Chapter 1: Prologue — Sansa
Chapter Text
Take heed, you bear in mind the piety you owe unto your country and unto your countrymen, whose slaughter by the treachery of thy blood oath be your disgrace everlasting. Unless you press hardily forward to defend them. ” said the Great Maester of Kings Landing upon opening of the trail of the Imp of Casterly Rock.
— from the History of the Kings of the Iron throne in the third century,
by Archimaester Arkibald
PROLOGUE
SANSA
“Unto you be disgrace for those who do not bear in mind the piety the owe unto their country and unto their countrymen,” Great Maester Pycelle intoned, the words falling like tinkering blabbering, “these are the words bespoken by Aegon the First, king of the Iron throne in the day the Father spoke to him, in the humble sept of Dragonstone, tasking him with uniting the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros”
The entire hall of the Iron throne was waiting with bathed breath, the pulpit from which the testimonies would be rendered, and the central pedestal for the accused towering over the court.
The words were misquoted, but Sansa was not about to point it out, she was already in a difficult position as it was, and in all honesty Sansa couldn't affirm that ridding the world of Joffrey Baratheon was a deed done against the welfare of the people of the Realm. Not that she would point that out either, especially since for the umpteenth time the king of the Iron throne had proved that the worst could not be killed.
She didn't know what God had protected her, because when Joffrey fell from the higher table he was sharing with his new wife, queen Margaery Tyrell, dislodging the cake-mouthful soaked into the poisoned wine, surviving thus the attempted poisoning queen Cersei had called for her head as well as her husband’s.
“And what worse crime but treachery against the Realm and the king we can name than the kin of His Grace, attempting to murder him to seize the throne?” Pycelle droned on.
Idiocy. Even if Tyrion had wanted to kill Joffrey for reason unknown to her, he still could not seize the Iron throne, the next in line would be Tommen, and Sansa knew how fond her husband was of his younger nephew and niece.
But, the rest of the Realm appeared to have forgotten that detail, thus Tyrion had been apprehended on charges of treason and thrown in the black cells as the king recovered, and Sansa had been spared at least the ignominy of being thrown in the black cells she as well.
Cersei had demanded it, but the lord Hand — who had taken hold of the matter as the king recovered — had steadfastly advocated for her to remain enclosed in her quarters, instead of throw in prison.
Sansa knew why he had done it.
He had secretly summoned her to his solar, and demanded she offered innocence testimony for her husband even though she was unaware of his perceived innocence or guilt.
Perhaps he had thought the kindness of avoiding her the black cells would have conquered her distrust in him, but Sansa was more than determined to ensure House Lannister got destroyed from within.
They were already doing a masterful job of it on their own. The queen mother and her husband were perpetually at each other’s throat, plotting for ways to destroy each other, instead of holding together the Realm; and lord Tywin, clever he may be, was blind to all the dynamics ongoing within his own House, caring only for the legacy he so much spewed upon.
If Sansa managed to get the lions to tear at each other, maybe Robb could manage to get out of the impasse which had forced the war to a standoff in the Riverlands and take the capital and offer to her Joffrey’ head for what he had done to their lord father. To them all.
“Bring the accused forward!”
Lord Tywin had not been the only one who had spoke to her, queen Cersei had as well, trying to convince her to speak against Tyrion promising her a better match for her and her protection if she helped destroy the Imp. And then… Joffrey had.
Having been so close to death had not stopped the false king from coming to her chamber in the death of the night, knife in hand to demand she paid for her Crimes and treachery.
Whatever my treacherous husband has done I had no part, you know this Your Grace. I did your bidding, everytime you demanded it of me, even Marrying the Imp and I did it well and with grace as it was you who commanded it of me, and I love you, more than I love my life.
She had even went as far as to grab the knife he had been pointing at her neck and press it against her skin, biting against her flesh, warm blood staining her corset for good measure.
Joffrey had been enticed by that. He had felt powerful because of that, and all the while Sansa had been torn half in hope he would drive the blade home and she’d finally be free of this pain, or that he would fall upon it on his own and die.
He had grabbed her chin in a bruising hold and had demanded she disrobed, Sansa had done so with trembling fingers, all the while she had tried to speak him out of it.
In the end he had not taken her — promising her he would take her only after he had sired a child on his wife, so that when she would fall pregnant with his child she would know he would be nothing but a bastard for the rest of his life — but he had touched her, violated her with his fingers and his slaps and hits.
Sansa was thankful he had left her face out of it, the crisp coldness of autumn ensured she would not be frowned upon for wearing long-sleeved and high-necked gown as she had been during summer, and as long as she posed as strong and untouched no one could say otherwise.
Joffrey was drabbed into burgundy and gold, sitting on the Iron throne looking way too thin and out of place unto it, queen Cersei sat beside the Iron throne ever distasteful of the choice he had made of raising Margaery’ own throne as close as his mother’s next to him.
“Your Council,” queen Cersei said, “counsel you entrust this trial to your most esteemed lord Hand, lord Tywin of House Lannister, as to secure justice and—”
Joffrey held up a hand silencing her and Sansa privately smiled as he said “He is the father of the man who tried to kill me,” he pointed out, “how can him be a better judge than myself when he is an invested party?” he demanded.
Sansa had done that, I beg of you, Your Grace, she had said as she had held onto the dressing gown as the king — satisfied with how he had used her — left her chamber that night, do not let the Imp be judged by his family. Your mother’ love for you trumps all but can the same be said for your uncle and your lord grandfather? The Imp is still the heir to Casterly Rock.
Silence befell the court and lord Tywin looked baffled at his grandson as Joffrey turned his gaze on him, “I am sure of your loyalty, lord Hand,” he said in a Voice that suggested he clearly wasn’t, “but you can agree that this matter is better if overseen by me” he said “and the best you can do for the Realm is to take a step back”
With Tywin cornered this way the formidable Old Lion of Casterly Rock was out of the key role he had supposed to play, to magisterially orchestrate the way this trial was supposed to go. This meant Sansa and her testimony could either spur this matter one way or another.
“As you command Your Grace,” lord Lannister said, bowing slightly “your wisdom is commendable,”
Joffrey humphed and then turned around, ignoring queen Cersei’ look of disconcert and pure terror.
“Lord Tyrion of House Lannister,” the valet said, at Joffrey’ nod, “you stand accused of attempted murder, not only of your king, but of your blood and bone as well. This means treason against the crown and the Realm. How do you pledge?”
“Not guilty,” Tyrion replied, sure of himself despite walking with half-torn and dirty clothes, his face hollow making his mismatched eyes stand out even more, “I am not guilty of neither the crime of attempted regicide, nor kinslaying. Thus I recuse any accusation of treason as well”
The valet nodded, “Thus we should bring forth the accuse testimony first, as our tradition demands,”
Queen Cersei spoke, she said of how Tyrion had promised her he would destroy her happiness and how he would ruin her son. Then, to her surprise, they called in Shae.
They tried to compel out of her a testimony by which Tyrion and Sansa both had plotted against the king, but true to her character, Shae did nothing of the sort, instead telling them that she had never heard lady speak ill of the king or plotting to kill him.
When they had cornered her, trying to demand if she was his whore, or bedwarmer, Shae had remained stoical, “And if I was, shouldn’t I have known all about his plotting ways?”
After that, despite the chaos that ensued as queen Cersei tried to get out of her a confession that she was his lover, Joffrey demanded silence, and stood up, ordering the trial to proceed.
“I call to testimony my wife, lady Sansa Lannister”
Sansa stood up from her stand and the courtiers around her made way for her to walk, lord Lannister had demanded she wear the Lannister colors, but Sansa had paired the burgundy with royal blue, with golden threads and pearls on her corset and around her neck.
She had demanded Shae — who she had claimed back from lord Lannister in exchange for her compliance — braided her hair simply, letting it fall midback and simply braiding away from her face the frontal locks.
Slowly she made her way to the pulpit of the testimony and curtsied, “Your Grace,” she greeted.
Joffrey — ever predictable — moved on his seat, to lean forward his chest and hissed when one of the blades cut his palm.
“Lady Sansa,” Cersei beat him to speak, “you find yourself in a very peculiar situation,” she commented, “the daughter of a self-confessed traitor and now husband to another”
“My apologies, Your Grace,” Sansa replied “but I seem to recall lord Tyrion pleaded innocent on both accuses,” she pointed out, “and, even if my husband was to be found guilty, should he be, I had no part in whatever treachery he may have hatched” she said “His Grace is most aware of this, and my love for him”
“No one questions you, lady Sansa,” Joffrey interjected, then turning to his mother “the lady Sansa’ loyalty to me is above question,” there was a shared intake of breath for the entire court at his declaration.
No one had forgotten about the endless times Sansa had been beaten, humiliated and mistreated in open court because of Robb’s war and his victories; since the war had come to a stand-off Joffrey had, had less reasons to beat her, to mistreat her and the fact that she had become his aunt, and that his uncle had threatened during their wedding he would gled him if he ever came close to Sansa again had ensured she enjoyed some years of solitude and some kind of distorted peace even as an hostage.
Even though the matter of children had been brought up by lord Lannister, no one had actually given that credit, they might want Tyrion to sire a child from her — and so far Sansa had managed to keep him out of her bed at least carnally — but the entire court had been against the idea of Tyrion siring a child on such a young bride.
They had commended his attention for her youth before he forced a child unto another child, after all Sansa had been barely older than two and ten when she had been married to Tyrion, immediately after she had flowered.
Though she knew her time was coming to an end, soon she would be eight and ten, old enough that she would be considered of age to have children of her own. Children House Lannister was most anxious for.
The fact that Joffrey wished to sire a bastard of her, before she could give her husband trueborn children also bought her little time, but only little time, since… after Renly died — some said killed by his own kingsguard — after he and Stannis had engaged into a three years long war over the Stormlands and the Crownlands, Margaery his ‘apparently still virgin wife’ had come to the capital and a three years betrothal had taken place as the Lannister army had tried to bring to heel the northerners; it had been a bold move from the Lannisters who were unwilling to let the Tyrell bind themselves so fast to the crown, when their loyalties had not been with the Iron throne for years.
Tywin Lannister had wanted the Tyrell to prove their loyalty and after three years of autumn in which the grain of House Tyrell had proved unvalauble in the end Tywin had, had to concede and let Joffrey marry Margaery (who, some said, already shared in his bed — though Sansa doubted that).
To convince the king not to marry the woman he had seemed initially so enamoured with, the Lord Hand had pointed out that the Tyrells should prove their loyalty and that the king was in no urgency of an heir as he was yet young and with a brother to eventually carry on his legacy if necessary.
Joffrey had been furious about that, but Cersei had been able to make him see the cleverness on having the Tyrell prove their loyalty.
He had told her, he would sire an heir off Margaery first and then come for her bastard.
Since Sansa had filled out and started to look like a woman Joffrey had changed his tactics, he no longer treated her like a punching bag, to be humiliated at the earliest opportunity, gently offered by her brother, no. He wanted to humiliate her in a different manner.
Oh, how far had Ned Stark’ daughter fallen if she was to be treated like a mistress of the king who had beheaded her father!
Sansa smiled. I hate you, I hate you and I hope you fall on the Iron throne and that it kills you, like it killed Maegor the Cruel.
“Proceed, lady Sansa” he said, waving a hand to her, his golden and burgundy cape following his movement.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” she said, cocking her head elegantly to the side, “I am Lady Sansa of House Stark,” she reminded them all.
They may have dubbed her father for a traitor, but even in between his enemies she knew they were aware he was the most honest and sincere man in the Seven Kingdoms. His name still demanded respect, even if she could not use it directly.
“Lord Tyrion’ wife,” she added “I have shared a chamber with him for years, and if he was to plan to take the King’s life, I would’ve known, and I would’ve informed His Grace immediately and would be on this pulpit accusing my husband, instead of defending him”
Cersei stood up then, all fury and flare in her golden and emerald attire, “How dare you! Do you deny that your husband has been the one to serve the king the poisoned wine?”
“Wine, Your Grace,” Sansa pointed out “in the calice of the king, filled with the wine from the personal jug of the king,” she said “I am sure His Grace keeps a personal jug after the terrible demise of the late king Robert,”
Oh, Sansa knew about that.
Sir Lancel had developed quite the sense of gratitude toward her, after she had been instrumental in his survival after the Battle of the Blackwaters. He had not completely exposed Cersei, of course not, but he had told her, speaking of his time as squire for the king, that the wine the king was to take on his last hunting trip had been personally chosen by the queen who had demanded he was to keep the King’s mouth always full of it.
King Robert had been inebriated enough that his reflexes had been too slow and even though he had killed the boar, the boar had returned the favor.
Sansa had been able to fill the voids left in Lancel’ speech, and she had been waiting for the right time to use that knowledge. To the unknowleadgable her remark seemed like a simple act of logic, but this would mean Cersei knew Sansa had somehow uncovered the role she had in her husband’s death, coincidentally just when her lord father had chosen to send them from the capital.
Possibly immediately after he had discovered the truth about the Queen’s children.
Cersei’ face became red as her son’s robes, and her hand’ clenched as if she wanted to slap her.
“A jug kept well away from our side of the table, especially considering as my husband has his own jug being refilled much faster than the King’s,” using Tyrion’ dependance on the wine as a defense was as good as she had come up with without exposing herself too much.
“Lady Sansa is not wrong, Your Grace,” Petyr Baelish commented, “myself and lord Varys did comment on how lord Tyrion looked more inebriated than usual and commented on how the liver of such a minute man could suffer so much wine”
Joffrey turned his gaze on lord Varys. Sansa supposed that lord Tywin had easily bribed Littlefinger in his game, but lord Varys was another matter.
Despite it all, the eunuch nodded.
Sansa had not meet the man personally, never alone anyway. But she remembered the way he had tried to convince Joffrey to listen to her plea when, innocent and naive she had pleaded for mercy for her lord father.
The truth often comes from the mouth of babes.
“What are you suggesting, girl,” Olenna Tyrell’ voice thundered over all of the others as slow murmurs started to dipane in the court, “that someone closer to the king poisoned his calice?” her eyes were as cold as ice and as narrow as slits.
Sansa inclined her head to the side to look at the old Tyrell matriarch.
We will not betray your confidence, girl.
He is a monster.
She had doubted the woman would expose herself so quickly, though her voice betrayed no anxiousness.
Probably no one would consider it anything but an old woman taking for herself the right to speak, but to Sansa her celerity in trying to steer her testimony meant her first hypothesis that the Tyrells be the one behind the attempt wasn’t so off the mark as she had first believed, but most of all, it shifted the blame from her husband and her, to unknown parties.
Still, Joffrey was not anyone. Since the attempt he had become paranoid, perhaps he had always been, Sansa couldn’t say, but the way he turned to look at his queen’s grandmother betrayed that the seed of doubt had been planted in his mind.
Sansa disliked admitting it, but on that kind of dynamics, Joffrey was nothing if not perceptive, even of wrong ideas someone may plant with the right amount of information in his head.
“Not at all, my lady,” Sansa replied curtly “I would never suspect the queen, or the king’s mother,” she said, “for their loyalty is unquestionable”
Margaery was beautiful, in her golden and ivory gown, her small crown fixed on her head, sitting demurely, but Sansa could see in her how cold her eyes had suddenly become.
She saw the way Joffrey’ eyes glazed back at her, as if she was helping him uncovering some kind of great mystery. The seed had been planted, and the rotten roots had been cut out — Cersei and Margaery were above suspicion — but the others present near the king at the high table?
Not so much.
And if she could go by lord Lannister’ look of recognition, Sansa could bet her life that soon the Queen of thorns and the Kingsmaker would be at each other throats which left her ample space to move, and maybe finally getting out of the capital and return home.
“What I am saying, Your Grace, is that, perhaps, whoever wanted you dead used my husband,” she said “it is not mystery that at times Your Grace and my husband did not see eye to eye,” she added “and, at times, my husband has overused his authority as your uncle which dubbed him the best scapegoat,”
“Your Grace,” Tyrion interjected “I am not guilty of what they accuse me of!”
“Liar!” Queen Cersei exclaimed standing up and pointing a finger at them “the both of them! The evil Imp told me how my happiness would turn to ashes into my mouth and how he would take all I loved from me! And the daughter of a traitor, can we ever trust her words?”
“My lord father was a honest man!” Sansa proclaimed, “he had been lied to,” she said “and that moved him to act the way he did, convinced he was bringing to light the truth, out of honesty” she pointed out “Your Grace, you know this, my lord father loved your father the late king Robert. To move against his son? He must’ve been lied to, and everyone knows the hideous, vile lies circulating about your mother the queen,” she said “someone he trusted must’ve lied to him and he paid the price as His Grace the king in his most just and fair way has found fitting!”
“He should not have believed lies, then!” Cersei proclaimed “and you are as treacherous as he ever was! I fed you, I clothed you and tended to you out of my own purse! And is this the way House Stark repays mercy?”
“Mother—!” Joffrey yelled, slamming his fist against the Iron throne and cursing when it cut him “behave yourself or you will be removed, the lady Sansa is not contesting either my throne nor my right to dispense justice as you can see,” he said.
“She’s contesting you by proclaim her father innocent!”
“I did not do that either,” Sansa pointed out, “I merely stated that my father was found guilty by the king who is fairness and justice above all,” she said “and that someone has lied to him about the king, possibly,” she added “the same person who is behind this poisoning attempt!, someone intent on making a fool of the king by having him try the wrong person for the deed!”
“What lady Sansa suggests…” the Spider spoke all of sudden, “is very troubling, nonetheless,” he added, his calculating gaze falling on her, studying her “it is imperative that we uncover the truth, and if lord Stark was lied to, and by whom, we may find the culprit of this hideous attempt on the life of the king, bring them to justice and make the whole Realm fall back in place”
Another round of whisperes broke into the crowd present for the trial at court, “Indeed,” lord Varys went on, “lord Tyrion did not in any way came in contact with the poisoned wine if not immediately before it was served to the king… by his own hand nonetheless. Who is the idiot who so blatantly exposes oneself as the culprit of a such an hideous plot, Your Grace?”
Joffrey seemed to be mulling over this comment, and Sansa stood back straight and chin held up, her blue eyes sparkling; “Indeed,” Sansa said, “maybe someone who’d wish for someone younger, less experienced and more meek and sweet to sit on the Iron throne,” she said, gesturing to prince Tommen.
And there it was, her plan laid bare.
It was ingenious, she meant to have Joffrey feel as if he was isolated and surrounded by betrayers and leeches. She couldn’t make him suspicious of Cersei or Margaery for that matter, but of all others?
It didn’t matter if he would rely on her or not, because Sansa meant to use the chaos ensuing to escape.
Tywin had used Tommen’ role as heir as a reason for Joffrey to wait before marrying Margaery which had sparked his fire at the time. The Tyrells and the queen with the lord Hand had been the one closer to the King’s table, able to trample if the wished with his wine, this meant Joffrey could scarcely trust neither the Tyrells nor his grandfather, with whom he had clashed about politics — if Lancel’ words were to be believed — more often than not.
The most prominent one had been about the Targaryen girl and her dragons, Joffrey had wanted her dead and her dragons either subdued or killed before she could become a threat; lord Lannister had been against it, and had told him not to trouble himself with a girl across the Narrow Sea.
That was, until they had gotten word that with her three dragons the girl across the Narrow Sea had conquered Slaver’s Bay and was now sitting enthroned in Meereen.
Joffrey had been furious, had almost removed Tywin from his role as Hand when he had discovered of it; he had sent assassins after her, but so far all had been unfruitful, and the Targaryen queen in the east with her dragons was now most surely plotting for a way to kill the ‘Baratheon’ king who seemed so intent on killing her.
Though, apparently she wouldn’t for a while, since one of her dragons had been killed during a riot in Yunkai where she had gone to resettle some matters; the entire Bay was in revolt against her, which could either keep her occupied or spurn her to come west.
She knew that Joffrey was funding the rebels, they were already rich beyond belief but they needed the support and Joffrey had sent lord Baelish to speak with the Iron Bank to get a loan with which to support the Rebels.
Daenerys Targaryen was a revolutionary, had been what Cersei had told the court, where she goes nobles are crucified and burned alive to the point even the smallfolk turns against her; a revolutionary is not a good asset for economy and the Iron Bank wanted to keep monopolizing the economy; thus they had accepted to help the king support the Rebels in their quest for justice.
By the way his eyes became slits, Joffrey was considering all of this and more.
“Thank you, lady Sansa,” he said turning back to her, “your testimony has been eye-opening,” he added, “and on it alone I can say that my uncle is indeed innocent of what they accuse him of,”
Chaos erupted, queen Cersei’ shrieked and got up from her small throne, intent on running down the dais and attacking Tyrion — and perhaps she too — there and then. It was Jaime Lannister who held her back and lord Lannister who stood between her and them.
“His Grace is most just and fair,” Grand Maester Pycelle commented, “And the Father has bestowed upon him justice on all things,”
That seemed to silence everyone as Joffrey stood up, “Sweet lady,” he told her, after having stepped down the dais of the Iron throne to come by her pulpit.
It had been long years since he had called her that, Sansa would not let it blind her anymore.
“I was cruel to you, for many years and you did not deserve that,” he stated, his eyes glazed as if mad, Sansa remained immovable, “Your loyalty to me is commendable,” he said “and I wish you would take to wear my token more often again, my lady”
Sansa had wanted to throw it away, but had known better than it.
“If it will please Your Grace,”
“It would,” he stated, then he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her cheek, and when he leaned back she could see in his eyes how bright the looked, that it was not over.
She could hear the collective intake of breath of the whole court when they saw him being so familiar and intimate with her, Sansa’ back was as if made of steel, durable and unflinching, unmoving.
It was humilaiting of both her and House Stark, and of House Tyrell and his new queen.
My Sweet lady Sansa and my mother ask that I spare him, but they have the soft hearts of women… Sir Ilyn bring me his head!
“Pertaining you, uncle,” he said “I agree you did not plan to kill me, but I do think you ought to be punished,” he commented, “this war with Robb Stark has been at a standoff for too long,” he said and Sansa almost flinched, “you will join Kevan Lannister on the battlefront, as you have proved to be such an asset during the Battle of Blackwaters,” he added.
Sansa had no doubt Joffrey meant to have him in the frontlines, so that he might get killed, but for now he had escaped the scaffold and Sansa would count that as a win.
“As Your Grace commands,” Tyrion said, “We will depart for Casterly Rock presently, lady Sansa shall familiarize with the keep she’s bound to one day rule, and I’ll join lord Kevan—”
“Oh there will be not need of that, lady Sansa belongs to court, you do not wish to hoard such a treasure like a dragon only for yourself, do you, uncle?” there was something in the edge of his voice, something cutting about it.
She appreciated that Tyrion was attempting to free her of Joffrey’ renewn interest in her, but it was a foolish hope to think he’d let go of the only hostage they had against the Starks.
Not that Robb apparently cared enough, as sir Jaime had told her it had been her lady mother, agaisnt Robb’s judgment, who had freed him, demanding he released her back to her family.
But Sir Jaime could not release Sansa Stark if she now was Sansa Lannister.
“Of course not, Your Grace,” Tyrion had to bend, bowing his head, satisfied Joffrey nodded and then gestured for the guards to free Tyrion of his shackles. Once he was free, Joffrey walked to him and offered to him hia hand, Tyrion alive if humiliated had to bend and kiss his ring.
Joffrey then clapped his hand together, “Justice has been done,” he said “but it has not been done for all. Whoever it is who wished to see me dead, shall rot at the feet of my Iron throne!”
Then swiftly he walked out of the hall followed by his kingsguard as his queen, prompted by her grandmother followed him out and queen Cersei — still screaming — was removed from the Iron throne hall.
Lord Lannister was studying her.
Sansa faced his probing face on, she had singlehandledly managed to free his son and heir from the scaffold, he should be grateful.
Suddenly the Imp’ small, sweaty hand grabbed hers and Sansa looked down to his mismatched eye “Lady Stark,” it was the first time he addressed her as such since they had been met, “thank you,”
“I merely stated the truth”
“You couldn’t be sure I hadn’t plotted away from your ears,” Tyrion pointed out softly, as Sir Dontos started hovering behind them. Her foolish Florian, “yet, you defended me, even though there were reason enough to think me guilty, and you’d be free of your Imp husband if I were to be beheaded”
“Indeed,” Sansa commented, “you said once that I would be grateful for having learnt to lie well,” she said “maybe you are the grateful one, now” she added.
It looked like she had managed to rob all words from the Imp’ mouth now, “Come husband,” she said “you look terrible, you need a bath and a warm meal in your tummy”
“Indeed, wife,”
Many courtiers stopped them, congratulating them on the result of the trial, but the one who made her feel most on edge was lord Varys.
“My friend,” Lord Varys said, grabbing Tyrion’s shoulder in his hand, “All is well what ends well,” he stated, “and lady Sansa here, you were most graceful and fair, my lady. Not many would have stood to defend a husband who had been forced upon them” he told her.
“Indeed,” Tyrion replied.
“I am my father’s daughter, my lord” she said “injustice is not the way of House Stark,” she told him, before turning to her husband, “if you’ll excuse us, my husband is in dire need of a bath, new clothes and warm broth,”
“Of course, my lady,” lord Varys said, “you have bloomed much more than any of us would’ve expected of you,”
“Winter roses only bloom through the hardships of winter,” Sansa commented off handedly, as Tyrion bid him farewell and they finally left the throne hall.
•••
There was a knock on the door of her chamber, a fortnight after that, after Tyrion had already left the capital for Casterly Rock. Shae had been brushing her hair, silent as she had become after the trial.
Sansa frowned, uncertain of who would come at an hour so late to her chamber, praying it was not the king, who had been ever courteous since the matter of trial, but also ever touchy with her, even in public, humiliating her further by making everyone rumor she was to be his mistress soon, if she wasn’t already.
“Who is it?” she demanded of Shae, after silence had ensued when her chambermaid had gone to the antechamber and to the door.
A moment later she was replied since sir Dontos walked inside, followed by a hooded figure.
“Sir Dontos, it is not proper for you to come to my chamber at such a late hour,” she reprimanded softly, uncertain of whom he was accompaining himself with.
“Do not fret, sweet lady, I bring you awaited news and answers to your prayers,”
Then the hooded figure stepped further inside her chamber and lowered the hood from their face, exposing the soft, feminine and for once devoide of powder face of the eunuch.
“Lord Varys,” Sansa greeted, “I wasn’t expecting you, what can I help you with?”
“I bring news of the warfront, my lady,” the eunuch replied, “of songs my little birds have sung lowly in the night,”
“Indeed?” Sansa asked softly “you must know how very anxious I am for an end to this hideous conflict, so speak away”
“My little birds have had many things to say,” the Spider told her, “perhaps it would be better if we sat?” he gestured for the chairs.
“Of course,” Sansa said, “pardon my rudeness, please my lord, sit” she added, sitting she herself before him. Then the eunuch sent a long scathing look to Shae.
“I would trust Shae with my life, my lord” Sansa assured him “and she’s just as anxious as I am, to learn of the news you bring,”
“Aye I don’t doubt it, but for what reason?” the eunuch questioned, and Shae bristled.
“I told you once already, my lord. I would kill for lady Sansa,” Shae said and Sansa turned around frowing as she shifted her gaze from the Spider to her chambermaid and back again.
There was something here, untangible, but that Sansa had to uncover at one point or another, “How come you know one another?”
The Spider studied Shae and then nodded, before replying her question, “When lord Tyrion was apprehended lord Lannister tasked me with speaking to all those who could testimony,” he said “Shae here seems very much loyal to you, my lady… which, being able to elicit loyalty as a prisoner of war in an hostile court, it speaks very much of you”
“Enough with the flattery my lord,” Sansa demanded, “now speak of your song, or don’t,”
“They say Starks are made of ice, and that their heart melts with the Southern warmth,” the Spider commented, “but you did not melt, my lady”
“No I didn’t,” Sansa commented, “which brings me back to my point, my lord. With which songs do you hope to delight us, tonight?”
“Your lord father was the same way, I learned a long time ago how to die, he told me, when I spoke to him in hope that the king might be merciful,”
Sansa just looked at him.
“Very well, my little birds… they say that the Young Wolf has fished a dragonprince of old from the waters,”
Sansa blinked unsure of what that meant, “they say that said dragonprince has come with his full battlegear,” he added.
“I am afraid I am too narrow minded to understand what you are telling me, lord Varys,” Sansa replied, “as far as I am aware House Targaryen male line is broken,” she pointed out “and the only Targaryen left alive is the queen in the east”
“Oh, but the comet in the sky, it heralded glory for the dragon’s heir,” he commented “or have you forgotten that?”
“So what?,” Sansa demanded, “are you meaning to tell me that my brother has fished out of the Trident Rhaegar Targaryen?”
“Oh, no, my lady… someone better,” he said.
Chapter 2: One — Catelyn
Summary:
The Starks fish out a dragon prince from the waters.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
One — Catelyn
The Alys of the Rivers had shown him in the flames, flares of life, flares of truth.
And in betwinx the flames the woman, the woman in the flames.
“She”, said Alys of the rivers, “she will give the North to your cause.”
Catelyn watched in horror as the dragon rose from the waters, storming into existence, its scales burning images of green and steel in her mind, a sagging throat like of an old woman and buttered batlike wings, a triumph of ruin as if coming directly whence the ruins of Old Valyria in the east.
Her sewing work forgotten, befell her lap, as Catelyn felt the bitter taste of fear and despair choke at her.
The beast screeched and with the slow flapping of its wings made the trees dance and sizzling as if about the break, what little foliage of it remained falling to the ground, Edda, who had been playing with some wooden toy one of her uncles had carved for her, let out a cry and stood up from where se was sat on the carpet and ran to her mother, the child of almost seven years, hiding her face against her neck.
The girl looked every inch the Stark, reminding Catelyn of her late good-mother, with long dark hair and azure-steel eyes, a long solemn face softened by her mother’ soft, sweet cheekbones and chin.
At times looking at her hurt, she looked a bit like Arya, but acted like Sansa in a way that made Catelyn ache for her children. For the children she had lost.
Her sweet Bran, who had survived that fall, only to be killed and burned and exposed on the walls of his very home.
Her Rickon and his breathless laughter, he had been barely a babe… and he had shared his brother’s fate.
Theon Greyjoy had been captured by Ramsay Snow — Lord Bolton’ bastard — and was now being kept captive in Winterfell, if only her son had not trusted the boy and listened to her counsel, her boys would still be alive.
I will never see them again, she had cried in Riverrun, when the news had hit.
But there were specks of them in Edda too, she loved to climb like Bran — and though Catelyn and Robb were against it, lady Roslin and her brothers let her, carefully watched besides, the only time she had slipped Grey Wind had been there to cushion her fall and making her giggle “I will ride in battle with you, Father!” she had exclaimed as Grey Wind had let her ride him for a bit.
Robb had been furious, it had been the first actual fight he and his wife had, had and coldness had sprang between them since then.
Roslin was perhaps a better woman that they could hope for, because she had kept alimenting the worship Edda had for her father, even though the two of them didn’t speak if not in official gatherings when they were forced to. For months after the marriage she had called her mother, despite the fact that Catelyn had been grieving and cold toward her.
“A dragon!” someone yelled “a dragon from the waters!”
They were occupying Harrenhal since Edda had been two, and to the girl that was her home though she had studied religiously any book she could find of Winterfell.
Catelyn felt paralysed.
Dragons were the matter of songs and tales not of their truth, even if a Targaryen in the east was said to have hatched three… they remained a matter of far away lands covered in gold and ruin.
Roslin let go of her sewing and grabbed her daughter, hoisting her across her hip, then she stood up.
Catelyn remembered that feeling she could see shining in Roslin’ eyes. It went beyond fear and horror, terror for her child but also a sense of being made for that. To carry her child at her hip, shielding her from all, as she shrieked at the sight and curled around Edda’s small frame in her arms, as if that alone could protect her.
Catelyn made the grab her by the arm, impede her to go to the window to see but she wasn’t fast enough, and suddenly the door of the solar slammed open and inside ran her son.
Robb had been barely a boy of four and ten, with a crown too big for his mess of curls, and earnest eyes, the only son that remained to her…now he was a man of twenty and one, who carried the crown they pushed onto his head with pride and confidence, with a full grown beard, and eyes hardened by the many battles and years of war he had endured.
He wasn’t her boy anymore, he was the King in the North and of the Trident… and the moment he ran inside — Grey Wind hot in tow, almost as big as a small horse — instead of running to her, he run to his wife and child.
He wasn’t her boy anymore, for a long time as war shook all they knew apart, Robb had been all she had, and for a long time, until she and Ned managed to come together again, Robb had been her sole reason to exist.
He wasn’t her boy anymore, he was Roslin’ husband, but most importantly, he was Edda’s doting father.
And the reality of that couldn’t hit her more clearly than in that moment, when he ran to the wife to whom he was scarcely on speaking terms with, and their child instead of running to his mother.
He wrapped his arms around mother and child, his chest had broadened and in stature and composure he reminded her more of Brandon than he did Ned, though in that moment all Catelyn could see was her Ned shining on their boy’s face.
“That’s..that’s…” Roslin gasped, tears filling her eyes, Robb let go of her, just enough to look her in the eyes.
“I know,” he breathed and Roslin grabbed at his arms, leaning heavily on him, trusting him to not let her fall.
The same way Catelyn had always trusted Ned to help her down her saddle when they went riding.
“It’s…it’s a dragon” the moment the words fell off her lips it became real for Catelyn too.
She wasn’t too fond of her good daughter in the beginning and less considering how she let Edda climb even though Bran almost died.
He was pushed, he did not slip.
Still, Roslin was quiet, but sweet and beautiful and soft.
Catelyn could see how easily she made a good wife for Robb, she was also gentle and fair-headed.
She managed well enough her role as Robb’s queen, even though he was a king at war.
She was sorry for how scared the woman was, for her child. She doubted before now it had ever been driven home how dangerous Edda’ position as Robb’s heir presumptive actually was.
She set Edda down, and Robb caressed the little girl’s raven haired head, “Father,” her granddaughter asked, her voice tiny, ever so tiny, “is the dragon going to hurt us?”
Catelyn knew her son. Robb looked down, to his own feet, and then pressed his lips in a thin line, before he bent down to press a kiss on his daughter’ forehead, “No,” he replied “it won’t hurt us”
He then looked up at Roslin, who was studying him, then she leaned down and knelt before their daughter, “Your father won’t let him,” she promised the girl, “and you have faith in your father don’t you?”
“I do”
“Good,” Roslin nodded, “then we should head to the sept and pray,” she said “so that the Gods keep protecting us all,”
Edda nodded and smiled, “Yes mother!”
Roslin called for the septa — septa Gretchen — to retrieve Edda, just as the girl bid farewell to her father, Catelyn watched the way Roslin gazed lovingly to her daughter and could not help but feel her heart costricting, knowing Roslin had no way to ensure her daughter would be fine, especially if a dragon had somehow appeared out of thin water, like it had been laying in slumber in the bed of the lake for who knew how long.
Robb smiled to his daughter as Roslin looked from her to him, and there was some sort of understanding, of fondness in her gaze as she looked at Robb. She might had been mad at him — for his reaction, his scarce trust and abhorrence of any good manner in the way he had face the matter before the whole northern court — maybe even enough not to speak with him, but she also trusted him.
Or maybe she didn’t, but knew he needed her to have faith in him.
Robb took her hand and gently raised it to his lips to press a kiss on her knuckles, and Roslin, who had refused any touch which wasn’t demanded by any public display needed, let him. Even going as far as to lean in his touch and gaze lovingly at him.
We built it slowly, stone by stone.
“Will your prayers and love follow me, my queen?” Robb asked and in that moment he reminded her the most of her Ned, her soft, gentle Ned. The rock her life was build upon.
“You go nowhere without my prayers,” Roslin told him softly “or my love,” she said.
Robb nodded, stiffly, “I’ll resolve this matter. I promise,” he said, finally looking at her — his own mother, who had once been his stauncher supporter and his most trusted advisor…well until she had freed Jaime Lannister, anyway — before looking back at Roslin, “nothing will befall any of you,”
Roslin nodded to him and he let go of her hand to finally walk to her. Catelyn was no longer his priority, though he shall always remain hers.
“I promise, Mother”
We all will be together soon, I promise.
Catelyn smiled, sadly as it was, and pressed a kiss on his forehead, “May the blessing of the ancient kings of winter and of the rivers go with you, my son”
Robb nodded stiffly to her, despite her having freed Jaime causing the war to end up on a standoff in the years Robb had slowly warmed up to her again, especially after the birth of Edda.
Then he turned around, sent another glance to his wife, and left.
Catelyn watched him leave, knowing a part of her went with him. What little remained of her heart — with Bran and Rickon dead, Arya’ in the capital though nothing was said of her, and Sansa married to the sump; with Ned unjustly beheaded — went with him fully and wholly. Always.
The moment he left Grey Wind lingered, despite being a fearsome creature he was ever so gentle with Edda and that meant that even if Roslin was scared of him, she did not fear for her life, though she did jump when he enormous direwolf bumped her face with his snout before following his master out of the chamber.
Catelyn and Roslin watched Robb as he left the courtyard and Robb turned back, upon his saddle, to look back at them, before setting out.
When he was but a point in the distance, ever so little in contrast with the ginormous dragon which had landed not far from the keep, Roslin touched her arm.
“Shall we join Edda in prayer, my lady?” she asked ever soft, even as Catelyn had often been cold toward her.
Roslin had proved unfailingly gentle, since she had married Robb at six and ten, and finally her gentleness seemed to erode Catelyn’ distrust.
“Aye,” she said, the word daughter stuck in her throat for a moment. Arya and Sansa’ faces blinking alive in her mind, “daughter,” she addressed her through broken heart made as if of glass “let us pray”
Roslin’ eyes shone bright at that, she didn’t comment on it, simply took her arm and together they walked out.
It was nightfall by the time Robb returned to the keep, and he didn’t return alone.
He had spent the best part of the whole day parlaying with the rider of the dragon and though Catelyn had asked insistently after him, no one was aware of anything, until the moment he walked in, his side flanked by a tall, willow man who could only be a Targaryen.
He was wearing clothes of black, with an obsidian pin displaying the three headed dragon, threaded with golden and emerald, and he had long wind-dried hair of silver-gold and an eye-patch over one eye barely concealing a horrendous scar on his face.
He walked with confidence though he was prowling with the same kind of alert that Robb did, the type of steps that Ned had shared with them, but that Brandon had never known.
It was the silent, lethal way to walk that shared people who had been on a battlefield, on countless battlefields.
Whoever this man was, he was hardened by battle as well.
And there was some kind of hurt in his eyes… he had lost people he loved, it was almost the same look Catelyn could see reflected in her eyes every time she looked in a mirror.
“This is my wife, Queen Roslin of House Frey,” Robb said with a wide gesture to introduce his wife, Roslin gave a shallow curtsy, but Catelyn could see the question behind her eyes “and this is my lady mother, lady Catelyn of House Stark”
The young man, perhaps of an age with Robb, nodded to them both offering a shallow bow.
“My queen, mother,” Robb said, “for however impossible it may seem, this is Prince Aemond of House Targaryen, the One-Eye”
The kinslayer, Catelyn felt her mouth begin to open as she let her glance rest on the young man.
“And the dragon he has been seen riding is Vhagar,” Robb concluded.
Catelyn looked back at her son in surprise, she could see something shine in his eyes.
Aemond Targaryen, prince regent for his brother king Aegon II, who had killed his nephew during a dragonbattle, event which had sparked the Dance of Dragons.
Aemond Targaryen who had died, killed by Prince Daemon Targaryen in another dragonbattle over the Gods Eye.
Roslin, ever courteous gestured widely “Well, your highness, welcome” she said “you must be overwhelmed,” she added, “if you’re willing we’ll show you to the chamber we hastily prepared for you”
Robb had sent word ahead that he would be bringing with himself a guest of main importance and Roslin and Catelyn had planned accordingly.
The Gods have seen our plight and they have sent us the mean to win this war, had been in his missive as well.
It was the dragons we bowed to!, there sits the only king I mean to bow my knee to. The king in the north!
Prince Aemond studied her, then nodded, “Thank you,” he said stiffly.
Roslin seemed surprised by that but Robb nodded to her, then Roslin moved and Aemond followed her.
Catelyn sent a look to Robb.
“He is overwhelmed,” he told her “he was expecting… demanding to speak with Cregan Stark”
Catelyn frowned, “It took a while but I told him all I could remember of the Dance of Dragons, and I think he’s…”
He might be feeling guilty, Catelyn knew Robb was plagued by the same feeling every time he thought about Bran and Rickon, because he is somehow here, and they died. All of them.
“It’s a sign,” Robb told her, turning to face her, “the Gods have sent us the way to win this and avenge Father, and free Sansa and Arya”
Catelyn watched her son closely “But at what price?” she mused and Robb’ face darkened.
“Whatever the price,” he said “we’ll pay it, to see the girls safe home, and justice made for Father”
Catelyn watched as Robb walked further inside, her gaze never leaving his now broad back.
I do not know, she thought darkly, if you’re quite ready to pay that price.
Oh Ned, my sweet Ned. How have things come to this?
Notes:
Next up we have an Aemond chapter!
Chapter 3: Aemond
Chapter Text
Two — Aemond
Prince of black, Prince of green met across the skies, but only death can pay for life.
“My Alys sees many things in her fires,” the prince of green said. And many things she had shown him in the flames as well.
The woman, the queen — a woman of a comely beauty but whose beauty could held no candle to his mother or his sister — attempted to make small talk as she guided him through the corridors he already knew by heart after having spent so long in Harrenhal.
She seemed kind enough, and sweet besides, her husband had spent good part of their voyage to the keep speaking about her, and their daughter, in a way that reminded him of Aegon when he spoke about Jaehaera.
And his heart broke evermore.
Alys had shown him in the fires, she has shown him the northern troops coming to his aid, she had shown him, he and Vhagar at the head of the northern troops, freeing the Realm of the Blacks, only apparently it wasn’t the Blacks, it was the Baratheons who strengthened by the death of the dragons had then rebelled from the Iron throne and Rhaenyra’ line, claiming the Realm for themselves. Oh, well, if the Stark man was to be believed there were no more Baratheons of the royal line and that the boy who sat on the Iron throne was a Lannister born of incest.
Only death can pay for life, Alys had told him, A life for our son.
Alys had seen him in the flames, and Aemond had believed her.
She had shown him, Caraxes falling off the sky, Daemon falling with him. But it had been wrong, Daemon had thrown his sword at him — Aemond had barely ducked away or the sword would have embed itself into his head — lethal and precise as Vhagar tore at Caraxes throat.
But, Aemond and Vhagar had fallen too… he had lost control of the dragoness, as she had tumbled into the cold waters of the Gods Eye.
The impact with the waters had left him breathless and he had felt his ribcage caving in — he still had trouble breathing — he had felt the water fill his lungs as he fumbled uselessly with the latches and belts and chains that kept him secured to Vhagar’ saddle as seemed suspended in the depth of the waters.
The impact with the cold water had almost knocked him out clean, but the coldness of the waters — icy as death — had kept him awake and alert.
I cannot die, he had told himself, I cannot die. He had seen in the flames, he had seen himself on Vhagar taking back the capital, and there he would free his mother and Helaena.
I cannot die.
Only death can pay for life, Alys look when she had told him that had haunted him in those last moments as the fight was gone from his limbs, warmth suddenly spreading over his whole body, the strain to his legs suddenly gone, his ribcage no longer burning…
Only death can pay for life, it had not been Daemon’ life, he realised, it had been his own. He had wanted to see what he wished, in those flames.
The flames tell us the truth, Alys had told him, it’s up to us to interpret them correctly. Aemond had seen what he had wished…
…he had felt his eyelids growing heavy, he had imagined that would be a good way to go, for his son to be born…
And then all of sudden he had felt the rush of icy cold air against his wet skin, and the impact had made him breath in.
His lungs had burned as if he had swallowed wildfire, but the coldness of the air somehow soothed it.
Vhagar’ wings had been flapping almost lazily, though in her Aemond could feel a rejuvenated strength, as if the dip in the lake had somehow given her a burst of energy.
He had doubled over the saddle and retched the meagre fast he had broken before he had went in search of Daemon and Caraxes, it had been then that he had noticed that snow had fallen heavily around the Gods Eye and that the entire land was overrode with northern banners and troops.
Ten thousand men, they said Cregan Stark had been assembling an army of ten thousand men, but this looked to be… more, and it looked like they had joined with the riverlanders.
The woman in the flames, Alys had told, she will give you the North.
Aemond had despaired too soon, he realised — Caraxes might have fallen and Vhagar might have followed him, for a while — but he was still alive.
He was still alive.
And on the right timing, with Daemon dead for sure, to ensure the North — and the Riverlands too — fell in line.
He might be still shocked to be alive, and he might have cracked ribs, and his eyesocket throbbed, the sapphire nestled inside of it grating against the raw flesh, but he felt alive, more alive that he had ever felt.
Vhagar screeched, and Aemond felt as if electrified.
He needed to find Alys — he would be there when his son was born — and then the woman in the flames who would give him North.
He didn’t know where their troops were, but he was sure all would be fine now.
And then… then the world had come crashing down on him.
He had landed Vhagar near the troops and had demanded to speak with Lord Stark.
The men — aside from being in awe and terror of Vhagar — sputtered out a laugh. You mean the King in the North, one of them had thundered, and Vhagar had screeched putting them all back in their place, they had taken a step back but Aemond had to admit they didn’t seem overly terrified by Vhagar, naturally cautious, but they seemed to be holding off well enough.
He demanded to speak with Cregan Stark, who dared style himself king in the North, and when the man finally came to him, Aemond was surprised.
He knew Cregan was supposed to be barely younger than him, but he had never seen a Stark with that reddish of hair… he didn’t look like the way Starks were supposed to.
“You must be lord Cregan,” he commented, unhooking the belts and chains from his body and climbing down Vhagar’ back.
The man had frowned, “I am king Robb Stark” he replied and it had been Aemond to frown.
“King Robb Stark? There hasn’t been a Stark king since the last king in the North bent the knee to Aegon the Conqueror, pledging perpetual servitude”
“There is now” Robb Stark replied.
Vhagar roared, and though terror blinked in his eyes, the enormous direwolf which accompanied him curled protectively around him, baring his fangs.
Aemond studied the beast in silence, “and now,” this Robb Stark said “who are you?”
Aemond tried to see any lie in his eyes and yet he could detect none, he did not know who he was and despite never having been North he was sure the entire Realm must be familiar with his name and appearance by now.
“I am Prince Aemond of House Targaryen,” he said “brother and regent to the one true king of the Iron throne, Aegon of House Targaryen second of his name,”
Robb Stark’ eyes had shifted from him to Vhagar and back to him.
“The One-Eye,” he breathed and the boisterous man behind him expressing his disbelief by cursing lowly, “Peace, Lord Umber; there is no proof he isn’t who says to be”
“And no proof he is who he claims either!” the man opposed and Aemond felt the roar tear his own throat as Vhagar let out a mighty shriek.
Robb Stark sent him an unimpressed glance, as if he was looking at a misbehaving child.
“Besides the dragon, you mean? Everyone knows dragons are extinct,” he said “and yet one is standing right there”
“Aemond Targaryen died two centuries ago!”
Aemond had blanked at that, suddenly feeling all the tiredness that he had suddenly forgotten when Vhagar had broken the water’ surface.
“And maybe the Gods brought him back,” Robb Stark had replied, his voice unwavering and demanding authority, “My lord you cannot ignore that the Gods have given us an… asset, to get this war out of the impasse we are blocked at”
“A dragon?” The Lord demanded in a low voice, “and if he is who he says he is, we kept for the other color,”
Robb Stark had worried his lip, “he’s alone here, and I doubt Queen Cersei and Joffrey will just stand aside and let him have the Iron throne,”
The Lord frowned “And we would?”
Robb Stark had smiled then and there had been something wolfish in him then, as his direwolf curled around him, as big as a small horse, “The North is a free and independent kingdom, now to the end of time,” he recited “I had intended to raze the Iron throne and return home, never to be bothered again, but you can’t agree that having such an asset in wartime means we could also have an ally in peacetime”
Then Robb Stark had turned to him but Aemond had been feeling faint.
“Your highness,” he addressed him “why don’t I offer you some refreshments, a long conversation lies awaiting, and you look tired”
“Why should I follow you anywhere?” Aemond had demanded.
“Because right now I am the only one who can give you want you want,”
“And what do I want?”
“The truth,” he had replied “and justice,”
Aemond had arched a brow “And what makes you think you can give me that?”
“The fact that right now I am the only one who’s willing to give you the benefit of the doubt, kinslayer”
And that had been how Robb Stark had sat him down and explained — at best of his abilities — that Vhagar had somehow flew them into the future.
A future where he died that day, drowned in the Gods Eye…a future where he was nothing but an old cautionary story of a prince who flew too high, got too wrapped up into power and became the worse version of himself he could be. The tale of a dragon prince who became a kinslayer and started a war that destroyed all dragons. And despite it all, Rhaenyra’ line had perdured until it had grown so mad and weak that House Stark had turned against it, and a new House once proud and loyal had sat on the Iron throne.
Robb Stark had left out no detail though Aemond doubted he could answer some of his most pressing matters. His son, for example… apparently Alys tried to stage a coup to put his son on the Iron throne, but no one even knew if he was ever alive to begin with.
Helaena threw herself off a tower, broken by the role she had played in Jaehaerys’ death and all the losses she had endured.
Aegon had won the throne but had been betrayed and killed, and his only heir married to Rhaenyra’ Aegon, but she had died in mysterious circumstances, childless.
Nothing had remained of them but the tale of an usurping, a fraticidal war and bloodshed.
With every word Robb Stark had spoke, Aemond had felt a little chuck of himself break off, like stones from a mountain, hit time and time again by lighting and desegregating as if made of sand instead of rock.
With every death he had been unable to stop.
“House Stark, House Baratheon and House Arryn took a stand against king Aerys II,” Robb Stark had told him “but it was Jaime Lannister who murdered him,” he had added “then the crown was offered to king Robert and my father returned North”
“But you are king now,” Aemond had pointed out, “how did that happen? Did House Baratheon grant the North independence?”
It sounded stupid, though if House Stark had put House Baratheon on the throne… maybe the new king had chosen to reward them.
“No,” Robb Stark had replied “my father and Robert Baratheon kept the realm united,” he had said “their friendship kept the North and the South allied”
Aemond had frowned then, “What changed?”
And Robb Stark had told him, had explained that king Robert had come all the way North to Winterfell to name his lord father the Hand of the King and that his father had followed him South.
His brother in the meantime had been thrown off a tower by the queen and her lover — her brother — to keep the truth hidden.
But his lord father had discovered the truth anyway and had attempted to give the throne to king Robert’ heir, Stannis Baratheon.
He had been captured and executed on false charges of treason. Robb, who had called the banners to save his father had been named king in the North after Lord Stark’ death, and since then he had warred against the loyalists.
For years the Baratheon brothers had made war against one another and in the Iron islands Lord Balon Greyjoy had claimed for himself independence, his only son had betrayed Robb Stark and had captured Winterfell, killing Robb Stark’ younger brothers. Winterfell had been retaken by loyal forces in the North and the betrayer had been beheaded by Robb Stark himself.
After Robb Stark had married Roslin Frey, making of her his queen, the war had come to an impasse. The Baratheon brothers had warred for years before one had finally come out on top, meanwhile the Lannister and the Starks were blocked at an impasse in the Riverlands.
Robb Stark had attempted parlay, demanding his sisters’ release and independence to stop this war, in all reply king Joffrey and the Queen mother had married his oldest sister to the king’ uncle, the Imp and made of her a Lannister.
It had been underwhelming and overwhelming both.
His head was spinning, and his scarred eye pulsed with grief and pain and horror.
His mother.
Helaena.
Aegon.
Jaehaerys.
Jaehaera.
Maelor.
All dead. All because he had failed them.
Only death can pay for life, Alys had told him often times that Aemond knew it by heart, and yet she had had no qualms in sacrificing him for their son, granted Aemond would take that choice willingly, still she hid the truth from him.
“Look,” Robb Stark had said “I cannot claim to know what is going on through your head, but the Gods brought you back. There must be a reason”
Aemond had just looked at him as Robb Stark had held out his hand, “You just want me to obliterate your enemies for you,” he had said “since your war is at an impasse,”
“Maybe,” Robb Stark had replied, “but alliances are like that, and wouldn’t you want justice for your family?”
“All my family and those who hurt them are gone,” he had said “I cannot have justice”
And hadn’t it been a sight, the way Robb Stark had grabbed him by the shoulder and hoisted him up his feet “Maybe,” he said “and maybe you can stay here and wallow in the unfairness of it all, or you can do something,”
“And that something would be win your war for you?”
Robb Stark had shrugged, “or win this war with me,” he had said “I care nothing for the Iron throne, but you did,”
The voice of the northern queen broke him from his reverie.
“These can be your rooms, as long as you need them to be”
He had thought that perhaps she would be the woman in the flames, giving him the North, and that that would help him understand this was supposed to be this way. That he was supposed to be here.
“You aren’t her,” he commented, perhaps unkindly, “I thought you would be,” then he nodded stiffly to her “thank you,” and walked inside the chambers and inside his void.
Inside the void.
And he stared in the eyes of that void, long and hard, faced himself into that void and when he had enough, he had decided he might not be able to get justice, but he would avenge it all.
And vengeance would be sweet — as sour — sitting on the Iron throne.
The Gods had brought him back, that had been their mistake, now he would raze it all, take it and prove to them why they had been wrong before, setting him up for failure.
Chapter 4: Sansa
Summary:
Long, political chapter where so many things happen!
Chapter Text
Sansa
“Lady Lannister,” there was an in depth coldness to Margaery’ voice, and her eyes were as cold as ice as she looked at her.
Once, Margaery’ kindness had changed everything for Sansa.
Her presence had meant friendship and care and tenderness that Sansa had not yet found after her father’ head had been cut off.
Yet, Sansa had soon learned to see through Margaery’ kindness.
She had been blind too long, and whilst she had promised herself to never make the mistake of trusting blindly again.
“Your Grace,” Sansa offered, falling into a curtsy, terribly aware of the weight of Joffrey’ medallion around her neck, a weight she would sooner be free of than carry, “what a lovely day for a stroll in the gardens”
“Indeed,” Margaery replied, her smile as perfunctory as the small crown she always sported in her brown tresses, “it is almost unfathomable that this long summer shall end,”
Winter is coming, Sansa thought, having to almost bite at her tongue to avoid saying it out loud, risking the wrath of the king and being accused of perceived treason.
“Indeed,” she replied instead, cocking her head to the side.
“You shall find no difficulty I believe,” Margaery commented, “after all, isn’t your kind made for winter?”
Sansa stiffened, her jaw tense as she jutted her chin up “Starks are made for the cold,” she confirmed “indeed,” she commented “the winters are harsh, but we Stark endure”
“Enduring,” Margaery commented “that is not an adjective I’d use to describe you”
Sansa forced herself to relax her hands, busing them by adjusting her skirt around herself “And how would you describe me, Your Grace?”
Margaery never got the chance to comment, as suddenly Joffrey left the pavilion behind them and appeared behind Margaery.
“Wife,” Joffrey greeted her, going even as far as to accept the kiss Margaery bestowed on his cheek, “Lady Sansa ”
“Your Grace,” she greeted back just as Joffrey turned his attention back to his wife.
“What are you doing out and about? You should be focusing on doing your best to fall pregnant,” he accused and Sansa felt sorry for Margaery for the way she flinched as Joffrey grabbed her elbow in his hand with such force that his knuckles whitened, his wormy, red lips curled into a cruel grimace, “instead I find you lolly-dallying around”
Joffrey tightened his hold on Margaery and Sansa almost cringed herself, feeling the fathom pain of the several bruises Joffrey had regaled her with.
“My mother always said that fresh air is one of the best cure-all for any woman of carrying age, and my mother had five children,” she emphasized, hoping it may distract Joffrey long enough from Margaery.
Joffrey turned his emerald eyes on her and Sansa almost shrunk a size, before forcing herself to stand back straight as she looked at him, offering him a smile.
“A pity all of that good work was wasted on the sons of traitor,” Joffrey commented and Sansa almost breathed out in relief as Joffrey let go of Margaery.
“Tell me, lady Sansa,” he said walking closer to her, “Why do you think that happened?”
“I could not say, Your Grace. My love for you is ever stronger every day,” she lied through her teeth, offering him what she hoped would be a pacifying smile.
Joffrey arched a brow but then nodded as his gaze befell the medallion he had gifted her, “I am glad this is where it belongs,” he said, fingering the item dangling from her neck and then pressing, with almost cruel violence, his thumb against her left breast, pressing so hard that Sansa almost yelped when he dragged the fabric against her sensitive nipple, not yet recovered from the bruises he had left when he had decided that, even if he could not share her bed yet, he could still torment her in other ways.
Sansa said nothing, then Joffrey took a step back and offered her his arm.
“Come, my lady,” he said “let us stroll together, and show them your loyalty”
Sansa watched studiously his arm and then turned to Margaery, offering her another curtsy “Your Grace, I bid you a good day,” and then she accepted Joffrey’ arm and let him guide around.
“Come, pet ,” he addressed her, “I have a gift for you”
Sansa nodded politely to Lord and Lady Velaryon, who, after abandoning Stannis, had bent the knee to Joffrey.
They nodded right back, their distaste for her apparent vicinity to the king clear on their faces.
As soon as they were before the fountain, Joffrey guided her to stand before him and then fished from his pocket a ribbon, a blue ribbon of all things, he then grabbed her by the shoulder and dragged her a step closer.
“I remembered your beast had one of these as well,” he said, his lips curving cruelly “it seems only fitting that you wear one as well, as you are my pet now” he added as he wrapped the ribbon around her neck, in a choker fashion, tightening his grip enough that Sansa could recognize the underlying threat.
“It is most fitting, Your Grace” she lied, her hand rising to touch the ribbon.
“I want you to never take it off,” Joffrey instructed her, “Ever. You shall be buried with it”
“As you command, Your Grace”
I will tear it to pieces, she thought angrily, I will destroy it and burn it. I will, I will, I will.
You, she thought darkly, will be buried with it.
Joffrey seemed satisfied by her reply and went even as far as to bestow a kiss atop her lips, Sansa held back the urgency to bite at his wormy lips.
“I am happy you finally learned your place, pet” he commented when he finally let her go, “it is most becoming of you” he added.
“Thank you, Your Grace. I am happy to have pleased you,” she recited, ever cordial and false.
“You did,” Joffrey said “you did, indeed, especially today”
“Was it a rough day, Your Grace?” Sansa pried, “Your Grace makes ruling a country look as easy as breathing but it must be vexing at times” she amended, in hope that the praise would make him less on edge.
Joffrey, ever haunted, sighed theatrically “Indeed,” he said “it is not the Realm which is difficult to govern, it is the snakes hiding in my own court that vex me,”
Sansa nodded sagely “It must be ever so tiring, to always have to look behind one’s back, and yet it is a measure of greatness, how many try to hold us down”
Joffrey looked at her as if he was seeing something new altogether, “Indeed,” he said, “my wife still refuses to give me a son, an heir to my name” he said “and traitors litter my court”
“Oh no, Your Grace, you must be mistaken, who would dare!” she saw the moment Joffrey was about to snap, and she amended immediately “Tell me their name, Your Grace, I would sooner stain my hands in your name with their traitor blood than let this go unpunished!”
Her passionate speech seemed to please him immensely, as Joffrey smirked, and Sansa felt her own smile curl at her lips.
Believe, Joffrey, she thought darkly, believe and be destroyed.
“Ah, pet, if only all my lords and ladies were as loyal as you,” Joffrey sighed “sadly I cannot trust even my own blood”
“No, Your Grace! If your mother the Queen shall ever turn her back on you I would sooner take my life, she loves you unconditionally!” Sansa exclaimed, steering his thoughts elsewhere from Cersei.
“My mother is not my only blood,” Joffrey reminded her, almost gently.
Sansa felt as if suffocated by the ribbon at her neck, “You do not believe my husband to be guilty, do you, Your Grace? Oh, if only I had not testified…”
“Don’t worry your little head about these matters, pet” Joffrey said, patting her red head almost lovingly, “I shall destroy any who thinks to betray me,” he said “you shall not fear for my life, not any longer”
Suddenly Lord Lannister appeared from the corner of the gardens and Sansa could not thank the Gods enough for his timing, because for Joffrey to see him, after she had so carefully planted the seed of doubt, as they discoursed of betrayal would only strengthen his conviction his grandfather could not be trusted.
Sansa had never seen Lord Lannister look so anxious, “Your Grace,” he called as he strode to them.
Joffrey’ eyes narrowed, and the grip he had on her hand became almost hurting.
“Lord Lannister,” Joffrey commented with almost a bored tone, as Lord Lannister reached him. He was holding a parchment with the Baratheon and Lannister insignia on it.
“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded.
Sansa had believed Lord Lannister to be formidable, always calm and collected, always in control. In that moment she realized how fallacious that idea had been.
“That seems to be the decree with which I unname you as my lord Hand, Lord Lannister,” Joffrey commented and Sansa remained stony at Joffrey’ arm, “I trust old age has not yet impeded you from comprehending common speech,”
It would be almost funny, if Sansa could find it in herself to be amused by it.
“Now, do you need anything else, grandfather? As you can see I am otherwise occupied, and I wish to give my lady all of my attention,”
Lord Lannister spluttered and only then seemed to notice her presence, he collected himself, and adjusted his jerkin.
“May I ask a private audience, then, Your Grace”
Joffrey sighed, “Sadly I am very busy at the moment, grandfather, with the war your men didn’t seem able to win,” he said “if you wish for an audience you shall have it publicly like anyone else”
Sansa was almost surprised by how easy this was being. Though she had to admit that Lord Lannister did his best to maintain his dignity.
“Very well, Your Grace. I bid you good day” he said, making to turn around and walk away, when Joffrey pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Grandfather,” he called and the man stiffened “you still wear the Hand of King’ pin” he pointed out, maybe cruelly.
“My apologies, Your Grace” lord Lannister commented, though Sansa could see how badly his pride was wounded, as he took the pin from his chest and walked back to hand it off to Joffrey.
“Don’t concern yourself with that, my Lord” Joffrey commented “concern yourself with winning this war”
Sansa personally thought that if Joffrey wasn’t blood, Lord Lannister would leave the court and retract the support of his troops, choosing another claimant for the throne.
Like he had already done once.
Too bad that now he was kin to the king and could not go against him, unless he decided to attempt at Joffrey’ life to instate Tommen in his place, though Lord Lannister struck her as too much of a prideful man to do such a thing.
Well, a lady could pray, couldn’t she?
“Your Grace, Lord Lannister served you ever wisely and loyally,” she said “I am sad to see him step down from his tenure as Hand”
“Sadly,” Joffrey commented, “there is a time for everything, and his time has passed. The most he can hope to do now is defend my claim” he stated “he could not serve me further”
“Of course, you know best, Your Grace. We are truly blessed to live to see your days” she offered.
Flattery could get you a great way with this king.
“Indeed,” he commented “and don’t you forget how blessed you are to hold my affection” he said, grabbing her chin in an almost hurtful grip.
“I never could, Your Grace”
“Good,” he said “now, be a good pet and return to your chambers, I have matters to see to” he said, patting her on her bum to guide her along.
It was humiliating .
Sansa could only be grateful that no one was around to see it, that her lord father could not witness such a thing.
I shall have my dignity back , she promised herself, low in her belly, I shall have my justice .
She just needed to be patient, she curtsied “As you wish, Your Grace”
“I shall visit your bedchamber tonight, my lady,” he told her as a farewell, “After I have spent my first load on my wife, you shall have the rest”
Sansa forced herself to smile and then walked away, and back inside the corridors of the Red Keep, feeling as if his imprint would forever haunt her.
I am stronger, she reminded herself, I will not let him haunt me.
“Ah, my lady” Lord Varys commented, as soon as Sansa opened the door to her chambers, he was sat at the table whilst Shae glared at him from the balcony, “and how beautiful you are,”
“Lord Varys,” Sansa greeted, “I trust you had a good day, I am afraid I’ll have to decline any invite to dine together tonight,” she said, her hand rising to her neck and fingering the suffocating ribbon, “as the king shall join me tonight”
Lord Varys, ever attentive, studied her new choker, “A gift from His Grace,” Sansa seethed “for his favored pet ”
Lord Varys took a deep breath “At times I wonder if His Grace remembers that the sigil of House Stark is a direwolf and not a dog,” he commented “and that if his dog could turn his back on him… what could a direwolf do?”
She’s a direwolf, not a dog.
Sansa smiled, “I hope you have good news, though we must be fast”
“Of course,” Lord Varys said “please, my lady, may we sit?”
“Of course,” Sansa sat opposite him and observed the man, as he adjusted his bell-like sleeves.
“My birds chirped that a good chance for you would be at the celebration of the fifth year of reign of king Joffrey in a month’ time,” he reported.
Sansa nodded, “That seems most amenable,” she said.
“My birds also sang of a pin being dropped from the Hand’s chest,” Varys commented.
“Indeed,” Sansa nodded, “apparently the king has concluded that his grandfather is no longer fit for the role” she said “I suppose Lord Tyrell will replace him,” she shrugged “it would make the queen happy, and if she’s happy she might give him a son”
Lord Varys nodded “Aye,” he said, “and every king need an heir”
Sansa nodded as they lapsed into a companionable silence, “Let us pray at the latest convenience,” she said.
Lord Varys nodded “Indeed,” he said, nodding his bald, powdered face, “I shall speak with lady Tyrell of this matter soon”
Sansa nodded “Of course,” she said “I am sure such a curse of action would be best,”
But Lord Varys never did manage to speak to lady Tyrell in time, for, not even a week after that, king Joffrey rang the bells to proclaim that his wife and queen was finally with child.
The king announced it in open court and Queen glowed besides him, as he showered her in his apparent affection.
The parents of the queen were ever proud.
Lady Olenna, in the shadow of the Iron throne leaned heavily on a carved cane, her hand harpooned around the carved rose at its head, clad in a green and golden gown and headdress, a grim expression on her wrinkled face.
We have a new Queen, Sansa recalled having said at Joffrey’ marriage to Margaery.
Better her than you, had been Tyrion’s reply.
And now more than ever Sansa was grateful of that truth. She was sorry because once everything fell in place Joffrey would be even more Margaery’ nightmare, but she was also grateful he would no longer be hers, and if she had something to say about that he would not be anyone ’s nightmare very soon.
But the surprises were not yet done with, because suddenly the double doors of the hall of the Iron throne opened and inside strode, with confident steps a Karstark.
Sansa would recognize their sigil anywhere.
“The Lord Eddard of House Karstark, messenger of Robb Stark” the valet called.
Sansa almost shivered at hearing the man stop in his tracks and unsheath his axe pointing it at the valet, “ King Robb Stark,” he corrected, before handling his axe with a twirl and rest it, back pressed on his shoulder as he strode further inside.
The man strode until almost the dais of the Iron throne, Joffrey sat on the edge of his seat, his hand curled around one of the pommels, his grip so tight it made him look like he was trembling.
Then Lord Eddard, the name swirling in her mind like a caress, made show of a bow, “Your highness,” he greeted, his eyes fixed on her, and Sansa almost stiffened at that.
“The proper way to address the king,” Great Maester Pycelle commented, stepping forward “is by Your Grace ,”
Lord Eddard tsked and then straightened, “I am well aware,” he replied.
Sansa prayed he would point out he had been addressing her, and thankfully Lord Eddard proved sensible enough to realize that, with king Joffrey glare on her, she could not be put in jeopardy out of loyalty to a title alone.
“Thank you for the needless reminder, Maester” Lord Eddard added, Pycelle almost spluttered and Sansa had to contain her giggle at Lord Eddard’ snarky reply.
“What matter do you have with the true king?” Queen Cersei demanded from her place beside the Iron throne.
“Just one,” he said “king Robb Stark has sent me to hereby retract the terms previously offered,” he recited “leave the Iron throne,” he said “recognize late Lord Eddard Stark’ innocence of all accuses and you will be recognized safe conduct to Essos where you will live in exile,”
Joffrey let out a maniacal laugh “Or else? He will set his direwolf on me? I already had one killed, I’ll do it again”
Lord Eddard did not reply at that for a long moment, studying Sansa seeing her stiffen at mention of Lady.
“These are the terms,” Lord Eddard said, “graciously offered, “you may choose to ignore them, or refuse them, to your own peril, for the Iron throne is not yours”
“It is!” Joffrey snapped, suddenly standing up and groaning when the motion made him cut himself.
Lord Eddard, upon noticing that, arched a brow “The Iron throne rejects you,” he pointed out “and it will kill you if you do not accept this terms”
“And have Robb Stark sit on the Iron throne! Never!”
“Robb Stark is the King in the North, he has little concern for the Iron throne,” Lord Eddard said, “he is the North,” he added “the son of Winterfell. And from there he shall govern. But he shall sooner see the dragon sitting atop the Iron throne then you. House Stark bent the knee to the dragons, and they will help the green dragon risen again from the Gods Eye to take back the Iron throne,”
There was a moment of tense silence before queen Cersei said, “All dragons are dead, and all Targaryens in exile across the Narrow Sea”
“Not all of them,” Lord Eddard replied, “as the Gods in their immense wisdom have seen fit to have the prince Aemond of House Targaryen, once fallen into its waters to rise once again from the Gods Eye, for the Iron throne”
Lord Eddard then crossed his arm across his chest “These are king Robb and Prince Aemond’s terms,” he said.
“You lie!” Joffrey claimed, almost unsheathing his own sword as his kingsguard did the same, “you lie and you slander! No one can return from the dead!”
“This one did,” Lord Eddard replied, utterly unimpressed by Joffrey’ violent display, he then turned around, offered her a nod and walked away “I wish you good fortunes in the wars to come,” he said, before walking out, despite Joffrey yelling to have his head.
“Your Grace,” Lord Baelish said “the man is mad, Robb Stark must have been trying to make you misstep” he told him.
“It is true, Your Grace” Lord Varys interjected, coming closer to the Iron throne, his face ever low and his arms crossed “and killing a messenger, whose life is protected by sacred laws would be a terrible misstep,”
“Indeed, Your Grace” Sansa intervened “and you are much smarter than my brother, do not fall in his trap”
She chose to ignore Lord Lannister calculating gaze on her as Joffrey slowly deflated and nodded, before laughing at Lord Eddard’ back, the hilarity barely copied by his court as Sansa saw the first northerner since her father’s death, walk away.
She was somehow yet disappointed her brother had not thought of demanding Sansa be released from her vows to Lord Tyrion and let return home. Yet she was also thankful that no further attention was brought to her possible disloyalty. She was walking a fine, delicate line and all it took was a slip for her to die.
Her trip to the Tower of the Hand was ever bittersweet, she had been so innocent and naive when her lord father had been named Hand of the King and she had lived her day-dream filled days in these very halls.
She had worn blue and ivory, with pearls around her neckline and the blue ribbon fastened — as tight as hands trying to suffocate her — around her neck.
Shae had demanded to accompany her, but Sansa had refused her, especially after the plot she had devised with Lord Varys to frame Lord Lannister beyond reasonable doubt.
Whether Joffrey realized it or not, Lord Lannister was his only strength, without him — forced to take the black or exiled back home — his army would slowly destroy itself and Robb would have easier path paved to the capital especially with his new ally.
Sansa would gladly offer them the city on a silver platter, and that had been the original plan was it not for the fact that Margaery had fallen pregnant which gave Sansa less than nine moons to make the capital fall, she could not afford that Joffrey, perhaps convinced by his astronomers or maesters that the Queen would have a boy, would finally decide to share in her bed and destroy what little of her innocence she had managed to defend.
Which meant that now they had to act faster, and that the day they had chosen to ensure Sansa would forever be in Joffrey’ graces, needed to become the day she managed to escape the capital and return to her brother’ side.
She had hoped they could count on House Tyrell’ allegiance, especially considering the circumstances of her brother new named and hidden — for now — ally, but with Margaery pregnant with Joffrey’ babe, House Tyrell would support the Lannisters even in war, even against a possible dragon.
She hadn’t believed it possible when Lord Varys had told her that apparently Vhagar of old had flown through the waters of the Gods Eye with her last rider, and landed directly in her brother’s lands. And yet Lord Eddard Karstark’ message had been clear, either Robb was lying and Lord Varys was in on it, or they were telling the truth. For however unbelievable that seemed.
Lord Lannister though had been reinstated as Hand of the king after Lord Eddard’ arrival which meant Sansa needed to act fast if they wanted to ensure Lord Lannister could no longer defend Joffrey.
“Please, lady Lannister,” the valet said, helping her through the door of the Hand’ solar.
“Daughter,” Lord Lannister greeted her, sat where once her Lord father had.
I am not your daughter, she thought darkly, I am Lord Eddard and lady Catelyn Stark’s daughter. The blood of Winterfell.
“My lord Hand,” she curtsied.
Lord Lannister studied her, “You are not yet with child,” he commented “I had hoped you would fall pregnant more quickly given your mother’ history,”
Sansa cocked her head to the side “Children will come when the Gods see fit,” she replied ever politely.
Still standing since he had yet to offer her a seat.
“Hm,” he intoned “and I think it would be difficult for you, especially considering that your husband is far away, fighting on the frontlines”
“I am most anxious for my Lord husband,” Sansa said, “he has always been kind to me,”
“ Too kind, some would say,” Lord Lannister commented, his gaze dark and accusing.
“Is there ever such a thing?” she asked.
Lord Lannister leaned back against his chair, “I dislike the way my grandson acts around you,” he said “thus I will petition to have you sent to Casterly Rock where you will learn all that you need about the keep and the Westerlands,” he said “as you are my son’s wife”
Sansa didn’t outwardly react, she just collected her hands before herself.
“If that is your wish,” she said, hoping she had not been framed to come here with a plan only to discover she had been played all along.
Instead, making her almost breath out in relief, the valet barged inside “Prince Tommen, my Lord! He was unhorsed!”
Sansa felt bile rise up her throat, Tommen was a kind and sweet boy, he reminded her of Bran and although she hadn’t been aware of what would happen to distract the lord Hand, she could not deny she was grateful for the distraction anyway.
She didn’t know if this was what had been planned, but especially if it wasn’t she could not let it have been in vain.
Lord Lannister stood up, in a hife, and ran to the door, clearly assuming both the valet and Sansa would follow him.
Then Sansa acted, steadying her hands and searching on the table for Lord’ seal, she upturned the lids of several small boxes and moved papers around until she found it.
She fished from her corset the small sample they would use to impress the seal, to have it remade and use it.
Every lord hand brought slight modifications to the original, so that no one could use an old seal to frame the Lord Hand.
Using his personal seal meant to ensure it would be no suspicion.
She pressed the seal against the rubber stamp, taking care to ensure the result was not smudged by her nerves and then left the seal in the same position she had found it.
She hid the stamp in her corset once again and ran down the flight of stairs to reach the courtyard before her absence was noticed.
Thankfully she managed that, because chaos was reigning free in the courtyard, and no one seemed to even notice her late arrival.
Tommen’ was still groaning and wailing, crying that he could not feel his legs, Sansa felt horrified and nauseated as she thought about Bran, sweet Bran, as tears gathered at the corners of her eyes.
“My prince!” Cersei wailed as she ran down the dais, fisting her skirt in her hands, “my son!” she cried out as she attempted to shove Lord Lannister out of the way.
She knelt in the mud next to her son, and Sansa felt sorry to her, recalling how heartbroken her lady mother had been when Bran had fallen off the Broken Tower.
“Someone call a Maester, quick!” Sansa exclaimed, throwing herself next to Cersei — in a attempt to show her support of the Lannisters — though Cersei shoved her away, making her fall on her rear.
“Do not touch him!” she screamed at Sansa, “my son! My son did not deserve this!” she wailed.
And Sansa had to bite her tongue, And my brother did? , if what Robb claimed was true, it had been queen Cersei and maybe her brother, Jaime Lannister who looked pale and nauseated as Tommen laid motionless on the hard ground, who had made him slip and fall.
It was, surprisingly, the hands of the new Lord Commander of the City’s Watch, Tyrion’ friend, who curled around her arms, helping her gently up from the ground.
“Here, my lady”
“Thank you, sir Bronn” she breathed out, thankfully that in shoving her Cersei had not caused her plot to be discovered and that the stamp was safe underneath the fabric of her clothes.
He looked at her with his dark eyes and nodded, “Don’t mention it,” he said “poor boy, your Lord husband will be most heartbroken by this” he added.
“He is such a sweet boy,” Sansa claimed “the Gods shall see his goodness and spare him,” she said with conviction.
It was then that Sansa felt eyes on her, she looked up from Tommen as sir Jaime despite any other counsel hoisted Tommen up his arms and brought him inside.
Sir Dontos, from halfway through the courtyard was looking pointedly at her, sir Bronn’ hand still on her arm.
Sansa asked him with a look, if he had been the one who caused that, as a form of distraction, and watched as he put something in his pocket and shook his head.
So, whatever was supposed to be a distraction, this was no it. This had been the working of the Gods.
“Come, my lady” sir Bronn said, nudging her toward inside the keep, “you’re going to catch a cold out here”
Sansa followed his directions inside, and Sir Bronn helped her up the dais.
“Thank you, sir Bronn” she said again.
“Lord Tyrion asked me to look after you,” he said “promised to pay me double for it,” he shrugged.
Sansa almost rolled her eyes, “Such friendships are priceless, are they not?” she commented.
“Indeed, my lady, here you go” he said, as they entered the keep.
“I hear that lady Lollys is pregnant once again,” she said, recalling by some miracle the man’ wife.
“Indeed,” he said “we are most happy about it,”
“I shall keep her in my prayers then,” Sansa said, as he guided her to her chambers, escorting her, and, for the first time Sansa did not feel as if she was being mistreated or looked upon with pity.
“Thank you, my lady” he said.
“Maybe I could write to her,” she said “she seems very sweet, and no one that sweet should be alone,”
Sir Bronn studied her, “And you’d know about being alone, my lady, wouldn’t you?”
Sansa stiffened at his side, “Sadly, I know better than most,” she breathed out as they neared her chamber, “though I’ve also been luckier than most”
Sir Bronn considered her for a long while then nodded, let go of her arm and offered her a nod, “Here I leave you, my lady. Should you need me…”
“I’ll know to double your price,” she jested and sir Bronn offered her a mock salute.
“Smart indeed, my lady”
She was thankful that he left without demanding entrance, because as soon as she entered her chamber she found herself face to face with Lord Varys.
“Tell me that that wasn’t your doing,” she demanded, her voice hoarse.
“It wasn’t my doing, my lady,” he said promptly “I had a very different diversion in mind,” he supplied “Prince Tommen is ever sweet and no more than a babe in the woods”
From the mouths of babes, she recalled. You did not help me either, not really, back then.
He then stepped closer, “Do you have it, my lady?”
Sansa nodded gingerly and handed off the stamp to him, Lord Varys inspected it, “Very well, my lady,” he said, “leave the rest to me. Just be ready”
Sansa nodded. She would be ready.
Not even a week from then, with queen Cersei ever heartbroken over her boy’s condition — alive, awake, but having lost the use of one of his legs permanently and maybe of the other one as well — in open court, king Joffrey demanded Lord Lannister’ stepped down from the Iron throne, where he was holding court in his name, and explained himself.
Apparently Joffrey had been notified that Lord Lannister had meant to send a missive to his allies, stating how important — with Tommen now in that condition — that Margaery birthed the king a girl, so that king Joffrey could be disposed of and Tommen could take the Iron throne, have a son and then marry his son to Joffrey’ daughter, to strengthen the dynasty on the Iron throne. As Tommen was gentler and more gullible and decisively easier to guide to govern the Realm.
“Do you deny this is your personal seal, Lord Lannister?” Lord Varys demanded as the false parchment was brought to the lord’s attention.
“I do not deny it, Your Grace,” he said “but the words are not mine”
“And yet, only you are in possess of such an item,” Joffrey urged.
“Indeed” he stated, almost resigned, “yet the words are not mine”
Sansa watched as Maester Pycelle tried to justify it, saying that someone must have stolen it, but Joffrey proffered the very same item “This was in the Lord Hand’ solar,” he said “along several other incriminating documents ”
So, Lord Varys had gone all the way in.
“My brother,” Joffrey snapped “is still laying in bed, unable to move and yet you already plot to put him on the Iron throne after disposing of me. Now I understand why your urgency when you learned of what had happened to him,” Joffrey said “your desperation ”
There was something paranoid and mad in his emerald eyes, which shone like wildfire.
Lord Lannister seemed to have recognized such a look as well, because with all the poise he could muster, he replied “If that’s what His Grace believes”
Sansa decided that Cersei’ absence was a blessing. Because by this time she would already be screaming and yelling and crying and demanding an explanation.
“It is not what I believe, it is what it is!” Joffrey screamed.
Lord Lannister, to his credit, did not say anything to that, Lord Tyrell tried to intercede, saying that for sure the Lord Hand had been framed, when Joffrey snapped, “ Framed ? The Lord of Casterly Rock? The man who suggested he had a personal seal remade?”
Lord Tyrell fell back in line after that and lady Olenna didn’t same in any anxiousness about speaking on behalf of Lord Lannister, possibly convinced she could have easier life if he was out of the picture as well.
“Thank you, my Lord, for your trust in me,” Lord Lannister told Lord Tyrell “but His Grace knows best, thus I ask, what is to be my punishment, Your Grace?”
And in that moment Joffrey leaned back against the throne, “As you are my grandfather an execution would be most improper,” he said, “thus you will be stripped of your titles and lands, which will pass to your lady goddaughter, lady Sansa,” he said, which Sansa hadn’t expected, “if she’ll be ever so inclined she’ll host you in her keep until this war is done with, moment upon which, you shall join the Watch”
Then Joffrey clapped his hands and a servant brought forth a platter as another brought a second platter for Joffrey. One chalice was offered to Sansa herself, as the new lady regent of Casterly Rock in her husband’ stead.
“Let us, instead, raise our chalices together” Joffrey said, raising his cup and downing, “The Gods shall tell us who is guilty and who’s reliable”
There was that glint in his eyes and Sansa knew what was about to happen before it did.
Sir Ilyn, bring me his head!
Lord Lannister drank from the cup and retook his place in the court, offering the Hand of the King’ pin to Lord Tyrell who was named in the same occasion as new Hand of the King and then in a matter of half an hour he started coughing.
Sansa who had been observing him closely, saw him coughing up blood and trying to regain his breath as he desperately attempted to reach the exit of the hall and leave the throne room, when he fell on the ground, shaking for a moment to then stop moving altogether, with almost purple blood running down his chin from his nostrils and down his jawline from his mouth.
Joffrey clapped in the heavy silence that followed in the chamber, “Ah,” he commented, “The Gods have shown us indeed”
And only then did Sansa look at the chalice in her hands still, as Joffrey smirked “Lady Lannister, your loyalty has been rewarded by the Gods as well”
He would have poisoned her, he took the chance anyway, to risk poisoning her despite the fact that he wished to bed her and sire a bastard off her.
“Be grateful,” Joffrey added.
Almost as if without thought of her own Sansa curtsied “Thank you, Your Grace” she replied, her mind numb.
The rest of the open court went without an itch the moment Joffrey stepped away leaving the hall to his new lord Hand.
That very night Cersei’ screams could be heard through all of Maegor’ Holdfast and Sansa could not get a shuteye, terrified they would discover the truth.
And so went on for days, until one night, instead of her nightgown Shae offered her a gray and white gown and a gray and red cloak, rebraiding her hair instead of brushing them for the night.
“Come my lady,” sir Dontos barged inside the chamber, with a torch in hand “follow me,”
And Sansa did, she followed him to the docks, where Shae suddenly took her cloak and donned it on, covering her head with the hood, she then unclasped the lion medallion from her neck and clasped around hers.
