A grown man and I still have to run this bloody Kingdom myself…"

"We appreciate your struggle and sacrifice, grandmother," Willas murmured, laughing when she tossed a grape at him.

"Don't you start with me," Olenna muttered. She then looked at Margaery. "Do you have anything to ask of me, my dear? You must forgive me for springing this on you so suddenly, but time is currently of the essence everywhere in this country."

"I understand, grandmother," Margaery replied, smiling. "I am curious about Robb Stark, though. Have you learned much of him?"

"No, nothing beyond what I told you," she admitted. "But he is your age and so far, he seems promising enough a young man. I won't wed you to a savage, alliance or no alliance. It is why Joffrey Baratheon will not be seated beside you as your husband."

Willas raised an eyebrow. "They tried to marry Joffrey to Margaery?"

"Cersei and Tywin want to remove Stannis' allies, no doubt. Of course, rumors are already spreading that our nasty little Lannister King is turning out to be a very poor ruler, and a cruel one, at that. They can't crush everything that comes out of the Red Keep. I suspect a spider in the castle is responsible for these tales. I've heard that these rumors often come from the mouths of children. Little birds, you might say."

"Lord Varys?" Margaery hummed thoughtfully. "Do you think he's supporting the Targaryens?"

"I think he is a devious man whose plots have plots," Olenna scoffed. "But I do not think the possibility is nonexistent, no. Whatever the case, we will be cautious going forward. I will not commit us to any one King, but we won't support a tyrant on the Iron Throne. We shall ally ourselves with those who will rule properly, and we will bide our time."

"'Growing strong' one might say," Willas teased, and his grandmother threw another grape at him, though her scowl was fond.

"I will try to learn as much about Robb Stark as I can, my dear," Olenna told Margaery. "Rest assured, you will be wed to a kind man if I have anything to say about it."

"Thank you, grandmother," Margaery told her gratefully, and the three Tyrells then proceeded to enjoy their meal together in-full.

Jon—nay, everyone in the makeshift war room at Torrhen's Square—was frozen in their seats, ears ringing at the news.

"An ice dragon," Dacey Mormont swallowed tightly. "You are certain?"

"So the reports say," Lord Stark passed the letter around the table, one after another, for his Lords to read themselves. "Euron took the beast to Lannisport to force Tywin Lannister's cooperation. As of a fortnight ago, the Ironborn and Lannister armies are united."

"Fuck," the Greatjon swore. "As if they weren't bad enough separately."

Lord Manderly glanced at Jon and Daenerys. "Do you two know anything about such a beast?"

"I've never even heard of an ice dragon before," Dany replied, frowning deeply.

Jon only shook his head slowly. "I know as much about them as you do. They're spoken of in children's stories in the North, but I didn't think they were real. Do we know where he got it?"

"No," Lord Stark sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "All we know is that the beast might be as large as Frostfyre, and it's certainly as dangerous. Apparently, it froze a swath of the bay at Lannisport."

"Fire melts ice," Lord Bolton pointed out. "In theory, our dragon should best Euron's."

"I certainly hope so. If we knew more about the bloody beast, I'd feel more sure of our odds."

"Well, at least we know one thing," Ser Talhart remarked. "You made the right decision sending for the Targaryens, Lord Stark. We'd have no chance against a monster like that without our own dragon."

"Aye," the Greatjon grunted agreement. A short chorus of murmurs matched him, and Jon felt slightly less uneasy knowing that the North at least was happy to have them around now. He and Daenerys had proven themselves in battle with Frostfyre during the conflict against Victarion Greyjoy's fleet, but now the underlying tension was melting away to nothing.

Not gone, but a good sight better than it had been before.

"Do you think you can take Euron's monster on?" Lady Mormont asked him and Dany.

"Frostfyre is a vicious fighter," Jon replied. "I've never seen her fight another dragon, of course, but I'm confident she'll rip it apart once she gets her claws into it. As Lord Bolton said, fire melts ice. If they're close in size, I think she will be able to best it."

Dany drummed her fingers on the table. "We don't actually have to kill it. We just have to get the Dragonbinder Horn away from Euron and destroy it, or better yet, take control of the Ice Dragon ourselves."

Robb, seated to his father's right, raised an eyebrow. "Do you think you can do that?"

"The Dragonbinder was made by the Dragonlords of Old Valyria. It was made for us," she reminded him.

"Do you think Frostfyre could steal it from them?"

"She could, but the problem is we have no idea where the Dragonbinder is," Jon pointed out. "It could be on Euron's ship, it could be on Pyke somewhere…and I doubt he keeps it out in the open all the time."

He pursed his lips. "There's another problem. If I ride Frostfyre into battle against the ice dragon, I need a saddle."

Lord Manderly frowned. "Why? You've ridden her well enough without one until now."

"Aye, but you don't know how much that restricts her flight," Jon replied. "It's all fine and good against enemies on the ground, but the sky is another matter. She can't roll or spin in the air so long as I ride her bareback. She knows I'll fall off. If we go up against another dragon, I cannot restrict her like that."

"So how do we make a saddle for a dragon?" Demanded the Greatjon.

"Tyrion might know," Robb suggested, looking at his father. "He was able to fashion a saddle for Bran to ride in, and he knows plenty about the dragons from the Targaryen dynasty. The blacksmiths could put something together if he draws up a design."

"You really trust that little scrote?" Dacey scowled.

"I trust that he's got a childish fascination towards dragons," Robb shrugged. "Making a saddle for one might just be a dream come true for him. He made one that works well for Bran, so why not one for Jon?"

"And what if he betrays us in favor of his father?" Lord Bolton pointed out, his tone a warning.

Jon sighed, glancing at Dany. She inclined her head slightly and answered Roose. "It's a risk we have to take. Jon needs to be up there, guiding Frostfyre during battle. He can't just let her run wild without direction for fear that the ice dragon will show up at any time. Tyrion might be our best hope for getting a saddle built."

"I'll talk to him about it once we're done here," Jon agreed.

"Good," Lord Stark nodded. "We'll keep an ear out for more rumors about Euron and Tywin's alliance in the meantime, and a steady eye on the horizon in case this new threat decides to seek us out. In the meantime, there is other news to tell.

"First, my goodfather, Lord Hoster Tully, has managed to encourage the young Robert Arryn to travel to Winterfell to meet his extended family," Ned reported. "He'll be escorted by the Blackfish, Ser Brynden, to my home and will remain there for the foreseeable future. He'll be safe amidst our people in case Lord Baelish means to act in a sinister fashion towards him."

There was some relief to that news. At least they wouldn't have to worry about the Vale turning on them as well.

"How did your goodsister take to that?" Dacey asked.

"I'm told by my wife that she was too focused on her upcoming marriage to Lord Baelish to spare it much thought. She seems to think her son is out with his grandfather to get some fresh air outside of the Eerie while she plans her wedding."

The Greatjon laughed. "Well, she's got that right, at least!"

"What else?" Lord Bolton asked.

"Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Jaime Lannister arrived at White Harbor the other day," Ned told Jon and Dany more than the others. "Along with the rest of your people. All are well. I'm told they intend to spend a fortnight recovering from their voyage before they begin traveling to Winterfell."

"Good," Dany let out a sigh. Jon reached beneath the table and squeezed her knee gently. She slipped her hand into his and they took some comfort in the touch.

"Will Ser Jaime write that letter we discussed?" Robb asked curiously. "His admittance to the bastardy of Joffrey and his siblings?"

"I'll ask when I write to him and Ser Barristan," Jon replied. "I doubt he'll refuse."

"And if he does?" Lord Manderly queried.

"I'll order him if I must, but I really don't think it's even necessary at this point. Tywin allying with Euron's forces is going to set the whole realm against House Lannister. Nobody wants a madman on the Iron Throne."

There was a spattering of agreements to that, heartfelt and unanimous.

"I wish I had more good news," Lord Stark said then, silencing them. His face was grave again. "But it seems Stannis and Renly Baratheon didn't take to the news about our Targaryen alliance well at all. They haven't declared war yet, but hostilities are in the air."

Jon scowled. "Even after they learned about Euron's dragon?"

"I don't know if they're aware of his beast yet," Ned admitted. "But after Stannis takes the Iron Throne—if he can successfully sack King's Landing, that is—I believe he'll turn his eyes towards us. In his mind, we're in rebellion."

Dany's eyes narrowed. "He is welcome to try and attack our allies. The only enemies he has should be Euron and Tywin."

"We shall see. I intend to try and get a raven to him, to explain our situation, and we'll find out then how he responds. Ideally, I'd rather not have to deal with the Stormlands on top of the Iron Islands and the Westerlands. We are strong, but we must be careful not to stretch ourselves too thin."

Ned paused then, allowing everyone to fully grasp his words, and continued after a few seconds. "That's all the news I have from our ravens. Lord Talhart tells me repairs to Torrhen's Square are going well, and we should be able to have a small feast soon enough. Victarion's execution will take place today, just after midday. Any further questions?"

There were none. Ned looked around at his Lords and Ladies. "Dismissed."

They all stood and moved out with the sounds of chairs shifting. Jon made to get up with Dany's help—his leg was healing well, but it was still a bit stiff, though it didn't hurt nearly as much anymore.

"Jon, Daenerys," Ned stopped them. "If I could speak to you two in private for a few minutes."

They exchanged curious glances with one another, but nodded, moving to sit closer to the Lord of Winterfell. Once everyone else was gone and the doors had closed, they were left in temporary silence.

Ned studied the pair of them. "How are you healing?"

"Well," Jon replied. "Bit stiff, but I'll be moving properly again soon, I think."

"That's good," Ned pursed his lips. "Before I say my piece, I want you both to understand that I won't order you to do this if you don't wish it, but I feel I must speak my mind. Please remember that while we talk."

He frowned at his uncle, who took a deep breath. "Daenerys, I think you should return to Winterfell for the duration of the war."

Dany raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"A few reasons," Ned sighed. "Honestly, I had my reservations about you coming with us, but given how you both performed during the Battle for Torrhen's Square, as well as your successful scouting and raiding missions, I was inclined to believe it was an acceptable risk. But knowing now that Euron has a dragon of his own…I feel the chances of you both dying are too great."

He held a hand up when she opened her mouth to object. "I say this only out of my own concern. If you both die, House Targaryen might very well be finished. Little Visenya is in White Harbor now, but she's just an infant and if you two are gone, no one will remain to teach her how to be a Targaryen."

"Aemon—"

"Aemon might not live to see another decade, Jon," Ned reminded him gently. "He's already a hundred years old. If you both die and Aemon isn't alive, who will Visenya turn to, then? Stories are one thing, but you two—you're perhaps the only true Targaryen Dragonlords in a century. You must be there for her."

Jon closed his mouth, frowning deeply. His uncle had a good point. Even now, he remembered holding little Visenya close in his arms, singing her to sleep…

"The reason I suggest Daenerys return to Winterfell is because you are Frostfyre's Rider," Ned explained further. "The dragon will not obey another master unless you die, and if you die together, who will command her then? She'll be lost without a Rider. This way, should the worst happen, Daenerys may be able to claim the dragon in your stead and still be there for Visenya."

He paused again and then looked between them. "Moreover, it pains me to tell you this, but I really think you should try for a child."

They both stared at him, eyes a little wide.

"You are the only married pair of House Targaryen," Ned reasoned. "Your House is still down to just three people, and Jon is the only male. You're at even more of a risk than House Stark was during Robert's Rebellion. I at least still had Benjen back in Winterfell in case I died in battle. Even then, I had to leave Catelyn at home with our firstborn child in her belly before I went to war."

He was quiet for a few moments. "It's not fair. I fought that war in the hopes that our family would never be subjected to such a thing ever again. It shouldn't be this way, but I fear it is. I know you both have your reservations on such an idea, but if it's of any comfort, your House is welcome to remain in Winterfell as my family for as long as you wish, whether we win or lose this war."

Ned looked slowly from Jon to Dany. "I won't make an order of it. You stand beside us as independent allies, and you rule yourselves. Though I know it is not an easy decision to make, I beg of you to consider this. Daenerys, you would be safe at Winterfell. My wife and her midwives would be able to help you through a pregnancy if you decide to try for a child. They've delivered all of my children without issue.

"It's your decision in the end, but I felt I had to speak my mind," he finished. "I don't want to see your House reduced to nothing. Your family has suffered as much as my own, and it has yet to recover from the war. Whether you choose to return to Winterfell or not, you have my support."

Jon and Dany exchanged a long, long look with each other. He didn't want to think about being parted from her—didn't want to think about the possibility of leaving her behind with a child growing in her belly, without him beside her to be there…

But even so, his uncle had raised several excellent points…

"If we—" Jon cut himself off and licked his lips nervously. "Let's say we agree, what would you suggest?"

"I'd suggest flying to Winterfell with all haste," Ned murmured. "You can travel faster than I can barely imagine. You'd be able to get Daenerys there and return to us within a week. Perhaps you could stay there for a short while—write your letter to Ser Jaime. If you decide to try for a child, Winterfell is certainly more the place to do so than a war march."

He flushed hotly, and Dany squeezed his hand tight.

"We'll talk about it," Jon told him at last.

"Forgive me," Ned said quietly. "I know it's not what you want to hear. It's not the easy thing to do, but I fear it's the right thing."

"We appreciate your honesty and your counsel, Lord Stark," Dany thanked him. Ned nodded, then he stood and left the room, leaving them alone together.

Jon looked down at their joined hands, rubbing his thumb against her soft skin. Neither of them said anything for a while, and just processed their situation.

"I think he's right," Dany whispered at last.

Jon's eyes rose to meet hers. The twin violets were sad, but steady. A lump rose into his throat. "I don't want to leave you."

"I don't want to part from you either," she bit her lip. "But we have to be smart about this. If we both die, if the worst should happen, no one will be there to teach Visenya how to be a Targaryen. We have to make certain at least one of us survives this war. And…and I hate that it has to be you, but you are Frostfyre's Rider. Gods, we should have tried harder to hatch the dragon eggs before we came here…"

"They'd still be too small to fight," he reminded her quietly.

She nodded, closing her eyes briefly. When she opened them, there was a hesitance in her gaze. "We should fly to Winterfell. Tomorrow. And…and we should…"

"Do you want to try?"

"Yes," she gasped, and her eyes were watering. "I do. I want that with you. And he's right that we should—we should try, but if you don't make it—"

"Don't," he cut her off, reaching for his wife and gathering her up into his arms. She sat in his lap, wrapped her arms around him tight and squeezed the life out of him. Jon felt his eyes sting as he buried his face in her shoulder. "Don't think like that."

"We can't be like our parents," her breath hitched in her throat. "We have to be there if we have a child, both of us, we have to be there."

"I know. I promise we will be," he swallowed.

It was so ominously like the last words between Rhaegar and Lyanna that Jon couldn't help but feel a chill run down his spine, but he steeled himself and squeezed his love close to him. He wouldn't die in battle like his father, and Dany…Dany wouldn't die giving birth. He had to believe that.

He had to.

"Come to bed with me," he told her softly.

Dany sniffed. "Jon, I don't think I can…not right now."

"I didn't mean that," he let out a weak laugh. "I just want to hold you."

"Oh. That sounds lovely, actually," she took a shaky breath and stood up then, helping him to his feet and then tugging him away from the war room.

Victarion's execution was almost an afterthought to them.

Jon remembered watching with the Lords of the North as Victarion was brought to the block, screaming and spitting promises of retribution from the Drowned God, cursing them forevermore and swearing more crudely than anyone else he'd ever seen. Lord Stark allowed him his last words, met with sneers from the men of the North.

He watched with the others as Victarion's enraged screams were silenced by a swing of Ice, and heard the dull thump of the Greyjoy's head falling into a basket.

The night passed them by, long and restless for Jon and Dany. They'd already told Lord Stark that they'd be leaving for Winterfell in the morning. Tyrion would be working on designs for a saddle in the meantime. The dwarf had been giddy at the idea, even more eager when he heard that his brother might soon be joining them.

They tried to be happy about that, but it was difficult with the inevitable parting looming over their heads.

At dawn, Jon and Dany said their goodbyes to Lord Stark, Robb, and Theon, and then left on Frostfyre for Winterfell. The flight only took them a day. By the end of it, Jon's leg was aching, but he wasn't in pain. He was healing well.

When they landed outside of the gates, Lady Catelyn rushed to meet them with Sansa and Arya at her heels, brow furrowed deeply.

"What's wrong?" She demanded worriedly.

Jon pressed his lips. "Can we talk in private?"

Catelyn led them to Ned's solar, where they divulged their dilemma and decision. She quickly became sympathetic.

"I know it's not easy," she told them gently. "I remember when Ned had to leave for war just after we were married. I know how terrifying it is, not knowing what sort of future awaits you and your family. But Ned was right—we'll always be here for you. For both of you."

"Thank you," Jon murmured, swallowing.

"Look at me, Jon," Catelyn stepped around the seat of her husband and stood in front of the boy who was now as tall as she was, reaching down to clasp his hands in hers. "Do you remember the words of my House?"

"Family. Duty. Honor."

"Yes. Your family will be safe here in Winterfell," she murmured. "And when you return to the war, you will do your duty and you will survive for them. There is nothing more honorable."

She hesitated then. "You are not my son by blood. I know I was not always a good mother to you, but to me, you are my son in all the ways that matter. I fear for your safety as much as I fear for my husband and Robb. You will fight for us, and in-turn, we will stay safe here in Winterfell for you. Do you understand?"

Jon took a shaky breath. "I understand."

Catelyn leaned over and kissed his brow, then did the same to Dany. "Both of you rest tonight. Recover from your journey. I know your time is limited, but I wish you both to treasure what happiness you can before you must part."

Jon joined his hand to Dany's and nodded, solemn and already dreading that day.

There was some joy to be found in Winterfell.

Jon and Dany spent the day after their return with Arya and Sansa, as well as the dire wolves. Bran was with Lady Stark and Hodor, practicing on his pony in the special saddle Tyrion had designed for him.

Frostfyre flew off in the meantime, likely to hunt and get away from all the people. A social creature, she was not.

Jon and Dany took some time in the solar and wrote the letter to be sent to White Harbor, requesting Ser Jaime make a statement regarding the bastardy of Joffrey Baratheon. He felt guilty about doing so for a short time, but then reminded himself that Tywin, Joffrey, and Cersei would sooner see him and his family all dead, and steeled his spine.

They spent only a short time in the hot springs together, trying to relax. The hot water was a godsend for Jon's healing leg—the aching faded tremendously after a good, long soak.

Even then, by the time night fell and they retired to their chambers, there was still an underlying tension. Not the charged excitement of playful lust, but the fear of the unknown waiting for them.

Dressed in their nightclothes, they came together on the furs of their bed, the fire crackling quietly close by, and lay down beside one another.

Jon pulled Dany into his side, and she nestled her head on his shoulder, reaching for his hand and holding it across his chest. He sighed, pressing his lips to the top of her head, and his spare hand stroked her hip.

Finally, he broke the silence.

"I don't know what to do," he muttered lamely.

"What we usually do," she replied, voice a little dry. He snorted, trying to focus on the slight humor.

"You know what I mean."

"I do. I'm trying not to think of it," Dany nuzzled at his neck with her nose. "I'm thinking of anything but you going back to fight."

"What are you thinking of right now?"

She hesitated, but he waited patiently for her. Finally, she whispered her answer.

"Names."

Jon stilled, his mind suddenly reeling. "Oh."

"It's foolish, I know," Dany squeezed his hand. "I'm not—gods, we haven't even…"

"It's not foolish. It's important," he disagreed quietly. "What…have you thought of any yet? Any you like?"

"A few. You remember when we were talking to Doreah about names for Visenya?"

That got a little smile rising on Jon's lips. A gentle warmth in his belly at the memory. "Aye."

"I always liked Daemon," she murmured. "We could name a boy Daemon after our great uncle on the Wall, I was thinking. Or maybe Rhaeserys, for my brothers."

"Mm. I think I like Daemon more," he admitted quietly. He tried to picture it—a boy child with Dany's silver hair and his dark eyes, like Jon's father. The idea made his stomach flutter in a way he was unfamiliar with. "What about girls?"

"The only one I really like so far is Lucenna. I was thinking more on boy names, honestly. I haven't had time to think about girls yet."

"Lucenna," Jon whispered, frowning thoughtfully. An idea suddenly struck him. "What about Rhaenna? Your mother and mine."

"Rhaenna," Dany repeated, and her fingers squeezed Jon's. "Rhaenna Targaryen. I think that might be the one."

She pushed up suddenly, shifting so she was straddling his hips and looked down at him. His hands rose to her waist, holding her as he met the violet eyes of his lover. Of his wife.

Dany cupped his face in her hands and leaned down to press her lips to his, her voice a breath against his skin. "Make love to me, Jon."

He sat up with her, holding her close as he slotted his mouth against hers. The fear was fading, replaced with the comfortable, urgent heat between them. Together they stoked it, hands roaming and squeezing. Dany rocked her hips slowly against him and he sighed in response.

Jon took his hands away from her only long enough to remove his nightshirt, tossing it aside and then moving to help Dany pull her gown up and over her head. He swallowed at the sight of her bare body, clad only now in her smallclothes.

Suddenly hungry to feel her again, he pulled her close, lightning rushing through his veins at the feel of their bare skin rubbing together. He kissed at her neck, leaving little nips in his wake as she trembled beneath his touch. Her hands rose to carve her fingers through his hair, scratching and pulling while she murmured softly to him.

He trailed his mouth down to her chest, taking a nipple between his teeth and teasing it until she whimpered, and then he lavished the other with the same attention. Jon bit at one of her breasts, sucking hard enough to make her gasp, and felt a rush of satisfaction when he saw the mark he'd left behind upon her fair skin.

Dany pushed him down onto his back, her eyes now clouded with desire, and moved down his body to tug his pants free. Jon lifted his hips to help, breathing sharply when she tugged them free along with his underclothes and left him bare to her eyes.

She reached for him, taking his stiffening manhood in-hand, and stroked him the way she knew he liked. Jon's head fell back into the pillow as his breath became shaky, pulses of heat tingling through his body.

"Dany—Dany, fuck, you can't—I'll—"

She mercifully released him, leaving Jon trembling to fight down the growing urge in his belly. He heard the rustling of clothes and looked up when he regained control of himself, watching as she tossed her smallclothes to the side and left herself as naked as him.

Dany shifted to lie down beside him, quickly pulling his mouth to his. Jon responded with fire, tugging her close as his hands roamed up and down her body. He traced down her shoulder, along her side and belly, to her hip, and then to her arse, which he grasped and squeezed. She moaned into his mouth, bucking her hips.

Slowly, he rolled them so he was hovering over her, then Jon started to kiss his way down her body. Dany gasped as he trailed bites and kisses down her torso, all the way to her belly and hips, and then finally to the join of her legs. Jon tucked his arms under and over her legs, then settled his mouth where she needed him most.

"Jon," she writhed beneath him, whining as he lapped at her rosy, lower lips with his tongue. He sucked and licked and nipped until she was a wet mess, trembling to his every touch. The honey of her swelling cunt came in a steady stream, filling his mouth with the taste of her.