“Shae, no”
“They will not find me,” Shae assured her, showing her, her girt and smiling “and they shall not find you either” she then grabbed her by the shoulders and held her in a fierce embrace.
Sansa took off the pearls she had around her throat and offered them to her, “They are worth a little fortune,” she told her “as soon as you can, settle down, have a life, have servants…” she said “grow old and be happy”
Shae caressed her cheek “You are a good woman,” she told her “I hope you find happiness”
Then Sansa saw her board the ship, making sure to carry the torch they had been holding and showing her hood and cloak very well as well as the lion medallion at her neck. Until her silhouette disappeared under board.
Then sir Dontos grabbed her hand and together they ran through the streets, in the silence of the night — careful not to be discovered by the golden cloaks patrolling the streets.
He guided her through the city doors and there they found two horses, they rode the entire night and only when the sun was high in the sky did they stop at an inn, where Dontos left her outside and entered inside.
“You must be strong, my sweet lady, my Jonquil,” he told her softly, as he rounded around her horse and helped her down the saddle, he pressed a kiss this time atop her forehead and adjusted her cloak a dark brown cloak with white fur around her face. He instructed her to take one of the horses she would see saddled in the stable at the back of the inn.
“Sir Dontos,” Sansa called “I hope to see you again,” she said “and to see your House restored to its glory”
Sir Dontos gave her a smile, then he gave her a small bow “Even if my House has seen its last glory in aiding you, I shall meet my ancestors in pride. Now go” and inside he went.
Sansa trekked through the bit of mud, and found the horse he had instructed her to, attached to the saddle there was a message, which told her to ride toward northeast until the hill, and Sansa did.
By midday she reached the hill and from the forest line a rider, Sansa stiffened and tightened her hold on the reins, until the rider came to the light and she recognized Lord Eddard Karstark.
Then Sansa lowered the hood from her head, and nudged her horse closer to him.
“Lord Eddard” she greeted and felt almost as if it was a breath of fresh hair.
“Your highness,” he saluted her, bending slightly on the saddle.
For the first time since her lord father was killed Sansa felt the lines of a genuine smile curl around her lips.
Then she followed him, in secret, across the crownlands, and hopefully soon back with her family.
By the time they were on the road for three days, they learned that Joffrey had been told of her disappearance and that they were now accusing her of having framed Lord Lannister and have caused his death with a spell.
The wolf witch, they called her, apparently.
Look out for her, the small folk coming from the capital would say, they say her hair are the same color of the flames of the hells, and her eyes as cold as ice! And she has fangs instead of teeth! And claws instead of fingers! They say she killed him with a spell, grew bat like wings, turned into a wolf and flew away!
Notes:
And sbam! So many things happened in this chapter! Hope you enjoyed!
Chapter 5: Arya & Catelyn
Summary:
Braavos and Harrenhal.
Notes:
Filler chapters. Ugh, I hate those.
Chapter Text
A girl
A girl had left behind all she had known; and yet from the depths of her memory a cry would rise “I must find my brother and my mother. And my sister, I need to find her too.”
And from the depths of her mind, words raised proud and strong “Winter is coming”
— History of the North in the third century
A girl sat, cross legged beside the pool of the House of Black and White.
She had long since learned many things, she had donned many faces, though she had yet to be given new missions.
After she had been finally given back her sight she had been very careful not to step a foot out of the path the God of Death had chosen for her; and she was growing ever restless for it, especially when missions over missions piled over for the Waif, who took great pleasure in rubbing it in a girl’ face.
“If it stings,” Jaqen had told her, “you are not No One,”
So a girl did not reply to the provocations the Waif made, even if she had commented that why did the Waif get so many missions when she was so gloating of her position that she would take time off being No One to rub it in her face.
She hadn’t left the corpse cleaning duty for three months after that, and she had not been let out of the building either; a girl needed to get out of the building, to stalk through the streets, to learn.
I need to find my brother and mother, and my sister. I need to find her too, a girl had told Jaqen outside of Harrenhal, when he had offered to take her with him to Braavos.
A girl shook her head, a girl didn’t have a mother, a girl didn’t have brothers and a girl didn’t have a sister and she didn’t have any half-brother either.
Then why did a girl cry?
A girl hated crying but when she had been posing as Cat of the canals she had learned of the fate of Bran and Rickon Stark and she had cried. She had been walking around the streets where she had happened upon an actors company who prided themselves on bringing stories from across the Narrow Sea, from the Lands of Sunset.
“This is the terrible story of the Wolves of the North,” the one acting as narrator had started with, he had been wearing an horrendous mock Stark attire — with something resembling a wolf attached to his chest, but that looked more like a pig, exactly like the bread someone had once baked for her, no. Not for her. For Arya Stark — and Cat of the canals had stopped short, “Proud and honorable they rode South and now only their bones and their howls in the winds remain,”
A girl had felt anxious at that, the show began showing lord Eddard Stark riding South and his head being cut off, there was no mention of Arya Stark save to say that she had disappeared and was dead in a ditch somewhere, though they showed Sansa hugging lord Eddard Stark’s head.
Later on the show they had the actress who looked nothing like Sansa Stark, with an horrendous wig that made her look more like some kind of horror story than a true story, marry the dwarf they had in their company and who claimed to be the Imp of Casterly Rock.
A girl had been ever anxious, without real reason. A girl didn’t have any sisters, nor brothers, half or otherwise.
Arya Stark had a sister, and brothers besides.
But Arya Stark was no more, she was dead in some ditch somewhere.
“But the Imp was not the prince the wolf girl was promised,” the narrator had gone on, and suddenly the actress who should have impersonated Sansa Stark had been shown on Joffrey’ lap, enamored as ever, as the curtains of their stage closed as they changed scenes.
Their replica of Winterfell was hideous, but the wolf puppets hanging from the painted walls left no room of doubt about where they were.
“And so the son of the islands of iron rose and brought the sea to Winterfell,” the narrator had said and a man with a cocksure stride, wearing what looked like a black octopus on his head — though a girl believed it was supposed to be a kraken — claiming to be Theon Greyjoy and that Winterfell was now his.
A girl had watched, wrecked with nerves, as the false Theon Greyjoy killed the two pups left home by the King in the North, burned and exposed their bodies from the painted walls.
She didn’t stay to see more, a girl had shoved her way out of the square — uncaring of the people she had annoyed by it — and with tears streaming down her face, as the cries of the actress who was supposed to look like Catelyn Stark raised in the sky.
She had gone to the hiding spot at the banks of the sea, had held her knees to her chest and had cried herself to sleep.
A girl is No One, a girl told herself, shaking her head as she offered the poisoned cup to the young woman.
Bran.
Rickon.
They had been children! They thought of you as a brother!, she had cried with her face pressed between her knees, as the sun set over the sea.
You know our words, Eddard Stark had said.
“Winter is coming,” a girl murmured as the young woman’ head started lolling back and forth and her eyelids became heavy, as a girl cupped the back of her head to avoid she hit it whilst falling down as the poison took effect.
And in winter we must protect each other, look after one another. Share in one another’s strengths. The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.
I don’t hate Sansa, not really.
A girl went through the motions with the corps in silence, and Jaqen even nodded to her in apparent satisfaction, then the girl donned the face of Cat of the canals yet again and walked out of the building.
I need to find my brother, and my mother. And my sister. I need to find her too.
So, Cat of the canals started her day as Braavos woke, pickpocketing unsuspecting rich old women who gossiped strolling through the market and keeping an eye out for the ships which would go west.
A girl is Arya Stark of Winterfell, and I am going home.
I am going to kill Theon Greyjoy and avenge Bran and Rickon.
Catelyn
“Mother, is aunt Sansa as beautiful as they say?”
The question made Catelyn stop her sewing and look up from her lap, as she turned around from the window — at which she was sitting – to look at her granddaughter.
Edda looked like a mix between Arya and Roslin, she had the long, solemn face of the Starks, but there was a softness in her traits that was all her mother’s. A bit like people commenting on Sansa looking her image. Sansa might have inherited her red hair and the blue eyes of the Tullys, and the Whent cheekbones, but she had the chin and nose of the Starks and even her bearing, albeit elegant as a southern lady, had retained some of that northern wilderness Arya had, had in abundance of.
Roslin knelt before her daughter and cupped her cheeks, adjusting her little corset around her, “I don’t know, my sweet,” she said “I have yet to meet her, you should ask your grandmother,” she told her daughter “though your father the king has told me princess Sansa looks like your grandmother,”
“ I look like my grandmother,” Edda said, almost indignant, and Catelyn blinked, as her granddaughter turned to her, “Don’t I, grandmother?” she asked, and in that moment Edda couldn’t have looked more like Arya if she tried.
Catelyn forced herself to smile, there was perhaps something of the Tullys in Edda, or maybe it was the way Edda would sometimes make certain faces, which reminded Catelyn of Arya.
When Edda smiled there was some of Sansa in her…but she looked the most like Arya.
I know Sansa has the Tully look, but Arya has your glare if nothing else and your easy smile, her sweet Ned’ voice resounded in her head, embracing her like he would.
“You do, sweetling,” Catelyn replied.
“But I look like my father too, does lady Sansa look like grandfather Eddard?” Edda asked, turning back to her mother.
“For sure,” Roslin said, realizing perhaps that this kind of talk was vexing on her heart, “every child looks like their parents,”
Edda seemed satisfied by that reply, “How soon will aunt Sansa be here?” she asked, as her mother turned her around to face the mirror and adjust her hair.
“We don’t know, sweet one,” Roslin told her, as she braided the crown of her head with a light gray and green ribbon woven in the tresses, in a way that reminded the many times Catelyn would send the maid away to brush and tend to Sansa’ hair herself, “Lord Eddard only told us he would not return without her,”
They said she had my look, she told herself, but she will grow into a far greater beauty than I ever was.
Edda had been able to speak of anything else since they had received word from lord Eddard that he would not leave without Sansa from Kings Landing; and Catelyn was torn between feeling elated she would maybe soon see her sweet daughter again, and heartbroken that, again, there was no mention of Arya.
“Do you think he has fallen in love with her like a knight from a song?” Edda questioned, with a dreaming smile on her heart-shaped mouth.
Roslin giggled softly “Maybe,” she conceded “princess Sansa must have been very brave to stay in Kings Landing all this time,” she said “maybe lord Eddard chose to be her champion,” she offered.
Please, make Father say yes! I would be queen one day, please, please! It’s the only thing I ever wanted!
“He is very handsome,” Edda gushed, in the same way Sansa used to gush about the princes in her songs.
The door opened on its hinges and Catelyn turned around, and, as if evoked by a higher power, Prince Aemond appeared on the threshold as if Catelyn had not been thinking of princes.
There was something haunted and broken in his only good eye, Catelyn could never know what to make of the youth. She had learned of him in her history lessons, his actions had caused the Dance of Dragons to break out completely.
He had killed his nephew and his dragon, and thus Queen Rhaenyra had promised vengeance, and to take back the Iron throne.
She had imagined him dark, and dark he was, she had always imagined him power-hungry and dishonorable, instead he looked yes dark, but also haunted and frightened and heartbroken at the same time.
The Maester of Riverrun at the time had asked her what she thought, who she would have supported as by that time she still was being trained as her lord father’s heir.
Catelyn remembered saying that both parties had been kinslayers, Aemond Targaryen had killed Lucerys Velaryon — if indeed he was a Velaryon — but Prince Daemon and Queen Rhaenyra had gone after Jaehaerys, who was even younger and of their blood too.
Indeed, the Maester had said, so?
So, Catelyn had replied, whilst Queen Rhaenyra had her father’ support, king Aegon had the laws of Gods and Men. Still, they should have found an agreement. Prince Aemond started it, so I’d stick with Rhaenyra.
And you think what Rhaenyra did, right?
No.
Catelyn would never forget that day, and what her maester had taught her.
Ruling is a matter of impossible choices.
And whilst she agreed that what Rhaenyra had done was terrible, now being a mother she understood better how vengeful she might have been though she should not have turned against the children.
Still, the Gods had brought back Aemond Targaryen from the waters of the Gods Eye, when they could have raised Rhaegar Targaryen from the Trident or even Aegon the Dragon from ashes.
They had brought back Aemond Targaryen with his scarred face and soul, broken and haunted look and his quiet and polite manner and the way he had wormed his way into Robb’ graces.
Robb was convinced the ancient prince was the asset for winning this war and finally return home, where he would rule and one day Edda or any other child Roslin would bear him, would rule after him.
Catelyn wasn’t so sure, if any new monarch on the Iron throne could be dissuaded to try and claim the North, Prince Aemond had the means to.
The North had already once bent the knee to Vhagar and the other dragons, rather than burn. If that very same choice presented itself again what would Robb do?
He had claimed he was willing to pay any price for justice, but would the entire North be willing to pay that price?
“Good morrow, lady Catelyn, Your Grace,” Prince Aemond greeted them “Princess Edda”
For now he hadn’t spoken of the North as part of the Seven Kingdoms and yet Catelyn was sure it would come.
“Prince Aemond, welcome back,” Roslin offered, caressing her daughter’s dark head.
Prince Aemond nodded, stepping further inside the hall.
“Any news from the capital?” he asked, his hands behind his back and his expression neutral.
“Nothing yet, save that the new terms have been forwarded,” Cat told him, unwilling to say more.
“Lord Eddard has chosen to champion aunt Sansa!” Edda gushed with the earnest look only a child of her age could have.
Catelyn inhaled sharply, and closed her eyes as she looked sideways to Roslin to manage her daughter.
“Indeed?” Prince Aemond demanded, “and help me, Princess, isn’t aunt Sansa the one you look like..?”
“I look like my grandmother and my aunt Arya,” she said “my father says aunt Sansa looks exactly like grandmother,”
Prince Aemond hummed low in the back of his throat and uncrossed his arms from his back.
“Indeed?” he asked, then nodded to himself “and Lord Eddard has chosen to champion her?”
“Well,” Catelyn mended “he has just written that he shall not leave the capital without her,” she said “we don’t know how soon that will be,”
She hoped this would be enough to dissuade him from flying to the capital, Robb had to sit him down and demand he did not use the dragon onto the Riverlands or the capital until northerners were inside.
And if he was forced to use her, as he was the only dragonrider of the Realm as of now, he had to swear not to harm any civilian, and use it only as a deterrent instead of using it to destroy the Realm.
But Catelyn did not trust the prince he was still a kinslayer.
I will not command her to burn indiscriminately, Prince Aemond had replied, I have no intention to make of the Realm a kingdom of ashes. Civilians will be awarded safe conduct if and when Vhagar will be unleashed. He had sworn on the Old Gods and the New before taking the dragon and flying to the Reach.
To Oldtown, from whence his mother had hailed.
“What has House Hightower said? Are they with us?” Catelyn asked, hoping the word of it would distract him.
“Lord Hightower has accepted I am who I claim to be and that I am of their blood,” he said “still, Joffrey’ Queen is of their blood as well,” he said “they are with us as long as I grant Queen Margaery and any child born of her royal pardon and lands as well as an advantageous match”
“They tried to demand I married Margaery myself, but as we were overseeing the terms of a possible alliance word spread that the girl is apparently with child,” he reported.
“House Hightower at the moment doesn’t have any girl of age to offer her hand in exchange of their alliance,” he said “so they offer the grain from their stores for a reasonable income,” he added “and their economic alliance, if I grant Margaery and her child a royal pardon and lands”
Catelyn nodded, “Of course, but what of a military alliance…”
“She is coming,” Prince Aemond interjected instead, leaving her speechless, he turned all of sudden his only good, purple eye on her, its expression cutting enough that Catelyn inhaled sharply, “I have dreamed of it,”
Then he bid them their leave but Catelyn felt her heart in her throat as the Prince left the premises of the keep to reach his dragon and fly away.
She is coming soon, I have dreamed of it.
Targaryens, they don’t answer to either men nor Gods, like their dragons.
And some said they could also see the future in their portentous dreams.
She left the chamber in a hife in search of her son, she ran to the training grounds where she found him training with the sword against Dacey Mormont with Grey Wind lazily waiting around for him.
The direwolf stood on all four paws when Catelyn barged unto the training grounds “You must act!” she wailed, “what if the dragon prince takes her hostage?”
Whatever the price, I will pay it. Robb had said.
He had failed in all these years to get back Sansa and Arya from Cersei and Joffrey, how much more difficult would it be to take back Sansa from a dragon prince?
Not my daughter. Not my sweet daughter. Not again.
Catelyn fell in the mud, crying helplessly even as her firstborn son held her back together whispering that she was panicking and that nothing would befall Sansa.
And yet Catelyn felt as if she was loosing her daughter before she even got her back.
Lord Eddard ever honorable, as his namesake, rode South with the terms of the prince of old and the Young Wolf. He did not return without the Princess of the North.
The dragon prince rose in the skies to meet them, some say guided by portentous dreams. And ever brave, the princess pressed forward, and most so think that kindred souls were recognized then.
— History of the Great Kings of the Iron throne, the Dragon and the Wolf
Chapter Text
Aemond
Vhagar’ powerful wings flapped against the winds, bending them to her will. At times Aemond had felt connected to the dragoness because of how isolated she had been.
Too big for the Dragonpit, too big for any keep, not even the Seven Kingdoms could fountain her, and Aemond had felt the same, never really belonging anywhere.
Not in Kings Landing, nor in Oldtown or Dragonstone.
He belonged nowhere and yet he belonged everywhere.
At times he had felt too big and void to fill any space or be bound to any.
He had found some kind of belonging with Alys, but she had willingly sacrificed him for a child who nobody knew anything about, who could have not been born at all anyway.
He had found belonging in the flames but it had been the waters who had claimed him, and then spat him out when it fit the Gods’ schemes.
As if Aemond was no more than a chess piece they could move around, put on stand-by and then throw again in the midst of a war because they wanted it won in the way only he could win it.
Aemond, Aemond who had caused all that had happened to his family, all those deaths and tragedies, he had been chosen to push ever on to win for the Gods the battles their new champions were unable to win.
Had their champions been better Aemond may have forever laid in the depths of the lake of the Gods Eye never to return.
The Realm needs you now, thus you returned. In his dreams his mother had told him so, I would not have wished this one anyone, but if any one can, you will .
And so Aemond had promised himself he would, that the vision of a Realm in which honesty and honor would prevail — the vision his mother and grandfather had worked restlessly on, gaining his father the name of Viserys the Peaceful — would became a truth, a truth his heir would continue on in the next century and until there was no more fire in the sun and the world was plunged into eternal darkness.
If the Gods meant to have him fight their champion’s wars for them and then have him disappear they would have a nasty wake-up call, because Aemond would rule and make his mother’ vision and principles the foundation of a new golden age.
The first step had been to fly to Oldtown, in hope to get House Hightower’ support to his cause.
Robb Stark may have promised him the aid of the Northern troops, but Aemond needed more , especially considering the northerners seemed convinced they were an independent and free kingdom again.
House Hightower — since House Targaryen had been dethroned — seemed to be the easier path.
He had flown Vhagar to Oldtown, and had reached the city in the first light of the his second day of flight.
The Lord of House Hightower, Lord Leyton, had welcomed him inside as if they had been awaiting his arrival.
“Welcome back to Oldtown, Your Highness,” he had greeted him. He was a man in his old age, older than his grandfather had been, but there was something in the way he carried himself that somehow reminded Aemond of his grandfather anyway.
“Lord Hightower, it is a pleasure making your acquaintance,” he had said, Vhagar landed just beneath the walls of the tower, “despite the harrowing circumstances”
“Indeed,” Lord Hightower had agreed before gesturing for Aemond to follow him.
“We still have paintings of you, your sister the queen and king Aegon,” the Lord had told him.
“Do you still hold a painting of my mother and my youngest brother as well?”
“Sadly those were lost,” had been his curt reply “but we never forgot them, nor the golden age of our kith and kin on the Iron throne. We never forgot and we never forgave,”
Aemond had been shown inside the halls, in silence he had followed Lord Hightower in his solar where they had been joined by a woman who held an uncanny resemblance to Helaena, had she grown to be that mature.
The woman was tiny of stature, but a bit chubby around the waist, though her cheeks were hollow and her eyes — teal instead of purple — were spirited, in the same way Helaena would grow when she would be lost in her thoughts and would end up shouting some of her erratic warnings.
“Gods be good,” she had said “Gods be praised,” she had added “they listened,” she had then turned to Lord Hightower and had grabbed him by the elbow, shaking his arm “I told you,” she claimed “I told you”
“Prince Aemond, let me introduce to you my eldest daughter, lady Malora Hightower,” he had said “the Maid of Oldtown,”
Aemond had nodded, offered a curt greeting and the woman had stalked to him, her come-alight eyes following every cervice and curve of him.
“It is him,” she had gushed, “they listened, I told him they would”
Aemond had taken the bait, “And how did you know I would be coming, my lady?”
The woman’ smile had been blinding, reminding him of his mother the queen, for some reason, but it was less controlled , it was as if this woman was an adultered, unbound version of both his mother and his sister.
“I knew, I knew. I knew because I was the one to call you back,” she had said “the Gods whisper in my ear,” she had added “and sometimes, I whisper back” she said, suddenly ever lucid, fishing from her incredibly big bell-sleeves an ancient time, with ancient scriptures.
The book of spells of Oldtown.
The woman had given him a sly smile and then had walked around him and back to the table where she had set the book on a lectern.
“And,” she had added, “this time I screamed back,” she had concluded, her long-nailed finger dragging across the pages.
Lord Hightower had then proceeded to educate him on the situation of the Realm, and Aemond had seen that Robb Stark had not withheld anything from him, that made him think twice of the man.
“Our granddaughter, Margaery of House Tyrell,” Lord Hightower had then proceeded to say “is, at the moment Joffrey’ Queen, but she will be yours if you will take the Realm”
Aemond had arched a brow, “And, is she untouched yet?”
“And is that really the matter? As long as she doesn’t bear Joffrey a child she’s a good prospect,”
“Maybe,” Aemond had replied “mayhaps I treasure purity,” he had said shrugging.
“Take Margaery for Queen and you’ll have the entire Reach with you and someone on the inside to kill Joffrey”
“So, I’d have to give the Realm an assassin, deflowered queen?” he had then leaned on the table “A wretched queen for a wretched king” he had commented, his voice lowering.
“The granary of the Realm on your side would be no little asset” Lord Hightower had pointed out “and I have no other daughters to offer as your spouse, unless you’d take Malora, but she can longer bear children”
Malora, who had let them speak on their own terms let out a little huff “He knows who his queen shall be,” she had said “red of hair, and with ice in her veins,” she had told him, with eyes that seemed to be looking straight through his soul, “with a mind sharper than a knife and gentle hands,”
She had cocked her head to the side “You have seen her in the flames your lover showed you,” she had told him, with such a certainty that Aemond asked himself if she had been present there in the chamber with them, “she lied, for her son. Who disappeared from history,” she told him “do not cry for them, their tombs are by now dry and cold, and a flourishing future waits ahead of you,”
Aemond had looked at her long and hard but the Lord Hightower had still pressed for Margaery to become queen and in the end Aemond had accepted as long as she bore Joffrey no son and she did not stain herself with his death.
As they were setting over dowries and several points of their alliance they had received word that Queen Margaery was expecting a child from the king.
Lady Malora had laughed at her father then, telling him that he ought to know better than to ignore her by now.
And Aemond and Lord Hightower had finally agreed to have Margaery and her child to be granted a royal pardon and rich lands to their name in return for the economical help House Hightower was promising, in addition House Hightower would sustain their troops out of their granary instead of sending it to the capital.
For a military alliance and military support the Lord Hightower had demanded a match with the royal House and possibly a match of importance even with the North.
Robb Stark has a daughter, I have several sons and grandsons, I am sure we can find one who’d be a match he’d accept, Aemond had promised he would bring this proposition to Robb Stark, but admitted he was not at leave to discuss such a matter for House Stark right now.
It had been then that lady Malora had demanded to come with him to Harrenhal, and Aemond had agreed since Malora would serve as liaison between House Hightower and Stark and serve also as a self-professed possible hostage should the need arise.
It will not, she had said, and my placement in your court will be ensured this way. I will become your queen’ lady in waiting.
Aemond had thought better than to protest, he had told her Vhagar might be opposed to her riding her but the woman hadn’t seemed concerned by it, and indeed — Aemond did not of thanks to some spell from her book — but Vhagar accepted to carry her without fuss.
I have dreams too, she had told him, portentous dreams.
And when Aemond had dreamed of the woman in the flames riding like the wind was carrying her across the fields of the crownlands and Riverlands, he had known.
Trust your dreams. They are what made Targaryens kings, when they chose it was dragons, they lost the dragons.
And when lady Stark had spoke about her daughter possibly escaping Kings Landing where, to what he had been able to understand, she had been married to the heir of Lord Lannister, he had known.
She was coming, the woman in the flames.
The woman that was supposed to ensure the North would follow him and apparently who was supposed to become his queen if lady Malora was to be believed.
“Go, ” lady Malora had told him when she had caught him leaving the halls with half a mind to try and meet halfway Lord Eddard and this princess Sansa, in hope she be the woman in the flames, “go get your queen ,”
And Aemond had every intention to, besides it wouldn’t harm for the small folk to see he was back. To see the dragon and know their true king was back.
By the time he sighted the two riders galloping across the field as if the winds were boosting their race, he felt as if he was outside of himself and one with earth and sky.
If lady Malora had brought him back and the Gods had listened, they would listen to him and listen well, as would the Men as well.
He circled above the riders, who upon noticing his presence stopped — barely avoiding the horses unseated them in fear of the dragon circling them like a predator a prey — and held back, awaiting for him to land Vhagar.
Aemond landed, uncaring if she was as big as a hill and twice as terrifying as any dragon from song and tale alike.
Upon landing, he adjusted his seat over the saddle and started to unbuckle the several chains used to ensure the force of wind did not unseat him from the dragoness’ back.
The riders had reddened cheeks made suddenly pale the moment Vhagar roared her predominance.
One was without any doubt a Karstark, for he resembled Lord Karstark much, as a son ought to. He wore deep blue and black with the blazon of House Karstark appointed to his chest.
The other was a woman. The woman.
They must have stopped somewhere along the road, because she wore gray and white — the colours of House Stark — with a red and brown cloak over it, her chin fur-lined by fur as white as her skin and hair as red as her lips.
Her eyes were blue and indeed Aemond could see the resemblance with lady Stark though there was something more algid and ethereal about this woman. The woman in the flames, who wore a small gray and white headdress with a long white veil dancing in the wind with her red hair.
Aemond smiled.
Here she is, he thought, the woman who will serve me the Realm on a silver platter.
The woman studied him for a long while and then some kind of marble-like determination set her features and she urged her stead forward.
The man accompanying her held out an arm in the attempt to stop her, but she spoke softly to him but in a way that made the man retract his hand.
“I am not happy about it,” he told her.
And Aemond studied as she gave him a nod and a smile, forced for it was, to then urged the horse closer to the dragon.
He supposed that if she was that courageous he could meet her halfway and dismount Vhagar to ensure she would not be too frightened.
So he slid down the dragoness’ side as she offered her shoulder and arm to help him down her massive body and Aemond remained harpooned around the dragoness elbow, on the same level if not a bit higher than the woman as she got as close as she dared.
A long silence stretched as he saw her unblemished pale face, her soft lips and straight, high cheekbones and nose.
“It is you,” he commented, perhaps impolitely, she though didn’t comment on it, neither on his lack of any kind of honorifics.
“So it would seem,” was her polite reply, “and you must be the prince Aemond,” she replied.
“Hm,” he commented, surprised by how gentle and yet unyielding her voice sounded.
Where Alys had been shadow and darkness, mollifying his every bone and bending him to her will like a fly to a flame, there was something cruelly kind about this woman as she spoke, something sharp, unshakable and courteous.
“Thank you for your kind escort,” she added, her voice even and her eyes never once shying away from his face, “I heard that the road ahead may grow perilous. I shall be much more reassured by your presence”
Aemond cocked his head to the side, “Indeed, my lady. I am sure you shall be, mayhap,” he added, taken by the spurn of the moment “you could be tempted to make this voyage on dragonback instead. It would be much safer, not much a threat airborne”
He wasn’t really convinced he would like to make the voyage carrying her dragonback but he was intrigued enough that he wanted to see how she would react and reply to gather the impression of her.
“Oh I wouldn’t dare, though I thank you for the kindness,” she replied without almost batting an eyelid, “I am afraid I am not that brave,”
“Or that stupid,” he commented with a smile and she frowned.
“Or that stupid,” she conceded at last “though we were just about to stop for a small break, we’d love if you joined us,”
“Of course,” Aemond offered back, then nudging Vhagar’ to straighten her arm to help him completely down, “thank you, my lady”
The dragoness did, her old, ancient eyes fixed on him like a mother hen of her chicken.
Lord Eddard Karstark did not comment on him joining them for their short break, he nodded his greeting but seemed otherwise unconcerned about his presence, though he kept a steady eye on Vhagar.
Sansa Stark, that was her name, played the host as if she was some great lady of some ever greater keep, ever courteous and polite, and Aemond could easily see how well-cut and trained she was to host an entire court.
She spoke in soft tones and commented on Vhagar’ beauty, fishing out adjectives Aemond had heard no more than a handful of times in his life. As if she was playing some kind of role, which made him want to force her out of that role, and if to do so he needed to coax her like a human befriending a wolf, he would.
As they shared a small, dry midday meal, silence encapsulated their little camp until, as if of sudden Sansa Stark turned to him.
“I have been indelicate, my apologies” she said “I have been so overtaken by it all that I have forgotten my manners”
Aemond frowned, wondering whatever would she be speaking about now, when she brought her hand to her chest and bowed her head.
“My condolences,” she whispered “it must be harrowing to find yourself in such a position, having lost most of your family”
He felt as if slapped and kicked at the same time, as if Sansa Stark had struck a hand through his chest, grabbed his heart in an iron fist and squeezed until there was no more life left of him.
Helaena.
His mother.
Daeron.
Jaehaerys.
Jaehaera.
Maelor.
Aegon.
Alys.
His unborn child.
Their tombs are dry and cold already, lady Malora had told him. It didn't make it hurt less.
I am not less aflame and alive, just because their tombs are dry and cold.
I should’ve stayed dead.
It was my place.
No. Your place is here, avenging them.
Vhagar gave a mighty roar, smoke rising from her nostrils and the trees shook for the prowess of her breath and the tips of some leaves were carbonized by it as well.
Lord Eddard jumped from where he was sat — the horses neighted and shook their heads, receding — and the roar served to break Aemond out of his mind.
Sansa Stark remained seated where she was on that log, unflinching, her face stony, her lips pursed and her face neutral. But her eyes did betray fear.
Still she did not turn away, neither from the beast nor from him. She faced both head on.
What has happened to you?, Aemond wondered, that you have grown so used to crippling fear?
“Vhagar,” he commanded, twisting around to look at the dragoness, whose body was curled around them in a semicircle, enormous enough that they had yet wide breadth, “ serve me, ” his voice dipped low, as he switched to old valyrian to command the dragon.
She emitted more smoke from her nostrils, and then — as if a spurned cat — twisted her snout away.
No longer a threat, for now.
“My apologies, it is still an open wound, and for a moment it was as if you had poured salt over it, Vhagar is ever protective of me,” he justified “she will not be a threat to you”
“Not until I am on your good side,” Sansa Stark commented in reply, her voice suddenly made of steel.
“The bond between dragon and rider is profound,” Aemond commented “at times she can feel my emotions better than I do,”
“I don’t see how that makes her less of a threat,” Sansa Stark commented and Aemond caught a glimpse of the steel inside of her hiding just beneath the surface.
“I never said she was less of a threat, I only said she would not be a threat to you ,” he conceded.
“Aye,” Sansa Stark considered “for now, that I am on your good side”
“Do you plan to not be on my good side very soon, my lady? Is that it?” he questioned, his purple eye narrowing on her, the sapphire suddenly rough against the scarred eye socket.
“Do you plan to have me not on your good side very soon, your highness?” she questioned right back.
The underlying question quite clear to his ear, do you plan to do something to make an enemy out of me soon?
Somehow he felt like he had already done so, perhaps with his actions back during his proper age? He had seen the distrust lady Stark — the woman’s mother — looked at him with. Might she have passed the same consideration on the daughter?
But then how would she be the one to ensure the North and him stood unified? His queen, if one was to believe lady Malora?
“Of course not, my lady. I would never be quite that foolish,” he said “to antagonize the Wolf Witch herself”
Oh yes, news had gotten to him about that, lady Malora had confirmed the woman had just steered the pot and the Joffrey-king had done the rest, still, she had somehow managed to cripple their enemy leaving the Lannister’ troops without their primary leader.
Sansa Stark stiffened at that, “And I would not be quite so foolish to antagonize a prince of old come back again from the dead,” she replied quietly, “by all accounts I cannot do such a feat, so it’d be foolish of me to not take that into consideration,”
“I suppose that makes allies of us, doesn’t it?” Aemond offered, a quiet olive branch being offered.
“So it would seem,” she replied, and Aemond offered her, his hand to shake on it.
She eyed it for a long moment as Lord Eddard brought back the horses to order, then she grabbed it.
Her hand was soft and less cold than he had expected with that brisk late autumn weather.
Her hold was sure and gentle.
“Pleasure to make alliances with you,” he offered, hoping it would coax a smile out of her.
And coax a small smile out of her it did indeed.
“Likewise,” she said, by then Lord Eddard had once again joined them and the conversation stirred from one topic to another.
The young knight seemed much interested in dragon battle as well as some of the most notorious battles of the Dance of Dragons — that was the name their conflict had taken — and to his surprise Sansa Stark offered oft insightful comments and considerations, which surprised him.
Women usually weren’t trained in warcraft or battlelore, and yet Sansa Stark appeared as knowledgeable as a young Lord should be.
By the end of their quiet, short break Aemond offered Sansa Stark his arm to help her up the log and up the saddle of her stead.
There was something otherworldly about Sansa Stark, and yet there was also something deeply earthly about her as well.
Alys had enticed him with her dark, unrelenting ways, her surety and maturity with her own body and sexuality. She knew who she was and she refused to hide.
Sansa Stark was the exact opposite, and yet there was something unnervingly sensual about the her.
Maybe it was how algid and yet warm she seemed to be. He could not say, it was as if the Sansa Stark before him was ever contradictory with herself.
And yet, this woman was accused of being a witch and having put a spell on the boy-king on the Iron throne thus damaging his reputation and enticing him to the point that, for her, he had assassinated his own grandfather in a horrible fashion.
He helped her to her stead, then offered her the bracket, she grabbed gingerly the edge of the saddle and tucked her small, dainty foot inside the bracket, once she had she gave herself the push to hoist herself up the saddle.
Almost out of instinct Aemond helped her up with a hand around her elbow and watched as she adjusted her skirt and cloak around herself.
“I will fly overhead,” he told her “over the clouds, I’ll be there even if you do not see me,”
Sansa Stark gave him one long, evaluating look and then nodded.
“That comforts me, thank you”
Aemond was sure that was only politeness talking, even if she made it sound genuine. He nodded to her.
In the end, he considered, there seemed to be nothing formidable about this lady, not at a first look.
She was polite.
She was beautiful.
She was courteous and well-trained just as her highborn’s full education demanded of her.
And yet.
She hadn’t even flinched, not even when Vhagar had roared, and had faced what could’ve been a threat head on.
Mayhap to this lady there was more than meet-the-eye, and Aemond was not the kind of man who did not look beyond meager appearances.
He had his mother to thank for it.
This woman had somehow survived living as a hostage under the thumb of a cruel, half-mad boy-king who had executed her lord father under false charges of treason.
And Malora maintained she was the power behind what had happened to Lord Lannister, who, if he was to believe Robb Stark and Lord Hightower, had been the most powerful man in the Realm.
This willow, courteous woman had somehow achieved all of this and looked nothing like it.
Why should I prove my strength when I can surprise my enemies with it? , he was suddenly reminded of an old philosophical tome he had read as a boy. It had been that tome that had inspired him to overcome his lost eye to become, he had hoped, one day the most dangerous man of the world.
He watched them ride ahead, as Vhagar curled protectively around his body.
She was graceful even whilst galloping across a field that could be swarming with her brother’s enemies.
“Mhm,” he commented, caressing Vhagar’ powerful, scaled neck, “intriguing,”
And he believed that even more intriguing would be the reunion between Robb Stark, his lost — Lannister married — sister, and their mother.
He had not broached the subject of her marriage with the lady, it had seemed insensible of him, but he was most curious to see if she would bespoke for him to her brother in hope to become the lady of Casterly Rock and its undoubtable wealth.
She was a riveting conversationalist and Aemond was curious to see how the woman underneath the surface would influence or change the dynamics in Harrenhal.
Intriguing indeed.
Then with a shrug he climbed upon Vhagar, adjusted the chains — you should choose belts, reinforced belts maybe, with snap-claps, the chains can be as much as a hindrance than a safety measure , she had commented as he had explained the dragon-saddle to Lord Eddard — around his tights and middle and then ordered the dragoness to rise up in the sky.
It took them an additional five days to finally reach the planes near Harrenhal, and Aemond shared with them their breaks almost every time, especially for the night, because they would all curl around a small fire, and with Vhagar around them they would not feel the bite of the cold too much.
The only keep they could’ve stopped by, in Maidenpool, they avoided like the pest, since Lord Motoon had been defeated by Lord Tarly and had bent the knee to Joffrey Baratheon receiving a royal pardon and declaring for the Lannister boy-king.
It was perhaps the night they slept less, knowing they were both too close to loose it all now, but also knowing they were so near where enemies stood.
The entire night, on top of that, howling of a thousand wolves rose from the woods beside the Gods Eye, unnervingly ghostly howls.
“There is a she-wolf,” Lord Eddard told them, “with a pack with hundreds of wolves, they say she feasts on the flesh of men, women, elderly and children alike” he said.
“Lord Motoon had intended to storm her lair, with his sons and his dogs, they returned barely with their lives and having lost all of their dogs” he reported.
“King Robb is convinced it is the ghost of your direwolf, your highness, returned from the dead to haunt the Riverlands,”
Lady Sansa shivered, perhaps due the cold, perhaps because of the implication of it all, “No,” she said “it could not be Lady. She was kind and good, she didn’t bite anyone. And Father ensured she would not suffer”
Aemond had then perhaps been indelicate, and had asked after the direwolf. He had assumed only Robb Stark had one, but he now realized he might have been wrong.
“My brothers found them all shortly before king Robert came to Winterfell,” lady Sansa told him “There was one for each of us, Jon too. Mine I called Lady, because she was as delicate and obedient as a lady”
“Robb’s is Grey Wind, you might have seen him,” she continued “Bran’s was still unnamed by the time we left Winterfell. Rickon had named his Shaggy Dog,” there was a soft, sad smile on her lips “my sister called hers Nymeria, like the warrior queen of the Rhoynar”
There was a shiver across her brow as another howl rose in the silent night, “And Jon’s Ghost,” she said at last “an albino, he was the most silent and quiet of the litter”
“What happened to yours?”
Lady Sansa’ eyes shone with I shed tears “Lady died,” she said “Nymeria had bitten Joffrey, when he had an altercation with Arya and the butcher boy,” she spoke as if she was reviving an old wound never quite healed right.
She took a deep breath and then added, “they searched everywhere for Arya and Nymeria, but couldn’t found neither. By the time they found Arya only Lady remained. Cersei demanded her pelt. My lord Father protested, and appealed to the king, but the king supported his wife the Queen. But she never worn her pelt.”
She exhaled slowly “My lord father killed Lady and sent her bones back to Winterfell. I cried for days after it,” she recalled “and believed I could not forgive him, ever. I was so very stupid”
“You were young, your highness,” Lord Eddard murmured in reply “I cannot think of king Robb without Grey Wind at his side. They are like two parts of a whole, I cannot imagine how heartbroken you must have been,”
“Thank you, Lord Eddard,” she offered softly as the howls filled the night-air like a song.
“Anyway, it cannot be Lady. She was kind and good, she never bit anyone, and they killed her anyway” she repeated, “but, it could be Nymeria”
“Your sister’ direwolf?” Aemond questioned, and Sansa nodded.
“Who knows,” she said “maybe Nymeria never returned home, like Arya hoped. Maybe she remained here and found her own pack”
“Would she feast on the flesh of children?” Lord Eddard asked and lady Sansa shrugged.
“I know you might think of them like exotic pets, they are not. Just like Vhagar, they are not dogs. They are direwolves,” she replied “my lord Father when they brought them home reminded us they would grow to be able to tear an arm from its socket like a cat played with a mouse”
Aemond hummed “I understand,” he said. She looked at him, her gaze almost challenging do you really? , but they still lapsed into silence as the wolves kept singing their song in the dead of the night.
And yet, when morning came the wolves had not come closer to them than they had feared and they retook their voyage across the invisible border between Lannister’s lands and Stark’s.
It was almost annoyingly uneventful though Aemond did spar with Lord Eddard, in whom he found an enjoyable, if quiet sparring partner, and when finally they found themselves in Stark lands — with Stark banners hoisted everywhere near the riverlanders — he saw lady Sansa visibly relax and a genuine smile curl at her lips.
By the time they reached the city of Harrentown at the feet of the great keep, Vhagar had been sighed and possibly news of their arrival had been spread because the small folk — to whom, he’d learn later — queen Roslin had dispensed mead and bread to celebrate her good sister’a return had gathered on the main road leading to the keep and were throwing under the heels of the horses white and winter roses, welcoming her.
Aemond veered on Vhagar, landing with her near the walls of Harrenhal, a rider was already awaiting for him, sour of expression, and he offered him the reins of a horse to ride to the keep.
Aemond managed to join them just outside of the walls from which hung the tapestry of the running direwolf.
There was tears streaming down lady Sansa’ cheeks as they rode past the first and second gates. The entire court was awaiting for her arrival and even Grey Wind, indeed, stood beside his master, his stance almost excited.
Robb Stark had donned his battered bronze crown, his wife and child beside him wore a wreath of battered bronze on their forehead, but the most outwardly emotional was lady Stark.
She too, like her daughter, had tears streaming freely down her cheeks and she kept twisting her hands as she took in her daughter.
Aemond stood a bit back, as Lord Eddard dismounted and a stable boy came forth to keep the lady’s stead steady as she dismounted herself, adjusting then her gray and white skirt and pushed the white veil attached to her headdress behind her shoulder.
Lady Stark broke into half-a-run the moment her daughter smiled, if timidly, to her.
It was heartbreaking to see mother and child reunite, now lady Sansa was taller than lady Stark and yet she folded on herself to fit under her mother’s chin.
Further heartbreaking because he could never feel the soft touch of his mother’ caress and embrace anymore.
Because his mother had died, after claiming Aemond would free her and save her, she had died.
He had failed her.
He had failed all of them, and that was why he would never feel their love for him ever again.
He would not see Aegon’ face darken with annoying proposit, nor Helaena when she was daydreaming about her children’ future. Nor his mother’ soft, genuine love and fierceness. Nor Daeron’ ever present in their shadows, ever smiling and genuinely beloved.
He would not hear Jaehaerys and Jaehaera call him uncle again, nor he would have the privilege to see Maelor grow old.
And yet something warm curled in his chest as he saw the genuine love flowing between mother and daughter as lady Stark held her daughter up to see her for the first time after years.
Genuine love and fondness shining in her eyes.
“My precious daughter,” lady Stark murmured ever lovingly.
Lady Sansa smiled at her and then she turned to look at little Edda Stark who looked way too giddy and excited to see her aunt, and Roslin who smiled welcomingly to her.
She then stepped to her brother, and curtsied “Your Grace,” she offered.
In any other situation Aemond would have it too stiff, but considering that lady Sansa was currently married to the new Lord of Casterly Rock, Aemond saw it like a political play on her part.
She was showing her support.
“Sweet Sansa,” Robb Stark greeted her and stepped forth, to gently kiss her on both cheeks and embrace her.
When she stepped back, her back was stiff, “May I introduce to you my wife, Queen Roslin of House Frey and our daughter, Princess Edda”
Lady Sansa melted at the mention of the princess’ name.
“Welcome to Harrenhal, sister” Queen Roslin offered, opening her arms.
Lady Sansa kissed her on both cheeks and then curtsied to her “Your Grace, I am happy to make your acquaintance,”
Then, Princess Edda came forward and offered her a small bouquet of wildflowers, “These are for you, aunt. You are as beautiful as they say”
Lady Sansa accepted the flowers gingerly and then knelt on the ground “Hello, my princess” she offered, then she tucked a white flower from the bouquet and tucked it behind her ear “you are most beautiful as well,”
Lady Malora flanked his side as Aemond dismounted, “You have found her,” she commented.
“Indeed,” he stated “she seems most gentle” he offered.
“The world needs gentleness as much as it needs order” lady Malora commented “together you’ll bring both to the Realm”
He looked back at lady Sansa as she was introduced to the most prominent members of the northern court.
It looked peaceful in a way Aemond had never felt, but indeed that peace would not last forever, because much was unspoken between all of them.
Notes:
Did you expect that?
I mean who better to bring Aemond back than the Mad Maid with whom Lord Hightower poured over spells books in canon?
Also, they finally met, but I feel like Aemond doesn’t quite yet know what to make of Sansa tho he is intrigued by this woman who he can’t quite understand yet.
Hope you enjoyed!
New chapter to come soon because I am hooked right now!
Chapter 7
Summary:
Am I spoiling you? Perhaps I am spoiling myself!
Harrenhal, and political and emotional upheaval.
Notes:
Enjoy!
Chapter Text
Sansa
Her lady mother, ever beautiful but as sad as she supposed she would look, and twice as thin — with silver now starting to strike her red tresses — grabbed her hand as they showed her inside.
Little Edda, named after their lord father, grabbed the other hand, talking a mile a minute, telling her every little anecdote she could seem to recall about her infancy.
Sansa was thankful for it, otherwise she might slap her brother for good measure.
She loved him and had no doubt he must have loved her too but evidently not enough to even demand her release.
It had hit too close to home.
“We had lemoncakes prepared,” her brother’s wife, a woman a few years older than Sansa, told her “lady Stark told us they were your favorites,”
Sansa frowned “Where have you acquired lemons?” she asked “Dorne stands with the Iron throne”
Her mother kissed the back of her hand lovingly, and caressed with almost reverence her cheek before replying “Nothing is impossible, the Knights of the Vale might yet be forced in neutrality by my sister, but they love us enough to send us any help they can. House Arryn is in good terms with Dorne, and they had some lemons they could spare”
This seems pretty… farfetched, Sansa considered, since they had not been aware of when she would have actually returned. She did not comment on it, there would be time for questions.
Now she just wanted to be happy to be with her family, finally reunited.
Anything else could wait.
“Thank you,” she told both of them, “that was very thoughtful,”
Her lady mother’s smile was so bright it almost reminded Sansa of better times.
“Lemoncakes are my favorite too!” Little Edda told her, jumping on her feet with a smile.
“Really, little one?” she questioned with a soft smile and Robb rolled his eyes before bending down and grabbing his daughter by the middle to hoist her against his chest and tickle her.
“Lately my little princess likes all her aunt Sansa likes,” Robb teased, as his daughter giggled and grabbed at his hair and caused his crown to come askew. In all reply Robb grabbed the crown from his head and put it on Edda’ small raven-head, “don’t you little munchkin?”
The crown sat still for a moment and then fell a bit forward, sliding from her head, sitting askance on her head.
It elicited a laugh from both Robb and Roslin as the queen hugged her brother from the side and adjusted the crown on Edda’ head.
“It’s a bit big,” Edda complained.
“Well,” Roslin told her softly “Good thing your father will wear it for many years to come, give time to your head to grow enough to fit into it,” she offered with a smile.
Sansa’ heart warmed at the sight and yet like a terribly hot spiked iron twisting in her tummy, she felt the heartbreak at being reminded of her lord father.
Robb reminded her much of him, and watching him with Edda would not help her heartbreak.
“It will, Father!” Edda promised, “it will get this big!” she promised, opening both her arms wide.
Robb laughed “Good! But don’t will it to grow too soon,” he told her softly.
Sansa felt her mother’ hand clamp around hers and frowned at the detached look on her face. And though she would not question it now, she would discover why that expression seemed set in stone on her beautiful face at seeing her granddaughter with her parents.
They were shown in a small hall, whereas the Hall of a Hundred Hearths was being prepared to host court.
There some maids brought the lemoncakes, and Sansa halved them with Edda and her lady Mother as well as Queen Roslin.
Prince Aemond and Lord Eddard, after being thanked by her brother had went on their merry way and Sansa was happy to finally be with her family.
Overjoyed.
Overwhelmed by her love for them enough that she could not, did not want, to worry about anything.
They were together now, nothing could destroy them. Nothing else mattered. Not now.
Perhaps tomorrow.
By the time their small impromptu sweet-dinner finished, Queen Roslin entrusted little Edda to her nan, and little Edda kissed her cheek before leaving.
“I am happy you are back with us, aunt Sansa” she told her “I missed you”
She was so genuine and Sansa had already grown so fond of her, it was a small miracle how fast someone they had never met before could suddenly occupy such a big part of one’s heart.
The moment the door closed behind Edda, Robb set aside his crown and grabbed her hand, “I am happy you are safe, Sansa” he told her “I missed you, little sister”
Sansa smiled up at Robb, who had always been her champion and tears pricked at her eyes.
“I missed you too,” she told him “my big brother, the King in the North” she teased him.
Robb shrugged “A title I claimed only with the intention of get justice with our Father… but tell us, what happened?”
Sansa sighed, let go of his hand, and collected her hands on her lap, she took a deep inhale before exhaling slowly.
“It is not a pretty story,” she warned them, “by the time we reached Kings Landing the rupture had already begun between us and the Lannisters,” she told them.
“It started long before you left Winterfell,” her lady mother corrected her, “when your father accepted the role of Lord Hand he did so with the intention of uncovering the truth about Jon Arryn’ death,” she said “we had received word by your aunt Lysa in the Vale, that the Lannisters had, had a hand in his death,”
She looked away for a moment, “Ned loved Lord Arryn like a father,” she said “and he wanted to uncover the truth, that was why he accepted to be Lord Hand, he had already chosen to refuse before we got word that Jon Arryn had been assassinated,”
Sansa felt as if the earth was about to swallow her whole, her father had chose to not accept king Robert’ offer. Sansa would’ve never suffered what she went through if her Father had thought to not betroth her to Joffrey, and if he had shared that the Lannisters were not to be trusted.
If he warned her they were dangerous and not someone she could trust.
Instead he told her nothing and endangered them all.
She wet her lips before she said something she might regret, “Joffrey and Arya had a scuffle over a butcher boy,” she said “Arya had forced him to ‘train’ with her and Joffrey who wished to appear gallant wanted to teach the butcher boy better than hit a highborn lady”
“Nymeria bit Joffrey,” she said “Lady took the burn of it,” she added “and Joffrey started to ignore me,”
Sansa looked away, she still sounded like such a child speaking of things she knew better than to regret now, “I was unaware of any of this but Father had discovered the truth about Cersei’ children,” she said “and attempted a coup to instate Stannis as king,” she told them.
“It failed,” she said “the City’s Watch turned against him and he was thrown in the black cells”
“Aye,” Robb said “you claimed him a traitor and asked me to come to the capital to bend the knee to your beloved Joffrey ” he spat, sounding like a petulant child.
“ Indeed ,” she hissed, like a snake “I’d like to know what you would have written if the Queen told you, after your whole household had been killed and your father thrown in the black cells , that his survival depended on what you wrote back home,” she then took a deep breath, “and your sister nowhere to be found, possibly dead in a ditch,”
He doesn’t mean to be senseless, she reminded herself, he’s just hurt.
“She was a little girl,” Queen Roslin said softly, grabbing Robb’ hand and squeezing it “alone and afraid, with the responsibility of her Father’ survival on her shoulders. Do not be too hard on her,”
Her lady mother was glaring at Robb like she had never seen her glare to anyone, not even Jon.
Robb inhaled sharply and then nodded. “Fine, go on” he told her.
Sansa almost wanted to thank him for his grace, but refrained.
“They told me that Joffrey would grant Father to take the black instead of being held at the scaffold,” she said “if I pleaded and he rejected his plot and admitted his crime,” she sighed “So we did,” she said.
“But Joffrey killed him anyway, and called it mercy,” she said as tears filled her eyes, “he brought me on the walls and make me look at it”
“At it?” Robb questioned, but both Roslin and her lady mother held shaking hands to their mouths, understanding.
“Father’ head,” Sansa specified, “I tried to kill Joffrey then,” she said “when he threatened you and Mother and Arya,” she told them “he had me beaten,” she added “and the Hound stopped me”
Her lady mother knelt to her side and embraced her, to her chest fiercely “My sweet, gentle daughter. Oh, how have you suffered,” she wept “but what of Arya? They never had her did they?”
Sansa shook her head, “No,” she said “she had been at her dancing lessons,” she told them “to my knowledge they never found her. Her dance teacher died to protect her, and she disappeared”
She inhaled deeply “Lord Baelish thinks she’s alive, but they don’t know where,” she said softly.
Her lady mother dried her tears with a palm, “The rest you know,” Sansa said “I became a hostage, a plaything for Joffrey to torture and Queen Cersei to torment,” she told them drying her own tears.
The moment was of deep mourning and grief, as well as pain as her lady mother caressed her face “My brave, brave daughter,”
Queen Roslin too was moved to tears and grabbed her hand squeezing softly to make her feel her presence, and Sansa felt like, of sudden, she was loved again.
“And what of the Imp?” Robb asked.
Sansa raised her gaze from her mother as she stood up and twisted to look at Robb with a hard, unforgiving glare.
“Lord Tyrion was always kind to me,” Sansa said.
“Aye, they said he almost killed Joffrey, and that you testified at his trial,” Robb said “is it true? Did he do it for you?”
Sansa stiffened, aware of what his real question was underneath.
“Tyrion did not try to kill Joffrey,” she said “and even if he did attempt on his life, it was not for me ,” she added, hoping the way she had stressed it would convince Robb.
Robb considered her for a long moment, “Did he consummate?”
Both his queen and their lady mother up-rose at that, Queen Roslin less acrid than their lady mother.
Sansa collected her hands before herself and stood up, the scraping of the chair on the floor silencing all three of them, “Lord Tyrion was ever kind to me, he never touched me. He promised he would wait until I wanted him in my bed,” she said “if only all Lannisters shared his opinion I would not have been forced to pray Margaery would not fall pregnant so that Joffrey would stay out of my bed” she said, then she curtsied “if His Grace finds it difficult to believe,” she added as a farewell “I am more than willing to be visited by a physician at your earliest opportunity” she said “now, the voyage was long and tiring, I shall retire”
Her lady mother ran to her side and offered her to accompany her and as Sansa was ignorant of the outlet of Harrenhal she accepted even though she wished to be alone.
…
“You removed me from the line to Winterfell?” she didn’t care if it was unladylike to barge into a room and demand explanation from her king, but her king was also her brother and she had just discovered he had taken from her, when she had been in the most delicate situation, the only protection she actually had.
The moment Sansa barged inside the solar, where Robb was speaking with his lords and ladies, his battle guard put their hands to their swords only to retract them when they understood she was no real threat to him.
The lords and ladies inside the solar twisted to look at her and Robb sighed. The only one who had stood up at her entrance — to her surprise — was Prince Aemond.
Almost as an afterthought Sansa offered him a nod in greeting and he nodded back, before walking around the chair beside him, empty, and holding it out for her.
On his other side, lady Malora Hightower had stood as well at her entrance, and Sansa spared her a nod as well.
“Perhaps this matter would be better discussed in privacy,” Robb commented, “Sansa this is a war council, any grievances you have…”
“Then I shall wait,” Sansa offered, her tone icily polite, pointingly reaching the chair Prince Aemond had so gracefully held out for her and accepting his hand as he helped her sit, “please, feel at ease to continue,”
Robb pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed “My lords, my ladies, may you leave us…”
“Oh no need,” Sansa interjected “it is my understanding these lords and ladies signed your decree,” she said, her glare pointed to each of their faces “they are most welcome to stay,”
Lady Mormont, from her seat, let out a roaring laugh, “Ned Stark’ little girl got fangs,” she stated.
Almost as if it was ironic.
“I had to,” Sansa told her, utterly unimpressed “living in the hellpit they call capital as a prisoner of war , constantly beaten and humiliated for every victory you scored,”
Lady Mormont for a moment looked properly chastised. Sansa then turned her dark look to her brother.
“And now, I learn that my brother not only did not exchange the Kingslayer for me, not only he did not demand my release with his new terms, but he also actively removed me from the line, thus stripping me of my title and the only protection that I had as prisoner of war of any importance,” she stated “essentially pushing me on the execution block”
“You are here,” Robb hissed, his voice dangerously low “My decree did not push you anywhere, you were already Lady Lannister by the time it was made effective,” he pointed out.
“ Oh ,” Sansa commented.
Robb, convinced of having won their small exchange nodded “ Oh ,” he told her in a tone that reminded her of the obnoxious youth he had been.
“Because that is in any way better, is it?” Sansa deadpanned instead.
Robb, surprised that he was, had the audacity of shrugging “The lions would not maim one of their own,”
“And that gives for granted that forcing me to marry Lord Tyrion would in any way make me magically one of their own,” Sansa pointed out “especially considering that, they forced me to marry Tyrion because of my status as princess in the North,” she added.
“Do you truly think any of them would have tried to help me from Joffrey’ mad-man’ cruel torments if I was of no utility as I was stripped of my position in your court?” she demanded.
“Did you, any of you , perchance consider that with me being stripped of any worth in my own House I would no longer have any worth for our enemies?” she added “worth that was all that kept me safe from the worst of Joffrey’ impulses,”
They were all stunned in silence, but Sansa was not done.
“No of course, none of you even thought about it,” she said “I was only a little piece of a chessboard, to move to your liking, and to fit your goals,” she added.
Then, having said her piece, she stood up, adjusted her skirts and looked up at Robb’ disgruntled face.
No trace of remorse shone in his blue eyes.
So, instead of holding her tongue, she added “Shame on you. This is not what our father taught us,” she reminded him “the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives,” she recited “you made of me a lone wolf,” she added, then curtsied “Your Grace,” she stated “my lords, my ladies,” she bid “I hope you have a wonderful continuation,”
She then turned to Prince Aemond and curtsied to him as well “Your Highness,”
And, for the first time since meeting him, Prince Aemond not only stood up to offer her a bow, but he also addressed her by her proper title, whereas until then he had stuck with my lady .
“Your highness,” he offered back.
…
“Edda don’t run! It’s slippery because of the ice!” Sir Olyvar called as he escorted his sister around the gardens when Edda sprinted up ahead.
Queen Roslin was sweet and gentle, she somehow reminded Sansa of Margaery when she first got to Kings Landing, but without the cutting edge that Margaery had inherited from her grandmother.
She could be funny too, and Sansa appreciated the hold she seemed to have on Robb. She contained the worst of his impulses and he seemed truly fond of her and she of him.
She could not have hoped for a better suited wife for him. She was thankful Edda seemed to have taken after her mother more than her father because even at a young age she proved ever dutiful and sweet and lacked the obnoxiousness Robb had, had as a boy.
She was still rue with her brother and they had not spoke since she had barged into his war council after she had learned from her lady mother that, with that decree with which Robb had named Edda his heir — as Queen regnant in her right after his death — he had also felt the need to remove Sansa from the line as they could have used his decree to say Sansa had precedence over Jon — his chosen heir if something happened to him and Edda — as she was trueborn and now women could inherit the crown in their right.
On a political level she understood why he might have felt the need to do it, but still that took for granted that Sansa would be still treated accordingly to her status and not as an essentially an outcast without worth for the North.
He had made her free meat, and Sansa couldn’t quite forgive him that. He had effectively abandoned her trusting in the people who had cut their father’s head off to keep her safe and whole.
When Sansa, as soon as she would have born Tyrion an heir for Winterfell and Casterly Rock would have possibly be killed because she would’ve grown useless.
Her lady mother, hanging at her arm, smiled as little Edda made a face at her uncle and kept laughing.
“She reminds me so much of Arya,” her lady mother said softly and Sansa smiled.
“To me too,” she said “though she is decisively more manageable than Arya ever was”
That elicited a laugh from her mother, and Sansa squeezed her hand “We will find her,” she promised her “and we’ll all be together soon,”
Her lady mother squeezed her hand back with a smile “We will,” she promised “though she might be less than impressed with us when she learns we promised her hand to Elmar Frey,”
Sansa shook her head, “Arya loves us,” she said “she’ll do her duty to House Stark for sure,” she added “after all she must’ve been through we shall not let this kind of things separate us anymore”
Her lady mother smile “Having you here brings me hope,” she said, cupping her cheeks as sir Olyvar and Queen Roslin went far ahead after Edda, “Your Father would be so very proud of you,”
Sansa smiled at her and let her kiss her brow lovingly “I hope so,” she said.
“He loved you very much, of course he would be,” her lady mother assured her.
Sansa smiled “It was the last thing he told me,” she recalled, “he told me not to cry for Joffrey, promised me that when I would be old enough he would arrange a match for me with a high Lord worthy of me, someone brave, gentle and strong”
There was tears in her mother’s eyes at that, “So, I tried to be as brave as a princess of a song,” she said “hoping he would send me a champion from above, someone gentle, brave and strong”
Her lady mother’ sad smile made her offer a smile in return, “Perhaps I didn’t get my highborn lord,” she said “but he sent me real friends, my brave Florian and Shae,” she exhaled softly “I would so like to learn what was of them,”
Her lady mother caressed her arm lovingly “I know, sweetling. I spoke to your brother, as soon as we can we shall try to learn of their fates” she beeped her on the nose as she had done when Sansa had been a child “and who knows maybe you’ll get someone gentle, brave and strong ,” she said “I am sure not even death could keep your Father from keeping his promises,”
“Lady Stark, Your Highness,”
Sansa found it eery how silent he was, almost as if he was a ghost and not quite whole and haunted the Realm instead of having actually returned from the dead.
“Your highness,” they greeted him back and he brought both arms behind his back.
She also found unnerving the way his only good eye looked ever so earnest . It was almost unbearable.
Especially coming from a kinslayer.
“You are out for a stroll, Your Highness?”
“Most times when I am restless I find myself walking these gardens,” he told them, “wondering if my son ever walked these paths. It helps me feel closer to him even if I never got to meet him,”
And yet when he spoke ever so clearly grieving for all those he had lost, Sansa couldn’t help but feel empathy for him.
Compassion even.
She gave him a soft smile, “The pain of losing a child is not new to me,” her lady mother offered “it never gets better,” she said “the only consolation is that one day we shall meet them again in the heavens and be reunited,” she concluded softly. Her words ever lower.
Prince Aemond nodded “Thank you, lady Stark,” he said “Perhaps it would be easier knowing what was of him,” he said “but he seems to have disappeared from history,”
A long pause ensued and then Prince Aemond offered them a bow and bid them his farewell, walking further down the path.
Sansa watched him go, “Wasn’t the mother of child from Harrenhal?” she questioned. Her lady mother shrugged “Perhaps, why?”
Sansa narrowed her eyes “I have need of the library of the keep, and of Maester Alyster,” she said at last.
…
“Here, your highness,” the Maester, a bony man with a youthful face and eyes always narrowed for his bad sight, told her showing to her all the tomes and parchments he had collected for her.
“Thank you for your help, Maester,” she said softly, sitting at the table.
“I shall come often to change the candles,” he told her “we don’t want you to become half-blind as I am”
Sansa smiled, “Thank you, Maester” and nodded to him as he bowed his head and went his way, leaving her alone with her thoughts and her research.
And perhaps she lost track of time as she poured over every text the Maester had found for her, in search of an answer to her questions.
Yet she found none.
Almost no record was left of the time immediately after the Dance of Dragons, and of the regency of the so called Witch Queen of Harrenhal who had claimed to be Aemond’ widow and the mother of the trueborn heir to the Iron throne.
“You seem much more intense of what I had expected,”
The voice made her jump, as she looked up to lady Malora’ teal eyes, as the woman studied her with an interesting expression on her face.
Sansa had been introduced to the woman but had spoken to her only once, and not since her little impromptu upheaval of Robb’s warcouncil.
“Lady Malora,” she said in lieu of greeting, not quite sure how one was supposed to reply someone who’d say something like that, “what can I do for you?”
Lady Malora studied her and then helped herself to the seat in front of her, “I see you have been stricken by fancy of riding of old, useless tomes,”
Sansa closed delicately the book she had been reading, careful with the old pages, “No word people deemed worthy to be written doesn’t hold use or worth,” she said “the worth is in the eye of the reader, I have learned”
Lady Malora clasped her hands together and rested her chin atop the back of her hands “Indeed, I could not have said it better myself”
Sansa arched a brow in surprise and then lady Malora leaned forward “Have you find what you were searching for?”
“Sadly I can’t say I have,” she said, grazing the cover of the last book with a hand, “there seems to be no record of the time lady Alys attempted to put her son on the throne”
“Mm,” lady Malora commented, leaning forward to read the titles of the books and parchments “you have been searching in the wrong place, perhaps” she offered.
“What do you mean..?”
“I mean, Alys Rivers was called a Witch Queen,” she commented “and her rebellion was short lived, if you were a Maester of the time where would you record such a thing?”
“— a witch failing to get the throne for her spawn,” she specified and suddenly it was as if something clicked in her mind.
She gave a long evaluating look to the woman, “A criminal record,” she said.
“A criminal record,” lady Malora nodded, “history is made by the victors,” she added with a wide hand gesture.
Sansa frowned, “History is written by the survivors,” she countered, readying to stand up and go in search of the right kind of document in the keep’s impressive library.
“Indeed,” lady Malora commented twisting to look at her Sansa rounded the table in search of the right section, “and which one are you, your highness? A survivor or a victor?”
Sansa pondered over the question and then shrugged “Isn’t survival already a victory?” she questioned softly.
“Why indeed,” lady Malora confirmed as Sansa went in search of what she had been researching for.
By the time she had returned the lady, like a spectre, was gone, without leaving any trace behind, to the point Sansa questioned if the entire conversation had ever happened.
Sansa contained the shiver down her back and started to consult the criminal record, searching by year and by her memory of events before and after the Dance, from her history lessons.
Trying to keep her mind of what she had learned earlier that afternoon, when her brother had told their mother that if she wished to leave for Winterfell she was welcome to do so, with Roslin and Edda, but not with Sansa. She was still, by the laws of Men and Gods married to Tyrion and until the annulment was passed she had to remain South of the Neck.
Though Sansa suspected that with Arya not yet found he meant to appease the lords by giving her to wife, maybe even have her take Arya’ place and marry sir Elmar.
She would always do her duty to House Stark, but the way Robb went about it didn’t make her feel any less of a pawn, rather than a sister, in his eyes.
…
She had to remind herself several times that Harrenhal was safe, it might not be Winterfell, but it was her brother’s domain and nothing would happen to her here, as she walked around the dimlit, horrifying corridors — the melted turrets and roofs serving as a constant remember of what a spurned Targaryen on dragonback could and would do — but in the end she reached the door she had been searching and gently knocked on it.
It took a while, and for several minutes, Sansa wondered if this wasn’t a chance the Gods were giving her to turn tail and run, but before she could actually convince her muscles to move, the door was opened and the breath got stuck in the back of her throat.
She had never seen Prince Aemond without the eyepatch — had even read he had taken to wear it not to scare the ladies with whom he accompanied himself — and though the leather did not cover the entirety of the scar on his face, it shielded from sight the worst of it.
The socket wasn’t empty — like she had seen some poor men sport it — he had adorned it with a round sapphire, which shone as if made of blue light when the light of her candle hit it.
“Princess Sansa,” he greeted her “I wasn’t expecting you quite so late,” he considered.
“Yes, I am sorry to disturb you this late,” she offered, her hands becoming cold at his intense stare.
She hadn’t quite been looked upon that way that she could recall.
Men had looked at her with lust in their eyes, with madness and with compassion and pity.
Aemond Targaryen looked at her as if she was some kind of mystery he was set to resolve. Like he loved disentanglement puzzles and Sansa was the most challenging he had found in a while.
“I suppose you needed something?”
Sansa took a deep breath, “You commented about feeling like knowing the fate of your son and wife would give you some kind of peace.. so I..”
“You thought that it would be a good idea to keep me at peace and set it on yourself to discover the truth?” he questioned, almost in a teasing and a bit of an accusatory tone.
Sansa felt her body become of marble, “I thought it would be the sensible thing to do” she said “the right thing to do,” she added.
“And you always do what is right?”
“My father always did what was right,” Sansa said.
“And they killed him,” Prince Aemond pointed out.
There were edges and cuts to the Prince, which made him always unnervingly polite and courteous, but also eerily rude and unkind.
“They did,” she confirmed “and perhaps that is the price of doing the right thing,” she added.
“And still you would pay it?” Prince Aemond questioned.
Sansa clasped her hands before herself and then jutted her chin up “I paid the price of wrongness and of deeds not mine,” she said “I’d pay for it anyway I have to, I’d rather pay the price for the right thing”
Prince Aemond exhaled and then threw the door open, gesturing for her to enter, “Please, Princess, have a seat” he offered, guiding her inside and gesturing for the leather armchairs he had near the hearth.
With the few candles and light coming from the fire in the hearth it felt almost intimate in a surreal way.
“Thank you,” she said, taking place, Prince Aemond took place on the armchair on her left and then leaned back against it, studying her.
“To be honest,” he admitted “I have been afraid,” he confessed, “I know I have said that learning of his fate would have given me some modicum of peace, but I have been afraid to discover he…”
He wet his lips, the movement distorting the scarred side of his face, — though Sansa, as a stupid, little girl, remained transfixed by the way his lips moved — and then leaned with his elbows on his tights.
“…I don’t know, discover he was a terrible person, I suppose” he said “or that he died horrendously, and I wasn’t there to protect him like a father ought to have done,”
He massaged his jaw, as if reviving the pain of the loss of the eye and scarring of the whole cheek.
“I suppose I was afraid to see I had become my Father,” he commented “that I didn’t protect my son, does it make sense to you, Princess?”
Sansa pondered over what reply would be best received, and then decided to go with the only truth she could think of “I think it’s human, I doubt a Father would not feel he has failed his children only because he couldn’t protect them,” she offered “A Father should always protect his children,” she added.
“I think you are in an unique position,” she told him in conclusion “no one else returned from the dead, and your son was long since passed when you rose again,” she said “but no, I don’t think a Father would not feel like he had failed because he could not save his children” she said “he always should”
Prince Aemond studied her.
“Yeah,” he offered “he should”
Sansa felt as if she should give him a breadth so she looked up in his purple eye “If you feel like you’d rather..”
“No,” Prince Aemond interrupted her, “I will brave this fear of mine” he said, almost as if he was willing himself to.
“My lord Father used to say that a man can be brave only if he is afraid,” she said.
Prince Aemond studied her long and hard and then sent her a self deprecating smile “At times I feel like some people have all the advantages in this life, and I wonder how would we all turned out if we had a Father like yours?” he asked “he sounded like a wise man, and a good one too” he said “and all his bannermen loved him”
He looked up to the canopy for a moment and then back at her “Do you know that some claim they wept when he died?” he asked “that is the kind of devotion I would have liked to elicit from the Realm”
Sansa looked at his face and he looked so very haunted and broken and tired and pained that she felt almost like the need to breath, the necessity of comforting him.
“Your brother, the king, after your death, had commissioned colossal statues of you and Prince Daeron,” she told him “perhaps it does not equal to your bannermen crying for you, but nobody can claim king Aegon did not love you”
“I…I was not aware of that,” Prince Aemond looked awed and surprised by that “thank you,”
“It’s history,” she told him “anyone would’ve told you”
“But only you did”
I owe you my life, my lady.
It’s what everyone would have done.
But only you did.
Sansa forced herself to set the memory of sir Dontos — and her wondering days about where he was, if he was safe — aside.
“My apologies, I had no meant to make you uncomfortable, Princess”
“I am not,” she lied.
“So tell me,” Prince Aemond asked his voice ever soft, “what happened with my son?”
“Your wife, Alys,” Sansa said fixing her blue eyes on him,“attempted to raise the banners against king Aegon III,” she told him “and crown your son king”
“My lover,” he specified, “I had not yet married her,” he said.
Sansa blinked, “She claimed you had,” she said “and that your son was thus trueborn and the rightful heir,”
“I would’ve recognized him,” Aemond nodded “and asked Aegon to naturalize him” he added.
Sansa looked into his eyes, so hungry for knowledge, and felt the weight of it against her own heart.
“Your son did not survive to adulthood,” she admitted and Prince Aemond inhaled sharply, closing his eye as, outside, Vhagar roared her rider’ pain so hard that the windows shook.
“How did he die?”
“She named him Aegon,” she told him, “which is why so little is reported on him, I believe somehow the maesters, in an attempt to circumscribe her rebellion as the acts of a witch and a madwoman had cleaned all reports of him, have somehow melted him with King Aegon III,” she told him.
Prince Aemond opened his eye and fixed his stare on her, “How did he die?”
“Lady Alys gave birth an odd seven to eight moons after your death,” she said “or that is as good as a guess I can make, anyway. The babe was small and…”
“..and?”
She took a deep, steadying breath before replying “They say deformed,” she admitted “they say he was born with half a human face and half face covered in scales with a blind eye and stumped wings attached to his back, with problems breathing,”
“They say he was also a clubfoot,” Sansa added, “I am so sorry,”
His hands were gripping tightly the armrests and his eye had become narrow as he turned it on her again “If no one knows of this, how did you find news of it?” he demanded.
Sansa twisted her hands in her lap, “I doubt someone considered searching for this topic in a criminal record,” she said.
“A criminal record?”
“Lady Alys was dubbed the Witch Queen for her sorceries,” she said “and her memory was tarnished as that of a criminal guilty of witchcraft,” she added, “Lord Darry himself signed the criminal record, supposedly one of the men that he had guided to Harrenhal to dispatch of lady Alys, was sent back and died of a sorcery when someone laughed at the message he had carried,” she said “apparently he had seen a monstrous dragon inside the halls of Harrenhal”
“A monstrous dragon,” he repeated, as if it pained him immensely.
Sansa felt her heart break a little for him, “What was of my son? Did he die at birth?”
“By my understanding he, so it is written, miraculously survived the birth,” she replied “but he grew slowly and it seemed like breathing pained him,”
Prince Aemond looked away, out of the window as another roar shook the walls and windows of the keep.
“Only death can pay for life,” he murmured brokenly “if he didn’t die at birth,” he said “how did he die?”
Sansa sent him what she hoped would be a fortifying smile and then added, “His maladies, which Alys tried any sorcery to cure, finally caught up with him,” she said.
His intense gaze told her he would not let her shy away from this and she almost considered telling him a lie, telling him he had died peacefully in his sleep, but could not bring herself to.
He needed, he wanted the truth and that little boy deserved it.
“They claim… they claim his breathing problems were because his breath was too hot,” she said “they claim that after another failed attempt of sorcery, Aegon died as fire burned him from inside on its way out … as if he was a true dragon who breathed fire,” she said “but I honestly think that they might have exaggerated it, make it more scenic in an attempt to further their propaganda of witchcraft against lady Alys,” she offered, hoping it might give him some peace.
In the hope this might give him hope it might be a lie.
“We know where he was buried?”
“No records was left of it, they say his ashes were released though in the waters of the Gods Eye, but I cannot know if it is the truth of it”
Prince Aemond forced his own hands to relax then slowly he stood up and walked to the window.
“By all accounts I could recover he was a sweet boy with an unparalleled love for history and philosophy,”
This last one was a lie, nothing was said of the temperament of the child, he might have been a brat for all she knew. But she could neither claim it was a complete untruth.
She might not have found records on the boy’ preferences and character, but his father was told to have loved both topics dearly, it might soften the blow for him to think his son took that after him.
Something good he might have left behind.
Prince Aemond’ stiff shoulders seemed to relax slightly to that “Thank you, princess Sansa, for the effort,” he twisted around and his sapphire gleamed in the light of the candles, making him look far more handsome than Sansa had any business thinking him, “and for the truth,” he added, stressing the word as if it had some kind of additional meaning Sansa wasn’t aware of.
Sansa stood up then, recognising he might need time alone, she curtsied “My deepest condolences, Prince Aemond,” she said “I am sure he was a sweet boy, and would’ve deserved better,”
“Thank you,”
Sansa nodded, and recognising it as the dismissal it was, she curtsied and bid her farewell.
“Princess Sansa,” he called her before she had left the chamber, her hand on the doorknob.
She turned around “Aye?”
“You really are your Father’s daughter,” he told her.
She smiled “We are the best and worst of those who came before us,” Sansa offered, “for what is worth I think you could have been a good father,”
She had no way of knowing it, but she could feel it in her bones, and perhaps it would make him feel less alone.
His eye sparkled with something, Sansa supposed I shed tears, and she left him with his grief, for the moment.
…
It surprised her when, a week after that, he asked her if she would like to accompany him to the banks of the Gods Eye, to pay his respects.
Her lady mother wasn’t too impressed by it, but Sansa accepted.
“We could have a tombstone fashioned for him,” she told him quietly as he observed the waters that had meant death, life and grief all in one for him, “in memorial of the prince who was lost,”
Aemond turned to her “I suppose we could,” he said, then he knelt on the muddy banks “I pray your death was peaceful,” he told the winds “I pray you are in the Heavens now, with your cousins, aunt, uncles and grandmother,” he added.
Only silence replied him, and for a long while Sansa watched as he knelt in the mud, his back ever straight and then he took off his eyepatch, resting it against his tight.
“Since you told me… I have wondered… do you think it’s my fault?, the way his life was…” he looked up to her, suddenly reminding her of Bran when he would be scared of storms or nightmares “was it because I killed him?”
Sansa didn’t know what to reply and Prince Aemond looked away from her, “I hadn’t meant to,” he admitted softly “I lost control of Vhagar,”
As if evoked by her name being spoken, the immense dragoness rose her head, so big that not even the biggest keep of the Seven Kingdoms could shield her from sight, “I was angry, so angry. Lucerys took my eye, he took part of my life, and never once apologized, never once he was held accountable,”
He looked down to his eyepatch, taking it in hand and squeezing it as if he wished to crumble it like one would crumble a piece of paper.
“I had wanted his eye,” he admitted softly “I would not have taken more, but I was furious and Vhagar reacted to that,” he looked up as if he was forcing the tears away from his eye.
“No one is ever as accursed as a kinslayer, aye?” he asked to the wind with a self-deprecating smile that was as cutting as Grey Wind claws.
Sansa, taken by how grief-stricken he sounded and looked, knelt besides him, “I pray you knew happiness for however fleeting it was, and that you are in peace,” she murmured softly “I pray the memory of you shall guide your father and keep us all safe. You deserved better than your deal in life, the Gods in their wisdom called you back,” she said “we shall treasure your memory”
She could not tell him that he was not guilty of kinslaying, even if it had been an accident fuelled by his anger; his anger was still the primary cause of the tragedy which followed. And mayhap it would have happened anyway, but that didn’t mean the Gods did not judge him for his sin.
And yet they had brought him back, to further punish him?, to give him a second chance?
Sansa supposed it was a matter of how the people would perceive him. At that moment she didn’t see a power hungry, ruthless kinslayer. She saw a broken man.
It didn’t matter that he was the son of a self proclaimed witch and of a kinslayer, the boy had deserved better.
He wasn’t guilty of his parents' crimes.
She felt his gaze on her, intent and unblinking as she bowed her head and let the wind caress her cheeks.
When they finally had to get up, Prince Aemond offered her his hand to help her up, using then the free one to wrap it around her elbow, his touch ever tender as she helped her up.
It was something she had noticed he did, he grabbed her elbow. Instead of leading her, helping her up or sat, or on the saddle by the small of her back — like Littlefinger had done, — or by the waist like Joffrey seemed to love to do, he grabbed her elbow and the warmth of his touch irradiated from there.
He usually didn’t even touch her more than appropriate.
This time though he did not let go of her elbow, he studied her, his gaze intent and then — his eyepatch still in hand — he turned to the waters of the lake “I swear to not fail again,” he said softly, “not like I failed you,”
Then he looked back at her, “I’ll be frank with you, Princess,” he said “I mean to take back the Iron throne, and rule the Seven Kingdoms. Bring back peace and order to the Realm,” he told her.
Sansa considered the way he had spoke and the tone of his words “And how do you intend to do it? The people of the Realm have already suffered through two wars, one not yet ended, in the past twenty odd years,”
“They will have peace,” he said “I don’t mean to use Vhagar against civilians,” he told her “I don’t mean to rule over charred bones and ashes,” he said “I mean to bring back order and peace to the Realm, I want the people one day to weep when their king dies,”
He looked at her for one long, intense pause and added “I want to be a king history will remember, not for a kinslayer, but for someone who trained relentlessly,” he said “and ruled wisely and whose power was unchallenged,”
Sansa studied him “The North is a free and independent kingdom,” she said “as it was for thousands of years before Aegon Targaryen brought his dragons on our shores”
Aemond Targaryen, the only man with a dragon in the Realm, looked at her long and hard, “Indeed, and now a Targaryen is back on your shores,” he said “And will give you justice for the tragedy of House Stark,”
“The lords of the North have named my brother King in the North, they will not bend the knee,” she said.
“I shall speak with your brother about it,” he told her quietly, and Sansa frowned.
“Then why asking me?”
He rolled his shoulders and, his hand still around her elbow, not firm enough she could not free herself of his grip, but its presence never forgotten, he inhaled deeply.
“I’d like for you to be present,” he said, “you are a good woman,” he told her “who’d do the right thing even when it’s dangerous. I’d rather have your ear, if I cannot have your hand,”
Sansa blinked at the sudden change in both tone and gaze, — he now looked as if he had morphed from the grieving man, to the powerful, ambitious prince; to, now, a skilled politician — “I wasn’t aware discussion of my hand was on the table,” she said “I am yet married to Lord Tyrion,”
He frowned as if he was truly surprised by her reply, “A marriage your brother has declared as sham and about which he plans to demand annulment,” he said.
He studied her for a moment, “Your brother told me he would have forwarded my offer to you,” he said “when I asked, almost five days past,” he added.
Sansa was silently fuming inside, she had no doubt her brother had meant to use her hand to strengthen his bounds with the South, still she didn’t think he would be ever so senseless not to discuss it with her first.
Still, she could not undermine him in the eyes of the man who planned to govern the Seven Kingdoms; if the North had to go free, they needed to ensure the two kings who’d share the continent would hold respect and esteem for one another.
“Why?” she asked “I am a married woman,” she said “half the North still considers me a Lannister, the other half thinks me just the little daughter of Winterfell who couldn’t push back against the Lannisters,” she added “why asking for my hand when you could have any other number of prospects?”
“I told you,” he replied curtly “You are a good woman,” he said “you do the right thing even if it scares you. I am a powerful man, I need besides me a woman who’d soften my edges like Queen Roslin does for your brother,” he concluded “besides, you are much smarter than you let on”
Sansa mulled over his words, “I thank you for your consideration, Your Highness,” she said, “but as long as I am married to Lord Tyrion I do not feel confident in promising my hand to anyone, I am sure you understand”
Prince Aemond let his hand fall from her elbow, and Sansa felt the sheer of cold at it, “Of course I do, Your Highness,” he said “still, I’d rather still have your ear, for as long as I cannot have your hand,”
Sansa clasped her hands before herself “And what, if you have my hand you’ll stop wanting to have my ear?”