She reached down, squeezing his hair and shaking her head furiously. "Fuck—Jon, I can't—!"

Jon pulled her closer, keeping her hips pinned to the bed as he ravished his wife, desiring more than anything to see her come undone. She squirmed and let out a series of small whimpers, and then she threw her hands over her mouth to muffle her wail as he finally brought to her the release she needed.

He lapped at her greedily, feeling her twitch beneath him until she tugged at his hair hard enough that he couldn't ignore her. Jon rose up, letting her legs go and feeling rather pleased with the way they flopped onto the bed, loose and liquid like the rest of her.

She was panting, cheeks flushed and eyes hazy as she pulled him down to her lips for a lazy, tongue-filled kiss.

When they parted so she could breathe, Dany choked out a whisper. "Not fair."

"What's not fair?" Jon nudged at her nose with his own, peering into her eyes. She giggled and the sight made him smile.

"You didn't let me finish you, but you got to finish me," she pouted.

"Mm. Well, I'm conflicted right now, you see," he told her teasingly. "I remember after we captured that Ironborn, you ordered me not to finish inside of you until the war was over. And yet here we are, and I'm supposed to do just that. What should I do, Your Grace?"

She rolled her eyes, reaching down before he could blink to take his cock in-hand and squeeze, causing him to gasp. "That first order is hereby revoked by command of your Queen."

"Well, I shouldn't disobey my Queen," Jon managed to force out when she stroked him. Her eyes narrowed playfully.

"No, you should not," Dany agreed, her lips rising into a lazy smile. "Now, move. I want to try something."

Jon blinked, backing off when she released him, only to feel his throat go dry when Daenerys rolled onto her belly and rose onto her elbows and knees.

He swallowed, shifting behind her and stroking at her hips. She shifted her hair over one shoulder, looking back at him with a mixture of shyness and excitement. They certainly hadn't tried this before.

"Tell me if I should stop," he told her, moving close and reaching for cock. She nodded, biting her bottom lip as Jon lined himself up, rubbing the head of his manhood against her folds to gather the wetness there. He caught himself against her and then grasped her hips, slowly pushing into her plush cunt from behind.

Dany whimpered, head falling forward and quivering around him. "Oh. Oh, gods."

Jon squeezed her hips, head bowed over and shaking. The change in angle was incredible, rubbing against different places in different ways, and gods save him—

His every nerve was electrified, lightning in his veins and fire in his blood. Every sense was too much, the feel of her cunt tight around his cock sensitized to the extreme.

Jon somehow managed to pull back a bit, moaning at the sensation of her folds clenching around his manhood, and pushed in again. He tried to pull back further and slipped out by accident, making them both gasp.

"Fuck," Jon was quick to push back into her, this time remaining pressed close to his wife's bottom as he made short, jerking thrusts into her cunt. Dany whimpered and made little sounds that were music to his ears, a match to his desperate pants and pleasured gasps.

He reached down around her, rubbing his fingers against her cunt and she squeaked, going rigid in his grasp. Jon rubbed at her, kissing and biting at her shoulders as she trembled and quivered, babbling into the sheets while her folds squeezed and tightened around him.

"Dany," his voice broke, he couldn't keep going, he wasn't going to—

Jon felt himself snap. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her flush against him so he could thrust as deeply into her cunt as possible, and let out a broken gasp as he spilled his seed into her womb. Dany let out a cry, her thighs quivering as he kept her pressed tight against his hips.

"Jon," she moaned, gasping for breath. He pressed kisses all over her back, desperate to love her. To see her belly grow full and round with a child borne of their love.

He stayed inside of her until his cock grew slack, and when he slipped from her they both gasped at the loss. Jon fell to his side and tugged her into his chest. He glanced down, saw the slickness between her legs.

Jon kissed at her neck, both of them still shaken and recovering from their release. Dany snuggled her back into him, reaching for his hand and tugging it around to rest on her tummy. The gesture made a lump rise in his throat—the idea that they might have just conceived a child together.

"I love you," she told him, her voice full and choked up with affection.

Jon's eyes stung with tears. He squeezed her close and drowned his fears and sorrows away in the feel of her beside him, together as they were meant to be.

"I love you, too."

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-One: The She-Wolf's Hunt

Euron considered the object in his hands with a frustrated scowl.

His plans were, so far, coming out to be something of a hit or a miss. He'd successfully captured the ice dragon—which he now called Winterwail—and tamed it with the Dragonbinder. He'd since used Winterwail to bring Tywin Lannister and his armies into his service, and when he made his way to King's Landing, there would be a throne and a Queen waiting for him. Until he got tired of her, that is. Cersei's reputation wasn't much better than his own.

On the other hand, events in the North had thrown some of his other plans for a loop.

Torrhen's Square should have been his by now, but Victarion's reports had conveniently stopped, suddenly and completely, not long after Euron received word that the Dragon King was in Westeros. It didn't take a genius to guess what had happened—clearly Aegon or Jaehaerys or whatever the fuck the boy was called had gotten word about Euron's activities somehow and decided to take matters into his own hands.

There was probably a report from Braavos coming that would be less than useless by the time it got to Pyke. Well, his spies in the Free City still had other purposes.

He'd be flattered to be considered a threat by the new Targaryen King if the damned boy hadn't made nearly half of his Iron Fleet vanish off the face of the fucking earth. So much for catching him off-guard and taking his dragon for Euron's own purposes.

Well, no matter. The boy would come to him, soon enough. Then he'd be able to test Winterwail's power fully, not to mention see if the Dragonbinder could seize more than one dragon at a time with its magic.

He'd be able to find that out sooner if he could just get this fucking dragon egg to hatch.

Euron glared at the red egg, as deep as rubies and flecked with dappled gold. He'd taken this little treasure from the same sorcerers captured from the House of the Undying, but their attempts to hatch it had failed, and thus far Euron wasn't having much luck either. Apparently, they'd acquired the egg from someone in the Shadowlands—the original home of the Valyrian dragons, as far as he knew.

He'd bet good money the Targaryens would know how to hatch the egg. Euron would try not to kill the Dragon King—he'd be the one most likely to know the secret. He supposed the girl might know as well, but he wasn't interested in her beyond the possibility of a quick fuck.

Maybe he'd keep them both around. Dragon Riders would be useful in his conquest.

Euron finally growled at the unyielding dragon egg and lazily tossed it to the cushioned chair across the room. It bounced and nearly rolled onto the floor, but wound up nestled and notched between the seams of the seat.

Lord Botley entered his solar, striding into the room and stopping in front of his desk. "Your Grace."

"What is it?"

"We've received word that Lord Tywin is within a week's march of Riverrun."

Old lion moves fast, I'll give him that, Euron thought. Not that he was especially surprised. The roads in the Westerlands were well-maintained specifically so Tywin could move his forces swiftly at a moment's notice. Most armies on-foot would still be a moon away from a destination that far out. He'd slow down the further North he went, of course, as the quality of the roads deteriorated and the weather became colder, but the speed so far was promising.

"Send a raven ordering him to stay his course," Euron commanded. "He is to take the Twins, and then he will split some of his army off to our shipyard. The rest are to bottle the Neck and blockade Ned Stark's ground forces at Moat Cailin. Tell him I strongly suggest he take it before the Northmen do."

"Yes, Your Grace!"

Lord Botley hurried off, knowing better than to stick around now that Euron had given his orders. The Crow's-Eye leaned back in his chair, sipped at the Shade of the Evening he always kept with him. His lips had long-since turned a nearly permanent shade of blue from drinking the concoction so often.

Moat Cailin might have been a ruin, but it was still the fortress no southern army had managed to pass for any sort of invasion. Now he'd see how useful it was for the south to hold against the North. They would slow down Ned Stark's army there, stall them out amidst the swamps and lizard lions.

Realistically, he knew the men alone wouldn't be able to stop the dragon if it came for them. But Tywin had been in the process of crafting a collection of scorpions when Euron arrived and demanded the old lion's fealty. They were untried, of course, and he imagined they would take much longer to reach the battlefield than the men marching in a hurry towards the North, but they could be useful against the Dragon King.

That was, of course, assuming the dragon's armored hide wasn't too thick for the huge, iron bolts to pierce. Euron didn't give a damn about history all that often, but he knew the scorpions had only ever claimed a dragon's life by shooting it in the eye—a nigh impossible shot.

The Dornish had gotten really fucking lucky.

He really didn't know how strong the dragon's hide was. It was entirely possible the scorpion bolts would just bounce off of the armor—normal arrows would do shite all to such a beast. Really, the only truly credible threat to the dragon lay in Winterwail, and that might very well be a stalemate in the end.

Fire and Ice had never met in battle before, after all. Euron was eager to see how that particular dance would end.

If all else failed, Tywin's forces could still fall back to the Twins. The closest strike point to Pyke was in the Westerlands, and he suspected Stark would want to hit him from the peninsula southwest of the Twins, or maybe even drive deep into Lannister territory to set sail from the south.

Such a long march into enemy territory would whittle away the Northmen. They'd break before they reached Pyke, he knew. Euron had his defensive plans sorted out.

The trouble was offense.

Euron knew nothing about where Ned Stark was at the moment, or more importantly, where the Dragon King was. The boy's beast could be flying to Pyke now, and he'd never know before it was too late.

Losing nearly half of the Iron Fleet's massive longships did not help his situation. Oh, his Lords were mobilizing, but they'd still lost five thousand men and nearly fifty ships. It wasn't a disastrous loss—bringing Tywin's forces into the fold granted them an additional thirty ships and a ground-based army of twenty-thousand men.

Tywin's numbers were actually far greater than that, and if he emptied the Westerlands completely of their armed forces—including even green boys, untried and barely trained—he could probably muster a force of almost fifty-thousand. But doing so would leave his lands unprotected, and the likes of Stannis Baratheon would seize such an opportunity without hesitation.

Euron didn't need to waste his time trying to drive away the bloody stags from territory he'd claimed for himself. He allowed Tywin to keep a decent defensive force in his homelands, but the bulk of his army would march to meet the North on the battlefield.

Roughly thirty-five thousand men to meet Stark's twenty-thousand in the North, plus four hundred and fifty ships—with more on the way being built in the shipyard they'd established on the western shores of the Neck.

And his ice dragon, of course.

Euron looked over the map of Westeros he'd spread out over his desk and considered it with a careful eye, then began to ponder on his battle plans.

Dany rolled off of Jon's hips, panting as her heart rabbited wildly in her chest. She felt the slickness of their last coupling of the night between her legs and smiled breathlessly, still high on the rush of lovemaking.

She'd lost count of how many times they'd come together since returning to Winterfell. They fell into each other each night, lost in a whirlwind of love and lust that left them dizzy for the joy of it. Dany had quickly become familiar with the sensation of her husband's seed filling her womb and seeping onto her thighs—a sticky, liquid warmth that made her strangely giddy.

Well, no one could say they weren't trying for a child.

Jon rolled as well, flat on his belly as he hugged his arms around her waist and began to plant lazy kissed on the soft, supple muscles of her tummy. Dany giggled and reached down to run her fingers through his sweat-soaked, sable curls.

"What are you doing?"

"Kissing you," he mumbled, pressing his lips again to her slick skin. She sighed, comforted rather than aroused now that they'd exhausted their lust.

"And why are you kissing my belly? My lips are up here," she reminded him, amused.

Jon flushed bright red and chose to hide his face in her stomach. Dany tilted her head as she peered down at him, tugging gently at his hair. "Jon?"

"It's nonsense," he tried, his voice muffled.

"Then you won't mind telling me," she smirked.

Jon looked up at her, uncharacteristically shy. "Just—I won't get to do this while I'm gone. You know, if you…"

It took her a few moments in her dazed state, but when it clicked she felt her heart melt into a little puddle of sweet bliss. "…Are you kissing our baby?"

He flushed again and hid his face. "I know we can't be sure yet, but…Gods, I told you it was nonsense."

Oh, this ridiculous man. This ridiculous, loving, wonderful man.

"That is not nonsense! It's sweet," she admonished him lovingly. She pulled at his shoulders. "Come here."

Jon rose up and shifted so he was lying next to her, and Dany slid her mouth against his in a lazy, heart-felt kiss. They wrapped their arms around one another, but by now they were both spent. They were exhausted, bodies buzzing pleasantly and sated more so than anything.

As the sweat covering their bodies dried, they were left sticky and shivering, but the sleepy warmth between them was enough to ignore it for now. When even kissing became too much of an effort for them, Dany nestled into Jon's side and nuzzled her face into the curve of his neck. He held her hand over his chest, the other coming around to rest on her waist and stroke her skin.

"What about Tessarya?" Jon asked. She felt her mouth curve upwards without thinking. They found themselves talking about names for the children they hoped to have most nights after they settled down to sleep.

"That's a new one," she commented. "Where'd you hear it?"

"I altered Tessarion a bit," he admitted. "Daeron Targaryen's she-dragon? Somehow I think Arya would like her name joined with a dragon's."

"I like it, but I think I'm still fixated on Rhaenna for our first daughter. Maybe our second?"

"Already planning on our second?"

"I do not want to be Queen Alysanne and bear thirteen babes," she laughed. "But I want our children to have siblings."

He giggled with her and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, full of love and sweet affection that made her feel like she was floating.

Being as tired and loopy as she was brought strange, but pleasant thoughts to Dany's mind. "Do you know how the Dothraki speak to those they love?"

Jon hummed a negative and she whispered against his skin. "A woman in the Dothraki calls her man 'her sun and stars'. A man calls his woman 'the moon of his life'."

Her husband let out a soft laugh. "That is a rather romantic saying to come from a culture of barbarians."

"I suppose love has a way of making itself known no matter the people to whom it concerns."

"I suppose so," Jon agreed, and he sighed a quiet breath. "You are my moon. My silver moon…"

Dany felt a little thrill in her blood, tender joy mustered with what little energy she still had to spare. "My sun and stars, my dragonwolf…"

With those last words of affection, they slipped off into their dreamless sleep together.

It was their fifth day in Winterfell. Jon would be leaving tomorrow to rejoin the army at Torrhen's Square, and he would leave Daenerys behind with Lady Stark and his sisters.

Not daring to meet the eyes of the maids who would certainly be changing their bedding (again), the two of them slipped out to the hot springs in the morning to bathe. They giggled like a pair of troublemaker children getting up to no good, splashing at one another playfully until they actually got around to cleaning themselves off.

Once they no longer smelled of sex and were dressed properly, they met with Lady Stark and her children in the dining hall solely for their family.

Catelyn regarded them with warm eyes. "Good morning, Jon. Daenerys."

Jon schooled his expression and offered her a quiet smile. "Good morning, Lady Stark."

Dany added her own greeting to her husband's, but then Arya waggled her eyebrows in a gesture of mischief. "You should wear a scarf, Jon."

Her brother flushed and Dany pursed her lips, trying not to laugh. She might have pretended not to notice the bite mark she'd left in the hollow of Jon's throat the night before.

Sansa blushed, Lady Stark shot her youngest daughter a disapproving look, and Arya sniggered gleefully into her breakfast. At least Bran and Rickon didn't know what they were talking about.

Small favors.

"I'll, um. I'll go get one after we eat," Jon managed, shooting Dany a brief glare. She grinned and nudged him teasingly, knowing there was no actual anger on his part. The amused gleam in his eyes told her that much.

"Anything planned today?" Lady Stark asked, clearly eager to move the conversation along.

"I think I need to write a letter to Maester Aemon at Castle Black," Jon replied as they sat down. "If we can spare a raven."

"We have enough for that," she confirmed. "I've been meaning to send them a warning about Euron and this…ice dragon of his, as well. Perhaps Aemon will know something about it."

"Maybe," Jon agreed. "Aside from that, I'd like to take Dany to the crypts today. To see my mother."

Catelyn's features softened. "I think she would like that. Are you going to visit the glass garden first?"

His lips rose into a smile. "Aye."

Dany gave him a curious look, but he kept his intentions silent. She'd find out soon enough what they were talking about, she was sure. For now, they tucked into breakfast with the Starks and engaged them in comfortable small talk.

"Think Nymeria and I can join you and Daenerys?" Arya asked hopefully.

"Please, call me Dany, Arya," she told the Stark girl.

She grinned. "Dany, then."

Jon looked happy to see them being friendly with each other. "I don't see why not. Lady Stark?"

"As long as I don't hear you fussing when you go to your lessons this afternoon," the girl's mother said sternly. Arya looked like she was fighting the urge to roll her eyes, but she nodded.

"Yes, mother."

Sansa seemed as though she wanted to say something, but couldn't quite find her voice. She'd been that way a lot around Dany and Jon—Dany wasn't sure what exactly to make of it, but she decided to let Sansa figure things out for herself. She didn't know the red-haired girl well enough to guess what might be on her mind.

"Where's Frostfyre?" Arya asked, always interested in the dragon.

Jon frowned slightly, his eyes taking on a faraway glaze as he focused on his bond with the dragon. "She's…somewhere to the northwest. I think she's nesting by the Wolf's Wood."

"How can you tell?"

"It's hard to explain," Jon pursed his lips. "She and I are bound to each other by the magic between us. I always have a rough sense for where she is—how far away and what direction."

"Have you ever been able to see through her eyes?" Arya queried. "As if you…become her?"

Her brother raised an eyebrow. "No."

The little she-wolf grinned smugly. "I can do that with Nymeria."

That caught all of them off-guard. Lady Stark frowned deeply. "What do you mean?"

"Watch!" Arya exclaimed, suddenly leaning back in her chair. She blinked for a second. "Oh. Um. Don't worry about me when it happens. I promise I'm fine."

That wasn't exactly reassuring—nor was it any consolation when Arya's eyes fogged up white and she sagged back in her seat.

"What in the name of the gods—!" Catelyn spluttered, her face rapidly turning white. Sansa half-shrieked, while Bran and Rickon just watched with wide eyes.

Dany stared at Arya's blank face, caught between horror and wonder. Jon as well looked utterly stunned, but jerked out of his reverie when Nymeria suddenly padded up to him and spun in a circle.

Jon froze, looking from the wolf to his immobile sister and back again. He peered into Nymeria's eyes and whispered disbelievingly. "Arya?"

The wolf nodded—fucking nodded. A human gesture that had Dany's mouth falling open. Arya was somehow inside of the wolf's mind.

"How…?" Jon seemed to be at a loss for words. Coming from the boy who was bound to a dragon, that was saying something.

Nymeria suddenly shook her head, snorting, and then Arya's eyes receded to their normal browns. She took a deep breath, grinning widely. "Isn't it amazing?"

Catelyn was still white as a sheet, as was Sansa. Jon stared at her with fascination and Dany watched as something in his eyes clicked. "You're a Warg."

"A what?" Arya frowned.

"Someone who can wear the skin of a wolf. Skinchangers. Aemon told me about them once," Jon answered, his gaze switching to Nymeria with a thoughtful expression. "It's magic…old magic from the days when the Kings of Winter were still bonded with the dire wolves. You must have even more of the wolf's blood in you than we thought."

"Is that a good thing?" Catelyn asked anxiously.

"Why wouldn't it be?" Arya queried, her eyes shining. "It just means I've got even more Stark in me! Do you think father will be excited about this?"

"I think it'll be a surprise, but you have to be careful, Arya," Jon warned her, frowning. "Magic isn't a game. You need to really know what you're doing before you get too deep into it. Just because Dany and I can't burn does not mean we play with fire. There are consequences if you use it carelessly."

Arya pouted, but Jon kept a level look upon her. "I want you to talk to Maester Luwin about finding books on this. Anything about the old Kings of Winter and their bond with the dire wolves. And keep it quiet, alright?"

"But why?"

"Magic hasn't had a place in Westeros for a very long time, Arya," Dany told her softly. "Not in a good way, in any case. The Faith certainly doesn't look upon it kindly. People are terrified of what they don't understand."

"Just be careful," Jon advised the put-out girl. "I'm amazed you can do this, but I want you to be safe."

"Fine," she mumbled, stabbing at her food with her fork.

"Come on," Jon reached over and nudged her arm in a friendly way. "Eat up and then you can help show Dany the crypts with me."

That brought a little light back to her face, and the young she-wolf tore back into her breakfast with gusto. Catelyn and Sansa still seemed a bit uneasy, but the tension had dissipated mostly.

Dany had a feeling Arya's mother would certainly be having words with her daughter regarding the use of her Warging magic, but she was also positive Arya would be practicing this skill whether Catelyn liked it or not. At least they'd convinced her to be more cautious about its use.

She made a mental note to look into the subject herself while staying in Winterfell and continued to eat with her extended family.

Jon walked to the glass gardens with Dany's hand in his, passing by the servants and other residents of Winterfell on the way. It was strange to see the castle so empty, but many of their men were, of course, currently with Lord Stark's army. They had a small garrison still in place to defend the castle from any would-be invaders, but Winterfell itself was a formidable defense.

He led Dany into the glass gardens, smiling as she froze in surprise. "It's warm!"

"Aye," he admitted. "No matter how it is outside, in here it's always as warm as the hottest days of summer. The hot springs underground keep everything warm and moist enough for fruits and vegetables to grow. It's the only way to do it in this climate."

"I certainly won't complain," she murmured, looking around curiously. "I wonder if Dragonstone has one of these?"

"We'll find out one day."

And he meant that. Jon did mean to reclaim Dragonstone with Daenerys one day—hopefully sooner than later once the war was over. Stannis Baratheon had held it for too long. It was past time the dragons re-took their ancestral home in Westeros.

"I want to show you something," Jon told her, tugging Dany along gently behind him.

"It seems I am to be shown many things today," she replied teasingly, leading him to laugh.

"Aye."

Jon pulled Dany to the back of the gardens, to small bushes of flowers that were more important to the Starks than any other. He let her hand go to kneel before them, and Dany joined him a moment later.

"Winter roses," Jon murmured, reaching carefully for one of the delicate, frost-blue flowers. "They're the most beautiful and rare flower in the North. We can only grow them like this in Winterfell. Anywhere else—they're terribly difficult to find."

"They're beautiful," Dany said simply.

He plucked one of the flowers and began to meticulously remove its thorns. Jon was quiet for a long moment as he worked on the rose.

"My mother loved these," he suddenly confessed. "My uncle says he could find Lyanna here on many days, smelling these flowers whenever she wasn't off riding her horse or getting into mischief."

Dany said nothing and listened as Jon slowly turned the flower in his hands, now free of the barbed thorns that lay harmless on the ground. "At the tourney of Harrenhal, before Robert's Rebellion, my father crowned my mother the Queen of Love and Beauty by gifting her a garland of blue flowers. Lord Stark told me that was the day all the smiles died, for Rhaegar had crowned my mother instead of his wife, Princess Elia."

Jon fell briefly into another short silence. "They loved each other and they died for it. Sometimes I wonder if it was worth it to them, but then had they not run away together, we wouldn't be here now. For all that was lost, I cannot fault them for just…wanting to be with the one they loved. How could I?"