Prince Aemond shrugged “On the contrary,” he said, he then gestured for the keep and Sansa nodded as the day, ever growing shorter, was already darkening, “I plan to have a queen besides me who’d counsel me well, and eventually would rule well in my absence. Just like, Rhaenys and Visenya did for Aegon, just like my mother did,”
They trekked back to the keep in mostly silence, Sansa mulling darkly over the fact that Robb, her brother, her champion, not only had not considered to tell her that the prince had asked for her hand, but also possibly planned to have her marriage annulled in hope to really use her hand how he best saw fit.
Without speaking with her first.
If he meant to use her no better than a pawn for his games, he was no longer the boy who had called the banners to save their lord father, now he was a king who’d dispose of his sisters as he better saw fit without even consulting them first.
He was no longer her champion.
He had become like all others, he wanted something from her, and valued only because of that. Else he would’ve asked her opinion on the matter.
And if that was the truth, Sansa would act accordingly. She would no longer consider him her brother first and the king second; but only her king.
Prince Aemond left her once inside the keep, “I hope my forwardness did not make you uncomfortable,” was what he bid her farewell with “I do value your word, Princess, and your respect”
“Thank you,” she said, “I bid you a good night”
“And a good night to you, Princess”
Sansa walked back to her chamber, her steps deliberately slow, and her head held high as she walked beside the lords and ladies going about their business.
“Princess Sansa,” lady Mormont surprised her by calling “may I have a word?”
Sansa twisted to look at the woman, this time accompanied by yet another of her daughters. She nodded and let the two walk by her.
“Lady Mormont,” she greeted “what can I do for you?”
The woman jutted her chin up, she was shorter than Sansa was, but she felt formidable “I will not apologize for signing that decree,” she said “it was the only thing we could do at that point in time, we did not wish for an half Lannister in Winterfell”
“No, I don’t suppose you did,” she offered “but that child would’ve been half a Stark too and if no one else but I remained, Winterfell would have been theirs by right. What you did was wrong,”
Lady Mormont studied her “You are your father’s daughter,” she said “I understand your reasoning, and I respect you for it. I think we gave little credit to your person, and for that I do apologize,”
Sansa observed the woman, she didn’t look like a woman who was used to apologizing, so she nodded.
“Apology accepted,” she said.
Lady Mormont nodded and smiled a toothy grin that resembled a grimace “This is my daughter Jorelle,” she said, “she would be honored if you’d accept her in your entourage,”
“Princess,” she offered, bowing her head.
Sansa had not had a highborn female companion since Jeyne had disappeared from the capital, apparently sent to her lord father and family.
She had tried with Margaery and her cousins but it had backfired more than once.
Now creating a new entourage from scratch would take time, but the Mormonts were known for their loyalty — one of lady Mormont’ daughters was a member of Robb’ battleguard — and their pride. Lady Jorelle would be a good place to start with, now that Sansa had to build her role as Princess up from scratch.
Maybe even Queen.
She had thought to have left all dreams of queendom where they belonged, with her unrealistic expectations about love, and her stupid dreams about Joffrey and the golden age they would have lived together.
Apparently she was still a little girl, with stupid dreams who never learned.
“Lady Jorelle,” she greeted, “Of course she would be most welcome in my entourage,” she said.
Lady Jorelle smiled “I promise not to disappoint you, Princess” she said ever earnest.
Sansa found it most satisfactory “I am sure you will not, my lady,” she said “now if you will excuse me,”she added “though I’d like to break our fast together on the morrow”
“Of course, Princess” they both nodded and Sansa nudged her head in farewell before continuing toward her chambers.
And, only in the darkness of her chambers she let herself cry, crying over the further loss of ingenuity she could see, now, in Robb’s behavior.
She had left a court of lions, to find herself in a court of wolves, and if she had naively thought here she would not be treated like a chess piece, she had been wrong.
The game never ends.
Only one slip, it’s all it takes. And I am dead.
I do value your word, Princess, and your respect.
Chapter 8: Catelyn
Summary:
Harrenhal.
Notes:
I know these chapters are pretty packed up with action and I promise we’ll have a slower pace in a few chapters, but this first part of the story was like a PRELUDE to the real story which’ll come in a couple of chapters so we have set many things in motion quickly.
Hope you don’t mind too much!
Chapter Text
Catelyn
There was something fundamentally different in Sansa.
When Cat had finally seen her darling girl, the first child born of love between her and her Ned, riding inside the courtyard of Harrenhal with wind in her hair and Ned’ same stern expression she had felt so happy she could have exploded.
Our daughter, she had whispered in the darkness to her Ned that very night, unable to sleep, our darling daughter is so grown up. So beautiful. So dauntingly, astonishingly beautiful, even more than Catelyn had dared to dream.
She had always thought that while Sansa had taken after her, with the Tully look, she would grow to be a far more beautiful woman one day.
She hadn’t expected her to resemble Ned so, in those peculiar ways Catelyn had almost forgotten, even if she knew them by heart. For one there had been the same kind of happiness and wariness in her as she had met Robb, as it had shone on Ned’ face when the king had rode to Winterfell to name him Hand.
Catelyn would have wanted to shield her from everything coming her way, but Sansa had always that way around her. She had never shied away from the truth, she never shrunk from any duty and she always faced her fears head on.
Catelyn had, had trouble settling Arya in her own chamber until she had decided she and Sansa would share. Arya was constantly wary of the darkness, even afraid at times, though she faced it by screaming and wailing at the monsters away.
By the time she had been six Arya had no longer needed Catelyn’ hugs to feel secure.
Sansa was different, things scared her — like when she had ran to her crying and demanding she go save Arya, Robb and Bran from the ghost in the crypts — a terrible joke played by Jon Snow.
Sansa had been frightened of the crypts ever since, but she had once grabbed her Father’ hand during as they had been breaking their fast, and had demanded he accompanied her down.
She had faced her fears of the crypts head on, merely days after she had acquired it.
Catelyn had always been extremely proud of Sansa, and that was no less true now that she knew the full extent of what had happened in the capital.
She had been a dream filled girl when she had left Winterfell, and now that Catelyn finally could embrace her again, be her shield and rock against her fears she realized Sansa had stopped needing to reach out to her.
The moment she had learned Robb had disinherited her, she had stood up in a fumble of skirts and had excused herself.
Catelyn had been afraid she meant to close herself off and work it off alone, but she ought not to be worried because Sansa had literally marched to Robb’ solar, barged into his war council and forced her brother and his Lords to a hard confrontation that had gained her the respect of many.
GreatJon Umber and lady Mormont had been pleasantly surprised by her attitude during the whole display.
You raised a she-wolf and never told us, lady Stark lord Umber had claimed.
I raised two, my lord, thank you. Had been Catelyn’s terse reply, Arya might still be in hiding but she is no less wolf than any of her siblings.
Lady Mormont had laughed at that, maybe they take after the mother, after all .
Still, Catelyn knew she should be just grateful, and she was, that her daughter was back with her, but while wearing her daughter’ face this woman was also something entirely different.
She was proud, and she was strong. Far stronger than Catelyn could hope to be, she had been adamant Robb was her king, that she would do her duty as requested of her, but that she would not condone his lack of respect and affection toward her.
I bled for him! I bled for the northern independence as much as any soldier in our army! , Sansa had claimed at one point just before barging into Robb’s war council.
Catelyn did not know the exact dynamics, but she knew Sansa had been punished — beaten and humiliated she had said — for every victory they had scored. She couldn’t imagine her darling daughter, dragged to the throne room and beaten for her brother’ victories.
Sansa still held out her hand to her, but it was no longer to ask her protection and her support or guidance, it was to offer hers.
And Catelyn was almost ashamed to admit how much she had needed it , until now.
Robb was a good king and a good father to Edda, a good son to her too, but he lacked too, in many ways. Sansa wasn’t flawless, she had that temper of the Starks though she concealed it better than her siblings. Like Ned had.
Her quiet wolves.
But there was nothing quiet of Sansa, now. It was like her voice had grown in tone so that even one of her whispers could upbend the world in a way that no one would expect.
Catelyn had advised against telling Prince Aemond the truth — if ever found — about his child. She knew he needed closure, but it could also send him spiraling.
Sansa had been adamant. The boy deserved his story to be heard and honored and the father needed the truth to be told to him.
She had gone anyway.
Supposedly it had turned in their favor as the prince had not climbed atop Vhagar to burn them all to crisp, but it was a double edged blade the one Sansa had wielded, because now Prince Aemond had all the look of a man who intended to steal her daughter from her once again.
He had forwarded his hand for a marriage to Sansa.
Catelyn was sure he would ask more, as soon as he deemed it proper, but even just Sansa was too much .
Her darling girl… and the biggest problem was that Robb had already spoken of it with his inner circle and they were all in agreement with such a match, even when they had received word that Willas Tyrell would still consider a match if Sansa proved untouched by the Imp.
She much rather a mild-tempered, physically unable to do too much damage, Lord for her daughter than the Targaryen kinslayer prince who had somehow surfaced from the Gods Eye.
The worst of it was that Robb had not consulted either her or Sansa — as he was king and head of House Stark as of now — for the match. Sansa had learned it from the source of the proposal itself and she had been positively furious about it too.
She had barged into Robb’s private chamber as Catelyn worried herself with her outing with Prince Aemond, and had demanded all of them got out of the chamber save she and her brother.
Edda had been thankfully with her nurse, but Roslin had raised in defense of her husband, surprised by Sansa’ outburst.
Catelyn had tried to reason with Sansa but when Robb had claimed that nothing Sansa had to say — had to spit , had been the exact term — could be said in Roslin’ presence.
That had been perhaps his first mistake, considering his sister malleable and soft, forgetting how demanding and strong headed she had been when they had been children.
Beyond obvious previous missteps.
Oh I would spit alright, if I were half so inclined, Your Grace. When were you considering telling me Prince Aemond pressed for my hand?
Catelyn had been horrified by it, Robb had told nothing about it to her beforehand — and she had been for years his closer advisor, on top of being the wanted bride’ mother — and this smacked her too much of politics to be what her son would have done. Her boy.
Was he truly gone and only the king remained?
When details were settled and the alliance brokered, had been Robb’s curt reply, I am your king, I am well in my rights to—
I am yet married or did you forget?, forego that, did you consider that mayhaps after what I have endured I’d rather have nothing to do with the South anymore? Or kings? Or marriage at all?
The Faith is always an option if you’d rather take it, had been Robb’s blunt reply that had left Catelyn staggering for breath.
Even Roslin had sounded horrified at that, and Catelyn knew she had torn him a new one for it too, but Robb had been adamant.
Sansa had blistered at that, in a way that had reminded her why she and Arya used to clash so often when children.
Taken for granted you do not wish to renew your vows to the Imp, and that had sounded more like an accusation than a remark, your options are quite limited, not many men would take the woman of the Imp to wife.
But, Catelyn had demanded, what of Highgarden then? , she would have sooner see her daughter become the Lady of Highgarden rather than the Queen next to a kinslayer.
The Gods have sent us Prince Aemond and his dragon, Robb had said, and all has settled since then. Tywin Lannister is dead and with him the biggest threat to our victory yet. This gave us all quite the boost and —
I did that, had interrupted Sansa, her face suddenly gone hard and neutral, as if made of stone as she looked up, I framed Tywin to cripple Joffrey’ defense. I stole his seal and had it copied and used it to frame him .
Catelyn had raised her hand to her mouth unable to believe her ears, I hadn’t meant for him to be executed, only for him to be incapacitated to help Joffrey. Our— the plan had been to steer the court so that when your forces put it under siege I could offer you the keys of the city.
Cersei would have never let Joffrey be killed, she would have forced him to escape before , but you would have taken the Iron throne, she had said, I paid almost with my life that gamble.
You lie, had been Robb’ accusation. Sansa had not reacted to it as Catelyn would have expected, with an explosion of rage as when she and Arya fought.
She had raised her glare slowly to him and had simply stated, Do I? For sure Your Grace knows best, just as Joffrey did.
It had sounded almost as a threat to Catelyn’ ears. Her daughter, her darling daughter who would cry for a bird with a clipped wing, had done to such lengths to ensure Tywin Lannister was disposed of?
What had the capital done to her innocent, naive daughter?
It had been comforting to see Sansa and imagine she had remained as innocent and untouched by the plotting, scheming ways of the South, as she grew… but was it the truth?
Catelyn had been so enraged with both her children and on behalf of both of them against one another that she hadn’t quite known where to turn.
Sansa had displayed a scheming streak Catelyn had been unaware she possessed until now, and Robb was proving ever discerning and uncaring when it came about winning his war about the things at stake.
She missed the soft days in Winterfell more than ever then.
Sansa had refused any further explanation, closing herself in her own chamber and being neutrally polite to anyone who approached her. She had also acquired a lady-in-waiting, a daughter of lady Mormont which didn’t surprise as those women were anything but proper in their ways or thinking.
Robb had become ever agitated, he kept repeating to whomever would listen that Sansa was just a softhearted, tender girl, who had the misfortune of being betrothed to the wrong person.
The only constant for both was, unsurprisingly, Prince Aemond.
In the weeks past he and Robb had struck what had reminded her of a fated friendship, that had reminded her — to her chagrin — of king Robert and her Ned. They trained together, to the glee of the lords who liked seeing how skilled their king was, and to her surprise in discovering how skilled the prince was despite his lost eye; they often ate together and plotted together to end this war.
Prince Aemond still accompanied Robb around, trained with him and spoke with him, though now he seemed more stiff with him.
On the other hand, albeit she was beginning to suspect he sought out her daughter voluntarily, Prince Aemond seemed to run into her daughter quite often. Whether during a stroll in the gardens or during the mealtimes. He seemed to act properly enough and Sansa — to her surprise — seemed to have grown used enough to his presence to seem quite comfortable conversing with him, which had not been the case in the beginning of her stay in Harrenhal.
Catelyn hated it, and had even confronted the prince about it, not that it had seemed to serve to much.
She had sought him out in the gardens, on the path he usually walked and had confronted him about his intention to marry her daughter, though she had not quite put it that way.
“Lady Stark, you look belligerent today,” he had greeted her, “I suppose you might have caught wind of my proposal to your daughter”
Catelyn had not considered it in the immediate, but later she had realized that, during the whole conversation he had spoken as if the choice resided on Sansa’ shoulders alone and was not pending on her brother’ decision.
“Indeed,” she had stated curtly “my daughter has suffered enough in the capital, she deserves peace”
“And that is precisely what I plan to give her,” had been the prince’ reply.
“Then rescind your proposal, she’ll be better off—”
“With some high lord or hedge knight who will never recognize her intelligence or her worth as more than a broodmare?” he had interjected, “you are an intelligent woman, my lady, I doubt it has escaped your notice, how clever and fair your daughter is,” he had said “in no small part it must be thanks to the extensive training you and your late husband must have given her as queen to be, but you cannot deny she is built to be queen whether by the Gods, by chance or by experience”
“She should be built to be happy”
“I know what history tells you, lady Stark,” he had told her, his arms crossed behind his back, his gaze unflinching “I may not be the epitome of good man, but I plan to be a good husband to your daughter who shall receive from me no disrespect nor any harm”
“I value her sharp mind and her fair heart,” he had added “that is an unique combination to find, and I plan to make of her my queen as I see fit”
He had then offered her a bow, “I trust you know there is little you can do to put a stop to that,” he had added “the choice rests solely in princess Sansa’ hands”
Catelyn had watched him go, before spitefully commenting that Sansa would never consider that option. He hadn’t even turned to reply to her, “Then you shall have nothing to fear, don’t you, my lady?”
Truth was, Catelyn was fearful.
Fearful Sansa would feel obliged to accept the match to go with Robb’s politics and serve House Stark in her duty.
And then… then they had received Sir Garlan Tyrell with word from the capital and Catelyn’ world had come crashing down even further.
Prince Aemond had discussed with Lord Hightower the possibility of the Tyrells turning against the Lannisters with the right lever. Take Margaery to wife, Catelyn had prayed fervently, she has plotted to be queen for years. And by getting pregnant she has proved she’s fertile whereas my daughter has not.
She was willing to do anything to ensure her daughter wasn’t forced in that role anymore.
But that, had also been when she had discovered the true extent of Joffrey’ torment of her daughter.
Sansa had told them Joffrey had her beaten and humiliated every time Robb scored a victory, but she had kept quiet over the severity of the abuse she had suffered.
Her girl had been dragged to the hall of the throne, shoved on her knees, stripped and beaten before her very court, when Joffrey had not threatened to have her killed her — she had Tyrion and a court-fool to thank for that for they had come to her rescue one way or another more than once — Sansa had, had to lie through her teeth and play the complacent lady and it had went up to an extent where Joffrey had publicly awarded her his favor and collared her with a blue ribbon.
A small, vengeful part of Catelyn had been glad when she had heard Joffrey had been furious at being played so blatantly by her daughter and that somehow Sansa had managed still to seed discord in his court and his most loyal with her plots.
Sir Garlan sounded truly remorseful for how he had stood by whilst that type of treatment had been reserved to her daughter, “She withstood it with a grace that could only come from above,” he had said that night as they all shared a meal.
“That is kind of you to say, my Lord,” Sansa had offered back, but it had sounded empty.
“For sure no help came from the Gods,” Prince Aemond had stated, “the grace was all her own, taking that away would perhaps make you feel less like a failure of a knight and more like the Gods were looking after her” he was nursing his only goblet of wine, not even watching at the man, as if he was unworthy of his attention, “but it doesn’t do her justice. She looked after herself”
Sir Garlan had seethed at that, “And how would you know? King Joffrey is a madman who…”
“To whom, for power, you have willingly sold off your sister,” Prince Aemond had interjected “that doesn’t do you any good, I am afraid”
Sir Garlan had been about to put hand to sword for the offence, Prince Aemond’ good eye had flashed somewhat challengingly, when Catelyn had seen her daughter stand up from her seat, and round around the prince in the guise of going toward a dozing off Edda.
Passing behind the prince she had grabbed at the edge of his chair for support feigning having tripped on Grey Wind’ tail as he rested beneath Edda’ chair half sprawled under the table.
Prince Aemond had grabbed her elbow almost by instinct, to steady her and Catelyn had seen a look pass between the two of them, as Sansa had straightened herself and continued on her journey.
“The Prince didn’t mean any offense,” she had claimed “he’s just unaccustomed to this time politics yet”
“Politics is the same in every corner of the world and spark of time,” Prince Aemond had said “perhaps I am unaccustomed to people standing by as innocents are hurt”
“Of course he is,” sir Garlan had commented, through any attempt to smoother the tension, “he’s more accustomed to kill his blood and bone”
Prince Aemond had smirked at that, “But we can argue he was hardly innocent,” he had said, and Catelyn gaze had risen to his eyepatch and twitch muscles underneath.
Vhagar, against the falling rain outside, roared, making the widows and the candles hanging from the canopy shake with her presence.
He moved with such a stealth that at times Catelyn forgot he had lost his eye at ten.
Maybe not to all, but Catelyn now understood the distaste the prince was showing. By all accounts Prince Aemond had been ganged up upon by his nephews and cousins because he had claimed the dragon Vhagar and apparently called out Rhaenyra’ older children on their parentage.
Prince Aemond had been beaten and his eye cut out, and no punishment had been dollet out on the culprit who had kept boosting the king’ favor over his own blood and bone.
By Sansa’ softening glance he daughter must have recalled as well.
He had been the innocent who had been harmed without anyone stepping in.
“Lord Garlan, I am sure your remorse is true,” Sansa had said “but it still stands that no one did anything as Joffrey mistreated me,” she then had turned toward Prince Aemond “still, one can hardly argue with a king with a penchant for cutting off fingers, tongue and heads”
Her daughter’ gaze was eloquent enough and both men seemed to relax slightly at her pacifying, though perhaps, Prince Aemond’ reaction was the most interesting, “As you say, Princess” he offered and it had been then that Catelyn had recalled how Prince Aemond had spoken as if he highly valued her daughter’ opinion.
Robb, who had been about to thunder in and try to resolve the matter the way men were more accustomed to, seemed to look at Sansa with different eyes.
“Of course, Princess” sir Garlan had replied “I can see you’d make Willas a very good match,” he offered.
Sansa’ eyes had hardened then “Thank you, my Lord. But I am afraid that until a dispensation is not awarded and my marriage to Lord Tyrion annulled I am in no place to accept any offer”
Catelyn did not miss the whispered “And better ones were made anyway” by the Prince Aemond, though Sansa might have heard him by the way she stiffened.
Still, Catelyn couldn’t help to notice, her daughter was invited to the war councils and any further meeting, so mayhap she and her brother — her son — were starting to mend the rift and find a common ground.
It was with her high surprise that, instead, she discovered her daughter had attended as Prince Aemond’ guest and valued advisor.
It was humiliating that the princess in the North would be advising a Targaryen king when her own brother was hosting the council to begin with.
Though Robb did not see it that way. He seemed to think he would enjoy more favor with the kinslayer prince if his sister had his ear.
Catelyn hated it.
She hated how much her children had grown apart, Robb had always been the dashing knight in Sansa’ tale when they were children and played knights and maidens.
And now… now Sansa seemed forever perturbed by her brother’ ruling, and in Catelyn’s opinion she was also enjoying riling him up any chance she got.
She looked at her children, finally reunited, and she saw strangers wearing their skins, the strangers they had become when the weight of the world had been thrusted upon their shoulders.
Robb didn’t value her counsel anymore which was why Catelyn had asked permission to leave and return to Winterfell, her home, with Sansa. But he had refused, told her she was free to go but that Sansa needed to stay.
Sansa didn’t reach out for her guidance anymore, she had learned her own way in the southern court of intrigues, plots and conspiracies. She herself had admitted her own part in Tywin Lannister’ death.
Catelyn had never met the man personally, but he had always sounded larger than life, the father of the Queen, the most powerful man in the Seven Kingdoms.
Robb had won several battles and yet Tywin Lannister had managed to hold the war to a stand off for years, and now he was dead, apparently framed and outmaneuvered by her own daughter.
Sansa had wielded that information like a weapon, Catelyn knew they called her daughter the Wolf Witch, but she had believed that to be propaganda, how she had spelled somehow the king ensuring he killed his own grandfather thanks to her plotting.
Now, she knew Sansa had been the one to plot behind Lord Tywin’ back to frame him and thus cripple the Lannister’ forces… was it also true that she had somehow manipulated Joffrey?
But then, how did that figure with the fact that apparently Joffrey used to torture and humiliate her in open court and who knew what else he had done or tried to do in private?
She hated how much what her daughter had done smacked her of Cersei Lannister, more than herself or her father.
And yet, her daughter on the surface seemed the same, she was polite and courteous, but her little lady always so eager to please, looked now like a queen eager to be pleased in her demands more than please others.
Lady Jorelle Mormont, her daughter new constant companion, wasn’t — to her knowledge an avid conversionalist — but she seemed genuinely interested in what Sansa had to say and always replied in kind, offering her companionship just like Jeyne had once done in Winterfell.
And Sansa seemed most pleased by the effort Jorelle was putting in, ever praising her and making her beam with pride for it as well.
Lady Malora was another companion who could be often found at Sansa’ side, despite being older than even Catelyn, lady Malora was still a maiden — the Mad Maiden they called her — and she seemed to offer Sansa counsel to which her daughter listened raptly.
Catelyn hated it. She knew her daughter loved her, she took care of always visiting her in the morning and afternoons as well as most nights, she offered support and love freely, she even listened to what Catelyn had to say but it no longer held the same weight it once did in her mind.
She hated it even more because lady Malora was Prince Aemond’ kin and one of his stauncher supporters, and Catelyn could see she observed every exchange her daughter and the prince had with that cunning, calculating look about her that made Catelyn sure lady Malora would do her best to ensure her daughter married the revived prince.
On the matter of the prince himself, Catelyn had never seen him act improper with her daughter, he never touched her more than proper or clouded her space in a demeaning way. He was ever courteous and polite, and on more occasions than one Catelyn had even caught him managing to make Sansa smile.
Like just now, with this weather the Riverlands were mostly mud and rain, and yet Prince Aemond had proved quite creative in his declared intent of wooing her daughter; with a flashy movement of one hand Prince Aemond apparently made appear out of nowhere a small paper flower he might have created himself. He offered it to Sansa which made her smile good naturedly and comment something as she accepted the paper flower.
“Lady Stark,” sir Garlan’ voice disrupted her train of thought and Catelyn turned around to face him.
He was handsome enough, she thought, if his older brother looked anything like him Sansa could find him handsome enough and if he was as kind as everyone reported — even crying for the death of the man who had caused his injury — he could make Sansa happy.
“Sir Garlan,” she greeted “good morrow, I hope you rested well”
Sir Garlan came to stand beside her and followed where her gaze had been, finding her daughter talking in soft tones with Prince Aemond as he seemed to listen to her story raptly, his hands behind his back and an intent look in his eye.
“I have done nothing when your daughter was married to the Imp,” sir Garlan said “or when she was Joffrey’ plaything,” he summarized “but I will not make the same mistake again, he will not be good for her”
“And,” he added looking back at Catelyn “Willas would be, my brother may not be a prince, but he is kind and generous and princess Sansa would grow to love him dearly if she just gave him a chance”
“I am afraid the choice does not fall on me, my Lord” Catelyn said, not wanting to disrupt the delicate politics at play “my daughter is yet married to the Imp and my son is the Head of House Stark”
“Aye,” sir Garlan said “but you can’t disagree that Willas is a better fit than the kinslaying prince for your precious daughter,”
Catelyn couldn’t disagree, not really, but the movement of Sansa pinning the paper flower to her wrist made her stop in her tracks from telling him that.
“Princess Sansa is a sweet girl, many silently prayed for her happiness at court,” sir Garlan told her “Willas would help her achieve that happiness,”
He looked down at her, “My lady, convince your son,” he said “hasn’t your daughter suffered enough?”
Hadn’t her daughter suffered enough?
Ned had promised her someone gentle, brave and strong, could Willas be that man?
Catelyn was sure of one thing, Prince Aemond — a kinslayer and an ambitious, cunning man — was not that man.
So Catelyn spoke to Robb, pleaded with him, and even enlisted Roslin help for it as well. Robb was uncertain of favoring a match with Highgarden instead of the Prince, the Tyrells were changing sides more often than a snake changed skin, and who was to say they would not release Sansa back to Joffrey’ hand?
But both Catelyn and Roslin reasoned that marrying Sansa to Willas would ensure that they had enough grain for winter-come especially if the war continued well into winter. It would bond the Tyrells to the cause even more snugly, ensuring their loyalty.
You owe it to your sister, Catelyn had said, she has done enough for House Stark and what higher praise than to be the woman whose marriage ensured the North survive winter?
Robb was still mulling over it, but Roslin had put a stop to the whole matter telling him they could still have children and that one of them could be offered to Prince Aemond’ heir when he had it, instead of a marriage with Sansa, and Robb had relented.
Whatever the price we shall pay it, Catelyn remembered Robb telling her when he had told her that he meant to put Aemond on the Iron throne.
For once, she would rather he lost his crown than she lost her daughter.
Sansa was summoned then by Robb and he had told her that he would accept Willas offer of her hand, so that she might no longer be subject to the whims of kings on the Iron throne; and that the match albeit finalized now, could happen only after the annulment had been passed. Which gave her time.
Sansa’ face had been a mask of neutrality as she listened to Robb explain himself and his choice.
She had curtsied and had replied, If it is what His Grace has chosen, I shall see it done.
And Catelyn had, had the peculiar feeling that, despite her best efforts everything would be falling apart soon.
“A match with Highgarden, seen winter approaching would be a smart choice,” Robb said, when next they spoke about it with Prince Aemond, “and it would ensure House Tyrell loyalty to the cause”
Prince Aemond, who had been playing with a small dragon wooden figure that he had brought to the chamber, raised slowly his gaze, “Indeed?” he questioned, before turning enough to look at her daughter.
“And what do you think of this match, Princess?” he questioned, his voice even but his tone decisively darker than it had been when they had started the meeting.
“What are you asking me, your highness?” Sansa asked.
“Do you think this match to be a good idea?” Prince Aemond questioned, “and do you think it would give you what you want?”
Catelyn observed as Sansa mulled over the reply to give, “My King has made for sure the best choice,” she said.
“That is not what I asked to you,” Prince Aemond pressed “I asked your opinion”
Sansa looked for a moment like a woman trapped, and Catelyn felt the need to intervene, “My daughter has told you, Your Highness, she believes her brother has made the best choice”
Prince Aemond rolled his shoulders but did not look away from Sansa, “I did not ask you, my lady” he said darkly “and your daughter has yet to reply my question. Will this give you what you want, Princess?” she questioned again.
“It’s my wish to serve House Stark in any capacity it is asked of me,” was Sansa diplomatic reply.
Prince Aemond studied her, “Very well,” he said at last standing up “as King of House Tyrell I will sanction this marriage,” he commented, then his gaze darkened in a way that gave Catelyn the impression that her world was about to implode, “Then,” he added, placing the wooden dragon above the North on the map, “Your Grace ought to grow accustomed to the title of Warden,” he stated “the Iron throne shall be mine, and House Stark shall stand behind me and mine”
Catelyn closed her eyes as she saw a muscle jump in Robb’ jaw, she inhaled slowly her eyes still closed as Prince Aemond left the solar followed by lady Malora.
She flinched when Robb slammed both hands on the table, scattering all the pieces across the map. She opened her eyes as Roslin tried to reason and calm Robb down.
She knew Robb’ rage, she knew the taste of it, and had borne the burnt of it as well, yet what made her stagger on her feet was Sansa’ calculating gaze on the only figure still somewhat upright above the North.
The dragon figure.
Catelyn didn’t believe in fate, not anymore, but when she followed her daughter's gaze to the wolf figure which had been scattered from Harrenhal to Kings Landing, above the Lannister lion and the Tyrell rose, she knew deep in her marrows what was about to happen.
Catelyn exhaled slowly as Sansa reached out and grabbed the small dragon, twirling it in her hand for a moment.
Then she stood up, in a swirling of black velvet fabric, and collected her hands before herself, cradling the small wooden figure, and stated, her tone even and her gaze unflinching: “The North is a free and independent kingdom as it was for thousands of years”
Robb turned to look at his sister and Catelyn lowered her eyes, looking over the table and map, defeated in knowledge that, at this point, she could not have stopped this.
Then Sansa nodded to lady Jorelle and the Maester and bid them to follow her as she strode out of the solar and into the corridor.
Catelyn knew that nothing she would say could change Sansa’s mind now. But she followed along anyway, with Roslin and Robb as Sansa briskly followed the Targaryen prince outside.
“Prince Aemond!” she called and the man, who had been speaking with lady Malora quietly, twisted to look at her as Sansa approached, dark and algid, “My hand for the northern independence,” she claimed “we will ensure House Tyrell’s loyalty with a royal match further down the line” she issued.
Catelyn watched as Prince Aemond’ face morphed — it looked almost of disregard, but there was something there she couldn’t quite place — “Do you truly believe your hand to be worth half the continent, Princess?” Prince Aemond questioned.
Catelyn squinted, surprised by the challenging tone the man had suddenly taken with her daughter, as if he was expecting for her either to crumble or to rise.
Sansa in all reply, looked down to her hands and to Catelyn — who knew her well — she looked to be steadying herself, then she outstretched her hand stepping closer to the prince, the wooden dragon figurine proffered toward him, “My hand and the North goes free,” she reiterated “they are your allies, not your subjects”
Prince Aemond’s face was suddenly graced by a pleased smile, his eyes darkening as if he had finally collected the ripe hard earned.
If he could look more draconian Catelyn would wonder if he was indeed part dragons. Sansa nudged the small dragon closer to him, “Do we have terms?”
Then Prince Aemond grabbed the small figurine in his hand again, twirled it around his hand and then pocketed it, so fast that Catelyn almost missed it.
“Very well, Sansa ,” he stated “we have terms” he said “You shall be my queen,” he looked beyond Sansa’ head to Robb standing behind her “and the North shall be free, but our loyal ally. Further points of this alliance will be discussed after the betrothal,”
Robb nodded slowly, though Catelyn could not get a good read at his expression.
Then, as if he was evoking the damn thing from thin air, Prince Aemond cradled Sansa’ hand in his with a tenderness Catelyn would not expect of him and pressed in her palm the dragon figure.
“This is yours now, Mele rūklon ” he told her softly.
Sansa curled her hand around the wooden figure and a look passed between them.
And in that moment Catelyn knew she had lost her daughter, not to Cersei Lannister not to Aemond Targaryen, but to the Northern independence.
Bran.
Rickon.
And now Sansa. Was her fate to lose all of her children for the northern independence?
Sansa would be queen, she remembered telling Ned before the truth about Jon Arryn reached them via Lysa’ missive, what more could you desire?
“The Iron throne will be mine,” claimed the dragon prince “and House Stark shall stand behind me and mine,”
“My hand for the North,” said the brave wolf princess.
So the Green dragon and the She-Wolf of Winterfell joined their hands, their souls and their minds.— Great History of the Kings of the Iron throne, the Dragon and the Wolf
Chapter 9: Jaime
Summary:
Jaime Lannister. The story of a man.
Notes:
So, this chapter was much needed, but very hard to write. But this is still an asoiaf fanfiction so it’s part of that world.
TW for violence and sexual assault, so maybe skip ahead if you are sensible to these matters in a way that may harm you to read them.
I will put a small summary in the end notes so you can still take the plot points and go forward without reading if it might make you uncomfortable.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
TW for violence and sexual assault, so maybe skip ahead if you are sensible to these matters in a way that may harm you to read them. In the end notes you will find a summary.
Jaime
Cersei was on a warpath, she had dispatched as many bounty hunters as possible with the task of bringing back to her the head of Sansa Stark.
Despite the girl having had nothing to do with their father’s death. That had been all Joffrey.
He had been the one who had let his own blood thrist get the best of him, even though he now maintained that Sansa Stark has put a spell on him.
And that that spell had been the reason why he had felt compelled to take such steps to prove his grandfather’s loyalty.
Then, he affirmed, Sansa Stark’ magic must have tramped with what he had believed to be the Gods’ will and to cloak her in apparent innocence she had managed to get his grandfather to drink from the poisoned chalice.
Only, Jaime had been there.
Sansa Stark had been as fearful and surprised as Tywin — she had even worn the same expression of controlled astonishment — when she had been offered the chalice.
He doubted the girl would have known in advance or she had become a better actress than Jaime had given her credit for.
Jaime had promised on his life to bring Sansa Stark back to her family after Lady Stark had released him against her son’ orders. But, when he had arrived in the capitol, Sansa had already been married to his brother and Jaime could not send her back.
No matter what he had promised Catelyn Stark.
He had watched for years, as the war between Lannisters and Starks remained stalled and the two stags fought against one another, the young girl.
He might not be able to send her back to her family, but he could look out for her, at the very least. She had escaped an ill fate, perhaps to fall in a worse one.
He had no doubt Tyrion had not touched the girl yet — I like my girls young, but not that young — but Joffrey had no such qualms. On the top of that, Tyrion had his own little whore who kept him entertained.
To Joffrey, Sansa Stark was to be his little whore. Jaime had felt as if punched in the gut when he had seen the girl paraded at Joff’ arm — to the chagrin of his mother — with that ribbon wrapped around her neck like a collar.
I taught her, her place, Joffrey had stated, marvelous, don’t you think?
Jaime had felt his tongue come dry.
Sansa Stark had grown from a child to a woman of incredible beauty, and with that collar she looked as debauched as a highly paid whore from the Silk Road.
Yet, he had not missed, behind Sansa Stark’ neutral expression the fury storming in her steel blue eyes. That same barely controlled fury that reminded Jaime of her lady mother when she had confronted him about the young pup’ slipping accident.
Yet, immediately covered by the speculative and contained anger that her own lord father had sported when Jaime had attacked him and had all his guards killed on his behest.
I don’t play in tourneys, Lord Stark had said, that would give the enemy an advantage.
Jaime remembered thinking that perhaps — just as Tyrion had commented upon speaking about his little wife — Sansa Stark had learned more than just lying well.
Still, his lord father was the kingmaker. He was the most powerful man in the Seven Kingdoms he couldn’t believe that Sansa Stark of all people had managed where all others had failed and cause his father’ death.
Couldn’t it have been Sansa?
Jaime had asked when Tyrion had been accused of the attempt to Joffrey’ life.
Sansa is many things, but she’s not a killer. Not yet, anyway.
His brother was a good judge of character if anything. If he said Sansa Stark was not yet a killer, she wasn’t.
Still, the way Sansa Stark had looked at Joffrey in that moment was burned into his mind just as much as Cersei setting afire the Lord Hand’ chambers after their father’s death and Sansa Stark’ escape, in her grief and rage.
Yet he could not reconcile that look and how heartbroken and sincerely sad she had looked when Tommen had been unseated from his horse’ saddle.
But Joffrey was convinced Sansa Stark was the origin of all evil in his court and Cersei fuelled and was fuelled in return by his conviction.
Joffrey and Cersei were feeding off each other and now Joffrey trusted only his mother above all others.
Littlefinger, who had yet to return from his trip to the Vale, was making himself scarce, and Jaime knew for a fact that the Spider was ever mindful of his position.
Jaime remembered the man during Mad Aerys’ reign and it was his reaction to Joffrey’ rule that had him on the hives.
He was ever obsequious of the king but Jaime knew he could not be trusted implicitly.
But he also knew that life in court was becoming unbearable. Joffrey was a madman, he would be anyone’s nightmare, not only his wife’s. Or his brother’s.
On the top of the injury Tommen, sweet Tommen, was under the king’ scrutiny. He had been forced to be present at court, as Joffrey reminded him and everyone else of his place — beneath him — to see how Joffrey managed court even though his brother should not stand upright for all that time — and without the cane to support him.
Joffrey had demanded he crawled if his leg would not bring him where Joffrey wanted him, after sequestering his cane.
Seeing Tommen and his bad leg was a reminder, a reminder of what Jaime had done. Brandon Stark had been a boy, who most surely didn’t even understand what he had seen, but to protect Cersei and her children — their children — Jaime had pushed him off the tower and to his death.
The boy was still alive, somehow shouldering Joffrey’ temper and distaste. But Jaime could see it was consuming him.
Tommen did not smile anymore.
He was too young to not smile anymore.
Jaime was forced to watch as Joffrey slowly but surely made his brother shrink in his own skin.
He walked inside the solar, ignoring the smell of charred fabric and wood still lingering in the air intertwined with the acrid, chemical smell of wildfire.
Cersei, like an empress of death, was sitting on the only chair that remained — their father’s, half charred itself — wearing only black and her hair… When Jaime had finally managed to get to her, as the Hand’ solar burned, her skirts had taken aflame and so had her hair. Her, once golden, mane was now chopped short at her cheekbones.
She wore a corset made to resemble a chainmail with lions at both shoulders and lions dangling from her ears.
And her eyes… Gods, her eyes seemed to still hold the same sickening pleasure they had as she had watched the green flames swallow the solar which had once belonged to their father.
“You’re here,” she said, but there was not anymore the same inflection to her tone as it had once held. It sounded like an accusation.
He knew she wanted him to go to Dorne and retrieve their daughter, but by all accounts Myrcella was well treated and they couldn’t demand House Martell to give her back, nor could they kidnap her when she was doing her duty.
They needed Dorne, now more than ever, and their Father knew it.
“I am,” Jaime replied, his voice below a whisper.
She inhaled sharply and exhaled as if his very existence bothered her.
But before Jaime could confront her with it, the door opened and her new favored advisor, Qyburn — who she had replace Pycelle after Joffrey convinced the Maester had conspired with their Father, had had him executed, only to blame that too on Sansa Stark though she had apparently already escaped when he had given the order, even if he had not been aware — and two men with rotten teeth, broken noses and one without an eye.
Gregor Clegane, who she had named her sworn shield — effectively snubbing any hope by Oberyn Martell to have justice for his sister and nephew — stood behind her ever silent and dark.
Qyburn was carrying a cloak wrapped on itself and despite not recognising it, Cersei seemed familiar with the material, by the way she sighed , how she once did when Jaime would litter her center with his passion.
She looked at Qyburn with a gleam in her emerald eyes that had Jaime physically take a step back whilst she took a step forth, the chair long forgotten, “It’s hers,” she breathed at him, in a way that seemed to tear at her throat as her pleasure did.
“Yes, Your Grace,” Qyburn replied “I wanted the honor to be yours” he said, gesturing to the cloth which Jaime was starting to realize horrified was wrapped around something he’d much rather not see.
Nor smell.
Cersei looked like she had received some kind of gift, as she looked up at the men with such a look that once Jaime had loathed to see her bestow on other men.
“Where did you find her?” she asked, almost panting.
“In Pentos, Your Grace,” one of them said, “she was buying her way to Norvos”
Norvos?
Why would… if it was who thought it might be, why would she go to Norvos.. when her family was in the Riverlands?
“From there to Lorath,” Qyburn interjected, looking at Cersei “then Braavos and then White Harbor”
Jaime frowned behind Cersei, as his sister brushed discreetly her tights together as she walked.
Why? Why would Sansa Stark go to White Harbor instead of Harrenhal?
It made no sense, making that kind of journey too.
“A smart girl,” one of the men praised “to try and make us lose her traces, with that spin in her trip,”
“Not smart enough,” Cersei pointed out, her voice leaking satisfaction as she grabbed at the fabric and tugged until it fell apart, exposing exactly what Jaime had been dreading.
And not.
It was the matter of a few moments that felt like an eternity and then Cersei screamed, the scream tearing at her throat, grabbed the head and threw it to the ground with an anguished cry that had both men stiffen and brought their hands to their weapons.
Which prompted Cersei further “Sir Gregor, defend the Queen!” she ordered pointing to the men.
The fight was lost before it happened, before Jaime could even understand what was happening.
“Your Grace she had the cloak! She had all!”
“Sansa Stark is red of hair, you dimwit” his sister seethed.
Cersei straightened as sir Gregor cleaned his hands on his own white cloak.
“You can have them for your experiments, Qyburn” Cersei demanded as Qyburn leaned down to inspect their warm bodies and then grabbed the head, “if you can make a man out of two dimwits”.
“Not the head,” she hissed “Not the head,” she repeated.
“Your Grace?”
Now that Jaime was seeing it, as Qyburn cradled it almost tenderly, he felt as if he could be sick.
It wasn’t Sansa Stark but near enough, her shadow.
Tyrion’ little whore.
Her dark hair was matted against her forehead and hanging in tendrils off her severed neck. Her face was scrunched in an unpleasant face, and there were several cuts and bruises on her face.
She had fought.
There were pearls — the same pearls Sansa Stark used to wear — around her neck, and by the bruising around them, they might have been used to…
“I will send this,” Cersei said suddenly “with my compliments, to Harrenhal. So that the Starks knows, a Lannister always pays his debts” she caressed the little whore’s cheek with a hand and smirked “Sansa Stark might not be yet with them or might never get to them. But they will know. This is the fate of those who help House Stark,”
And Jaime watched in horror as Cersei took a letter opener from what remained of the table and heated it until it was warm enough to then impress on the girl’ forehead the name ‘ Stark ’.
She then wrapped the head once again in the cloak — a cloak which had belonged to Sansa Stark — and instructed Qyburn to send it to Harrenhal.
Jaime stood there and watched, horrified and paralysed by the scene, unable to move a muscle, the only noise he could hear the blood thundering in his ears, threatening to burst his eardrum as maniac laughter lingered in the air and the putrid smell of burning wildfire and flesh filled his nostrils.
Only when Qyburn had left the chamber did Cersei turn to him, her emerald eyes gleaming in the darkness in stark contrast against her black gown, the metal lion-heads at her shoulder catching the dim light and making her look as if fire was brimming just below the surface of her porcelain skin.
Jaime felt like he could vomit.
“You will find Sansa Stark,” Cersei demanded “and you will bring me her head”
“Cersei…”
“She killed our father!” Cersei screamed, her fury spilling in waves from her “she weakened us, the little bitch knew what she was doing. You will find her, you will kill her and you will bring your king her head mounted on a spike”
Joffrey did, Jaime almost replied.
“If the king wishes for me to do such a thing, he will have to forward a formal order,” Jaime said.
You will bring me your father’s head, young Jaime.
He shivered as he recalled how lucid the mad king looked a moment and how maniacal he would the second after.
He prayed that would buy them enough time for Sansa Stark to reach her family at which point it would be impossible for him to carry out such an order.
Especially if, as Lord Eddard Karstark had told them, Robb Stark had managed to revive some old lost Prince with his dragon.
Maybe Aemond Targaryen, or whoever this imposter was, would protect Sansa Stark if only to keep the North in his midst.
Days after he was thinking about it, about how vicious Cersei had become yet, even more than she had before.
The night of their encounter she had sought him out in his chambers and had knelt before his legs, stirring him alive and swallowing him whole.
Jaime knew what she was doing. She was using the power she had on him to try and bend him to her will.
He still refused, and everyday now he was dreading that Joffrey would summon him to issue the formal order.
He wasn’t particularly fond of Sansa Stark — though fondness had bloomed in Tyrion’ heart for his little wife — but he was fond of living. And if Joffrey, or Gods save them, Cersei kept ruling the way they were, none of them would come out alive.
None of them.
“Uncle,” Tommen’ voice disrupted his thoughts and Jaime’ eyes suddenly focused back again on the young boy.
Tommen was leaning heavily on his engraved cane. To try and stave off any order from Joffrey or Cersei, he had thought of swearing his sword to Tommen, but that would only put the boy in a worse danger than whatever plot his lord father might have cocooned.
If he had cocooned any.
Jaime could not disagree that Tommen would be a better fit for the Iron throne, as he was kinder and softer than Joffrey. And not mad.
Still, he enjoyed the most the days he got to spend with Tommen, guarding him.
Tommen was a sweet boy, Sansa Stark had been right in that, and he didn’t hold a treacherous bone in his body if he tried.
Jaime was growing ever fonder of him. Joffrey might have been the first child he and Cersei had made, but to him he was no more than the sprout of his loins.
He had had to be, if they didn’t want anyone to question his parentage and his right to the Iron throne.
Tommen and Myrcella had been the same, and Myrcella was now long gone and away from him.
But Tommen was here, alive and he was so very easy to love.
“I am sorry, my prince,” Jaime hastened to say “I was lost in my thoughts,”
Tommen offered him a smile.
Tommen reminded Jaime of his mother the most. He even the same smile lady Joanna had had.
“Would you like to sit with me? I am bored,” he said.
Where is the cat?, Tommen used to have a cat. Jaime was always reminded of unfortunate Princess Rhaenys every time he saw him with that damned feline.
He wondered why he hadn’t noticed before the absence of the cat, as he sat next to the boy, uncaring that it was not his duty as kingsguard to entertain the prince but to guard him.
“What would you like to speak about, my prince?”
“I don’t know Uncle, I feel like I don’t know you at all,” he said, “would you tell me stories of when you were young at Casterly Rock?”
I am not Tyrion, I am not good with words, but then the words started to flow off his tongue, even words he had never spoken to anyone.
Not even Cersei.
Cersei always felt as the most spurned by their mother’ death, but the truth was that Jaime had grieved just as much and he had yet to stop grieving.
The difference had been that Jaime had never blamed Tyrion for it. Jaime had wanted to honor his mother’ dying wish, that Tyrion was to be loved.
If he could do her proud in but a way, that had been the way he had chosen.
So he told Tommen stories about lady Joanna Lannister, and Tommen listened intently as if Jaime was telling him so great secret.
And they spoke at length, in time the topic shifted and Jaime learned that the topic that interested Tommen the most was history.
And when someone knocked on his door, Jaime realized that the hour had grown late and that he had forgotten his place.
“I am sorry, my prince,” he said, he could almost hear the wench — still in search of Arya — tell him off for it too, “I lost track of time”
Tommen collected himself and his relaxed stance grew stiff. The shift in the air palpable, “Don’t worry sir Jaime,” he stated.
Then he benoked the person inside and when it was a Septon who walked inside Jaime wondered when Tommen had been introduced to the extensive study of the Faith.
“Joffrey” was Tommen’ terse reply to his unasked question.
Joffrey.
And by the way Tommen had said it… Joffrey was intent on dismantling any claim Tommen could have on the Iron throne and what better way — especially after Tywin’ death fiasco — then to have him take the cloth and join the Faith?
Tommen deserved better.
Tommen deserved more.
Tommen deserved at least Casterly Rock — become the man you were born to be , his lord father had told him once — but Casterly Rock belonged to Tyrion and Jaime would never take it from him.
Not even for your son?, a voice that sounded like Cersei questioned.
He is not my son, he reminded himself as he took his post outside of the solar so that Tommen could listen to his lecture in peace.
But… Tommen deserved better. If he wished to join the Faith, as Jaime had wished to join the brotherhood… but he didn’t he could see it in his stiff shoulders when the man walked in.
He could see it in his eyes.
Yet, wouldn’t the Faith give him a better chance of survival if in truth Robb Stark had a dragon to his commands?
He had almost warmed himself to the idea that this could ensure Tommen’ survival when Tommen’ voice carried from inside the solar.
“Please… no ”
Please, no! Somebody, anybody help!
Please, no! , the echos of that story still hung in the room every time he saw Tyrion. But now, now they were echoing for another matter completely.
Jaime didn’t call out, did not say anything. He just barged in, uncaring if he would find the prince simply being bothered by the lecture.
He saw red.
Red as fury.
Red as blood.
Red as death.
Red as decay.
Red as all the vile things in this world are red.
He didn’t even realize what he was doing, the only thing he could see, as if distorted in perspective was Tommen shrinking in his own chair, ashen in the face, his eyes squeezed shut, his face contracted in horror and desperation and resignation , as the Septon stood there, leaning heavily on him, one of his hand thrusted in Tommen’ breeches and the other fisted around his own cock as his face contorted in pleasure.
Red.
Red as fury.
Red as the robes of the Septon, bloodstained.
Red as death.
Red as decay.
Someone was yelling but Jaime couldn’t get the words out.
The only thing he was aware of was the crack of the bones under his fists.
Then suddenly there were arms, surprisingly strong arms around his still raised arm, poised for the next punch.
“ Father !” it was barely a whisper but it crushed his resolve and fury like a wave against the stone.
Jaime had never been called such, the shock of it stopped him dead in his tracks, he had never considered himself such.
Tommen was there, kneeling on the ground — his emerald eyes looking back to him, serving him back his own reflection — grasping onto him.
Jaime let his hands rest at his tights. He was straddling what remained of the Septon — his face unrecognizable — as he looked in the boy’s face. Shockwaves rippling into his very being.
“How did you call me?” he almost demanded, but his voice lacked any bite.
Tommen straightened his shoulders, “We know,” he said “Myrcella and I. We’ve always known”
Jaime felt any fight left in him, leaving him then, as Tommen offered him an almost shy smile.
“We know,” he repeated “and we’re happy it’s you,”
They were happy to be his?
It was as if suddenly all that Jaime had kept at bay for over a decade came crashing down on him with all the force of the shame that had threatened to swallow him whole when his mother had found out about him and Cersei.
“Joffrey…”
“He doesn’t know,” Tommen said “or if he does, he never said. It’s safer that way,”
“But Myrcella and you..”
“One tends to become very observant when Joffrey is your older brother, out of sense of survival if anything”
This boy.
Barely one and ten. And already speaking of survival.
Jaime looked in his eyes.
“I’m… I’m…” he said, suddenly realizing he was still straddling the man he had beaten to death, and he leaned on his other side and retched.
Death had never made him actually vomit, and perhaps it wasn’t the death itself but why it had happened or the shock of Tommen — and Myrcella — being aware… calling him father .
“You saved me,” Tommen said, grabbing his wrist with such a warmth and firmness that the world reduced to that touch like it never had before.
It was then that it hit him.
“Your leg!” he exclaimed, realizing Tommen was leaning heavily on the good knee but that the other too was bent in a way that ought to pain him.
“About that… you might need to help me up,” he said, then he looked like he seemed uncertain and Jaime felt more than uncertain enough for the both of them, so he grabbed the boy from beneath his arms to help him up and guide him toward the table.
“Do you want to sit or…”
“I’d rather stand, I need to keep the leg upright…” he gestured for the table and Jaime helped him get a good grab of the edge of it to stand on his two feet.
The cane was forgotten on the ground.
“Thank you,” Tommen then wet his lips the same way his lady mother used to do when she was about to say something controversial during supper which had his lord father to smile fondly at her, “ Father, ” he repeated as if he was testing out the word on his tongue.
Jaime forced himself not to shiver at that, for the first time feeling as if he mattered despite all his wrongdoings.
How many people you killed, sir?
I wouldn’t know.
And how many would you say you saved?
Half a million, the population of Kings Landing.
For the first time since ever — Cersei had demanded and Tyrion had tricked him to admit it — Jaime wanted someone to know that, not out of spite, like he had done when he had told Qyburn, but so that they would know perhaps they could be a little bit proud of him too.
Making someone proud.
Avenging his honor.
He had thought he had forgotten how feeling that felt.
Jaime raised a hand and stroked the boy’s cheek. His boy’s cheek. And Tommen, sweet and soft Tommen… strong Tommen, leaned into his touch.
“You’re making this a bigger problem than it is,” Cersei told him, her tone reeking boredom as she nursed a chalice of wine, “so, you killed a Septon. It’s not that grave a thing”
“What is grave,” Jaime spat “is that upon my surprise I discovered that all the guards who have been tasked to guard Tommen have been instructed to turn a deaf ear to anything out of the ordinary”
He slammed one hand on the table and Cersei’ dark, challenging look would’ve made him fall on his knees once, “is that Joffrey is willingly putting Tommen in that kind of situation”
“Joffrey is king,” Cersei said “he can do however he likes, and if it had been Joffrey at his place… the man would not have had hands” she pointed out “Tommen needs to become stronger, he is Joff’ heir”
“Is he?” Jaime questioned “or have you forgotten Margaery is pregnant?”
“If it’s not a girl,” Cersei stated “accidents happens, I won’t have the mother poison any child”
“How could you just stand there like that and accept all of this, speak of all this like it doesn’t matter!” he demanded, “as if it doesn’t faze you!”
“You’ve always been too weak. It’s why you took the cloak,” she stated getting slowly up “too weak to kill Robert, I had to take matters in my own hands. Too weak to kill the Stark boy, the Greyjoys had to do that. Too weak to defeat Robb Stark, and too weak to escape,” she said, jabbing his chest with each point she made, “ Catelyn Stark had to set you free!”
She slapped him, “I won’t have my son turn out just like you!” she screamed “he has to toughen up! He could have called for help, could have beaten the man with his cane. But he begged like a weakling!”
Jaime had never raised a hand to a woman before, and certainly not to Cersei, but in that moment his anger got the best of him. He grabbed her by the arms with a strength he wasn’t aware he had and like a man possessed he shoved her against the table and to the ground, making her double over in pain and lose her breath.
When she looked up at him, revenge shining in her eyes Jaime passed a hand over his face “I am leaving,” he stated “and I am taking my son with me”
Whatever Cersei had been about to say, whatever threat she had been about to issue died on her tongue.
It was not something he had thought of ahead, but he would not let Joffrey mistreat Tommen further.
Once he had ensured Tommen was safe and he would find Myrcella. He didn’t care if he had to flee to Essos for them to be free and safe, he would . He would get them there.
Both of them.
Let Cersei and Joffrey hang with the rope they had fashioned themselves.
Cersei wept and screamed and fought, she threw herself at him.
“You cannot do this! I will have you killed!” she yelled “sir Gregor!” and her ever present shadow appeared from outside, hand to the hilt of his sword, “this is treason, I will have you killed for this!”
Jaime looked from sir Gregor to his sword and then back to Cersei. He would not survive if she ordered Gregor to attack him. Perhaps he could have with his right hand, but with the left?
He observed his sister and then took a breath “I don’t believe you,” he said as he unclasped his white cloak and let it fall to the ground, then he unlatched his golden hand and let it clatter on the carpet. He threw his sword on the table and walked away.
Sir Gregor didn’t move, not even a inch, and Cersei never gave the order.
It didn’t surprise him as it should have when Lord Varys appeared in his path to his son’s chamber.
“This way, Lord Jaime,” he stated with a flare of a hand, “I will bring you to your son,”
Jaime didn’t know if he could trust him, but then the Spider showed him the handkerchief Tommen had used to wipe the sweat and blood of his face earlier, still dirty and Jaime knew he needed to get to his son.
Jaime followed him, and indeed the Spider brought him in the undergrounds of the keep and sitting there, near the mouth of Balerion’ skull — the skull that had so animated his nightmares, with flashes of green flame dancing on its surface — a different cane, less conspicuous and not engraved, nothing more than a wood to lean on. Even Tommen’ appearance was not that of a prince or high lord, he looked almost like a common man.
If a common man didn’t have blisters in his hands by now due their hard work.
Tommen got to his feet with a bit of difficulty “I knew you would do something like that” he said.
“Tommen, you could stay here if you… I know it was stupid and—”
Tommen, one and ten of age, limped to him and grabbed the stump of his hand “I belong with you,” he said “you are my Father”
Jaime still hadn’t gotten used to that, but it warmed him like a broth after a terrible cold. Like his mother’ embrace had.
That unconditional love.
My son.
“I truly am sorry to disrupt such a moment,” the Spider cooed, his powdered face coming into view once again as he offered Jaime a satchel full of gold “you might need this,” he said “and this,” he added offering Jaime a sealed scroll.
“For whom it is?” Jaime asked as there was no name written on the envelope.
The Spider nodded with a smile “You will know when you get there,” he said “now, the young prince knows the way,” he said “I hope I’ll see you again,” he stated “you’ll have a head start, I hope it will be enough”
Then the man nodded once again and walked away, never once turning back.
Jaime watched him go, his shadow dancing with the shadow of the dragon’s skulls.
“This way,” Tommen said, tugging him down the tunnel and Jaime followed, “we have safe conduct”
“To where?” Jaime asked, Tommen didn’t reply but stiffened, almost as if he was afraid, “ Tommen , where?”
Tommen stopped limping ahead and turned to look at him, “She was always kind to me,” he said.
She .
“Harrenhal,” he realized “she made it to Harrenhal?”
“So Lord Varys claims,” he said.
“Tommen, I… I did it.”
There. He had said it.
He had uncovered one of his deepest sins. The boy had been blameless.
He saw Tommen frown so he specified “I pushed Bran Stark off the tower,”
Tommen looked away and let his hand fall, “No matter how kind Sansa Stark was…”
“We will beg their forgiveness,” Tommen said “if they demand justice you’ll take the black, and I will come with you”
One and ten.
His son was one and ten and he was the one providing all the answers. The brotherhood would protect Tommen if nothing else, were he to take the black. Jaime would face the scaffold if needed.
Or perhaps they could protect Tommen, maybe even promise him some kind of land or let him choose exile. Tyrion would not let his nephew could hungry even if he was to stay across the Narrow Sea.
If anything, they could trust the Starks more than they could trust Joffrey or Cersei.
So he nodded and followed Tommen along the tunnel swearing to himself he would not let any harm come to his son.
Notes:
SUMMARY for those who didn’t feel comfortable to read some of the chapter:
Jaime is with Cersei when some bounty hunters offer her the head of Sansa Stark only it isn’t Sansa but Shae.Cersei has them killed and then she has the word Stark branded on her and send them the head.
Then Jaime saves Tommen from a pedophile Septon and discovers it was a plot to weaken Tommen and then have him join the Faith later on. He confronts Cersei because he has grown fond of the boy and feels the need to protect him (who tells him he knows the truth, that both him and Myrcella do) and then he decides to leave wherever for with Tommen, get his settled and safe and then save Myrcella too.
Then he discovers Tommen imagined he would and had already put in motion a plan (helped by Varys) and chooses to go to Harrenhal in hope at least Tommen might be safe, and be granted safe conduct in exile or to the Wall.
Chapter 10: Sansa
Summary:
Super packed up, hope it doesn’t bother you too much. They just become like this somehow
Chapter Text
Sansa
Prince Aemond was a distinguished rider, he sat in the saddle as if he was made for it and Sansa supposed that might be true, when one rode a dragon as a pass-time.
When Robb had told her he would accept Willas Tyrell’ proposal Sansa had been torn, as the stupid, naive girl she still was deep down, half of her was reassured that at least her brother would not sell her off for a dragon, the other half couldn’t keep out of her mind prince Aemond’s voice.
She had thought to have put all thoughts of queenship out of her mind long ago, but apparently she had underestimated how tenacious childhood dreams could be; and here was prince Aemond Targaryen — a man come out of song, literally — who was offering her on a silver platter, not only queenship, but partnership as well as agency to be her own person and be the force behind all the changes she had hoped.
Still, Aemond Targaryen was a kinslayer and no man is ever as accursed as a kinslayer. She had seen the shambles of a broken man on the banks of the Gods Eye, a silver prince clad in leathers, kneeling in the mud, his hands grabbing at the earth and promising to never fail again.
He had looked a broken man, broken by the doubt that whatever tragedy had touched his son had been his doing, a punishment for what he had done. But then he had morphed and he had looked, a proud man, ready to take the world by storm and demand compensation for what the men had taken from him.
And Sansa had empathized with that.
It had been like looking in a reflecting glass, and seeing her own reflection staring back at her, distorted but not for that less real.
In the end, she had known, the moment prince Aemond had turned to ask her opinion on the match Robb had chosen to accept in her stead, handing back to her the agency Robb had taken without a say-so, it had been then that Sansa had known without doubt.
She had known herself.
She was tired of being a little bird.
She was tired of being passed back and forth between her lady mother and her brother the king, she was sure they both loved her dearly — as she loved them equally as much — but they did not see her. She had told them about her part in lord Lannister downfall and their reply had been either horror or disbelief.
And maybe now Sansa was so ugly inside — for what had been done to her, for what she had done to survive — that her own mother was horrified by her truth, and her brother could not see her clearly.
Prince Aemond did.
He did so because he had no memory of who she had been and did not judge her for who she had become. She had known as he had demanded her opinion, that Sansa would have rather bind herself to someone who commanded a dragon and could vanquish her enemies and value her counsel than a man who most probably would have wanted her to become the picture perfect of a soft, southern lady Sansa could no be, not anymore.
She wasn’t like Margaery’ cousins, innocent and naive. Not anymore.
She had seen the bluntness and ugliness of truth, had felt the blood dripping from her chin and fury take her by storm.
She might not have killed anyone directly, but she was no less a murderess, for she had caused Tywin Lannister’ death, and if the Gods had been good she would have claimed Joffrey’ life as well that day.
Still, she hadn’t really embraced it — unwilling to put her mother and her brother, and her niece in a difficult position with the lords of the North — but the moment prince Aemond had taken the North for his, they couldn’t really hope to defeat him and the dragon if they didn’t want to burn alive, Sansa had recalled prince Aemond’s words.
I never claimed she was not a threat, I only said she would not be a threat to you .
Until I am on your good side.
And then, then Robb had scattered all figurines out of place, and to Sansa, the Gods’ plan — or her own — had become as clear as a day. It had taken but a moment for her to accept it, to accept that what she was seeing might not be the will of the Gods, but barely hers, and to take responsibility for it.
Her wish was to serve the North, and how better to serve the North than give them the alliance of a dragonrider and his protection and their freedom?
She had followed him then, and had been tested.
No one but she had known what he had been asking.
Do you really believe your hand to be worth half a continent, princess?
It wasn’t a question. Her hand was worth half a continent, because this way Aemond would have the North at his back — and his children’s back — forever and not recalcitrant like they had been after Aegon the Conqueror forced them with the choice to either live and bend the knee or die free, rebelling against the Targaryens and claiming independence not even three centuries in.
With half Stark children the North would be bound to the Iron throne by something much thicker than an oath. It would be bound by loyalty and blood.
The northerners were different. Loyal to their own.
And by marrying her and granting them to call themselves free and independent, Aemond would make sure he and his children, and their children after them, would become part northerners which meant the North would remain in their corner.
And Sansa knew he meant to sign a contract of alliance which ensured that whilst independent the North would still be bound to the Iron throne by an alliance that went deeper than blood and advantage.
So, Sansa had stepped up, unflinching and had offered him back the wooden dragon. That had been enough. Yes , she had been replying, I will make my hand worth to you half the continent .
Prince Aemond had once again morphed before her eyes, as if Sansa had done something that pleased him immensely and had accepted her hand for his.
The North had celebrated the betrothal with several days of festivities, clearly overjoyed they could still remain independent but getting the ripe of having a Stark Queen next to the Iron throne.
Her lady mother was resigned and clearly upset by her choice, and the result was that she refused to speak of it, and was even absent from the banquets claiming she was indisposed . Which Sansa had always believed below her, but perhaps Sansa had known nothing.
Roslin had tried to reassure her that no one would think less of her if she was scared or would like to go back on her word, and Sansa had appreciated it, but she had replied curtly. I am not afraid, and had thanked her good sister for the good intention.
Robb, on the other hand, appeared to have completely forgotten whatever anger he had felt at her during their fights and had seemingly forgotten all Sansa had uncovered by admitting her part in Tywin’ death. He was happy, he was happy the war could finally be won.
And then, there was Aemond, he had a soft side Sansa could not have imagined. He was stern and commanded respect, his voice was cold and his gaze was penetrating, unwavering. But there was also tenderness and warmth in him.
He was immensely pleased it had been Sansa’s choice to accept his proposal, he often called her to the solar he had claimed for his own and asked her opinion on several matters, and shared together the plans for the future of the Realm.
He liked to pamper her, that was sure, the moment they had become intended he had, had fashioned from a Valyrian steel pin he had worn when he had fallen into the Gods Eye a small necklace for her with an oval ruby in the center; and it wasn’t only gifts — paper flowers, necklaces or books — it was also the way he disclosed his attention on her.
And he recited poetry.
Sansa had little trouble trying not to swoon like a small girl the first time he had started reciting some old Valyrian poem to her.
He took the time to be with her, invited her to the war council and listened to her opinions.
It was a bliss.
Like now, he had snubbed several commitments to spend some time with her, leaving lady Malora — who had become his unofficial Hand in her lord father’ stead — to care about some of them, to invite her riding around the hills.
“Thank you,” Sansa murmured as he helped her down the saddle when they are reached a small clearing with a little river flowing to the lake.
“What kind of betrothed would I be, if I didn’t show you this kind of attention, mele rūklon ?”
Sansa frowned at that, his arms still around her middle, and looked up in his eye.
“You haven’t told me what that means,” she pointed out, “it sounds pretty”
“It is pretty” Aemond offered, stepping back just to touch the necklace hanging at her throat, “it means red flower , for that is what it means,”
Sansa’ beam come unbidden, but not for that less real “It is very pretty,” she commented “thank you,”
Aemond shrugged, and offered her his arm so that they may stroll near the stream.
“My mother taught me to appreciate the people around me and show them fondness,” he told her “and fierceness when needed”
Sansa considered it for a long while, then found the courage to ask “You never speak of your family, I know it must hurt you… but I’d love to learn more of them”
“You know your history well,” was Aemond’ stiff reply “what more could I tell you? You probably know more than I do, by this point”
Sansa recognized it for what it was, an attempt to defend himself from the hurt. She wanted to soothe that hurt.
“I may know what historians said about them, but I don’t know them , I never will but they made you who you are today, I’d love to hear more from you . You’d do them justice”
He considered her for a long moment, then he nodded.
“My mother, the queen, was ever gracious and kind, but she was ferocious when it came to defend us,” he said “she took a knife to Rhaenyra when Lucerys took my eye,”
Sansa shivered recalling how horrified she had been when she had learned of that, during her lessons.
“She loved us all and firmly believed that honesty and honor and justice should have prevailed in the world,” he said “I wish to make sure that as long as I breath honesty, honor and justice prevail, to honor her”
“She seems like a wonderful mother,” Sansa said.
“She loved poetry and tales,” he said “just like Helaena. She was so very proud when Aegon and Helaena claimed Sunfyre and Dreamfyre”
Sansa watched as something dark passed over his face, “I am sure she was proud of you too,”
“Any pride she might have felt,” Aemond said “I failed,” he looked down, “you are not the only one who can research,” he told her “I know she was sure I would storm back to Kings Landing and free her. I never did,”
Sansa observed him a for a long moment, “I told Cersei my lord father wished to break my betrothal to Joffrey,” she admitted “told her he wanted to marry me to some Lord or hedge knight. It was how she knew my father would act,”
Aemond turned around to study her face.
“I knelt before the Iron throne to beg mercy for my lord father and made him swallow his pride and honor to save himself and Joffrey still took his head,” she said “he was proud of me, even when I didn’t understand it. And I failed him. He lied for me, and I couldn’t save him”
“You were a child,” Aemond offered “I was a grown man who commanded a dragon,” he said “those are very different things. I was powerful, you were powerless,” he told her gently.
“What you did, does you honor. What I did…”
Sansa squeezed his arm “Maybe we both failed our parents,” she offered “maybe, together we can do better”
A long silence stretched between them, but it was not uncomfortable.
Aemond nodded, “Did your brother say anything about when the Septon intended to give us the dispensation?” he asked, seemingly out of the blue.
Sansa shook her head.
“I know Lord Hightower has demanded a swift annulment, but with the dissidents in the capitol, some High Sparrow who is trying to re-establish the Faith Militant… things are not going as smoothly as we were expecting,”
Aemond frowned.
Sansa went on, “I know Joffrey had been firm with these militants,” she stated “but apparently they have grown in numbers much more than I expected them to,”
Aemond nodded thoughtfully as they walked observing the fishermen on their boat, tending to the nets.
Suddenly the day became dark as Vhagar’ silhouette covered the sun as she flew lowhead above their heads.
The strength of her wings made the boat upturn and the fishermen dove into the water to save themselves, as Vhagar then landed on the riverbanks so big and the air around her so heated that part of the stream literally evaporated as she settled half her body over the stream, the fishes gaping and jumping as they were suddenly left without water.
What could have been a tragedy — as Sansa had already gripped Aemond’ arm tight — turned out to make the fishermen shout out in joy as they grabbed armfuls of fishes.
Sansa observed as a smile started to bubble up her lips as the fishermen made most of it by grabbing the fishes farthest from the dragoness who was busy tending at her own wings.
One of them pushed the boat on the riverbank and upturned it again, to then start filling it with the fishes.
Aemond leaned close, his lips grazing near her ear “I told you,” he whispered “she won’t be a threat, unless provoked”
The dragoness didn’t seem to be bothered by the fishermen very much and they stayed clear of the area closer to her body.
By the time the fishermen were done they walked to them took off their hats and bowed to them.
“Seven blessing always, yer Grace,” one offered and Aemond — who by now had only staked his claim to the Iron throne without having conquered it yet — straightened his shoulders and offered them stiff nods, “our families won’t go hungry”
“Seven blessings be to you all,” Sansa replied in his stead, and the men beamed at her with shining eyes.
They watched them go as they dragged the boat back to the fishermen village some miles ahead.
Sansa opened slightly her furlined coat as the air around them became almost heated enough to remind her of summer as Aemond left her side to approach the dragoness and pat lovingly the side of her head.
“One day,” Aemond told her, when he was done with petting the immense dragoness “you will not be fearful of her anymore,”
“Fear keeps us alive,” Sansa replied softly and the prince stepped away from the dragoness as her reptile eyes fixed on her intently.
“It does,” Aemond said “but you will have nothing to fear as long as you have me,”
Sansa observed him and accepted the hand he was offering her, he stepped closer “And how long do you plan to stick by my side?” she wondered.
“I don’t know how you view marriage, Princess,” he told her, his tone almost teasing “but to me it’s a lifelong deal,”
She could see in his eye — the way it darkened — that as he surveyed her, he was pleased of what he was seeing, of whom he was seeing, so she stepped closer.
“Then,” she breathed out softly, her hand grazing his cheek, “you better not die soon,”
She felt powerful when she saw the way it made him shiver, though she could feel the blush starting to creep up her cheeks at his wanting look, as he raised his hand to wrap around her wrist.
“And when my wolf demands it of me ever so sweetly,” he said, “how can I refuse her?” he wondered softly, turning his head — the eyepatch scraping with a leather caress against her palm — to press a kiss on her pulse point on her inner wrist.
She hoped her cheeks were not as red as heir hair, as blushing had always made her look like a pomegranate, though their intimate moment was broken when a rider coming from Harrenhal stopped short of them.
Vhagar who — not much unlike a very big, bored cat — had wrapped around herself, and her tail was wrapped all the way to her snout, as she slumbered slowly clapped her tail on the ground making it shake beneath their feet.
The horse neighed and stood on his hind legs, almost unseating the rider.
Sansa stumbled and Prince Aemond grabbed her by the elbow, wrapping another hand around her waist as Sansa pulled her face closer to his chest.
“Vhagar,” he commanded, his tone dripping with authority as if every fiber of his being was tense in some kind of movement that claimed all of his power and strength. It was the kind of voice Sansa had always thought a king should have, not louder. Just as low but powerful, “ dohaeris ,”
There was a gust of warm wind at the nape of her neck, the hair of the fur at her neck tickled her chin as a rumble sounded softly and deeply against her forehead.
“It is fine, mele rūklon ,” he murmured softly “it’s alright,”
Sansa leaned away from his chest, and looked back at the dragoness who was starting back at them with something peculiar in her gaze.
The rider, in the meantime had managed to calm the horse enough to dismount safely “Your Highness,” he called “lady Stark sends me,”
Sansa frowned “What about my mother?”
“Not about your lady mother, Princess,” he offered “it’s about the princes of Winterfell”
Sansa felt as if a wave of ice had been flowing through her veins just then.
Her brothers.
Bran and Rickon, sweet and sour. Sweet and wild.
She turned to Aemond “I am sorry to cut our ride short, but…”
He didn’t speak, he just grabbed her hand guiding her back to the horses, “let us go,” he said.
He can never see his brothers again, Sansa thought, and yet he doesn’t hesitate for me to know about mine.
They rode like the wind was behind them, and reached Harrenhal in a hife.
Grey Wind was there, in the courtyard and the moment Sansa was with her feet on the ground, he came padding to her, pressing his wet snout against her cheek.
“Aye, boy,” she murmured softly “I am alright,” she said, petting his massive neck as she searched around for her brother or her mother or even her good sister.
Finally the doors opened and Roslin came barrelling out of the keep, “ Sansa !” she called as she skipped down the steps.
Sansa felt disoriented as her good sister grabbed her by the wrist — the same wrist still tingling from Prince Aemond’ touch — and started to drag her inside, speaking far too fast for Sansa to keep up with her soft spoken words.
Once they were inside the first antechamber Roslin let go of her wrist to gesticulate wildly as she spoke, but still Sansa felt disoriented by how her brain spinned with all the information Roslin was giving her.
Last Hearth.
Beyond the Wall.
Skagos.
Suddenly Aemond’ hand was on the small of her back, its warmth spreading across the fabric of her coat and dress and grounding her.
“ Roslin ,” Sansa called, her tone imperative, “please, from the start,”
“Lord Ned Umber has sent word from Last Hearth,” she said taking a deep breath “apparently when the ironborn attacked your brother Rickon too refuge to them,” she said “and for his safety he was later sent to Skagos,”
Sansa felt as if her whole body was shaking as she remembered Rickon’ wild, breathless laughter as if it still lingered next to them.
“Skagos?” she demanded, “who in their right mind sends a prince no older than six without protection to Skagos, and he has been there this whole time!”
Queen Roslin seemed surprised by her outburst, though perhaps Roslin had not grown up listening to the stories about the cannibals on Skagos from Old Nan.
“The Umbers believed that the less in the eye Rickon was the safest he would be,” Roslin offered “why aren’t you happy?”
Sansa clenched her fists “I am not unhappy,” she stated “I am worried sick for my brother,” she hissed like a snake.
Grey Wind stood behind her — having followed them inside — on all four, his fur thick and raised as his eyes flashed between the two women.
“I am sure Lord Umber…” Roslin tried and Sansa forced herself to remain calm when all she wanted to do was finding herself in Skagos and with Rickon, so that she could protect him.
You could not protect your father, a voice that sounded like Cersei reminded her, you’d fail your brother too, if the cannibals didn’t eat you first.
“My queen,” she addressed to sweeten the bite in her tone, “my brother was barely five to six years of age when Winterfell fell, all he has known has been torn from him by someone he loved like a brother,” she said “and now, he’s boy, he is alone on an island of cannibals, I am sure you can understand my concern”
“Skagos is a part of the North” Roslin replied in a way that frustrated Sansa beyond belief.
“And the North was part of the Seven Kingdoms, did it stop my lord father from rising against the Mad King? Or my brother to rise against Joffrey?” Sansa questioned, “Skagos is a scary place even for grown men,” she said “and my brother is but a boy, a boy who bears the name of Stark,”
She stepped closer to Roslin “Be true my queen,” Sansa offered “What do you think having a Stark prince in custody entails?” she demanded.
“The Lannisters had only me, a girl stripped of her own title and still they used me to try and get their foot north,” she pointed out “Rickon is just a boy, when all of this started he was barely out of infanthood, he might not even remember or love us,” she said “and those people have him in their grasp, if something were to happen to Robb now and the Skagosi pressed for Rickon’ crowning do you think Edda would stand a chance without fighting?” she asked.
She had no intention of making Rickon sound as a threat, but Roslin needed to understand how precarious her and Edda positions would be as long as Rickon — and Bran, if Bran was too still alive somewhere — were away from their family.
“Edda is his named heir,” Roslin said, “the lords of the North..”
“Rhaenyra was named heir by my father as well,” Prince Aemond butted in, perhaps unhelpfully “still, the Realm was torn. We were not the only ones supporting Aegon, many other lords and ladies were,”
He looked at Sansa, and then she interjected “Rickon is a sweet child,” she said “and everyone loved him, we need to get him away from people who might want to use him against us. Robb did nothing for me, I was just girl, and yet had I born a male, some lords might have rallied behind me and my son, Ned Stark’ blood, sooner than behind Edda, which was why Robb disinherited me,”
Sansa stepped closer, she could see Roslin was now scared, she took Roslin’ hands in hers — feeling kneely the absence of the warmth of Prince Aemond’ hand on the small of her back — she held the hands close to her heart “My Queen, sister ,” she pleaded “we must make haste, just imagine how much stronger Edda’ position would be with Rickon by her side. If they grew together as siblings, Rickon just like I did, would never betray Edda and would be her supporter when the time will come!”
Roslin looked down at their joined hands and then back at her face and Sansa did her best to look as earnest as she could.
“Having Rickon close will strengthen this dynasty,” Sansa said, “ your dynasty” she empathized, “we need to get him out of there soon!”
Cregan Stark, she recalled, had had to fight against his uncle and cousins to keep Winterfell and the North — and he had been a male, — Edda would have half the chance to manage it if Rickon didn’t grow to love her as kin.
Roslin nodded, clearly shaken.
“Are there any news of Prince Bran?” Aemond asked, perhaps in her stead and Sansa felt grateful for the distraction he was offering.
“Rickon reached Last Hearth alone barred for a wildling woman who was his nan,” she replied, almost numbly “when they asked him, he said something about the Reeds and going Beyond the Wall”
Roslin then grabbed her skirts in her hands and curtsied “I must speak to my husband” she said, and without waiting for reply she walked away, leaving them alone.
Sansa felt as if her heart had just broken in a million pieces as her eyes filled with tears. Bran, sweet Bran.
“That was some maneuvering,” Prince Aemond commented, “are you sure the sweet queen will take it the way you want it and will not, instead, speak against your brother?” he asked “and become the next Rhaenyra?”
Sansa looked up in his eye and saw his surprise in seeing how shaken she was.
She dried her tears with the palm of her hand, “My apologies,” she muttered.
“What made you so shaken?” he asked “your brothers are alive,” he said “and you have tried working the new queen in their corner, if it works”
“It was worth a try,” Sansa said “diplomacy is always worth a try,” she added.
“And what if diplomacy fails?” Aemond asked. Sansa felt as thought he was testing her, wondering how cutthroat she could be.
She looked up in his eye “I am not my brother, I don’t care what it will take. I will ensure my brothers are safe”
Aemond smiled and nodded to her, “Then why the tears?”he questioned.
“My half brother, Jon, is at Castle Black,” she told him “if Bran had arrived there, Jon would have stopped him, would have kept him safe,” Sansa breathed out softly.
Aemond seemed to finally understand why she was so shaken and pressed his forehead against her.
It was something she had noticed he did, he was a very tactile person.
Sansa breathed in, his scent of leather, burned coals and rain filling her nostrils, and then leaned away, “Let’s focus on Rickon now,” she said, “then we’ll think about all the rest”
Aemond nodded, and then grimaced as he raised a hand to the scarred side of his face.
Sansa frowned at that, pursuing her lips “Are you alright?”
He relaxed his face “I am alright,” he replied “it was only a small migraine,”
Sansa felt the urge to grab his hand in hers, instead she wrapped her hand around his wrist as he kept scratching at the scarred side of his face, tugging it away.
“Have you spoken with the Maester for it?” she demanded.
He gave her an almost tired smile, “I did, many times over. It’s something I must live with”
Gingerly Sansa raised both hands to his eyepatch, gently unclasping it from his head and raising it away from his silver-golden tresses, and he visibly deflated, the latch having left a visible imprint on his face and across his forehead. The scar tissue around his sapphire eye was red and angry.
Sansa made to touch it but he stopped her by grabbing her hand “Don’t,” he commanded softly, and Sansa realized she had taken perhaps too much liberty.
She made to step away from him, but he did not let her, still holding on to her hand.
She wet her lips “There must be something that can be done to lessen the pain, though”
Aemond smiled, tiredly and in relief “I found that only exercise helps me,” he told her, “would you mind terribly if I was to cut short our conversation to…”
He was much more polite than she had given him credit for by judging him just by history.
“I don’t mind, as long as it actually helps you, I should go to my mother, anyway” she told him, then she preferred to him the eyepatch still hanging in her hand.
He looked up at her, his purple eye a stark contrast with the sapphire nestled into the lost one, making him look as terrible as handsome.
“Would you hold onto that for me?” he said “I won’t be walking around impressing pretty ladies without it,”
It was an attempt at teasing and lifting the heavy air around them after their encounter with Roslin.
Sansa let a smile curl at her lips, “Then I better hold onto this very tight, don’t I?” she offered, appreciating his effort.
“Mm,” he commented “I wonder if there are half as pretty ladies as you, around here to impress,”
Sansa rolled her eyes, “Go now, I will see you at supper,” she offered, and Aemond offered her a little nod, clicking his heels together and then bending to press a kiss to the back of her hand.
“My princess,” he offered charmingly, before walking away, his eyepatch still firmly in her grasp.
Sansa watched him go for a moment, before walking instead to her mother’s chambers.
What she found there was her mother in a proper mess, reminding her of when Bran had slipped off the Broken Tower, her hair in disarray, tears-strained cheeks and puffy, red eyes.
Edda was there as well, clearly upset as well and not knowing how to act as her grandmother was falling apart.
Her lady mother hiccuped and it broke a spell on Sansa and she threw herself at her mother, kneeling on the ground in one swift motion and drawing her mother in her arms.
Her lady mother let go of the handkerchief she had been holding on and held onto Sansa as if she was the only thing keeping her whole.
“My babies,” she was crying, “my babies… my sweet babies”
“They will be fine, Mother,” Sansa promised, pressing a fervent kiss on her forehead, pushing her matted hair away and tucking them behind her shoulder, “I will bring them back to you”
“We have no news of Bran and Arya…” her mother sobbed.
Sansa forced herself to swallow her own tears “Arya is smart, and brave besides,” she promised “I am sure she’s on her way to us right now,”
Her lady mother’ eyes filled with hopeless hope, “My babies…”
“Bran is sweet and clever, everyone loved him,” she added, “he’s resourceful,” she promised.
She caressed her mother’ face, “We’ll find them all,” she said “right now we know where Rickon is,” she told her “let’s bring him back to us,”
She pressed a kiss to her cheek “Rickon needs his mother,” she reminded her.
It took time, but in the end her mother fell asleep, exhausted by how worked up she had become.