He stood up slowly and Dany went with him, turning to face her husband as Jon did the same. He spun the rose in-hand one more time before looking up at her, face solemn, and then he offered the delicate, blue flower to his wife. Her lips curved into a slight, gentle smile as she accepted the gift, lifting it to her nose to breathe in the scent.

"It is sweet and sharp," she confessed. "Petals soft as snow, yet the barbs are like ice."

He cracked a smile of his own. "Perhaps you should become a poet."

Dany laughed, a picture of ethereal beauty—milky skin and starlight-silver hair glowing with violet eyes that contrasted her dark furs, which matched his own, and yet they were complimented by the pale, frosty blue of the rose.

His heart felt achingly full as he looked upon her. If this was how his mother and father felt when they looked upon the one they loved, Jon didn't think he could ever blame them for their decisions. Right or wrong, he knew he'd do anything to stay with Daenerys. To come back to her no matter what life threw at him.

He loved her. She loved him.

It was that simple.

The crypts of Winterfell were even bigger than the castle itself—a gigantic, cavernous vault holding the tombs of Starks long-passed.

It was chilly and dark, Jon reflected as he led Daenerys and Arya—as well as Nymeria—into the depths via the winding, spiral stone steps with the lights of torches to guide them. Though the steps lead to multiple levels, they entered the most recent tombs quickly enough.

Nymeria padded slightly ahead of them as the trio slowly walked between the lines of granite pillars, looking at each tomb as they went. Quite a few had statues, although those were traditionally only for the Lords of Winterfell or the Kings in the North of old (though the Kings were buried in deeper levels, for it had been centuries since a King in the North was crowned). At the feet of some of these Lords were statues of dire wolves, but they were less prominent in the most recent tombs.

Jon stopped by the most recent tombs that had been sealed and stepped close to them—a trio of Starks who had died before their time and were laid to rest close together.

These were the tombs of Lord Rickard Stark, his son Brandon, and his daughter Lyanna.

Jon set his hand on his mother's tomb and gently blew away the dust that was gathering there, then looked up at the likeness of her face. Ned had ordered statues be made for his father, brother, and sister despite the statues usually only being constructed for Lords.

He had the memory of his mother now from his Dragon Dreams, and it was a close representation, he'd admit. But stone could not capture the way Lyanna's eyes had gleamed, nor the way her cheeks rose when her lips twisted into a mischievous smile.

"Wish I could've known her," Arya broke the silence, and even though her voice was quiet, it reverberated through the silent cavern. "Father always says I'm just like her, but…"

"It's not the same to just hear it," Dany murmured. "I know. Everyone tells me I look like my mother, Rhaella, but I haven't even dreamed of her."

"Maybe one day," Jon reached for her hand and squeezed. She returned the gentle pressure.

"Does it look like her?" Arya asked. "You said you dreamed of her and your father, didn't you?"

"Aye. It's a lot like her," he admitted. "But she never looked quite so stoic. When we dreamed of her, she was usually smiling or laughing. She was happier than this."

"I hope so. Gods, our family would've been so boring if they always looked like the faces on these statues."

Dany's lips curved upwards into a smile and Jon snorted in amusement. "I suppose so."

They all stilled when they heard an odd scratching sound. Jon held the torch away from the three tombs, towards the deeper parts of the level, and they quickly spotted a bushy tail wagging from halfway behind one of the statues several tombs down.

"Nymeria!" Arya strode after her dire wolf. "What are you doing? Bad girl! Leave that tomb alo—"

Nymeria pulled back, whining, and Jon realized the wolf had pried something from behind the tomb with her paw. Arya knelt and took the object in-hand, rising up with it.

"What'd she find?" Jon asked, frowning as he walked up beside his sister.

"It's a book," she answered, squinting at the title. She brushed away the dust covering it, briefly coughing as the particles flew into the air. "Gross."

Jon brought the torch closer as they crowded around Arya, letting the light shine on the tomb. Dany's eyes narrowed as she read the title aloud. "'The Testimony of...Mushroom'."

"Who the hell is named Mushroom?" Arya scoffed, shaking her head. "What is this even doing here? Behind…William Stark's tomb. He's what, our great-great-grandfather?"

"I think so," Jon frowned at the book and took it from Arya, exchanging the book for the torch. "But what's this doing behind the—"

He made to open the book, only for a piece of paper to fall out from between the first pages. Jon muttered a low curse and knelt to pick it up, holding the paper near the torch so it could be read.

"What's it say?" Arya rose on the tips of her toes, the torch shifting closer to Jon, and he gently pushed it back.

"Easy with that. I don't burn, but I don't want fire in my face," he warned her with a bemused tone. Arya smirked at him as Jon shook his head and tried to read the old writing. "'To whomever might find this book, the dwarf whose testimony it entails was mostly full of shite. He also had a filthy mind and the crudest sense of humor I've yet seen. Don't believe most of what he says when you read this nonsense.'"

"Quite a glowing review," Dany commented dryly.

"'But,'" Jon continued, frowning. "'The little scrote was right on one account: Vermax laid…eggs…'"

Jon felt the blood drain from his face.

"Vermax?" Arya tilted her head curiously. "Who is—"

"Vermax was the dragon who bonded to Prince Jacaerys Velaryon," Jon breathed, and Arya froze in place. "He came here to bring the North to the side of Rhaenyra Targaryen when the Dance of the Dragons began. Jacaerys forged the Pact of Ice and Fire with Lord Cregan Stark, but Vermax was never known to have lain eggs."

Dany stared at him, eyes wide. "Not according to this. Who wrote it?"

Jon kept reading. "'Vermax laid eggs that were hidden in the crypts of Winterfell. Why, I've no idea, and any who might know have long-since died. I searched for many days, but I found one of the eggs Mushroom spoke of behind the tomb of Torrhen Stark, the King who Knelt. Rhaegar my love, he was right.'"

It hit him.

"My mother wrote this," Jon's gaze spun towards Dany, shaken. "Rhaegar never had a dragon egg for his children. All the remaining eggs House Targaryen possessed were destroyed at Summerhall the day he was born."

"Frostfyre's egg was hidden here with the King who Knelt," Dany whispered.

"What else does it say?" Arya demanded. "Are there more?"

Wasn't that the ultimate question?

Jon returned to the page and kept reading. "'I've only just had enough time to find the one egg. Mushroom's testimony suggests there are more, but the crypts are huge and dark, and I've not the time to search for the rest. I must leave now to join Rhaegar, or I might never have the chance to do so again. Perhaps I may return to find the rest, perhaps not. The egg that I have recovered, as white as snow, will be for my Dragon Prince. Perhaps another hidden in the crypts will hatch for the Dragonwolf borne of his blood and mine. He has dreamed it so.'

"'Signed, the She-Wolf,'" Jon swallowed. "It was her. She found Frostfyre's egg for my father...and the dragon hatched for me."

"Jon," Dany reached for his arm and held it tight. "She found one of them. Dragons have laid clutches of up to five eggs, as far as I know. Who knows how many more might be hidden down here?"

He nodded, but was still in something of a daze. Lyanna and Rhaegar—they'd fallen in love perhaps at the tourney of Harrenhall…had Rhaegar told her then about his dreams? She'd come back to Winterfell specifically to search for Vermax's eggs and then fled back south to rejoin her Dragon Prince.

"Jon?"

He shook himself of the revelation. He would have time to brood over this later.

"We need people to help with this," he decided, slipping the letter his mother had written back into the book. "The crypts are too large for us to search alone. It'll take ages."

"Lyanna found one on her own," Arya pointed out.

"We don't have to search for them alone," he reminded her. "How did she even…"

"Torrhen Stark bent the knee to Aegon Targaryen," Dany said suddenly. "Maybe the eggs are hidden with Starks who had a connection to the dragons."

"Maybe," he agreed. It would certainly make sense. "They'd be hidden in tombs before Cregan Stark, in any case. Look—we need to get out of here and see if there were any clues left in the book. We shouldn't just go on a wild hunt for the eggs down here. We need to plan this out before we start searching."

"Then let's go," Arya declared, looking down at her wolf a moment later. "And you are getting whatever you want at dinner tonight. Good girl!"

Nymeria wagged her fluffy tail, looking exceptionally pleased with herself, and followed the humans out of the crypts in a hurry.

Cersei Lannister had been the picture of regal fury in the past few months. One might think she would have long-since exhausted her rage, but the golden Queen Regent seemed to exist in a constant state of silent anger.

The servants had not taken long to learn she was best avoided and never displeased. Especially as of late.

Everything in her once-perfect world was crumbling down, and she was not pleased with it. Jaime was gone, having switched sides to join the Targaryen spawn. She'd heard rumors long ago that her twin had been infatuated with Queen Rhaella, but had assumed that boyish affection had disappeared when the Queen had died at Dragonstone.

Apparently, he still had some love for the Targaryens—enough, in fact, to abandon her and their children at the Red Keep while he went off galavanting with the dragonspawn. She'd known him to be foolish before, but this sort of treason was too much.

As if there wasn't enough bad blood in her family, now her father had betrothed her to Euron Greyjoy, who Cersei had little doubt would prove to be a considerably more abusive husband than Robert ever had been. She was furious with Tywin for this latest blow—the Queen Regent was not a brood mare to be sold to the highest bidder, but gods forbid anything get in the way of his perfect legacy.

She sipped from her wine, scowling in rage at the thought. She'd birthed three beautiful children that should have been more than enough for her father, but apparently that was not so. Tywin had stated in his letter that Joffrey would step down and become a Prince again while Euron's offspring with Cersei would take the Iron Throne one day, as part of his alliance with the Ironborn King.

Joffrey had flown into a rage and murdered one of the servants in a messy, violent display when the news was delivered. He was still enraged days later, and had also killed a cat with his bare hands.

Cersei herself had not taken the news lying down. Euron Greyjoy and his ice dragon would bring King's Landing to its knees, and she would become a prize for him to rape and breed when he took the throne.

But she was a lioness, and her fate was her own.

She had ordered the Pyromancers to begin their work, and to connect the caches of Wildfire Jaime had told her of so long ago. Her fool of a brother, he had urged her to find and remove them, but he never saw the potential of the substance—a weapon. A deterrent.

If the lions could not have their throne, no one could. Cersei had decided as such.

Tommen and Myrcella remained close to her these days, taking shelter in Maegor's holdfast. Joffrey refused to move his quarters, but he was found seated on the Iron Throne most days, anyhow. He would not give up his throne—had taken it for himself with a violent possessiveness he only left behind for the most necessary of tasks.

Cersei's control of her eldest son was slipping fast as he spiraled further into the dangerous temper that had not abetted in the slightest since news came of the Targaryen Dragon King and his beast across the Narrow Sea.

Her scowl deepened—therein lay perhaps one of the most insulting pieces of news she'd yet since received.

Apparently, the boy wasn't Aegon Targaryen at all. He was Jaehaerys Targaryen, the son of Prince Rhaegar and Lyanna fucking Stark.

Lyanna Stark.

Cersei took a deeper drink, seething with pure fury that stoked hot in her belly. The fucking wolf girl just wouldn't stop harassing her life. Her worthless, dead husband had been hopelessly in love with Lyanna, had even spoken her name on their wedding night as he bedded Cersei. That had formed an irreparable rift in their marriage.

But worse was the fact that Rhaegar, the Prince that should have been hers, the lovely young man Cersei had been so enchanted with in her youth, had chosen the wolf girl above all others. Above her.

Her. The most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms.

Her.

It was said the young Jaehaerys greatly resembled Lyanna with his Northern features, but was quiet and solemn as Rhaegar had once been. Cersei felt like she might desire to swallow poison if she ever laid eyes on the child. A Dragonwolf—she scoffed at the idea and dove deeper into her cups.

She was going to mount his head on a spike beside Euron's and Eddard Stark's when she was done with them. Joffrey was King, and he would remain King. Not these pretenders, these pirates and bastards and traitors.

And if they succeeded in taking King's Landing, they would find themselves seated on a throne of ashes. They would get nothing.

She wouldn't let them.

Doreah sighed, a smile upon her face as she watched little Visenya nurse at her teat. The quiet sounds of the babe suckling were so sweet to hear, as was the way her daughter's tiny hands kneaded Doreah's breast—trying to encourage more milk to come.

"How can you be so hungry all the time?" Doreah wondered aloud. "You eat and sleep and cry, my sweet, and that's all. Where do you get this appetite?"

Visenya big, purple eyes peeked open at the sound of her mother's voice, but she did not pull away from Doreah's breast and just looked up with wide-eyed innocence. Doreah beamed down at her, the hand holding her daughter in place tenderly stroking her back. Caring for her babe was exhausting—especially after fighting off the birthing fever in Braavos and then embarking on a moon-long voyage across the Narrow Sea to Westeros, but Doreah would have suffered anything so long as she was able to be with her daughter.

The babe had become her whole world, and what a beautiful world it was.

"Hopefully you'll get to see your cousin soon," she cooed to the baby. "Do you remember Jon? He'll sing you to sleep again when next we see him. I know you love how he sings."

Visenya's eyes closed again, and only now did she release her mother's breast. Her little mouth went slack around Doreah's nipple, and she shifted around a bit to adjust her dress and slowly stand up from her place on the bed.

She heard a knock at the door and called for their guest to enter. Ser Jaime peeked inside, smiling at the sight of Doreah cradling Visenya. "Did she finish?"

"She did," Doreah gently bounced her babe in her arms. "You've memorized her feeding times well."

"Whatever I can do to help. I know it's not easy," he told her quietly, stepping into the room. "Would you like me to burp her for you?"

"Oh, I couldn't ask that of you, Ser."

"It's no trouble. I did it enough on the voyage here, anyway," Jaime reminded her. "And you can't hide how tired you are. There are still dark spots under your eyes."

Doreah pursed her lips, still bouncing Visenya. The promise of a little more rest was very tempting…

"Let me help," Jaime encouraged her gently. "She needs you to stay healthy."

"Well…alright, if you insist," Doreah agreed. Jaime stepped close and they carefully shifted the baby into his arms. Visenya made a little gurgle at the exchange, but she knew Jaime by now and adjusted quickly enough—she was just full and sleepy by now.

Doreah moved to sit back on the bed while the Knight began to encourage her daughter to burp. She watched him fondly—though she knew Jon and Daenerys were wary of the man who had slain the Mad King, he was proving to be worth the tiny grains of trust they'd placed in him.

He was a good man. Of course he had his faults, but his heart was good, and that was a rare thing in the world Doreah had come from.

"Come on, little dragon," Jaime murmured gently, his hand lightly patting Visenya's back. "You need not spit fire upon me. I know you are eager for sleep."

Doreah let out a soft laugh. "'Tis not fire she shall spit upon you."

"Oh, I'm aware," he chuckled. "Wouldn't be the first time, won't be the last, I'm sure."

Jaime fell silent save for his quiet murmurs and gentle pats as Doreah fell back into her bed and made herself comfortable. She closed her eyes and sighed, nuzzling into her pillow. After a few minutes, she heard the telltale soft belch of her daughter, causing a smile to rise upon her lips.

"There we are. Was that so hard?" Jaime asked the infant in his arms, who didn't respond verbally in the slightest. Clearly, Visenya was ready for her nap.

Doreah heard him shifting round the room to place Visenya in the small crib they'd set up while they were staying in White Harbor. Though they would soon leave for Winterfell and wouldn't be able to bring the crib with them, it was currently where Visenya spent much of her time.

"Here we are, little dragon," he murmured. "Let's get you tucked in."

More shuffling, the sounds of Jaime placing Visenya in her crib and pulling furs over her tiny body. There was silence for a while and Doreah peeked an eye open to see what was happening.

Jaime was standing by the crib, his hand still inside. She could see Visenya holding onto one of his fingers with her tiny hand—unwilling to relinquish her grip while she was awake, it seemed.

She watched, half-awake, as Jaime stroked the tiny fingers with the utmost care. Doreah heard him speak, his voice a whisper in the silence of the candlelit room. "Is this what it might have been like?"

Eyelids heavy, Doreah finally gave in to the pull of sleep, only vaguely aware of Jaime as he quietly slipped out of the room.

Dany stood outside of Winterfell's walls with the Starks as Jon summoned Frostfyre to the ancient castle. They were speaking, but the conversation was awkward and not at all as easy as it had been in the days prior.

Their time together was at an end. He had to return to his uncle's army to fight Euron Greyjoy, the Lannisters, and the ice dragon lying in wait somewhere to the south.

He wouldn't be present when they started searching the crypts for the dragon eggs Vermax laid. When Doreah and Visenya rejoined them at Winterfell with the rest of their people. When Arya began to study what she could of Wargs and how she might hone the magic.

He wouldn't be present if Dany found out she was with child. Gods, he might not even be present when their babe was born—if it was born.

She pushed those thoughts far away. She would not let such things consume her last moments with her husband. It could very well be the last time she ever saw him. War was not a game.

All too soon, the roar of a dragon filled the air, and then Frostfyre was descending to land close by. Her great wings sent up a flurry of snow as she rumbled a greeting, fixing her violet gaze upon her Rider and his family.

"Be safe," Catelyn told him. "Give Ned and Robb our love."

"I will," he promised.

"Try Warging with Ghost—or maybe Frostfyre?" Arya suggested, frowning. "Can you Warg with a dragon?"

"Skinchange," he corrected. "Warging is for Skinchangers who share a wolf's mind. I'm not sure if I can Skinchange with Frostfyre. She's not an ordinary animal."

"Well. Try?"

He smiled slightly. "I'll try, little wolf. In exchange, you be careful with your magic and keep Dany safe for me. Promise?"

Arya grinned. "Nymeria and I will keep her safe. Promise."

He gave Arya a tight hug, then did the same with Bran and Rickon—telling the older boy to keep practicing on his horse and informing the younger that he needed to eat more so he'd be all grown up when Jon returned. It got smiles from both of them.

Jon faced Sansa and she hesitated before holding her arms open for a hug. He cracked a smile and stepped into her embrace, holding his sister tight. Whatever the rift slowly bridging between them, Dany knew he still loved his sister.

"Remember what we talked about?" Jon asked quietly. Sansa nodded and he pulled back, holding her by the shoulders. "Just do the best you can. I have faith in you."

She slowly nodded, a hesitant smile upon her face. "I will. Good luck, Jon. Stay safe."

Jon returned the nod and then pulled away from the Starks. He faced Dany and she stepped forward, taking his hand and moving towards the dragon awaiting him.

When they stood before Frostfyre, she turned to face her husband and took both of his hands in hers. She looked down at the snow between their boots, trying not to tremble and failing miserably.

"Dany," he murmured.

"You will come back to me," she whispered. "You will not die."

"Aye," Jon leaned his forehead on hers, taking a deep breath. She squeezed his hands tight as he let out a shaky exhale. "If—if you end up carrying our child…Dany, promise me—it can't be like your mother. Like mine."

"We will be there," she promised, breath hitching in her throat. "Both of us."

He opened his mouth to say more, but then gave up and pulled her in for a bruising kiss. Dany threw her arms around his neck, eyes spilling tears down her cheeks as she kissed him fiercely. She tried to pour out all the love she felt for him as if he could drink it up and keep it forever inside of him.

"I love you," Jon choked out.

"And I you," she cried. "My sun and stars."

"Moon of my life," he returned, placing one more kiss on her lips before he pulled back, hands slipping free of hers with one last squeeze. Dany reached after him without thinking before letting her hands fall to her sides, watching as Jon rushed to mount the dragon.

Perhaps he feared he wouldn't have the strength to leave if he didn't go now.

She set her hand on Frostfyre's snout, wiping at her blurry eyes. The dragon's violet gaze met her own, solemn in a way Daenerys had never seen before. She could sense the sorrow between them—knew that a parting was coming.

"Protect him," she begged the dragon.

Frostfyre made a soft keen, a sound that made Dany want to weep, and then the snow-scaled dragon lifted her head to turn away. With several quick steps, she was launching herself into the air with Jon on her back.

Frostfyre let out a roar of mourning, a goodbye as only a dragon could voice.

Dany heard footsteps in the snow and felt the familiar hand of Catelyn Stark lay itself upon her shoulder, pulling the girl into the older woman's embrace. She sucked in a shuddering breath.

"Is it always this hard?" Dany asked, voice quivering.

"Always," Catelyn uttered softly as they watched the dragon fly off with Dany's husband—separate from her for the first time since he'd come to save her in Pentos.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-Two: Split Paths

Ned stood around the large table in the makeshift war room at Torrhen's Square, gathered with his son, nephew, and the Lords of the North as they planned their next move.

Jon had returned nearly a moon ago from Winterfell, tenser and graver than Ned could ever remember him being. His nephew had always been a solemn boy, but there was a sadness to him now that Ned knew was because of his separation from Daenerys.

The Lord of Winterfell knew his pain well—felt it every time he had to part from Catelyn for a battle, but he knew it had to be even harder on his nephew. Leaving your beloved behind for the first time was never easy, less so when you were off to war.

Ned and Catelyn hadn't loved each other when first they wed—seven hells, they'd barely known each other—but he'd still been reluctant to leave knowing she was carrying his firstborn child in her belly all those years ago. Aye, he loved her now, loved her deep and true, and she him. But Jon and Daenerys…they were younger, and their bond was far stronger than Ned and Cat's had been in their youth.

He'd made a point to have Jon with him close most days, which was easy enough since Jon was the Head of his own House and one of the leading forces of their army. His nephew needed the support of his family right now—needed to feel beyond any doubt that he was not alone.

He could only hope his wife and children back in Winterfell were devoting time to ensure Daenerys also did not become lonely without her husband. She and Jon had become so dependent on one another in the past year.

He shook those thoughts from his head and glanced at Theon and Asha Greyjoy.

"Where do we stand on the fleet?" Ned asked.

"Everything is just about fully repaired," Theon admitted. "The Iron Victory has seen better days, though. I doubt it will be battle-ready for some moons yet. A lot of the hull was damaged when the dragon dropped it on the riverbank."

"We got Victarion for it," Asha shrugged. "It's just one ship. The others we captured are all seaworthy now. They took only minor damage for the most part."

"Good. I spoke with Ser Talhart earlier," Ned gestured to the Lord in question, who dipped his head. "Torrhen's Square is recovering well from the Ironborn siege. It should be defensible enough now for us to begin moving out without fear of a second attack taking it, but we'll leave a slightly larger garrison behind for caution's sake."

"Where do we mean to march, then?" Greatjon queried.

"We'll have to divide our forces for a time," he admitted, tapping his finger upon the map at the marker indicating Torrhen's Square. "The ships must each be manned and sailed back to the Sunset Sea, where they will join up with Lady Asha's five ships to converge on Flint's Finger. We'll retake that next before we move on to the shipyard in Ironman's Bay.

"But we've received a letter from Riverrun, as well," Ned told the Lords of the North. "It seems Tywin Lannister is marching his forces to us at a quick pace. I imagine he means to take the Twins—likely by bartering a deal with Lord Frey. We will have to march the majority of our army on-foot to meet them in order to reach the Ironborn shipyard."