She had always seemed unshakeable when she had been a girl, always knew what to do, and how to act and now she looked so fragile…now she needed Sansa to be strong.
She needed Sansa to put in play all she had learned to ensure all her surviving children were safe, and Sansa would rather have the Realm fall apart then fail her siblings the same way she had been failed.
When the time came, people would remember Sansa had done what none of her brothers had managed. She had kept House Stark whole and safe, and in power.
“Auntie, why was grandmother so upset?”
Sansa smiled at Edda — you cannot fall, cannot fail, not yet, not now, not ever — and drew her closer, holding her on her lap.
“You know how your father is not the only son of Ned Stark?” Edda nodded, her face scrunched in focus, “we believed our brothers, Rickon and Bran to have perished when the ironborn betrayed us,” she told her.
Edda studied her and Sansa went on, “Now we discovered they were alive at the time and defenseless,” she told her, “one of them took refuge in Skagos”
By her face it was clear that she wasn’t aware of the numerous horror stories circulating on the island. Just like the mother.
“And why was grandmother upset?” Edda questioned “shouldn’t she be happy?”
“She’s happy,” Sansa promised “but how do you think she feels when she learns her babies were alone and she didn’t defend them when she could have?”
“But now we know they are safe,” Edda claimed with the innocence only a little girl could have “and Father will make sure they are safe”
“I know little one,” Sansa caressed her raven head “your grandmother just needs some time to adjust,” she said “can you keep her close and hug her tight?” she asked.
“My nan always holds me tight when I get upset,” Edda said “I can do that,” she claimed, so Sansa helped her climb on her grandmother’s bed and covered both of them as they embraced.
She found Robb in the hall of the hearths, speaking in low tones with Lord Glover.
Jorelle Mormont, who had joined her as soon as she had gotten word of the news they had received, matched her stride as she neared her brother — one hand burrowed in Grey Wind’ fur and the crown sitting snugly over his head — Prince Aemond was speaking in low tones with Robb as well, and the lady Malora at his side was the first one to notice them. Sir Garlan was giving them the back, his shoulders stiff.
“Your Highness,” lady Malora offered with a small curtsy thus signaling her arrival, Sansa gestured with a hand as Prince Aemond twisted and shifted his weight enough to leave her room to join their small circle. Sweat coated his brow, and his cheeks were heated by the extortion of having trained.
“Princess” they greeted her.
Robb turned to her, “How is mother?”
“Upset,” Sansa said “she’s sleeping now,” she added “just thinking of Rickon alone there…”
“Aye,” Robb said “about that, you will not push your concerns on my wife,” he stated “especially not now that she is once again with child”
Sansa had known nothing about that, “I was not aware the Queen was expecting, and I did not push my concerns on her”
“She has been crying for hours, afraid for Edda and our children,” he said “all because of all your talks of Rickon,” he accused her.
Sansa’ eyes became slits, “I am remorseful if the Queen has been so upset,” she said “but I raised reasonable concerns, we should move to retrieve Rickon immediately,”
Lord Glover considered her at length “I understand you women are soft-hearted, Princess,” he said “but we cannot leave the battlefield now that things finally are turning out in our favor,”
Robb nodded, “we could send some men but we cannot spare many and in the North snow and ice reign supreme, making the journey would be risky, not to mention the Iron fleet is still patrolling the northern seas,”
“Maybe,” Lord Glover said, “Prince Rickon would be safer there, we could write to lord Magnar,” he offered “he has had many fruitful dealings with House Stark in the past and he could find the Prince if he’s not yet his guest,” he reasoned “Prince Rickon could foster with him, that would ensure us the Skaggs help against the Iron Fleet”
Robb mulled over the counsel and Sansa observed him, dreading what would come out of his mouth then.
She knew what he would say. Siblings and children were but pawns to kings at wars. Used to broker alliances.
“Rickon is our brother, he belongs in Winterfell as Lord until Robb returns from war!” she interjected before Robb could speak.
“Rickon is not trained, not like Bran was, he was too young when he had to flee Winterfell,” Robb reasoned.
“Winter is coming,” Sansa reminded him, “and you know what happens to Skagos when winter is in full swing,” she said “Rickon has kings blood, your blood, Stark by blood but a spare by law,” she told them all “what makes you think they would not sacrifice him or eat him to boost the favor of their Gods?”
She looked at all of them “We would never know, they could claim he never made it to the island, or that they never found him in time, and we’d never know,”
“We’ll write to Lord Magnar,” Robb decided “we’ll ask of him to grant Rickon safe conduct North, and promise him that when the war and winter are over Rickon will foster with them, in exchange the Skaggs will offer their ships against the Iron fleet,”
Sansa knew a compromise when she heard one.
“Though,” Robb added “it may be years before Rickon can be sent back to Winterfell is winter storms are already in full swing,” he reminded her.
So, don’t get your hopes up.
She felt Prince Aemond observing her, studying her.
Diplomacy must always be tried at first. So Sansa nodded.
“Thank you, Robb”
“Rickon is my brother,” Robb told her “only because I am king I have not forgotten him” he said, “now, go tend to our mother, she will need you”
It was the first time since reuniting that Sansa and Robb agreed on something.
She could see political cleverness in using Rickon to ensure the Skagosi’ loyalty but winter was coming, and the pack survived in winter. The lone wolf died.
The solution Robb proposed was good — though risky — and Sansa wanted to have faith in her brother, so she nodded and bid farewell, to leave as well.
“Your Highness,” lady Malora called, “May I have a word?”
Sansa nodded “Please,” and the Hightower woman followed her and Jorelle out.
“You will need to step up,” the woman told her, “Skagos is a place even the Gods have forsaken,” she said.
Sansa frowned “The New Gods perhaps,” she corrected her.
Lady Malora shook her head as they walked “ Cruel Gods rule there,” she said “as cruel as winter, as cruel as death”
“And what do you think I can do?” she questioned “I am but a human, what am I to a God?”
“Targaryens answer to neither Gods nor Men,” lady Malora said “Fire and Blood will vanquish any God who dares raise against them”
“I am a Stark,” Sansa reminded her in pride, though the thought of burning the entire isle’ fleet to the ground and waves if they touched her brother had passed through her head, “and my words are Winter is coming ,”
She took her hand in hers, “You are. The Gods listen to you,” she said “at times you just need to scream at them,”
“I’ve grown hoarse screaming to them, Joffrey still cut my Father’s head off,” she told her coldly.
“Yes,” lady Malora said “but you are still alive,” she pointed out.
“So is Joffrey,”
Lady Malora’ smirk widened “For how long still?” she questioned.
As Sansa was mulling over what to reply a maid came barreling from the corridor, “Princess! There’s a drunk man at the gates, he says he knows you,”
Sansa felt her heart in her throat, “Who is it?” Jorelle demanded for her.
“It’s not Lord Lannister is it?”
The maid shook her head “No, Your Highness, it is not the Imp”
“ Jonquil, Jonquil! Fair Jonquil! ” resounded from outside and Sansa felt a cold dread coil in her stomach as she realized who was at the gates asking for entrance.
She fisted the fabric of her blue skirt and — thanking the maid — ran to the entrance.
Lady Malora, with a smile, gestured for the courtyard.
“You ask and they give you, Your Highness. They listen to you, and if they don’t you must scream,” she called after her as Sansa strode away.
She dashed down the steps to the entrance, ignored several servants and knights in training as Lord Eddard Karstark suddenly appeared at her side.
“Your Highness,” he saluted “what is all this chaos?”
“It’s sir Dontos!” she exclaimed, recognizal flashed into the knight’ eyes as he started following her across the huge courtyard and to the frontal gates.
“Jonquil! Jonquil fair!” kept resounding as she searched for the right gates.
She found them when she spotted Grey Wind as tall as a small horse wrapped around Robb, and half his battleguard on the ready.
She shouldered past as sir Dontos drunkenly kept calling for her, “Sir Dontos!” she called back.
Her foolish Florian.
“Jonquil! Jonquil!”
She shouldered past two of Robb’s battleguard, one of which was lady Dacey, who seethed in her direction, her weapon on the ready to defend her king.
Sansa had barely time enough to realize what was happening before the two blades clung against one another. Dacey’ dagger clashed against Jorelle’ as the two sisters stared each other down.
The edge of Dacey’ blade unsheathed in defense of her king — convinced whoever was coming barrelling so close needed to be gutted — almost kissed her cheek.
The two sisters stared at each other for a long moment, as the entire courtyard was still too busy with the drunken screams of sir Dontos.
Then Dacey made a step back, relaxing her posture and sheathing her dagger at her belt, “My apologies, Princess,” she murmured.
Sansa ignored it, too shaken by how close she had come to be wounded by her own brother’s battleguard.
“Jonquil! Jonquil!” Dontos screamed and Robb gave an order with a hand, so two of his guards shoved Dontos, who — already unsteady on his feet — stumbled and fell on the muddy ground.
“Go away, madman!” one of the guards ordered “go drown your useless…”
“ Enough !” Sansa thundered, with a stronger voice she had ever thought to possess, silence befell like after an enchantment in a tale the entire household present in the courtyard and Robb turned to stare at her.
“O’ wise king, is this the reward you have for those who help you?” she demanded, standing tall against the rain that had started to fall all around them.
Drenching them in coldness and icy resolve.
Robb ignored her jab, “Do you know this man, Sansa?”
She ignored his question, ignored the rain, and stepped through the gates, knelt in the mud to help Dontos sit up.
Lady Jorelle, true to her character, didn’t let any mud or rain stop her either, flanking her to help her pull him up to his feet.
“Jonquil, my Jonquil” Dontos murmured drunkenly — thankfully soft enough that only she and Jorelle heard him — as he made to move a hand to cup her cheek.
Sansa grabbed his hand in guise of using it to help him up instead. Once he was, unsteady but kept up by Jorelle, she gave her attention back to her brother.
“Brother,” she said “this is sir Dontos of House Hollard, sir Dontos the Red,” she presented him.
“Joffrey’ fool, Your Grace” sir Garlan butted in, “the princess has too soft a heart to let anyone be mistreated, but we should not—”
“My apologies, sir Garlan, but you ought not to speak of things you do not know,” sir Eddard interjected as he stepped forth as well, and offered Jorelle help by shouldering the whole weight of the man, “Sir Dontos was the one who helped us get princess Sansa outside the capital”
“He saved me several times,” Sansa told them “when no one, ” she said “stepped forth to defend me from Joffrey he would distract him to protect me”
“He coated you in melon juice and hit you for crying out loud, princess!” Sir Garlan pointed out.
“He did,” Sansa confirmed to the utter horror — and fury — of Robb and the other present “because Joffrey had just ordered the Hound to hit me,”
She looked her brother dead in the eye, “what do you think would be worse, sir?, being gently hit with a melon and suffer some humiliation or being beaten by the Hound? What would you have rather if it was your sister on the ground?”
Silence englobed them all, “I didn’t have real friends in Kings Landing, but sir Dontos was always loyal to me. I vouch for him,” she said.
For a long, interminable moment Robb fixed her with a long, suffering glance.
“Very well, he’s welcome in these lands and between these walls,” he conceded at last, “but he will be on probation,”
Sansa didn’t let herself breathe out in relief, she knew this was not what her Father would have done, but her brother was king now, and she could not question him further with a war at their doors.
She watched as sir Eddard helped an almost completely passed out sir Dontos — still mumbling about Jonquil — across the courtyard and up the steps and inside.
Sansa approached Robb and her brother looked down on her and for the first time in weeks — despite the cloak, the crown and the coldness — Sansa recognized her brother, tired and weighted down by the crown on his head, but still her brother.
“I am sorry, Sansa” he murmured, “I am sorry I didn’t come save you,” he lowered his gaze.
This was her brother, her champion.
Sansa would have bitten some hard response, but the genuine remorse in his eyes stopped her.
“You did your best,” she offered and pressed a kiss on her cheek.
“Did he really save you?” Robb asked, as they watched sir Eddard drag Dontos.
“He did,” she confirmed, she held back a shiver for the cold, drenched as she was and of sudden she was wrapped into leather and warmth. The scent of rain and burned coals filled her nose and she twisted around as heavy his coat fell around her shoulders.
Prince Aemond had not been in the courtyard and by how brushed his wet hair were, he had been freshening up, lady Malora nodded to her from across the courtyard as possibly she had been the one to call him, as Aemond guided her with gentle hands to turn around so that he could fasten the clasps of the coat.
Sansa’ hands — barely peeking out from under the rim of the sleeves — came up to hold onto the coat.
“You will catch a cold,” he told her, “let’s head back inside,” he added softly, he was still not wearing the eyepatch and Sansa could see Robb was surprised by the way his face was scarred.
Lord Magnar replied that Rickon was in his care and that come springtime if he wished to return to Winterfell he would grant him safe conduct otherwise he would remain in Skagos as he was already one of their own.
He also said nothing about his fleet joining their forces.
As proof Rickon was there they sent, clipped at the scroll of reply a lock of red hair that sent her lady mother in another fit.
Robb was already dictating their reply — promising rue to them once the war was done — when Sansa, who had been busy trying to calm her lady mother stood up.
“Send me,” she said, interrupting Robb’s voice and her lady mother’ sobs, “I am a princess in the North and the betrothed of the true king of the Iron throne,” she added “they will let him go,”
Her lady mother sobbed louder as Robb protested “it’s out of question! I will not give them two Starks to bargain with!”
“In that case at least Rickon will not be alone!”
The two of them stared down to one another, like wolves readying for a fight of survival and dominance, Sansa was already on the verge of giving him a piece of her mind when the scrape of Aemond’ chair interrupted all noises around them.
He turned to lady Malora “Is what I had you commission for me ready?” he asked.
“It is, Your Grace,” she nodded with a glint in her eyes, Prince Aemond nodded, then he turned to her.
He looked at both of them before offering her, his hand.
“You cannot agree with her!” Robb exclaimed, twisting around to look at him.
“I agree she should go there,” he said “but she’s not going alone ,” he added, his eye fixed on her even though he was speaking with Robb.
The roar rose like thunder falling from above, and Sansa almost flinched.
He started tugging her along and Sansa went willingly, he nodded to Robb “Wait for our news,” he told him.
Sansa let him guide her to his solar, lady Malora and Jorelle hot on their heels, once they were inside he showed her a mannequin over which had been draped something that could only be described as an intricately embroidered and decorated gear.
“I had this made for you,” Prince Aemond told her “it is made to resemble Vhagar’ scales,” he said, to then point to the heart-shaped fabric above the chest and down in a reverse triangle to where the belly button would be, “these are actually scales of Vhagar’ last molt, during the Dance”
The tradition of exchanging courting gifts had long since been forgotten or had been relegated to a superficial exchange of meaningless tokens… like the necklace Joffrey had given her when he had promised to never be cruel to her.
Once each token had held its own meaning, usually clothing would mean there was already an understanding between parties, which was why Aemond might have decided to go for it, since they had skipped several steps to officially being betrothed.
The first one was supposed to express who the other party was for the giver, the second one was supposed to showcase the value given to the receiver and the third one — the main ones — was supposed to express a shared dream.
With a labored breath Sansa realized that the ruby dangling at her neck — albeit not outwardly stated as such — was the first courting gift.
He had even implied so, as he had implied it represented what she was to him, a red flower .
Often clothing was used for the second — for a swift betrothal — or third gift — for a more lengthy one — usually the more refined the fabric the greater value was afforded to the receiver; to her memory she could not recall a more precious fabric than that embroidered with dragon-scales.
Prince Duncan had gifted his Jenny a hairnet with dragon scales shaped as flowers, Sansa remembered having always thought that was quite romantic and it represented how far Prince Duncan would go, for his Jenny. To even reject the crown. To this day it was still regarded as one of wealthiest, most precious royal courtship tokens ever granted.
And Aemond had literally had Vhagar’ molted scales — which he just apparently had laying around — sewn into the fabric of their second courtship gift.
The gear had sharp-triangular shaped shoulders, there was a one shoulder cape furlined of gray, white and red. Vhagar scales gave the whole attire some emerald and golden hue.
The same velvet fabric of the cape was used for the skirts and the same leather as the corset was used for the breeches. Fur lined all finitures giving it a wintery look.
“It’s a most precious gift,” she said, “I quite don’t know what to say,”
He grabbed her wrist and gently tugged her closer to the gear, having her touch the velvet with a hand.
“Thank you for supporting me, back there,” she said. She wasn’t sure how long he would keep being so supportive of her, and she needed to understand if it was just because of who he was or if there was a hidden goal.
“It is high time the world starts to see us. Skagos will be an example, you wanted to tear it down from the inside to keep your brother safe,” he said “and I am telling you, it is time we show them how we treat with dishonesty”
He offered her his hand in between their bodies, a silent request and even though Sansa was terrorized by the idea of getting close to Vhagar she took it.
“Don it on,” he told her, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand, “and meet me in the courtyard, on dragonback it won’t take us more than three days…”
“Princess,” Jorelle interrupted, “what about your protection?”
Sansa looked over at Aemond and then back at Jorelle, “I’d like for you to escort my mother back to Winterfell,” she said “so that when we bring Rickon back home she’s there,” she told her “I’ll be safe,” she said shifting her gaze on her betrothed, “if it wasn’t for the haste I’d come with you,”
Lady Jorelle turned to the Prince and gave him a long evaluating gaze, “Fine,” she spat, “You better hope you bring her back whole,” she told him impolitely.
Sansa was surprised by her fierceness, though she had done her best to make a friend out of the girl even if she didn’t possess Arya’s uncanny ability to make friends with everyone and anyone.
Prince Aemond smirked, “I for sure will, lady Jorelle”
The gear, as all riding gears, was a snug fit, but it didn’t itch in any place and it was extremely warm — a mixture of the dragon scales, the furlined fabric and the velvet — and it hug her form in a very shapely way that made her look like a dark flame in full winter.
It made her feel secure, it made her feel warm.
She knocked on her mother’s door before leaving but she received no reply, so she left Jorelle in charge of her mother’s protection, “Put her welfare above anything else,” Sansa demanded of her.
“I will not fail you, Princess” Jory promised and Sansa knew she could have faith in her for that, “be careful,”
“I will,” she squeezed her hand in farewell and then bid farewell to lady Malora as well.
“Make yourself be heard, Princess,” lady Malora told her before offering her a curtsy.
When she finally left the corridor she met Robb in the entrance hall.
“Are you sure about this?” he asked, his tone was filled with concern “do not let him boss you around with his plans…”
“I am not,” Sansa claimed “you wanted to show them your prowess but you could not because you are still stuck here at war, I will show them what happens when you attempt to break a pack apart,” she embraced him snugly.
He eyed her gear with a raise brow, and Sansa adjusted the crossed fastening underneath her bosom, imprinted with the Stark insignia, her own addition taken from one of his cloaks, “I bring winter with me,” she told him “and it will be relentless if they have harmed him,”
Robb nodded to her and accompanied her to the courtyard, where Grey Wind met halfway through the courtyard.
Many between knights and lords offered her well wishes and bows and nods, chief among them sir Eddard. She had entrusted Jorelle, her mother and sir Dontos to him.
Sansa burrowed her hand in Grey Wind’ fur and pressed her forehead against the direwolf’s, it was a moment of deep reconnection that made her miss Lady all the more.
It was for the split of a moment like Lady was still there with them and then the illusion shattered as a rider came barrelling into the courtyard wearing at the arm the white cloth of peace, and threw a bundle of fabric on the ground.
“Queen Cersei sends her regards,” he claimed to then turn tail and leave.
Sansa stood up and felt Robb wrap an arm protectively around her shoulders as someone neared the bundle of fabric.
Sansa recognized it even before the guard who had reached it could uncover it.
The scream tore at her throat the moment the man shifted the fabric — the fabric of her cloak — away from the head taking them a jump back with an horrified grunt.
She didn’t need to look in her dark, glossy eyes. She didn’t need to recognize the curve of her lips or the chin. She didn’t need to inspect the nose…
… she knew who it was in her bones.
She fell to her knees as her throat grew raw for the screams, Robb accompanying her fall by gently slipping down with her.
Somewhere, the dragon screeched, perhaps in warning.
She didn’t know how long she knelt there, nor did she consciously decided to crawl to the head. But she did.
Tears streaming down her cheeks she did.
The name Stark had been burned into the skin of Shae’ forehead, and Sansa’ pearls — the pearls she had given her as a mean to sustain a better life for herself out there — were wrapped tightly around her neck over bruises that showed how Shae had been killed.
Queen Cersei sends her regards, had been the message.
Look at him!
He can make me look at it, but he can’t make me see it.
With trembling hands and a steadying breath she closed Shae’ eyes, feeling her blood boil with barely contained fury.
She recognized his steps, and the drag of his unsheathed sword by heart.
She grabbed the pearls from the severed neck and with extreme care she removed them from the head, then she wrapped the cloak around her face “I want her buried in a case with our sigil,” she hissed to her brother “she saved my life, she risked and lost hers for me”
Robb nodded almost numbly and then she gingerly put on the pearls, fashioning them in such a way that they would hang between her chin and the ruby pendant. To never let herself forget Shae’ sacrifice.
Slowly she stood up and twisted to look at Aemond.
“I want Cersei Lannister dead,” she told him “but first we will take everything she holds dear from her,”
And, as if evoked by her own words, a cart dragged by two donkeys, and to her utter surprise, riding on it was the very epitome of perfect chance to do exactly that.
As if the Gods had listened.
When you speak, the Gods listen, some times you just have to scream.
Jaime Lannister, jumped down the cart, raising his good hand and a wooden one in the air.
The guards apprehended him inmediately following Robb’s shout, and the second figure, holding a cane, threw the hood off his head, and Tommen screamed “Don’t hurt him!”
But in the meantime the guards were already tried to get Tommen down the cart, uncaring for the reason why he had the cane.
“Unhand him!”
She had read several times the expression fighting like a lion but never until now she had understood its meaning. Jaime Lannister was already apprehended, but to defend Tommen he was yanking and kicking and biting and throwing his hands around.
“Stop!” Sansa commanded, but they did not listen, too elated to have the kinslayer back in their hands.
Not even Robb was listening to her, already marching to the man to punch him in the jaw.
People were laughing at Tommen as she crawled on the ground, unable to stand up on his own.
“ STOP !”
Aemond’ voice was followed by Vhagar inhuman screech that had everyone stop in their tracks.
Vhagar raised her head from where she was resting, her body so immense that she seemed to tower over the keep.
She had never seen death pale the face of a man before, never that quick, as Jaime Lannister saw the shadow of the dragoness.
Even the men who had been laughing at Tommen stopped, and sir Eddard who had been among those who were holding Jaime Lannister found her gaze to him and lowered his eyes.
Jaime Lannister — unlike Tommen who continued to stare at Vhagar as she shook her head — lowered his gaze and found her and Prince Aemond.
Right on cue, Aemond offered her his arm, and Sansa accepted it graciously letting him escort her to them.
Jaime Lannister’ eye followed her as they walked arm in arm, his eyes fleeted over the way it was undoubtful their attire had been fashioned to make them look like an unit.
“Help Prince Tommen to his feet,” Sansa demanded, “ gently , one of his legs doesn’t work anymore,”
Robb’ face of surprise and utter horror when he realized he had let his men mistreat someone like Bran was enough for him to re-emerge from the haze of fury that had overtaken him.
Tommen was graceful even as the same people who had laughed at him helped him to his feet.
“Sansa,” he said in lieu of greeting.
“Hello Tommen,” she replied “how do you feel? Do you need to see a Maester?”
“No thank you,” Tommen told her, touching his bad leg with a grimace “I only need some rest from this cold,”
“I am glad,” she then turned to Sir Jaime.
“Sir Jaime,” she greeted “I didn’t imagine I’d see either of you so beyond Lannister borders soon,”
The one handed knight lowered his gaze, before raising it again, “Neither did I, to be honest, but they had become a threat to Tommen, we had to leave”
Sansa studied his eyes in search of untruth, and found none.
“I don’t believe you left Cersei and your bastard, kinslayer,” Robb stated “what are you doing here?”
Jaime ignored him, in favor of studying her, “I know I shall pay for my crimes, but Tommen is innocent,” he said “he’s done nothing,”
“So were we,” Sansa pointed out, at the same time as Robb spat “So was Bran,”
“He would never leave his whore of a sister!” someone called from the back and many echoed his sentiment, “I say we take his head and be done with it!”
“Aye!”
“Aye!”
“Justice for the Karstarks!”
“No!” Tommen to her utter disbelief threw himself to the ground, kneeling despite his bad leg, “I beg of you, Your Grace, I beg mercy for my father ,”
Do you have business for this court, Sansa?
If it pleases His Grace, I beg mercy for my Father, Lord Eddard of House Stark who was Hand of the King.
A silence more suited for the crypts befell the courtyard at that, “Tommen!” Jaime Lannister exclaimed, elbowing one of the men holding him to kneel by his self-proclaimed son and try to help him up.
“The truth!” the Maester of Harrenhal who had been amongst the bystanders exclaimed “from the mouth of babes,”
It was like a slap in her face, her lord father had lied, he had swallowed his honor and his honesty to save her life.
To which length would Jaime Lannister go? Killing a boy, the answer came unbidden thinking about Robb’ comment about Bran.
She turned to Aemond at her side, her hand squeezing his arm, “He’s a Lannister of Casterly Rock, he falls under your authority,” she says.
“We are in your brother’ keep,” Aemond pointed out, “and they want him dead,”
Sansa gripped him tightly “You claim it’s time the Realm sees us,” she said “you claim you are king, the be the king ,” she muttered to him as Robb kept insulting the kingslayer and speaking with his lords who clamored for his death.
Aemond studied her “Why?” he demanded “why do you want him alive?”
“He’s worth us nothing dead,” Sansa told him “alive, instead, he could prove essential ,”
Aemond smiled, “You want to use him against the sister,” he realize.
“I will take all that she holds dear from Cersei, starting with them,” she said, “killing them would only fuel her, but if they’ve come here willingly…”
Aemond nodded and just as sir Jaime was trying to get Tommen to stop pleading for his life, Aemond stepped forth.
“He’s a Lannister of Casterly Rock,” he stated and like a charm everyone stopped talking, “I am his rightful king,” he said “whatever punishment must be inflicted on him, must be so under my authority,”
He then turned to sir Jaime with a scoff on his lips, “Unless you’d rather be subject to the norther justice without appeal,” he said.
“You don’t know what he has done!” GreatJon exclaimed — he had fallen out of favor when it had been discovered he had been unaware of his son sending Rickon to Skagos without his say-so, either because he was incompetent lord or because he knew and wanted to use it to his advantage — “you have no right..!”
Aemond didn’t seem at all intimidated by GreatJon and twisted around to face him with a bored expression on his lips, “You’ll find, my Lord Umber, that I do have the right to this man,” he said “I am sure the list of his crimes is long,” he added “but it would be useless to kill him now, when there is much we can still learn from him”
“He’s a slippery one,” sir Eddard said “if you give him enough rope he will hang those around him and latch himself free,” he spat.
“Not this time, this time we are going to keep him on a very short leash,” Sansa said with certainty, turning toward the boy, “right, Tommen ?” she then let go of Aemond hand to walk closer to Tommen, “here, let me help you inside,” she stated.
With the cane he did not really need it, but it would drive the point home to sir Jaime.
This time, she thought darkly, we have something invaluable to him in our hands. This time he will comply.
“What do you want from me?” Jaime Lannister demanded.
It was amazing to see how much he resembled Cersei and how much he lacked some of her finer aspects.
Cersei was a ruthless queen, Jaime was just a soldier.
Sansa was walking around the table in Aemond’ solar — Robb was steaming off to the side, he had insisted on being present to ensure the northern interests were being protected— lady Malora was sitting quietly next to Aemond and lady Jorelle had taken guard by the door.
“I should demand you give me your sister’s head,” Sansa said, perhaps surprising her brother who inhaled sharply “just as she sent me Shae’. Would you have the gut to do it, for your son?” she wondered out loud.
Sir Jaime remained silent, reminding her of a petulant child.
“Tyrion claimed you were not a killer, not yet,” he said “I’m sorry to see him disappointed”
Sansa didn’t let the comment faze her, “I’ve been a killer since I tried to push Joffrey off the parapets,” she said “but that is another matter for another day,”
She circled back to Aemond, standing at his back slightly to his left, “The principal matter is that I am not your sister,” she said “and I do not wish for her head without proper trial, though, it would be poetic. To save your cripple son, a sweet boy who has done no wrong, you’d kill your sister, just as you tried to kill my brother?” she asked softly as she occupied the chair left empty at Aemond’ left.
Sir Jaime considered her for a long moment, “What do you want from me?”
Sansa smiled “Justice,” she said simply, “it’s what my lord father would have wanted,”
“You can have my head,” Sir Jaime said, turning to look at Aemond and then Robb “I don’t care, but grant Tommen safe conduct to safe lands,” he told them “and promise me to save Myrcella too,”
“Death,” Sansa told him “would be mercy for you, would mean escaping your crimes. No,” she said “I want justice ,”
Sir Jaime frowned “And how can I give you justice if not by dying and not by giving you Cersei’ head?” he demanded.
“By telling the world the truth,” Sansa stated simply “claim Tommen, Myrcella and Joffrey for your own,” she said, she leaned back against the chair.
Sir Jaime scoffed, “You are asking me to kill them, indirectly”
Aemond leaned over the table with his elbows, clasping his hands and arched a brow.
“Tommen and Myrcella,” he said “that’s their names, isn’t it?” Sansa nodded to him, “if they are your bastards they have no right to the Iron throne, and as you and your sister are not in the immediate line for Casterly Rock they have no right, not even a naturalised a bastard’ right to the west either,” he said “still, they will be awarded a royal pardon and eventually, as the Lord of Casterly Rock sees fit lands to administer in his stead, if they bend the knee”
Tyrion loved those children, Sansa knew, they would not go hungry. Never.
He might even make Tommen is heir once their marriage was dissolved if he had no intentions of marryin and have children his own. That was if he proved useful to them, and did not fight against them.
Which, he hated Cersei and Joffrey both, so with the right lever they could have both Lannister brothers in their corner and the Lannister troops torn and in chaos.
“And then?” Robb demanded, “the northern lords clamor for his blood!”
Sansa considered this, “Sir Jaime has done much damage,” she admitted “and his crimes are well known, from killing Mad Aerys, to attack my Father in the streets, pushing Bran off the Broken Tower—”
“List pushing Brandon off the tower in the list of my crimes if you so wish, Princess,” he spat, “but I will not ask forgiveness for the rest,” he said “we were at war, I was protecting my family,”
Robb scoffed, “we were not at war yet!”
“Maybe you don’t well remember, boy . But your lady mother had abducted Tyrion on false charges,” he stated.
Robb slammed both hands on the table and stood up to tower over a completely unbothered Jaime Lannister, “No one proved they were false!”
“I think the Gods did, when Tyrion demanded a trial by combact and his champion won,” Jaime Lannister replied with a shrug.
“Brother,” Sansa interjected as Robb steamed off the seams, and turned to look at her, “please, sit ”
“Let’s say that if Joffrey is guilty of having cut off my Father’s head on false charges so is our mother of having abducted Tyrion,” she said, glaring her brother when he made to protest, “still, you murdered the king you swore to die to save,”
“Why must my oath to a mad king be worth more than my oath to protect the innocent and honor my House?” he asked, and it was the first time Sansa saw something akin to true emotion flicker across his face.
There was something here , something important that no one knew. She needed to know that if she was wield all information properly.
“And how did the Mad king threaten your House, sir? You were loyal to him until the very end,”
Jaime’ eyes flashed emerald, reminding her of Cersei “He might not have threatened me with my father’s burning, but he demanded I brought him his head as well,” he said “if the wildfire destroying the capital to the ground didn’t do the trick”
He leaned across the table “How is it that your lord father was never considered dishonorable for having raised against Aerys because the mad king killed his father and brother and Robert got the crown after he raised at arms just because Aerys had demanded his head; but I am a dishonorable man to have stopped a madman from killing every person inside of the capital and have protected my lord father?”
He looked them all in the face, “They were sworn to the king as loyal bannermen as well,”
Sansa’ head in the meantime was spinning, “The wildfire Tyrion used…” she realized with nauseating certainty.
She raised her gaze to sir Jaime, “how did he acquire so much, so fast?” she demanded.
“The capital is littered with it,” sir Jaime replied, “Aerys’ last command was for me to bring him my Lord Father’ head and for Rossart to light the city on fire, he was convinced he would be reborn as a dragon,”
“So I took my blade to his back and killed him and Rossart both,” he said, “call me a kingslayer if you must, but I will not ask forgiveness for it”
“You killed the Karstark boys!”
“And your sister framed my Lord Father to orchestrate her escape,” Jaime Lannister said, gesturing her way, “I am not here demanding her head on a spike. It’s war, we do what we must for our family and ourselves”
He leaned back, “The victor will have the prize,” he added.
Jaime Lannister could be an horrible person, Sansa conceded, but he was straightforward at the very least.
“I’ll be fortright with you,” she said “I have no wish to harm either Tommen nor Myrcella, they are innocent of what you and Cersei have done” she added, “but you have to give us something or the lords out there will have no qualms proving to you why most people don’t care when they can hurt those who have hurt you”
Jaime worked at his jaw, “What ensures me that you will keep your word?”
Sansa stood up and Aemond followed suit, she offered with an elegant shrug, “Nothing, I suppose,”
“And what would I say the Karstark?” Robb demanded, “they crave justice!”
Sansa sighed, “Tell them the North remembers,” she said “Jaime Lannister will face justice for his crimes,” she stated “but it will happen after his utility has expired”
“How can you say something like that, when he made of Bran a cripple!?” Robb demanded.
“Look at him,” Sansa demanded, “he left the woman he has loved for twenty years to keep Tommen safe. He loves that boy, and that boy is a cripple now too. The Gods have already dispensed justice, both when they took his hand and when they took Tommen’ leg”
“And we’ll just grant him an infinite amount of time?” Robb demanded “that’s just stupid,”
Then it was Aemond to speak, “He has until our return from the North,” he said “then he will have to give us an answer and we’ll act of consequence” he twisted around to look at him.
“My betrothed may have a soft heart and be reluctant to kill your bastards,” he told him darkly “you ought to know I don’t share her concerns”
Sansa said nothing, she had seen how broken he had been speaking about how killing Lucerys had caused his son’ punishment from the Gods.
But she also knew that Jaime needed to know that there would consequences with his inactions.
And Aemond had the authority to be believed since he had waged war against bastards who claimed a crown, and had killed one. Even if that made of him a kinslayer.
And she could see in Jaime’ eyes he knew his history and knew his threat was not an empty one.
Robb nodded though he looked disgruntled as he had looked when something was denied to him when they were children.
“Safe journey to you, sister,” he said, kissing her forehead and then offered Prince Aemond his arm to shake.
“I entrust to you some of the greatest treasures of the North, brother ” he addressed him.
Aemond nodded proposefully, “And I trust you will keep my hostages in good shape,” he said.
He then took Sansa’ hand and guided her outside the solar and outside even as sunset was leaving room to night.
“Should we depart during nightfall?” Sansa questioned and he nodded.
“The first time I flew on Vhagar it was nighttime,” he said “it’s lovely,” he added “and we have haste, it’s like killing two birds with one stone,”
Sansa let him help her on horseback and then he occupied the saddle behind her, as they would ride together toward the dragoness.
During the small travel he had her repeat some words in high Valyrian, teaching her what they mean. Commands in case she needed, they should buy her enough time to get to safety if something happened to her.
Dragons, he had told her, share a very profound bond with their rider. She will not harm you.
Then he had told her something in high Valyrian which didn’t sound like a command but when she asked the translation he just smiled mysteriously and urged the horse forward.
Vhagar was resting peacefully or as peacefully as a dragon could look, but the moment Aemond helped her dismount and then slapped the horse on the rear paw to have him gallop back to the keep she emitted dark smoke from her nostrils.
Sansa studied her, her shoulders stiff.
“It’s alright,” he murmured against her right ear, to then swiftly pass on her other side and whisper against her other ear, “ Pāsagon nyke ,”
“ That sounded like an order,” she said, her tone even and teasing.
His gaze was dark when he walked around her and extended to her his hand, “Come, mele rūklon ,”
As Sansa made to grab his hand, he twisted it and made some twirling movement with his wrist and fingers and Sansa found her hand gloved.
“You might need these,” he told her “they are fashioned for dragon riding. Their body runs hotter than any other creature”
He then offered her the other glove and guided her by the small of her back to Vhagar who was now staring at them.
Several ropes and now belts were attached to the saddle and Aemond helped her climb atop, though she almost screamed and shut her eyes when the dragoness moved to her surprise to offer better grip for her to settle in the enormous saddle.
She didn’t have enough time to even understand where to grip to stay steady than Aemond’ warm, firm body was behind hers.
She twisted around to speak to him, but he was focused in wrapping belt with snap-claps around her tights and his.
Then, gently he wrapped a strengthened fabric cloth around her waist and his so that even if she was to fall asleep during the travel she would be safe.
Sansa realized only then that her hair would get in his face with her wind, so she grabbed them and tucked them on her and away from her neck to then swiftly braid them with deft fingers, when she reached the end of her hair she upturned it and tucked it between one of the previous weaves securing it even without the lace, as she had not thought about it.
Then he grabbed the reins beside her and told her “Grab here,” guiding her hands with his free one atop the bulk of the saddle, “put your weight more on your feet,” he added pushing her feet in position on leverage points of the saddle “or you’ll get sore,”
Sansa nodded “Anything else?” she asked through gritted teeth as the dragoness shifted her weight and made her breath itch.
“Just enjoy the ride,” he told her and Sansa was sure she had not imagined how suggestive his tone had grown.
Then, to her surprise — and subsequent squeal — he leaned his body more against her and had her lean forward as he commanded “ Vhagar, sovās ,” and the dragoness shifted her weight again to then ran for several paces to then rise in the sky.
Each steps made the earth thunder under them, as for however secured, they were thrown left and right. Their seating arrangement steadied when she took flight though the wind against her made her hold her breath as she closed her eyes in fear.
The flight had already become almost a lulling movement by the time his lips teased against the shell of her ear “ Breathe ,” it had a velvety quality that caressed her like a hand and his firm grasp with one hand of her waist as the other held the reins.
To her surprise he then started to recite poetry in her ear, and even though Sansa didn’t understand their meaning — as they were in ancient Valyrian — it relaxed her enough that she gently sagged as she felt her muscle tender for the rigidity she had had until then.
And it was with wonder in her lungs that she finally saw what he had been speaking about, by flying above the clouds full of rain, albeit the cold — from which the dragon’ warmth and the clothes he had gifted her defended her — it was like walking in a dream.
As if Sansa could reach out with a hand and touch the stars.
He pointed at one, the most luminous they could see from there, “That is the Dēmalion ,” he told her, “the high throne of the ancient Valyrian gods” he said “the most luminous star in the sky”
Sansa breathed out in wonder, “The sky is so full of stars… how do we ever call the night dark?”
Aemond chuckled behind her at her wonder, “I know, mele rūklon , maybe we’ll find one or two yet unnamed one day,”
Sansa listened to him raptly as he named constellations she wasn’t even aware existed, all the while nursing close to her heart — not yet ready to share — the meaning some had given the red comet in the sky, only a few years past.
Glory to your betrothed, he is the dragon’s heir.
Rue, rue to have a wolf go hungry, for then not even lions are safe. — saying recorded in the book History of the third century
Chapter 11: Tyrion
Summary:
Tyrion' side.
You should know I am not that big fan of Tyrion and this is more bookTyrion than the showTyrion.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
TYRION
The news of Tywin’ death took the camp by storm, the generals of the Lannister army called an emergency council and Tyrion didn’t know if he should either flee since it was his wife who was accused of the murder or if he should face them.
Sansa, sweet, soft-spoken Sansa.
Tell me the truth, do you wish to break this betrothal?
I am loyal to my beloved Joffrey, my one, true love.
Lady Stark, you may survive us yet.
He couldn’t believe Sansa would have had the guts to provoke Joffrey just enough that he would kill Tywin. People said she had spelled the king and that had caused him to put his grandfather on test and that then Sansa had used her magick to influence the Gods’ verdict, by having Tywin killed by poisoned wine.
That wasn’t even the worst problem.
Apparently, the voices about a Targaryen prince returned from the dead burdened by the purpose of taking back the Iron throne, about which he had been so provocatively humorous about not even a couple of years past had turned out to be truth.
Only it wasn’t Rhaegar Targaryen who the Starks apparently fished out the waters of the Riverlands. No, it was someone much worse. If anyone told him he would live to see dragons back to the lands of the living he would have laughed and hoped, but then the dragon had been sighted for real flying over their camp on its way to the Reach.
He had known — always careful to keep an ear open for the threats incoming against the Lannister rule on the Iron throne — about the Targaryen princess in the east who had somehow survived walking into her dothraki warlord’ funeral pyre and had returned from that stunt with three newborn dragons nursing at her breast.
Daenerys Targaryen had been occupied with the conquest of Slaver’s Bay in the last few years. She had reduced to their knees the Masters of Astapor by using the same troops she had just purchased to put to the sword and fire the whole city. She had then taken — peacefully they said, — Yunkai and then had also conquered Meereen.
They said she commanded an army of dothraki, Unsullied and mercenaries.
They said she had three dragons, but since the merchant ships had put on blockade Tyrion had learned nothing more of her, save that she had fled the city on dragonback and was yet to be found.
Maybe the dragon ate her , some of the rumors went, apparently she didn’t have complete control of the dragons —to the point that two had apparently disappeared and that the third, the one she rode away from Meereen was told to be uncontrollable — and when Tyrion had heard the commotion caused by the sighting and had looked up, his entire world swallowed of any light by the shadow of the immense dragon, he had thought it had been Daenerys Targaryen come to the Seven kingdoms after the east had snubbed her so.
The thing about Tyrion was that as a boy only the library had been his refuge, his safe place.
And he knew bits of obscure knowledge long since forgotten by most.
So when he had seen the scar on the belly of the dragon flying, immense, big enough that it could swallow a horse and his rider both without any issue, he had unbelievably had to concede that the rumors that wanted a prince of old returned from the dead were true.
Because that was Vhagar, who had fallen in the Gods Eye with her last rider, prince Aemond the Kinslayer, for however impossible that sounded. And the Starks had been the one to find them, they had been the one to claim him to their side.
If Tyrion was in Robb Stark he’d use the dragonrider to win this war and then leave the South to its own politics to return home with Joffrey’ head.
In the end though, the Lannisters could never have the man in their corner, like all Targaryens he’d demand the Iron throne and he’d have the means to take it, and Cersei would never let anyone have the Iron throne, not with her children still alive.
Still the dragon beside being seen had yet to be deployed in battle and as it was even though the war could be broken off the standoff it had been for the last years, no one had yet moved, and the dragon was there, pending like Damocles’ sword over their heads.
Tyrion in the end had gone to the emergency council and had wished he never had. Apparently not only had Sansa escaped the capital after having used magick on both him and the king — as tale wanted it — but apparently she had also somehow reached Harrenhal crossing the Lannister borders without being noticed.
In the end Tyrion had managed to take up the mantle of Lord Lannister after his father’s death, when the emergency council was called Tyrion had confronted his father’s generals by claiming Tywin’ chair which had remained empty since he had rode to the capital.
It was symbolic and not even the dumber of his kin and generals had been quite dumb enough not to understand the meaning of such an act. They had all stood stiffly around the table and Tyrion had felt like the standoff had been not between Lannisters and Starks but in between their midst.
Then, his uncle Kevan had straightened his shoulders and took his usual place addressing him as Lord Lannister. Tyrion had always liked Kevan, he was loyal if anything else and reminded him of an older version of Jaime. He too, like his lord father, could command respect though he had always remained in his brother’s shadow and now he was set to remain in his nephew.
The others had followed suit, but Tyrion didn’t doubt that now more than ever he had to prove he was Tywin Lannister’ son. They didn’t care he had been the one to lead the defense of Kings Landing against Stannis, they didn’t care that he had been the one who had forced the enemy to flee long before Tywin actually made his dashing rescue.
And if Tyrion wanted to escape his father’s shadow, he had to ensure enough light bathed him so that the shadow he cast would swallow his father’s.
“The Targaryen in the east,” he had proposed, “what do we know of her dragons?”
If the Starks had a dragonrider they needed to acquire another, and with the right leverage Daenerys Targaryen could prove to be an ally. Joffrey wasn’t an idiot and it wouldn’t be the first time a king took more than one wife, and if the Faith was really so much against it there would be no problem in disposing of Margaery so that Joffrey could offer his hand to the exiled princess.
“Nothing much,” had been Kevan’ reply “the two that had disappeared have yet to reappear though apparently Daenerys Targaryen has rode the biggest of the three in battle to free Meereen commanding an army of dothraki,” he had reported, “apparently she has had executed her husband, though his crimes are not yet known,”
So she was even a widower.
If she was as clever as people said she was, Tyrion could offer her the hand of the king of the Iron throne. The problem was if the Targaryen prince decided to move east and join their hands in marriage. At that point with four dragons at their disposal, dothrakis, Unsullied and mercenary they would be a force to be reckoned with.
They needed to move faster and hope that the loathing the green prince carried for Rhaenyra disabled him from reaching out to her last standing Targaryen descendant thus letting them have space to maneuver.
Which was why he had every intention of sending Kevan to Meereen, where he would parlay with Daenerys Targaryen and secretly offer her the hand of the king. He loathed Joffrey, and Cersei, but if he managed to get in power his sister would be forced to obey his orders — which was much sweeter revenge — whilst Joffrey would be forever in debt with him.
Later he learned that not only had Sansa escaped but that her accomplices had been identified as well, he had felt like an iron fist had closed around his chest and wouldn’t let go.
One was, apparently, the court’s fool, sir Dontos Hollard, who she had spelled as well — which made Tyrion scoff loudly, the only magick at work there had been Sansa standing up to Joffrey and saving the drunken sod — and her chambermaid.
His Shae.
She had spoken well during his trial, and had supported Sansa in his defense and Tyrion had felt like a small piece of Tysha was back with him.
Apparently, in her case, Shae had been the one to aid Sansa in the spells and she had received her reward in silver and jewelry to then promptly disappear in nothingness when Sansa had escaped the capital.
Tyrion hoped Shae had followed Sansa to Harrenhal. Sansa knew nothing of their affair and Shae truly loved Sansa. She had said so, many times over. She had grown protective over Sansa during her time as her chambermaid.
Her fierceness in defending Sansa — one maid had found herself at blade point when Sansa had, had her first cycle because Shae had been attempting to help Sansa stave off a possible marriage as long as possible — would ensure she had the protection of House Stark and that would ensure Tyrion could trust her safety in his little wife’s hands.
And whilst he had been trying to decide where to attack and when, how to buy time until Kevan could depart for Meereen and return with, hopefully a new ally for them all, all hell had broken loose.
He had been just crafting a truce treaty that would last for the coming winter and until spring again, when they had received word.
Apparently his little wife had not quite squashed her dreams of queendom because her brother betrothed her to the dragon prince — the Lannister had to listen as word went from mouth to mouth of how the Starks were celebrating the betrothal which had gained them a dragon in their corner and a Stark next to the Iron throne and half a Stark king sitting there next.
And if that was not enough — and Tyrion really had to look out for his life now — Jaime had also fled the capital bringing with himself the current heir to the Iron throne, little Tommen.
Tyrion didn’t know if he ought to be proud his brother had finally broken free of Cersei, or if he should cuff him behind the neck because he had done something so stupid like abducting the heir to the Iron throne and taking a son away from Cersei, possibly endangering the whole line.
Probably both.
But that wasn’t even the worst of it.
No, with the threat of the dragon now realer than ever with an alliance brokered by Robb Stark and Aemond Targaryen there was unrest in the troops. It was rumored that now that the prince would take to wife Sansa Stark, he would lend his dragon to the battlefield and no one remembered the burn of dragonfire better than the Lannister troops that had been destroyed by it once already, during the Conquest.
There had been a massive desertion of the lines and to nothing it helped that the deserters that were caught were executed in the worst of ways, people still deserted.
And Tyrion didn’t have speeches that could give them strength against such a monster, not if he didn’t have another monster to fight it with.
Still, he sent the truce draft, hoping even the Starks would accept stopping all belligerence in wintertime, though why would they? The northern troops were used to the cold and to fight in winter-time, and they had a dragon which ensured they had the Lannister at a disadvantage and Tyrion didn’t know how to flip the tables without Daenerys Targaryen willingly joining against the old enemy of her line.
And it had taken a turn for the worst when one of his men had attempted to take his life, — without Timett and his uncle Kevan, Tyrion would soon leave the title of lord Lannister to the nearest of kin chosen by the king — trying to strangle him. By what the man had said he intended to desert and bring to the dragon prince the head of his betrothed’ husband, since as long as Tyrion lived they could not marry.
He had let Timett do what he wanted of the man; let him geld him and feed the balls to his goat, had his tongue cut off and his eyes pecked out by the ravens as the man hung — dying — at a post.
Kevan had then suggested he was the one to go speak to Daenerys Targaryen, that he could be much more convincing than he was, but if Tyrion left the troops now, they would grow accustomed to call Kevan, lord Lannister, instead if he was the mind behind the alliance and the man who kept them firmly together during these hardships he would forever be remembered as even greater than the kingsmaker.
And it had been then, after Tyrion had refused Kevan’ suggestions, that he had found someone he had not believed to find in his chamber.
Someone who made a smile curl on his lips, “Bronn!” he greeted, gesturing wildly with both hands. The sellsword was sitting in Tyrion’s chair, with both feet on the table and he was nursing what looked like a big cup of wine.
Tyrion approached and then reached for the jug, to prepare a cup for himself as well. It was then, that — quick like a snake — Bronn leaned over his propped up legs, and embedded his dagger into Tyrion’s sleeve fabric, pinning him to the table.
Tyrion stiffened, but forced himself to remain calm and collected as he turned around and fixed a glare on the man, “That is not very polite, not even for an assassin,” he said “especially after you’ve helped yourself to my wine,”
Bronn shrugged, “‘m afraid me folks didn’t teach me manners,” he said, “on the other hand they did teach me how to get a work done,”
Tyrion considered him for a long moment, working at his jaw, it was growing uncomfortably difficult to keep ignoring the coldness of the blade biting at his flesh, “You may not know manners, but you know a good deal when you see one, which is why you haven’t killed me yet,” he guessed, “whatever my sweet sister is paying you, I will double it, wasn’t that our accord?”
Bronn mulled over his words and then massaged his jaw with a disinterested shrug, “Difficult to double my price now,” he said.
Tyrion smirked, “Try me,” he challenged.
Bronn smiled, “He said you would said that,” he commented, “terribly sorry, m’lord, but I will kill you,”
Tyrion lowered his gaze, “Oh?” he commented, “and what excuse has Cersei used now, to justify my death after the trial failed?”
“You can thank your handsome brother for that I’m afraid, the moment he took the little prince and fled the capital…” he let the words hang in the air, “both Joffrey and your sister got even more paranoid,” he stated.
He uncrossed his legs and propped them down the table, “Your little wife did a number on them too,” he commented, “I guess we all underestimated her,”
“I never took you for the superstitious kind, don’t tell me you believe the stories of sorcery,” Tyrion replied, “I thought that you were smarter than that,”
“Oh, putting a spell on the king?, the girl did that alright, should’ve seen her, your little wife, all prim and proper standing next the Iron throne with that little bow choking her neck and that lion pendant between her breasts,” he commented, “you should’ve taken when you had your chance,”
Tyrion narrowed his eyes, “I had asked you to keep an eye on her,” he accused.
“And I did , but she’s far smarter than any of us gave her credit for,” he shrugged, “Joffrey killed your father,” he said, “because he was blinded by her, or because she manipulated him, I wouldn’t be surprised by either, you should’ve seen the way he watched her—” he took another sip of his wine.
“Smart enough to know it was time to flee the capital,” Tyrion commented harshly.
One heart, one body, one soul.
Those had been their wedding vows, but clearly vows didn’t mean that much to her after all.
“Pouting doesn’t suit you,” Bronn commented, “she saw her chance and she took it, much smarter than she let on,”
“I am happy to see you admire my little wife but—”
“Oh,” Bronn commented “did I say your little wife? My mistake, you know I am not as educated as you high folks. I meant the dragonprince’s little wife,”
Ah, so that was why Bronn had not killed him yet, he must have known that whatever Cersei promised wasn’t worth it unless she won, and chances were lowering every moment more the dragonprince spent with Sansa.
Tyrion had little doubts Sansa — who would make anyone, even Joffrey a good queen and a better wife — would ensnare the dragonprince in her web rapidly, and once he fell for her, there would be no length at which he wouldn’t go for her, when he had started a war precisely for the same reason as Robb Stark. Bastards on the Iron throne — bastards who executed at whim.
He meant to use him as a commodity of exchange to maybe broker an even better deal with the dragonprince.
“And what if I were to tell you I am in the process of acquiring the alliance of Daenerys Targaryen and her dragons to our cause?”
This evened the stakes quite a bit.
Bronn considered him, “I’d call ye a liar,” he said “a good one, but a liar still,” and yet, he leaned and tugged the dagger free of the wood and twirled it in his hands.
Tyrion inhaled a lungful of air, he had his attention now, “How do you think the king would reward the man who gained to his cause three dragons against one?”
Bronn said nothing.
Tyrion took the jar, filled a cup for himself and took a long sip of it, then he dragged the back of his hand on his mouth to dry and gestured for Bronn’s cup.
“It’s still a lie,”
“For now,” Tyrion shrugged, “but it is becoming the truth. I’ll tell you what,” he offered, “you stick around, let me play the Targaryen girl like a fiddle,” he took a sip, “if I fail you’ll still get to kill me, but if I am successful, your reward will be beyond even your imagination,”
Bronn considered him, so Tyrion added, “It’s a good deal,”
Bronn offered a small nod in reply and then sheathed again his dagger, “I say we have a deal, m’lord,” he said, to the gesture to him and then his neck, “what happened to you?”
Tyrion smirked, “Let’s say you better keep your investment safe,” he said, “dragons scare the shit out of people,” he added “someone thought it would be a fitting wedding gift to bring Sansa my head,”
“Can’t blame them though,” Bronn offered unhelpfully.
No, supposed Tyrion, they really couldn’t.
“Oh,” Bronn said, “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but…”
Tyrion studied him and noticed that for once the man looked as remorseful as he ever had, “What it is?”
In all reply Bronn leaned, grabbed the jug and emptied it in one swing, then he gestured with it “We’ll need much more of this, for this,” he stated, and then, without preamble he informed him, “Shae has been killed,”
Tyrion blinked for several moments, unable to compute, then he leaned to the side, to the jug and vomited in it.
He heaved long pants, before looking at Bronn again, “Who killed her?”
“She was wearing your little wife’s cloak and pearls, some bounty hunters mistook her for the Stark girl,” he said, “they brought her head right back to Cersei, she threw a fit, mere days after burning the Tower of the Hand in wildfire,” he told him.
Shae had been paid in fabric and pearls for Sansa’s safety.
Tysha had been paid in silver.
Cersei ought to never have sent such incompetent assassins, Sansa ought to never have put Shae in peril.
Both women had destroyed the only good thing Tyrion had managed to get in his life after Tysha. Both women had outdone Tywin in managing to destroy him.
And Tyrion was furious.
Furious enough that his next order was for the men to dismantle the camp and march back to the Westerlands. As reason, when Kevan demanded, Tyrion explained Joffrey had sent assassins after him and that thus the king could fight his battles alone.
The men, too afraid of the dragon, didn’t put up any fuss over it, and worked much faster than Tyrion ever remembered them doing.
He would fall back to Casterly Rock and close himself in his own keep and he would mull over what to do now.
If necessary he would voyage to Meereen himself, but he would win the ear of Daenerys Targaryen. Three dragons would win against one.
The woman was ambitious and easily deployed her dragons, apparently. Prince Daemon had won with Caraxes against Vhagar and prince Aemond, three young dragons with a bloodthirsty queen on their back and the right counsel in her ear would destroy both parties and Tyrion would enjoy the ripe of it.
Let Joffrey and Cersei burn.
Sansa. Sweet Sansa, treacherous Sansa. For her his revenge would be even sweeter, he had been kind to her. He had helped when he had been able and he had not touched her, he had kept himself and his lustful desires at bay.
Not anymore.
His father had married him to the girl so that House Lannister could have the North as well. Tyrion would one-up him. He would put a new queen on the throne — one who’d listen to him — then he would rule both the west and the North.
He’d become truly the most powerful man of the Seven Kingdoms.
Notes:
So, with this we end the ARC 1 of this story. Now the pace should slow a bit and the chapters grow a bit less packed, though that's just how they are turning out lately.
I was thinking of having a peek in Aemond' mind next, but then we'll get a new POV chapter.
Hope you enjoyed!
Chapter 12: Aemond
Summary:
I said slow paced not highly packed chapters? Well I must have lied.
Notes:
Enjoy!
Chapter Text
AEMOND
The North was a placid expanse of white snow, icy blue stones and naked, dark tree barks in stark contrast with the verdant evergreen forest stretching like an enormous cat around Winterfell.
Sansa had been asleep when they had crossed the border between the Neck and the northern kingdom, but Aemond had perceived the shift in the air; it was colder, less humid and it was the kind of cold that seeped into one’s bones to never leave. Usually he was warmer than his betrothed, and Vhagar was more than enough to keep him warm even during winter, but the coldness of the North somehow reminded him of death.
It reminded him of the breathtaking coldness of the waters of the Gods Eye.
And Vhagar too seemed to need all her warmth to keep herself heated enough, on the contrary Sansa, who was usually colder than him, seemed now to be providing warmth for both of them. It was as if the warmth of her blood ran low but stable enough that not even this coldness could shift it.
Silently, careful not to arouse her, he shifted his weight on the saddle, his arm wrapped securely around her waist and had her lean back with him, adjusting her head against his collarbone. In all reply she mumbled something in her sleep, but he was unable to catch it.
She was astounding.
His immediate consideration of her had shifted soon enough, she wasn’t just a pretty face, she was someone of strong character, strong enough that she could dispense kindness without asking for anything in return. And she was clever.
On top of being clever — and wise beyond her years — she was also cunning and ambitious. Aemond could not have asked for a better partner than her in this matter. She was highborn, a princess, and on top of that she had something that even Alys had lacked.
Alys had intrigued him with her magic and her security in her passion and sexuality. Sansa intrigued him because she had somehow managed to remain gentle. It was a testament of how strong and clever she was, to have survived what she had survived, so young and in such conditions.
What truly intrigued him, though, was how the darkness — the cunning, the cutthroat ability to use what others perceived as weaknesses and turn them into strengths — danced perfectly balanced with her goodness. It was how could live with being both an ambitious woman intent on getting justice with any mean necessary and defend her family with all means at her disposal and the soft girl who prayed for his son.
She was both and neither at the same time.
He had asked her if she truly believed her hand to be worth half the continent and her reply had been exactly what he had wanted from her.
He had no doubts that in the end the prize would prove to be worth the gamble; he had seen it in her reaction to the way they had killed her servant as well.
She had grown attached to the woman, who had been ready to die — and had then died — for her, and in reply for however shaken and heartbroken she had been she had stood her ground and like a mountain she had demanded Cersei Lannister’ death, but before having her head she wanted to strip her all of she held dear like the woman had done to her for so many years.
The way she had easily wielded the love Jaime Lannister had toward his son — and his daughter — had been another testament of how truly cunning his betrothed was, and how she used that cunning and that strength. He liked that.
It made him feel powerful to have such a woman beside him, knowing he would father her children and that they would be what his Aegon could not be, both because of his sins than for the sins of the mother.
And the way she still could muster awe, look up the stars and see an enchantment, it made Aemond want to give her the world and see wonder fill her eyes.
He had liked her at first sight, and he had known quick enough that she was the one meant to be his queen, being more than just the woman who would ensure the North in his corner.
The Gods speak to us, his Mother used to say, in the rustling of the wind and in the beating of our hearts. You will know the right spouse, when the time comes.
He had known immediately Alys would be his woman, he had known in the way she watched him and in the way it stirred things inside of him, in the way her reputation didn’t bother her and made her look even more alluring.
And, by the time she had barged into the war council, all prim and proper made of flesh and softness, but with a spine of valyrian steel he had known; he had looked at her and he had known.
He had known he would make her his and that she would make him hers, and that she would make the sacrifice worth the prize.
He had been beyond pleased when she had tolled after him, dragon figurine in hand, and had demanded his hand, in exchange of his promise to let the North call itself free and independent she would offer her hand.
And Aemond would take it.
And the North would be his in a way no other Targaryen had ever managed to hold it.
One day, he knew, his blood would sit enthroned in Winterfell.
He knew it like he knew Vhagar’ moods. He knew it like he knew his blood. He knew like he knew her.
“ Mele rūklon ,” he roused her softly, “wake up,” he told her gently as he drew soothing circles on her hipbone, and Sansa blinked up at him, her eyes a clear northern sky.
She worked at her jaw, possibly working at her lapped tongue and Aemond smiled, he had learned soon after his first flight that his skin could become more dry and cause more itch around his scar and his mouth would grow dry especially after long voyages.
She was unused to it, he twisted his wrist and reached to the inner pocket of his coat and fished out a small jug of water, he offered it to her and she uncapped it, some drops fell on Vhagar’ scales, the coldness in the air quite enough that they almost turned to small crystals and then melted and evaporated on her skin.
“Careful there,” he said gently guiding her movements, “water during airborne journeys is a precious treasure,”
She gingerly drank and then weighted the jug, “You didn’t have any,” she accused.
Aemond shrugged, “Don’t need as much as you,” he told her, “I’m used to it, whereas you aren’t,” he said, “drink to your leisure, we’re almost there,”
And perhaps all wonders at the stars and the sky didn’t come even close to the enchanted look he saw dancing in her eyes as she finally rested them on her childhood home after years away from it.
The tears tracked down her cheeks, they became cold as Aemond caught them with one finger, and her cheeks were much warmer than his hands. It was then, that she noticed.
“Why did you take off your gloves?” she demanded, as she grabbed his hand by the wrist and upturned so that she could inspect it. He knew what she would find, bristles from the heat and dryness caused by the cold.
“I lost one,” he admitted, almost timidly, though he found invigorating the way she seemed so intent to tend to his barely damaged hand, “during a little turbulence, when the moon was high,”
She looked up in his eyes in surprise, “I didn’t notice anything,” she accused.
“You were sleeping soundly,” he said, “it was but a few moments, I am glad it did not rouse you or you could’ve found dragonrides to your distaste,”
His betrothed, soft-spoken and gentle, frowned, “I would never find something quite this enchanting distasteful,” she told him, “though I may avoid being in Vhagar general presence, alone”
Aemond was about to rebut something when she took off her own gloves and grabbed his cold hand with both of hers, cupped it and brought it to her lips, blowing in between her hands to warm his.
She did so two, three times more, then she blinked up at him, “There,” she offered, “at least now you’re not as cold as ice,” she said, “when in Winterfell I’ll make sure you are in one of the warmest chambers,”
Aemond looked in her earnest eyes, his gaze traveling down to her pink lips — made even pinker by the cold — and the moisture there, then down her neck and to the corset of the dragon riding gear he had commissioned for her.
The first moment he had seen her with it donned on he had truly believed he might do something he might later regret, especially when she had looked so vengeful — an angel of vengeance — as she demanded justice for her dead friend. The gear fitted her like a glove and made her look like some kind of dream from the recess of his mind come to life. She wore it as if she was born for it, it was more than the snug fit, it was the way she carried herself.
She had been made to be the wife of a dragonrider.
And whilst she still looked as if she was born to ride a dragon beside him, now she looked so genuine and innocent as well that something stirred inside of him, something he had long since believed lost with his first lover.
He had always been a patient man, he had learned long since to hold out for things, but he had always been impatient when they were in his reach. A dichotomy perhaps, but now, as he still wished to mourn in his heart his woman, and her betrayal — if betrayal had it been — he too wished to taste that mouth with it.
And, as the dawn peeked out from behind the clouds, bathing her in pink, purple and sweetcorn golden her hair brimming like copper and her eyes shining like empyrean steel Aemond leaned in, half twisted, and stole from her a kiss.
Her lips were soft and they tasted of the freshness of the snow dancing around them, she blinked, perhaps once, and then she leaned forward against him, and he rued the need to keep hold with one hand of the reins, as the hair, escaped from her braid tickled his cheek.
He tasted her mouth and her scent of lavender and mint filled his nose, now mixing with the scent he had come to associate with himself of leather and the coals of Vhagar’s.
He leaned away from her and took the time to observe her serene face as she slowly opened her eyes, her lashes kissing her cheeks, red and glistening for the coldness. The soft smile she regaled him with made him almost as giddy as he had been as a boy.
They flew over Winterfell and he knew that moment of softness was now gone, as below them he could see the household in a frenzy over their sudden arrival.
Winterfell was not as great as Harrenhal in dimension, but there was something about a keep looking as a mountain across a field of ice and snow that made it look like it was cut out from some art.
Much like Dragonstone which had been built with stone magic, something akin seemed to have happened here as well. Vhagar landed and the snow melted away in a cloud of smoke and vapor, as she settled just before the entrance gates of Winterfell, on the other side from the small town laid at the keep’s feet.
Stark and Bolton’ banners were hanging from the rampants and the bustling sounds of people could be heard for miles with how flat the land seemed to be.
Sansa took a deep breath, and then slowly she started to snap open the belts he had, had adjusted on Vhagar’ saddle, and Aemond helped her unbind herself as Vhagar, as always after a landing, adjusted herself around so as to find a comfortable position in which to rest.
When they were finally free, Aemond propped himself up the saddle and then swung his left leg over the right side of the saddle, to then grab one of the ropes and slide down the dragoness back, then he used the dragoness’ elbow to prop himself up, and once steady offered Sansa his arm to help her slide down as well.
Trusting his betrothed grabbed at his arm and let him help her down, still mindful of Vhagar movement and justling, but decisively much more comfortable than the night before, when they had set out at first.
Aemond helped her step down and once they were safely on the ground he offered his arm to her to escort her inside the keep in which she had been born.
As soon as they stepped inside the inner courtyard the household fell into a curtsy, chief among them a young man with buttered skin, dark hair and inhuman blue eyes, who wore luxurious furlined pelts and had the Bolton insignia strapped at his cloak.
Sansa took a step forth and gestured with hand, and the boy stood up, Aemond immediately felt like he disliked the man immensely, as he proffered into a slim smile, “Princess,” he greeted, “I am Ramsay Snow, lord Bolton’s…”
“Natural born son,” Sansa interjected, “I heard about you,” she said and there was steel and confidence in her voice, “My brother said you captured back the keep without bloodshed,” she offered.
Ramsay Snow offered her a meek, but proud smile, “Indeed, princess,” he said, “the ironborn were more than ready to return to their boats and sailed away, but I ensured they left behind a gift for House Stark and the North,”
He couldn’t read his princess’ face to see her reaction to his comment, but he could read in her stiff shoulders that she as well didn’t like the man, despite her almost affectionate tone of voice.
“I see,” she said, “and since then you have been ruling Winterfell,”
“Oh,” Ramsay commented bringing a hand to his chest, “I am below an humble steward, I have been doing my part as our brave brothers and sisters fight the real war in the South,”
“Which is why I don’t see a steward named to Winterfell, I would suppose?” Sansa questioned, and despite the way it was phrased Aemond could hear the acidity on her tongue. He could almost taste it.
He wanted to taste it.
“Indeed, princess,” if anything Ramsay Snow was not an idiot, because he seemed able to read the displeasure in his princess’ voice as clear as a day, though he hastened to appease, “half a decent steward is hard to come by, especially during wartime and with the autumnal snows…”
“Winter is coming,” Sansa proclaimed and Aemond could see many smile at their princess and generally looking happy to see her back home, though he could also see that many of the household seemed to be somewhat offended on behalf of Ramsay Snow, which suggested he might have brought them from his father’s keep to keep Winterfell loyal to him, “and in winter a good steward is as important as a good arm in a fight,” she stated, “I wish for the position to be filled at once,”
Ramsay Snow nodded, “Of course, princess. If you will it I could have a report on possible candidates made and we can review them together, maybe on the morrow, after all tonight we feast for your return,”
“I wish it,” his betrothed said, “I will take residence in the lord’s rooms,” she commanded, “have my previous chambers prepared for prince Aemond,”
It was only then that Ramsay Snow finally looked at him, surveying like he would a rival, which made Aemond’ smirk gleam on his face as he gently pressed a hand in the small of Sansa’ back.
He ignored the man save to give him a nod when he addressed him directly, instead he focused on his princess as she spoke to the members of the household she seemed to recognize.
He stared off the young man, as he turned and fixed his gaze to Sansa, “She’s a fine woman,” he commented with a gleam in the eye that Aemond disliked.
Ramsay Snow then turned around and looked at him, “Much finer than a man like you deserves,” he added in a low tone.
Aemond was about to rebut when he noticed one girl from the household who was close enough to listen to their conversation and that had snapped her attention to Sansa the moment Ramsay had defined her fine .
“Much finer than anyone would deserve, I suppose,” Aemond replied, “but she chose me, and I will unleash Fire and Blood on anyone who’d dare to take her from me,” he added, his voice low, grabbing him by the shoulder in a false show of camedarie, the smile curving his lips would not betray his real intention, though his eye might.
In that moment though Sansa turned and he could see in her eye how overwhelmed she was by happiness at being back home.
He patted Ramsay Snow on the back, and let go of his shoulder before approaching her, taking care to listen focused as she introduced to him the head cook, “My lady mother always said you better not anger your head cook if you want a happy keep, we’re fortunate because Jenny is the less prone to anger person I know,”
“You are too kind princess, it is difficult to take anger to your lady mother after all she suffered,” she said “or to you, you always were a sweet child, with a mighty sweet tooth,”
Sansa didn’t seem to mind the teasing, “I have yet to taste lemon pastries as good as yours,” she offered, “though lately I have been craving Old Nan’ onion and peas sup,”
“Haven’t we all?” Jenny replied, “but since Prince Brandon and Prince Rickon… she hasn’t had the heart to come in the kitchen,” she said “perhaps she would for you ,” she stressed.
Sansa smiled to her, asking after her children and showing her care for the woman when, instead of waiting for Ramsay Snow to introduce to her which maid would be serving her, she immediately asked for Jenny’ daughter, Ann to fill the role.
When Ramsay Snow approached her and told her he had already named the girl, Myranda, to be her maid, Sansa surveyed her and then added, “I see not why I cannot have two maids,” she then looked at the woman, “you are more than welcome in my service, Myranda”
For some reason Myranda seemed to be steaming off all kinds of provocation and Aemond could see Sansa was trying to get a rinse out of her, possibly testing her.
“Thank you, your highness” she offered, though it sounded insincere.
And whilst Aemond was wondering why she wouldn’t just outright refuse the girl in her service, Sansa grabbed his arm, “We will pay our respects,” she said “my mother tells me she sent Father’s bones home,”
Ramsay Snow nodded, “We did receive them, Princess” he offered “and the king had me commission a statue for the crypts of him, I hope it will hold his likeness, I never met late Lord Stark,”
“I see,” she nodded, “I suppose I’ll see you at the feast,” she said in lieu of dismissal, “Myranda, I expect to see you and Ann readying the lord’s chambers for me, and before tonight I would like to speak with the Maester about the state of the stores, thank you”
They both nodded, though they seemed less than pleased with how commanding and competent she was proving to be.
“Of course, Princess”
Aemond just enjoyed seeing it. He imagined unleashing her on disloyal and incompetent lords of his court one day.
It would prove both amusing and useful, and Aemond would have no doubts or concern in leaving her in charge of his court and the Realm if he was otherwise busy.
That was the type of companionship a king ought to have.
Then he turned and followed her as she guided him to the entrance of the crypts, where two guards wearing the Stark emblem, pushed open the ironwood and steel door to let her in.
Targaryens burned their dead, they raised statues to them if needed, but they would become ashes once dead. Velaryons gave back their dead to the seas.
Starks entombed their dead and rose statues with direwolves at their feet and swords in their hands to defend the living from the horrors of the dead.
Sansa knew them all by name, Aemond held a torch over their heads, as she told him their names.
She stopped before a new-looking statue, and she observed it at length, studying the features with a critical eye, “It doesn’t look like him,” she stated at last.
Aemond was studying her instead, and she looked as sad as she looked tortured.
With a gentle tug he freed his hand from hers and then proffered the torch up enough that it could light the small candle the statue held in his free hand, the other wrapped around a stone long sword.
Gingerly Sansa rested also a small feather on the same hand, and closed her eyes in silent prayer to her father.
After a few minutes, she opened her eyes and sighed.
“I wish things had gone a different way,” she breathed out, “but I promise I will make you proud,”
Then she turned to him and offered him a determined glance, “I will be the Stark whose ice didn’t melt when she went South,” she told him.
“Your family has had bad history with the South,” he admitted and Sansa looked up to him nodding.
“We do,” she said “people say our hearts are made of ice and that they melt when we go South,” she commented.
Aemond breathed out softly and grabbed her gingerly by the elbows and drew small circles there with his fingers, “You didn’t melt,” he said.
“I didn’t,” she confirmed “and I don’t plan to melt soon either,”
Aemond smiled at her, and pressed a kiss atop her forehead, “Good,” he said, “because I don’t plan to let you go soon either,” or at all .
She then showed him the statues of her grandfather, uncle and aunt.
“I should bring her flowers,” she said “she loved flowers, my lord Father used to bring her a fresh batch any time he could,”
The statue was holding around her wrist a wreath of roses, Sansa must have noticed him staring and gingerly traced the stone-workmanship with a finger, “Lyanna rode South,” she said “was named Queen of love and beauty by Prince Rhaegar,” she added “and then he abducted, raped and killed her,”
She looked away, “That could’ve been my fate too,” she said “at times I think she looked after me,”
“Maybe she did,” Aemond offered, “maybe she kept you safe from her fate,”
Sansa turned to him, “Whatever thing you do,” she said “never gift me winter roses,” she told him “they only symbolize tragedy to House Stark”
Aemond studied her at length and then nodded, “As you wish,” he said, “I don’t need more rose than the one by my side, anyway”
This, for however courteous it was, seemed to finally draw a smile on her pink lips, and Sansa rolled her eyes, “Are you sure the passion of your heart is ruling and not poetry?” she teased with a fond smile on her beautiful face.
“The duty of my blood is ruling,” he told her “maybe poetry is the passion of my heart,”
Sansa smiled and stepped closer to him, pressing her hands on his chest, “Good,” she said “That’s how a husband should be”
The welcoming feast was kind of demure, but warm. People — even paupers from Wintertown — wished their princess happiness and a long life.
Sansa had ordered bread and mead distributed to the people of Wintertown, and she had taken the time to listen to all members of the household of Winterfell.
She knew them by name and took great care to learn the names of the new ones Ramsay Snow had brought with himself from the Dreadfort.
To his surprise, the one she greeted with most warmth was a woman so old she looked like the Crone herself, with few hair left on her head, lashless eyes and almost completely toothless.
She was sitting on a chair and had all the look that she would break in a million a pieces if she as much as moved a hand.
The moment Sansa saw her tears filled her eyes and she knelt by her chair, her hands propped at the armrests, as she murmured softly.
“Nan,” she breathed out “it’s me, Sansa”
“Ned’s little Sansa?” the woman blinked with watery, lashless eyes.
She didn’t wait for a reply, she raised both hands to cup Sansa’ cheeks and squished, Sansa squealed and the woman gave a rocky, throaty laugh, “Aye,” she said “you’re my little Sansa”
And Sansa’ eyes filled with joyful tears. Aemond observed, torn in half. Half happy for her, half heartbroken for himself.
He would never hold someone who held him in their arms when he was a babe, again. Someone who knew his quirks and his flaws and his heart.
But then, Sansa looked at him and something settled inside of him.
Maybe he would not hold again anyone of them, but he could make new memories, his arms could become the new comforting place for someone new, of his blood. And he would get to learn their quirks, their flaws and their heart. And they would know his in return.
Old Nan followed Sansa’ gaze on him and then smiled toothlessly “Ay, Sansa” she said “he fits much better,” she nodded.
Aemond approached her offered her a courteous greeting, “Oh,” she said “I like this one more than the other one, sweet one” she stated “besides, gold and burgundy was never your color”
Then she stared at him unblinking, “Be her prince from a tale, or you’ll have all of winter on your doorsteps”
Aemond smiled as Sansa giggled out a breathy chuckle, “I don’t know if I am a prince from tale, but nothing shall touch her as long as I breath,”
Old Nan studied him and then looked at Sansa, “And he said he isn’t out of a tale?” she questioned and there was true fondness shining in Sansa’ eyes as she looked at him.
“I know, Nan,” she said “he has a knack for poetry too,” she told her conspiratorially.
But the hilarity and softness of the moment died with her smile as something caught her eye beyond his shoulder.
Aemond twisted to follow her gaze, and found the possible origin of her sudden shifted mood.
It was a man, a man wearing disarmingly consumed and thin layer of clothes, with his head held low with a chain choked around his throat and shackles around his ankles and wrists both, as well as around his waist.
“He dares not,” Sansa hissed between gritted teeth, her hands clenching around the fabric of her skirt.
No one dared reply to her as the man stomped his way around the tables, as lords and ladies threw food at him, or mead in his face. Their voices full of scorn.
Sansa didn’t wait for him, she just strode to the high table where she had been listening to Ramsay Snow recount his time in Winterfell.
“Go with her,” Old Nan’ voice broke through the surprise at how quick the change in her mood had been, he twisted to look in the old woman’ eyes, “she doesn’t look like it, but she has the wolf blood of House Stark as much as Ned did. Quiet they might be, but not less dangerous for it”
Aemond cocked his head to the side, “Only a fool would mistake her quietness for weakness” he commented, before following suit and striding to the high table as well.
Sansa sat at the place usually reserved for the Lord of Winterfell and Aemond easily slipped in the chair at her left.
“What is the meaning of this?” she demanded of Ramsay Snow.
The man followed her gaze and shrugged, unfazed “It’s good for the lord’s spirits, and whilst he is still in waiting of trial,” he brought another mouthful to his lips, “the king demanded he was to be kept until he could bestow justice himself,” he said “but I think you, between all these lords, have right to his apology,”
He then set his fork to the side, and without waiting he boomed “ Reek !”
The young man shook all over, his hands trembled and his whole body seemed perpetually cursed by shakes.
The man stiffened and flinched at the call, but turned to face Ramsay Snow, “Come here, now!”
The man walked slowly and with difficulty up to the high table, and remained there.
He chanced to look up to Sansa, but his princess stiffened, “How dare you look me in the eye,” she demanded.
“You are right beyond belief, Princess” Ramsay Snow affirmed, “Reek, show proper remorse for capturing Winterfell, and killing Princess Sansa’ brothers”
So, the news of the survival of the princes had not yet reached his ears.
The young man, shifted on his feet, looking down, “I…I am sorry” he sounded either desperate or truly remorseful, Aemond could not say, but he observed his betrothed to see how she would react.
Her eyes were somehow fixed on the chain that choked his throat and bruised it.
“Beth!”
Beth Cassel, was the only surviving child of sir Rodrick Cassel and when she had seen Sansa she had exploded in tears and had fallen to her knees embracing her fiercely.
Sansa had been most appalled to hear that her sisters had been slaughtered and she only remained in virtue of the generosity of the Snow boy, who seemed to have made enemies of all Stark’s loyalists on the premises.
“Princess!”
Sansa looked away from the young man and fixed her eyes on the young woman, “Have a bath drawn for him,” she said “and then have him escorted to the cells, ensure he is fed and clothed properly,”
“As you command, Princess” Beth replied, though Aemond could see the distaste on her face.
“He is a traitor,” his princess said, “and he will receive a traitor’ fate, but until then I will have no one say that House Stark mistreats its prisoners of war,”
She stood up then, “We’re northerners, we aren’t Lannisters nor ironborns, we are better than them,”
The people dared not disrespect her further, “you do yourself and my brother, our king, dishonor this way,” she said “and you dare dishonor my lord Father’s name in his own home. I will not stand for it,”
Then she sat and gestured for Beth to do as she had commanded.
“He’s a prisoner of war, Princess,” Ramsay Snow seethed, he opened his mouth to say more but his betrothed did not let him.
“So was I,” she interjected, her expression hard, “and you would have expected the Lannister to treat me as demanded by my status,”
“The king—” the man tried to protest but his betrothed looked to be in no mood to parlay with him.
“I am my brother’s justice,” she claimed “and if I say he is to be treated as commanded by his status, so you will do,” then raised her voice so that everyone might listen, “he’s my brother’ prisoner, not your pet to do with as you please, or torment as you will,”
Ramsay Snow worked at his jaw as he ate. He clearly was disappointed in her reply and was starting to consider her some kind of threat to his small, little court he had built in Winterfell.
His princess’ eyes flashed steel, “Do you understand me?”
Ramsay Snow pursed his lips in a grimace, but nodded “I do,”
“Very well,” she then set her culterly aside, “I have lost my appetite. I thank you for the welcoming feast, and I expect you brim and early at the Lord’ solar to discuss the matters we spoke about,”
She then stood up, and in a rustle of blue skirts and iron gray inserts she left the high table.
Aemond watched her go, walk with her head held high as the lords murmured at her passage.
“I say that is Ned Stark’ daughter!” one of the lords proclaimed.
“To the Ned’s brave, little girl!” another one who Sansa had pointed to him as a chief of a mountain clan House hailed, slamming his ale down and then raising it up in toast echoed by the entire hall.
Aemond looked smugly to Ramsay Snow, and then stood up.
“Snow,” he offered as dismissal, to then follow her out.
To none of his surprise he found her not even turned the corner, with the window open and the cold air kissing her cheek.
“You will get ill,” he murmured, approaching her quietly.
She didn’t look away, “A little bit more,” she whispered, and Aemond flanked her, silently.
After a long while, as pearly tears trailed down her cheeks, he finally had the heart to ask, “Are you alright?”
She sniffed, “I will be,” she said “just… it hurt. I know he hasn’t killed them, but he pretended he did. If anything happened to them whilst we thought them dead,” she looked down to her hands on the rail, “then it’s on him,”
Aemond considered her for a long moment, “And if it did?”
Sansa’ eyes flashed on him, ever cold “I know Theon,” she said “whoever that is,” she gestured with a hand “is but a shadow of Theon Greyjoy, how can I have justice or even vengeance, if he is not himself anymore?”
She looked down, “I crave justice. For Bran and Rickon and for the Cassel girls,” she added “I want justice for all the people the ironborn killed, but I won’t get it like this”
Aemond considered it, “I would have taken his head, there and then,” he admitted.
“I wanted it,” she said, “but I am not him. And I am not my enemies,”
She then looked back at the dark sky and added “And I will have what justice demands,” she said “but in the right way”
Aemond nodded.
“My mother would have liked you,” he said, probably out of the blue, but it made her giggle.
“You really think so?”
“I do,” he said “and I think Aegon would have liked you too,” he shrugged “might have unleashed your righteous wrath on anyone who bored him though,”
He shrugged “Daeron would have joined you,” he added, hoping telling her about his family would be a welcomed diversion from her sadness.
“I…I can imagine that,” she said at last, “he did throw his wine in a man twice his size face when he offended Aegon, so”
Aemond felt a smile curl at his lips, “Did he?”
“Yes,” Sansa replied “I never said, but I thought he was really fun to have done that when I was a little girl”
Her eyes were twinkling, though there was still a veil of sadness in them.
She heaved out a breath, “Can you hold me?” she asked almost tentatively.
Aemond was surprised she would ask, especially after their kiss, but perhaps it was just who she was. In all reply he just opened his arms.
Sansa stepped into them, pressing her cheek against his chest and breathing in and out slowly.
Aemond curled his hands protectively around her and pressed his unmarred cheek against the crown of her red-head.