"You mean to attack the Twins?" Dacey Mormont asked with a raised eyebrow. "Will that not anger your goodfather, the Lord of Riverrun?"

"We might not have a choice," he replied, voice grim. "Lord Frey is an opportunistic weasel who is perhaps even more powerful than his Overlord. The strategic position of the Twins has made House Frey into an impressive power so long as they remain in their stronghold. I've little doubt that Tywin and Walder Frey will barter a deal before they commit bloodshed against one another."

A spattering of murmurs filled the air. Lord Karstark frowned deeply. "The Twins might be nigh impossible to take with the Lannisters boosting Frey's garrison. Could we not take the road through the Neck to Flint's Finger and then head south along the shore of the bay?"

"We could," Lord Bolton inclined his head. "But even with Lord Reed there to support us, such a move might leave us pinned between Tywin and Euron's forces. Our ships aren't numerous enough to conquer Euron's on their own—we will be outnumbered and outmatched at sea, where the Greyjoys have every advantage."

"What about the dragon?" Lord Manderly prompted. "It would be able to breach the defenses of the Twins, would it not?"

Jon spoke now, his voice firm. "She could, aye, but blasting them open with dragonfire might do irreparable damage to any stronghold or fortress we hit. We could destroy the gates, but the deeper fortifications, no. Not without turning the bridge into a second Harrenhal."

"What if such destruction becomes necessary?" Dacey garnered their attention, her eyes stern as she watched Jon. "Your dragon is the power that balances our forces against this Greyjoy-Lannister alliance. By the time this war is over, it might be that all the enemy fortresses will be burnt down. There will be collateral damage. Do you have the spine to live with that?"

That created an uncomfortable silence for a few moments before Jon answered, and his tone was as hard as Valyrian steel. "Obviously, I'd rather not raze castles and fortresses to the ground, but this is war. We'll have to live with the choices we make, no matter how grim they might be. We win, or we die, and I did not leave my wife at Winterfell so I could die."

"Well said, lad," the Greatjon nodded approvingly. "War's not for pretty songs and fancy tales. It's blood and shit and the screams of dying men. It's never clean."

"We'll cross that bridge when we get there," Ned agreed, though his expression was grim. "Or burn it, if we must."

There was an undercurrent of agreement. Just about everyone here was a seasoned veteran, save for a few of the younger men. Jon even. Sometimes Ned had to remind himself that his nephew had already fought a war single-handedly and won. He'd burned Khal Drogo's Dothraki horde to ashes, dishonored the barbarian with defeat, and sent him fleeing back to Vaes Dothrak with his tail between his legs. Seven hells, Jon and his dragon had a higher body count than anyone else at the table.

His nephew and his son were killers now, just like him. Though gruesome the tasks before them might be, they would not shy from what had to be done.

He was proud of them.

"For now, I mean to see our men marching out of Torrhen's square in two days time," Ned told his Bannermen. "Lord Manderly and Lady Mormont will head our fleet with Theon and Lady Asha. I will lead the rest of our army on foot to meet with Lord Reed near Moat Cailin. We must have a foothold the south cannot pierce, and the old fortress has repelled many an invasion in the past."

More agreements. Lord Karstark spoke up again. "Who will King Jaehaerys fly with when we part?"

"I'm going to sweep down the river first," Jon answered. "To ensure there aren't any Ironborn reinforcements heading our way. After that, I'll fly east and check the other waterways up to the Saltspear, then I'll head north again to rejoin Lord Stark. The flight should take us four days, perhaps five if we go check out Borrowton for Ironborn. I'll spend anywhere between a week or a fortnight with our armies at any one time unless something draws our eye. I don't want to run Frostfyre ragged—she needs all her strength to take on Euron's ice dragon."

"By then, we'll be clear of the river system to our east," Ned muttered. "If Borrowton is under siege or has been taken, I'll divert a force to retake the town. I don't want any Ironborn sneaking up on us from behind and making our lives more difficult than they already are."

"Agreed," Greatjon rumbled. The rest of the Lords also gave their assent.

"That's all for now," Ned told them. "We'll meet again here tomorrow morning and I'll give each of you your individual commands for the march to come. Dismissed."

The Lords all turned as one and began to leave the war room, murmuring to one another on the way out. Jon remained, studying the map with his arms crossed. Robb stayed as well, walking over to his father to stop beside him.

"Where will I be?"

"You'll ride with me," Ned answered. "I might send you and Domeric Bolton to take Borrowton depending on the Greyjoy presence there. You need to get used to being in command. Should the worst happen to me, you will become Warden in the North, and the leader of our armies."

Robb nodded gravely, then looked over at Jon. "What do you think?"

Jon pursed his lips, his dark eyes scanning the map of Westeros. "I do not like this idea of an alliance between Tywin Lannister and Walder Frey. They're both conniving old bastards, and I shudder to think of what they might plan together."

"Aye. They have similar mindsets, as well," Ned admitted. "Both seek to enhance and preserve the positions of their Houses through whatever means necessary. I have little doubt Frey will want quite the boon from Tywin, but the old lion won't accept any deal from that weasel for nothing. They're cunning, sharp veterans. Together, they might be able to hold off the entirety of the North at the Twins."

"Not me," Jon uttered, a flash of something dangerous in his eyes.

"If we must send you to attack the Twins," Ned hesitated. "Jon—"

"I think the threat of my dragon might be enough to deter them," he cut his uncle off, brow furrowing. "I can set fire to one of the bridges if I must—it'll put us back, but it wouldn't be a disaster. If…if they still refuse to submit, then…"

"I won't order you to kill women and children."

Jon bit his lip. "I know. These are the sorts of men who will use the presence of women and children as a deterrent. If they won't give in, I'll have to try something else. Burn the lands around them to nothing, leave them as Lords of naught but ash. I don't want to murder women and children and babes still at their mothers' breasts."

"Tywin especially knows you won't condone the murders of innocents," Robb pointed out to his father. "He was the one to show Robert the bodies of Elia Martell and her children. He'll remember how you reacted."

Ned grimaced. "He'll exploit it as a weakness, but you're right. We'll have to be ruthless in other ways."

Jon tapped the map thoughtfully. "What if we stop Tywin and Lord Frey from meeting at all?"

"How?"

"No," Ned stopped his nephew, fixing him with a stern look. "Even on Frostfyre, if you raid the Lannister forces that deep in the south and are wounded, you'll be days away from help. It's too risky."

"When they get closer, then."

"It's still too far, Jon. Our forces aren't nearly close enough to provide you with any kind of support."

His nephew pursed his lips, clearly thinking on the topic. Ned sighed. "I know you want this war over with as soon as possible. I don't blame you. I want to go back home as much as the rest of us. I want to see my wife again. But we must be cautious. Do not make me return home with your bones in my arms. What would I tell Daenerys?"

That had Jon's shoulders sagging and he closed his eyes to take a deep breath. "I know you're right. I'm just…"

"I know," he said gently, walking over to take Jon's shoulder and squeeze it firmly. He was almost eye-level with Ned now. Was he going through another growth spurt? Gods, by the time the war was over, Jon might be even taller than him.

An odd thought, yet a heartwarming one.

"Come," he murmured, glancing from Jon to Robb and back again. "Let us find something to eat. We still have much to do today."

Robb went with Jon to the western walls of Torrhen Square for a task that, frankly, no one had attempted in nigh over a hundred years.

Tyrion Lannister waddled alongside them with a small collection of writing tools in a case he seemed to carry everywhere. Though Robb often saw the dwarf holed up in his tent, today he left his quiet corner of the world to work on something that could prove vital to the success of the war.

They'd had to order the men near the western wall to clear away for this. There was really no other way to go about the task ahead of them.

Jon stood at the edge of the battlements and closed his eyes, focusing for a minute. Robb and Tyrion waited patiently, and before long, they heard a familiar shriek.

Frostfyre descended from the sky to the west, soaring over the Torrhen's Square and looping back around to land at the edge of the thirty foot high walls closest to them. She reared back on her legs and propped the claws of her wings against the side of the castle walls to look down on them.

Her Rider stepped forward, a smile on his face that Robb saw less of these days, and lifted a hand to stroke her muzzle. The dragon rumbled, violet eyes searching Jon as he murmured to her in a language unfamiliar to Robb, though he suspected it was Valyrian.

Robb chose not to move while Jon interacted with the dragon. She was intelligent, but she was still the deadliest predator in all of Westeros—he would much rather she didn't see him as food.

Frostfyre had eaten people before. She knew how they tasted.

He hoped she preferred other kinds of meat.

"While this is quite truly the most incredible experience of my life," Tyrion began quietly, "I still cannot see her body from here as I must."

"Shall I describe it to you?" Robb grinned. "Or would you like me to find you a box?"

The dwarf couldn't hold back his laugh and even Jon snorted in amusement. Frostfyre looked at the guests of her Rider with a slight tilt to her head, as if she was pondering their reactions.

Unfortunately, Tyrion was too short to peer over the battlements to see the dragon's back, so Robb actually had to go get him a box. They all got a good laugh out of that, even more so when Frostfyre's head tilted further like an owl's. Clearly, she did not understand humor as humans did.

They were fortunate Jon knew how to distract her, stroking her scales and pulling some of the loose ones from her face, which were usually harder for her to groom. The dragon rumbled appreciatively, a low purr in her throat, and greedily accepted her Rider's attention.

"I started doing this for her not long after our reunion beyond the Wall," he confessed. "She used to rub herself against snow and trees and rocks, but I think this is more comfortable for her."

"It makes sense," Tyrion admitted as he climbed onto the box and set his supplies on the stone slab of the battlements. "A Maester who studied the dragons on Dragonstone once wrote that some of the more sociable dragons groomed each other of their loose scales."

"Not all of them are social?" Robb queried.

"Gods, no," the dwarf remarked. "One of the untamed, wild dragons on Dragonstone was known only as 'The Cannibal'. Need I explain why?"

"No."

Tyrion extracted parchment, a quill, and the ink necessary to draw Frostfyre's body. He'd completed a rough design while Jon was away at Winterfell, but needed an accurate sketch of the dragon's back, as well as measurements before they could set the blacksmiths and tanners to work.

"Be as quick as you can manage," Jon advised the dwarf as he pulled another loose scale from Frostfyre's lower jaw. "She's a bit restless—I'll have to fly with her after this."

"Of course," Tyrion didn't take his eyes from the dragon and only made quick glances to the parchment as he continued to draw.

"How do you guide her?" Robb asked curiously. "I saw you direct her towards the Iron Victory during the battle."

"Look for the spines at the base of her neck, just behind the frills," Jon told him, as he had to focus on his dragon. "There's a pair of them I usually hold onto when we're flying. They're flexible things—I guide her by pushing and pulling on them."

"Is that so? Fascinating," Tyrion remarked, still drawing. "I was planning on the saddle being a bit further back, but I can adjust the design to position you close to the spines, I think."

"Why further back?"

"The old Targaryen Dragon Lords directed their beasts with steel-tipped whips. They needed to be further back so the whips could strike the haunches of the dragons as they flew."

"Steel-tipped?" Robb lifted an eyebrow.

"Only way for a dragon to even feel the lash of a whip," Tyrion continued his sketch, focused even as he recited his encyclopedic knowledge of dragonkind. "The armor of an adult is too thick to be pierced by anything short of another dragon's claws or teeth. A steel-tipped whip might as well be a loving tap to them. If it actually hurt, I imagine many more Targaryens would have become food for their dragons."

"Aye," Jon agreed. "Dragons are fierce and prideful creatures. Anyone who has dared prove themselves fool enough to attack Frostfyre has found themselves turned to ash. Dothraki and Ironborn both had tried, and they have died."