“I will hold you until the the stars fall apart,” he said “and the world is swallowed in darkness,”
She giggled watery against his chest, “I ought to collect all your poetics and make a book of it,” she said, “thank you,”
He nuzzled her forehead, “Don’t mention it,” he told her, “ Aōha ābrar iksis ñuha ābrar ,”
Sansa shifted a bit in his arms, “Will you ever tell me what it means?”
He smiled, “It’s a well wish,” he told her.
She hummed, and Aemond felt it reverberate against his body, “Is that why you said it when we left Harrenhal? Something like good luck ?”
He found endearing how earnest she could be, even after having proved she was a force to be renocked with.
“Not exactly,” he offered, “it’s more like… your life is my life ,” he told her.
Sansa blinked against him and then leaned away enough to look him in the eye.
“And you claim you are not a poet,” she said “if I was still a little girl I would believe this to be a song and be swept off my feet,”
Aemond smiled “I hardly invented it,” he said, “but if you feel inclined to be swept off your feet…”
A short silence lapsed between them, then.
Sansa then stepped away from him and looked at him dead in the eye, “I knew I would marry you,” she said “even before that council”
Aemond blinked “Did you now? Then why the farce?”
She flashed him a mysterious smile, “how did you know, then?”
“It was that day at the Gods Eye. I looked into your eye and knew,” she told him “I know you,” she said “as you know me,”
He wondered if the few weeks he had known her were enough to fall in love, for sure he fancied her, and he, like her, had known she was to be his. But it surprised him how easily that fire took aflame into him.
The intensity of his want for her had only increased since he had at first seen how she was, but perhaps it had started building two centuries past, when he had first caught a glimpse of her in Alys’ fires.
He pushed a curl of her hair from her face, and smiled down to her.
“We will save your brother,” he said, “and then I will personally fly to Oldtown if the annulment is not yet ready,”
But, apparently, their stay would neither be short, nor peaceful.
In the early hours of the morning Theon Greyjoy, or what of him remained, had been found in the tub that had been prepared for him, the water had grown cold, his veins sliced and blood pooling around the tub and in the water.
Aemond was woken by the manservant they had assigned to him.
It was still dark outside and he could feel Vhagar’ rumble from where he was nestled safely away from the cold.
“My apologies, Your Grace,” the manservant said, “the princess asked for your presence,”
He had left his own furs and sheets, bothered not to change his sleeping tunic and instead tucked it in his breeches before leaving the chamber, leaving behind his eyepatch as well.
He had followed the manservant and was showed to a small spartan looking chamber, there he found Sansa consoling a crying Beth Cassel.
“I swear, Princess, I had nothing to do with it!” she was sobbing and only when Aemond had stepped further inside the chamber had he seen the state of Theon Greyjoy.
“I may have told him, he deserved worse than what he got,” she admitted, “but I didn’t do it!”
Aemond gaze followed the man’ naked body half hidden by the thick blood water, and only then noticed he was missing two knuckles, and his body was littered with poorly healed fractures, scars and, as he got closer to inspect the body, he noticed the man had been also gelded.
The cuts on his wrists were deep just enough and had been done with a steady hand.
“I believe you, Beth,” Sansa was saying as she spoke with the girl, obscured to him by the shaking frame of the sobbing Cassel girl, “could he have found the blade anywhere in his vicinity?”
The girl sniffed and Sansa proffered to her a handkerchief, “I don’t know, Princess,” she said “I didn’t think to check…”
Aemond grabbed the cold wrist, and brought the hand closer to inspection. And since his body was clean, Aemond could conclude the hands had to be.
The man had fought.
He let the hand fall back on the rim of the tub and turned around and his gaze looked with Sansa’, he shook his head.
He saw in her eyes she had understood, and she nodded, “Listen Beth,” she said softly “why don’t you retire? You are clearly under shock, I will care about this matter,”
Beth sniffed, sobbed, but obeyed. Only once the door was closed behind her, did Aemond approached her.
Sansa was pale in the face, she had wrapped a dressing gown over her sleeping tunic, her hair were bouncing in thick waves to her waist and looked just combed.
She had been worrying her lower lip.
“What do you think?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“It’s not a suicide as they want us to believe,”
Sansa nodded, “What makes you so sure?”
“The cuts have been imparted with a steady hand, he was shaking all through supper,” he said “and there’s no difference between the cut on the right and the left,”
He crossed his arms, “Was he ambidextrous?”
She nodded, “He boasted about it, but he could not write with his right hand, so he was left handed really,”
“There ought to be a difference between the cut on the right wrist and on the left, instead they are clean and perfectly identical. Whoever was that killed him knows their way around a blade,”
He uncrossed his arms, “His whole body is clean,” he said “but there’s dirt and blood under his nails,”
“So he fought,” she concluded.
So smart.
“Yes,” he confirmed, “has a Maester seen him already?”
“No,” she told him, pushing a lock of hair behind her shoulder and exposing her long, pale, porcelain neck — small freckles littering her flesh — she hugged herself and looked up to him, “I wanted to hear your unbiased opinion before I heard his,”
“You don’t trust him,” he summarized.
Sansa shrugged, “The Maesters should be sworn to the keep, but this one came after Ramsay Snow took back the keep,” she said “I wanted to know what I should expect, and see if he says the truth,”
Aemond cocked his head to the side, “You already have a suspect,” he said.
Sansa let both hands fall to her sides, “Do I really have to spell it out?” she asked, “it’s an attempt at undermining my authority and make me look like a little girl who doesn’t know better,” she said.
“Either if I accepted without battling an eyelid that it was a suicide,” she said “or by pointing out everyone hated Theon, and they didn’t respect me enough to obey my direct order,”
Aemond nodded, “What do you think of doing?” he asked.
“I’ll make the trap snap,” she said, “I’ll play the little girl, if the Maester doesn’t tell us it’s a murder, then you will point it out,”
Aemond was intrigued by her plan, “then..?”
“If the Maester says it’s a murder, anyone could be the culprit and he will try to demean me by pointing that out,” she commented.
“And how do you mean to lure him out? I doubt he did the deed himself,”
“He would not,” she nodded, she worried her lower lip again, “he might have given the order, but he has not brandished the blade, he’s not that stupid,”
Aemond observed her, “I need someone who’d be uncontested,” she said “we need Rickon,”
“I hear you, Mele Rūklon ,” he said “but how would that help?”
He enjoyed the way her eyes darkened, “It’s easy, we trap him back,” she said “for sure he has planned a culprit to use,” she commented.
“If I were him,” Aemond interrupted “I’d use Beth Cassel,” he said.
Sansa nodded, “She has a motive,” she said “and she did look particularly contraried by my order,”
“We make him believe we have fallen in his trap, that we are grateful for his insight,” she added, and Aemond was liking this plan more and more, “we go to Skagos and retrieve Rickon, by the time we return he might have gotten cocky,” she said “and might have spoken, my people will keep an ear out,” she added.
“And we trap him,”
“He’ll still ensure he is innocent and we can’t prove his hand was behind the killing,” she mumbled.
“So how do we trap him?”
Sansa had been studying the body just behind him, her expression neutral, but when she looked up her gaze was dark, unrelenting and cutting.
“We double our game,”
He stepped up to her, there she was, his wolf-witch, with claws as nails, fangs as teeth and vengeance in her eyes.
He didn’t care if it was morbid with the body still lying lifeless next to them in the tub, he grabbed her by the waist and pressed his lips against hers.
Sansa’ breath hitched in surprise, but then she melted and almost meowed against him, the sound swallowed by his lips.
And so, if she looked a bit debauched when the Maester finally arrived, Aemond was way too proud of being the culprit of it.
As Sansa had supposed the Maester had confirmed Theon Greyjoy had been killed and when Ramsay Snow made his entrance he did his best to look dramatically unsurprised.
“I didn’t have the heart to tell you, Princess,” he said “but this doesn’t surprise me,”
Sansa was doing her best to appear shocked and ill by the scene, she was pale in the face and she did her best not to look at the body as it was removed from the tub.
Sansa’ eyes were filled with tears, and Aemond knew they were of anger, yet she appeared the shy maid having received a sudden wake up call to reality.
“You have a gentle heart, princess,” Ramsay Snow said, “but you should learn to strengthen it, it’s what got him killed,” he added wisely as the Maester and the body disappeared from the chamber.
You got him killed, Aemond thought darkly as the man sighed dramatically perfectly in character with the part Sansa had supposed he would play.
Sansa sniffed, “I want the body tended to,” she said “Asha Greyjoy is prisoner at Deepwood Motte,” she added “the sister deserves the right to grieve the brother.”
She looked up in his eye, “She deserves to give him a proper burial as to the tradition of their House,”
Ramsay Snow did her best to school his expression, “He deserves no burial, he deserved a traitor’ fate”
Sansa sniffed and wept, and Aemond took that as his cue to step up, “Did you not hear the princess?”
“Euron Greyjoy named himself king of the Iron Islands,” Ramsay Snow said, “if we give him Asha Greyjoy and Theon Greyjoy’ head we could strike an alliance and use it to destroy the Lannisters,”
“House Greyjoy already betrayed an offer of treaty against the Iron throne,” Sansa pointed out, her voice small.
“Balon did,” Ramsay replied “not Euron,”
Aemond turned around, “Very well,” he said, he then turned to Sansa, “we could do it both way,” he added.
Sansa studied him and then nodded, and made her best to look almost faint.
It was the cue he needed, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and then looked at Ramsay, “The princess is clearly upset, and we must depart for Skagos soon,” he said “to bring back to heel the Skagss,” he told him.
Trust him with some information and see him hang himself. That was the plan.
“We will leave this matter to you, Ramsay”
Ramsay did his best to look honored and even said he would not fail.
“I don’t doubt you will succeed,” Aemond offered, and will end up double crossing yourself .
From thereon it was easy to maintain their plan, Ramsay did end up — by the end of the week — accusing Beth Cassel of the murder just as they had suspected, but did not do so in the way they had been expecting.
He said she was most possibly innocent, but that she was the one to whom the proofs glaringly pointed, once Asha Greyjoy got here she might be at peril.
Thus Beth Cassel was sent from Winterfell to Barrowtown.
That was, Aemond believed a stroke of genius by his betrothed, as during the week it took Ramsay to frame Beth Cassel, she had talked extensively with the ladies and lords that had remained North and had come to Winterfell to pay their respects to their princess, and had discovered that when Ramsay Snow trueborn brother had died mysteriously lady Dustin had accused Ramsay of having poisoned him.
Lady Dustin remained steadfast behind Roose Bolton as she held some kind of grudge with House Stark from the time of the Rebellion, but as she was childless, she had loved Domeric Bolton, her nephew, as a son which meant that whatever grudge she held against House Stark would be less than the one she held against Ramsay Snow.
Sansa sent Beth Cassel to Barrowtown with a letter written from her own hand, in which she exposed some of Ramsay’s crimes whilst in Winterfell. It was nothing major but it was clear he had been building a household loyal to him alone and he had done everything in his power to ensure the keep remained under his authority.
Some girls had said that he had hounds he would send out on hunt at times and that his lovers when he was done with them disappeared in thin air.
They were convinced the hounds were trained to eat them, because they were never fed anything and the kennel master was wary of them as more than once they had trained to take a bite out of him.
It was not enough to accuse him for Domeric but enough because lady Dustin could be swayed to help them trap him.
By the time they left for Skagos — almost a moon in their stay in Winterfell — Sansa had a manged to ensure the Stark loyalist household had fertile terrain to bloom as soon as they brought Rickon back from Skagos.
Ramsay contained most of his distaste with the changes Sansa was making, especially as it made it look like Sansa trusted him; who didn’t hide her hate was Myranda.
Aemond was sure she might be Ramsay’ lover, but he was also sure that Ramsay was using her more than he was loving her, and Myranda seemed to him like the kind of desperate woman who’d do anything for the man she loved.
It was a dangerous game they played especially the more Ramsay showed his interest in Sansa — albeit never too outwardly, as not to stoke Aemond’ pride — as Myranda was one of Sansa’ maids.
Aemond had tried to tell her to send her away, but Sansa refused. Better to keep her close, and by the time the household saw them away and directed northward Myranda looked entirely too smug and displayed proudly some sort of barely healed cut one her collarbone, despite the cold.
Asha Greyjoy too, Sansa had ensured, once arrived in Winterfell, would be receiving a letter by her hand by which she pointed at Ramsay as a possible instigator of Theon’ murder.
It wasn’t phrased as a certainty, but she also pointed out that Myranda could easily be the material executor.
She was the daughter of the butcher of the Dreadfort, sources wanted that she was the one to join Ramsay in his hunts and apparently she had a fondness for blades and tortures as well.
And Sansa had seen firsthand how skilled with a blade she was, and how well she knew the human body. During one of her bathes, in fact, the girl had caressed Sansa arms and wrists as she helped her bath and had commented almost morbidly on the way Sansa’ veins were so easily seeable under her porcelain skin. She had followed their course back to under Sansa’ arm print and to her bosom, displaying a knowledge of how the human body worked that was compatible with the wounds that had claimed Theon’ death.
Aemond had wanted her killed the moment he had understood she had also threatened Sansa if by veiled threats during the bathes, but Sansa had reminded him they needed her alive long enough to expose Ramsay.
A scorned woman was a desperate woman, who could do something foolish .
She hoped Asha Greyjoy would be incensed about the way her brother had been treated and killed, that she would be instrumental in the removal of Ramsay from Winterfell.
Then lady Dustin would have her approval to commence a trial against Ramsay for his numerous crimes and search for proof of his role in Domeric’ death, if found guilty she could do with him as she pleased.
This time when Aemond helped her climb on Vhagar, his betrothed was more comfortable with the sudden shifts and movements of the dragoness though she still looked cautious about it as well and Aemond marveled at her bravery.
Not many women would easily adjust to a dragoness such as Vhagar.
Sansa had a plan, and Aemond was impressed though he had known her to be remarkably clever.
House Magnar had already proved they were not worth their breath still, Sansa would parlay with them before they attacked.
But she would not go alone, not only Vhagar and Aemond would be on the ready, she meant to summon all the clans that roamed free and under the thumb of the three main Houses.
Their chief, she recalled, was a long lost king of the Skaggs. History wanted that after the rebellion during the realm of Daeron II, he had been stripped of his titles and his castle resolved to ruins and all his sons killed.
“They didn’t kill the girls, that was their mistake,” she had told him as she schooled him on the complex society of the Skagosi for however much she knew, “his daughter Griselda survived and by her line his dynasty is unbroken, or so Maester Luwin claimed,”
Apparently the Maesters still sent ravens to the nomadic clan, and a Maester was sent every few years to serve the last descendant of House Weg, even if they were nomadic and there was no keep to serve.
Their flight was shorter this time, and colder and more silent. They didn’t have time for stargazing nor Sansa seemed to be in the mood for it either, focused as she was about bringing her brother back from the isle and freeing Winterfell of Ramsay Snow and his polluting presence.
Skagos was a lonely isle in the deep of the Bay, a stone island, covered into mist and fog and beaten by waves that chunk by chunk cracked at its edge.
Vhagar was almost as big as the isle itself, so he doubted their arrival would remain unnoticed, but neither he nor Sansa had any intention of going unnoticed.
Lord Magnar had, in the absence of a strong Stark force in the island, named himself Magnar of the Skagossons .
The Houses of Skagos had not rebelled at that, though House Stane had retired in Driftwood Hall.
Sansa had already had Beth Cassel dispatch to the Weg’ clan with a summon.
The dry grass beneath Vhagar took aflame and burned, wrapping them in smoke as well as fog.
Aemond helped Sansa dismount in a way reminiscent of the same action when they had landed in Winterfell and Vhagar coiled around them, hissing, with smoke flaring off her nostrils.
Aemond could feel the threat looming as Vhagar curled protectively around him and by default around Sansa.
Instinctively he wrapped an arm around Sansa, bringing her flush against him and Sansa went willingly, letting him embrace her to him but not hiding her face against him this time.
“Something is coming,” he said, just as a howl raised in between the mist and fog, and Aemond saw a smile curl at Sansa’ lips, a smile that tugged at the corners of his own lips for how satisfied and confident it was.
“ Winter is coming, and winter doesn’t forgive,” she replied and then gently pried free of his arms as from the fog emerged an enormous silhouette.
The direwolf was as big as a bear, with unruly black fur and gleaming emerald eyes, the direwolf growled and Aemond grabbed Sansa once again with every intention of keeping her away from the beast, in all reply she twisted around and smiled at him.
She caressed his cheek lovingly, then she pressed a soft peck against his lips.
“I am a Stark of Winterfell,” she told him as she stepped away from him and away from Vhagar’ tail, “and the winters might be hard but we Stark endure,”
Aemond watched, powerless as she stepped further toward the wild direwolf and then proffered her hand and ordered, “Shaggy Dog, come here!”
She called the direwolf by its name and the beast morphed, from an avenging, beastly gigantic wolf, to an almost demure pet, as he padded to her.
He sniffed her hand, and seemed to recognize something in her, then he stepped closer and as Grey Wind used to in Harrenhal he butted his snout against her cheek and almost made her stumble back a couple of steps.
Aemond stepped forth, with all intention of intervening even as Vhagar wrapped her tail around his middle and kept him back, hissing and fuming at the direwolf.
The direwolf in all reply growled at them, twisting and wrapping protectively around Sansa, like a cloak made of shadow and gleaming green flames.
Sansa for all reply, giggled. Giggled , “Shaggy Dog,” she chuckled, burrowing her hand in his unruly fur, “stay,”
Then she proffered a hand to him and benocked him close in a manner that reminded him of when he first had introduced her to Vhagar for their first flight.
He looked in her eyes and did not see any hidden plot or goal, just mirth.
“Vhagar, lykiri. Doaeris,” he commanded and if reticent the dragoness obeyed his command, letting him step away from her embrace.
The cold kissed his heated cheeks as he stepped closer to Sansa. She took his hand even as Shaggy Dog growled, the moment the direwolf moved to bite, Sansa grabbed him by the scruff of his neck.
“Shaggy Dog!” her voice was powerful as she demanded, “stay! He’s here to help us save Rickon”
Apparently she had said the right word, because the moment the name Rickon left her lips the direwolf calmed down, if a still on edge distrusting direwolf could be considered such.
Still Shaggy Dog sniffed the air around him and with a last twist turned his back on him, but in pure spite — Aemond was sure of it — he curled his full, black tail around Sansa’ waist like a vice.
He was about to comment about it when a scream rose from the fog and several hoves could be heard beating the ground and coming their way.
In matters of a moment no less than thirty riders appeared around them, all wearing fur and pelts, they were led by a woman who rode saddle-less an unicorn with a thick evanescent fur all over his body.
Sansa looked in awe for a moment to the woman, just as she clicked her tongue to signal the unicorn to stop.
“ Lyet kodom’m ?” the woman demanded from her higher ground.
Aemond frowned and to his surprise, Sansa stepped up, “ kodome Stark ,” she said “ Sansa Stark kodome Winterful, ”
The woman’s eyes became slits as she let go of her unicorn’ fur to slide down its side, “ kodom nabir chati ,”
Sansa gestured to Vhagar behind them, “Vhagar kodom’ Nabirchatiskagos, ”
Aemond observed in awe as the woman sized Sansa up, she might be a middle aged woman, but she looked as fit as a warrior half her age.
She nudged her chin toward him, “ Skagosson komode’ Nabjrchatiskagos? ”
“Aye,” was Sansa’ terse reply “ Aemond Targaryen Komaes, komode, ”
The woman studied her, “Sansa Stark of Winterfell,” she said in a thick accent, “you have come to take the pup?”
Aemond looked down to his betrothed who nodded, “I’ve come to deliver Rickon from Lord Magnar,”
The woman jutted her chin up, “With the firebreath?” she demanded, “we are made of stone, we do not take flame”
“You don’t,” Aemond interjected, “but stone melts just like snow against dragon fire”
Sansa looked at him in a silent demand he didn’t interrupt again, then she turned to the woman, “We will not burn Skagos to the ground, but we will unleash the dragon on House Magnar if they have harmed my brother”
The woman leaned back to study Sansa, “You play not,” she considered “you will do it”
“I will,” she said “I don’t wish for innocents to be stuck in between,” she added “and we will avoid it if possible,”
“And what if it’s not possible?”
“Then winter will come for House Magnar,”
The woman considered her at length and then she clicked her tongue and emitted a strange, low rumble.
A man — perhaps of an age with Sansa — urged his own unicorn, his black, forward.
“This is my son, Bjorn of Weg’ blood,” she said, she stepped closer to Sansa and held out her arm, “free us of the Magnar, give us back our land, and we will serve House Stark in our own, as magnars of the Skagossons,”
Sansa looked up to her, then grabbed her arm in hers, “You will be still sworn to come when called upon,” she demanded.
The woman nodded, then she gestured to her son with her head and grabbed Sansa by the hand instead of the arm, her son put his hand over theirs.
A man with long silver hair and beard stood forth then, his face was marred with scars fashioned as tattoos and he sliced his own wrist letting the blood coming from the deep wound shower over the joined hands.
“We are blood now, Sansa komade Winterful, ” she said “your fight is my fight”
“Your fight is my fight,” Sansa echoed, followed by Bjorn.
The men and women behind them echoed, “Your fight is my fight,”
Sansa then turned to the woman, “What can we expect of House Magnar?” she asked after the woman had demanded they followed them back to camp, below the hill.
Most of the men went on by unicorn, but she and Sansa and Aemond proceeded on foot.
“The Old Magnar is as proud as an old blade,” the woman replied in her thick accent, “he has two sons, both old and ripe,” she added.
“Albert the Black is the Youngest, he is the one who claims the Right of the First Night,” she said “he wants the stone-throne and will take it even if it means killing his brother,”
Sansa listened silently, her hands behind her back and Aemond followed suit, noticing just then how similar their stances were.
I know you and you know me.
“The oldest is Aygg the Silver,” she said “he’s of weak disposition,” she added, “war might erupt because the Silver’ daughter, Ulli, is as wild as the Black,”
“They say,” she added “that the Black killed his wife and children because he wants to sire a son off Ulli during her First Night,” she said “so she cut her breast and remained a maid,”
He could see the wheel swirling in Sansa’ mind, “What of House Stane and House Crowl?”
“Betty Stane took her kid-lord and closed herself off in her stone keep,” she said, “she will support whoever wins,”
Then she spat on the ground, “House Crowl will stand with House Magnar, if the Flat-Maid shall take their Lord to bed”
And Aemond watched as his wife to be took to the role of her brother’ emissary as good as she would the role of Queen, and when an unicorn — with a pelt as white as snow — approached them, uncaring for the direwolf, Aemond watched as Sansa, eyes filled in awe, outstretched a hand and caressed the beast, even as the Weg Mother — as she wanted to be called — told her to be careful for they would bite.
That night they feasted on unicorn’ flesh and fish, sat on the dusty ground.
People played strange instruments with strident sounds, and drank and danced until the night was old.
Sansa even took part in one of the dances, it was difficult with many steps and jumps, and they gave her bells to wrap around her wrists to sound as she danced.
Aemond observed her, as he drank some sort of fermented beer that tasted worse than feet did and hit like a ton of bricks; there was something almost oniric about the way the color of her hair swirled and mixed with the red and black and white of her riding gear, the way her empyrean eyes gleamed and her pink lips curved into a smile.
It was like watching a flame dance in the darkness, and when that flame grabbed him by the wrist her heat warmed him and coiled, making something stir inside of him once again.
He never could keep up with her steps, for how quick the pace was, but Sansa beamed at him, unreserved and guided his steps, her hands much bolder than they had ever been and Aemond didn’t really care.
And when Sansa, as she twirled around, almost stumbled for how fast she had been dancing Aemond may have taken advantage of that to draw her closer to his embrace and press a kiss on her lips.
She had been brimming so bright and he was just a man after all, a powerful man but a man still.
And she was far lovelier than she had any business being.
And if the world exploded in colors, he would blame it on the mead, and on her own intoxicating self.
Kingshouse was a keep half in ruin, it was big but part of it had already been claimed by the passing of time.
The banners of House Magnar hung proudly by the bastions, and a village sat at his feet.
When dawn broke Sansa demanded the small folk be evacuated from the village and then demanded an encounter with Lord Magnar.
The Old Magnar, who had declared himself king of the Skagosi, was a man well into his seventies, with a well combed white beard, wearing a crown of gold over a chainmail hood.
He surveyed them from the bastions, with a woman who looked to be almost on age with Rhaenyra, with dark hair cropped short and wearing a chainmail.
The man who rode out to meet their delegation was Albert the Black, a man with dark hair and beard, well beyond any fighting fit stature, who had to ride on a donkey because no unicorn nor horse could suffer his weight.
Aemond was on Vhagar, distant enough he could not hear, but near enough to could clearly see what was happening.
Vhagar was so big she towered over the keep, and the dry grass by its feet smoked and burned for her heat, and there she and him laid in waiting as Sansa urged the unicorn she had been lent and met the Magnar’s delegation.
Aemond observed as approached the man, and spoke to him.
He couldn’t hear a word spoken but the moment the Magnar man raised his hand, apparently to strike her, to instead throw to the ground the chest in which Sansa had enclosed the terms for their surrender, Aemond felt the rage rise in his blood.
The man might not have stricken her, but by the way Sansa’ shoulders tensed she had been expecting the hit, especially considering she was the one holding out to him the terms.
Vhagar shifted behind him, hissing as white smoke rose from her nostrils, she leaned in a position that betrayed she was ready to take flight at any moment and Aemond could almost feel her own strength and the fire in her belly becoming hotter and hotter and ready to scorch afire the world if needed.
Sansa raised her hand and Aemond flexed on the saddle, leaning more against Vhagar, ready for her to give the signal.
The man spat in her general direction and Shaggy Dog, who had been hovering close, especially when Rickon Stark — held captive and kept on the walls as well — had cried out as he had seen them, bounced.
The direwolf shoved the man off the donkey and then tore at his throat, which might not have been expected, but was satisfying to watch for him.
He would have gladly taken the man’s head himself, but he would leave to the direwolf the kill without any fuss.
In that moment Rickon Stark cried out as he was manhandled by the Old Magnar, who slapped him so hard that the young boy fell to the ground.
He was hoisted up by two guards who held him, as the Old Magnar sliced his collarbone, declaring he had spent king’s blood as king’s blood had been taken by House Stark.
It was but a moment, he lowered his gaze back to Sansa and she, her hand still raised, closed the palm off in a fist and then swung her hand down.
It was all signal he needed.
“Vhagar!” he commanded as he tugged at Vhagar’s reins “ soar! ”
They raised in the air, and as Vhagar adjusted her flight she circled around the keep, he could not destroy the bastions were the Old Magnar and Rickon Stark were, especially as the returned inside in the drum turret, but he would lay waste to the rest.
“ Dracarys !”
For the dragoness it was no more than a breath and the not ruined walls tumbled to the ground under the force of her dragon fire.
And village too was set afire, like the courtyard and the stables though he steered clear of the stores, by the time the smoke filled the air and clouded the sun the battle at the feet of the keep had begun and three hundred men who had been ready to defend the keep threw their swords down and surrendered.
By the time he landed on Vhagar near the still smoking keep, rain had started to fall heavy, extinguishing the flames as their forces entered the inner courtyard.
He snapped open the belts around him and slid down Vhagar, to then join their forces on foot, even as the men hailed him by calling him man of fire .
He had to fight the men who had not yet bent, the most loyal. He sliced through one of them like he was made of butter — his axe falling off his hand when Aemond’ sword cut under his arm print — he then ducked and rolled on the ground when a second one tried to slam his morningstar against him.
He fought his way to Bjorn Weg and his men, as the mother and Sansa took refuge from the rain at the entrance of the keep.
Shaggy Dog kept throwing himself at the ironwood door, and between the damage done by dragon fire and the damage done by the direwolf the door finally fell apart.
One of the Magnar’ guards made to grab Sansa, and Aemond acted before he knew what he was doing, he threw his arm back and then — like an arrow from a bow — he threw the sword at the man’s chest, the sword embed into the man, and Aemond then ran to their side, as the man fell to his knees.
Aemond grabbed his sword by the hilt, pushed with a feet at the man’ back thus shoving him to ground as he retrieve the sword with a humid thud.
Uncaring for the blood on his face and on his hands he stepped closer to Sansa, “Are you alright?”
She nodded, clearly shocked by the battle, he held out his hand to her, and she grabbed onto it as if it was a lifeline.
“Rickon,” she breathed out, Aemond grabbed her by the wrist and guided her behind him.
“Stay near me,” he told her, he grabbed his dagger at his waist and thrusted it in her hand, “I’ll keep you safe,”
Inside they didn’t meet as much resistance as he expected, the guards inside were few and most of the present — members of the household — didn’t approach to fight.
The Old Magnar had been slain by one of his own men when he had tried to use their blood as sacrifice to appease their Gods and win, and the Silver and his daughter Ulli were being taken hostage.
“Mercy!” cried the Silver, as the men took him in custody, and Aemond demanded his head.
“You have drawn Stark blood,” Sansa replied “and thus by the end of this only ruin, fire and ice shall remain of you,” she told him with a tone of finality.
Lady Ulli was still trashing into the men’ hold, as her father fell to her knees, “Please, Your Highness, I beg mercy for my daughter! She is a sweet girl and has done no wrong!”
Aemond looked at Sansa’ eyes and saw a jarred expression on her face, her lips had thinned and were set in a firm line, “If you plead the black,” she said “you will be spared,”
“I care not for my life, Princess,” he pleaded “but spare my daughter!”
Mother Weg approached him then, “She’ nine years his senior,” she said “but princess Sansa has brokered a good match for her,” she added, and Aemond cocked his head to the side as Bjorn Weg, still dirty from battle flanked his mother and surveyed the girl.
She reminded him a bit of Alys, for she too had dark eyes and dark hair, and that look about her of a dangerous woman, she faced his inspection with a challenging look.
“Lady Ulli will marry Bjorn of House Weg,” she said “and their children will rule over Skagos as loyal bannermen of House Stark,”
The man exhaled, “They may call themselves Magnar and Wife, and they might retain right to a coronet,” Sansa added, “but they will still pay fealty to House Stark of Winterfell,”
The man lowered his head, “Thank you, Princess. Thank you!”
Sansa jutted her chin up, “If any of you think of rebelling against House Stark again,” she said “winter will come and with it death,”
It was then that the doors opened and Aemond noticed the small boy stepping into the hall. Rickon Stark resembled remarkably his oldest brother, king Robb.
Besides the cut at his collarbone the boy seemed otherwise unharmed and looked cautiously around the hall.
It was only when Shaggy Dog ran to him that the boy squealed in joy.
Then he turned to his sister and studied her. Sansa studied him in kind, and though many could think her cold or heartless for the lack of emotion on her face, Aemond could see in the depth of her blue eyes how touched she was at seeing her brother.
So, he offered her his hand, a silent show of support and encouragement, I see you he wanted to tell her, I see how hard you are fighting to keep it all together until he’s safe back to Winterfell.
Sansa took it, and Aemond gently guided her to precede him and observed as the household parted to have her step to her brother, the moment he was within reach she stopped.
“Hello, Sansa,” the small boy offered tentatively, and like a river flowing free after the fall of a dam, Sansa dropped to her knees, and embraced him snugly exhaling finally in relief.
Aemond observed brother and sister reunited feeling a slight puncture at his own heart, as he witnessed such a heartfelt reunion.
“Are you alright?” Sansa asked, “were you scared?”
Rickon nodded, “I was, I am sorry I wasn’t brave,”
Sansa gently tucked a curl from his forehead, “But you were, little one. Father always said that only when we are afraid we can be brave,”
She touched, gingerly the cut at his collarbone, which had by now stopped bleeding.
“Sansa… what about Osha? They took her away,” Rickon asked.
Sansa frowned and Aemond saw first-hand how easily she seemed to be able to manage a small child as she gently asked him who Osha was.
Aemond could have replied to that, the woman had been mentioned once or twice when Robb Stark had told him what had occurred since his Father had rode South, since before the War of Five Kings had broken out.
She was a wildling woman who they had captured that had somehow turned out to become Bran and Rickon’ caretaker and an helper to the Maester of Winterfell, by what news he had received from home before Theon Greyjoy had betrayed him.
“She kept me safe, saved Bran and me,” Rickon told her, “they took her away,”
Sansa stood up and twisted around, still holding Rickon’ hand in her own, “You heard the prince,” she demanded, “have the wildling Osha freed,”
Ulli trashed in the hold of the guards, “She’s a wildling, a savage!” she pointed to an ugly looking cut that went from under her ear, across her chin and down her chest, she showed it by tugging down with the only hand she had managed to free the rim of her dress, exposing her cut breast.
“Only because you wanted to take me!” Rickon protested, and Shaggy Dog, feeling his master’ distress growled.
Sansa didn’t seem fazed by any of this, she turned to Mother Weg and the newly named Magnar of House Weg and stated evenly “As Prince Rickon has commanded, shall be done,”
She challenged anyone who dared to speak against her, “Have the wildling Osha freed, now”
And only when the guards moved to obey her orders did Aemond finally approach her and her mother. Rickon Stark looked up at him with suspicion in his eyes.
“Who are you?” he asked “where did you get a dragon?”
Aemond looked down on the kid and shrugged “I claimed her, when I was your age, more or less,” he told him “she was on Driftmark”
The boy seemed to be raking his brain, “and who are you?”
“Rickon,” Sansa intervened to smooth the tension that Aemond could start feeling to build as the kid kept staring at him hopefully in an attempt of glaring him into submission, “this is Robb’s ally, Prince Aemond of House Targaryen, king claimant to the Iron throne,” she introduced gesturing to him, “and my husband to be,”
Rickon turned to glare at her, “Didn’t you have to marry Joffrey?” he demanded.
“Yes, Father had promised me to Joffrey,” she said “but then the Lannister married me to the Imp,”
Rickon made a face, “so how can you marry him? You should return home and let the Imp drink you to widowhood,”
Aemond was half amused and half appalled by the kid, and generally impressed by his vocabulary.
He was young and whilst his competence of speaking would not be surprising in a Lord of his status in normal circumstances, Rickon Stark had been forced to flee his home and had, had only a wildling woman as company for years.
“The marriage will be annulled,” Sansa explained gently to him, “I will marry Aemond and one day I will be his queen,”
Rickon made some kind of face, “If you say so,” he offered.
“Thank you for Osha,”
The wildling woman had been found in the cells and honestly Aemond was kind of relieved he had not burned the building during the siege, because he and Prince Rickon were off to a rocky start without him having caused the sudden, painful death of his nan.
It wasn’t much that Prince Rickon distasted him, he disliked the role he had in Sansa’ life as her betrothed.
By now they had finally settled and the after having waited two weeks as the preparations for the wedding of Lord Weg and lady Ulli took place, Sansa had also ensured Osha was treated and was now completely on the mend.
Whilst she would not be able to follow them by dragon, Sansa had offered her a place in Winterfell and one on a ship directed back to the North as soon as possible.
Osha had refused, she would rather stay in Kingshouse until the real war was done with.
“You are only one — she had told him — and they are hundreds of thousands,” and then had muttered something about them being unable to swim.
So Sansa had asked Lord Weg to keep Osha as a honored guest and Rickon had chosen to leave Shaggy Dog behind to protect her.
When both Sansa and Osha had protested he had looked almost like his brother Robb.
“I will come back one day, to foster here,” he had told them, “I will bring Osha and Shaggy back then,” he had then grabbed Osha hand and had told her she needed him more than he did.
Sansa smiled at him.
Rickon was abed and on the morrow they would depart, the wedding had taken place that very day perpetually binding lady Ulli and Lord Weg.
The Silver had stayed long enough to accompany the daughter to the Heart Tree and then had departed for Eastwatch by the Sea.
“I am very proud of you,” Sansa told him as she tucked his covers.
Aemond liked this moments best, he could almost imagine her as a mother — something he hadn’t managed to do with Alys, as he had always planned to take the child and have him raised at court with the help of his mother the Queen — in these moments. Soft and genuine as they were.
“You did something very selfless,” she said “for the good of someone you love,”
Rickon nodded, “you will be a very good prince of Winterfell,” Sansa told him, “I am very proud of you,”
Rickon looked down at his hands twisting in his lap, “But… I am not like Bran, I don’t know how to rule, I can’t be lord of Winterfell,”
They all laughed. They told me they had found a dragon for me, it was a pig.
“You are a prince,” Sansa stressed, leaning closer to her brother.
One day, you will have a dragon.
She booped his nose gently, “and the greatest virtue of a prince is the ability to listen,” she told him, “listen to your advisors, listen to Mother. They will guide you”
His mother the Queen had been equally as supportive of him, she had been the one inspiring him to not make being a dragonrider his only virtue.
She had inspired him to learn about history, poetry and philosophy. To train with the sword and to value family above all.
Sansa gently swept the curls from Rickon’ forehead and then kissed the crown of his head, “Now sleep, my little prince. Everything shall be fine,”
To his surprise, Rickon Stark was not petrified by Vhagar, and the dragoness was equally intrigued by him.
It was Sansa who was more concerned for her brother, still, she trusted him to ensure the boy would be safe. More than anything, Rickon seemed excited.
“When Bran returns home,” he told Sansa, “he will be so envious!” he squealed when, in all reply, Vhagar unfurled her tail from around her.
He turned to Sansa, “You should head on first,” he told her, “then I will help Rickon up and climb on behind you both,” he said.
Sansa nodded and this time when he held out his hand, she was much surer on her feet, swaying with Vhagar movements as she climbed on the saddle, immediately putting the feet in their right position and adjusting on the saddle as if she had been born for it.
Her back was still a little too stiff, but Aemond had learned she would relax once she had gotten comfortable with his weight behind him, she would lean her weight against him and they would move together, shifting with every wingbeat to accompanying Vhagar’ flight.
“Up you go, little prince,” Aemond commented, turning around the see Rickon already half climbing the ropes leading to the saddle.
“Rickon!” his betrothed exclaimed, fear in her eyes and Aemond almost shook his head, if he wasn’t sure of Vhagar’ loyalty he would almost fear the kid to take the dragoness away from him.
Vhagar moved, in the attempt to avoid being tickled by the boy’ feet as he hoisted himself up, Aemond leaned forth and grabbed him by the waist, and helped him up, “I can do it alone!” the boy claimed.
Aemond rolled his eyes, “I know you can, but I don’t know if your sister can stomach it,” he murmured and Rickon looked up to Sansa’ fear stricken face.
He pouted but did let him up help up, Sansa grabbed him by the elbows as soon as he was within reach and helped him settle with his back against her middle, as soon as he was sat she started to secure the belts around him and Aemond climbed the rest of the way up until he was safely tucked behind her, once he was Sansa, having been done with Rickon’ fastenings, rested her hand over his knee and he could feel by the firmness of her grasp that she had been truly terrorized.
He pressed a kiss at the back of her head in comfort, and nuzzled the back of her head until she felt her relax slightly against him.
Only when she had, did he leaned forward bringing her and Rickon with him in the movement and commanded Vhagar to rise in the sky.
Rickon squealed as soon as Vhagar took flight and he almost reminded Aemond of himself when he had first claimed the dragoness for his own.
They flew above the storm shaking the sea, and Aemond listened as Sansa regaled Rickon with a series of tales he used to love as an infant before she departed from Winterfell.
By the time they were halfway through, Rickon fell asleep and Sansa finally completely relaxed against him.
“It’s done, Mele Rūklon ,” he told her softly “he is safe,”
Sansa shook her head, as she leaned under his chin, “It’s not done, not until Winterfell will be a safe place for him,”
Aemond drew soft circles against her arms, he could not promise her it would be a fun ride, and he respected her far too much to lie to her.
“You will do it,” he said instead, “you will make Winterfell safe for him again, you already are ,”
He shifted a bit to hold better the reins, “Rest a bit now,” he said “the way is still long,”
Only when her breath grew slow and soft did he finally let himself think about what was coming.
Ramsay may have betrayed himself, but he may have not.
If he proved too stubborn of a threat to resolve diplomatically Aemond would take matters in his own hands.
Then they would fly South and take back the Iron throne, inch by inch if needed.
Aemond would see the blood of Queen Alicent Hightower inherit the Realm and the Iron throne.
He would see his Mother’ name reinstated and her dream become a reality.
And Sansa Stark would help him achieve that goal, she would enrich that goal.
One day they would remember his reign as a golden age and they would be the epitome of king and queen for centuries to come.
He dreamed it.
So it would be.
As soon as they reached Winterfell, the bells were sounded to signal their return; Vhagar landed on her spot which had already been covered in fresh snow which melted as soon as she rested her body on the ground.
Aemond slid down the dragon’ side first, then Sansa helped Rickon dismount too, the boy legs were trembling a bit and he was a bit disoriented after the flight, but he looked otherwise fine.
As soon as Rickon was safely on his feet, Aemond outstretched his hand toward Sansa and helped her down as well, even as Vhagar moved her body, adjusting her position, unbalancing Sansa as she dismounted.
Fortunately Aemond had a strong grip on the rope and managed to grab on her and hoist her against himself and avoid she fell from high as Vhagar moved.
“Thank you,” she murmured as soon as Aemond managed to get her safely down.
“You are welcome, Mele rūklon ,” he replied in kind as he watched Sansa approach her brother who was standing a few steps ahead, watching Winterfell with the exact same expression she had worn when they had first gotten North. Sansa grabbed his shoulder and he twisted to look up at her as she smiled down at him.
“Welcome back home,” she told him in a breathless manner, before gently nudging him forward and inside the gates.
There were cry of joy, hails of Stark and general jubilee as soon as the household and guards sighted Rickon Stark, Ned Stark trueborn son stepping through the gates of Winterfell again.
Sansa jutted her chin up and with a beam on her lips she proclaimed “The Prince of Winterfell has returned!”
There was pride and satisfaction in her tone as the household fell in a bow and they all bent the knee.
Aemond was sure half satisfaction was by seeing Ramsay Bolton’ face as he was forced to bend the knee.
He observed as she searched with her eyes the courtyard, and Aemond followed her gaze.
“Where is Myranda?” she asked softly, and a muscle jumped in Ramsay Snow’ face.
“She…” he looked away, “she was found dead,” he reported.
Sansa blinked feigning surprise, “Was she?”
“Aye, Princess” he looked like he had swallowed something sour or had acid on his tongue, Aemond came beside Sansa and stared down at him.
Stay down, dog.
“She was found with a letter she wrote by her own hand, in which she admitted the murder of Theon Greyjoy,” the Maester interjected coming closer, “her handwriting was childish and I was even surprised she knew how to write, but it was confirmed by several sources she indeed knew her letters, if badly,” he stated “she took her own life by slicing her veins,”
The maester shrugged, “I suppose she thought it poetic”
Sansa narrowed her eyes at Ramsay and Aemond instead looked at her. It was as if she was considering the man fully now. In a new light.
Then she sighed, “Maybe the Gods, who are fair and just, worked through her hand,” she commented.
“Indeed, Your highness,” replied the Maester, “May I present to you Steffon…”
“Cassel,” Sansa concluded for him, the man — a tall, thin man with dark hair and eyes — blinked in surprise at her, “You are Jory Cassel’ brother,” she said.
“I am Princess,” he nodded, lowering his gaze, “if it pleases you,” he said “I would be honored to serve as steward,”
Sansa’ smile was filled with sadness, “I remember Jory Cassel fondly,” she said “I’m very glad to have you back in Winterfell,” she added “you can take your post immediately and serve Prince Rickon well,”
The man nodded and greeted Rickon with a low bow, “My Prince,” he offered.
Then she turned and faced Ramsay Snow, “On your knees, Ramsay Snow,” she commanded and the man obeyed, though his gaze was dark as she added, “as it pleases the prince of Winterfell, you are now to be in his attendance, and shall return in his name to govern the Dreadfort,” she said.
Then she curled a hand around Rickon’ neck and added, “Oh, and as you return to the Dreadfort, we’ll have to ask you to go to Barrowtown and relieve lady Beth Cassel of the accusation wrongly made about her,” she said, “tell her she is to proceed as agreed to return to Winterfell, where her family will be awaiting” she added.
She then caressed Rickon’ head and added, “You are to leave at once on the morrow, so retire early and sleep well,” she then cocked her head to the side, “the members of the Bolton household will be sent immediately directly to the Dreadfort, unless they wish to remain here,” she then smiled, nudged Rickon away and started to speak with the Maester and steward about the matters she had left in their hands before departing for Skagos.
Aemond lingered back for a moment, “I’d suggest you do as she says,” he commented before following her inside.
As soon as Ramsay Snow left Sansa summoned lady Asha Greyjoy from the cells and the Maester and Steffon Cassel.
“Could Ramsay Snow have written that letter?” she asked, “do we have a way to ascertain it’s his writing?”
The Maester shook his head “If he did write that,” he said “he took care of writing in a different way from his usual”
Sansa worried at her lower lip, “so we can’t accuse him for it,” she said “which sources told you Myranda knew how to write? I doubt that might be a skill that the daughter of a butcher might learn”
“Ramsay Snow told me he was the one to teach her when they were children,” he said “we have no way to disprove it,”
Sansa started circling the room and Aemond observed her, “Does she have any family left?” he questioned “I think they would much like a way to rehabilitate her name,”
Sansa turned a questioning glance toward the Maester, “I can enquire, if you will it princess”
“I will it,” she said “and I want his hounds to be put down, not later than today” she added, “I won’t have those beast longer in our kennels”
“It shall be done, Princess” Steffon Cassel replied, just as Asha Greyjoy was shown inside by the guards. She was kept chained at her wrists.
Sansa eyed the chains, “Have her unbound,” she demanded, the guards — Stark guards — obeyed without fuss and Aemond observed the young woman as she massaged her wrists.
“Lady Stark” she offered meekly.
“That’s my mother,” Sansa corrected. She didn’t bother to say more and instead gestured for the seat across his, Aemond watched as she then dismissed Steffon Cassel and the Maester to their duties and then sat beside him.
Asha Greyjoy studied her, “I suppose so,” she commented her eyes traveling up and down Sansa as if she was assessing her, “so you are the woman who killed Tywin Lannister”
“ Joffrey did that,” Sansa replied easily “I just planted the seed of distrust in his mind and watered it to see it bloom,”
“Just like you planted the seed of murder in me so that I would do your dirty work for you?” Asha Greyjoy questioned.
Sansa collected her hands before herself “I didn’t wish for Theon to die without proper trial,” she said “Myranda and Ramsay did that, I just enabled you to have vengeance for your brother”
“And freed yours from a threat,” Asha supplied.
“It’s called an advantageous collaboration,” Sansa offered back, “now, I hear you had claimed the salt throne after your father’ death,”
Asha Greyjoy eyed him cautiously “My uncle Euron was chosen,” she said “the salt throne is his”
Sansa turned to him and Aemond leaned his elbows on the table, “And you escaped, it’s safe to assume you wish not to accept such a fate,”
“I am the heir to Balon’s body,” was her stiff reply “he may have won now, but in the end I will be the one ruling over the Iron Islands, they are my right,”
She then leaned back against the chair, “Besides, who are you to demand such questions of me? I thought Viserys Targaryen had died in the east, something about some Dothraki execution”
Sansa gestured with a hand, “Lady Asha,” she said “this is Prince Aemond of House Targaryen, rider of Vhagar and king claimant to the Iron throne,” she introduced him, “my betrothed, the Gods have brought him back from the dead to take back the Iron throne”
The woman studied her and then gave a sickening laugh, Aemond studied her and then she grinned “Ah, Princess Stark,” she said “even if he were not, you’d find your way to the Iron throne,” she commented “you got yourself an apparent Targaryen Prince and a dragon to win you back your place as queen consort”
She then looked at him “Help me take back the Iron Islands,” he said “and the iron fleet shall be at your side”
“You don’t possess the iron fleet,” Aemond pointed out “and the lords chose your uncle, perhaps I ought to parlay with him”
Asha Greyjoy smirked and then leaned forth on her arms, “Indeed, but I have an information on Euron that may make you want to reconsider that,”
Aemond arched a brow, “Indeed? I am listening”
“Agree to my terms, and I will tell you”
Now it was Aemond’ time to feel a smirk curl at his lips, he slowly removed his eyepatch and let it fall on the table, then he fixed his glare on her.
I am him, the One-Eye, the kinslayer; he told her silently, “Do not tempt my patience, my lady. Tell us your information and I shall decide what is to be done”
He could see in her eyes she knew when to back down, she straightened her shoulders and then exhaled “Euron boasts having found a horn capable to ensnare a dragon,”
He felt Sansa glance at him, but did not look at her, could the man really have found such an old artifact as an early Valyrian horn?
“I know he sent emissaries to Daenerys Targaryen in an attempt to win her dragons,” she said “destroy Euron for me, I will take the salt throne and you’ll have the Iron fleet”
Aemond studied her, “And if I destroy Euron for you, you will pledge fealty,” he said “after all we have given you justice for your brother and will destroy your rival, when I could easily destroy both of you,” he said.
Asha pursed her lips, “Give them to me and the Iron Islands will stand by you,” she said.
Sansa leaned closer and added, “You will also keep your ships away from the North,” she said “you’re pillaging days are over,”
“That’s our way!” Asha said, “it has been our way for centuries!”
“You want to be the First Lady in her own right of the Iron Islands,” Sansa pointed out, “find a new way”
Asha studied them both, then when she saw there was no room of argument, she sighed “Very well,” she said, standing up and offering him her arm, “I am with you, Your Grace”
Aemond adjusted his jerkin and then stood up slowly and took her arm in his, “Very well, lady Greyjoy” he said, “do you have men that may follow you?”
Asha worked at her jaw and nodded, “Good, then you are requested to gather all your forces and recovene with us in Harrenhal,” he told her.
Asha nodded, “As you will it, Your Grace” she said, she then excused herself and left the solar.
He turned to Sansa, sighed and let himself fall sat beside her.
“You think we can trust her?” Sansa questioned, her blue eyes studying him, Aemond was feeling the beginning of a migraine building behind his eye, and tried to relax his forehead, leaning then the head back and letting it loll.
“If she proves treacherous I will show her how easy it’s an Iron fleet to be melted,” he replied boredly.
A long silence ensued, Sansa was looking away, her gaze fixed on some point out of the widow, whatever was plaguing her mind could wait until tomorrow.
He grabbed the edge of her chair and dragged it closer to him, she squealed as Aemond adjusted his own chair so that his legs would cage her in between him.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on her armrests “Where have you gone?” he demanded, his voice low and dark, caressing even.
Alys had always found his sudden shifts of mood, the way he at times displayed his dominance, jarring and intriguing.
Sansa seemed to always have to remind herself he did not mean her harm, though she seemed to grow every day more comfortable with him. Now, for example, she did not flinch, she just stared into his eyes, silent, as she held her breath.
Aemond leaned close enough to whisper at her ear, “ Breathe ,” low and seductive and slow as he then leaned back.
She let out a long breath and Aemond rewarded by caressing her cheek, as she slowly relaxed against him.
“Where were you?”
Sansa took a deep breath, “Somewhere dark, and cold” she offered.
“If it’s dark and cold,” he told her “call for me, I will vanquish the coldness and the darkness for you”
Sansa smiled at him then shifted to fished from a hidden pocket of her gown something, then with deft hands that almost rivaled his own, she clasped the object around his wrist.
Aemond looked back up at her, “This is what you are to me,” she said, sliding her hand away from the bracelet she had fastened around his wrist.
Aemond observed it, it was of weaved leather and wood, styled as a dragon with small blue gems as eyes, on the wood styled as scales was engraved the name Aegon .
On the head of the small dragon there was a coiling of scales and ancient First Men runes, “They are meant to protect you,” she said.
A father, the father of the children she may bear. A man she wanted to protect.
He took her hand in his and brought it to his lips, “Thank you,” he said softly, “this is a most fitting gift”
The beam he received in reply was enough to make him decide to hasten his plans along. They had yet to receive word from the Septon, and though Robb Stark had sent word from Harrenhal — Queen Roslin’ pregnancy progressing well — there was no mention of the annulment.
Perhaps lady Catelyn who had reached northern soil earlier that week would bring good news, if she was half inclined to share them.
On dragonback the she-wolf stalked the lands of her blood.
A wolf laying low for the right time to claim back her homeland from those who had clawed at it for their own return.Stone-hard, stone-bound.
Even as the waves crashed, she, like a mountain in the storm, stood tall.As the one who called himself Magnar laid his words, the she-wolf laid her trap.
“I have brought winter with me, and winter does not forgive,” she who was beaten proclaimed victorious.
And the Wild Pup brought back a bit of her heart to the Mother of Wolves.
— from Great History of the kings of the Iron throne — the Dragon and the Wolf
Chapter 13: Tyrion & Catelyn
Summary:
Casterly Rock and Winterfell
Chapter Text
TYRION
The assassin came into the dead of the night, at the hour of the wolf and it was just a matter of luck that Tyrion had been passed out on the divanet and that in his fitful sleep he had found himself on the ground entangled in enough covers to hide him.
The assassin was quiet and quick, and if Tyrion had been in the bed he would have no chance of survival, not even in his own home. As things were, though, he hadn’t been in his bed and when the assassin started to search for him around the chamber Tyrion was still asleep.
What woke him was the assassin stepping on to his hand, rousing a squeak off him as Tyrion aroused from sleep, disoriented and with a pounding head and vomit at the corner of his mouth.
There was the matter of a moment when Tyrion looked in the eye the man who was sent to kill him, in his own bed, and the assassin stared back at him.
Then the man pounced like some kind of animal and grabbed the covers still loosely wrapped around him from the tumble on the ground and attempted to strangle him with it.
“Better yet for the king,” the man had stated as he pulled and tugged at the fabric as Tyrion gaped for air, one hand wrapped around the cotton and wool the other moving mindlessly around in search of something, anything that might help save his life, “if it looks like an accident,”
Dark spots had started dancing around his vision when his hand wrapped around something cold — gold — and in a desperate attempt to save his own life he swung with as much strength and energy he could muster, graceless as it was.
The golden bedpan, filled with piss and vomit to the brim — he might have used it before passing out — hit the hitman on the head, the force of his desperation enough that the man stumbled several steps back, holding his own temple, from which copious blood showered down his face and neck.
Tyrion watched in horror and awe as the man, supposed to kill him, fell to his knees his hands bloody and then fell face-first on the ground. A chuck of gold was stabbed into his temple, Tyrion looked at his hand, and the bedpan had the corresponding bloody indent on the rim.
The smell of piss and vomit and blood was all around him and filled his nostrils, making him curl around himself and then vomit once again, this time on the covers that had been used to try and kill him.
Luck had kissed him, square on the mouth, once again.
Slowly he disentangled himself from the dirty covers and walked to the body, he kicked at it to ensure the man was actually dead, and then exhaled.
He ought to have kept the man alive, if only to learn who, of his many enemies, had sent him to kill him.
The numbers were ever rising.
His sweet sister.
His manic nephew.
His uncle because he was against him getting back to Casterly Rock.
Aemond Targaryen to be finally free of marrying his little wife.
His little wife, for the same reason as above.
Robb Stark or Catelyn Stark.
Bronn.
Still, some things could be found off his body.
He walked to the door and then closed it, securing a locket from it, then he got closer to the body and pushed it so that it would laying face up instead of face down.
The man was rough looking and missing too many teeth, in youth he must have broken his nose which had quite never settled right because it was pug-like and the tip of it was sideways.
He was also missing an eye, in the socket was nestled a wooden eye that once had been painted blue and green.
Tyrion pocked at his face and hands, then he started to inspect him for weapons and equipment as well as any kind of hint as to whom may have sent him along.
He was half inclined to think it might be his sweet sister, as she wanted him dead, always had. But no one was out of the list yet.
There was no obvious amount of gold, Cersei was stupid but she was not that stupid and she would have had something dramatic for the assassin to rely before Tyrion took his last breath.
She was just like that.
The man had also commented that the king would be even more satisfied if it looked like an accident.
So it was either Joffrey, Robb or Aemond. He doubted Stannis — who was still nursing his wounds after the years long war against Renly — would have the need to act so slyly to kill him.
He would make a show of it, and possibly burn him at the stake for his many sins; like he had done his wife when his red priestess had claimed she had not given him a male heir because of her sinful nature.
Tyrion had heard the woman had went on the pyre willingly and had welcomed her death and fate joyously.
They had dubbed her the Saint Queen now, because she had embraced the flames of her Lord of Light with joy and happiness, letting the fire destroy her sins and purify her.
Stannis had been closed in his own quarters in Storm’s End since then, and no word had been made for a new queen and possibly a male heir, no. In all reply Stannis had named his daughter, Shireen, as his heir and had declared she was the only rightful heir to the Iron throne.
Perhaps he was having an existential crisis after burning his wife to the stake, who knew.
Tyrion doubted the man had sent men to kill him in his sleep, when he could make an example of him by executing him publicly.
So that left Robb Stark, Aemond Targaryen and Joffrey.
He doubted Robb Stark would have done something of the kind — he prided himself of his honor way too much, — though Catelyn Stark certainly had the gut for it if needed.
Aemond Targaryen was an enigma.
By what Tyrion knew of him, he was the kind of man who’d rather outright kill him than send assassins — though he might have taken a leaf from his half-sister’ book and done the deed if it meant finally shackle the North to him by marrying Sansa — and if the man wanted him dead, unless Tyrion had a good trick up his sleeve he would be dead .
Tyrion’ trick up his sleeve laid across the Narrow Sea, in a hall made of marble and had three young dragons to her disposal, and she was told to be beautiful, stubborn and powerful.
Powerful enough that with the right lever Tyrion could get to use her for his goals.
And Tyrion had the right lever.
The only matter was that now, he wasn’t as safe in his home as he had anticipated, being formally the Lord of Casterly Rock didn’t mean people were loyal toward him as they ought to.
They were treacherous.
And Tyrion would ensure they suffered for it. They would end up accepting him, they would end up knowing he held their fate in his hands and would destroy them all if he so wishes, if fancy so struck him.
He leaned over the assassin and noticed that the assassin had been wearing at his belt a knife with a hilt styled to resemble a dragon.
Which could either be a signature of the person behind the assassination, I want you to know it was me , or it was an attempt at misleading.
What he did next, was purely out of spite.
Let them celebrate him dead, and Tyrion would return from the dead with three dragons, a dragon queen and vengeance.
He rolled the assassin on the covers and then threw the candle and the oil from the lamp he had acquired from Prince Oberyn years prior onto the covers and man and set it afire.
Then, he donned on a cloak and ran to the private bathroom of the Lord’s room, and from there, he found his way to the bowels of the keep.
He knew his way around the darkness as he knew his own palm. With a smile curling his lip, he trudged in the cubicles and narrow corridors like he had as a boy.
His lord father might now be bellowing at the irony of the whole thing — from whatever the of the seven hells he was ruling now — as Tyrion used the means he had given him whilst he had been trying to humiliate him, further than his condition did.
Tyrion would find his way across the Narrow Sea, he would buy Daenerys Targaryen and her dragons — there was nothing that could not be bought — and he would find Tysha. Then he would return west and claim back Casterly Rock and the West, he would set Tysha as her rightful place as mistress of the keep — have a whore rule over Casterly Rock, so that his Father may very well roll in his tomb — have Cersei killed and put Sansa Stark back in her place.
She’ll be forced to be his concubine as a whore took everything she had chosen to disparage.
And Tyrion would remain known as the Queenmaker and one day he would die, old and brittle, in his bed with a jug of wine to his lips and whore’ mouth around his cock.
Maybe Sansa Stark’s.
He’d made of her the whore Joffrey never managed to, after all she looked way too smug collared and whored out to the king, it would slap some humility and reality in her where all of Joffrey’ beating failed.
Tyrion would have all he wanted, for how twisted anyone thought it. He would have it all.
No matter what.
He watched the lord’s chamber burn and he imagined his father’ every memory burn with it.
Let them think him dead, let them celebrate him dead. He would return like a demon from the seven hells and make them all pay.
I am a dwarf, but you made a monster out of me, now I am going to show you the face of a real monster.
He turned and joined the darkness as the flames erupted and broke the window of the lord’s chamber.
I am the fire.
I am the Lord of Casterly Rock.
I am the Imp.
The Half Man.
I am the monster of your nightmares.
Catelyn
Winterfell stood like a dream from a memory, grey and wrapped into a cloak of snow. The autumn sun, pale as it was, reflected on the snow making the keep look almost like an enchanted realm.
Life was bursting in every corner and street, and after so many years away from home Catelyn was reminded of how young, how naive and vulnerable she had been when she had first set foot in Winterfell.
She had stepped into the keep that would see the birth of most of her children, that had seen the love bloom between her and her Ned, that had seen tragedy and happiness in kind.
There was no fanfare to welcome her home, she wasn’t even sure they knew they had already come. It had been Catelyn who had wanted that, she wanted to return home, but she was also afraid of it.
What if home didn’t feel like home anymore?
Ned was gone.
Arya was who knew where, if not dead by years without any of them being none the wiser.
They didn’t know where Bran was and they might never get Rickon back.
Sansa was back, but she was a stranger wearing her daughter’ skin. Even her smile was not the same.
A stranger who wore dragonriding gear and got herself betrothed to a kinslayer instead of a good match made in the Reach. A stranger who acted more like Cersei Lannister than herself.
A stranger who wore her daughter’ face, but felt like distant uncountable miles away from the girl Catelyn remembered.
And she could not held Sansa accountable for becoming this stranger when it had gotten her alive out of the capital, after everything.
But what if even Rickon was changed?, he had been but older than a babe when Catelyn had left, and now he was a young boy. A young prince.
What if he was changed as well?
What if he didn’t need his mother anymore either?
Lady Jorelle and sir Eddard who had followed her back North as protection were silent beside her, and Catelyn was thankful for it, because she couldn’t bear to see one more fond look between them.
She doubted anything had happened between the two, but lady Jorelle who was sweeter than her sisters had taken a fancy to the dashing knight who seemed to have grown fond of her as well, as the journey progressed.
Catelyn hated how that smacked to her not only of her and her Ned, but of Sansa as well.
Sansa and her dragon prince from the dead.
Sansa and her kinslayer.
The kinslayer Catelyn would sooner see six feet under than by her daughter’ side.
Vhagar, as if sensing the dark turn of her thoughts about her rider, suddenly appeared across the background, as big as the keep itself, shaking the melting snow from her immense body.
The dragoness gave Catelyn the hives especially considering that Sansa had ridden her to get here instead of doing the sensible thing and let her brother manage this matter.
She was grateful someone had chosen to go and take Rickon back — she was — but she hated what that made Sansa become.
A woman who would go against her brother’ order — manage to make it become accepted by her brother and king — because now she had done it for something right for her but what if one day she decided she wanted revenge on the people who had mistreated her and turned her eye against those who should not be harmed? She doubted a woman who’d disobey an order would care about right or wrong and she’d have the means as well as the partner at her side who would not stop her.
Remember, my sweet Catelyn, a disobedient daughter is a daughter ill received , her father used to tell her when her stubbornness got the best of her.
Sansa had always been obedient, eager to please and dutiful. Now Catelyn could not take for granted that her daughter would do what she had taught them.
Her uncle who had stayed behind with Robb, Roslin and Edda had told her, once, that is the kind of woman who would sing a song of lie and make it sound like truth , and though Catelyn had not been impressed by it, her uncle had told her that that was a quality fit of a queen .
Catelyn didn’t know if it was a quality fit for a queen, but she knew she didn’t like it.
A woman can rule as wisely as any man, but also as cruelly and unjustly. Lysa was a proof of that.
Make no mistake, Lysa is not you.
Your daughter sounds like you when she’s crossed, her uncle’s word echoed in her mind.
Catelyn had never taken a dragon to a keep, put it under siege and destroyed it in dragon fire because they had refused her request. But she had risen in rebellion when they had killed her husband.
We will kill them all.
Give me Cersei Lannister, my Lord, and I’ll show you how gentle a woman can be.
Still there was some kind of lingering darkness in Sansa that broke Catelyn’ heart.
They rode past the gates and the smell of Winterfell filled her nostrils in such a potent way that it made her shed a tear, silent and solitary as she watched around the rebuilding keep.
Whatever damage the ironborns had done, they were in the process of rebuild — it was as if it was newly fresh as well, as if things had let be until now — and everyone was going about their business as if it was a normal day and nothing had ever changed.
Stark banners hang from the walls and parapets and they were intertwined at even pacing with a smaller Targaryen banner with a golden three headed dragon. Catelyn remembered that, at the time, king Aegon II had chosen to change the colors to distinguish between him and his sister and to honor his dragon. Now Aemond kept it, maybe to honor his dead family.
And Sansa was honoring him by hanging it besides, if of less importance, to House Stark.
Catelyn dismounted in the noise of the courtyard, for now unnoticed as Jorelle and Eddard followed suit.
Catelyn looked around herself, inhaling deeply, rounding on the entire courtyard.
Even the broken tower was being rebuilt, and as Catelyn looked around herself — heartbroken at not seeing Shaggy Dog for, for sure the direwolf would be anywhere Rickon was — she found herself face to face with a known face she couldn’t place.
“Lady Stark,” the man bowed in greeting, “I am Steffon Cassel,” he introduced himself “the newly appointed Steward of Winterfell, welcome back home, my lady” he offered.
I am not home, Catelyn would have liked to tell him, my home is buried beneath our feet in the crypts. My sweet Ned . Not even my children need me anymore.
Catelyn was about to reply to him when she caught sight behind him of her daughter descending the steps from the parapets speaking with the new Maester and with the dragon prince hanging behind her with his arms crossed behind his back.
She watched as Sansa told the Maester something, the man bowed and left them, then Prince Aemond offered her his arm to descend the steps and the two, once reached the ground floor, as they spoke softly between themselves, hands still intertwined.
Catelyn hated the sour taste on her tongue, as she could see the way her daughter’ eyes sparkled. She ought to be happy if her daughter was, and yet all Catelyn could feel in her heart was heartbroken.
“Thank you, Steffon,” she forced herself to say, “I see the keep is in good hands,” she said, gesturing around them.
Lord Steffon nodded, “Of course, my lady,” he said “Princess Sansa has been a propelling force since returning, apparently Ramsay Snow had been attempting to tie the wealth of the North only to him,” he added.
Catelyn frowned, Bolton’s boy?, Lord Bolton was very pleased of how his son had been managing the Dreadfort and Robb had noticed nothing missing in his reports.
Catelyn turned around and fixed her glance on her daughter, who was still speaking with the Targaryen prince.
Prince Aemond was not wearing the eyepatch and the sapphire nestled in his empty socket gleamed with the pale light, there was the ghost of a smile on his lips as he spoke to Sansa in soft tones.
The choice is in your daughter’s hands.
“Mother!” Catelyn blinked and suddenly Sansa was walking to her, her prince following her a few steps behind.
Catelyn accepted her daughter’ embrace and when Sansa leaned back she studied her, “Are you alright Mother?” she asked, “we were not expecting you for a while yet,”
Sansa then turned to sir Eddard and Jorelle Mormont offering both a nod in greeting.
“Lady Stark,” Prince Aemond greeted, coming to stand beside her daughter, leaning slightly in her space, to then offer Catelyn a polite nod, “I see the northern air agrees with you,” he offered.
Her daughter took her hands, “Come, Mother! He will be most happy to see you!”
Catelyn didn’t even get to ask for an explanation as Sansa started to drag her inside the keep, Prince Aemond was shaking his head and smiling indulgently at her daughter, in a way that reminded her — like a slap on the face — of her Ned.
And then, Sansa dragged her through the corridors Catelyn had once known by heart, leading her through stairs and twists until she brought her the Lord’ solar.
It was perhaps fate, though Catelyn had stopped believing in fate a long time past, but as they rounded the corner, the door of the solar opened and the child walked past the threshold.
Catelyn felt as if made of marble, unable to move even one muscle as Rickon turned around and caught size of her.
That’s it , she thought as no recognition alighted in his eyes as he stared at her for a long, interminable moment, he doesn’t know me, he doesn’t need me .
Then Rickon did something remarkably Rickon , he beamed at her, and started run to her, “Mother!” he cried out, as tears welled up in his eyes and before Catelyn knew what she was doing she fell to her knees to embrace her baby to her, tears flowing like a river down her cheeks.
Rickon had the same scent he always had, fresh and pungent, and his curls were as soft as when he had just been born, his eyes just as brimming with light and his laugh just as breathless against her cheek.
Catelyn was trembling when finally Rickon let go of her, she brushed away a stray curl from his forehead and Rickon smiled.
“My baby,” Catelyn murmured before grabbing him and pressing him against her once again, “my sweet little Prince”
It took her hours to finally settle and let go of Rickon long enough for them to share a small, private supper.
Catelyn didn’t care if the rest of the world burned, right now, all she cared for was her boy, who was explaining he left Shaggy Dog free in Skagos “So he will look after Osha, until I can bring them back!”
Osha was the wildling her firstborn had captured and who had turned out to be a sort of nan for her Rickon, apparently — by what Rickon had recounted — the woman was quite fierce and had killed many to keep him safe. She had chosen to remain in the isle as she was fearful of the dragon and of the demons who were — if one was to believe the crazy stuff she was saying — marching toward the Wall.
Fierce and loyal she might be, but ignorant she remained, everyone knew that demons did not exist — not even Cold Ones — and even if they did the Wall was imbued with old magic and runes that kept it a magical barrier for all that laid beyond.
“That was…very thoughtful of you” Catelyn said, though she would have rather the direwolf remained by her son’ side to defend him, instead of the wildling woman.
Nymeria had bitten Joffrey to keep Arya safe.
Grey Wind accompanied Robb in battle and had saved him more than once.
Sansa had been the one who had suffered the most, undefended when her direwolf had been killed.
“I did! Sansa said what I did was very brave, and very noble!” Rickon exclaimed, looking at his sister as if she hang the moon in the sky “and she knows!”
Sansa smiled and ruffled his hair, “You have been very brave, my prince” she told him softly.
“I was!” Rickon promised, turning to look at her “I really was, even if I was scared!” he added, then tucking his jerkin down enough to show her the fading scar he sported on his collarbone.
Catelyn felt horrified by it, wondering if Sansa hadn’t had the right of it, believing the Skaggs to be able to kill Rickon for their absurd rituals.
Catelyn looked in her daughter’ eyes and suddenly they were so very cold and so very bright and cutting, “They got what they deserved,” she told her, “their name will disappear, their memory and their House as well”
Catelyn watched as Prince Aemond grazed her daughter’ arm, drawing comforting patterns over the fabric of her woolen dress.
“Sansa was very brave too!” Rickon felt the urge to tell her “the Black was really fat, and really scary. I thought he would slap her,” he turned to look at his sister with awe in his eyes “but she didn’t back down at all, just like Shaggy!”
Sansa smiled, tucking his curls behind his ear, “We need to cut your hair, my prince” she said sweetly as a way to change the topic, but it didn’t work.
“And she told him, give me my brother ,” Rickon recounted, “and he almost slapped her! But she only held one hand up and the dragon flew,”
Catelyn looked at the Targaryen prince as he shared a private smile with her daughter.
The nan came to take Rickon back to his chamber and her son rounded the whole table to press a kiss to her cheek and one on Sansa’ cheek. He sent a scathing glare to the dragon prince — as apparently her son shared her distaste of the man, — which seemed to amuse beyond belief the man.
“House Magnar is no more,” Sansa told her, “all its male heirs are disposed of, either dead or at the Wall, to legitimate the reconstitution of House Weg the only female heir of House Magnar has married and taken the name of Lord Weg,” she said, she held up her palm with the fading scar of a blood oath, “they are assembling a new fleet as we speak, to join the Stark forces, our fight is their fight now”
Catelyn nodded, she looked down her hands, “Your daughter stood like a mountain,” Prince Aemond told her making Catelyn look up to his eyes, “their storm could not shake her,”
Prince Aemond looked to her daughter sideways, a smile curling at his lips, “they crashed throwing themselves against her,” he added “she stood proud, and that is a testament of her parents’ strength” he looked back at Catelyn and for a moment Catelyn felt utterly naked, as if he could see her bare soul “because children are always the reflection of their parents, one way or another”
Sansa smiled at him and grabbed his hand on the table, and a look passed between them. An intimate look that made Catelyn terribly uncomfortable, as if she was peeking at something highly private. As if they were in their own bubble, like all young couples were.
She stood up abruptly, her chair scratching the floor, “I am very tired, I shall retire for the night,” she said “good night”
Sansa frowned, “Of course, I will come to you on the morrow, so we can break our fast together” she said earnestly and it was in moments like this that Catelyn saw sparks of her little girl in the woman she was standing before now.
“I would like that,” she said “I must also get afoot with the ongoings of the keep,” she added “we should talk about it after”
Sansa nodded to her. Catelyn shared a silent nod with the Targaryen prince and left just as he leaned in to tell something to her daughter.
Sansa intently listened and worked at her jaw in deep thought about whatever the prince had said and when Catelyn turned around to look at her one last time, the prince was idly playing with the end of her hair and she didn’t seem to even notice.
The prince had also twisted on the wooden bench they were sharing, so that he was sitting across it, with either leg at Sansa’ side, almost looking like he was caging her. One of his hand was playing with her hair and the other was resting on the table as he observed her thinking and speaking.
She pursed her lips but left without any other word.
Sansa recounted to her the state of the stores — which apparently had been steadily but discreetly being transported in small amounts at time to the Dreadfort — and about all the deal of untended damage that had been letting rot silently in Winterfell while the Starks fought south.
Catelyn listened as Sansa reported the damage done not only to the keep itself, but also to the household, putting her on her guard on several new members whose loyalties could be divided as they had come from the Dreadfort.
She was efficient and precise in defining each damage and the repercussions as well as any policy she had put in action to resolve the matters in the most proficient manner.
If anything Sansa had brought to the next level whatever skill Catelyn had imparted on her.
She stood like a mountain, their storm couldn’t even shake her.
Catelyn watched as she explained her extensive plans to prepare the North for winter and a winter long war, the Maester was hanging from her every word, and the steward she had appointed to Winterfell, Steffon Cassel listed off all the several things they had already put in motion.
Ruling a castle was no small amount of preparation and hard work, but Sansa seemed to do it seamlessly, as if she was born to rule over even bigger tasks than govern a keep.
She was born to be queen. She had the skills for it, and — seeing the recounts of what had actually happened in Skagos — she also had the aptitude for it, she hadn’t gone there with the dragon power and had demanded the release and put the keep under siege.
She had put her knowledge of the land to good use, she had used her skills and competences to ensure she had a backup plan in case the Magnar proved untrustworthy as they seemed.
She had weaved together politics, warfare and respect to engage in a quick battle that had won her the majority of the Skagosi clans and her brother’s freedom.
It didn’t surprise Catelyn that Prince Aemond had considered the loss of the North a worthy price to pay to have a queen who knew her way around politics and warfare both; and if he hadn’t been sure before then, by seeing how she had handled the matter on Skagos and how she was handling the rebuilding of the North she was sure he had no more doubts.
Sansa had been born for greatness.
Catelyn would have liked for her daughter to be less , to be born for happiness.
But it was becoming increasingly unavoidable for her to admit that Sansa had been born to be a queen, to help rule over a kingdom and to be the one to raise the next king.
“The ironborn won’t be a problem no more,” Sansa proclaimed and Catelyn was shaken from her reverie, “Euron Greyjoy is apparently interested away from these waters, and we’ll use this to reclaim the Iron Islands,” she added “lady Greyjoy is already assembling a loyalist fleet,” she stated.
Catelyn blinked “Lady Greyjoy?” she questioned and Sansa turned to her, then she nodded.
“Lady Asha of House Greyjoy,” she explained “heir to Balon Greyjoy, and lady of Pyke” she added “she pledged fealty to Prince Aemond and means to reclaim the Iron Islands in his name”
Catelyn frowned “You mean to give back to the woman who led the looting of the North her seat?”
Sansa jutted her chin up in defiance, “Lady Greyjoy has pledged to House Targaryen,” she pointed out, “and she has been warned that if she turns her treacherous sight North she will be disposed of,”
The way her voice dipped low, dangerous and cutting and the way her eyes looked, made Catelyn seen once again a stranger wearing her daughter’ skin.
Sansa collected her hands before herself, “The Skagosi fleet will aid her if needed,” she said “and then we’ll have the iron fleet put Kings Landing under blockade,”
Catelyn slammed both hands on the table, “And what of Euron Greyjoy?!” she demanded “he was the one they proclaimed king! He has the iron fleet!”
Sansa’ cold reply and the way she pursed her lips made Catelyn almost stagger back “For now,” she held her head high as if to challenge her, in a way that reminded her of how stubborn she had been as a child.
Catelyn found the silence almost deafening.
There was knock on the door and one of then lady Jorelle was shown inside, she stopped before her daughter, “My Princess,” she said “Prince Rickon is about to start his training,”
A grin split Sansa’ face in almost two, and she dismissed Lord Steffon and the Maester, then she stopped by her “You should come as well,” she told her “Rickon would like you be there,”
“He didn’t ask me,” Catelyn hissed.
It was foolish, it was unreasonable to be jealous of her own daughter and the relationship she had built with her brother so fast since reuniting and yet Catelyn still was.
She was his mother.
She ought to be the one Rickon wanted there.
“He didn’t ask me either,” Sansa shrugged, “so what?” she asked “I was there when sir Rodrick had Robb and Jon start training,”
Catelyn remembered that moment, it had been then that she had known that her daughter loved nothing more than tales of valor and that her brothers would do anything to indulge her — she had been pregnant with Arya at the time and when she had told her she could not accompany her to the training grounds, Sansa had begged her Father, and she had clapped daintily and proudly every time she thought her brothers did something funny — Sansa donned on a soft furlined coat and smiled at her, “I will be there for Rickon too, so should you”
She didn’t wait for her reply, she just held out her hand and urged her to take it.
Catelyn studied it, studied her daughter and then grabbed her hand.
Sansa might be a virtual stranger, but she was her blood and her bone, she had nestled for nine moons under her heart, and had filled her heart with love and joy when she had been born.
So she followed her out, and down the steps. Rickon was waiting with another of the Cassels brothers who had taken Rodrick place, despite being decisively younger.
Rickon had yet to do anything, he was hanging aimlessly against the wooden railing, the wooden sword resting against his leg and his arms crossed.
Between them all Rickon was the one who resembled his uncle Brandon the most, Robb did as well, but lacked the wild look about him that Rickon had down to boot.
Lady Jorelle was standing next to him and welcomed them with a smile, as she had preceded them back outside.
Waymar Cassel, who had been named new master-at-arms — a man of thirty and four, was observing with critical eye the spar that was happening between Prince Aemond and sir Eddard.
Both were handling their swords as if they were part of their arms, with a grace Catelyn had come to recognize of her son as well.
But were Robb and sir Eddard as well, were of broad shoulders and brute strengths at times, Prince Aemond was much slender and taller, he was also quicker and his steps almost looked like the steps of a lethal dance.
There was nothing of the brute strength Catelyn had come to associate with battle in the Targaryen prince, on the contrary there was something brutal about how lethally accurate his every move was.
He continuously danced out of reach of sir Eddard’ blade but without ever stepping away from a small space between which they fought.
He wasn’t impatient, he waited for sir Eddard to make his move and then responded with several of his.
It was lethal, harrowing, bold dance.
In the end the prince rolled to one side, raised his sword to met halfway above his head sir Eddard’ and with a nudge of the wrist he hooked the hilt of his sword beneath the blade of sir Eddard’s.
For a moment the two observed each other and then so quick that Catelyn almost missed it, Prince Aemond twisted behind the intertwined blades and gave a tug with his arms.
Sir Eddard was forced to stumble as Prince Aemond forced him to swung his arm aside and leave his chest open, Prince Aemond then twirled the blade in his hand and pressed the flat of the blade against sir Eddard’ neck.
Both were panting and for a few moments there was an eerie silence, where only their labored breath could be heard, then prince Aemond face broke into a smile — as his purple eye caught her daughter’s — and he stepped back twirling the bade in his hand.
Sir Eddard smiled back at him and they clasped arms in good sport as sir Waymar started to clap slowly and was followed in quick suit by the rest of the guards who had assisted to the spar as well as by an impressed Rickon.
“Those were some moves,” sir Waymar commented, coming around to pat sir Eddard on his back “from both of you,” he added nodding to the dragon prince.
Then the master-at-arms turned to Rickon, “And now, young prince,” he said “your turn, if you train long enough you might one day become as good as His Highness,”
Rickon in all reply scoffed “I will be better,” he said, “I will be as good as Robb” he added walking past Prince Aemond with a defiant glance.
“Maybe if you will, I’ll knight you myself” Aemond offered, in no way demeaning Rickon’ proclamation, and only fuelling his resolve.
“Aren’t you a bit old for thinking so far ahead, sire ?” he wondered “aren’t you a hundred something?”
Catelyn watched as the prince arched a brow at her son, clearly at loss as to what reply, “Rickon, what did we say about being polite…to your elders?” Sansa called from where they were standing by the railing, her gloved hands grabbing at the wood of the railing as she leaned a bit forward with that mischievous glint in her eye she had when she was about to throw snowballs at her unsuspecting brothers.
Lady Jorelle meanwhile was teasing sir Eddard about his footwork and challenging him to a friendly spar, which he accepted with such a grin that Cat was reminded of her own Ned when he was comfortable enough to grow playful.
Rickon let out a breathless bark of a laugh before fully joining sir Waymar Cassel, as Prince Aemond turned to send her daughter a questioning glance.
In all reply Sansa smiled up at him.
“ Se ao tolī, ñuha raqiros ?” he questioned in high Valyrian. It was one of the few quotes anyone of high status knew in the old language. It came from an ancient chronicle.
Even you, my friend?, and it continued with a quote that meant, only a friend can betray me .
By the time Catelyn made the connection Prince Aemond had already reached them and hung the sword at his hip, with a teasing smile as he spoke with her daughter.
Catelyn watched astounded as Prince Aemond leaned casually against the railing and played with one of Sansa’ locks, in the open courtyard — before the eyes of everyone — and then her daughter, feeling the coldness of his bare free hand, grabbed it and enclosed it in hers as she blowed in between them to warm it up.
It was intimate and betrayed a familiarity Cat had hoped her daughter may grow to have with her husband one day.
But Catelyn didn’t have to fixate herself too much on it, because Rickon appeared as if out of thin air and grabbed his sister by her free hand, tugging her along and starting to jump around after sir Waymar had told him that fighting was like a dangerous dance.
Sansa went willingly, making Rickon twirl and laugh, and Catelyn watched her children as for a moment life had given them back the innocence fate had robbed them of.
Prince Aemond turned around to look at them indulgently as he leaned with his elbows on the railing.
Catelyn eyed him for a moment then she sighed, “Love her well,” she said at last, “That’s all I ask”
Aemond didn’t look at her for a long while but Catelyn knew by the tension in his jaw that he had heard her.
“That’s more than most mothers get to ask,” he said, then he twisted and looked at her hard and long. Catelyn faced his stony expression then he turned around again, “I will,” he stated.
Catelyn didn’t feel the need to reply, nor did she think he would need it.
She only prayed he would keep his word, but if she had to go by the way he seemed to be taken by her daughter, she could hold onto hope.
Ned had not been quite that taken with her in the beginning, and the matter of Jon had ensured they had a very rocky start, but when finally Catelyn had managed to forgive him… she wondered if they had looked quite that enamoured as they did.
Prince Aemond seemed to always know when her daughter stepped in a room, and he always followed her with his gaze, even when Sansa didn’t have to speak with him.
It was eerie, Catelyn imagined that a dragon hoarding his treasure would look quite similar.
It was both saint and unholy the way he would look at her daughter at times.
And, neither he nor Sansa seemed to mind being open about how much they enjoyed each other — they were never completely improper considering he was a man, and she a woman married if not bedded — but it still smacked her of too open the way they would gaze at each other, the way they were somehow always touching each other and, their dancing was better placed in the bedroom.
They way they breathed the same air, the way their touch lingered…
… perhaps it was this, the way scandals started. Sansa was still a very much married woman, after all…
Until she wasn’t.
Chapter 14: Sansa
Summary:
The march to Harrenhal and more.
Notes:
Before anything, I wanted to thank you all about the love and appreciation this story keeps getting! I’m terribly behind on replying to all comments and it looks like a mountain, which I am BEYOND GRATEFUL FOR!
Thank you all, your remarkably, astoundingly amazing and generous comments are what keeps me writing, so thank you ❤️
Chapter Text
Sansa
They reached Harrenhal in less than a fortnight, this time they voyaged by horse — as sir Eddard and lady Jorelle were in tow — and by the time they were in sight of the keep the snow had started to fall harder in all the Riverlands.
Winter was at their doorsteps.
They had left Winterfell in a hife when word had reached them that, apparently Tyrion had been killed.
The word wanted it to have been an accident, apparently he had gotten drunk and had passed out in his own solar, and he had somehow managed to pass out near the window, the result had been that he had managed somehow getting entangled into the curtains which had taken aflame when one of his lamps had fallen on them.
It didn’t sound like something that could happen to Tyrion, and at the same time it sounded exactly like something that would happen to Tyrion.
In the years of their marriage Sansa couldn’t say she had grown fond of him, but she had respected him quite enough that she had spoken for him during the trial. He was smart, that she could not deny, but he was also highly illogical at times.
When they passed the border between the Neck and the Riverlands they were met by a garrison of Freys commanded by one of Walder Frey’ sons, Arya’s betrothed, Elmar, sent to escort them to the Twins.
It had been unpleasant to meet Lord Frey, her brother’s good father.
He was old — and his new wife was even younger than her, perhaps of age with Arya; a small blonde thing who flinched for every movement her husband made — and rude.
Roslin had certainly taken after her lady mother, which was a stroke of luck considering who her father was.
They were welcomed with a pompous welcoming party, Lord Frey kept looking down at them from his high table, as rows after rows of his children piled up at the sides, in a way that Sansa was sure was meant to make the guest feel like they were caged in, surrounded.
“I was curious,” he had said “about this lady Lannister , who apparently has spelled the king, killed his grandfather and now caused also her late husband’ death, all meanwhile ensnaring a dragon prince back from the dead, did you do that as well?”
He had even drooled a bit as he spoke, and then he had dried the drool with his own hand instead of the napkin his wife had tremblingly offered to him. In all reply Lord Frey had slapped the girl on her rear, surely, leaving a smear of his own drool on the fabric of her dress.
“My Lord—,” Sansa had started only for him to interrupt her and demand she come closer. Sansa had stiffened at that, and it had taken her a moment to breathe in deep to then step further inside the hall.
It was a feeling she was used to, by now, being made a laughing stock of, being put in such positions where she had to play nice with people she’d rather never see again.
She had, had her practice whilst in Joffrey’ court and this felt eerily similar.
She had started to step forward when suddenly Aemond was no more beside her, but around her — surrounding her in his warmth — as he stepped further inside the hall, shielding her from the man’ gaze.
Sansa had watched astounded as he stepped in, and seemed to fill the entire hall with his presence, his back straight and his every step accurate to fault, to exude control, to exude power .
Jorelle had flanked her side just as sir Eddard did the same, stepping just a couple of paces behind Aemond.
“Lord Frey,” he had greeted, “is there a reason for this detour barred for your curiosity ?” he had questioned, his tone betraying how useless he believed such a stop, “we have a war to fight, this is not the time to sit idle,”
Lord Frey had leaned back against his chair and had considered him, then he had looked beyond his shoulder to Sansa.
“Why shouldn’t we sit idly?” he had questioned, “after all, all it would take would be for your dragon to breath,” he had commented, his tone suddenly as sweet as butter and as distasteful and rancid as rennet, “or for Lady Lannister to use another of her spells,”
Sansa had stiffened once again at being called lady Lannister , even as her mind whirled with a million thoughts.
“The proper way to address her is, as of present, Your Highness ,” Aemond had pointed out, “and, soon, Your Grace . A man your age should know his courtesies,”
“Is she not the widow of late Lord Lannister, for how long his lordship lasted?” Lord Frey had wondered.
Prince Aemond had arched a brow, about to rebut, Sansa could see it in the way he held his shoulders and she stepped next to him, hoping to get his attention.
She had, and she had shaken her head.
“Princess, Queen or Lady or Witch it doesn’t matter, my Lord,” she had said, jutting her chin up, “what matters is the timing, my Lord must have a reason to have subjected us to this detour when our presence is requested back in Harrenhal, risking the wrath of his king and of the king claimant to the Iron throne and, the wrath of a woman he believes a nefarious witch,” she had said, she turned her eyes back to Lord Frey “for sure he means to send with us more troops or more supplies now that the stalemate is over and the march is about to restart”
She hadn’t backed down from Lord Frey’ gaze, meeting it head on.
If witch he wanted to call her, so be it. She’d use it against him.
Aemond had studied her and a smile curled at his lips, “I had misjudged you, my Lord, perhaps my bride to be has the right of it,” he said “after all she sees beyond what we can,” he had added “and when she talks the Gods listen,”
When you talk the Gods listen, and if they don’t you just have to scream, the woman’s voice
A saint or a witch?
Neither, or both.
Princess or whore?
Lannister or Stark?
In the end they had left the Twins without fresh troops, but with the promise of supplies following soon enough behind them.
Aemond had even teased her about it, about how lady Malora had perhaps the right of it, and that the Gods did answer to her, because they both knew that Lord Frey had not meant to give them a inch more than what he had already given to Robb, but she had asked and the man had folded.
Sansa had replied that, that had just been making the most of an uncomfortable situation, but he had just shrugged.
“Perhaps he had the right of it,” he had told her, “maybe you really were the one who made them bring me back” he had even gone as far as to lean out to her, to shrug gently against her shoulder, their horses to an even pace.
Robb was there to greet them, Roslin already closed in her chambers for her pregnancy, with his whole court and Sansa could see his lords were looking at them differently from how they had looked at them before.
Word of the happenings in Skagos might have yet reached them, and when they rode inside the gates, the courtyard watched as Vhagar flew over the ancient, half fused keep, and in their eyes Sansa could see there was caution but also the hope of men which thought they were holding the key to win this war.
Aemond dismounted first, then he rounded around his horse and came to her stead, first he caressed the mare dark neck and then he offered her his hand to help her dismount.
Sansa didn’t actually need it, but it was nice for him to offer, so she grabbed his arm as he curled the other around her elbow and helped her dismount.
Once she was safely on the ground Aemond turned to face the court, as sir Eddard and lady Jorelle followed suit, and Sansa found herself tucked in his side as they approached Robb.
Sansa had the mind to offer him a curtsy and call him Your Grace , before Robb stepped up to her and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
“Thank you, Sansa” he murmured against the skin of her temple, before he stepped back and offered his arm in greeting to Aemond.
Aemond took his arm and clasped his back, bobbing his head in a nod as snow gently fell around them.
In his eyes shone the kind of gratitude Sansa could see magnified by how certain he might have become that getting Aemond in their corner was the surer route to victory.
“You delivered back my brother to Winterfell,” Robb said, and his gaze shifted to her, “and won us the Skaggs support,”
He took a step back, and then nodded, “We are thankful for it,” he stated.
Sansa didn’t know how much of his pride he had to swallow to bow his head down, she nodded in reply.
“There also more supplies coming from the Twins, where we stopped briefly,” Aemond told him “and lady Asha Greyjoy is readying a loyalist fleet to take back the Iron Islands and support our war against the Lannisters”
Sansa wrapped more snugly her arm around Aemond’s and smiled at her brother, as Robb nodded, “Now it but remains your marriage to be seen to, before we march south,”
Sansa narrowed her eyes, seeing how Robb didn’t want to look desperate to ensure Aemond was bound to their cause with their marriage; Aemond looked down at her and offered her a private smile.
“We should speak,” Sansa told Robb, “Tyrion dying puts things in motion we hadn’t considered,” she said “and that we should take into account,” she added.
Robb studied her for a long moment and then nodded, “But that is a matter for tomorrow,” he said “tonight is time for celebration,” he added clapping his hands.
And celebrate they did, they ate and danced and laughed and mingled with the northern court.
Lord Baelor Hightower, the heir to Oldtown, had reached Harrenhal with fresh troops who sworn allegiance to Aemond and who bore as their coat of arms not only the green flaming tower of House Hightower, but had also on their breastplates the golden three headed dragon Aemond had claimed for himself, in memory of his fallen family.
With him Lord Baelor had brought the Houses sworn to House Hightower and several others from the Reach on which the Beacon of the Citadel had enough influence.
Lord Warryn Beesbury was prominent amongst them, he was a Lord of an age with her lady mother — perhaps a few years younger — he was yet childless, and his only heir was his child-sister, who he had left behind to govern in his stead.
Lady Bulwer remained in her keep, but her lady mother had sent forth her brother, sir Leo Tyrell, with their troops, who — despite his name and distant relation to the Lord of Highgarden — was twice bound to them as he was married to a Beesbury.
Lord Tommen Constayne led his men himself — he was a bit older than Robb was — and he had such a way about him that made him look arrogant, and though Sansa disliked the way he spoke to everyone around him, she had learned he was considered the best swordsman of the Reach.
Lord Cuy sent his younger brother, sir Ryland Cuy with their troops, and though they were small in number Sansa found their coat of arms lovely; for a while their loyalty had seemed in discussion — since they had first supported Renly and later Joffrey — but Lord Cuy seemed intent to follow his liege Lord and swore fealty to the Green Dragon, as he addressed Aemond.
Lord Mullendor, cousin of sir Mark sworn shield of Mace Tyrell, sent only supplies instead of men, which didn’t go unnoticed from her betrothed.
Still, the Reach troops and the northern troops mingled — the riverlanders working as a bridge between them — and Sansa chose to see it as a good omen, that peace could be achieved by them.
But the war was not yet done with, the pearls sitting heavily around her neck reminded her — and many had already died for this cause — before the feast she had visited Shae’ tomb together with sir Dontos, whose wobbly stride was slightly better than it had been, courtesy perhaps of lady Malora’ restless work to make of him an asset instead of a fool.
She had brought flowers for her tombstone, and for Aegon’s, even though they were little and the last of the fall, before winter actually hit with all of his strength.
The two tombstones were raised together on the banks of the Gods Eye, a stone direwolf guarded the tombs — Lady, if Sansa had to go by the ribbon painted blue the direwolf sported — curling around Shae’s, whilst a dragon hatchling curled possessively around Aegon’s tombstone.
“You seem thoughtful,” Robb commented, “many tales have reached us of the wolf princess who commands a dragon”
Sansa twisted around, letting the hand fall to her side, her other arm still wrapped around herself “I am afraid,” she told him, “the tale, as it often happens, is exaggerated. Besides, it was Aemond on dragonback, not me”
Robb observed her closed off stance and Sansa almost felt the urge to draw herself even closer , but this was still her brother, “I am aware,” he said “still, it was you who freed our brother” he admitted.
“I did what everyone would have done,” Sansa told him.
“Yet I did not,” Robb looked down on the railing of the window and Sansa observed him, as he slowly took off his crown, setting it aside, “I, I think I never let myself think on how you might have felt,” he admitted.
Sansa observed as slowly her brother came undone before her, his blue eyes filled with tears, “They gave me this crown,” Robb said, “I donned it on and everything suddenly became more complicated”
“I became the crown,” he admitted “forgetting I was supposed to be your and Arya’s brother first ,” he looked down “they gave me this crown because I was Ned Stark’ son and I did not use it keep Ned Stark’s daughters safe”
He looked at the Riverlands panning out before them, “I did not keep any of Ned Stark’s children safe,” he sighed “Bran is who knows where, a cripple and alone,” he dried one of his tears angrily “Arya is possibly lost forever, and if you didn’t intervene I would have let this crown take from us Rickon too,”
He looked up, trying to fight off the tears, “If it wasn’t for you, you would still be a hostage in Kings Landing, subjected to whatever kind of torment Joffrey would have seen fit to inflict on you,” he told her “if it wasn’t for you, who knew what would have been of Rickon”
Sansa considered her brother for a long moment, she would have wanted to comfort him, tell him he was wrong in thinking that way, but she couldn’t really bring herself to.
“He’s safe,” she said “and I am as well,” she added “Arya and Bran are way too stubborn to die, they will come back to us”
Robb looked at her, perhaps still awaiting for comfort, “You did us wrong,” she said, grabbing his hand and squeezing it, “now go and do better,”
She looked at the moon, shining pale in the dark night sky, “It’s the most any of us can do,” she added.
Robb observed her for a long while then nodded, “You’re right,” he said “when did you become so wise?”
When they cut off Father’s head even if they promised mercy?
When I was beaten and humiliated and no one moved a finger?
When they married me to the Imp?
“You know,” she offered instead, “Mother always said girls mature earlier than boys”
Robb gave a watery laugh at that, “And Father always said that war was easier than daughters,” he offered back with a shrug.
Sansa looked at the stars and smiled, “We will do him proud,”
“We will” Robb agreed, then he tugged at her hand as the menestrels started a new, lively music. Sansa let him tug her back into the great hall, and together they joined the dancing.
She had persuaded Robb too many times as children to dance with her, and now it was paying off because her brother was a lively partner if a bit gruff.
They danced in a circle around each other, their hands between them, never quite touching, as they followed the known by heart steps, their feet quick and their smiles true.
By the time the dance was done with, Sansa was smiling and Robb’ tears were gone from his eyes, his crown a bit askance on his curls, and Sansa adjusted it on his head.
It was then, that Aemond cut in, his arms behind his back, his eyepatch in place, and his purple eye quite intent on her.
“Would my princess honor me with this dance?” he asked, offering her his hand.
Robb made a gesture, a smile curling at his lips, and Sansa accepted his hand, “And how could I refuse?” she asked with a smile, as he guided her back to the center of the hall, as the others stood a bit aside.
Then he gestured with a hand and then brought said hand back behind his back, whilst with the other he held her hand between their faces as the menestrels started playing.
It was still lively, but had a darker undertone, and an intensity which had lacked the dance before. Sansa knew this dance, for she had learned to dance well, but she also knew it was an old dance native of the Crowlands, some said from Dragonstone itself before or immediately after the fall of Old Valyria.
The fiddle work was exquisite and Sansa followed easily Aemond’ lead as he guided her to twirl around herself and around both of them, her skirt a flowing river of snow, her hair twirling with her. He then guided her to step back and change place with him, before drawing her again closer to him by the hand, then they resumed spinning and twirling ever close and then far and then close again.
It was almost hypnotic to dance to, and by the time the music was done Sansa was panting, her cheeks rosy for the exertion and she had a red lock of hair falling across her brow, and to her mouth.
Aemond looked only marginally less intense, and when the music was finally done with, and everyone clapped, he gently cupped her cheeks to tuck the strand of hair from her mouth gingerly, as he then leaned down to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth.
Perhaps it might be a bit improper, but Sansa found herself not caring, as she curled her hands around his elbows. Besides, the lords and ladies were clapping even more loudly.
He then pressed his forehead against hers, and breathed in deep, “I am not really going to enjoy the wait,” he murmured against her skin.
Sansa squeezed his elbow in reply.
“Neither will I,”
The war council had grown bigger since they had left, besides Robb most loyal, the northerners who had signed his will and disinherited her, her uncle and great uncle there were now also sir Baelor Hightower and lady Malora as well as sir Leo Tyrell, sir Garlan Tyrell and Lord Constayne and sir Ryland Cuy; lady Asha had sent word she would reach them in Harrenhal in a fortnight.
Still, though, there was no news from the Vale, where her lady aunt had been keeping the knights of the Vale behind the snowy paths, and had kept her son away from the war, claiming neutrality.
Robb and Aemond occupied the two heads of the table, and their lords were settled around it. Sansa’ position was a delicate one, she had joined the previous war council as Aemond’s advisor, and now she was both a princess of the North and Aemond’ future consort.
For that reason Sansa had deemed it best to stay on her feet instead of sitting, as she paced around the hall in silence and listened to the series of reports being made.
Renly Baratheon might be dead, but, after Queen Selyse Baratheon had been burned at the stake by her own husband, said husband had closed himself off in Storm’s End, after having taken it back from his brother.
She couldn’t quite believe her lord father would have supported a fanatic for the Iron throne, but it stood to reason that her father who had not been South since the war might not have known the extent of Stannis’ madness.
Burning his own wife to the stake… it wasn’t unheard of for a king to punish his wife, if she had betrayed him but usually it was never in such a fashion and the betrayal was not having not borne him a son.
Aemond looked as horrified as she felt when they learned of the demise of Queen Selyse Baratheon. Though the man couldn’t have burned her at the stake for a son, when he had then refused to take a new queen, and named her only surviving child, Princess Shireen formally his heir and the heir to the Iron throne.
“I shall seek him out,” Aemond said “I will ask he bend the knee, if he does his daughter will remain the heir to Storm’s End,” he added “but he shall put all thoughts of the Iron throne out of his mind, and must be epured of this darkness in his mind”
The way he spat his condition made Sansa stop her pacing and look at him, he was as tense as a predatory beast before striking, his hands were curled into tight fists, and his jaw was clenched as well.
“And if he doesn’t?” Lord Umber questioned, and lady Malora and sir Baelor observed their king.
She narrowed her eyes, mindful of his barely concealed rage, when he gently stroked with a hand the bracelet she had gifted him. It might have looked like he was still mulling over what to do, but Sansa recognized it for what it was. A way for him to try and reign in his fury.
“Then I’ll show him Fire and Blood,” he said “Shireen Baratheon shall then become a cupbearer for my wife, and in time we’ll decided to whom to marry her to give them Storm’s End”
Alys Rivers had claimed she could read the flames, and apparently her witchcraft, whether it was real or not, had caused her son’ malady to worsen. And if tale was to be believed, Aegon had died in agony engulfed by the very same flames Alys Rivers seemed able to read and control.
No wonder Aemond was so sensitive to the matter.
“The Imp’ death puts the war on edge,” Lord Bolton said, he had apparently not even protested when his son had been sent back to the Dreadfort, he had asked for mercy when lady Dustin had taken him prisoner with the intention of putting him under trial and Robb had agreed to hold off the trial until he was back North.
Sansa disliked it, but she could not butt her head every so often with Robb, not when it came to his bannermen.
He could not risk losing the Boltons, not now.
Not with the North undefended.
“Joffrey has named his mother Lady of Casterly Rock in her own,” he reported, “whilst the Imp had retired with his troops back to Casterly Rock, we can assume soon enough Queen Cersei will command the resume of the hostilities” he added, pointing to the lion figurine on the board, stopped at Casterly Rock, but not for long.
Aemond considered the board, as sir Baelor proposed several fields he deemed appropriate to meet the Lannisters in battle.
They were all intelligent proposals, but Sansa had other plans, plans that — as a bonus — would enrage Cersei, maybe even enough to lure her out of the capital.
Sansa stroked the pearls at her neck, then as Aemond observed her, in waiting to see when she would step in and expose the plan she had cocooned in her mind during their voyage to Harrenhal.
“We ought to try and use the kingslayer and the boy to stop her,” one of the lords commented.
Only then did Sansa step in, she rounded around Aemond’ chair and he moved, dragging the chair enough that she might step closer to the table and the board. Silence engulfed the solar as Sansa grabbed the lion on Casterly Rock and took it in her hand.
“Or,” she offered, twirling it in her hand “I could claim Casterly Rock”
They blinked in stupor and surprise as Sansa showed them all the small wooden lion, “After all, my marriage to Tyrion was not yet annulled,” she told them, “and he was the Lord of Casterly Rock,”
She tucked the lion in her sleeves “Which means I can appeal to the Widow Law and claim Casterly Rock to my name,” she stated, leaning on the board, caging Casterly Rock between her hands, “they tried to make a Lannister of me to hurt us, and now it’s my turn to play my hand”
Lord Bolton studied her, just as Lord Umber roared out a laugh, “That’s considering that the Lannister’s bannermen would choose to follow you instead of the Queen,”
Sansa smiled at him, a smile filled to the brim with venom, “Indeed, but I do have something Cersei doesn’t,” she said.
“The dragon cannot be the answer to all your plights, Princess” Lord Bolton told her, his tone demeaning.
Sansa felt herself stiffen at his careless tone, Aemond was observing her quietly, ready to step in.
“Indeed,” she said “and I was talking about a reasoning offer for their loyalty,” she commented before turning to Aemond, “Jaime Lannister has not yet proven useful,” she said “but he could . He will recognize Tommen, Myrcella and Joffrey as his own bastards, we will naturalize Tommen and later Myrcella and I will claim Casterly Rock as its lady and promise that, once this war is won, and as long as Tommen bends the knee, he will become Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West,”
“It’s a far better proposal,” she concluded “then a mad, bastard king on the Iron throne, and it’d ensure House Lannister and its troops to our cause, crippling Cersei and Joffrey and—”
“Taking what they deem dear,” Robb concluded for her, his gaze shifting between pride and agreement, “I always said I would conquer Casterly Rock, but taking it without bloodshed it’s actually a far sweeter revenge,”
He studied her, “But that would mean you would not be married until the war is won,” Robb commented.
Aemond crossed his arms, “It is the reason I dislike this plan the most,” he said, almost like a petulant child, “but without the Lannister troops’ support Kings Landing will crumble into surrender much faster,” he commented.
Robb studied him as Aemond took her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles, “I suppose I shall exercise patience,” he added “and I shall wait,”
Sansa smiled down at him, and Robb studied them, “I suppose that would be quite the smack,” he said.
And the lords nodded, “Thus it’s decided,” Aemond said “I shall take a small dislocation with me to Storm’s End and parlay with Stannis Baratheon,” he told them “Asha Greyjoy will offer her support in closing with her forces against the bay once she has retaken Pyke” he said “and my princess will lead the sieging force to Casterly Rock,”
Sansa could see their plan rise like a star in the sky, and she could just picture Cersei and Joffrey crumble to dust because of it. She played with the pearls at her neck.
Sansa had, had no friends in Kings Landing, but Shae had been willing to sacrifice her life for her, and Cersei had taken her from Sansa. Joffrey had taken her Lord Father’s head and now Sansa would pay them in kind.
I am coming to cast you down.
Let it be known,
Lord Tyrion of House Lannister, Warden of the West and Lord of Casterly Rock has died. The lady of Casterly Rock’ household will presently take possession of the ancient seat.
Any Lord or Lady who wishes to, is welcome to pledge allegiance.
— Sansa of House Stark, lady of Casterly Rock by right. Consort to be.
Chapter 15: Daenerys
Summary:
I hate filler chapters 😫 but this one was truly needed and I think I have nailed BookDaenerys the best I have ever managed.
Let me know what you think, if you are familiar with the Daenerys in my other stories.
Notes:
Enjoy
Chapter Text
Daenerys
The sun was high in the sky, brimming with an almost pale light.
The heat was getting crispier, despite all the oils that her handmaidens massaged into her skin everyday and the milk bath she took twice a week her skin was becoming increasingly dry, her hands were red and raw, and her cheeks were windburnt, her lips chapped and her silver golden hair were — albeit longer than she had managed to sport it whilst on the run — so filled with static that even Irri had trouble weaving it, and instead of braiding it, she had resolved to instead twist the locks atop her head and pinned them with little silver bells.
They made her head hurt with a terrible headache for how tight they were twisted, so every time she was alone she would let them fall on her neck. She would wash them with a basin of water and let them air dry so that her head might find relief.
The wind kissed her cheeks, making her humid hair stick to her cheeks, she tucked them behind her ears and took off the golden earrings she had been wearing during court.
Her gaze fell on the Dothraki encampment below the walls of the city.
Life was simpler out there, with the Dothraki. She didn’t need to drape herself in colorful silks, or golden jewerly that served no purpose but make her look like some kind of painting.
Useless.
Drogon and Rhaegal flew over the pyramid screeching and Daenerys watched as her, ever grown dragons flew above the Dothraki hoard and over the sea of the bay. Free.
She wished to be as free as them.
Things in Meereen had kept her shackled to the east, not yet ready to leave for the west though every night she could hear her homeland calling her home.
Daenerys, the verdant western shores called, Daenerys the storm crashing against the stone walls of the island on which she was born called. Daenerys! The Last Dragon! , a thousand men hailed and called.
Daenerys , the breathless voice of her motherland called with a warmth so great it became cold.
Every night Daenerys would disentangle herself from the sheets and her nightly companion and would look out west. She’d watch as the darkness lingered there as the sun rose. Her brother’s voice would resound in her ears then, I want to go home too sweet sister, and then she’d feel his hands closing in on her neck. You have woken the dragon!
She missed the most the lemon tree in those moments, and then she missed her Sun and Star…
…anything would be better than the meereenese bureaucracy, better than ruling over squabbling nobles and famished, hungry for blood freedmen.
She was born to rule the Seven Kingdoms. She was the last dragon.
The Iron throne was hers by right and the son of the Usurper still sat on it.
Five little, useless men kept fighting for what was rightfully hers .
And one day Daenerys would sweep back to her motherland on dragonback and sit on the Iron throne and those little, useless men would bend the knee to her.
She would make her lords fat, and the girls laughing and dancing and worries-less; like she hadn’t done to Meereen. One day she would have taken all she needed for her campaign west and she’d leave Meereen and the Bay better for it, less scandalously rich, but better for it.
Better for it.
Better because of her.
“ Khaleesi ,” Jorah called, his voice coarse but as sweet as a caress.
Daenerys turned to look at him and gestured for him to come closer, her bear .
When he had showed his face back in Meereen Daenerys had wanted to demand for his head and to demand he embrace as well. The moment the world had erupted around her, Daenerys had, had no doubt gripping his hand and trust he would defend her.
And when she had disposed of the khals, he had been there , ready to fight his way to her barehanded.
She had known then that she had forgiven him. He had made a mistake, but he was hers now, and a queen incapable of forgiveness was as bad as queen incapable of ruthlessness.
“There’s news,” he told her, his hands clasped before himself, Daenerys turned back to her balcony.
“It can wait,” she said, as her purple eyes fleeted over her people, reunited in the same city, Dothraki, freedmen and nobles.
It had been easy to repress the nobles of any dreams of taking back the city when she had returned and destroyed the besieging armies with her Dothraki hoard and her dragon.
She had squashed their every hope, every son had been sold to a freedman for seven years so that he learns what it means to have everything stripped from him; and every daughter had been demanded to serve in the pyramid as her handmaiden.
And she had been merciful when her own husband, a husband she had taken for the peace had attempted to poison her and had killed one of her children.
Viserion broken body; wings clipped and jaws chained, even paler than the golden cream he had always been was the chief horror of her nightmares and his screeches would resound in her sleepless nights.
A mother protects her children, even when they are monsters.
And Daenerys had not been there to protect Viserion, and her children in the Seven Kingdoms were still suffering — her own small folk — suffering because she was away.
“It cannot wait, Khaleesi,” Jorah opposed and Daenerys side-eyed him.
“I have grown weary of court today,” she told him, as the Dothraki’ noise rose and reached to them.
In the distance Drogon screeched.
“It’s about the Seven Kingdoms, Khaleesi” Jorah told her. She sighed.
“Unless you are here to tell me the Usurper’ son has died of his own misdeeds, and that his brother did the right thing and refused the throne,” she told him “it can wait until tomorrow,” she stated, her tone final.
“There’s a dragon in the west,”
Daenerys twisted around to look at his face, and could see no lie in the blue of his eyes.
“Impossible,” she stated “my dragons are the first ones to rise again in the skies after a century” she claimed.
Tears filled the corner of her eyes, tears of fury. Viserion had died, could it be his ghost the people were seeing?
“That’s why you should hear the news of your own ear,” Jorah said, “the man laid claim to the Iron throne”
“If it was believable my Lord Hand would have come to me, he would not send you ”
It was true, her Lord Hand did not trust Jorah, not even after years of service together after Daenerys had returned from Vaes Dothrak.
“And I would not lie to you, Khaleesi” he said “these news, they should be treated with the right degree of care up until now…”
Daenerys raised a hand to silence him. She knew what he meant to say.
If this was true, if there was another dragon with his rider in the world… it meant she was not as invincible as she had been until now.
The dragons had made her the most powerful woman in the world, it had been the dragons which had made her queen , now if somebody else had a dragon she could be challenged.
She still would win, she had two dragons, becoming bigger with each year, and this eventual enemy had only one.
She was the Mother of Dragons.
The daughter of dragons.
The bride of dragons. The bride of fire.
She was the Unburnt.
Her fire would burn brighter than the fire of this dragon, if indeed this dragon existed.
Without any more words bespoke, Daenerys twirled on herself and walked out of her apartments, directed to the throne room where her Lord Hand should have wrapped court up.
The black fabric of her skirt flowing behind her; servants and maids bowed at her passage, their hands closed at their chest and their gaze lowered.
The clicking of her bejewelled sandals echoed on the marble floors as Daenerys stormed inside the throne room, stepping down the dais and approaching her Generals and her Lord Hand.
Missandei, now a woman of five and ten, noticed her first, and on her face sparkled the preoccupation Daenerys had come to associate to bad news.
She approached Daenerys midway down the stairs, her ivory and purple gown a gift from Daenerys like the pearls around her throat.
Since the slavers liked luxury so much, Daenerys would drape Missandei — whose presence at her side had been endlessly questioned — in every luxury they deemed so worthy.
The gown had been of the daughter of the richer slaver of Meereen, whom now had just started her period as handmaiden, and the pearls had been gifted to Daenerys by an obnoxious and untrustworthy ex slaver, who had shown his true colors pretty soon. They had been in the family for generation, and now his son would see them at her Missandei’ neck.
She gestured with a hand and a handmaiden brought forth a cup of sweetened wine for her, her head held low.
“Your Grace,” Missandei started “grave news from the Sunset Lands,” she reported.
Missandei looked as if she was afraid Daenerys would reprimand her, so she softened her expression and grabbed the offered cup as she tucked Missandei’ hand in hers, she made sure the girl was looking in her eyes, “Thank you, Missandei”
Then, drink in hand, she joined her generals and her Lord Hand, her bear walking closely behind her.
The Unsullied stood in salute, and her Lord Hand bowed his head, “Your Grace,” he greeted “I had assumed you had retired for the night,”
“Didn’t I tell you I am always aviable for any matter small or great that requires my attention?” Daenerys demanded, feeling Dany — the little, insecure girl she had been — scraping at the walls around her mind, screaming her throat hoarse and crying her eyes out.
Her Lord Hand looked taken aback by her demand, and only by looking at sir Jorah did he sigh, ever disappointed, Daenerys stepped closer to him, Dany wailing in her own mind.
“ I am the one speaking to you, don’t look at him,” she demanded, ferocity biting at her voice.
“Your Grace,” he bowed his head ever fatherly and gentle, “ this precise matter would have better waited a few days, we cannot account for its veridicity else wise”
Daenerys gestured sharply with her free hand, “You mean to tell me that news of a possible threat to my throne was not a matter to be discussed with me immediately while on the other hand, you verified every possibility?”
“I mean to tell you, Your Grace,” her Lord Hand replied calmly “that you are the Queen, and we should bring to you only matters and intelligence which veridicity is unquestioned and considering who our sources say the dragon and its rider to be, I would deem it a wise precaution to first investigate and then report,”
Daenerys blinked, “What do you mean? Who do they claim him to be?”
She could almost see him, as if in dream, a silver haired pretender atop dragonback taking from her everything she had ever wished for. She had ever fought for. Her birthright .
Lord Selmy looked in apparently exhaustion to sir Jorah, and Daenerys felt almost as if treated like a child.
“They claim him to be Aemond Targaryen come back from the dead,” he told her at last, “they claim the Young Wolf has fished him out of the Gods Eye with his dragon,”
Daenerys frowned, she wasn’t that good with all the riders and dragons House Targaryen had had in the centuries — her brother could name all dragons ever existed as if he was listing numbers from the top of his head — but she could not forget the last rider of Vhagar who had went down with him in death.
“I beg your pardon? A ghost prince from an age past with a ghost dragon should be considered a threat now?” she asked, in disbelief.
Her accusatory glance ran to sir Jorah.
“Khaleesi,” he stated, “this is not mere child tale” he told her.
Daenerys felt a smile curl at the corner of her lips, an indulgent one. Her bear would fight even imaginary enemies for her.
“Alright,” she said “I will raise to the bait,” she told him “ why is this not just a mere child tale?”
“It’s the Starks ,” sir Jorah told her quietly “and the entirety of the North who claim he is who they say,” he murmured.
“They have betrothed to him Ned Stark ’s daughter,” he added as if it was meant to explain anything.
At times Daenerys felt like his love for for those who had shunned him, his respect for them… like it could outshine his love for her.
“Who?,” she asked “the wolf witch who apparently killed Tywin Lannister with a spell?” she demanded with the start of a smile on her lips.
“I actually think Your Grace would like Sansa Stark if you ever got to meet her,” her Lord Hand butted in “she’s a genuinely sweet lady,” he said “and she must be smarter than we gave her credit for, since she managed to orchestrate her escape from Kings Landing”
“And we should not underestimate the love the northerners have for Ned Stark and his children,” sir Jorah added “they would not betroth her to someone they thought could not defend her, not after what tale wanted she has suffered in the South”
There was such a certainty in his gaze that Daenerys found herself believing him, “You seem to hold quite in high regard the man who exiled you from your homeland” she commented “the Usurper’s Dog”
Sir Jorah bowed his head “Ned Stark did not exile me, he demanded my head,” he corrected her “it was Robert Baratheon who exiled me.”
There seemed to be almost fondness there as well, “Yet you respect him”
Sir Jorah nodded, “He was a good Lord liege,” he told her “and he fought to save his sister even against his vows to your father”
“The Mad King,” Daenerys spat, “he still chose to support the Usurper on the throne instead of doing the right thing and putting Viserys on the throne”
Sir Jorah sent her a look.
“Viserys might not have been fit to rule,” she admitted “but he was the rightful king,”
Lord Barristan bowed his head “This information might be untrue, Your Grace”
“Do you believe it untrue?” she demanded instead.
Lord Barristan sighed “I didn’t know Robb Stark or Sansa Stark well enough, but they are Ned Stark’ children and he was the most honorable man in the Seven Kingdoms, the only time he went against his honor was to defend his family. They are bound to be the same”
“So no ,” she said “you think he is who they say he is,”
Lord Barristan nodded, “Reports have been consistently getting more worrisome in the west and apparently there have been sighting of a dragon which seems to correspond perfectly to Vhagar back from the dead,”
Daenerys gave her cup to Missandei and walked a bit to the side. She had dreamed that in the world there would be two men who would ride her dragons and who she could trust with her life.
Now, this dragonrider — back from the dead apparently — not only claimed ownership over the Iron throne, but he also had chosen for bride another woman.
Daenerys ought to have been Viserys’ wife, a true Targaryen would have reached out to her and offered to join forces and take her hand in marriage.
This one, instead, not only had not reached out to her, and she knew that in the Ream they were aware of her; he had also decided to marry Sansa Stark, a woman once wedded already and the sister of a recalcitrant Lord who had named himself king.
“If this news is true…” Lord Barristan asked “what do you mean to do, Your Grace?”
“The Iron throne is mine by right,” she said, her gaze lost far in the distance.
A smaller dragon and a meaner rider — her own ancestor — had killed Aemond Targaryen and Vhagar already once. She would do it another time if he turned out to be real and against her and she would ensure this time it stuck.
“I will have the dragons dance”
Chapter 16: Aemond
Notes:
Originally this should have had also Aemond parlaying with Stannis but it felt too packed so I split it.
Hope you enjoy!
Chapter Text
before you go on with reading I link a small convo I had on tumblr in which we make some considerations about Dany’ chapter: here
Aemond
The stormy clouds above his head thundered, as the mud gathered around his feet near the banks of the lake.
The entire atmosphere gave the tombstones a ghastly look, the direwolf and the hatchling seemingly about to jump out of stone and attack any uncautious newcomer.
Flowers had been brought to the tombs, they were little and look ghastly as well as they were the last of autumn as winter started to creep in.
Sansa had been here, he thought, a small smile curling on his lips.
He fingered at the bracelet she had gifted of him, knowing by heart and by memory the letters of his son’s name.
It was such a thoughtful and meaningful gift, and Aemond had found immense comfort in it. It didn’t only recognize he had been a father, but it also reminded him he would be the father of her children.
Aemond caressed the name on the tombstone. He hadn’t been there when Aegon was given birth by his mother, nor when his malady had become apparent. He hadn’t been there when Alys must have done everything in her power to keep him alive and put him on the Iron throne.
He wasn’t there when it eventually became too much. He would not make the same mistake this time around.
He would live to see the children Sansa would give him, to watch them grow and see them develop personalities of their own.
He would see her become a mother and he’d watch as their children would go to her for comfort and guidance just like he had done with his mother.
But he would not be his father. He would be as much as parent as Sansa would be, and his children would come to him too.
He couldn’t make up for the time lost with Aegon, he would honor him by doing right by all other children he would have. All children who would know his name and visit his tombstone.
He would take the Iron throne and all the children of his mother’s line, who had died needlessly — Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, Maelor and Aegon — they all would be avenged. Wrong would be put to right.
And honor and justice would win out in the end, just like his mother prayed for. Just like his betrothed prayed for.
They were about to take the first steps and Aemond was thrilled to have the entire North and Riverlands and Iron Islands backing his claim.
Soon they’ll have the Stormlands and the Westerlands too, though that meant separating from Sansa and having to wait before finalizing their marriage vows.
He had gotten attached to her surprisingly fast, as he was slow usually in this kind of things. Perhaps it was due her own brand of charm or perhaps it was just that she was so easy to grow attached to. He couldn’t say.
At night he would still dream of Alys but now those dreams turned into nightmares, he would see her make magick before their son’s bed, worsening his condition.
In those dreams he saw her but a ghost made of shadow haunt the very same keep they were in, slaughtering everyone she thought posed a threat to their son’ rule, even if their son was at peace now.
Last night he had even dreamed she slain Sansa in her own bed, the blood dripping red and alive on the carpet.
He had awoken in a drench of sweat and in a horrible mood. He had beaten all opponents who had dared spar with him — going even as far as to disarm Robb Stark and almost continue to attack him with his swords — he had stopped only when sir Baelor had intervened and stopped him, demanded he cleared his head, with such an authority to his tone that for a moment Aemond had thought to be standing before his grandfather.
Which was why he had ridden to the lake to visit the tomb, hoping it would calm him in any way.
In a fortnight he was to fly to Storm’s End, to parlay with Stannis Baratheon.
Meanwhile Sansa would lead their forces to Casterly Rock to take the keep as her own and install herself as its lady before they moved for the capital.
In a fortnight the entire destiny of the Realm would be changed, and by his own hand nonetheless.
Suddenly the air grew cold and the wind howled in his ears, he turned around as if compelled by the winds and saw it.
The white crow.
By the time he got back to Harrenhal he was drenched due the heavy rain that the Gods had unleashed on them all.
Lady Malora and sir Baelor welcomed him back inside with tense expressions.
“Are you better, Your Grace?” Sir Baelor asked as they pulled through the entrance despite him dripping water all the way inside.
He was about to reply when he caught sight of Sansa in the very same corridor speaking with one of the maids who was about to care for the mess he had made and his drenched coat.
“I will be,” he stated as Sansa grabbed the cloth from the woman and approached them.
“Princess,” sir Baelor and lady Malora saluted her as she reached them as offered them both a curtsy.
“Sir Baelor, I heard that your lady wife is yet again with child,” she offered.
Sir Baelor smiled “So the Gods willed, Princess”
She nodded “I shall keep her in my prayers,” she offered “so that the pregnancy will be smooth and both she and the babe are healthy,”
“Thank you, Princess,” he offered back.
Aemond had lived at court all his life, he knew void and empty courtesies, Sansa’ words should feel like an empty courtesy, yet they felt raw and real and true.
Perhaps it was why she had inspired such a loyalty even in a hostile court that people had risked their neck for her.
“The Maid, the Mother and the Crone are all faces of the same God,” lady Malora said, “so when the Maid prays for the Mother, she can become a Crone”
At times lady Malora’ words were intriguing, other times they were plainly cryptic.
But Sansa didn’t seem to wonder about it very much, she stepped forth and helped him take off his wet coat.
“You’re drenched,” she muttered, “come, you should keep warm by the fire,” she added, tugging him by the sleeve inside one of the numerous antechamber.
This one was small, near the apartments of the servants, but the hearth was pretty big and though the furniture was few and spartan.
Sansa tugged him quietly to a corner near the hearth, in silence as lady Malora and her brother followed them inside and started to talk about the weather, the plans and Baelor’ wife’s pregnancy.
Aemond watched intently as Sansa gently removed the leather eyepatch and massaged his temples as she dried his forehead and head.
“Look at you, you’re going to get a cold,” she said, as she massaged gently the cloth on his scalp, releasing the tension he had there all day long.
“I needed a breather,” he told her.
“I know,” she replied, curtly if not unkind, “Robb and sir Eddard were quite impressed by how empowering your bad mood seemed to be” she commented.
Aemond studied her.
She didn’t seem in a bad mood perse, but she looked like she was displeased.
“You were worried, weren’t you?” he asked quietly, feeling some elation gingerly rise in his blood.
“Of course I was,” she said, “Vhagar was restless, and you were reported to be mercurial,”
Aemond found it endearing, though the nagging feeling at the back of his head that it was fear of him and not for him had him reply “Afraid I would go ballistic and burn down the Realm, were you?” he asked coldly.
She nailed him on the spot with her empyrean glare “I was afraid you might do something foolish to yourself ,” she seethed, “but I see now I should not have bothered” she hissed and her voice kissed like a bite against his skin.
She drew her hand back and made to step back as well, but Aemond grabbed her by the elbow, his grip firm but also gentle.
“I..” he had the apology on the tip of his tongue, but Sansa’s eye somehow had it dry on his lips “she killed you. In my dream she killed you,”
Sansa blinked at him and when he drew her closer by the elbow she followed him, “She had slain you, in your own bed, haunting these halls for Aegon… said you were usurping his right—”
“Alys” she realized, and Aemond nodded surly; it had been a nightmare and he ought to know better than to be frightened by it, but it still had worsened his mood all day long.
“She’s just a ghost in these halls, ghosts cannot hurt us,” she reassured him “only the memory of them that we carry can,” she told him as she gently cupped his cheek.
Aemond let her warmth spread from where her palm touched his cheek to his whole body.
“I cannot forget it all,” he muttered.
“And you should not, but do not let it rule you,” she told him “do not let it ruin you”
Aemond let out a long breath as Sansa’ fingers caressed his cheeks, his hands wrapped around her wrists.
“Winter is here,” she told him “and in winter we must remain united, if you need lean on me,” she added “I can be strong for both of us”
Aemond studied her earnest, eager and determined empyrean eyes, the fondness hidden behind her steel temper. Calm and collected and as steady as a mountain.
He let go of her wrist with one hand and tucked a curl of red hair from her face, “You can, doesn’t mean you have to” he told her.
Sansa gave him a smile “I am your bride to be,” she reminded of him “it’s my duty, and my privilege”
Aegon had asked his mother once, why she was so devout and took such a good care of their father when he didn’t repay that kindness with his own tenderness. Aemond hadn’t needed to hear her response. He knew.
“And I am your husband to be,” he reminded her “it should be my duty and privilege to have you trust in my strength, and I cannot even trust my own strength as of late”
It was vulnerability . Aemond wasn’t used to showing it, not since he had claimed Vhagar and even before he had only ever shown it to his mother and to Helaena; yet it came almost natural.
Sansa didn’t once look away from him, “Then trust in mine ,” she said “it’s my job to trust in yours, and I have faith in you. That day, on Skagos,” she told him “I had faith you would not let anything befall me or Rickon. I knew you would modulate your strength to ensure we would all get out of it alive, and you did. You came through ,”
Aemond closed his eye at that.
He let his head lean on hers, forehead against forehead, breathing her in.
Her scent relaxed him, just like her touch.
I am already leaning on you, he thought, you are already becoming indispensable.
My hand and the North goes free. She had told him, and he had known she had meant she would make it worth it.
“Share in my strengths,” Sansa murmured, against his lips, before pressing a small peck on them “just as I share in yours”
Aemond opened his eye and stared at her face, then he raised one of his hands and cupped the back of her neck, his fingers carding through her red hair before pressing a long, soft kiss across her lips.
Perhaps it was a sort of guilty pleasure, to know how much he already relied on her; he couldn’t say.
“Thank you, mele rūklon ,” he breathed out, caressing her cheek with his thumb before she smiled up at him and resumed to dry his damp hair with the cloth.
“You’re welcome,” was her soft reply.
Lady Yara Greyjoy joined them in Harrenhal less than a fortnight since they had reached the great keep, she had the galleys loyal to her near Seagard, and had proceeded on horseback.
She was on a warpath, Aemond learned that she had tried to write to the man her uncle had married her off to, in hope that the greed of becoming the Lord consort to the Iron Islands would move him to support her.
The tension was palpable between the ironborns that had accompanied her and the northerners. So, Aemond thought, this would be the first test of this alliance.
Ironborns and northerners had been at each other’s throats since the moment the northern troops had moved south and the ironborns had attacked. Yara Greyjoy had been the one to lead some of the attacks and to say the northerners weren’t thrilled was an understatement.
It didn’t help that lady Yara strode inside of Harrenhal with the arrogance that Sansa told him reminded her of the woman’s brother. Though perhaps it lessened somewhat the tension when lady Yara bent the knee greeting “Your Grace,” to Aemond. With Sansa at his side it looked like she was bending the knee not only to the king of the Iron throne but to the princess of House Stark.
Moreover House Stark and the North had gotten to keep their independence, whilst Yara and the ironborns had to bend.
“Lady Greyjoy,” Aemond greeted her, gesturing for her to get on her feet, “welcome to Harrenhal,” he said.
It was Sansa, who — during queen Roslin’ confinement — was acting as de facto queen in the North in her goodsister’ stead who gestured for bread and salt to be brought forward.
Robb Stark at his sister’ side looked as murderous as Aemond had felt when faced with Lucerys.
“Lady Greyjoy,” Sansa called when the woman accepted bread and salt and made to follow them inside “I think you should thank king Robb for his hospitality,”
The woman seethed and glared at his bride to be, but Sansa didn’t stand back an inch, jutting her chin up in defiance.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” she offered as ungracious as she could get, Robb in all reply held his head high in a way that was truly reminiscent of his sister.
Between brother and sister passed a look, and Aemond could almost imagine them as children, dialoguing without the need of words; the tension that there had been there hanging between them seemed to be almost resolved.
“Please, lady Greyjoy, if you will follow us,” Sansa gestured with a hand, the perfect hostess, as the northerner outside broke into chants of the king of the North!
Aemond took her arm in his and together they escorted the lady to the solar Aemond had claimed for his own where they would hold a private council of the forces loyal to the Iron throne and its true claimant.
Sir Baelor had summoned all of their generals, who were already awaiting for them. Lady Malora was the only woman — for now — to be inside.
Jorelle followed her as her lady in waiting and as soon as the doors opened they all stood up and lady Malora declared “ The King has the chamber! ”
It was a formality, but one the Hightowers had started on their own from the first meeting and he couldn’t say it didn’t do wonder for his own mood.
“ Aemond-king !” they all repeated seven times. It was a good omen, and Aemond let them finish as he guided Sansa to the two chairs that had been saved around the table.
Baelor Hightower was at his right acting as Hand of the King in his Lord father’ place, lady Malora, instead was beside the chair — at Aemond’ left — that had been left vacant for Sansa.
Once they were next to their seat, and the hail was done with, Aemond gestured for them to sit and then sat himself as they all followed suit.
“As you can see,” Aemond said, “lady Yara Greyjoy has joined us in council, she means to take back the Iron Islands and govern them in our name, in exchange for our help in disposing of her uncle, the usurper Lord Euron Greyjoy” he gestured for one of the servants to add a seat to the table and for Yara to occupy it.
Once Yara was sat, Aemond turned to Baelor “Let us commence,” he commanded and the meeting started.
They first discussed of the status of the stores of the Reach and if there were news from the capital. Aemond had promised Margaery Tyrell and her babe his pardon, if they proved loyal.
On the matter, they had just received a raven from Highgarden, saying the girl’s pregnancy was proceeding well and that no ill news had come during her confinement.
She was supposed to birth the child in a matter of weeks, and House Tyrell kept buying time until then; Aemond had the impression that if the babe was a boy they could once again change their loyalty, House Hightower had demanded the girl’s and her babe’ safety but if they proved disloyal Aemond would teach them a lesson they would not forget.
Then they discussed how many would follow Sansa to Casterly Rock, Sansa argued it was supposed to be a force that intimidated but that could also be considered almost ceremonial so that she would not go back on her promise of getting hold of Casterly Rock in peace.
In the end they settled on the precise numbers, and lady Jorelle swore her sword to Sansa as her sworn shield, in addition, Sansa would bring with her sir Dontos — who was now a member of her household on the condition he was to remain sober — who Aemond would trust to keep her safe as well.
In the same meeting sir Baelor summoned his youngest brother, sir Humfrey Hightower who had the wish to join his kingsguard.
Aemond accepted his pledge and named him Lord Commander of his Kingsguard, which needed to be populated yet; a second member was Leighton Constayne, cousin to Lord Constayne whom Aemond tasked with the protection of his bride to be, thus it was decided that the force Sansa would mobilitate would be composed in great number of the Constayne men.
Then they received lady Brienne of Tarth, who, after swearing her sword to Sansa’ lady mother had been first sent to the capital to bring back Sansa and Arya Stark but in the impossibility of bringing Sansa back had voyaged around the Realm in search for Arya.
Brienne of Tarth would not forget her mission to find Arya, though she offered her services to her sister as well if Sansa needed them; in addition she pledged her Lord father’ support to his claim to the Iron throne.
Sansa, ever gracious, refused her pledge, asking her to never abandon the mission to find her sister, affirming she was more than well protected.
Then lady Yara reported how many loyal galleys she had, how many men and as they were discussing how to approach the matter of the Iron Islands — lady Greyjoy demanding that they took them back from her uncle as fast as possible — they were delivered a note from the capital, from the Spider.
Sansa apparently was cautiously trustful of the Master of Whispers, who had been the one to tell her about Aemond’ return and had helped her orchestrate her escape.
“Only a fool would trust him blindly , he has served both Targaryens and Baratheons, and he did not expose the truth about Cersei’ children although he had known all along,” she told him quietly as she offered him the scroll.
“So why would he help you escape and get to me?” Aemond asked, he knew that Lord Varys had been the first one to suggest a possible match between them to Sansa, making some off handed comment Sansa had yet to detail to him.
“I think he might believe you to be someone better ,” she said “but there’s no telling how long he will have this opinion or what may change it”
Aemond mulled over her words, “So how do you think we should treat any information we receive from him?” he questioned.
“I would take any information he gives with a grain of salt,” she said “and always account for him to be lying” she added.
Aemond nodded and then gave a read to the scroll; apparently after the naming of Queen Cersei as lady of Casterly Rock the king had, had a falling out with his queen consort who had begun her confinement earlier than normal, and from whom none had heard since, which was a contrast with what House Tyrell kept repeating.
So, who was lying? Who was telling the truth?
The Spider also added that there was grave discontent in court and that many would gladly bend the knee if given the chance.
He seemed convinced they ought to take the capital immediately.
That anything else was barely child play.
That the people of the capital needed them.
He addressed Sansa as my lady the king’s bride , and seemed to hold her in high regard, and in friendship.
The way most spoke about the man made him think of Larys Strong and yet, the way the scroll was worded felt completely different to him.
Larys Strong had betrayed them in the end, had even poisoned Aegon who had won the Iron throne and the civil war.
Aemond would not make the same end, he would not let the children he will have, meet the same end.
“Very well,” he stated “so how can we ascertain the truth of this matter? House Tyrell claims Margaery Tyrell is well, that the midwife with her is convinced by the way she carries that it will be a girl, and that they are ready to swear allegiance if their safety is promised” he said “the Spider laments a fallout and little to none information about the queen of the keep he lives in, where he should have the most spies, so, who to believe?”
Leo Tyrell slammed his hand on the table, “The Spider must be lying, Your Grace,” he said “or perhaps he has lost his touch. Margaery is very clever and she is very beloved, people would protect her from him”
Aemond turned to his bride to be, and arched a questioning brow “Margaery is far more clever than people give her credit for,” she confirmed “but Lord Varys has been top of the court for decades,” she added “he didn’t only serve Targaryens and Baratheons and now Lannisters, he has survived all three and has been instrumental to every change, otherwise he would not still be where he is,” she reasoned.
“For however loved and clever Margaery is, there is no way she could go completely unnoticed by Varys especially since she’s potentially carry a heir behind which House Lannister could rally support,” she added.
Leo Tyrell made to stand up, rage written all over his face, eyes glinting with malevoly at that, “House Tyrell would never lie!” he went as far as saying “this is all slander against lady Margaery!”
He glared daggers to his bride to be and Aemond saw how unflinching she was and was almost preoccupied by it, how far worse you have to have actually endured to not be scared of a man twice as big as you as he display such violent behavior in your regard.
“I never said House Tyrell had lied,” his bride to be replied evenly.
“You are implying it!” Leo Tyrell almost screamed, Jorelle Mormont as his bride’s back put her hand to the hilt of her sword ready to fight if necessary.
“Am I?” Sansa questioned “it is the thief who always believes he’s been robbed,” she commented, she then turned to him just as Leo Tyrell was about to interrupt her again and Aemond merely raised a pointing finger at him, his glare threatening, and the man fell back in silence.
“House Tyrell might be unaware of what is happening during the confinement, if she and Joffrey had a fallout I don’t doubt that Cersei will have put in place all insurances to avoid Margaery had way to get help from those loyal to her,” she said “we cannot know the true extent of what is happening, and we can assume House Tyrell to have partial knowledge of the matter” she added, her eyes fixated on Leo Tyrell.
Aemond nodded, then he turned back to the man that, albeit still tense, looked sorely embarrassed.
He gestured with a hand “Take back your seat,” he commanded “and don’t raise your voice at her ever again ,” he added.
Somewhere in the distance Vhagar reacted to his cold fury, and let out a mighty roar that had the panels of the windows shake.
Aemond glanced to everyone slowly “And this goes for all of you , she might not be yet my wife, but she will be; barred I there is no one whose authority is superior to hers and you will behave accordingly,” he told them, “I appreciate all of your counsels and welcome all of your efforts as long as they are expressed in the right way,”
He adjusted back in his seat and then gestured for sir Leo Tyrell to sit “Are we understood?” he demanded of all of them when finally Leo Tyrell sat once again, Sansa turned to look at him, and he saw in her gaze that she understood wordlessly what he was expressing.
She nodded minutely to him and Aemond trusted she would smooth things over with sir Leo, so he gestured for them to continue; so it was decided that Yara Greyjoy would stake her claim to Pyke once again, and if they refused her, she would conquer it with the help of the galleys from House Bulwer.
In fact, when Aemond closed the meeting and left, to accept a spar with sir Baelor, he saw that his bride to be asked sir Leo to stay behind for a moment.
Trusting she would do what was needed of her, he went through; lady Malora remained behind with Sansa so he knew that she would offer her help as buffer between the two of them.
If Sansa resolved the tension now that it was still hot, the pacification would counteract the tension, and leave them all stronger for it.
By the time that Sansa had to leave with the Constayne troops — and sixty Stark men her brother had devolved completely at her command — she had managed somehow to chip sir Leo’ resolve to be indisposed toward her.
The meeting after their altercation didn’t give the results Aemond had hoped but Sansa was nothing if not resourceful and persuasive; and in the end, during the banquet the night before lady Yara was to leave — almost a week past — Sansa and sir Leo had finally mended the rift, to the point Aemond had had to watch his betrothed dance with the knight.
It was nothing improper, so Aemond had no reason to become so jealous or possessive , yet he could feel the blood boil in his veins every time the man touched her hand or said something that made her giggle.
He refrained from cutting in because she looked like she was enjoying the dance and because he meant not to destroy with his impulses all the hard work she had put to build that bridge.
Didn’t mean he had to like it though. And by Robb’ consolatory pat on the back as they shared a low spoken conversation, he knew his face was quite open . Which he was unused to.
“Ah,” Robb told him, “my father used to say that war was easier than daughters. I believe war is easier than women ,” he had added “Roslin had taken to confinement so well with Edda,” he said “but now she is in turns angered because of my absence and hating my very presence at her door”
Robb shrugged “Maybe it means it will be a boy this time,” he commented, then shuddered “or a girl as wild as Arya is”
Aemond followed Sansa’ steps on the floor, easily covering up eventual slips of sir Leo Tyrell.
By the moment Robb chuckled out a laugh when Aemond stiffened the moment one of the dogs almost made them stumble, the dance was done.
There was a round of applause and then, to none of his surprise his bride to be advanced on him and offered him her hand.
Aemond wasn’t especially fond of dancing before , he supposed he just hadn’t found the right partner yet.
He accepted and escorted her back on the dance-floor, and Sansa gestured with a hand “Play an estampie !” she commanded and Aemond narrowed his eyes knowingly.
The dancefloor emptied almost immediately as they danced the traditional westerosi lover dance.
After all they had danced the Valyrian betrothal dance, and Aemond enjoyed how easily she could brighten his mood; how easily she seemed to sense how to comfort his raging thoughts.
And in that moment nothing mattered but following through the steps — simple but lively — their hands joined together low between their bodies and their breaths mingled.
They had spent the rest of the night side by side, hand in hand speaking with lords and ladies, and just enjoying each other company.
Not that Aemond didn’t already know but Sansa — in all of her soft spoken gentleness — was without any doubt a great conversationalist. She could charm anyone into a conversation with her and could capture everyone attention with a few well-placed phrases.
More than that, she was amusing .
She was never mean, per se, but could express a snark that found Aemond endlessly amused.
She knew how to speak to people in a way that made them listen.
And even though many would miss her presence, Aemond would miss the quiet whispers between them, the long silence ruptured only by their shared understanding. The soft generosity that made her, her .
He would miss the woman bringing flowers to a boy dead a century past and who’d honor a servant and a friend just as she would a noble.
He would miss the woman who would demand he dance with her, and make him smile throughout the whole thing.
He would miss the excellent rider who still would rather a stroll in the gardens over some great gesture.
He would miss the woman who was helpless at drawing, but had a true talent for poetry and loved star-gazing.
And that feeling of absence in the face of fondness was even higher now, as they had to say goodbye — even if just for a small amount of time.
“Have a good journey, sister,” Robb told his sister, “and don’t let the Lannister walk all over you”
There was a flash of defiance in Sansa’ eyes at that, but she still kissed both his cheeks “I won’t,” she assured him, their hands still joined “don’t you dare leave your wife before the birth,” she said.
Robb smiled at her and Aemond could see genuine affection and love shining in the King in the North’ eyes. He truly might have missed his sister the most when she had been a hostage, and not having saved her might weigh down on him more than he let others see.
Then they separated and Robb Stark nodded to lady Jorelle and Patrek Cassel the head of the Stark guards Sansa would take with her — to what he had understood another one of the Cassel men who seemed ever so loyal to House Stark — tasking them once again with her safety.
Which gave him and Sansa room to say goodbye to one another; they had spent part of the night before together, in the silence of the almost empty hall, but they had not yet said goodbye.
Aemond found that — despite having gone to war and having faced many battles and saying goodbye to his loved ones — he had never become better at bidding farewell than he had been in the beginning.
He proffered a hand and fingered at her necklace — the necklace she had yet to take off since he had gifted it to her — and Sansa’ eyes did sparkle like the night sky.
“I would rather we didn’t separate,” he told her.
“I as well,” she replied softly “I will pray for you and for the end of this war everyday” she promised.
Aemond nodded and caressed her face, “And I shall keep you in my prayers as well,” he told her.
He had stopped praying after Jaehaerys’ death, but lately he had taken it up again, usually by his son's tombstone.
“I cannot believe what they say,” she said “be careful when you go speak with Stannis..”
“I will,” he promised her “and you try not to antagonize any big folk whilst I am not there to defend you, deal?”
Sansa rolled her eyes “I don’t antagonize any big folk,” she told him jovially.
“Hm,” Aemond considered “ still , don’t start fights until I get there,”
“I don’t start fights,” she protested, her tone light.
Aemond smiled and pressed a kiss on her forehead.
“Please, love,” he murmured against her skin “for me,”
Sansa did blush at that, “Fine,” she let out at last.
The banter flew easily between them and it was something Aemond would miss terribly now that they separated.
“Be careful,” he murmured as he cupped the back of her head with one hand.
Sansa grabbed him by his coat, “You too,” she demanded “ return to me ” she commanded, as she looked up at him from beneath her long, reddish lashes.
And at the look in her eye Aemond was pervaded by such a powerful want that he did not care where they were or that they had people around them, he just carded his hand between her red locks and pressed a kiss across her lips.
The people around them —instead of minding their own business — seemed excited and enthusiast at seeing how well-matched they were and applauded and whistled even if Robb Stark looked disgruntled, since — after all— it was always his sister.
Once he stepped back from her he raised his hands and unlatched his eyepatch, to then deliver it in her hand.
“Hold onto this one for me, love,” he told her.
It was a memento. There are no other women I mean to impress , his eye told her and somehow she knew because she cradled the eyepatch in her hand like it was something of a treasure before Aemond helped her up her horse and watched her go, his heart struck in his throat.
“It doesn’t get easier,” Robb Stark claimed, clapping him in the back as they watched the procession of guards and Constayne men following behind her, the banners flying in the wind, “though perhaps, in peace it could”
Aemond glanced at him and perhaps for the first time since finding himself in this new era, he didn’t feel as keenly Daeron’ absence as he had.
They would never be the people he had lost, the people he mourned. Maybe, in peacetime, they could, not replace, but fill the grief left behind.
He would have followed her on Vhagar but it would serve nothing.
He trusted she would forward their re-conquest of the Realm inch by inch whilst he did the same elsewhere, and that those who had been tasked with it would keep her safe until he was with her again.
He left that very night, flying high above the clouds, even if the night was illuminated only by the moon, fat and bright in the night sky in a way that blinded his eye to the stars.
In the same way Sansa managed to banish the dark thoughts linked to Alys in his mind.
He fingered the bracelet at his wrist, the golden three headed dragon she had personally stitched on the rim of his coat.
I feel like I haven’t had someone sew for me in an age.
I will sew your clothes nowforth, I promise.
She who was once tormented and perturbed in gold and red, rose again and draped gray and green on the marbles of Casterly Rock.
Chapter 17: The Red woman
Notes:
Enjoy, this — like someone would say — “trash” 😂😂😂
🚮🗑️ (chi ha orecchie per sentire intenda) 😂
Chapter Text
The red woman
She peered into the flames, her red eyes reflecting the red throes of the fires.
She had been studying the flames for hours, for days, for years.
Sometimes the Lord’s plan was plain to see, other times it got convulsed and her inability to interpret weighted more than age did on her soul.
Stannis was the Lord’s Chosen, that she had seen in the flames, Azor Ahai reborn to bring the Dawn.
She had seen him cradle the sword from the flames, she had seen him wield Lightbringer.
Yet he was crushed by the weight of what needed to be done. Azor Ahai plunged Lightbringer into Nissa Nissa’ heart to enflame it with her soul, and he had went on to fight and vanquish the darkness.
She had thought to have found the right path, he could not be Azor Ahai reborn if he didn’t face the same trials.
The death of Queen Selyse Florent had been a necessity, a necessity to forge Azor Ahai in the same way as Nissa Nissa’ death had been necessary to forge Lightbringer.
But not all steel survives the forge.
Some steel cracks and breaks.
Unusable.
And after queen Selyse’ death, Stannis Baratheon had not been the same.
Melisandre had believed her death would make him free, would empower him. Instead it had broken him.
He had closed himself in his quarters and didn’t let anyone inside. Not even her , whom he had desired so.
It was as if the pyre had extinguished his flame.
And from then on, Melisandre had searched for a glimpse of their next step in the flames.
She had searched for Azor Ahai but she had been shown only the cold, she had been shown only Stannis, cold and broken and thin like a twig in his darken room.
The flames had shown her princess Shireen as well, but she had never managed to get in touch with the girl like she had with her mother; and after her mother’s pyre the king had sent princess Shireen back to Dragonstone with her maternal uncles and people sworn to her and named her princess of Dragonstone as his heir.
Melisandre would need to sprout wings to fly there and understand why the Lord’s plan kept showing him princess Shireen, sitting on the Iron throne, and never her father the king.
She prayed for a glimpse of Azor Ahai and she would see only open sky, only snow, only ashes.
Of late she would see dragons flying across the skies, battling across the skies.
In her dreams she had seen the waters of the Gods Eye breaking and smoke rising from Harrenhal, she had heard the cry of a child and the shriek of a mother. In her flames she had seen much.
She had seen the dragon rising from the waves, she had seen her rider, proud and terrible.
She had seen him dancing with fire made flesh.
The creak of the door being opened made her turn from the flames.
The Maester led her to the king’ solar, where the king had summoned her and Melisandre followed with sauntering steps.
She would die in this foreign land, she had seen as much, but not before the Lord’s plan was done with.
And if He saw fit to have her be the fire in which Lightbringer was forged anew, she would be grateful for the part he had chosen for her to play in His plan.
Azor Ahai reborn, was sitting — in disarray — thinner than she had ever seen him, with his hair and beard razor sharp, bloodshot eyes and chapped nails and lips.
She had thought the Lord’s champion would have been stronger now, instead she saw nothing but a shadow of the champion she had seen in the flames.
“Your Grace,” she saluted, falling in a curtsy, as the Maester left them alone at one gesture of his hand.
When the door closed behind him Melisandre approached him, “My king,” she started “you summoned me?”
Stannis’ eyes were glazed over as he offered her a scroll; his nails weren’t only chapped, they were also bloody and there were scratches all over the back of his neck and arms.
Was this the forging of Azor Ahai?
She unrolled the scroll and then looked back at the king.
“It’s him ,” Stannis told her “he is the one who plagues my sleep,” he said.
“What kind of dreams? The Lord doesn’t always speak through the flames, at times he walks into our dreams” she told him, walking closer.
He was sitting between cushions on the hard ground and he looked far more disheveled than she had ever seen him.
“I see him, atop his dragon,” he said “walking the halls of the capital, decorated with the conqueror’s crown and with the symbols of all power,” he brought his hands to his ears “and Selyse is there, besides him,” he added “a vengeful ghost that watches him in flame, but he isn’t scared of her. A beacon of green and aflame,”
His voice died down.
“I’ve heard the wolves. They are coming for me”
Melisandre knelt by his side, his forehead was covered in sweat and his eyes were alight in the throes of vision.
He grabbed her hand like a starved men grabbed the hand which served him a feast, “I’ve been searching in the flames,” he told her “for the Lord’s plan, but I see nothing.”
He looked in her red eyes, his eyes equally as red, bloodshot.
“You are his priestess,” he said, his grip bruising against her wrist “what do his fires show?”
Nothing.
Everything.
More than I can hope to understand.
“Dragon and Wolf,” she told him “come together as one, a Baratheon queen on the throne” she said “in the hall of dragons and wolves”
He let go of her, almost violently, as he leaned back, a sick laugh escaped his chapped lips.
“You see my daughter on the throne, but not me. Never me,” he said.
It wasn’t a question, but Melisandre thought the Lord’s champion deserved the truth.
“No,” she confirmed.
His sick laugh died out and he threw the cup of wine he had in his hand across the chamber and into the fire with a resounding clank that reminded her of the singing of the chains across her wrists and ankles an age past.
“So the Lord’s Chosen will never sit on the throne that is owed to him,” he stated.
He looked away.
“Will he ?” he demanded, his voice barely above a whisper.
Melisandre looked down at the scroll in her hand. She didn’t reply.
“ Will he !?” he screamed, his voice making her stumble a step back.
“A hall of dragon and wolves,” he mumbled like a madman, he looked up at her, his eyes alight.
“He has joined the usurper Robb Stark,” he said “ and that will make him king” he seethed.
Melisandre didn’t know if that was accurate, but Stannis had commented he had wanted the Stark’ support because since the conquest the claimant who had sit on the Iron throne had always been the one who had enjoyed the support of the Starks and the North.
He stood up once again and upturned the bedsidetable.
Melisandre observed his rage.
Was this how Azor Ahai was forged?
“ I am the Lord’s Champion!” he screamed, he gestured widely with a hand “I have made the sacrifices,” he said, hitting his own chest.
He grabbed at his head, “ My wife made the sacrifices, so that I could be who the Lord needed me to be!”
Melisandre stepped to him then, grabbed his face in her hands, “Then be that ,” she pleaded, “be the champion the Lord needs,”
She saw the way his whole body stiffened at her presence, “The path of the Champion will not be easy,” she told him “and maybe it won’t even be rewarding , but if the world will stand it will be because of you. If you fail the whole of the world fails with you”
There was rage in his eyes still, but it was quieted.
“The Iron throne is mine by right!” he claimed.
She tried a different approach then, “You are more than a mere king!” she told him “You are the Lord’s Chosen and no higher honor, no higher duty exists,”
“ He will bear the crown for the sacrifices I made!” he yelled, “just because he has a dragon..!”
“The Lord has willed him back from the dead,” Melisandre interrupted “you are his Chosen champion, and he is the King the Lord has chosen for the Realm”
“You didn’t tell me any of this before!” he accused.
“The Lord’s plan isn’t flawed, but human’ mind is,” she said, her voice little, but sure, “I interpreted what he showed me,” she told him “my mistake is mine, not the Lord’s,”
She felt the moment Stannis deflated, folding into her arms, pressing his sweaty forehead against her neck, his breath warm and smelling of wine.
Was this the forging of Azor Ahai?
“But my daughter shall govern the Realm?”
“I’ve seen her on the Iron throne,” she confirmed, that seemed to calm him.
So, when the dragon was sighted on the horizon the king was once again looking like Azor Ahai reborn should.
Proud.
Strong.
Determined.
He sent Melisandre to welcome the dragon prince in Storm’s End, to the chagrin of his councilors, chief amongst them sir Davos Seaworth who had been wroth with her since Stannis had warned him of what was the will of the Lord.
Sir Davos though would come with her to welcome the prince, even if Melisandre had counseled against it.
The man had always been suspicious of her, and that had heightened when Queen Selyse the Saint had been burned on the pyre.
The right hand of Azor Ahai was a non-believer. That was not correct, she decided at last, Davos Seaworth may not believe in the Lord, but he believed in Stannis.
But Stannis was more than a man.
He was more than a king.
Davos didn’t understand this.
Was this the forging of Azor Ahai?
The dragon, flame made flesh , landed near the eastern walls Melisandre and Davos rode out to meet them under the rain of winter, falling heavy on her umbrella.
He didn’t dismount the beast immediately, probably studying them.
The dragon was so big her shadow could cover the entire of the keep, and he looked so small and yet mighty on her back.
He observed them, then — almost boredly — snapped the belts open and dismounted from the saddle. The dragon offered her shoulder and wing to help him climb down her body using a rope as support.
“ Do close your mouth, sir Davos,” Melisandre told him “dragons are the beloved children of the Lord” she added “fire made flesh”
By the time he landed on his feet, sir Davos had schooled his expression just enough, though he wasn’t taking his eyes off the dragon, as if she was about to sprout fire.
Melisandre walked closer to the dragon, and the dragon roared , her fauces big enough that Melisandre could walk inside her and bathe into the ancestral fire the Lord had breathed into the dragon’s belly.
Death by fire is the purest of deaths.
Death by dragon fire, a caress from the Lord.
The Targaryen prince remained close to the dragon as she roared and hissed, didn’t move an inch and kept petting her massive neck.
One of his eye sparkled the color of sapphires.
“You ought to wear a ruby,” she stated, nonplussed by the dragon’ fire brimming in her neck and belly “not a sapphire; for you are risen by the Red Lord of Light”
The man gave her a long, stern look.
“I once saw the world through the red eyes of a witch as yourself,” he told her, she cocked her head to the side.
“But you would not anymore,” she considered.
“I much rather would see through the sapphired glaze of my betrothed now” he stated.
Melisandre didn’t bother to add a reply to that, she stepped further forth and instead of being intimidated by the dragon, she outstretched a hand and caressed her enormous snout.
The dragoness studied her and Melisandre spoke her lowly “ You are majestic and beautiful beyond truth these eyes have seen. Great Mother of the Flames ,” she told her in bastard Valyrian “ you are Fire, ”
“ You speak Valyrian,” he commented in high Valyrian, his gaze unflinching on her, his hand fisted around the rope.
She had already seen those eyes, in the flames.
“ I am Melisandre of Asshai, I am a priestess of the Lord of Light, He who is All, ” she told him “ I know all idioms because he teaches me ,”
He didn’t seem any impressed by it, he just stared down at her “ I am she who serves the prince that was promised ,”
He blinked and then narrowed his eye, “ Is that what your flames tell you? ” he questioned.
“ I’ve seen the truth in the flames, you did too ,” she told him.
“ I’ve seen what I had wanted to see ,” he hissed under his breath.
Melisandre studied him, “ Some ,” she conceded, “ other things were true. You saw her, your bride of ice, in the flames ” she told him, fingering the sewing on his clothes, “ and your son, you saw him too. I did as well, ”
There was something furious, dangerous in him then as he disentangled himself from her touch.
“ I am not here to speak of flames with you witch, ” he told her, his voice as cutting as a blade “I am here to speak with Stannis Baratheon” he said instead, looking at sir Davos.
“King Stannis was expecting you,” sir Davos commented, “if you would follow me—” he gestured with his fingerless hand.
Before following him, he turned around and fixed a glare on her before looking at the dragon, “ Vhagar, if she touches you again, kill her ” he commanded.
“ Death in fire is the purest of deaths, ” she told him.
He turned around and glared at her, “ There is no such a thing as pure death, ” he commanded, with such a tone that he could have set her afire with his will he would have.
Then he walked away from her, without looking back at her, as if she could not hold his interest or gaze for a second more.
“So you are Aemond Targaryen,” Stannis said, in lieu of greeting as his whole court observed the newcomer and as Melisandre and Davos both joined at the sides of the Storm’s throne, “the kinslayer,”
To his credit Aemond Targaryen didn’t seem offended by the slight, he brought both hands behind his back and faced king Stannis with a kind of bored, unchallenged defiance that made him look larger than life.
“And you are Stannis Baratheon, the burner of wives,” he said “and the killer of brothers”
A pregnant silence befell the Round Hall then, as the Baratheon king and the Targaryen claimant stared at each other.
“I’ve done no worse than you and your ancestors have done,” Stannis proclaimed “and my wife has sacrificed herself for the better of the world”
“If that helps you sleep at night,” Aemond Targaryen replied, as if it was of no consequence for him.
Melisandre studied his nonchalant attitude, and the way he carried himself and observed. He was a part of the Lord’s plan she had failed to foresee, to read. To interpret .
“We all know what has brought you here, today,” Stannis said “you are plotting with the usurper Robb Stark to take the Iron throne”
“ Plotting would be the wrong term,” Aemond Targaryen corrected, “it seems as if I am hiding. I am not. I have laid my claim to the Iron throne and my good brother to be has thrown behind me his support, as his right as king”
Stannis let out a laugh, “You have forfeited half the Realm for Sansa Lannister ?” the tone of his voice suggested Aemond Targaryen was to be pitied for his lack of good judgment.
“Her hand for the North,” he replied completely unbothered by the way the hall had replied, sharing the derisive hilarity of their king, “and, if my researches are correct, the claimant with the North backing his claim has always sat on the Iron throne,” he said “I just ensured House Stark would forever be bound to me and my line and the Iron throne,”
“By marrying lady Lannister ? The witch?”
“By marrying Sansa indeed,” he shrugged “besides you accompany yourself to a witch, at least mine has won me half the continent and more”
His gaze befell on Melisandre then, dark and unrelenting, “Yours has achieved what?”
Stannis worked at his jaw, “Whatever claim you think you have,” he said “was broken twenty years past,”
“Oh, but I do not base my right to Rhaenyra’ line’s right, I am here to set right to wrong” he claimed “I am Aegon II’ rightful heir; and I meant to take back the Iron throne”
“I am the rightful king,” Stannis claimed.
Aemond raised an eyebrow “Lord Borros Baratheon supported Aegon’ claim to the Iron throne,” he said “you took the throne from the usurpers,” he added “now it is time it returns to its rightful king”
Melisandre turned to glance to king Stannis, “I am the Lord’s Chosen,” he stated “ but , the Lord has also willed you back to life,”
Aemond studied him.
“The lady Melisandre has seen the truth in her fires,” Stannis said to the whole court “she has seen you sit on the Iron throne,”
Murmurs broke in the court, as everyone turned to look at her.
Aemond Targaryen refused to look at her, though.
“My duty as Champion of the Lord will be ever consuming,” Stannis claimed “thus it was my duty to see you on the Iron throne,”
In Aemond’ eye Melisandre could see this was not how he had planned this out, but that for now he was willing to listen as it was advantageous.
“I see you see reason,” Aemond Targaryen commented, “so you will swear allegiance”
“I will,” Stannis confirmed, his voice acrid, petulant — as ungracious as it could get — as he stood up “as long as my daughter, princess Shireen Baratheon retains her title as Princess of Dragonstone until you have an heir of your own” he said “at which point she will be betrothed to him,” he stated.
“These are my terms. Shireen remains Princess of Dragonstone and her line will mix with yours on the Iron throne,” he stated, as he nodded to her.
“I have seen Princess Shireen on the Iron throne as queen,” Melisandre claimed, “this is the will of the Lord” she stated, gesturing with a hand and the flames of the torches came alive and almost blinded the hall for a moment.
“Princess Shireen shall retain her noble title,” Aemond Targaryen agreed “My bride to be and I had already considered a royal match with Shireen, to honor her mother and her Baratheon line,” he said “if these are your terms, then they are accepted, my lord ”
The silence that filled the ball then was broken by Melisandre again “This is the will of the Lord!”
“ This is the will of the Lord !” Stannis reiterated, and the court — albeit unsure — echoed him.
Though Melisandre doubted it would be so easy for the Targaryen king to overcome to suspicion and coldness toward him.
Suddenly Aemond Targaryen glare was on her, and Melisandre felt her blood turn cold. As cold as ice.
She had been sent by the Lord of Light to serve his one, true Champion and since consacring her life to Him she had never felt cold nor hungry, and suddenly she was both .
She looked at Stannis as his eyes narrowed and became slits as he took in the exchange of glances, his eyes suddenly as cold as the coldness she could feel kissing her neck and her face.
The ruby at her neck suddenly was as cold as ice against her heated flesh.
Then slowly Aemond Targaryen looked away from her, and faced head on Stannis, not quivering under a glare that usually made older men shrink and bow their heads.
With slow, deliberate steps he rose on the dais that led to the throne Stannis had occupied until then, when he got to Stannis he challenged him with a glare and then walked around him to approach the ancient seat, then he turned around — back to the throne — and gestured widely with his hands.
“Is there any who wishes to bring something to my attention?” he asked.
The castellan walked forth then, a most fervent believer of the Lord and Melisandre observed, wondering if she needed to step in.
Afore of a request Aemond Targaryen sat on the throne, nodding to the man to speak.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“Axell Florent,” he said “by grace of the Lord, castellan of Dragonstone and Chief of the Queen’s Men”
Melisandre watched as Stannis, ever ungracious, stood before the throne he had so lusted for, for long years when Robert had given it to Renly.
“You are kin to the late queen, Selyse Florent?” Aemond questioned, it was strange — he had made no mystery of being the rightful ruler in his mind, but he still addressed the Queen as such.
“I am,” sir Axell confirmed, “Her paternal uncle,” he said “I was the one helping her on the pyre”
Melisandre saw how great his pride was of that.
Sir Axell had been the one to bring his brother to the stake and he had been ever gentler to his niece when she had chosen the path of Nissa Nissa.
A true believer.
“I see,”
The tone of his voice had her twist around to look at his face, schooled into a neutral expression that concealed barely his disgust.
From a dragonrider to receive such a monickering glance, and voice… when he himself had used his dragon to win the Lord’s fights.
It was uncanny.
As uncanny as the resemblance his son had bore to him in her fires. A son long lost, and long dead, but who had shared his father’ same cutting glance.
“I’ve seen in the fires,” sir Axell said “king Stannis on the throne, but that flame the Lord has long since extinguished ,” he stated.
Melisandre felt Stannis stiff at her side, his hand falling to his sword at his hip and his face suddenly darkening.
“So?” Aemond questioned.
“It has extinguished because he has not followed the will of the Lord,” he said “I had seen myself with the Hand pin,” he added “and my niece knew this which was why she had me be her Hand, hoping this would win them the Iron throne” he then bent the knee and bowed his head “I offer my services” he stated.
Aemond Targaryen arched a brow and then “So,” he said “you have helped burn your niece at the stake, my pardon, sacrifice herself at the stake and you wish to serve me?”
“I do,” Axell Florent confirmed.
“Since your fire burns so bright you have been so great,” Aemond Targaryen said “you will serve me,”
“Thank you, my king” Axell bowed his head further, ever ready to pledge his loyalty to someone chosen by the Lord to rule and to tend to his own ambition.
“Take a horse,” Aemond commanded “and ride North,” he said “you will carry a permit written by my hand,”
Axell seemed surprised by that, and Melisandre studied the man on the throne, the throne was big and imposing but he looked like he could occupy it.
“What is your bidding?”
“Since your fire burns ever so bright and warm you will man the Wall,” he said, “as I’ve learned from king Robb of the terrible state of it, with only few castle manned,”
“But, my king..” Axell was at loss as to what to say.
“Have you misheard me?” Aemond interjected, cocking his head to the side, the sapphire nestled in his lost eye catching the light of the torches and brimming.
Sir Axell was about to speak again and Melisandre stepped forth then, “It is the will of the Lord, there is no higher duty that defend the Realm and the Lord’s champion from the coldness of Death that lies beyond the Wall,”
Aemond Targaryen studied her for a moment then added, “Who are the other Queen’s Men?” he demanded.
In the silence that had befallen the Round Hall then, the several knights and men stepped forward.
The Targaryen king observed them, “You all will follow the Queen’s Hand,” he said “you will man the Wall, and since you are the Queen’s men, you will request to be stationed at Queensgate ” he commanded, “it seems only fitting even if it is now abandoned,”
There was a low murmur but none dared to question it. “My bride’s half-brother has been named Lord Commander of the Nights Watch,” he added “and he has requested more men to populate once again the castles once abandoned,” he said “this is a greater honor than any of you deserves,” he stated “now begone,”
They shifted and murmured between themselves, the less gracious about it sir Axell.
The dragon’ shriek resounded in the hall, making the windows shake on their hinges and everyone stiffened and stilled.
Not many came forth then, though it became quickly apparent that sir Axell Florent’ exile at the Wall had been already decided by the king — who had received the plead of the new Lord Florent through his Lord Hand, Lord Hightower — thus the court was walking on eggshells about him, knowing very well he had the means and the authority of disposing of them how very well he saw fit.
Those who did saw justice served in a way that reminded her of a younger, more flexible Stannis.
Later, when the king summoned her in the solar he had claimed for himself before council he had called to learn the status of the stormlands troops Melisandre was ready for all. Both to be awarded a place in his court and both to face exile.
“ I do not wish you close neither to me nor to my wife to be, ” he told her instead, “ you wish to serve Stannis, then next to him you will stay. If I see you once near Sansa or near me, I will ensure you meet your Lord, ”
Then he had stepped closer “ if I hear, once more, word of burning at stake I will personally execute you, your Lord of Light be damned, are we clear? ”
And once again Melisandre had felt the kiss of coldness, the kiss of death across her lips and her flesh.