Robb hummed, not doubting the savagery of a dragon's fury in the slightest. "I still cannot believe her egg was hidden in Winterfell's crypts. Which dragon sired her, again? I remember few of their names, save Balerion and one or two more."

"I can only guess which dragon sired her," his brother admitted. "The female who laid her egg was Vermax, who was sired by Syrax and Seasmoke. Syrax was born of Silverwing, and her mother was Meraxes, who mated with Balerion himself, or so they say Aemon told me a story once that Aegon the Conquerer and Queen Rhaenys bonded to their dragons because they too loved each other."

"A tale that could very well have been romanticized by centuries of time," Tyrion pointed out.

"True," Jon shrugged. "But it would make sense if Vermax was the one who laid Frostfyre's egg. Her light scales are descended from the pale females before her."

Speaking of scales…

Jon ran his hands again over Frostfyre's snout. "Lord Tyrion, are you done?"

The dragon rumbled and Robb realized she was out of loose scales that needed pulling. Her patience with them would not last long, now.

Tyrion flashed one more quick glance at the dragon's back. "It will do for now."

Jon murmured something to the dragon and then rushed off from the battlements. Robb watched as Frostfyre lowered herself back to the ground, pushing away from the wall as she waited impatiently for her Rider.

His brother took only a minute to run outside the castle walls, and the dragon bowed her body low so he could climb upon her back. Robb watched as Jon settled himself at the base of her neck with practiced ease, and Tyrion was sketching something furiously on another piece of parchment.

Frostfyre let out a scream, then took two quick steps towards the river before launching her enormous body into the sky. The pounding of her wings made deep thunderclaps, tearing through wind the way a paddle drove through water.

She turned in the air, making a wide circle around the castle, and Robb could clearly see the tiny, dark shape of his brother upon the back of the dragon. It was always surreal to watch Jon ride a creature that might as well have been a god, a force of nature given life.

Frostfyre dipped low, surging directly over Robb and Tyrion such that they both ducked and were buffeted by a blast of wind. She roared again as they flew off towards the Stone Shore. They wouldn't go far, he knew, but Jon would undoubtedly wish to let his dragon work out some of her pent-up energy with a good flight.

"There flies Aegon the Conquerer come again, and his Dread now White," Tyrion murmured as they watched the dragon and her Rider leave.

Though Robb would disagree that Jon was a conquerer the same way his ancestor had been, he did not refute his dwarf companion. His brother was carving out a place in history with fire and blood, as Targaryens always did.

And Robb would be there beside him for every battle to come.

Hunting was always easiest with the pack.

White-fur twisted his head, scenting the air as Black-fur-father let out a low rumble in his throat, his great shape padding silently through the thick woods. Smoke-fur-brother's ear twitched beside him and then a friendly snout shoved at his muzzle.

Black-fur-father twisted his head to look at them and they both hurried along, understanding his silent warning.

This was a hunt. Not a game. Playtime was for after they had eaten.

They caught the scent of their horned prey, crept silently across the forest floor until they had them in-sight. He hung back further than his father and brother—his white fur was too noticeable to hide.

But they had no intention of hiding him.

Black-fur-father looked at him again, pale yellow eyes glowing in the dark, and his soft growl was the only command White-fur needed. He slipped away from the rest of the pack at a distance, drawing a wide circle around the herd. He took his time—even in the low light of the evening, he needed to be cautious. If he failed now, the hunt might fail.

White-fur began to slowly creep closer, belly low to the ground and silent save the rustle of his thick pelt against fallen branches and bushes. He placed his footsteps carefully until the herd was visible again.

He deliberately snapped a twig that penetrated the silence of the forest. The herd's attention sharpened, ears pricked and eyes scanning, on guard for a threat.

They were focused on him. He was the distraction.

White-fur burst from the foliage with a silent snarl, teeth bared and tongue lolling as the herd bolted in the opposite direction, towards the thicker foliage where he could not run them down.

Black-fur-father and Smoke-fur-brother were lying in wait.

An explosion of movement and a guttural growl filled White-fur's senses, and then his nose picked up the sharp, metallic scent of blood as Black-fur-father crunched through the throat of his chosen victim. Smoke-fur-brother bit into one of the kicking back legs and White-fur leapt to join them, dragging the animal down with his added body weight as his teeth sought out the spine and neck. Blood burst hot and tangy into his mouth.

Between the three of them, it was all over in seconds.

Black-fur-father shook their prey violently, and with White-fur's grip they all heard the sharp sound of bone snapping. The legs twitched, spasmed and stiffened.

Black-fur-father let go and moved to belly of their prey, growling at the excited shape of Smoke-fur-brother to back off. He licked away at the fur, then ripped stomach open so the guts spilled out. Black-fur-father rumbled then, lifting his head to guard while his growing pups tore into the carcass.

White-fur's ear twitched as Smoke-fur-brother eagerly dove into the stomach cavity, seeking out the greatest delicacies. He settled for the huge back leg, tearing through fur and meat and muscle while Smoke-fur-brother gorged himself.

The pack would eat well tonight.

Jon awoke with a gasp, sitting up and reaching for his mouth. His tongue felt thicker than normal, the taste of blood still fresh in his mouth. The return to his waking self was disorienting, and it took him a few moments to settle down.

He'd never dreamed like that before, but he realized he must have been seeing through Ghost's eyes. Although he still wasn't as closely bonded with the dire wolf as Frostfyre, it was common now for Ghost to be with him on the ground every second he wasn't with the dragon.

When he walked through the camp, he heard "Dragonwolf" being muttered around him. The moniker suited him now in more ways than one, he reflected.

As Jon's mind calmed, he wondered if his bond with Ghost was becoming strong enough to Warg. Arya was already adept at it, albeit unpracticed. He'd spoken with uncle Ned and Robb about her abilities, and although Ned had never had such dreams, Robb had shared that he sometimes dreamed he was Grey Wind. Jon wondered if all the Stark children could be Wargs. Apparently, that included Jon.

He blinked and sighed, realizing that that was a foolish assessment. Of course he was included—Lyanna Stark was his mother, and the wolf's blood ran hotter in her than any Stark save perhaps Arya. More than that, magic flowed in Jon's veins like no one else he knew. He was descended from two ancient, powerful Houses that carried old magic in their bloodlines.

He had some experience feeling for the minds of a creature bonded to him with magic. Frostfyre's connection to him was always there, always prominent. Ghost's was new, still growing, and yet there was a…tangibility to it that wasn't present with his dragon. It was slippery when he reached for it—like grasping a ledge too round and large to grip properly, but it was there.

Something to work on, Jon decided, closing his eyes again. He'd turned in early, meaning to get some extra sleep before he flew off with Frostfyre to scout the river system tomorrow.

Warging dreams were certainly interesting, but he was hoping for a different kind of dream that night.

As he drifted off for the second time that night, his wish was granted.

He stood this time on the deck of the poleboat they'd seen in their last dream. Jon watched as the blue-haired boy he remembered as Young Griff walked to the side of the ship, standing beside the girl—Nyssa, wasn't it? She'd been scarcely noticeable in the last dream.

He cared not for them. Jon twisted his head and there she was.

Dany was throwing her arms around him before he could even turn fully to catch her, squeezing tight and pressing their lips together in a sweet kiss.

"Missed you," he whispered.

"Mm," she hummed, nuzzling into his neck.

They were probably meant to pay attention to this Dragon Dream, but Jon needed a moment to just catch up with Dany. It had only been a moon, but still. When was the last time they'd been apart for longer than a day?

"How are you?" Dany asked.

"Doing well. We're about to move out," he confessed. "I'm flying Frostfyre along the rivers tomorrow."

"I see."

"What about you?" Jon couldn't hide the anxiety in his voice, his hand resting hesitantly upon her waist.

Her lips curved up into a smile. "It's only been a moon, Jon. It's still too early to tell."

"Oh."

"Well," she looked down for a moment and he focused on her again. "I…haven't had my moon's blood yet. That doesn't necessarily mean anything since it's not been that long, but…"

Jon took her hands in his and managed a shaky smile. "We'll know for sure next time we dream, won't we?"

"Hmm," she agreed.

"…seems to think it'll take us about a year to get to Westeros," Young Griff's voice broke their little bubble, drawing the gazes of the two Targaryens. The young man had his arms crossed and was looking out over the river as they sailed at a leisurely pace. "The Magister agrees. We'll get a better ship in Volantis and sail from there. I imagine we'll be stopping in Pentos for a short time, as well—Magister Illyrio is more at home in his manse, and he can supply us for our journey across the Narrow Sea."

"We appear to be due for a long voyage at sea, Your Grace."

Jon felt his brow rise. Your Grace? Griff was a King?

"Indeed. I am anxious to meet this Dragon King…and Princess Daenerys, of course. She was meant to become my bride before Jaehaerys Targaryen emerged with his dragon."

Dany's hand tightened in his own and Jon's eyes narrowed. Young Griff would find himself rather disappointed if that was what he was coming for.

Dany was his, and Jon was hers.

"Do you think he is truly Prince Rhaegar's son, Your Grace?" Nyssa asked, appearing curious about the prospect.

Young Griff chewed on his lip in thought. "The dragon alone is evidence enough that he has the blood of Old Valyria running strong in his veins. Of course, I cannot be certain yet that he is truly my brother, but it's the only answer that makes sense."

Jon's blood froze.

Brother?

Brother?

Dany was clenching his hand, her face pale as his own as they regarded the Young Griff with new, assessing eyes. The young man in question glanced at Nyssa with a sideways smile. "As long as he submits to my authority as the eldest son, I will welcome him with open arms into my family. The Martells might be a tougher sell on the matter, but I have need of a powerful Dragon Rider like him."

Jon was still in a daze as he listened to the boy speak. Young Griff was claiming to be his older brother, and that meant he could only be one person—Aegon Targaryen, the son of Prince Rhaegar and Princess Elia.

Dany's mind was whirling from the moment she woke up that following morning.

Aegon Targaryen. Was it possible? Jon had once disguised himself with that name, but could the child in question have actually survived?

But then why did the Magister keep him separate from Viserys and I if he knew about him? Dany wondered, frowning. He clearly knew about us. They had planned to wed me to Aegon…and yet I would have still been sold to Drogo before that. What purpose would that have served?

What game was the Magister playing? The thoughts that plagued her were unwelcome and made her feel somewhat ill. Dany had been a bargaining chip for Viserys to get his army, but now she suspected Illyrio had a different endgame in mind. How deep did this go?

She blinked and realized she was still staring at the furs in her hands, which she had meant to change into minutes before. She'd become lost in thought. Dany shook her head to clear the fog from her mind, but it only made her feel more uncomfortable.

She needed to eat. Her stomach was growling insistently. Dany quickly changed into her clothes for the day and made her way out of her room to join the Starks for breakfast.

Dany's mood brightened when she met Sansa and Catelyn at the table. The two youngest Stark boys and Arya were not present yet, which meant the only dire wolf was Sansa's—Lady. She was the smallest of the litter, with soft gray fur and yellow eyes.

Even so, she was still a growing dire wolf, and one that was already as big as most adult wolves found more commonly in the North.

"Good morning, Your Grace," Sansa greeted her.

"Sansa," Dany raised an eyebrow, and the younger girl flushed somewhat.

"Forgive me, it's a habit," she pursed her lips awkwardly. "Daenerys."

"It is forgiven. There is no harm done," Dany replied gently as she took a seat beside the red-haired girl. "Did you sleep well?"

"I did," Sansa relaxed somewhat. "And you?"

"Jon and I had another Dragon Dream," she admitted.

Catelyn perked up. "Oh? How is he?"