She would die in this foreign land, she knew. She had seen it, herself dying on frosted snow.
When Stannis had entered the solar, and had seen her already there his expression had hardened.
Was this the forging of Azor Ahai?
She prayed all night for a glimpse of the future, of Azor Ahai victorious and of the trial to come, but the Lord kept showing her only the open sky, snow and ashes.
Fire and Ice danced in the flames, joined and together fire melted ice and ice extinguished fire, and the rose of spring would bloom.
Perpetual spring was the gift the Lord would given his believer.
Melisandre prayed and prayed.
And she chanted with the flames and she bathed into their warmth trying to shake the coldness that was seeping slowly but surely into her bones.
A warning, perhaps, from the Lord, to tell her that her end was near, that her role to play to defend mankind and serve Azor Ahai was her last role.
Her last duty.
Her last flame.
Chapter 18: Jon
Chapter Text
The dragon flew overhead making the entire garrison stationed at Eastwatch by the Sea shrink and shout. Many threw themselves on the hard, frozen ground.
The shadow of the dragon was big enough to embrace the whole of the outer keep, and its belly grazed almost the top of the drumtowers.
Grenn besides him let out a shout and threw himself to the ground grabbing him by the cloak and dragging him to the ground with him.
Pyp besides them hid his face against the frozen dirt, trembling for the fear and let out a proper squeal of fear when the dragon shrieked in the air.
Jon had read about dragons when Maester Luwin taught them of House Targaryen, of the Dance of Dragons and the end of the dragons; yet seeing the creature in real life sent down a shiver between excitement and fear down his spine.
The scales of the dragon were emerald, gray and silver and blue and her eyes were a mudgreen so deep they almost shone.
A small figure was nestled atop a leather saddle across the dragon’ back; the rider was slim and had long silver-blond hair, there seemed to be something odd with their face; they tugged at the reins — they were commanding a dragon like they would a mule by the bloody reins — and the dragon dove to the side, the seawater evaporating from the waves in thin air when it came too close to the dragon as it curled in the sky and then flew back toward the Wall.
“Vhagar,” the rider shouted above the roaring of the thundering sky and the unsettled sea, “pÄrmon!”
Jon had received news by raven of the return of a dragon prince from the dead, but, despite trusting his brother implicitly, he hadn’t quite believed the truth of it.
He stood corrected.
The dragon, Vhagar of old, landed on the Wall itself, harpooning her body over the edge, the edge of it starting to melt as she landed.
Jon drew himself back to his feet, standing up and Grenn followed him before grabbing a still shivering Pyp from the ground and barking to the others to do the same.
“Lord Commander,” Jon turned and found himself face to face with Maester Harmune, and despite his usual red cheeks and bloodshot eyes, he looked like his whole body had been drained of blood, pale and afraid, “that is…”
“A dragon, Maester,” Jon confirmed, missing Sam all the more, “a fully grown and battle-tested dragon” he added.
Perhaps he ought not to be pleased when the man paled even further as if suddenly sober, yet he was anyway.
“The dragon cannot remain there,” Maester Harmune stammered, no slurring occurred which was a relief to Jon as it had been getting on his nerves since they had rescued the Maester and what remained of the expedition that they had led beyond the Wall, “it will tear the Wall down!” he added, shrieking when Vhagar slipped with one paw, and gripped the Wall with her talons so much it made the ice of the Wall screech.
“You are welcome to tell that to him, Maester, if you are so inclined,” Jon commented acerbically, crossing his arms and nudging with his head to the rider who was snapping open several belts that helped keep him on the saddle.
“I…but I.., my Lord!..”
Prince Aemond Targaryen was tall, Jon could see that much even from that distance, he was pale and the sapphire nestled in his empty socket gave him a frightening look, he was wearing a furlined leather coat that moved around him as if wings made of shadow as the dragon offered her shoulder so that her rider could dismount helping himself with the ropes.
The beast was so big that he needed ropes to climb up her back.
The Maester was still stammering and Jon rolled his eyes, “Don’t worry Maester, I am not suggesting you speak to the beast itself,” he said.
“Are we being invaded by Targaryens again?” Pyp questioned, his eyes filled with fear but his stance more sure than it had been before.
Jon considered him, “No,” he replied, “prince-” his voice fell flat, thinking back of the news they had received from his brother in Winterfell, of how Sansa had flown dragonback with her betrothed who had laid claim to the Iron throne and had brought winter to House Magnar, “king Aemond is not here to speak of warfare,”
Grenn nodded, his face an unreadable mask, Pyp looked at him, “How are you sure, he brought a dragon! He might scortch the North!”
Jon considered them for a long moment, at his brother’ insistence Jon had kept quiet about the dragon and its rider allegiance, but now it looked like that could not be done further.
If there were spies in the Nights Watch as Robb feared, now Jon could no longer keep the silence, if those who would be loyal to House Lannister were to be in the dark there was nothing more than Jon could do.
Jon had been lucky that the dragon flying to Skagos had been sighted only by Grenn, and Grenn trusted him so when Jon had told him to keep his peace Grenn had done so, and ensured that any who might see the dragon kept their peace as well.
He jutted his chin up, “I know because king Aemond will take to wife my sister, Sansa, and make of her his queen,” he claimed “I know because I was the one to write to him,” he added.
And he had. He had written to make him and his brother both aware of the enemy North, and his Lord Hand must have forwarded his raven wherever he had been because Jon had received no raven back, but the dragon had come.
Dark wings, dark words, lady Stark used to say. Jon hoped this dark wings brought dark words for their enemy.
“What..?” Pyp stammered unsure, then Jon turned to the Maester.
“Have the finest chambers prepared for my good-brother-to-be,” he said “and tell Commander Pyke to meet us in the hall,” he commanded of the Maester.
The man bowed, “My Lord” he said and Jon rolled his shoulder before walking to the gates, “One blast,” he said, “he’s an ally”
The horn blared once, and the gates opened as Aemond Targaryen patted the beast’ powerful neck, awaiting probably for a welcoming party.
Jon resolved he would be the one to go, to his surprise though Pyp of all people — followed by Grenn — took to the elevator with him to follow him on the edge of the Wall and to their guest.
“You’re going to face a dragon,” Pyp said “I don’t care you say he’ll marry your sister, I am not letting you go alone”
“Ay,” Grenn agreed, “after you, Lord commander”
Jon knew he should send them back, but he didn’t.
He smiled privately to himself and nodded, “If you must,” he accorded them.
“We must,” Pyp commented his voice suddenly stronger than it had been since they had seen the dragon.
Jon led them across the edge of the Wall and to the dragon, who was curled as best she could around her rider, her horned tail coiled around Aemond’ middle, like a belt.
Aemond Targaryen was a historic figure, and yet he was flesh and blood standing before them now; with his sapphire and his dragon. The man’ intense purple eye was so dark that Jon almost questioned if it was indeed purple at all. He was slender but tall, taller than him, he carried himself with the same kind of posture Jon had seen his lord Father carry himself.
Proud and silent. Quiet, dangerously quiet.
“Your Grace,” Jon offered, his tone a rumble he almost couldn’t recognize.
Aemond Targaryen’ eye zeroed on him as Vhagar sniffed — that was as best as he could define it — at them, her pitless mudgreen eyes considering.
Jon felt the tug of Ghost in his mind and his probing but pushed it aside to focus on the encounter, he stepped closer, the air around the dragon smelled of charcoal and burned flesh and bone, her horns seemed to blink alive with each pale ill ray through the clouds, or due the lightning striking the waves off in the distance.
“I am…” he started, only to have his voice broken as the dragon stared back at him and got her snout closer, “Jon Snow,”
He had meant to say the Lord Commander, as he ought to introduce himself, somehow the harrowing presence of the dragon seemed to have him revert to being that boy who had left Winterfell, without a name and motherless.
Aemond Targaryen patted Vhagar neck, “Vhagar lykiri,” he commanded, “doÄeris”
The dragoness sniffed the air once more and then recoiled around her rider, “My apologies,” Aemond said, “she has been introduced to Sansa,” he explained, “you are her brother, dragons know these things. She will not hurt you”
The reality of Sansa being close to the beast fell on him then, suddenly not more lost to him. He knew Sansa had to be near Vhagar since she and Rickon had flown to Skagos and back, still it didn’t hit until then exactly what that entailed.
He glared at the man who was the cause of it, out of spite, purely.
“I am aware,” he seethed, the meaning of his words didn’t seem lost on the Targaryen, who arched a brow, his face disfigured by the grimace and the scar on his cheek and eye.
“You ought not to worry, Lord Commander,” Aemond said, his tone almost chiding, “Sansa is my wife to be, my queen to be, and the mother of my children. Vhagar may not know our speech, but she knows me. She would never harm Sansa. Besides she took to fly on Vhagar as a fledgling to flight”
Dragon’s knew their rider’s heart, Maester Luwin had told them many times especially at Arya’ behest, for she was always fond of stories of dragons and their riders, especially that women, Tessarion died shortly after avenging her rider.
But that would mean admitting he loved Sansa, and whilst his sister was between the most lovable people Jon had ever met, he doubted such could be the love between them already, especially after what Sansa had to have endured.
Aemond patted Vhagar’ tail and it uncoiled from around him with a snuff of dark smoke from the dragoness’ nostrils. As he moved closer and outstretched his hand, Jon caught a glimpse of the seams of his coat, the shimmering golden thread; the golden three-headed dragon almost alive as Aemond walked.
Jon could recognize his sister’ work when he saw it, and Sansa was particular about sewing for people, she did it only for people she deeply cared about, to gift to.
Jory Cassel had actually cried, though he had sworn them all to silence, when one day Sansa had strode into the training yard and had gifted him with a handkerchief sewn by her own hand with his initials.
Several of Jon’ sleeping tunics were stitched by her, and the cloak he had been wearing since leaving home, were Sansa’ making, with the help of her Septa.
The more elaborate the stitching the more effort and time had gone into it, the more love was bestowed into the receiver.
Jon knew what this meant, he knew what his sister was telling the world by stitching that dragon on his coat.
He just hoped this man was worth it, though he did not dislike him at first glance as he had Joffrey.
He accepted Aemond’ hand, shaking it with his own, on his sister's behalf he would be civil, well more civil than he’d otherwise be with a man who had had her ride a dragon.
“Welcome to East-Watch-by-the-Sea, Your Grace,” he offered. The man’ clasp was sure, firm but not hurting.
“Thank you, Lord Commander,” he replied, “It is lovely,” he added, it sounded like a courtesy but didn’t felt stilted, “Sansa would like it here,” he said.
Sansa would call this an enchantment and tears would fill her eyes, he remembered of having thought when he had first seen the beauty beyond the Wall.
“Maybe,” he offered “we could visit once the war is won,” he said “I am sure she’d be thrilled to see you again”
Jon studied him in silence.
“She’s told me she’s missed you,” he added, an unexpected bout of camedarie blooming between them almost effortless, “and she will keep you in her prayers still”
He gestured to himself “Apparently her prayers do work,” he jested.
“Let’s hope they do,” Jon offered “and if they do, at least you know not to mess with her”
“I never would anyway,” Aemond offered “And maybe I am not what you had envisioned for your sister, and I can this is unnerving you” he added, “but I can assure you I would not harm her in any way,”
Jon knew what this was. An olive branch.
“You better hope so, or the whole of the North will be out for your hide,” he said “and we won’t let a dragon stop us,” he added, pointing to Vhagar.
Aemond cocked his head to the side, “You don’t seem scared of her,” he noted, “Sansa was brave, she faced her despite her fear. You don’t seem to hold that fear at all,” he considered.
“I am not fearless,” Jon opted for, “she’s a gorgeous beast,” he offered.
Aemond considered this then shrugged, “From what I hear,” he offered “you might have seen worse”
Jon blinked “You believe us?” he asked. He had written to several lords and ladies to have them man the wall, Lord Commander Mormont had even written to Kings Landing, no one had believed them.
“Am I supposed not to?” he questioned, “your brother and sister both maintain you are a honorable man, and I doubt a honorable man would envision such a lie,”
Jon considered him, “I’d hate for my bride’ trust to be in vain,” Aemond added.
“It is not,” he said “as Grenn and Pyp can testify, as every man of the Nights Watch can testify, as every wildling can testify,” he added.
Aemond Targaryen considered him for a long moment then he nodded “Very well,” he said, “I’ve come to see the truth which you seek to make the Realm aware of, if this enemy is as threatening as you say we will have to resee how we mean to fight this war”
“You would put the war for the Iron throne on hold?”
Aemond arched a brow, “If this enemy gets past the Wall it’s my understanding there won’t be a Realm to govern over,” he said “I will consider how to stall one, meanwhile we fight this one,” he added “it would be best if I could sit your sister as my wife on the Iron throne and then fight this enemy, but we shall see”
“That seems… fair,” he commented off handedly, and Aemond Targaryen fixed him with an unimpressed glance.
“Do you think your brother and mother would give your sister’ hand to me if they didn’t think me fair?” he asked, “and more importantly, do you think your sister would concede her hand to me, if she didn’t think me fair?” he questioned.
Girls seldom have any say in who their hand goes to; he wanted to say, and his brother must have seen in Vhagar a good asset to win this world, if used sagely; he thought, would he marry off Sansa for the chance to finally end this war?
Wouldn’t Sansa march herself to the altar if it meant safety for her family?
The golden dragon stitched on Aemond’ coat shimmered as a pale sunray penetrated the heavy clouds.
“Lady Stark is not my mother,” was what got out of his mouth instead, “but I would not doubt her fierceness in protecting Sansa,” he said, “you are just different, from how history portrays you,” he conceded, hoping not to offend him, or his dragon.
“Indeed,” he commented, but left it at that, he gestured with a hand, “after you, Lord Commander”
And Jon took it for what it was, “Ay, follow me Your Grace,” he stated, walking to his side as Grenn and Pyp followed close behind.
An heavy silence befell their little party then, and Jon strove to fill it.
“I have missed my sister too,” he said, “I have been most concerned for her,” he admitted “I am glad she is safe and whole, and I am grateful for her prayers. I shall keep her in my thoughts as well,” he commented.
Aemond Targaryen nodded “I don’t doubt it, I barely knew her for few moons and already I miss her when I am not with her,” he said, “soon I shall see her again, thus I hope you understand my urgency”
“Of course, Your Grace,” Jon said as the ironwood doors of entrance of the keep were pushed open to let way to them, all the brothers of the Nights Watch observed them, their eyes slits and suddenly ever overbearing.
“Return to your posts!” Grenn barked as his second in command, as Pyp moved to make sure they followed the order by grabbing one by the cuff of his furs and pushing him back to watch beyond the Wall.
They walked inside side by side in the corridors of East-Watch-by-the-Sea.
Aemond Targaryen prowled around, instead of walking, as if he was half man half a dragon. Jon wondered if that was why people deemed him half wolf half wildling, but he put that thought on the back of his mind.
“Lord Commander Pyke,” Jon introduced, “let me present to you His Grace, Aemond of House Targaryen, king claimant of the Iron throne,”
The man, expression sour — the scar he had gained on their last trip Beyond the Wall — disfigured his already pox-scarred face, and his close set eyes narrowed, “I thought the Nights Watch didn’t interfere with the Realm’ business,” he commented.
Jon opened his mouth to speak but then was beat at it by Aemond, “Which gives you the advantage,” he commented, “Lord Commander Snow is my bride’s brother, which gave him enough authority to me to have me fly all the way North to see the truth of this threat to the Realm”
It surprised Jon how Aemond had addressed him as Sansa’ brother when even she had always called him nothing but her halfbrother and he had fought a war against his half sister for the Iron throne.
“He isn’t interfering with the matters of the Realm,” Aemond added “but if the Realm needs protecting, it is my duty to see it through,” he said “you, on the other hand, get all the advantages of it. I will fight for the Realm, to protect the Wall if needed be,” he shrugged “and if I am lucky enough perhaps a castle will be named after me,”
Jon studied him. He knew his history, Aemond Targaryen lost his eye the same night he claimed Vhagar during a scuffle with his half-sister’ bastards. Later on, he had sparked the Dance of Dragons by killing Lucerys Velaryon above Storm’s End in retribution for his lost eye. He had died after ruling as regent for the length of almost the whole Dance of Dragons. Killed by his own uncle.
“I would say,” Aemond Targaryen continued “that you get all the ripes by my presence and none of the downsides, wouldn’t you say?”
Jon observed Cotter Pyke as the man considered Aemond’ words, “And you would not demand our support?” he demanded.
“The Nights Watch may claim itself neutral, but it’s not devoid of politics,” he commented “would you rather a king who protects the Realm or the others whose only purpose is sitting on the throne?” he questioned; “power comes alongside duty,” he said.
“Besides,” he added, “it looks to me like it’s you who have need of my manpower more than I have need of your support,” he pointed out, gesturing with a hand to the semi-empty courtyard, “though a good word could be appreciated,”
“Give them the hand and they will take the whole arm,”
Cotter Pyke had time to reply, when Jon interjected, “Enough!” he barked, “I have sent ravens to all the claimant of the Iron throne, every manned keep of the Wall has, for years,” he pointed out “none of them sent neither men, nor help of any kind, and none of them voyaged during this gods-forsaken war to assess the situation and implement the defense of the Realm before sitting on the Iron throne. King Aemond is our guest and ally,” he commanded “and you will treat him with the respect that commands of him,” he stepped closer to the man “or I will find someone who will,” he threatened, his dark gaze falling on Satin, his steward, “are we understood?”
King Aemond was observing him unmoving and unflinching as Jon collected himself and gestured with a hand, “Please, Your Grace, this way,”
King Aemond fell in step with him as Cotter Pyke followed behind, dragging his feet like a petulant child would.
The taller man observed him with his good eye, considering, then he let out a chuckle, “Go figures,” he commented under his breath.
Jon frowned and turned to assess him, “Did something strike you as funny, Your Grace?” he questioned, feeling suddenly he, himself, as a petulant child, though Aemond seemed only further amused.
“You remind me of my brother,” he admitted, rolling a shoulder “Daeron,” he specified, and a dark, gloomy shadow seemed to pass through his face.
The silhouette of the dragon, visible by all windows of the keep, moved as if in reply to his sudden shift of mood.
“But that’s not what struck you as funny,” Jon guessed, wishing to lift the suddenly heavy air around them.
“No,” Aemond conceded. The silence stretched thought Aemond’ eye had softened, his whole demeanor had softened, “I guess it did strike me funny how you would say that, and your sister basically did the very same thing twice over,” he shrugged, “you two are more similar than what I thought,” he conceded.
Jon frowned again, “Are we talking of the same Sansa?” he wondered, “this high,” he gestured with a hand, “red hair, pretty smile and blue eyes?, with a knack for getting her way, good with a needle and a terrible romantic?”
Aemond merely arched a brow, and Jon huffed out a laugh, “No disrespect meant, but Sansa doesn’t strike as the kind of person who’d say that, she’s too kind, too good,” he added, “she’s meant only for laugh and love”
Aemond considered him, “Indeed,” he said “I did not say she said that, I said she did that,” he commented, “is she not as much wolf as any of you?” he questioned, almost challengingly.
Jon blinked unsure, then shrugged “She was always the best behaved out of all of us,” he conceded “Lady too. Learnt to eat daintily from her hand, never seen a better mannered wolf,” he offered, “I guess… I just never expected Sansa to have to fight,” he admitted, “and need to get out her fangs,”
A long silence stretched and then Aemond nodded, “I suppose so,” he offered, “I guess your sister has had more reason than most to learn on the way. It just struck me as funny that you look so very different and yet your mind works so similarly,” he concluded.
Jon had considered himself always more similar to Arya. They both shared the Stark look, to the point Arya had often wondered if she was a bastard too, like him. He had been exceptionally close to Robb, but they had always been fundamentally different in the ways they approached all kinds of problems.
Jon had always regarded that as the difference between the heir and the bastard, but now he started wondering if it didn't go deeper than that.
Arya had always seemed to be his twin, in matters of character as well, and they used to make fun of Sansa and her ladylike ways, banding together.
Don’t tell Sansa, had kind of been their motto of sorts; though now Jon could recognize how childish that had been.
Despite Arya keeping things close to her chest, and being weary of Sansa, Sansa always managed to know everything that was going on with Arya even when Jon himself had needed to be told.
She was keenly observant and Jon had hated it, when she had displayed that by embarrassing him, though he could admit now that, that had not been her intent.
You should always say to a lady that her name is pretty, she had instructed him when she had caught him fumbling with his words, because he had a crush.
He had been embarrassed then, but since then he had used her own brand of courtesy he had somehow picked upon by living with her for eleven years and had seen the difference it could make.
We, at times, underestimate the power of gentle words; he had found himself considering often-times since leaving Winterfell.
“I guess we are more similar than I had thought too,” Jon said, and at Aemond’ challenging glare he looked away, “though I am glad for it,” he amended.
The prince-of-old was decidedly very protective of his sister, Jon considered, not only when enemies were meaning her harm, but apparently even from any kind of misunderstanding which could paint her different than what he saw her as.
Somehow that comforted Jon, he still didn’t like the idea of anyone being in Sansa’ league — none of them were as good as she, or deserved her in his mind — but he certainly liked this more than the way Joffrey had looked at her.
It seemed like Aemond truly respected her.
Men from the Stormlands, Crownlands and Reach he learned would soon take the black and Aemond offered they be stationed at Queensgate, so to man up more keep at the Wall.
Jon was grateful for that, and when Aemond offered more men, depending on how many they needed and how great the enemy not even Cotter Pyke could protest or oppose his presence.
Though he wished to see the enemy for himself, and he wished to understand the state of the Wall to understand how to better help them mann it.
So they chose to leave early the next day and proceed by dragon on a small progress of the nineteen keeps, though Jon could tell him already many were beyond hope.
What surprised him was that he offered Jon a pair of his breeches and gloves, commenting on how it was important he kept his flesh protected against the heat of a dragon during its flight.
And as they were speaking of it, Jon giddy thinking on how many things he could say to Arya about dragonflihght, Aemond Targaryen let it slip that he had used Vhagar old scales to fashion a dragon-flight attire for Sansa as a courtship gift.
Jon knew Sansa.
He knew how romantic his sister was, how easily a gesture like that could have swept her off her feet.
She had always went on to whoever would listen about prince Duncan’ courtship gift to Jenny of Oldstone and now her betrothed had given her a whole gear encrusted with dragon’ scales.
King Aemond was a bit taller than Jon but that meant that he could tuck the excess fabric in the boots for added warmth, and their hands were similarly built to his surprise that the gloves actually fit as if they had been fashioned for him.
Jon was torn between excitement to ride not only on dragonback but on Vhagar’s back, one of the three original Targaryen dragons; and concern about the logistics of it all and about the fact that he would ride on what could actually prove a fatally hostile dragon.
Grenn and Pyp were not very impressed by his wish for death, but Jon had managed to quench their doubts telling them that his sister had already made the same journey.
Ay, Lord Commander, Grenn had commented, but if the One-Eye is to be believed she’s quite prettier than your ugly face perhaps she charmed the dragon.
And though Jon ought to be offended, yet he couldn’t help but snigger at the idea of Sansa charming Vhagar, and yet not finding it as surprising as he ought to.
After all hadn’t Sansa trained Lady without any issue?
A dragon was not a direwolf, but still…
from up close the dragoness was even more impressive, she was big enough that once at her feet she could obscure the sky with her body.
Her scales varied from iron-grey, musk green and dark gold, her horns and fangs were black as coal though the age had left some of her flesh soft and some of her horns either chipped, broken or veined in gray and white.
She was an impressive, gorgeous beast anyway. The saddle secured around her torso was enormous, with belts all around it, and ropes to help them climb on her back.
“Here,” Aemond had told him, “try not to move too quickly or annoy her in any way,” he offered as he showed him where to put his feet to climb up the dragoness shoulder to her back, Jon climbed up, using the ropes as support and almost shrieked when the dragoness moved as he was climbing making him swing around her side like a dangle from a bell.
Aemond’ chuckles and smirk let him know he found that extremely funny, and Jon didn’t know if it was that Jon reminded him of his brother — like the man had offered himself — but it seemed like the was much more open and friendly than he had expected, though perhaps Sansa might have a hand in that, as often times he would recall something Sansa had told him of their childhood when Jon was speaking about his life.
By the time Jon had made it to the saddle he was quite sure he had never done something quite so embarrassing and dangerous as climbing atop her back, flailing like a headless chicken on more than one occasion. When Aemond followed him up, in three or four graceful steps and jumps, to sit himself comfortably on the saddle as if he hadn’t just climbed atop a dragon’s side, Jon couldn’t help but mutter “show off,” under his breath.
Aemond chuckled darkly, “Funny that you should say that, Lord Commander,” he teased, “Daeron called me quite the same when I returned to Kings Landing with Vhagar,”
Then the hilarity had ceased and Aemond had shown him where to grab for protection as he instructed him on which belts to secure around him. Then, without any warning, Aemond commanded the dragon in high Valyrian and with a screech from the half-cracked and half-melt Wall the dragoness took flight, going down enough to almost touch the snowy ground before taking height and rising in the clouds.
The impact of the air against his face and chest made them almost cave in for how cold and strong it was, but after a while he adapted as the dragoness seemed to penetrate through the heaviest of clouds and they found themselves in a spot of clear indigo, starless sky.
The sun ought to be high in the sky and yet, even though closer to the Wall the sky was a cold lilac, the more they looked north, the darker the sky got.
The Long Night, the thought came unbidden to Jon’s mind, as memories of stories shared near the hearth by Old Nan, seemed to suddenly start to shout in his own head, in a clambering mess that made his own thoughts silent.
They moved west, and Jon would use this to ensure that the men he had sent to mann some of the castles were still there, still fighting.
Their first stop was to Greenguard, which was manned by wildlings lead by the Sealskinner. They were no more than sixty men, and a dozen of spearwives.
The wildlings had not seen a dragon before, by what Jon had gathered during his time between them so it didn’t surprise him that their first reaction was that of fear, a spearwife even tried to throw a spear at Vhagar, but the dragoness ducked the spear almost boredly, using the outer rim of hard bone of her wings to divert the spear without issue.
Only when the wildlings saw him atop the dragon, did they stop frantically scrambling for weapons to throw.
They remained in Greenguard for a little more than a couple of hours, the wildlings were too careful around Vhagar and her rider to be courteous hosts and Jon was only happy to see that they were still manning the keep, though the Sealskinner was raging beyond the Wall for a couple of spearwives who had taken it upon themselves to go and hunt far farest than they ought to.
When Vhagar emitted fumes and a small flame out of her nostrils mostly to keep her warm against the setting cold the wildlings let out a shriek of joy, pestering king Aemond about whether he could fly the thing over the hoards of wights and kill them all.
“For certain if needed I will,” Aemond had offered ever courteous and polite, and when they had asked him who he was Jon had introduced him as one of the southern kings.
The Sealskinner’ second in command, who had been left to manage the keep and the garrison, had commented something about Aemond not kneeling to anyone with that beast, and Aemond had replied something in old tongue which had left him speechless.
When he had asked about it later Aemond had reminded him he was a prince of the Realm and that he had always had a deep interest in history, philosophy and languages. He was in no way fluent in the old tongue, but he had freshened his rusty knowledge since his betrothal to Sansa.
When they left they did so promising they would stop again in the returning journey to help if the Sealskinner was not yet back, since he had left almost a fortnight prior.
The Torches were manned by a small garrison and the state of the keep was worse than what Jon had anticipated.
“You need carpenters,” Aemond had commented, “and fast ones at that,”
Jon had muttered about the war and the North having been at war so far, but Aemond would have none of it, “We’ll write to lady Stark and Prince Rickon,” he said “I am sure they will send all carpenters that can be spared, Sansa had hired many for the rebuilt of the buildings which had suffered the worst of the ironborns’ attack,”
Jon nodded, “I wasn’t aware that that many were at disposal in Winterfell,” he said “I will ride for Winterfell myself to ask for them, and more men if it can be,”
“I can leave you there on the way back South,” Aemond had offered and so forth they had continued their voyage.
He was happy to see Edd once again, Long Barrow, though Edd apparently found ever grating his role as steward in a keep manned mostly by spearwives who were fond of nicknaming him how very well they pleased, and weren’t fond of listening to the only crow in their midst.
Edd was the only one who recognized Aemond for the Targaryen he was and Vhagar for whom she was, though he was convinced to have died of frostbite and been seeing things.
Long Barrow was though by far the best upkept of all the abandoned castles he had remanned, so Jon was quite proud of it.
Rimegate was still empty and half in ruin; their stop at Sable Hall though, was the worse one to name.
The castle was completely abandoned and when they had landed outside of it there had been no wildling in sight and no brother either.
They climbed down Vhagar and approached the castle cautiously, as they neared the gates, Jon pushed them open and open they did screeching.
They both unsheathed their swords, but the silence of the snowed in castle was the only noise to greet them.
What scared Jon the most wasn’t that there weren’t people, it was that it was clear that the keep had not been abandoned, because all the tools and goods of the people he had sent to mann it seemed to be intact in some strange, suspended state, as if everyone had vanished suddenly without leave trace.
The snow must have covered any sign of fighting, and any body, Jon supposed thought it looked more like there was no body, anywhere.
There were no traces in the snow, though some of it looked fresh enough to send doubt spiraling in his mind.
Discarded on the side, as if abandoned in the hife, laid a spear with the spear-head cut out of dragonglass.
“We are not alone,” he mouthed to the Targaryen prince, “expect violence,” he signaled as they started the trek to the massive double doors of ironwood.
A shiver ran up his spine and Jon acted long before anyone could blink, as the wight stepped out of the shadows, reaching for them and screeching.
Aemond jumped out of the way, instincts kicking in before he realized what he was seeing, and when it set that this man was half a skeleton with flesh hanging barely by its bones, its eyes unseeing, Jon had to physically shove him out of the way and into the snow.
Vhagar, possibly feeling the threat and, or feeling her rider’ emotions, shrieked, the shriek was filled with something akin to panic and Jon could almost feel it in his own mind.
It roused Aemond from his shock much quicker than the snow had, “Vhagar! Sovas!” he demanded as he sliced through wight after wight looking ever more disturbed as he saw the mangled bodies continuing their quest for their lives.
The dragon shrieked and shrugged her immense body, making the Wall tremble, several wights who had attacked her fell off her body.
When Aemond saw the wights falling like insects once felled by Long Claw when they didn’t by his blade, Jon cursed himself to the high heavens to not have thought ahead that maybe the prince didn’t carry a valyrian steel blade; he had taken that he did for granted.
It was foolish, and stupid, and it might cost them the life of the only dragonrider in the Seven Kingdoms, the only king who wanted to help them.
Jon twirled on himself, as he sliced through any wight that happened to his blade, then kicked the spear from the ground in his direction. It was better than a useless sword anyway.
“Valyrian steel kills them!” he shouted, “or fire!”
Aemond grabbed the spear and with an expertise Jon ignored him to have swung it around in circle keeping at bay the wights and killing those who came too close.
Suddenly an arrow hissed in the air and from the windows of the tower the archer shoot down a wight that had been coming at his back.
Jon looked up and noticed a thin shadow with curl hair and impeccable aim, though they released arrows only when one of the wights came too close to them, and suddenly all the ravens of the rockery took flight, making the wooden panel crash open; distracting the wights with the noise.
There was an hoard at the gates flowing in, no less than sixty wights and when Aemond saw it, even from the ground he shouted to the dragoness, who kept flying in circles above the courtyard possibly in an attempt of finding somewhere to land to protect her rider, “Vhagar, dracarys!”
The sprout of fire showered like rain around the gates, burning the ironwood to wisp, and the wights with it, as Vhagar perched on the walls of the keep, making debris and ruin fall in the courtyard.
Then, all of sudden the air dropped even colder than it had been before and the hissing sound Jon had come to associate with them filled the air.
Jon turned, just in time to see the Other, who had not joined the fight until then, perch itself under one of the balconies of the tower, with a lance of black crystal and ice, he saw the dark intent in his eyes and managed to convey just enough to Aemond that the Targaryen prince started to run, the spear safely in hand, toward the dragon in hope to defend her.
“Vhagar! Egrio!Dracarys!” he shouted again, when he realized that he would not be faster than the throw spear, which hissed in the air emitting a low whistle that grated in his ears.
Vhagar rose her immense head, and Jon could almost see the reflection of the spear in her eye and believed all lost for a moment until she opened her fauces and breathed fire on the lance, melting it.
Jon almost didn’t let himself release the breath he had been holding, realizing that so, also dragon fire could dissolve the Other’s blades, and not only Valyrian steel or dragonglass.
The Other hissed, maybe even spoke, in a icy tone and in a language that was more similar to the ice scraping and hissing than anything else, then he unsheathed another blade, more similar to a long sword now, though it was much thinner than any long sword Jon had ever seen; then he begun descending down the steps and facing them.
His eyes solely focused on the dragon, Jon launched himself at him shouting in hope to keep his attention away from the dragon which, he knew now, was much more an asset than he had thought beforehand.
His attack managed to distract the Other if for a moment, but, as he was pushed in the snow by his strength, there was a more earthly hiss in the air and suddenly the Other became mute and the air around him stopped hissing and shivering and became suddenly warmer, as the Other, fell on the ground in fragments.
The spear fell to the ground after having struck the Other, fragments of crystal and ice all over and around it and Jon felt those very same fragments slicing the skin of his cheeks and any exposed skin he had.
He whipped his head back and sure enough Aemond Targaryen had thrown the spear, his aim true, and all the wights had fallen dead to never raise again, on the ground. The man was panting, and Jon could see the relief on his face.
They had just escaped a fate worse than death, Jon knew.
Then he remembered the archer in the tower and looked up, but there was no one at the window, Aemond must have had the same thought because, despite the dragoness’ tail coiled around his torso he shrugged out of her hold and ducked under her wing protectively curled before him, to retrieve one of the arrows from the back of the skull of one of the wights, before freeing it from bone and flesh he looked up at him, the question clear in his eye, Jon nodded and he raised to inspect the arrow closely.
“It’s well done, but not by a smith or an armoury,” he told him, looking up to the empty window, “did you see him..?” he started to ask, when the door opened, and both of them turned around, sword at the ready.
“Jumpy, aren’t you?” the young girl commented, a flash of a smirk and riotous dark curls on her head, a bow secured at her torso, “and he is a she,” she said, outstretching her hand in a give me motion, toward Aemond, “and that is mine, thank you very much”
Jon shared a look with the man, perhaps you have offended her he mouthed off to him, before another figure, a dark-blond, short and thin young man appeared behind the girl, sniggering.
Jon studied him as the boy cocked his head to the side and considered them, “He said you would come,” he commented, “though we were starting to loose hope,” he added his gaze fixed then on Aemond.
“I am Lord Commander Snow,” Jon introduced “and this is…”
“Aemond Targaryen,” the boy said “we know,” then he gestured with a hand, “this is my sister, lady Meera Reed and I am Jojen of House Reed,” he said.
Jon frowned, what were two crannogmen doing away from the Neck?
Meera huffed as she inspected the arrow-head and then returned it to her quiver, “He,” Jojen repeated “was expecting you,” he repeated, gesturing with a hand as his sister collected all her arrows and put them back in her quiver after a quick inspection.
There was something about her that for some reason reminded him of Arya.
Jon sheathed Long Claw, and Aemond took that cue doing the same for his sword.
Jojen told them they had reached Sable Hall there still was the garrison Jon had sent, and though they were undermanned they had welcomed them inside the keep without much fuss, though some kind of squabble had happened and the leader of the garrison had ferried them in the tower and closed them there as they discussed it out. The Other and the wights had resolved that matter by killing then on and stalking for days on no end on the grounds.
They had remained in the chamber in the tower for five days, though today was the first day they had ventured out of the tower, knowing both the Other and the wights dead.
“You have a good aim, my lady” Aemond offered as lady Meera polished one of the arrow-heads, “and the arrows served their purpose, saving our life. So thank you,”
Perhaps it was as far as an apology would go for a king.
Lady Meera studied him and then nodded in silence.
They followed Jojen and Meera up the stairs as Jojen commented they had been lucky enough that there was a passage between the tower and the stores of the keep, so they hadn’t gone hungry.
When they finally reached the chamber, Jojen opened the door and gestured for them to walk in first.
Jon did, followed by Meera and then Aemond as the Targaryen had gestured for her to precede him.
Politeness. Courtesy.
It seemed like, temperament aside, Sansa and her betrothed were aligned in many aspects.
A good match, he considered, but all thoughts about Sansa and her matches flew his mind the moment Jon took sight of the boy sitting on a wooden chair with pelts and furs wrapped around his whole body.
He couldn’t see him in the face, but he would recognize that head of dark brown-red hair everywhere.
“Hello, Jon” Bran said, as if he had seen him walk to him, Jon choked on his own breath, his throat constricting as he walked to the chair and fell to his knees before Bran, pressing a fervent kiss upon his brow.
When he leaned back his eyes were filled with tears, “Look at you! You’re a man now,” he offered.
Bran’ smile was the most horrendous thing he had ever seen, and yet so very familiar it left an ache in his bones.
Why did his little brother looked like he had lived to see a hundred and more.
“Yes,” he offered back with a voice that didn’t even sound like his, “and no,” he added and in his blue eyes then Jon could recognize his little brother.
“I’ve missed you, little brother” Jon told him, pressing another kiss to his brow.
“I missed you too,” Bran told him, and despite his apparent coldness, his hands curled at the fabric of his cloak as they had done so many times before and something in Jon settled, Bran looked up to him and he could almost see his little brother again. Now already three and ten.
Then Bran turned his gaze around and fixed his eyes on Aemond, “I feared you would not make it,” he commented, “it’s good to see you did,” he offered.
Aemond observed him, in silence, possibly uncertain on what to reply.
“It seems you know who I am,” he offered back.
Bran shrugged slowly, “I do,” he said and offered no further or more information, but he nodded to Meera.
The girl grabbed the back of his chair and only then did Jon notice it was a wheeled chair, with small wheels attached to its legs. It was unstable for the most, but it seemed to work.
Bran collected his hands on his lap and considered him, “We needed you,” he stated, “it’s good that you answered the call,” he added.
Aemond didn’t reply and Bran sighed “This,” he said patting his lap, “should have killed you, the ink was dry,” he added, Jon frowned, “but the magic is untouched at the Isle of Faces,” he commented “and when the Realm’ need is the greatest, its king will be called back,” he commented.
Jon observed the exchange, the First Men spoke often of the magic of Isle of Faces, of how it would be the resting place of the king of the Realm and of how, one day, from therein a champion would rise.
“I was never a king,” Aemond protested, “I am not even now, not until I take the Iron throne”
Bran cocked his head to the side, “Power comes alongside duty,” he said “who’s better fit to rule the Realm than the king who rose to protect it before he took it?”
The silence stretched on the chamber and Jon recalled those same words being spoken days before at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea.
The room appeared almost electrified, “You do not need a crown on your head to make of you a king,” he said, “though the crown always fit you better than it did your brother,”
Jon’ mind was reeling, Aemond Targaryen had died during the Dance of Dragon, his resting place had been the Gods Eye, where he had drowned with Vhagar, and from there, out of the blue, he had risen to take back the Iron throne.
But, despite having a dragon, he hadn’t yet launched his conquest. He didn’t use Vhagar anywhere save in Skagos and even there, he had used it only on one keep they were putting under siege.
He chanced a look at Aemond and he was pale, his eye cautious; then Bran fished from under the heavy furs at his lap what looked to be the hilt of a sword, fashioned of flames and with a big ruby as the head of a snarling dragon the handles of the hilt were shaped as dragon wings.
The blade was wrapped and bound by a cord to cloth and furs, Bran maneuvered the sword so that it could be offered hilt first to Aemond.
Jon knew what was happening before it did, Aemond slowly rose a hand and wrapped his fingers around the hilt, “That which was meant to bring your end,” Bran intoned “may now be wielded to save the Realm,”
And Aemond unsheathed the sword from the scabbard which remained inside the cloth and furs, the blade shining in the pale light, as dark as smoke and as sharp as ice.
“Dark sister,” Aemond breathed, as he observed the ancestral Targaryen blade.
Bran nodded, “it befell the hand of Daemon Targaryen, claimed by your life in death, you were supposed to rise with it, but they took it from your grave,” he said with a voice that sounded like several together, “from hand to hand it was passed down, until it reached the Wall and beyond, where it laid in waiting,”
Jon observed the man and blade and felt like this would be a moment people remembered.
“Now,” Bran said “it is yours again, may the blade which took your life, grant you the strength against the foe to come, your life and this blade are connected,” he said “you live because she, imbued of your blood and the magic of the waters of the Gods Eye perdured,”
Aemond swirled the blade around, careful of the forniture and the people near him and then let it hang near his hip, “Welcome back, Your Grace,” he said “now you are armed, you saw the enemy North, it is time to you prepare, this war needs to be won”
Jon shivered as Bran added, “No matter the odds,”
Notes:
Sending all my love~G.
Chapter 19: Kevan Lannister
Summary:
“And I would trust the word of a Targaryen kinslayer?” he demanded instead. His hands fisted around the parchment in anger and fury and disappointment.
Chapter Text
The sun had long since rose in the sky, despite the late hour, though, it looked almost like it was about to go down; winter had taken them all by surprise for how swift it had replaced autumn.
“My lord Lannister,” Kevan closed his eyes. He had been second to Tywin his whole life, yet he had served his brother loyally, and would keep to do the same for his children if they weren’t so stubborn, “Hightowers and northern troops, at the gates. Sir Jaime and prince Tommen are there as well,”
Speaking of which.
He sighed.
His son was yet in the capital, where king Joffrey, his niece’ son, sat enthroned after his father, the late king. But, Jaime and Tommen had escaped, some rumored they had ran away from the city after an attempt on prince Tommen’ life, and Kevan could not even begin to unwrap that matter.
Tywin had been a great man, but his children were tearing to shambles his legacy. House Lannister’ legacy.
They were at each other throats, power hungry or weak minded. Tyrion had milled himself by his own hand and his intoxication with wine, and Jaime had apparently gotten himself taken by the Starks, or had sought refuge with them.
If that was not enough, Tyrion was also still married to Sansa Stark of all people, who Cersei had let escape from the capital, when he had died.
Kevan had literally no ground to break the widow law, save for king Joffrey’ decree that Casterly Rock was his mother’s and not Sansa Stark’s. A decree that many considered unlawful.
The widow law was one of the most well-known of the Realm by small folk and nobles alike. And Joffrey was breaking it, but they were at war, and Kevan would do all that was needed.
To keep Casterly Rock safe.
To keep House Lannister from ruin.
Lannister women were always outspoken and deliberately commanding; Genna and Cersei were just prime examples, Joanna even more so.
Genna and Cersei did not hide themselves or their ambitions, and Cersei’ arrogance might very well be her own downfall, considering as if she hadn’t let Ned Stark be beheaded there wouldn’t be this problem to begin with.
Genna was ruthless with her outspokenness, but she was calmer and smarter than Cersei.
Joanna was less abrasive but perhaps, exactly for that, more successful. She had had Tywin wrapped around her finger since they had been children and no amount of rumors about her supposed infidelity had ever made her power over Tywin waver.
Kevan knew Sansa Stark was just a girl; but he would not underestimate the girl who, if he was to believe Joffrey and Cersei, had schemed to ensure Tywin’ downfall.
She was a clever girl, at the head of an imposing army; and she had the law at her back, and hostages in her grasp.
And, some rumored, a live dragon.
One of the dragons who had seen the unification of the Realm under the Targaryen banner if fable was to be believed.
But Kevan never really believed in fairytales. And the dragon, albeit having been seen flying overhead, had not been sighted ever since; and was not being used during warfare.
If the Starks had a dragon at their disposal why not ride it to Kings Landing and use it to take the capital? If they had the dragon why not unleash it on their enemies?
Besides, no dragon had been sighted in the near vicinity of either Harrenhal or Casterly Rock, so Kevan wondered how much of the rumors about the dragon being at House Stark disposal and the apparent return of one of the Green claimants of the Iron throne was true and how much was fable cocooned to ensure the Realm fell at their feet?
Kevan nodded to the young squire and then left the tent. Tyrion might not have been the favored son of Tywin Lannister, but he was still the lawful lord of Casterly Rock. With his death, and Cersei being named by Joffrey and Sansa Stark claiming Casterly Rock due the widow law, Kevan remained the only head of the Lannister army, and many had asked him to take residence in the keep and act as its lord.
Casterly Rock had never meant to be his. Just like Joanna was always meant to Tywin, the same could be said for Casterly Rock. Kevan would not rob Tywin’ children of their right, only the legacy mattered.
Hear me roar.
Genna had been put in a peculiar position, whilst being married to a Frey and with a Frey queen sitting beside Robb Stark. Yet she had never counseled him to surrender, not even when she had gotten news of Tyrion’ death.
Though, through the Frey’ kin, she had told him of the rumored end of House Magnar of Skagos, they had apparently hoisted up arms against House Stark holding Rickon Stark hostage, because apparently the youngest Starks were indeed alive, and apparently Sansa Stark had laid siege on their keep, and when they had refused her terms she had unleashed the dragon on them.
Now Rickon Stark sat enthroned as Prince of the North in Winterfell and apparently Sansa Stark had proved her ruthlessness in destroying a House only to free her brother.
Mayhap they had always been blind, Sansa Stark had always went under their attention, and yet she had schemed to get away from the capital where she had been held hostage for years, she had managed to return to her family and had apparently proved a cunning and fierce commander in time of need.
Or perhaps, he considered, it was all stories.
After all, Sansa Stark had been unable to see his young Lancel die, during the siege of Kings Landing.
She didn’t have the heart of a killer.
She didn’t have the heart of a commander.
Kevan could still hope to hold Casterly Rock safely and for the crown as his duty to House Lannister demanded.
He left the tent to meet them. The first line of the troops were composed of Northerners, Hightowers and Constaynes.
There was even a knight posing as a member of the kingsguard, and besides the Stark banners was hung also the Targaryen banner but into a variant Kevan had never seen for himself though he had known of it from history. The golden dragon.
Sansa Stark had grown from the little girl whom Kevan remembered, she was still lithe and of tiny frame, but she had gotten taller, she was wearing proudly her House colors, and had her red hair braided at the nape of her neck.
If Kevan had to think on how a northern lady may look, this would be it.
She urged her mare forward and Kevan met her mid-way; she was followed closely by the kingsguard and a woman Kevan had not noticed before, wearing a Morningstar at her hip.
Jaime and Tommen were both on horses; Jaime was even wearing the Lannister armor; Tommen as well.
Kevan had heard of Tommen and was surprised to see that the saddle he was sitting on seemed to be fashioned for his peculiar condition with his bad leg.
He had grown taller, almost as tall as Jaime and the resemblance between the two was uncanny.
They didn’t seem to be mistreated, though Kevan could not even confirm they were free.
“Lord Kevan,” Sansa Stark greeted, “I am glad to find you well,” she said, her gaze surveying the Lannister troops ready for battle if needed “and Casterly Rock well defended,”
Kevan considered her for a long moment. Was this girl, tiny and soft spoken, truly the reason behind Tywin’ death?
“I offer my condolences, House Lannister has indeed suffered with the so quick deaths of its head and his successor,” she offered “I knew little of Lord Tywin and a bit more of my late husband. They were both formidable in their own way,”
Courtesy.
Kevan knew courtesies.
“It is,” he knew courtesies but that didn’t mean he would engage in them with his enemies, “well defended,” he specified “now, turn hence you came; you are not welcome, nor your brother or your infamous dragon prince” he told her “Casterly Rock is of House Lannister”
Sansa Stark cocked her head to the side, changing the dominant hand on the reins and almost as that was enough to send a signal to her men, the first line of footmen armed their bows and aimed.
“Indeed?” she questioned, “then I would say, neither are you. And I have two Lannister spares to replace you with, if I so fancy”
“You have no right to Casterly Rock,” Kevan told her.
Sansa Stark changed her hold on the reins again and Kevan held his breath, would she break all rules of warfare to attack during a meeting before the battle even began?
Yet her men did not release their arrows.
“And this is where we may begin to trea,” she said, “wouldn’t you agree?”
Kevan sighed, looked behind her to her men and banners. To Jaime and Tommen.
Maybe she would be more agreeable if Kevan respected the common courtesy she had been refused in the capital.
“Very well, follow me,” he told her gruffly.
Sansa Stark dismounted her mare and then collected her hands before herself “These are lady Jorelle Mormont and sir Leighton Constayne of the kingsguard,” she introduced as both the kingsguard and the woman followed suit and dismounted, “lady Jorelle is my sworn shield and sir Leighton has been tasked by the king with my protection, I am sure you understand,”
Kevan nodded stiffly, as she gestured for Jaime and Tommen to remain behind.
“If your intention are noble, my lady” Kevan told her “you would let me speak with my nephew and the prince”
Sansa Stark considered him, “And you will,” she said “but not before we have grounded out how this will come to be,” she told him “you have seen they are safe and whole, that is a greater courtesy that your House has ever done mine, my Lord”
Kevan felt his face contort into a displease grimace but then nodded, gesturing for her and her following to enter his tent.
He took a seat and gestured for her to do the same, she did, and while sir Leighton took a place to her right, lady Jorelle stood guard behind her chair.
“Sansa Stark,” he commented “you have come quite the long way since I have seen you last,” he told her.
“And there is a long way yet to come, my Lord,” she replied “despite our circumstances,” she told him “my condolences are sincere. Lord Tywin was never outly cruel to me, and Lord Tyrion always tried his best to be gentle with me, in his own way”
“Yet you betrayed them both,” Kevan summarized.
“Did I?” she questioned “it may have escaped your notice, my Lord, but I was given a chalice to drink from exactly like your late brother, the Gods did as they saw fit,”
It sounded like a lie.
It struck like a truth.
“It is not my fault Joffrey is paranoid as sees enemies where there are none,”
“But you exploited that,” Kevan accused.
“I did what I had to do to survive, my Lord. I was mistreated, humiliated and tormented since my father was beheaded,” she told him, “Joffrey’ actions are his own, otherwise one might accuse everyone who stood by or didn’t speak up, as culprit in the Mad king’s atrocities,”
She then shrugged elegantly “On that very same matter, if we had to apply your reasoning to your nephew? The entirety of House Lannister should be held accountable of his crime as oathbreaker because he committed them to save you,”
Kevan studied her.
Sansa Stark might be just a girl, he considered, but she was not an enemy to be trifled with.
Kevan was not as clever as Tywin had been, but he was straightforward, and he knew a dangerous enemy when he saw it.
“Still, you have no right to Casterly Rock”
“I am its late lord’ widow,” she commented “it is mine by right. My marriage to Tyrion has never been annulled.”
“The king has named his mother the Queen as lady of Casterly Rock” Kevan protested.
“And that is unlawful,” she countered with a soft smile on her lips.
“And he is the king,” Kevan said “he chooses what is lawful”
“A king should abide by the laws,” she replied evenly “or change them, not unrepentantly break them. But I suppose we cannot hold Joffrey to this standard since he is not a king”
“Your father helped Robert Baratheon take the Iron throne,” Kevan hissed “Joffrey is his heir. We all believed Ned Stark might have been lied to, to turn against Robert’s son, but now I am starting to doubt it and maybe House Stark is much more ambitious than any of us considered”
“My father died to put Robert’ true heir on the throne,” Sansa Stark protested, “he was executed on false charges of treason, fashioned to keep Joffrey, a bastard, on the Iron throne”
“Those are slanders,” Kevan protested, perhaps more weakly than he ought to.
“I always wondered,” Sansa Stark replied “if you were are really wilfully blind or if you really believe what you say” she sighed “none the matter,” she then turned to her sworn shield who fished from her pocked a parchment.
“This has been signed by Jaime of House Lannister provided to the fullest of his abilities and will,” she told him “copies of these will be sent to all the keeps of the Realm,”
She pushed the parchment toward him on the table and Kevan grabbed it and broke the seal, the Lannister lion, to read the content.
He felt his whole chest deflate at what he read.
“I cannot take this seriously. You must have forced Jaime” he accused “to weaken House Lannister”
“We urged him to tell the truth,” she conceded, “but he signed this in no way against his will. His hope is that by revealing the truth, his innocent children will be spared by any ill will”
“And you would spare Joffrey?” he spat.
“Joffrey is hardly innocent,” Sansa commented, “my husband to be, Aemond of House Targaryen, is willing to ensure Tommen and Myrcella come to no harm,” she told him “Sir Jaime will still need to atone for his crimes, but Tommen and Myrcella are innocent,”
She leaned with her elbows on the table, “Joffrey did nothing for House Lannister, on the contrary at the first occasion he crippled House Lannister of his own volition. He is volatile, cruel and unfit to rule, on top of being also a bastard. Nothing will come to House Lannister but further ruin from this continued loyalty to him,” she stated.
“Cersei and Jaime are not fit to rule House Lannister either, after they have desecrated its name and legacy,” she added “my late husband, may the Gods forgive his sins, was not a good man, but he would have been more fit to lord over House Lannister, sadly that is not the case. I am your best chance to save House Lannister from the shambles of these last decades,”
“A Stark woman, in Casterly Rock,” he spat “who means to marry a Targaryen king who’d burn us all?”
“Maybe it escaped your notice, my Lord,” sir Leighton butted in “but king Aemond has not once used Vhagar to burn indiscriminately. The fact that you still stand here, is proof of that,”
“And I would trust the word of a Targaryen kinslayer?” he demanded instead. His hands fisted around the parchment in anger and fury and disappointment.
“You would trust mine,” Sansa Stark replied, her coming to rest over one of his, “the girl who helped save your son when no one else would, even if he was my enemy,” she said.
“Lancel is still there,” he said. The way he had clasped at that newcomer Faith militant had him as concerned as the fact that he was still in the capital, “and you cannot promise his safety”
“I cannot,” Sansa Stark admitted, “yet Lancel is now a Sparrow, is he not?” she questioned “he is no less in peril now than he would be if you let law ran its course” she pointed out.
“But he would still not be the son of traitor,”
“Was my father a traitor because he told the truth and acted on it?” she asked, “for our part, I can guarantee that, even in the evenience we were to take out the Sparrows we’ll do our best to give you back your son,” she said.
Kevan looked down, the paper crumpling in his hand, “I wish to speak with my nephew, alone”
“I understand,” Sansa Stark nodded, standing up “I will have sir Jaime sent to you,” she said “you will speak to him alone,” she conceded, “but you understand that we will need to remain close, and Prince Tommen will not leave the encampment”
Kevan nodded.
Sansa Stark turned to her sworn shield and nodded.
“Have sir Patrek Cassel bring sir Jaime to us, Jory” she intoned sweetly.
The woman nodded and scurried to do her bidding. Sansa Stark bid him goodbye, and followed sir Constayne outside the tent.
Before she left, she turned around and leveled him with a look “I promised someone I would not start fights without him, do not make me go back on my word”
Jaime had, at the very least, the decency of looking sheepish, when Kevan confronted him.
“Uncle…”
“Don’t you uncle me!” he spat “is this true?” he demanded, slamming the parchment on the table “tell me this is not true!”
To his regard, Jaime straightened at that, “It’s true,” he admitted, “it’s true. I am not sorry, it is the truth”
Kevan punched him before he had time to blink.
He had always thought, privately, that Jaime, for all of Tywin’ scheming, had taken some after him.
He hated to see everything fall down like this.
“You cannot… this cannot be done,” he said “take this back, you are putting them all in danger,”
“I am doing what I need to do to keep them safe,” he replied instead.
“Myrcella is still in Dorne what ensures you that she will not be mistreated the moment this get released?” he demanded “you are not a father if you put your own safety above your children’s” he accused him.
Something dark passed through Jaime’ eyes then, and for a moment he reminded him of Joanna so much Kevan had trouble breathing.
Joanna possessed a dark streak that was better left unprovoked.
Tywin had destroyed House Reyne for the insult offered, but he would not have done so had Joanna not been the voice behind him.
She had taken none too kindly to the rebuttal of Tywin’ terms, and the Reynes had never recovered from it.
She could have stilled his hand. She instead provoked him further.
“I am doing this for them,” Jaime spat “you may not have seen it uncle, but I have. I have seen the dragon,” he said “the fact that they have not yet used it on us doesn’t mean they will not,” he told them “but they have no reason to kill them if they prove no threat to their claim to the Iron throne,”
Kevan felt his whole body deflate, “But what of Myrcella?” he asked.
What of our House’ glory?
What of legacy?
“Myrcella is a sweet girl,” he said “princess Sansa has personally vouched for her safety,”
“And you trust her?” Kevan questioned.
“It is not a matter of trust and if it were…” Jaime offered, “I’d trust her better than her brother, or my sister” he added, “I will never put foot in Casterly Rock again,” he said “she’s adamant I’ll have to atone for my crimes, but she’d be willing, once this war is over, to have Tommen take the Lannister name and become Lord of Casterly Rock,”
Kevan studied him, “Janei could be his bride,” Jaime said, “and they’d be Tywin and Joanna come again” he offered, “and you could guide them as they ought be guided.”
His precious daughter married to a bastard born of incest, what was Jaime thinking… “Tommen was once a prince, he is of sweet disposition and he is far braver than many others,” Jaime offered “and your grandchildren would inherit Casterly Rock”
“Or,” he added “Princess Sansa will take Casterly Rock,” he said “and I will ensure she does. But then, I will also ensure that your line never gets their hands on Casterly Rock” he added “and I will have you removed from your leadership of the Lannister troops, that is if her betrothed doesn’t get whiff of your refusal and doesn’t fly Vhagar here to force you in compliance,”
“He would?” he questioned “after all she is using her marriage to Tyrion to get Casterly Rock,” he said “for as long as he hopes to hold it by her name they cannot be married”
“You underestimate how fond he has grown of her,” Jaime looked down “Tyrion once told me… he told that Joffrey ought to have the sense to love her at least, for she would have made him a good wife and a good Queen,” he shrugged “Aemond Targaryen is ruthless, callous and he has lost all his family, the only person he cares about in this time is his bride to be, do you really want to stoke that fury?”
“I do,” Kevan said, “I will,” he added “I will not give my home away to a Stark, nor a bastard” he told him “not even yours. As long as I breath Casterly Rock shall be defended, it will not fall”
Jaime studied him and Kevan had the odd sensation he saw his nephew deflate, “I am sorry uncle,” he said, “but I will do whatever I must to defend my children,”
Then he took off his armored glove and threw it to the ground.
“I am no longer a knight of the kingsguard,” he said “I have an heir,” he added “and I challenge you for Casterly Rock.”
Kevan considered him, his gaze shifting from the glove on the ground and his nephew’ face.
“If you do this,” he said “and you survive, your children will be haunted”
“They already are, why do you think I had to take Tommen away from the capital?”
Kevan grimaced, then bent down and gathered the glove, “I accept your challenge,”
The lions of Casterly Rock faced one another beneath the Pride.
And thus at last weakness shall become strength, as golden hand became shield and warhammer together.
Kevan Lannister was later imprisoned and ransomed by his wife and his sister, Genna, but he was also stripped of his military powress. And last, she who had been oppressed entered triumphant the abode of the oppressor a victor for herself.
”My son and daughter safety for the Rock,” the young lion said.
“Your son and your daughter may have been the price of your greed,” the she wolf countered “but not today. Today we feast, and today we live. And for today they are the prize of your strength. A Father would lie through bitten teeth and loose his good name for his children. Today you have become a father”
Notes:
Sending all my love ~G.
Chapter 20: Aemond
Summary:
One chapter per month? I don't know her.
Besides that little gremlin that is my muse han't let me breath one minute. So enjoy this one, which is packed with things, as all filler chapter of this are.
Chapter Text
AEMOND
The sky was plumbeous above, as the waves crashed against the ship; the sails were set, the Stark and golden Targaryen banner hanged together as the Alicent sauntered on the water-surface.
Vhagar flew up ahead, the flapping of her wings pushing the waves in all directions and making the ship swing on the water; some of the sailors threw themselves on deck, flattening their bodies against the wooden panels in fear, the captain held on for dear life on the helm of the galley.
Aemond held onto the railing of the aft deck, balancing his feet on the slippery surface of the deck. He had taken it as a personal petty revenge to know all he could about ships and sailing after the Driftmark incident.
Vaemond Velaryon and any of the Velaryon cousins who had lost their tongues just before the Dance because of their refusal to hold silent in front of Rhaenyra’ attempt to put her bastard on the Velaryon seat, had been more than complacent to satisfy his curiosity and Aemond had even taken to secretly pass time on deck to learn as much as possible about the seafaring ways.
Jon was the only other man above deck who didn’t seem particularly fazed by Vhagar’ sudden arrival; at times Aemond wondered if his fascination for Vhagar, and Vhagar curiosity over the northern was due his relation to Sansa or something other altogether.
They watched as the dragoness pivoted mid-air and flew above Lannisport to further her travel. As the ship slowly resumed his normal course, Aemond took a small moment to think about all he had managed to achieve in the month and half that had passed since he had left Harrenhal.
Dark Sister at his hip was a comforting weight, ever reminding him of all that had happened since he had started to move for the Iron throne, when they had found themselves face to face with prince Brandon Aemond had not know what to expect of the boy. Sansa had spoken to him of a sweet boy who everybody loved, who was a skilled climber and who had faced a worse fate than many.
Brandon Stark had been surprising, by what he and Jon had gathered after the fall something had awoken in prince Brandon, he had started to have strange dreams, dreams that were not only connected to his lost direwolf, but, and perhaps more importantly, with a three-eyed-raven, later when Winterfell had been taken Brandon Stark had met the Reed siblings with whom he had travelled beyond the Wall in hope to find answers to his troubles and doubts.
There he had met the Three Eyed Raven in a cave underneath an ancient Heart Tree, there he said to have met even some Children of the Forest, and he had learned many things from the Three Eyed Raven.
It had struck Aemond as strange how he had looked at his brother when he had commented on how many things he had learned, but most importantly the Three Eyed Raven had disclosed the resting place of Dark Sister that Rhaenyra’ descendants had stolen from his body and that had somehow found its way beyond the Wall.
The sword which had taken his life… which should have taken his life, was now his to wield, an ancestral symbol of his birthright with Blackfyre lost. After prince Brandon had told them about his voyages, what he would share of it anyway, he had told them they needed to find the Sealskinner and that there they would find the proof they needed to show the Realm how important this threat was.
So they had voyaged Beyond the Wall on Vhagar’s back and they had found the man and not more than four spear-wives near a frozen waterfall, surrounded by wights and about to either die or starve to death. Vhagar and her dragon fire had disposed easily of the majority of the wights and when Aemond had landed her, they had engaged the wights and had managed to capture one of them, which they had chained and bound legs and wrists, then they had ensured its mouth would stay closed and had marched back to the Wall.
Their plans had changed drastically then, instead of writing to Winterfell they stopped there, where prince Brandon was reunited with his mother and his brother and where he also suggested his mother prepared the North to shoulder a long, sieging war against the cold, the hunger and the Long Night.
Winter is coming, he had heard his wife-to-be and Robb Stark use their words often and Aemond had always believed them ominous, they, much like the Hightower words, seemed to stem from something deeper than any other House’s motto, even House Targaryen.
And it had been then that Aemond had understood, those words had stood out to him so for a reason. They weren’t just mottos, ways of living, they were warnings. Warnings that winter would come and with it the Long Night, and a warning that some of them ought to light the way during the darkness.
The lady mother of the king in the North had sent all carpenters they could spare and from Winterfell many a man would leave to join the Watch in their fight.
From Winterfell with their precious cargo they had moved toward Sea Dragon Point where they had taken a recently fashioned galley which he discovered his bride-to-be had, had built to present to him as a second gift, which she had christened as Alicent.
They had met with Skagosi ships which would escort them through the ironborn’s waters where lady Greyjoy was holding a partial blockade with the ships loyal to her, as they had gone through the blockade the Skagosi had closed into a pincher hold around the Iron Islands.
They had continued mostly alone, though Vhagar had been an ever present companion which had destroyed an enemy galley when it came too close to them for comfort.
And now they were in sight of Lannisport and from them to Casterly Rock where his bride-to-be had settled her residence after having taken the Lannister seat.
Jon had chosen to bring with himself a man who had been the right hand of the Mance, who had named himself King Beyond the Wall, his attendant Satin and his sworn brother Grenn.
No other would follow them, and lady Stark had been more than cautious about letting prince Brandon tag along, though the young man had talked to her privately and whatever he had told her had, had her relent.
The port was almost small for such an important town, and when they landed Aemond discovered that their welcoming party was lady Malora, who had joined his bride-to-be in Casterly Rock, and sir Leighton Constayne together with sir Jaime Lannister that whilst wearing the Lannister’ burgundy didn’t wear any other symbol of the Lannister House; his golden hand he noticed had a long scratch between the thumb and the forefinger and when Jon Snow pointed his blade at the man, the edge of it kissing the flesh of his neck, Aemond understood why. In defense Jaime Lannister had brought his golden hand between the blade and his neck, blade and golden hand meeting with a clangor of silent duel.
“What you did here,” Jon Snow hissed, his tone chilling, reminding him somewhat of Aegon, “is the only reason I am not killing you for what you did to Bran,”
Apparently, his bride had been forced to see the keep taken by the way of the duel between sir Jaime and his uncle, lord Kevan who had long defended Casterly Rock and its lord and lands. In the missive they had received when in Winterfell, Sansa recounted that it had been sir Jaime who had challenged lord Kevan without consulting with her first, but that thankfully it had turned out for the best when the man had won despite his disability.
Jaime Lannister almost snarled back at Jon Snow, “Gotten some backbone, bastard?,” he had growled, “think you are so mighty now?”
“You taught me all men are but sacks of flesh and blood, and who’d trust the word of a kingslayer anyway?,” Jon Snow had replied, his voice almost uneven, his temper spiking, “Betray us,” Jon dared him, “give me a reason,” it seemed almost like a challenge.
Fuck dignity! I want revenge!
The older man opened his mouth to rebut, “I may be a kingslayer,” he stated “but even I was honorable enough to ever keep to my sister bed and none else, can you say the same of your Fath—” when his challenging smile all but fell.
His face lost all defiance, when prince Brandon was escorted in his wheeled chair down the ship, his face collected and neutral, his gaze unwavering as he had met the surprised and horrified eyes of sir Jaime.
“Curious, isn’t it?” he wondered out loud, as if he was privy to some secret none of them were, “the things we do for love,” then he turned toward his brother, “we will need him yet,” he said.
Jon snarled, a sound so deep in his marrow that Aemond almost felt as if Helaena was next to him, shouting against any who touched her without permission.
“Your Grace,” lady Malora and sir Constayne greeted him as they offered him the reins to the stead they had prepared for him, “we hope the voyage was fruitful,”
He fingered Dark Sister at his hip, “Indeed,” he said, and as Jon helped his brother into the saddle they had especially fashion to keep him upright, he observed as Jaime Lannister became ever paler as prince Brandon’ eyes rolled in the back of his skull, the horse’s grew glazed and unmoving commanded just with his mind the horse forward.
It had been surprising, when the prince had showed them the first time, but the Jon had said he knew other skinchangers and wargs and after prince Brandon had pointed out that all of them were similarly bound to their direwolves.
As they moved horseback through the streets of the town, the townsfolk seemed suspicious at worst and curious at best of them as they set toward the keep with the golden Targaryen and gray Stark banner in tow.
Some even clapped though timidly, and Aemond supposed to might be because of the presence of Jaime Lannister who, anyway, was a Lannister and thus a known face for the folk.
Sansa had been right about bringing him and his son along, they needed Lannister faces, whilst being Tyrion’s widow she had a claim to be housed inside of Casterly Rock and Tyrion had died heirless whoever the king choose as Tyrion’ heir though the natural choice with Jaime either dubbed a traitor or yet considered a knight of the Kingsguard, would be Tommen, as Cersei’ son, but with him being recognized a bastard the next of kin, barred Cersei, would be Kevan with his sons.
Sansa had hoped to strike a deal with the man, ensure that a Lannister favorable to them would inherit Casterly Rock and that thus they could win the Lannister troops to their quest, but with Joffrey naming Cersei and the consequent refusal to have the widow enter her late husband’ keep, she had chosen to appeal to the widow’s law, to ensure she could take a step into Casterly Rock and win it without bloodshed.
At sir Leighton recounting the man had been more stubborn than anticipated, though he told him that he was convinced princess Sansa could actually convince the man, had she not let him meet with sir Jaime, the two had clashed at words before and with the swords later.
Sir Jaime may have chosen to help them to ensure his children were safe, but he would not accept anything less than Casterly Rock for his son, and Kevan had refused to let that come to pass, or let the boy be betrothed to his only daughter.
Unsurprising and Jaime, unwilling to let his son have to live off the perceived generosity of kin who’d rather shun him had decided to take matters into his own hands and had challenged the man.
Sansa had been furious, sir Constayne told him, not only if sir Jaime lost, which could very easy be, with his good hand being lost, they could very well loose any footing she had managed to gather with Kevan Lannister, the more, she had wished to guide lord Kevan to their side as he was Tywin Lannister’ natural successor when one thought about how loyal the Lannister troops had been of him.
Thankfully sir Jaime had won the duel, hitting his uncle across the jaw with his golden hand and decking him out of it. Sansa had thought demanded that all procedures would be followed to the letter, Casterly Rock would open its gates for its widow, and lord Kevan would be held hostage and ransomed, he would bend the knee as a defeated lord ought to, and she would devise a way to ensure the Lannister’ troops loyalty.
Sir Leighton reported that his bride to be had been kind to lord Kevan’ wife and his three children, and had even permitted lord Kevan to write personally to his wife and children in Lannisport.
By what sir Leighton told him lady Dorna had been escorted from Lannisport to Casterly Rock with her children once to parlay with Sansa. Sansa had even let her speak with her husband though she had separated them later on, as rule, and that the princess’ kindness had not gone unnoticed by the soft lady.
Especially since Sansa had decreed that the income she and the children received would continue to be handed out to them, and only lord Kevan income would be held by them for custody until the lord had been ransomed. It had been a kindness that apparently won the woman’ respect.
In fact lady Dorna, with her daughter, was even waiting for their parade, wearing her House colors, and holding tight her daughter’ hand in his own.
“The lady Dorna of House Lannister, Your Grace,” lady Malora told him “and her daughter, lady Janei Lannister,”
“Your Grace,” lady Dorna greeted, falling into a curtsy as her small daughter followed suit, “I am here today to ask your grace for my husband, lord Kevan of House Lannister, my husband is a proud man but he is also a doting and loving father and husband, ensure our sons safety and he will serve you well,”
Aemond observed her, “I will consider what can be done for your sons,” he said, he knew one of Sansa’ plans had been to have one of the twins marry one of Roslin’ sisters, to bind them to House Stark. The other one would squire for Aemond and later on they would find him a suitable match to ensure he would be bound to their court, “and as I am sure princess Sansa told you, we do not wish to rule through bloodshed, our goal is peace for the Realm,”
Lady Dorna bowed her head, Aemond considered her daughter and sighed, “Maybe your daughter could join princess Sansa’ household when the time comes,” he offered “being part of the Queen’s ladies in waiting will be beneficial for her rank and possible matches,” he added.
The woman held her daughter’ hand tighter, “Thank you, Your Grace. You honor us,” she said, trembling and Aemond appreciated her bravery in facing him, a man she didn’t know, who possessed a dragon and could have a bone to pick with her husband and her sons.
“I am sure princess Sansa has already forwarded the amount of the ransom for your lord husband,” Aemond added.
“She did,” the woman nodded, “she has been most kind,”
Aemond nodded, “Thus do not worry, my lady” he said “both I and my bride to be are reasonable people, your husband shall fear no ill by us, neither shall your sons or your daughter as long as you prove loyal”
She bowed her head. Then Aemond urged his horse forward, “We will summon you soon, to uncover the expanses for the ransom, and your request about your sons,”
He and Jon later fell in step as they rode toward Casterly Rock to a sedated pace, they spoke none, but Aemond did not feel the need to fill the silence with useless words.
Together they rode inside the keep’s gates, and then the inner courtyard, there the entire household was lined up, and Aemond saw the moment Sansa’s beam became even brighter as she, took sight of her half-brother and how her blue eyes filled with tears when she realized prince Brandon was there as well.
The household fell into a curtsy as Sansa watched as they dismounted.
Aemond was not surprised when, as soon as they did Sansa rushed in her brother’s arms, jumping at his neck and nuzzling her cheek against his.
“Jon!”
It brought a smile on his lips, even as his heart tore, he would never feel his brother’s arm around his shoulder, or Helaena’ kiss upon his brow, nor his mother’s loving embrace. But he would ensure she could.
Jon held Sansa close to his chest, tears pooling down his cheeks as well, “Sansa,” he whispered, as Aemond handed off his reins and Jon’s to the stable-boy.
When finally they let go and Sansa stepped back from their embrace, Jon looked down at her with such a fondness which Aemond would not have suspected by speaking with the man, who apparently held his heart close to his chest and not on his sleeve like his Sansa did.
“I missed you, big brother,” Sansa told him truthfully and Aemond could see how much it meant to Jon in the way his whole face softened.
“I missed you too,” he murmured back, then he went rigid and turned to him with a tense smile, probably worried he could’ve taken ill at having being replaced in the first order of welcoming by a bastard.
But any words he might have spoken to provoke the man a bit, died on his tongue as Sansa love-filled eyes fell on him. If he hadn’t had her heart before, he did now, he felt.
Jon stepped back and cleared his throat to no avail, and Aemond noticed him rolling his eyes before he sidestepped his sister to help his brother dismount and being put into his wheeled chair.
Sansa crashed into him with as much jubilee as she had her brother, her hands coming to rest at the nape of his neck as his snuck under her cloak and around her waist as he held her close to his chest.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you” she murmured like a broken prayer against the shell of his ear.
He was a jealous man, and Sansa was his only heart in this time, and yet he could not feel an ounce of irritation as he held her close to his heart and she pressed a kiss at his temple, completely unbothered by his scarred cheek and eye.
Aemond nuzzled her neck and twirled her around, making her giggle, before setting her down on her feet, his arms still secured around her waist.
She smiled up at him, and when Aemond leaned down to press a kiss atop her lips, uncaring for the people surrounding her, she leaned up to meet him halfway.
Despite his wishes, he kept it short and merely but a peck of lips, as they were yet to be welcomed formally in the keep and formalities had their uses. Sansa seemed to remember the same things, for she dried at her tears with a hand and giggled, before falling into a curtsy “Your Grace,” she offered “Casterly Rock’s yours,”
Aemond merely nodded and steered her toward prince Brandon, now safely tucked under his furs and onto his wheelchair.
He felt her hold her breath as her brother studied her, “Hello, Sansa” he offered, and despite his monotone, his voice dipped fondly at her name.
A sob tore at her throat, and as a bolt from a bow, she threw herself on her knees to embrace her brother. For the first time since meeting him he almost saw a young boy in prince Brandon’s face.
“Look at you,” Sansa told him, her voice uneven as a smile split her face in half, “every inch a prince,”
He expected prince Brandon to reply something akin to his reply to his brother, but instead the boy merely smiled, though it was a sad thing, “I am sorry for all that happened to you,” he said “I should have been there to keep you safe,”
It was as earnest and forthcoming as he had ever seen the boy being, then he offered her a nod, “Arya is on her way too,” he promised her.
And there was something broken and so very beautiful to his bride to be then, as if all that she had lived, all the grief and all the pain was suddenly lifted from her brow and her shoulders.
“I have missed you, little brother,” she offered, mirroring her declaration upon her reunion with her bastard brother.
“As I did you,” he replied, and Aemond couldn’t help but feel his heart break as Sansa gingerly commanded everyone to accommodate her cripple brother. The same way people should have done for his son.
He fingered his bracelet, then turned to his bride to be, “Thank you,” he told her “your gift was beyond appreciated,” he told her, “and the name was a fine touch,”
Sansa smiled up at him as his arm curled around her, she leaned into him “A mother will always be the wings with which her children shall fly,” she told him “it seemed fitting,”
“It was,” he assured her, “it was indeed,”
Once inside the keep Sansa took the liberty to introduce him to the commander of the garrison of Casterly Rock, the Maester, the master-at-arms and the kennel master.
They seemed cautious, but not openly opposed to them, then after she had shown Jon and prince Brandon to their chambers, she offered to lead him to the chambers in which lord Kevan Lannister was held hostage.
Gingerly she knocked on the door and then guided him inside, the man must have been of an age with his grandfather, he supposed, though he looked weary, standing giving them his back, his arms crossed as he observed the courtyard from his window.
“I saw the dragon,” he said in lieu of greeting.
Aemond didn’t quite know what to answer to that, so he stepped further inside, Sansa had offered to leave them alone, but she knew lord Kevan better than he did and he trusted her counsel.
Lord Kevan turned around and studied him, “I had imagined someone older,” he offered, his voice was devoid of any emotion, he was but stating an opinion.
“I was ten when I claimed her,” Aemond recalled, “and the time the contrast was even stronger,” he offered.
Lord Kevan shrugged, “You ought to have remained in your time,” he offered, “you shouldn’t be here,”
Aemond did not let that bother him, “And yet here I am,” he said, “through no will of my own. The Gods saw fit to bring me back, and there must be a reason if they did,”
Lord Kevan had something of his late father too, Aemond considered, perhaps it was in that idealistic gaze that his father had had as well. His father would have been better fit to retire in the countryside and lead a life of his love for history and fable alike. This man looked to be the same.
It irked Aemond all the wrong ways.
“I thought you Targaryens didn’t answer neither Gods nor men,” he offered.
“My mother was an Hightower of Oldtown,” Aemond replied evenly, “I learned my prayers long before I learned high valyrian,” he looked down, “she always dreamed of a world where decency and honor would be atop,”
Lord Kevan remained silent for a long while, “House Lannister is a proud House,” Aemond offered “and, at the time you supported us, you supported Aegon’ right to the Iron throne. I am not asking you to honor that pledge, after House Targaryen was dethroned,”
“Then what you are asking of me?” Kevan questioned, “you ask I betray every vow I ever took, that I betray my blood and the king I swore fealty to,” he said.
Aemond gestured for the chair and lord Kevan nodded, as Aemond took place in one of the chair and Kevan in the other, Sansa shadowed his steps and found her place behind him. Her hands collected before herself.
“I ask you to stand against a vile, mad boy-king who has no right to the Iron throne,” he said “I ask you to uphold the family’ name. I wish to give peace and justice to the Realm,”
He felt Sansa’ hand across his shoulder and he brought his hand to rest atop hers, “I spoke at length with lord Baratheon,” Aemond told him, “the Realm needs stability and it needs peace. It has not known such under House Targaryen or House Baratheon before. I mean to change this,”
“And why ought I to trust your word for it? You are a kinslayer,” Kevan opposed.
“I am Ned Stark’ daughter, my lord” Sansa interjected “and I would not support someone I’d think mad or cruel,” she said “I already was at the hands of such a ruler, I do not wish to impose such to anyone”
Lord Kevan looked down, and Aemond sighed “Death is a cruel and dark place, my lord,” he told him “I wish that, once I meet the Stranger again I can go without knowing I did my part. I will not say the Iron throne is mine by birthright, but I have the stronger claim to it,”
“I will have nothing to do with it”
Aemond sighed,“You have seen Vhagar, my lord. King Robb was already on the precipice of winning this war, and he would have razed House Lannister to the ground and littered the South with their dead. We will win this war, and the one to come,” he promised him, “House Lannister shall persevere at my side as it has always been,”
“Tommen is a sweet boy,” Sansa added “unlike his brother, and with the right guidance he can become a good lord,”
Lord Kevan leaned across the table between them, “I will not see the legacy of House Lannister delivered in the hands of a bastard, not even Jaime’s, not even if he married my daughter,” he told them “you may do what you wish with my House when I am cold in my grave,”
Aemond considered him.
He knew his mother had reacted quite in the same way when Rhaenyra had attempted to stave off the rumors of bastardy of her sons by betrothing Jaehaerys to Helaena.
He knew where he would stem off from.
Part of him wanted to execute the man, show him what would happen when people challenged him openly. But he did not.
“Indeed,” he said,“And I would not ask you as such. Jaime Lannister has been delivered of his vow of the kingsguard. Thus he is lord Lannister’ natural heir. Seen his numerous crimes though he cannot be let rule. Tommen will be recognized as his heir and son,” he added, “but Casterly Rock shall not be ruled by him,” he accorded.
Sansa was studying him. It was not what they had discussed about, they both knew that Jaime Lannister would not be satisfied unless his son inherited Casterly Rock. Still Jaime Lannister had come to them asking for Tommen’ survival despite his birth. They would ensure that and more.
“Your eldest son I hear is not fit either,” he said,“as he has chosen the Faith. Your next to eldest son could inherit Casterly Rock with Tommen awarded lands and titles as his second in command,” he added, “I would offer him Marcella’ hand but you would not want a bastard as your son’ spouse. But a match can be made for him,”
Margaery would have been the perfect match if she wasn’t pregnant with Joffrey’ babe.
“Your daughter, Janei, could be betrothed to the future lord of Highgarden,” he offered “as Willas Tyrell is in need of a wife,” he added, “all I would ask is that Tommen and Myrcella after being awarded the name of Lannister will receive a stipend and will have a personal residence and will be treated accordingly,”
He had lead and fought a war against bastards who wanted to rob rightful heirs of their claim. He could not be true to himself if he just forced House Lannister in the hands of bastards when there were true born heirs to it.
“You would spare them?”
“Their father has bent the knee,” Aemond nodded, “and my bride-to-be says that they are sweet children innocent of their parents and brother’s misdeeds. I would no sooner kill and innocent than let a bastard rob of their birthright true born heirs,”
Kevan studied him “And what of Joffrey and Cersei?”
“Cersei must face justice for her crimes,” Sansa replied for him, “and Joffrey may find the end that fits him best. Their crimes are too grave to be forgotten,” she offered, “but House Lannister would perdure, its legacy unchanged,”
Sansa studied him, “I knew Tywin little,” she offered “he was a great man, if not always the fairest of them. What he commanded of princess Elia and her children… the Gods have seen fit to have his line end in bastardy for a reason. They will live, they will have coin and lands as befits the generosity of the new lord of Casterly Rock,” she said “but for those crimes lord Lannister committed his line must be broken. By what I have seen you are a honorable man, a good man, House Lannister would persevere and the Realm would know peace,”
She closed in on the man, “And, one day when history shall be written about these times they will speak of Tywin Lannister the kingmaker, and they will speak of Kevan Lannister who stood for what was fair and just and was rewarded for it,”
“The lord of Highgarden for my daughter,” Kevan said “but who for my son? He will be the lord Paramount,”
“Elinor Tyrell,” she offered “she was betrothed to Alyn Ambrose but a fever took him,” she said, “she witty and beautiful, she has long been a confidante of queen Margaery. She would make your son a fine wife,” she added “and she descends from House Whent through her maternal great-grandmother, so she is distant kin to king Robb and myself,”
Aemond was as always stupefied and amazed by her quick thinking and her sweetness and cleverness.
“That would bind House Lannister and your line to both the Iron throne and the northern throne,” Aemond pointed out, “now you must only think of which choice is the best for House Lannister,” he offered.
Kevan nodded, “You have given me much to think about,” he admitted, so Aemond stood up, gingerly took his bride to be’ hand and bid the man farewell.
Once outside of the chamber he turned and observed Sansa, “You have given him your late husband’ chamber,” he pointed out.
“I did,” she confirmed, the lack of curtains and the black stain on the walls and canopy were proof enough of that, “I thought he’d much rather accept our proposal if he already saw himself in the lord’s chambers,” she said “plus the stain and the lack of curtains serves as reminder that the last lord Lannister has died by his own hand,”
She looked away and at times Aemond wondered if indeed she felt sadness at her late husband’ demise, “Tyrion and I were never exceptionally close,” she told him in reply to his unasked question, “but he was always kind to me, he could have demanded his marital rights but he never did,” she said.
She looked to the several lion effigies scattered around the corridors and the tapestries hang around the walls, all of ancient Lannister kings, before the Targaryens unleashed their three dragons against House Lannister.
“I used to think he was the smartest man alive,” she told him, “he acted Hand of the king in his father’s stead for years and despite Cersei’ attempts to destroy him he was always a step or two ahead of her and anyone around,” she said. “I had thought that perhaps if I could get him to love me… I could find my way out of the capital”
Aemond felt himself stiffen, but Sansa offered him a smile, “But after all,” she considered “I had to come to terms with the truth that no one would have married me for love,” her smile turned self-deprecating, “that all they wanted was to exploit my status as princess of the North, unaware I had been stripped of it,”
She looked up, possibly to contain her tears.
She let out a breathy giggle, “In the end I had to pick my enemies and my friends and find alone a way out of that hellpit,” she offered, “and people died,”
“I am,” he told her all of sudden, as if something else, something powerful but so deep in his marrow had suddenly take ahold of his mouth, speaking words he had thought forever out of his reach. Sansa blinked and looked at him with her head cocked, arching a questioning brow. Aemond took hold of her hand again and intertwined their fingers, “I don’t deny that your status as princess made you as good as any match,” he said, “but I did not chose you because of it. I did because I saw you. And I deemed that you were worth half the continent. Is that not love?” he questioned, “don’t I love and respect you?”
And he feared he might have spoken ill to her ears, because the tears she had managed to hold aback were now flowing down her cheeks like a river.
“It’s happy tears,” she told him in a breath as he raised her free hand to dry at her cheeks, “I promise,” she said working through a breathy sob.
Aemond found himself almost sheepish as he looked down their intertwined hands. He felt like almost a greenboy.
It took lady Dorna and her good sister Genna a fortnight still to manage to collect enough money to pay the ransom for lord Kevan Lannister. In the meantime, they received several letters from Kings Landing and Cersei Lannister, rightful lady of Casterly Rock.
Some Lannister’ loyalists even attempted to kill Vhagar, but what had happened during the Dance of Dragons with the storming of the dragon pit could not be replicated here, not with Vhagar. She was bigger, older and stronger than all of those dragons, and she had no kind of scruple in burning all those who came close without him, or with ill intent.
After they saw her burn and abandon the bodies of a dozen of soldiers who had attempted none had tried to replicate to act.
If that was not enough, prince Brandon managed to warn them before any strife happened between the Constayne and northern men and the Lannister and sir Patrek Cassel was tasked to ensure peace was maintained.
When lady Genna and lady Dorna were escorted up to the keep of Casterly Rock many of the Lannister’ army hailed to them, and smashed their swords against their shields.
Lady Genna was a comely woman, she somehow reminded him of Helaena, or the way she could’ve grown to be if she grew to be old enough. Her eyes were clever and clear, and when they befell him they seemed almost unassuming, when they fell on his bride to be they were calculating.
Indeed the woman approached his bride to be, before any other, even him “Sansa Stark,” she greeted, “looks can be deceiving after all,” she offered.
Aemond had disliked that, but Sansa had barely curtsied to the woman, “Lady Genna, your niece spoke wonders of you”
“Liar,” lady Genna accused.
“I said she spoke wonders,” Sansa replied, her tone even,“never that she spoke kindly,”
Genna considered her at length, “I am glad my nephew has left something of himself in this world if it is only the complacent sarcasm he rubbed off his little wife,”
“I am glad something comforts you in your grief for my late husband, aunt,” Sansa replied, her tone as insincere as Aemond had ever heard it.
Genna Lannister considered her for another moment then turned her gaze on him, “The dragon-prince returned from the dead,” she commented “how are the manses of the Stranger?”
“There is little comfort there, my lady. I grew bored, so I returned,” he offered, deciding that a different type of approach was needed with the woman.
“Indeed, perhaps death won’t even stick to my nephew,” she hissed like a snake, “Imagine that,” then she had turned and gestured for two valets to bring forth a chest, “this,” she said “is the ransom for my brother,” she added “he will not raise arms against you again, as deemed by the chivalry code”.
Aemond arched a brow, “Indeed,”
Genna Lannister was many thing, but he doubted she was anything short of formidable, by the way she was holding herself “You can count them if you wish,” she said, collecting her hands before herself “we shall wait,”
Aemond smiled at her, all teeth, “Then, if it is true, we shall stay here for a long while, yet” he offered.
The Maester of Casterly Rock thus came forth, “I can assure you, Your Grace, the lady Genna is without doubt worthy of your respect and trust,” he said.
“A Lannister always pays his debts,” Sansa interjected, before waving a hand to gesture for the northern valets at her side to take the chest, “but you must know this, lady Genna,” she said “a Lannister may always pay his debts, but so do I,”
There was something feral in Sansa’ smile then, all wolfish, “You see,” she smiled “that is another thing my late husband rubbed off me, mayhap.”
It was nothing short of a threat, and lady Genna received it as such.
As the terms of the ransom lord Kevan, his wife and his daughter would be exiled and lady Genna would welcome them in her residence. If lord Kevan rose arms against them again that would be considered a breaking not only of the chivalry code, but also of the terms of ransom and any lord of the Seven Kingdoms had the right to his life.
Lord Kevan had refused their offer, he was a Lannister through and through, and no lion would maim one of their own. He repeated as such when he was escorted, disarmed and with only the clothes on his back to his wife, child and sister.
“I am not a traitor of my kin,” he told them “I am not a snake,” and Aemond respected that.
He might have thought he was a better fit for the throne than Aegon but he never had considered to usurp his throne, not even when he had acted as lord regent of the Iron throne when he had been wounded.
“I wish you good fortune in the wars to come,” he had added at last and Aemond had squared his shoulders.
“And good fortunes to you in your future endeavors,” then he had offered Sansa his arm and after she had taken it, “I would suggest you leave the lands of the new lady of Casterly Rock, by right of conquest,”
Lord Kevan looked at his betrothed and then offered her a bow, Sansa offered back a curtsy. But they did not speak further and Aemond turned around guiding his bride to be inside, as the doors of Casterly Rock closed on the Lannister line.
Lady Genna was though not quite done, “Keep Casterly Rock if you like it so, we’ll have the Realm,”
“We must proceed,” prince Brandon told them that very night as they consumed a light supper, “we have no time,” he had added, “we must fill Casterly Rock with loyal peers,” he said “and we must act,”
And so they did.
They needed to ensure Casterly Rock was theirs and proceed with a summit with all the great Houses and lords and claimants of the Realm, and there they would expose the threat North to the whole Realm.
It took them almost two months, and in those months Sansa had to learn everything of importance for Casterly Rock. It was a slow process with setbacks and long, sleepless nights, but by when an entire household her brother had sent forth to see to her needs, loyal to the Starks alone, Sansa was confident she could sleep without fearing the knife to her neck.
Prince Brandon had been instrumental as well, with his skills he had managed to help Sansa find common ground with many and his presence ensured they could always have a warning in case someone wished to move against them.
I could not protect you when you were alone in Kings Landing, now I will not leave you alone, prince Brandon had promised.
By the fourth month since they had left Harrenhal they were ready to send out the summons for the summit of Harrenhal. In the meantime Margery had given birth to a girl, whom had been named Joanna.
Voices keep following each other about the birth and no news was delivered of the queen, in the end though, sir Garlan had to admit that Margaery had died in childbirth.
Sansa had even cried when she had heard of her demise. Now king Joffrey was holding Joanna over the Tyrell’s heads to ensure their perdured loyalty. The Tyrells were thus put between the rock and a hard place, and Aemond would considered them cautious allies at best and belligerent enemies at worst.
Jon Snow had proved immensely useful as well, he and Sansa worked easily in tandem, and he was her arm where her voice was not enough. Aemond had been almost jealous of how easily they had fallen into that time of partner-ship, they shared inner jokes with one another and where there had been some kind of coldness between Sansa and Robb, Jon’ earnest apology about all that Sansa had, had to endure alone, had ensured that there was a warmth between brother and sister that reminded Aemond of his own bond with Helaena.
They had received words that the Watch had received more recruits in the last four moons than they had in the last five years, and that many a keep were in the process of being strengthened or rebuilt by the carpenters House Stark had lent them.
Hightower troops as well as a platoon of Stark men reached Casterly Rock whilst Brandon Stark told them that the Iron Islands after four months of blockade had tried to force the ship-ring that lady Greyjoy and the Skagosi had created around the islands.
Aemond flew out to help lady Greyjoy retake the Iron Islands, and that was the first time that he met midway Daenerys Targaryen and her hatchlings.
She stormed atop the skies from the east, saddle-less atop the black and red hatchling; a bronze and green second hatchling followed behind her. She wore the colors of House Targaryen, black and red, and had short hair that sung with little bells in the wind.
She burned three Skagosi galleys before Aemond managed to engage her in open dragon-battle.
When they came close enough they remained airborne staring at each other, and her sneer reminded him of Daemon in a way that was almost comic.
“I am the rightful queen of the Seven Kingdoms!” she claimed atop the roaring of the wind, the wing-flapping and her little bells, “I am the Unburnt and the Mother of Dragons. Bend the knee!”
Aemond had considered her for a long minute before replying “Kind of difficult to do when airborne,” before shrugging and unsheathing Dark Sister from the scabbard he had at his back, the blade caught the pale sun and twinkled alive, reflecting the flames of the shipwrecks beneath. Almost as if made of coal and fire itself.
She was surprised by the sight of the Targaryen ancestral blade, “That belongs me!” she screamed, “as the only rightful head of House Targaryen,”
In reply Aemond had flattened himself against Vhagar saddle and had let the dragoness do her thing, Vhagar, mid-flight, had roared so strong that waves had rippled across the sea’ surface and the flames had danced at her screeching song.
After her terrible screech was done with, the two hatchlings flying in clear defense and no longer in attack mode, Aemond straightened once again on the saddle, “I light the way, lady Targaryen,” he offered, for since she descended from Rhaenyra and Daemon’ line that was supposed to remain her title had things gone as they should have, plus he was sure it would enrage her, “Vhagar, dracarys”
The hatchlings were not ready to face off Vhagar’ fire. The bronze and green one screeched when her fire burned his left wing, opening blisters across the fragile membrane, whilst the red and black one screamed its fury and attacked, but Vhagar merely swung her enormous tail around and slashed at his snout.
Black blood poured out of the dragon’ snout and one of the spikes of Vhagar’ tail broke one of the still soft horns of the hatchling. Barely bigger than Arrax had been and slightly more slender than Meleys.
There were furious tears in Daenerys Targaryen’ eyes as she felt her dragon’ pain like only a rider could, “I am a mother,” she screamed to him, “and you have hurt my children. I will come for the Iron throne, and I will do so with Fire and Blood,”
Aemond felt Vhagar’ jaws snap at the hatchling as it screeched as if to empower its rider’ speech and promise, dark smoke rising from her nostrils “Come,” he said, “I will be the one sitting on it,” he replied in challenge.
She had fallen back toward east then, with one dragon gravely wounded at the snout and another who flew askance to favor his good wing.
Vhagar could have followed them, though, despite the wounds they were still faster, and be done with them, but Aemond wished not to ruin what could be still used. The dragons were a symbol of House Targaryen strength and only three were left alive in the world.
At the death of the rider, the dragon could be claimed by another, it was Daenerys Targaryen who he needed to dispatch of, if he managed to keep the dragons he would do a great service not only to his House but to the Realm. Dragons would be instrumental if they hoped to win the war against the dead and he would not destroy a possible asset only to be rash.
Let her go home and lick at her wounds.
He had better things to do yet.
He destroyed the Enron Greyjoy’ loyalists ships with Vhagar, either by the strength of her jaws and her tail or by her fire. And by the end of the day lady Greyjoy sat in Pyke renewed Lady of Pyke and of the Iron Islands.
He flew back to Casterly Rock and commanded the summon to Harrenhal to be sent to Dragonstone as well where he was sure that Daenerys Targaryen had settled his residence in the Seven Kingdoms.
Before they left Casterly Rock for Harrenhal, prince Brandon sat them three down one night, and told Aemond that he had considered at length how much to share, as to share too much he could end up ruining any chance of survival for the entirety of mankind.
He told them of a girl in a tower, alone and afraid, beautiful and willful and dead before her time. He told them of her babe, whom was born with a tragic condemnation on his head. Born to die if his uncle didn’t claim him as his.
By the time Jon and Sansa had understood, Jon bending to the side and retching his supper, his body trembling with barely contained rage and grief and fear and Sansa with tear-stricken cheeks and quivering lips, Aemond had finally managed to make sense of how curious and open to Jon Vhagar had appeared to be.
Why the dragoness was curious but not cautious of the man, of how Jon seemed to be quite in awe of her, and despite his fear he had taken to flight as if he had been born for it.
He had dragon-blood.
He was the last son alive, no matter that he was a bastard born out of wedlock at the end of a war fought to dethrone his mad grandfather and avenge his mother, of Rhaenyra’ line.
Aemond stood and watched as realization dawned on Jon Snow, as he turned to look at him, suddenly coldness and caution in his eyes.
“I am a sworn brother of the Nights Watch,” he said, “I spoke the words, I shall take no wife, father no children and have no lands. Whatever claim I could press, I do not,” he added, “I am the Lord Commander of the Nights Watch and that is more than enough. You shall rule the Realm and I shall help you defend it from the enemy North, nothing more,”
Aemond considered him at length, and only Sansa’ pleading gaze steadied him from lashing out. He nodded, “I will abdicate any right I might have as…” his voice had broken and Aemond had nodded, stood up and reached him to help him up from where he was curled on the ground.
He couldn’t even say it.
He didn’t wish to claim it.
Aegon had offered positions of importance to Rhaenyra’ children to stave off a war, Jon wasn’t even intending of pressing any nonexistent claim.
“I shall have need of your arm,” Aemond told him, “and perhaps your blood. You carry the blood of ancient Valyria in you. Daenerys Targaryen has two dragons, one unclaimed. If we could have two dragons to fight against the enemy and against Daenerys the Realm would know peace without burning to the ground,”
He had looked at him deep in the eyes then, “You have a choice now, raise for your name and declare against me, you shall keep your life now, and after if by only the grace of the love Sansa bears you,” he said, “but your claim will be crushed. Or bend the knee now and raise kith and kin of the king claimant of the Iron throne, a defender of the Realm,”
And Jon had looked at him dead in the eye too, before he had slowly bent down on the knee, “I have no wish for the throne,” he said “I just aim to do my duty, Your Grace”
“Then arise lord commander of the Nights Watch, and no ill shall come to you from me and mine, and in time of need I shall come to your aid,”
“I wish you good fortunes in the wars to come,” and if seldom his [Kevan’s] thoughts had been great, a great deal of respect he gathered that day, for he was a lion and not a snake.
And proud his lady sister came, “You may keep the Rock,” said the lioness“we will keep the Realm,”. And seldom it is good manner to underestimate the lion exiled from its pride.
And the wolf within arose, “A Lannister may always pay his debts, but so do I,”
And from Oldtown she who had been mistreated and oppressed came, bearing the key to the West. And long since the wolf howled in the halls of the lions, and good promise it did of all the oath sworn past, that the princess who grief had cloaked in shadow, and given her wings of magic to ensnare her enemies, walked the halls of the Pride with her head high, and spoke highly and with clever tongue that the surer route to loyalty than fear was love, and the mighty dragon back from the dead hoisted up his chalice to the heavens, “Hail the queen to be! Hail the new lord of the Rock!”
And world was good, and world was fair and kind.
Until war and ruin came aside.
Chapter 21: Daenerys, the dragon queen
Notes:
Enjoy!
Chapter Text
Three treasons will you know… one for blood, one for gold and one for love.
They landed on the white and gray beaches of Dragonstone, weary for the voyage and the wounds, full of rage for the defeat their enemy had inflicted upon them.
“You do not want to wake the dragon, sweet sister, do you?” Viserys’ voice had filled her mind since the moment she had turned tail and flown away, filling her ears almost to make them ring. It had taken all of her self-control not to tear at her own hair to unroot the memory from her mind.
It had made the unhinged laugh resonate even louder between her ears, almost bubbling up her own throat as Drogon and Rhaegal flew back to the isle.
As they landed the gray sands and white foaming waves tinted black and blue and green for the blood, Drogon had almost stopped bleeding, but the contact with the water had made the blood flow anew. Rhaegal trudged in the sand a couple of paces ahead, curling then around himself, as he nursed over his wounded wing, blistering and buttered.
Fire cannot kill a dragon, Viserys had taught her… life had taught her. And yet, like Rhaegal’ wing was buttered and full of blisters from Vhagar’ fire, so were her hands and underneath her chin. Her tights were burning as if someone had taken a branding iron to them.
It made her rage even more.
You do not want to wake the dragon, do you?
She climbed off Drogon, even as her child shouldered and hissed, annoyed by the way that seemed to hurt his already wounded snout; to inspect the wound. The first flood of blood, which ought to have scared her witless, had slowed once again and she was sure the wound would leave behind a nasty scar. Drogon had one of his horns broken, which made him look much more like an unfathomable dragon from tale. Unstoppable.
Maybe this defeat had served its purpose, because Dany could feel in the back of her mind the vengeful intent taking form into Drogon. He would not forget the slight; he was used to be the most menacing and biggest predator of the world, and now this new challenger had set a new score.
He would not find peace until the slight had been repaid ten times fold.
And neither would Dany.
“Your Grace,” Missandei’ voice carried across the roaring and cold winds, as her servant grew closer, approaching. Out of all her servants Missandei was the one who was less fearful of her children. Irri… Jiqui… even Rakharo were all mindful of her dragons. They had saw them come to be, but were distrustful of the creatures, though they trusted her to keep them under control.
To Missandei, to every Unsullied, the dragons meant freedom, and that made Missandei more comfortable around them than any of her other servants, and her dragons liked her the most out of her servants because of that.
Still, when she came too close, Rhaegal, who had been busy coiling around his wounded wing, turned toward her and roared in her face, which such a strength that the waves broke and changed directions around him, and Missandei took several steps back, ashen in the face, her golden eyes filled to the brim with fear and doubt.
“Rhaegal,” Dany commanded of her child, “dohaeris,” the high valyrian flew easily from her tongue, like silver, and she tried to infer in her voice all the consoling grace she could muster.
I am a mother, I should think before of my children.
In all reply Rhaegal turned on her and snarled at her too, his nostrils fuming and his jaws barely open enough to show a hint of fire. Her dragons had been ill-disposed even to her, at times, but never had been so threatening.
Drogon roared behind them, coiling his tail around her, moving his body with difficulty around her small frame to shield her, as he roared his brother in submission.
“Rhaegal,” Dany tried again, “dohaeris!” she commanded, leaving the gracious mother behind, her voice snapping like a leash against the winds.
Rhaegal ever disgruntled hissed, a breath so hot that it smelled of burned bones and meat and of a heat that Dany could almost not withstand, then turned around and ignored them all as he rose into a brief flight, to find respite some yards ahead, as he nestled around the trunk of a great weeping willow tree. Many of its cascading lilac leaves burned at his nearness and many other feel to add to the carpet of lilac foliage already on the ground between the roots.
Dany felt her lips curl into a snarl. Rhaegal had been moody, though he had always been the less well disposed out of all three, since they had to leave Meereen behind. Dany had, had a great deal of trouble to manage and get him away from his lair in one of the towers of the city.
She had, had to lure him away and have the tower, and his lair destroyed to manage and convince him to follow. He had been cold toward her since Dany had imprisoned him and Viserion, but things had gotten worse since they had departed the warm soils of Meereen to turn west.
Dany could not afford to condescend his whiles, they could not afford to not be ready again, when next time came.
She turned toward Missandei, “Come, Missandei,” she benocked, motherly. Missandei eyed Drogon wrapped around her cautiously, but still moved forward despite her fear, a testament on how much she loved and trusted Daenerys, which warmed her heart.
Daenerys stepped around the tail of her dragon and walked to meet her half-way, “I am fine, my friend,” she promised, even as Missandei took her hands, surprise etched in her every features, and inspected the burns.
Her golden eyes were filled with tears when she looked up from her hands, “Nothing a good rest cannot cure,” Dany promised, “I was restless,” she reasoned “and Drogon burned hotter because of it,”
Missandei made to answer but the arrival of lord Selmy stopped her mid sentence, as she turned around and bowed her head in reverence to the old lord and her chief councillor. Dany tucked a strand of silver-gold hair behind her shoulder.
“Lord Hand,” she greeted when he did not speak, too busy observing the damage Drogon had taken during the battle. Her bells rang through her locks and Dany almost felt like an imposter wearing them.
“You may even try to braid my hair, like these savages!” Viserys had accused, his voice filled to the brim with contempt. “You have no right to a braid,” Dany had fearlessly replied, made strong by the child in her womb, “you have won no victories yet,”
Lord Selmy looked up in her face and took notice of the blisters at her chin, “Your Grace,” he greeted “would I be right in assuming the parlay did not go as expected?”
Daenerys felt the beginning of a snarl curl around her lips, she turned to Missandei, “My children must be fed, they need to replenish their strength,” she commanded and Missandei bowed, scurrying to inform the Dothraki tasked with feeding her dragons of her command.
Dany, short hair dancing in the wind around her jaws, bells singing, the colors of House Targaryen fluctuating around her like real flames stared at her lord Hand, discontent marring her features, “There was no parlay,” she told him, “when we arrived our enemy was already attacking,”
She did not move, not even an inch, and Drogon feeling her anger coiled closer once again. Lord Selmy studied her.
Dany studied him in return.
He had not been the same, not since Dany had returned from Vaes Dothrak, not since the death of prince Quentyn. He had advised her to at least think about his marriage proposal, Dany had been unmovable, but she had been sorry to hear of how prince Quentyn had met his end, because of Rhaegal’ fire.
He had been relieved to see her return, Dany was sure of it, but since then, since when Dany had let the Dothraki inside the city and the way she had resolved the matter of the rebels, she had started to notice it. And once she had started to notice it, she had begun to seek its appearance.
Doubt.
The seed of doubt had somehow been planted in her lord Hand, and it was sprouting, despite her best efforts.
“So you did not manage to offer your terms?” Lord Selmy questioned and Dany felt almost like a child and not the woman she was, the woman who had conquered the Bay of Dragons and had destroyed slavery.
“In fact,” she stated “I did,” she added “to no avail. Prince Aemond wishes me good fortunes, but he will not join our forces,” she concluded, her tone final.
A small part of her, a part that reminded her still of the small, little girl who had wanted just the red door and the lemon tree, had wished lord Selmy had been right when he had suggested Dany offered terms to the prince reborn from death, that she offered her hand.
Perhaps he had been unaware of her, her enemies keeping him in the dark about her existence with the hope to pit them against one another.
Maybe that meant that he would want her hand, and things would have been as they should have, when Viserys rejected her hand and instead sold her off to Drogo.
She did not wait for him to follow, she just started to walk toward the keep, ignoring his steps faltering to keep up. Since she had been away he had been attacked several times and one of this times had resulted in a bad wound that still bothered his right leg.
“Perhaps,” he said, as he followed as close behind as he managed, “in another circumstance… after he has seen your poweress,” he offered, “he might be more inclined to listen”
Dany stopped abruptly her trek, turning around to burn her burning gaze into her lord Hand.
Jorah would not have need to see her tears.
He would have known.
He would not have pressed.
“You have betrayed me,” the voice, her own, seemed to always come alive when she thought of her bear, whom she had once trusted with her life, and who had almost provoked her death and her son.
Her hand almost raised to her womb.
Her empty womb.
When sun sets in the east and rises in the west. When my womb will quicken again and I bear a living child.
Drogo would have given this Aemond Targaryen a crown worth the insult she had born.
Daario would have offered to kill him with one of his knives and would have pissed on his body.
Jorah would not have pressed.
He would have let her be.
But he was with the rest of the armies coming and going from Essos across the Narrow Sea, overseeing the ferrying of her troops.
“The kinslayer,” Dany hissed like a snake, “has bid me to try and come for what is mine, for he would have already conquered it,” she said “he did not bend, he will not bend. There is no alliance to be found in him,”
Lord Selmy looked almost comically, if earnestly forlorn at that, “A marriage alliance would have ensured the Realm befell into your hands as surely as the sun rises,” he said abruptly, but not unkindly.
Dany resumed her pacing, though now she made sure to walk slower, “How could one trust the dragon who beds wolves?” she questioned.
As they walked they lapsed in silence for a moment and when Missandei joined them again during the trek, Dany left him behind to walk with her servant.
Missandei promised her that the people of the Realm would recognize her, not to feel forlorn because they would raise for her as they had done.
“Would that it was so simple,” Dany told her, marveling at her naivety and innocence, “I am afraid that the people of the Realm have grown complacent under the Usurper and his dogs,” she told her as Missandei grabbed her hands with utmost care, “they have become lazy and comfortable in their cage, so much that, unlike my sewer rats, they do recognize it for what it is anymore,”
Missandei blinked up at her, and Dany added, “When is a collar not a collar? Oh but when you wear it like a jewel. When is a cage not a cage? But when you grow used to it, so much that you’d rather the comfort of the hand which torments you over the hand which gives you freedom, for freedom is a choice, and it’s a gamble one must take,” she looked up to the sky, an habit she had developed in the Red Waste, when the comet her children had brought forth, had been her sole consolation and hope.
Now only darkness and emptiness, and roaring clouds looked back at her.
Missandei squeezed her hand, “Your Grace is fair and good,” she said, the words like honey for her ears, “the people of the Realm will come to see you for what you are,”
Dany smiled at her, “They will,” she said, “I will show them. With Fire and Blood,”
She felt lord Selmy stiffen at her back, she heard his steps falter, thus she turned around, her purple gaze almost challenging him. Gone were the days in which they could jest together about the mundane weight of the crown.
Cheeks of iron. She had told him once, were the quality a good monarch she endorse.
A will of iron, she had come to understand, was the right answer instead.
“Do we have any news of Euros Greyjoy?” she demanded.
Part of the iron fleet was docked in the bay and she was thankful they didn’t seem to have noticed her arrival back to the beach, she had made sure to take another route to ensure she could go undetected.
“He is still with the greatest part of the fleet,” lord Selmy told her, “ferrying your troops back to the western soil,”
Dany considered her options, “Is he aware..?” she questioned as Rakharo flanked her side, his hair now long and braided and his arakh on the ready.
“Not yet,” lord Selmy replied her unasked question.
“Good,” she decided, “leave it that way,” she commanded. They had time yet.
Vaghar was bigger, but also slower. Today Dany had found herself between a rock and a hard place, because had been forced into open confrontation and despite that being her way, she had started out by using her wits beyond her strength for her dragons had come after she had already become a queen.
If she was smart about this, Aemond Targaryen could not guard the Iron Islands every moment of every day. The moment he was distracted by something else, Dany could use her dragons for a guerrilla and take back inch by inch what had been taken from her.
Still, her children needed yet time to restore their strength and Dany needed a way to give them that, before she launched her attack; and she needed the whole of her armies at her disposal.
Lord Selmy bowed his head.
Apparently the man had no problems to recognize a command when one was issued, perhaps because of his career as a knight, she could not say, but it was growing distressingly clear that the man was more fit to follow orders than give them; or counsel her.
She should have left him be the commander of her kings guard and name another in his place, but the only man who had ever deserved that role… had betrayed her in the worst way possible.
“And,” Dany added, almost like an after thought, “I wish to speak with our prisoner,” she demanded “summon him to the throne hall,”
Lord Selmy made to open his mouth in reply, and Dany turned around, giving him her back, “Presently, my Lord” she commanded.
The Imp was horrid creature, with short stumped legs on which he walked with difficulty and mismatched eyes, one of green and one of black of all things, perhaps it was a sign by the Gods, she considered.
His hair were almost silver and flat across his oversized head and a horrible scar cut transversally across his nose.
Despite his lack of beauty, there was something in the pit of his mismatched eyes that spoke of intelligence. Though Dany would be the judge of it.
“The Imp of Casterly Rock,” she greeted, “I have heard many a story about you, all terrible,” she said.
Apparently the Imp had been put under trial because of an attempt to the life of Joffrey Baratheon, but had been absolved from all accuses by the king himself.
“Then,” the Imp commented, clicking his heels together and cocking his head to the side, “I’d suppose we are both terrible children of terrible fathers,” he offered, his tone even.
“Indeed?” she questioned arching a brow, the Imp made a flamboyant gesture with his arms.
“I have heard stories as well, Your Grace,” he offered.
Daenerys considered him for a long moment. By what she had managed to understand, the Imp was supposed dead, and now a new lady, his widow was sitting in Casterly Rock with their child.
Lady Sansa Stark sat now in the Rock as its lady through conquest.
So, if the Imp was indeed alive that would put a damper in their plans and turn the Lannister troops in her palm so that they supported her.
That would serve as good enough distraction to then move toward reclaiming the Iron Islands.
“Quite bold of you to try and reach me then, my Lord” she offered, her hands collected before herself, the fingers intertwined on her lap, her purple eyes never leaving his mismatched ones, “were you to believe me my father’s daughter,”
The Imp did not reply, so Dany filled the void, her voice almost condescending as she spoke, “so am I to assume that you’ve come to pay for House Lannister’s crimes against House Targaryen?”
She then looked up, as if she was privy to a jest only she knew.
“Should I take your head’s for your brother’s, or for your father’s?” she questioned, her gaze unflinching, as she adjusted her sitting position on the throne of obsidian, “which crime should I ferry justice out for first?”
She turned to her Lord Hand, “What says you, my Lord Hand?,” she questioned “for which crime should I demand payment first?”
Lord Selmy looked at the Imp with a long evaluating look, “I would suppose with the one most close to your heart, Your Grace,” he said “for the Father would for sure guide you,”
Dany turned to look once again to the dwarf, “Hear that, my Lord?” she said “the Father demands justice and the Mother dollies out mercy, and I am a Mother, perhaps that makes me more susceptible to her voice than the Father’s. But, were you merciful with my brother’s children? Innocent children who were brutally murdered against all laws of warcraft?”
The Imp had at least the decency of looking down, “I did command their death, Your Grace. I was but a boy myself, so far removed from the conflict I could not have spoken even if I wished to,” he stated.
Dany leaned back, flattening her spine against the wall of obsidian, considering.
“And I am not my father’s daughter,” she said “thus I am not to be judged by the sins of my father,” she offered, “and yet I am as terrible as he was,”
The Imp bowed his head slightly, “I heard stories, of a scared child who entered a pyre with three stone eggs and survived the flames, rising from the ashes with three live-dragons,” he offered “that very same girl, without armies or allies in the span of a few years managed to acquire all of it. Dragons, armies and power. She seized the slaver cities and put them to torch, crucified the Masters and made the Dothraki bend the knee,” he said “those are terrible deeds indeed,” he offered.
Dany studied him, “They are great deeds,” she opposed.
“Great,” the Imp conceded, “and terrible, too,” he said.
He gestured widely with his hands, “Greatness,” he showed her his hand, palm turned toward her, “madness,” he showed her the back of his hand, “they are but two faces of the same coin,”
“Some will call you mad, and terrible,” he said stepping closer, despite the difficulty of his own legs and his chained ankles, “others will claim you great,”
Dany jutted her chin up and faced him head on, “That is but the fate of a woman in power,” she stated, “but what use would I have of you?” she questioned, “do you mean to tell me if I am great or mad?”
Her voice ripped low, almost dangerously so, “You can have many uses of me, Your Grace. My dear sister and nephew would sooner have my head than my life,” he stated, “and though dear brother may ask his new allies for my life for his compliance..”
He almost stumbled on the chains, Dany snapped her hands, “Deliver him of the chains,”
“Your Grace he is a criminal,” Lord Selmy opposed, “he was accused of attempted king slaying,” he reminded her.
“And I am the Breaker of Shakles,” she hissed “I will not have a shackled man in my presence. Now,”
Her Unsullied moved to obey without question, unchaining the small man, “Thank you, Your Grace,”
“I did not do it for you,” she hissed, “but for I am fair,” she stated.
“Needless, you have my thanks,” he replied as he massaged his wrists and tried to get the blood flow back to his ankles.
“I do not need your thanks,” she said “I need your name,”
Tyrion Lannister’ smile was as fierce and mad as the smirk curling at her lips, “You’ll have it,” he said “and with it the Lannister troops,”
Dany’ smirk grew, “Very well,” she said, clapping her hands, “you give me the support of the wealthiest House of the continent and I will deliver you of your sweet sister and her children,” she said.
She stood up then, and walked down the dais that led to the throne of obsidian, “if you ever betray me,” she told him “I will burn you alive,” she promised him.
The Imp lowered his head, “Spoken as the Mother of Dragons would,” he said as Daenerys approached him to walk out, commanding her retinue, Missandei, Rakharo and three Unsullied to her.
“I’ll leave you to define the details with my Lord Hand,” she told him evenly as she walked away.
“Your Grace, if I may,” the Imp stopped her, Dany turned around, her hands collected to herself, “my wife,” he told her, “she has betrayed her vows to me and is attempting to annul our marriage to marry Aemond Targaryen..”
Daenerys considered him and awaited for him to add more but he did not, “What of it?”
“It is not my wish for the annulment to pass,” he told her quietly, but determined.
“I see,” she said, considering. If Sansa Stark was married to Tyrion Lannister it meant the Starks would be compelled to fight alongside him, especially if Aemond Targaryen was to perish or, to be convinced to join her forces, “I will see to this matter,” she nodded at last.
Tyrion nodded to her, “I am in your debt, Your Grace,”
“Good,” Dany replied as she walked out the hall, “I hear that Lannister always pay their debts,”
The great summit of Harrenhal took place in the sixth moon of the year 306 since Aegon’s Conquest.
Great Houses from all the Realms partook in the event.
And all the kings and queens who were warring for the Iron throne were present as well.
The northerners were the hosting troops as Harrenhal had long since been king Robb Stark seat in the Riverlands.
King Robb offered bread and salt to all the participants even if many were uncertain if he would not strike Joffrey Baratheon as soon as he saw him.
Joffrey Baratheon had voyaged in all pump, with half his court and his mother at his side, “I am the king,” he claimed, lion gold across his brow and burgundy red around his shoulders, “and I will slice any who denies it,”
Some say that when he saw Sansa Stark at the head of the Hightower and Constayne troops, he attempted to order her apprehended, or attempt to speak to her.
But her loyal sworn sword, the lady Jorelle Mormont as well as sir Leighton of House Constayne who his king had tasked with her safety intercepted him before any ill could be done to her.
“A wolf bitch shall soon grow tired of running,” sources report he said, “and I shall be there to put the leash back at its place,”
Though many claim that his threat was cut short by the mighty roar of Vhagar the Queen of All Dragons as she descended from the clouds, flew over the Gods Eye and flew barely overhead of the meeting parties, before lading, so big that her rider, perched on her back could more easily step down on the walls than on the ground.
They say the greatness of the dragon astounded so much the presents that none of them had enough time to panic, though some comment on how king Joffrey flinched and looked as if rooted on the spot, ashen in the face so much the golden looked more like a shroud than a crown.
His mother, the Queen mother, was perhaps the only one who did not look terrified by the beast, though she did reach for her son with one hand. Green her eyes shone like wildfire, against her lips and her skin as she smiled at the creature.
Mother of madness.
As the rider, king Aemond, dismounted the beast, unbuckling the several belts that kept him secured to the saddle, wrapped in wool green and leather black, the sleeves and the hems sewn with a golden and emerald dragon, his queen to be rose to met him.
Sir Leighton helped her up the first flight of stairs that led to the walls and by the time the king-o-old had safely climbed down, she had reached his side.
Many claim that was the day first that king and his queen to be were seen intimate as he pressed a kiss to her brow lovingly as a king from songs, and fond of one another, but many other sources can be cited that their love was plain to see from the moment the betrothal was stuck.
Some claim too that the queen to be patted the dragoness neck, as if friendly with the beast, but we cannot give proof of this account, though it has rooted in the collective memory and many a portrait have been made of it. One even hangs in the Queen’s Chapel in Kings Landing.
Then ‘afore came Daenerys of House Targaryen, with her two dragons hatched in the east, one of black and red and the other of green and bronze; crowned with intertwined gold and jade, onyx and ivory, representing the three dragons she had born in the Red Waste.
She rode with her Dothraki in the gates, and when she dismounted her mare of silver, the biggest of her dragon, the one of black and red, landed besides her, as she claimed, “I am the rightful queen, the seed of Aegon the Conqueror and Maegor the Cruel and all of Old Valyria before them,”
Chapter 22: Sansa of House Stark
Chapter Text
Grey Wind met them halfway through Harroway’s Town, his fur thick and great. The moment he and Ghost reunited felt almost as intense as when Sansa had finally embraced her brothers again.
The wolves tackled each other, rolled in the snow and mud and nipped playfully at each other, the joy of being reunited stronger than Jon anger at learning of what Robb had done with his will in an attempt to remove the Lannister’ hold from the North through disinheriting Sansa.
He had been furious when Aemond of all people had recounted to him how impressed he had been when Sansa had barged into a private meeting, to interrupt it and tear them all a new one.
And that had been quite the bonding experience between her betrothed and her half-brother, though the truth of Jon’s parentage had almost ruined all the progress made for their friendship.
A howl resounded in the depths of the scrubland, all around the Riverlands.
It sounded lonely and vengeful at the same time, the very same howl they had heard when they had voyaged together, after she had managed to escape the capital, and Sansa felt even more keenly the absence of her sister. Of her own wolf.
“Sansa,” she twisted on the saddle just enough to looked at her brother.
Jon had that sad look about him, “you don’t have to be here,” he told her, “no one will think less of you if you sit this one out,”
“You’ve been at war with Joffrey and Cersei,” Sansa said “even if you never joined the fray. I am used to have to make good face to ill game, I am used to have to swallow my pride and make good to avoid conflict. Perhaps you should sit this one out,”
Jon had gone ballistic when she had recounted what had happened to her since they had taken different paths, he had been even more remorseful when he had learned of the abuse that Sansa had suffered of how she had bled for their independence.
It had been somehow therapeutic to see her brother, one of the brothers who had come for her, understanding what she had went through and feeling the burnt of it. It made her feel seen.
Robb had taken more time to see how much Sansa had suffered, but Jon… Jon had always been more empathetic, if more solitary.
He had been Arya’ person.
The one who’d laugh at her expanses to make Arya smile.
Don’t tell Sansa, they really thought she hadn’t know. Sansa had just let it slide, despite the hurt, because in those moments Arya almost seemed like she didn’t really hate her.
She saw the moment the hurt flooded Jon’ face and felt sorry for it, “Forgive me,” she said, “I must be more nervous than I thought,” she offered.
It made him relax slightly, “No,” he said “you are right. I guess I just wanted to…”
“Protect me?” Sansa guessed for him and Jon clenched his jaw and nodded as if it pained him, “that’s sweet Jon,” she said “but no one can protect anyone,”
Jon grimaced at that, “Well, let me try ay?” he commented.
Sansa smiled at that, “As you wish, big brother,”
That did put a smile on his comely face and Sansa was proud of it. Her half brother always had, had a knack for brooding and feeling low. And she strived to ensure that he would not feel unwelcome now that they knew the truth about his birth.
Her Lord Father had died protecting his secret, he never once made mention of it to anyone. Ever. And Jon was alive because of that.
Sansa would carry her Lord Father’s vow to protect Jon until her dying breath if needed, because her Lord father had died to protect her, she knew.
She would carry his legacy with her if needed. Even if no one else did.
“Your Highness,” sir Leighton called from her other side, and Sansa turned to look at him, tugging on the reins to fall back next to him for a moment, the man barely pointed up to the sky.
Vhagar’ silhouette could be seen above the clouds if one looked; as she veered toward the banks of the Gods Eye.
In that moment Sansa felt the heaviness of the wreath she wore on her brow.
It had been Aemond’ third courting gift, and he had presented it to her the day he told her he meant to have crowned as his intended and bestow on her a title for herself beyond that of princess in the North, with lands in the Reach, between Blackcrown and the Bandallon.
She had thus been named, Princess Sansa of House Stark, the king’s betrothed and Lady Honeywine; and, to Robb’ credit, Lady of the First Men.
And though that was mostly a namely title alone, Sansa had been quite warmed by it, he had even gifted her with the project of a residence in which Sansa could chose to partake any time she wished, a summer residence of sorts, near Blackcrown, on the coast.
The wreath had been just a sealing of her new title in his court, he had created the title especially for her as a further confirmation of his place at his side even in the absence of yet the marriage.
It was a band of battered bronze, an homage to her lineage as Lady of the First Men, rubies and sapphires and pearls were set at regular intervals into the metal band, and between each jewel had been incised on the battered bronze the motherhood knot.
“The central ruby,” he had told her when he had presented the wreath to her, “because it is foremost to me your love, your protection and your wealth, and the commitment I mean to make before the Gods,”
His finger had then moved to the sapphires, “Sapphires to show for my devotion and because I value your word and your wit,” he had then smiled softly “and because they represent me, so you shall always have something of me with you,”
He had then caressed the nail-big pearls, “Pearls for the children your womb shall give us,” he had told her, “princes and princesses, dragon riders, scholars and artists,” his smile had been soft, “warriors and politicians,”
“Those are many children,” Sansa had jested, “sure you have that many in you?” she had questioned.
Aemond had smiled at that, pressing a kiss to her forehead, “If you will,” he said “I’ll ensure our roots grow strong once again,”
What if I only have daughters?
She nodded to sir Leighton as they urged their horses on the path forward; the people of Harroway Town welcomed them with clapping and shouts, for they had lived long under Stark rule since Robb had taken the Riverlands and loved Sansa all the more for looking like her lady Mother, a Tully to boot.
The gates of Harrenhal, great and imposing opened at their arrival, “The Princess is at the gates!”
The joined banners of House Stark and Targaryen were hanging from the parapets still with the Hightower and the crowned, flaming hearted Baratheon banner.
She knew Stannis Baratheon’ troops would reinforce the North, and that the Lord of Storm’s End would be present as well.
The entire of the Realm at war would be present, and for the first time since escaping the capital almost half a year before, Sansa would find herself face to face with her tormentors.
Robb was proudly awaiting for them, and the moment Jon dismounted he bolted like an arrow and embraced him fiercely.
Sansa was almost envious of that reunion, if it wasn’t for the fact that Jon and Robb had been almost twins all their lives and had shared the burden of being older brothers.
The court hailed and clapped and howled, and Sansa had tears at the corner of her eyes, “Bran?” Robb asked, as soon as he let go of Jon, and Jon had bowed his head, Sansa kissed his cheek and smiled.
“He remained at Casterly Rock as its steward with lady Lannister,” she told him quietly, before gesturing for a hand to Jóan Lannister, the son lady Lannister had named after his sire’ mother to introduce him.
Golden as any Lannister worth his name, but with the soft eyes of his mother. Jaime Lannister had been surprised and ashamed when lady Lannister had showed her face in Casterly Rock, demure and strong despite all that she had suffered at the hands of the man of the garrison and her own good-father.
The shame had made it impossible for him to try and claim Casterly Rock for his son, Tommen. Though Tommen and Jóan were fast friends and in the older boy Tommen had found the brotherhood that he had lacked with Joffrey, for which Sansa was glad, as Tommen was a sweet boy.
Sir Jaime had followed them as well, though he was to keep a low profile.
To avoid unwanted confrontations.
“How is Roslin?” she asked, softly prying about her good-sister.
“Almost to her due, she’s very wroth with me,” Robb told her, “something about her back killing her, and the babe kicking her livers all rounds,”
Sansa smiled fondly at the excitement she could see in his eyes.
“I shall visit her, if the Maester has nothing against it,”
“Please do,” Robb said “she’s bored to no end,” he told her “she has sewn so many clothes for the babe that it almost feels like it will be two,”
Sansa was about to reply when suddenly there was a shout.
Grey Wind moved so fast that before any of them could move, he was under the slippery rooftop as Edda fell gently against his back giggling.
Sansa shared a horrified look with her brother, “Auntie Sansa!” she exclaimed in her excitement, “they are here!” she proclaimed as Grey Wind licked her cheek making her giggle.
Robb was still horrified but their great uncle, the Blackfish called for him on the ramparts, so he had to leave.
Sansa held out her hand toward her niece, “Edda,” she called, “come,”
Edda seemed to somber immediately at that, a small coronet of battered bronze askew on her head, and she walked to her.
Sansa adjusted her little coronet on her dark head, and rolled her eyes with fondness before wiping some dirt from her cheek, before kneeling at her level, “Hi, auntie,” Edda said just as a dishevelled sir Eddard rushed in.
“I am so sorry, Your Highness,” he said out of breath, “I looked elsewhere but a moment and..”
Sansa gestured with a hand as lady Jorelle rolled her eyes and crossed her arms to her chest, as they greeted. He almost blushed at her greeting.
“Hello, sweetheart,” Sansa greeted, “you must be very careful,” she said, “even the best of climbers can fall”
She felt sir Jaime’s sharp intake of breath behind them, and Edda’ zeroed on him immediately.
“Uncle Bran did not fall,” she claimed “he was pushed,” she seethed, before pouring her accusing finger at sir Jaime “he did it”
Sir Jaime paled at the accusation. Not many were privy to sir Jaime’ role in Bran’ fall. The Starks knew but she was unaware Robb might have shared such a gory detail with his daughter.
“I saw him,” she accused “he is bad,”
And that was another preoccupying thing. She looked up at Jon and her half brother nodded as if he was sharing her thoughts.
Then he got on one knee, “Hello, sweet one,” he saluted.
Edda seemed a bit shy and hid behind Sansa, swinging their still clasped hands, “this,” Sansa told her, “is your uncle, Jon. He is the Lord Commander of the Nights Watch,”
Edda smiled timidly at him, “Hello uncle Jon, my name is Edda Stark, Princess of Winterfell,” she said, going even as far as to offer a curtsy.
Sansa smiled fondly at her as Jon beamed at the child, “That’s pretty,” he told her “Just like you,”
That seemed to have Edda melt because she grabbed his hand and started tugging, “Come uncle Jon, I want to show you my pony!”
Sansa rolled her eyes but gestured for Jon to follow her along and sir Eddard and lady Jorelle tagged along, speaking as if they had never left each other.
She watched as they went with a smile on her face, before going toward the keep. She would visit her good sister before politics could force her to do something she might regret.
Roslin was ever grateful to see a familiar and yet new face. Her pregnant belly was big enough that she had trouble standing up on her own, and Sansa hastened to help her up.
“Thank the Gods for small mercies,” she said, letting go of the prayer panel she had been weaving, “I feel so cooped up,” she caressed her round belly, “don’t you want to get out as well, little one?” she spoke gently to the babe.
She grunted somehow unladylikely, “Someone is excited,” she teased, and Sansa smiled.
She had very vague memories of her lady mother’ pregnancy with Arya, but she remembered Bran’ pregnancy the best. Her lady mother would let her nestle close and feel the babe’s movement against her cheek.
Rickon’ pregnancy had been different, Sansa was already grown enough that she had been privy to many of the details and preparation before the birth, and she was also let into the birthing chamber, and her role had been to help Maester Luwin clean baby Rickon.
It had been quite the bonding experience with her mother, as well as with Rickon, who she had almost felt as if a little baby of her own.
She was broken from her reverie when Roslin took her hand and pressed it to her belly, and the babe moved underneath it.
A gentle kick.
“My little Beth,” Roslin said, dreaming.
Sansa looked up at her in surprise and saw the sudden caution cross her good sister’ face, “Another sweet little princess, to wrap her kingly father around her little finger,” Sansa offered, caressing the small of her belly and receiving a responding gentle kick in answer.
Roslin relaxed at that, “Ay,” she said, her voice filled with motherly affection, “my sweet little Bethany, like my mother”
“It’s a beautiful name,” she offered, and Roslin smiled.
“It is, isn’t it?” she questioned like mothers did when speaking about their children, with that soft voice and tone that bespoke of affection.
“It is so humbling,” Roslin said “how something so little, someone who’s yet to be, can already be so loved,”
Sansa smiled at her good sister, “I am happy that the pregnancy is treating you good,” Sansa said “I will pray that little Bethany is an easy labour and child,”
“Thank you,” Roslin smiled, through a grimace, “though perhaps I should sit, my ankles are killing me,”
Once Sansa had helped her sat she sighed, “Everything has become so uncomfortable as of late,” Roslin told her, “I just hope the birth happens sooner rather than later and that little Beth is healthy and hole”
“She will be,” Sansa told her softly.
Roslin gestured for her to sit and Sansa did, sitting on the chair across her, “Would you like for me to brush your hair?” Sansa asked, before realizing it would seem almost as if she was making a note of her state of disarray, “I know you must be missing your mother, and when I was alone in Kings Landing… having Shae brushing my hair made me feel less her absence,” she admitted.
For the first time saying her friend’ name since when they had buried her.
She should have brought her flowers.
Roslin’ face softened, “I would be honoured,” she said gently and Sansa stood up to grab the brush and bring herself behind Roslin, unbraiding her locks and starting to brush them slowly, from the ends up gently working at the knots with a bit of castor oil, lock after lock.
In a few minutes of silence, Sansa had worked at the first lock, then Roslin started speaking.
And in a matter of a few moments they found themselves engrossed into speaking about their childhood, about their hopes and dreams from when they were girls and Sansa supposed that, had she not been away when Robb married Roslin she would have easily become her friend for Roslin reminded her of Beth Cassel.
In some way, perhaps Roslin could feel less her mother’s absence, and Sansa could remember Shae without the tears that usually came with it.
It was almost made her death hurt less and the pearls she wore around her neck less heavy and bruising in their remembrance.
It was comforting like little things had felt since her Lord father’s death.
She had remiss in writing to her good-sister, so she promised herself to amend it. If Aemond and Jon were right about the war needed to be fought North, then they could have to fight that war as she and Roslin held the fort back in the South.
As good sisters, they should learn to share the burden. Roslin might not be born a Stark, but she was part of the pack anyway, now.
When the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.
The pack survives.
“Your Edda,” she told her at last, before the trumpets sounded for the arrival of their guests, “she is like my brother, Bran. She told me she saw Jaime Lannister push Bran off the Broken Tower,”
Roslin’ face remained neutral.
“You already know,” Sansa concluded by her silence.
“I… she has said strange things,” she offered, “and when I spoke of it to Robb… he told me of the stories Old Nan told you,”
“They are true,” Sansa told her, “all of them. The Long Night with its never ending winter is approaching, and we must be ready”
Roslin caressed her belly, “We will,”
“Your Highness,” one of the servants called as they stepped to the side to let her walk, “at the gates,”
“I am aware, thank you,” Sansa offered as she continued toward the courtyard. As she turned the corner of the corridor she almost collided with a woman.
Her robes were of red, her face was as pale as alabaster, her eyes and lips were red, as red were her hair. There was something exotic of her, something terrifying.
“My apologies,” Sansa spoke, out of habit if nothing more, as the woman studied her with an almost unblinking purpose.
“I have seen eyes like yours before,” the woman stated in reply “gray eyes,” she said.
Sansa frowned.
The woman almost made to grab her, but Sansa leaned away, her eyes now cuttingly cautious.
The woman let her hand fall to the side of her robes, a ruby blinked at her neck, “It is curious,” she offered “much like looking in a mirror, the imagine reflected is the same but not quite”
Specular.
“Like the sun and the moon,” the woman added, her red eyes unblinking still.
Sansa stilled at that.
It was something her Lord father used to say. He used to say that they were like the sun and moon.
Sansa with her red hair, cloaked in the fire of the sunrays, she had even been born at dawn. And Arya with shadow and darkness in her hair, born well after the sun had set as the sky was painted indigo and then as dark as the night.
“Arya!” she exclaimed, grabbing the woman by the wrist, “you have seen Arya!” she shook her arm, “where?” she demanded, “when?”
The woman seemed surprised of her outburst, “Years ago,” she said, her voice even, “she was with the Brotherhood without banners,”
She studied her for a moment and must have read urgency in her face for she added, “She was wearing a boy’ clothes,” she told her, “she looked skinny but well,”
Sansa let out a breath she had not known she had been holding, letting the woman’ hand fall from her hold, “Thank the Gods,” she said.
She knew Arya was on her way, Bran had told her so, still to see someone else who had seen her after she had seen her last.
It brought tears to her eyes.
To her surprise the woman caught one of those tears with her digit, observing it like some sort of hidden treasure, “Curious,” she commented, “very curious,”
“What is?” Sansa demanded.
“You, Your Grace,” she said, “you are,”
Sansa grimaced, “Who are you, madam?” she questioned, “I do not remember you,”
“Another like me,” she said “less blessed perhaps, haunts these halls. Don’t you hear her scream?” she questioned instead.
“I do not,” Sansa said “ghosts cannot hurt us, not unless we let the memory of them hurt us,”
The woman cocked her head to the side, “And you know much about haunting ghosts,” she said, “many returned to you, even those that were not yours to begin with,”
Sansa remained silent and stoic.
“The Lord favours you so,” the woman commented, before speaking in what sounded like high Valyrian, but no amount of the lessons Aemond had given her seemed to have prepared her for this.
So she understood none of it, still somehow, the moment the woman told her “Valar morghulis,”
She reacted by instinct, “Valar dohaeris,” she replied.
“Yes, Your Grace,” she offered, “all men must serve,”
Sansa was about to them an explanation further from her, despite the hair rising at the back of her neck when the trumpets sounded again.
“Who are you?” Sansa demanded again and the woman just smiled at her.
“I am the Lord’s humble servant,” she said enigmatically, “for both I and you shall serve to end,”
Sansa was about to ask more when the valet started to introduce, “the King Joffrey of the House Baratheon, rightful king of the Iron throne, and his most esteemed mother, the Queen mother Cersei of House Lannister,”
“Go, Your Grace,” she told her, “there is need of you”
I am not Queen yet, Sansa thought darkly as she walked out to the courtyard, where Joffrey was prancing like he always did.
He was wrapped into burgundy and gold, his quartered lion and crowned stag banner was dancing with a sudden wind, and he wore that truly awfully small crown for his head. His wormy lips were distended into his usual sneer but the moment they befell on her they turned into a snarl.
“Lady Lannister,” he thundered, his voice shrill, Sansa schooled her expression and collected her skirt in her hand to descend the dais which led from the doors to the courtyard.
“My Lord,”
As long as they were using false titles, she would go for it. She approached though both Jon and Robb looked to be about to throw punches.
“I am king now, you dimwit,” Joffrey stated, “unlike that stupid imposter of yours,”
Sansa didn’t raise to the bait, “Your Grace,” she said instead turning to Cersei, “I am glad to see you whole, let me forward my condolences on the death of your…”
“Traitor!” Cersei screamed, pointing an accusing finger at her, “the blood of a traitor shall always be a traitor! You killed my father!”
“I most surely did not, Your Grace,” Sansa said, trying to keep calm, “if you search for a culprit you shall look to your son,”
“You have taken my brother and my son from me!” she screamed in return.
Sansa did not let her scream deafen her mind, “They came to us,” she said “both your son and your lover,”
Chaos erupted then, Cersei attempted to grab at her, Joffrey unsheathed his sword, moving toward her, but before either could, both lady Jorelle and sir Leighton stood between her and them.
Robb and Jon unsheathing their own swords as well, coming closer to her, but none of that was necessary.
Lady Jorelle held Joffrey by pointing her Morningstar at his throat, “Give me a reason, bastard,” she hissed, her voice a challenge.
When Joffrey’ guard point his own blade at Jorelle, Sansa stepped forth, put herself between sir Leighton and lady Jorelle and grabbed at her outstretched arm, “It is not worth it, our king has opened this summit for a truce, not for more of a bloodbath, it is not worth it”
Jorelle studied her then stepped back, and let her Morningstar fall at her side.
Joffrey’ snide was all a plan, “A wolf whore, is what you are” he said “and soon you’ll grow tired of your freedom and I’ll put back the leash around your neck, where it belongs,” he promised.
Sansa was about to reply when a roar shook the hearth under their feet, as Vhagar’ body emerged from the clouds, flying so low that the guards of the bastions had to lower their heads.
Vhagar veered to the side, and landed beside the walls of the keep, she was so big that from where he was perched Aemond would have easier way to climb off on the bastions than on the ground.
He started to unbuckle his belts and as if he had spoken to her wordlessly Sansa turned around, ignored Joffrey’ ashen face, as pale as it had grown when Arya had stood over him with Lion Tooth in hand after Nymeria had attacked him.
Sir Leighton was there to offer her his arm to climb up the first row of stairs up the bastions. Sansa accepted his arm gladly and then approached Aemond and Vhagar slowly and cautiously.
Aemond climbed off the saddle, using her shoulder and elbow to help himself off to the bastions, Vhagar shook her head slightly but otherwise accompanied his movements.
The moment Sansa was in reach he outstretched his hand toward him, Sansa grabbed it almost without thinking, and uncaring of all the people watching she let him draw her closer.
His eye was sparkling a lilac so light that it looked cerulean, and it was full of fondness as he drew her close and pressed a kiss to her brow, ever lovingly.
Sansa had prayed for a love like this, when she had been a girl, in the Godswood of Winterfell. She had prayed for her golden prince to come at take her, and love her like in a song.
Tragedy and pain had struck her family because of that.
She had kept praying. She had prayed for Robb, for Jon and for her lady mother, for Arya, Bran and Rickon.
And they all had been restored to her. She would trust in the Gods to keep listening to her prayers.
The Gods listen to you, sometimes you just have to scream.
Aemond nuzzled the side of her head and then whispered low in her ear, “Pet Vhagar,” he told her, his voice commanding.
Sansa blinked, her blue eyes meeting his purple one, silent, why?, she questioned wordlessly, and he gripped the fabric of the back of her cloak more tightly in his fist.
Sansa raised her hand and slowly patted Vhagar’ muscular neck. The dragoness studied her, but remained motionless.
She could literally feel the communal intake of breath when they saw her pet the dragoness, which turned into a shared surprise when, the moment Sansa let down her hand, Vhagar coiled her tail around both her and Aemond, almost as if sending a clear signal.
Pressed so close to him, she smiled, “Pāsagon nyke,” he told her softly, then she felt him clench his jaw and followed his gaze to the courtyard and the red woman, her head bowed, and both hands with the palms facing the sky, as if in deep prayer.
“Do you know her?” she asked.
“She’s Stannis’ red witch,” he told her gruffly, “she’s the one who convinced Queen Selyse to burn at the stake, to strengthen Stannis’ power”
Sansa almost flinched. She had touched the woman, unprompted. She had spoke to her, even demanded things from her.
“She’s warned off getting close to you,” Aemond reassured her, as he drew gentle patterns in her hand as he escorted her down, “if she bothers you,” he told her “don’t hesitate to tell me, she’ll die”
Sansa nodded, as they reached the courtyard as sir Leighton and sir Humfrey flanked their sides, the Lord Commander to Aemond’ left and sir Leighton to her side.
Lord Baelor Hightower came close to them to offer them a bow, “Your Grace,” he greeted, before turning and introducing them, “His Grace, Aemond of House Targaryen, first of his name, King claimant of the Andals,” he said “lord claimant of the Six Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm,” then he gestured and add, “and her highness the Princess Sansa of House Stark, Lady of the First Men, lady Honeywine, my lady the king’s betrothed,”
The entirety of the Targaryen court still present in Harrenhal clapped enthusiastically as the red woman, she stepped forth, “For the Lord shows us the way,” she claimed, “and the night is dark and full of terrors, but the king lights the way,”
Only then did Sansa notice the gruff and clearly pissed man at her side, wearing a coat of House Baratheon.
Stannis Baratheon, once king claimant, turned Lord of Storm’s End after he had bent the knee to Aemond in the stormlands.
Though her attention was piqued by a member of the party of Kings Landing, whom she had not yet noticed but for sure for his own interest.
Prince Oberyn Martell had stepped slowly out of the shadows, and was observing the dragon. The dragon and then them, then again the dragon.
Then his eyes fixed on her. He moved his hand to the hems of his coat, and pointed with one finger to a very strange brooch he was wearing. It seemed like a comet.
Sansa raised her gaze to meet his dark eyes. Varys had always signed his letters since they had first received them with a little scribble of a comet, a reminder of their first conversation about Aemond.
He offered her a subtle nod and then returned to the shadows whence he had come.
“Prince Oberyn,” Sansa said, grabbing Aemond to have his attention, “he was the uncle of the Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys,” she murmured to him.
Aemond nodded.
Sansa had told him all that she had known about what had happened, and how House Martell had receded from the politics until Princess Myrcella was sent to Sunspear to marry one of the prince’s sons.
Prince Oberyn had been at court of years, and despite offering his friendship - he somehow struck some kind of good will with Tyrion - to her it had sounded empty and void.
Sansa knew Varys was busy trying to add more people to their flanks, or so he claimed, and though she did not expect House Martell already in their corner, not without a proper apology and a good plan to make amends. But this meant that at least they were open to their cause.
Joffrey now wore a from and furious expression, the sneer on his wormy lips even worse, similar to the one he wore every time she had not let him and his words touch her.
Cersei, instead, wasn’t only furious. She looked to be about to explode.
“You are not true king,” she hissed “you’re dead,”
“My heart still beats,” he said “so does hers,” Aemond replied, gesturing for Vhagar, “I am not a ghost. I am flesh and bone,” he told her “and I will have justice for the numerous crimes of you committed,”
“I am the king!” Joffrey said, low and hissing, “and I will kill you”
“If you wish,” Aemond told him, his tone blunt, “you are welcome to try,”
Sansa tightened her hold on his arm, Aemond cocked his head to the side, “After this summit is done with,” he said “I am coming for your head, bastard,”
Joffrey’ gaze darkened and Sansa recognized the expression as the very same he had every time he had proved his power over her.
“Enjoy my scraps,” he told him “it’s all you get to have, if I let you have her,” then he turned to her “you will return to my bed, Sansa, as a good wolfbitch does to her master”
“You are no master of mine,” Sansa replied “and I am not your bitch,” she smiled “if what you claim is true and I spelled you, then you were mine, if anything”
Then Aemond led her further across the courtyard, as they passed close Joffrey he grabbed him by the scruff of his high necked cloak, “And for that,” he told him “I will ensure your death be slow and painful. Until then,” he offered letting him go and patting him on the chest “I wish you good fortunes in the wars to come,”
Just as Joffrey tumbled two steps back, and right into his mother’ hands, a shadow passed over them, followed by another and Vhagar expelled more smoke from her nostrils as if annoyed.
Had Sansa never had seen a dragon before she would have been impressed and mildly preoccupied.
But after having seen Vhagar in action, these dragons seemed no more than little children swinging wooden sword against seasoned warriors.
“The hatchlings,” Aemond hissed, “she brought them both. They should have been nestling and healing their wounds,”
Sansa looked at him and he looked genuinely bothered by that. She observed more keenly the dragons, then. One was flying a bit askew, favouring a wing over the other, the bad wing had several blisters and open wounds.
The bigger one, black and red of scales, had his snout blood red for a raw wound down to his neck and one of his horns was broken.
The dragons veered and then landed on the other side than Vhagar, even if the black and red one snapped their jaws toward the older dragoness, before landing directly on the wall.
Rubbish befell and people had to run sideways to not be involved in the foretold disaster; much like the fishermen had done near the Gods Eye.
Only, instead of showing she didn’t mean harm in that moment - as Vhagar did - the black and red one roared precisely in their faces, just as Daenerys Targaryen rode inside the gates with several Dothraki screamers at her heel.
She was wearing black and red, and had brushed her silver-gold hair - reaching barely to her shoulders - which fell in waves and small braids with little bells, on her brow sat an intricate and elaborate crown of onyx, ivory and jade, representing perhaps her once three dragons.
Her lips were painted vermillion red, and she looked every inch the Targaryen from fable. With deep lilac eyes sparkling with confidence as she dismounted her mare.
As soon as she did, the dragon landed near her in a heap of more rubbish, as a young woman of dark skin introduced “you stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, first of her name, rightful queen of the Andals, Rhoynar and First Men, the Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Mother of Dragons. Rightful queen of the Seven Kingdoms,”
Daenerys Targaryen stepped further inside, “I am the rightful queen, the seed of Aegon the Conqueror and Maegor the Cruel and all of Old Valyria before them,” and her Dothraki screamers screamed with such a strength that they almost rivalled her dragon’ previous roar.
It was almost an instinct as she and Aemond moved as one to fix their gaze on her face.
Her confidence was clear, but so was her entitlement, in a way that too abrasive and grating against her nerves. Her dragon roared once again, his neck growing hot as if he meant to bathe them in fire.
There was something of the woman who tipped her off the wrong way.
This was meant to be a truce summit, yes, Sansa could accept the need for Daenerys Targaryen to show her strength, they had done so as well, but no one had actually been so threatening save for Joffrey and that was not the kind of person someone should want to be compared with.
Robb waved for a servant to brought forth bread and salt, and all of them accepted it.
“Be welcome under guests right,” he said, his voice which barely concealed his rage, “there are chambers appointed for all of you and your retinues, you may keep your weapons, but if any unnatural death happens, any blood spilled, the God’s ire be upon you through me as your host,”
His voice was more of challenge than a threat. Sansa could not love him more for it.
Then, they were escorted inside.
And the real battleground would be set.
“I will kill him,” Jon hissed “not even the Watch would want him”
Sansa smiled and grabbed his arm in a soft consoling touch, “He cannot hurt me anymore,” she promised, “none of you will let him,”
Jon hissed, his eyes dark and unrelenting, he was shaking as if he was about to explode, his fists clenched and his hands trembling with the effort of not running to his own sword strapped to his back, and suddenly Aemond grabbed his shoulder, his eye fixed in his intently “In through the nose,” he said “out through the mouth,” he commanded.
Jon almost shouldered out of his hold, but Aemond harpooned him, keeping him still when it looked like he was about to bolt.
“Control it,” he commanded, “do not let it have control over you! You are the one in charge!”
Jon shook his head in a way that made Sansa felt nauseous, Aemond let go of her and gently nudged her toward Robb, who grabbed her by the wrist bringing her behind himself, as Aemond dragged Jon inside a side-chamber.
“Everybody out!” he ordered, almost in a yell as Jon kept trashing.
Sansa ushered the servants outside and then closed the door behind them, and even though she could see the scene, Robb kept getting between her and them.
Aemond shook Jon by the arms and then threw him against the table.
“Gīda!” Aemond yelled in high Valyrian as if Jon was supposed to know the language, “lykiri!”
Jon looked at him and it was a look that reminded Sansa of some kind of beast, his head cocked to the side, his gaze not any different from that of any ferocious animal.
But he was studying Aemond with curiosity, and he had stopped trashing.
“Lykiri,” Aemond repeated again, this time slower, but not less strongly.
It was the same tone he used on Vhagar, then of sudden Jon begun to trash again against his hold.
He was hissing and snapping as if in pain, Sansa pushed Robb away from him, and approached them.
“Sansa, stay back!” Aemond told her, when he noticed her.
“He’s my brother!” Sansa glared and then whisper-shouted back, “I trust him,” she added, calmer.
Then Aemond shifted to give her a look to Jon’ glazed eyes, still keeping him to hurt her by trashing.
Sansa caressed his face, “Jon,” she called softly “remember who you are,” she told him despite his trashing, “you are a Stark. You may not have the name but you have the blood,”
Then she started to push his now matted curls from his forehead, caressing his face as if she would a babe, “you will be fine,” Sansa told him softly “I command it,” she added, gathering the same tone she had used to teach Lady how to behave. Sweetening the cutting edge by her soft caresses.
Slowly Jon came to stop trashing, his eyes started to look more like himself than the beast they had seen and he started to pant.
After a while, he grimaced and patted Aemond’ hand on his shoulder still gripping him in a bruising hold, “I’m me,” he breathed, “I don’t know what came over me, but I am fine,”
Aemond studied him, his face a snarl and then let go of him, Jon let his head fall against the table and turned away from her, looking into the fire in the hearth, observing his face reflected in the flames.
Sansa grabbed him gently by the shoulder, and Jon grabbed one of her hands in return as hot tears streamed down his cheeks.
“Someone care to tell me what is happening right now?” Robb demanded, his tone filled with urgency.
Sansa pressed her forehead against Jon’ temple, as sobs shook his body.
She looked pleadingly to Aemond who then turned coldly to her brother, to say with a bitingly cold tone, his eye unrelenting, “What he has experienced is a sudden burst against his mental shield, an almost forceful bond between dragon and man,”
Robb squeaked, for there was no other way to define the noise he made and looked at them.
“I’d wager the hatchling felt supplanted by the bold with the direwolf,” Aemond seethed, “in addition the hatchling has been wounded recently which’ll make it desperate to cling onto something, a possible rider would be a good prize as any right now,”
Which was what he had been hoping, Sansa knew, which would slid a dragon from Daenerys Targaryen and even the odds even if she didn’t help against the dead. So, she didn’t really know why he sounded and looked so angered.
Robb mouthed something then asked, “Alright, but… why Jon?” he questioned.
Sansa sighed and felt Jon do the same, almost at the same time, as she helped him come sit on the table, “Because I am not your Father’s bastard,” he said in one breath, looking Robb deep in the blue eyes, his gray ones pleading, “I am Rhaegar Targaryen’s”
The tears kept coming down his cheeks and Sansa patted his back lovingly as her brother leaned against her with his forehead pressed against her collarbone, “I am sorry, I am so sorry…” he kept sobbing.
Sansa grabbed his face with both hands, and urged him to look at her, “I know who you are,” she told him, “You are Jon. You are Lyanna Stark’s only son. Your name is Jon Snow, you are of the North,” she stressed.
Jon exhaled slowly, reigning in his own sobs, “I don’t care who fathered you. You are a Stark” Sansa promised him, and as Jon closed his eyes she looked to Robb, pleading him to help her.
Robb had been Jon’ twin in everything but name, they had shared all. Lessons, training and even their free-time.
Coming from him it would hold much more meaning than coming from her, she knew.
Robb, urged by the look in her eyes, came closer and grabbed Jon by the shoulder and hoisted him into a hug. Jon had always been leaner of frame, and never like now Sansa could see how little he could look against their brother’ broader frame.
Jon went limp against his chest, crying, though he kept his hold on her hand steady and Sansa carded her hand through his curls.
Tears gathering at the corner of her eyes, as she looked from her brothers to her betrothed, who looked as haunted as he did pissed.
Then he turned around and walked out of the chamber, closing the door behind himself.
Sansa felt torn, between her family and her betrothed. Already once she had made the wrong choice, she had let her love for a conniving, cruel boy risk destroying her family.
And yet Aemond…
… Aemond only had her. Lord Baelor was someone he respected but was he someone he’d let himself be vulnerable with?
He had trouble being vulnerable with her, and he cared for her deeply.
Yet her brother needed her.
Her family needed her.
“Go,” Jon whisper made her almost flinch, she turned and found both her brothers looking at her, Jon’ eyes were filled with fondness and affection, “go after him,” he told her, “I’ll be fine,” he rasped, “as you said” he squeezed her hand and then let go.
Sansa took yet a moment, before she grasped her skirts in her hands and started after her own betrothed.
As she followed through the corridors, more than aware of the several places he might have gone to, she had to shift to the side to avoid crashing against someone.
She continued for a few steps and then stopped altogether, turning around in surprise, “Arya?” she questioned, her voice small.
She turned around, the young boy did the same, throwing her a questioning glance.
“My apologies,” she murmured, “I mistook you for someone else,” she apologised, before resuming her walk.
The boy said nothing, and Sansa went on.
He was not in the library, and not on the training grounds. When she finally caught sight of him, he was climbing atop Vhagar.
“Aemond!” she called, but he ignored her.
Sansa didn’t care, she broke in a run through the courtyard and on the walls, ignoring the fearful faces of the guards posted there.
Aemond paused his climbing when he saw her approaching, his eye surprised and fearful almost.
One of the guards blocked her path and grabbed her by the elbow to keep her from getting any closer as Vhagar already looked to be on the verge of flying.
“Vhagar!,” Aemond commanded “dohaeris!”
But it was already late, for the dragoness’ tail fell like a sword down on the walls, smashing them halfway through.
Sansa fell toward outside, toward the blunt, hard earth, without hope to hold on anything. The gods listen to you, sometimes you just have to scream, and Sansa screamed.
But the hit never came, because a warm, hard body cushioned her fall, gray thick fur tickling her neck and face.
The wolf guided her in a sitting position and Sansa rose her gaze to it. It was a direwolf but it was neither Ghost nor Grey Wind.
“Nymeria?” she questioned softly and the direwolf threw her head back and howled.
Thousands of howls rose in return, and Grey Wind and Ghost’ joined the song of the wolves.
Then Nymeria turned tail and left, as if she had never been there at all.
By the time her greatuncle, the other direwolves and Aemond reached her Nymeria had disappeared into the trees.
Her greatuncle grabbed her and embraced her fiercely, “Seven hells, lass,” he murmured “you took away half my life,”
Sansa pressed her forehead against his chest, her heart beating like a hummingbird against her ribcage, as her greatuncle massaged her back to keep her warm.
She heard the moment his steps faltered as he came close; his only eye looked as if could he swallow his own heart, carve it out and make a gift of it to her he would have.
Sansa acted on impulse, she left the tight embrace of her greatuncle with a pat and walked across the direwolves to reach him.
He folded into her, his forehead pressed against her shoulder, his breath laboured.
“I am fine,” she promised, “I am fine,” though her voice shook.
He grabbed the back of her shoulders, and leaned back to study her face, Sansa gave him a tremolous smile, “I am fine,” she promised “just took a tumble,”
Ghost curled around her frame as Grey Wind stood watch, and Sansa smiled when Ghost’ snout nudged her cheek.
“I am fine,” she promised, grabbing his hand and guiding it to cup her cheek, “alive,” she told him, “Safe, and whole”
“By luck,” her greatuncle hissed, his glare burning against Vhagar.
“By the will of the Gods,” Sansa replied without loosing a beat, “I was not harmed,”
“I was just so angry,” Aemond admitted, his eye downcast, “… I was… I was so damn jealous,” he added, “and he was so heartbroken and I know I should have not, but I was so angry,”
Sansa prompted him to look up to her again and cupped his scarred cheek in her hand, “I love him, I love them. They are my brothers and I will always love them,” she said, “but the love I bear you is different, they are my brothers, you are my kingly love,” she caressed his cheek.
That prompted a smile from him, and Sansa smiled in return, “You needn’t to be jealous,” she promised, “and when you do, just tell me, I’ll remind you that my heart sees no one but you,”
Aemond smiled , cupped the side of her face and pressed a kiss to her temple.
“When you fell…”
Sansa grabbed him by the back of his neck and brought him down so that their forehead could be pressed together, “I fell, but I was not harmed,”
“If something were to happen to you…”
“Nothing will happen to me,” she told him, “and we’ll grow happy and old together, surrounded by our children who will be dragon riders, artists, poets, warriors, politicians…”
He chuckled, “Gods be praised for you, my love,” he murmured before bending down and pressing a peck atop her lips.
She then turned to her uncle, “we need to rebuild…”
“Ay, lass,” he said “I’ll ordered it done as soon as possible,”
“Thank you,” she said, her voice small but sure, there was a small screech and a sudden noise and Sansa found herself crashed against Aemond’ chest as as sudden one of the hatchlings, as he called them, the one of green and bronze, landed near them.
Her greatuncle unsheathed his sword and took a defensive stance and the direwolves stood on all fours, their thick fur raised growling.
Aemond twisted so that Sansa was nestled under his left arm, her arms wrapped around his middle and his whole body turned so that he was shielding her.
His shoulders were squared and he had taken himself an almost attacking stance on the dragon, the hand free of her outstretched toward it.
He may call them hatchlings but they were already too big for her comfort.
“Lower your blade,” he told her greatuncle, “it would useless against him anyway,” he added.
He studied the dragon, bronze and green of scales, razor sharp claws of black, and the dragon studied him back, then it folded its wings of jade green and started to groom them, its molten bronze eyes fixed on them.
Aemond studied the beast for a moment then relaxed against them, “It’s alright, love,” he told her softly “she’s just curious,”
Sansa frowned, “…curious?” she asked, just as her greatuncle exclaimed “…she!?”
Aemond rolled his eyes and then nodded, gesturing to the dragon, “Ay, it’s a she-dragon,” he told them, “and ay, she’s curious,” he added, giving her a long and purposeful look.
Sansa considered his look, as if he was meaning to tell her something without outright tell her something.
But before she could decipher it, Robb and Jon came barrelling out of the gates, dishevelled and both clearly terrified when they saw the dragon so close.
Vhagar behind them, still half crunched next the wall, turned so that she herself was facing the dragon, if it was needed, yet the moment Jon stepped foot outside the gates the bronze and green she-dragon turned around, her eyes boring into him.
Sansa stiffened even more as Jon looked between the dragoness and Aemond, then Vhagar, and then back to Aemond.
Aemond sighed, slowly let go of her hand, urging her toward her great-uncle, “this could get ugly,” he said “keep your distance,”
Sansa grabbed the hem of his coat, “what about you?” she demanded.
Aemond twisted around, grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips, “Don’t worry about me, I claimed Vhagar at ten,” he reminded her, “a hatchling does not scare me,”
Sansa made a face at that, and Aemond chuckled, “oh but that face might very well send me to an early grave,” he jested “your brother has need of me, he should not have to do this alone,”
Sansa let go of him then, and Aemond walked slowly toward Jon, whose red puffy eyes bore into her blue.
Sansa nodded to him, “Go on,” she mouthed to him, “I believe in you,”
Jon stepped close to Aemond, as Aemond bent close to tell him something and possibly refreshing for him the commands he had taken care to teach him since Bran had told them the truth about Jon, in the hope that this day would come.
Aemond then grabbed his shoulder and nodded purposefully to him, “Remember who you are,” he said, “she has chosen you,”
Jon rolled his shoulders and then approached the beast, the dragon looked at him curiously, with an almost-cat like expression on her serpent-like features.
Then she lowered both her upper paws on the ground, dip among her wings like a fan behind her, jade green and bronze shining in the pale winter sun, “Dohaeris,” Jon mumbled.
The dragoness observed him, so Jon repeated the word, she screeched and Jon took a step back, but it seemed only to strengthen his resolve.
“Dohaeris!” he shouted, the dragoness cocked her head to the side then she lowered her head on his level, Jon, almost as if in trance took off his glove and slowly caressed her snout.
“Good,” Aemond said, “now,” he added, “the true bonding begins,” he told Jon, “you’ll have to help her groom her wings, ever so more now that she has been wounded,” he said, “and you should fashion her a saddle, before your first flight, it made it easier for you,”he then nodded to her, “for both of you,”
“You’ll need to listen,” he instructed, “to learn her moods,” he added “she’s fairly young, big enough for riding, but not yet ready for battle,” he explained “her scales are still soft, especially in the vulnerable points,” he explained, “and she’ll not be able to hold flame for long periods of time, you need to train her for the war to come,”
Jon’ face shifted from wonder to determination, “Now she’s yours to care for,” Aemond told him, “were she older or already in possession of a saddle you ought to have flown her immediately, but since she’s a hatchling we’ll have to do it the slow way,”
Aemond studied Jon, “Usually dragon and rider grew together, and you are further more peculiar because of..”
The dragon screeched and Sansa acted before she could think grabbing Ghost by the scruff of his neck to keep him from jumping at the dragon.
Ghost shifted and shouldered at her but did not once bare his jaws to her.
Aemond turned because of the commotion, of Ghost hurling toward and Sansa trying to keep him still, “…that,” he concluded pointing a finger, “dragons are jealous creatures,” he said “she won’t like it, just as your direwolf doesn’t,”
He sighed, “You’ll need to learn to balance it,” he explained. Jon looked half terrified, half torn.
Aemond patted him on the back, “I will help you,” he promised “as I helped Daeron, and Jaehaera,” he said “you will not be alone, my own wolf will not let it stand,” he added his voice so low that Sansa almost didn’t get it, “now order her to go nestle,”
Jon nodded, rolled his shoulders and stood between direwolf and dragon, “Ilagon,” he commanded the high Valyrian sounding so different from Aemond’, yet the dragoness seemed to understand it.
She harrumphed but then took flight and returned to nestle around the same melted and abandoned tower she had been before she approached them.
The moment she took flight away, Sansa let go of Ghost who tackled Jon to the ground and licked his face and bumped his cheek, “Ay, boy” Jon said, “I am fine,” he promised.
Jon and Aemond spent hours, that very day and night together pouring over schematics for the perfect saddle, and speaking of the training that Jon and the dragoness needed to do together.
By the time they finally retired for the night Sansa was instead rising to care for the keep as its lady in Queen Roslin’ name as she was yet in her confinement during the pregnancy.
She knew how important the organisation was in such a big keep, especially considering that it was holding several monarchs all claiming the same land.
She had to do a second inventory of the stores, had to ensure the hall chosen to host the summit was ready and that all the different people inside of the keep were accounted for.
Robb was beyond himself with worry after Roslin had taken abed for a low fever and difficulty in breathing as well as blood-loss.
He was like a ghost, haunting every chamber, unable to sit still for enough time, he had ignored the Maester’ orders and had barged into Roslin’ confinement room, though perhaps it should have been better had he not, because he had only managed to stress Roslin further, the mother to be seemed to be calm enough as the moment of the birth was imminent, yet Sansa knew Robb wasn’t either as calm or as hopeful.
She had held him for the whole of the early morning, as he cried and prayed that he had not killed her, to get a babe off her.
“Edda should to have been enough,” he had told her and Sansa had been unable to console him.
Now, in the early hours of after noon, he was calmer than he had been in the wee hours of the morning when he had come knocking at her door, but was still in no state to oversee all the preparation needed especially with all the revelations and stress of the last hours.
Sansa needed to push through, she could not let everything fall apart, not now.
The war would end.
She would rest then.
“My lady the king’s betrothed,” Sansa turned around and found herself face to face with Stannis Baratheon.
Once she had prayed for him to take the city, free her of her prisony.
Her father had risked all for his right to the throne.
“Lord Baratheon, good morrow,” she offered with a curtsy, “the rest has not been treating you well?” she pried, “shall I have adjustments made to your chamber..”
“On the contrary, my lady,” Lord Baratheon replied, “I find I am restless,” he said.
Sansa studied him, this ever courteous man who had bent the knee without bloodshed to her betrothed and who seemed to abide to Aemond’ every command down to the very title by which he addressed her.
She was having a hard time reconciling the man her father had chosen to inherit the Iron throne from king Robert, and the man who had, had his wife and queen burned at the stake.
They call me witch, will you burn me as well?, he had made his daughter an orphan and had murdered his own wife because of whispers in his ear about the Lord of Light by the red woman.
“I am sorry to hear that,” she said, “I shall pray that you find peace and quiet soon,” she offered. And perhaps some of her bitterness that they needed such a man to hold the Stormlands bled through in her tone.
Stannis measured her up, “You are not what I expected,” he said, “the flames did not show me you,” he added “and yet here you are,”
“And yet here I am,” she repeated, “does that surprise you?”
“It does,” Stannis replied, “we all respected Ned Stark,” he said “he and his honour, which got him killed,” he added and Sansa felt her hand clench and shake from anger as he went on, “we all came to respect his son, but for the life of me I never once took for certain your survival,” he shrugged, “the Lord sure works mysterious in ways. He kept you alive and brought back the king,”
There was bitterness in his voice, but Sansa disregarded that.
“- but he demanded my wife’ soul” he concluded.
Sansa forced herself to relax, it is but a mourning man, who mourns the woman he had at his side, “I am ignorant of the ways of your Lord,” she said, “and I cannot say I overly care for them. But I pray that wherever she is, she’s now at peace,”
And that you will not be, once you’re laid to rest.
“Now, if you will excuse me,” she said, “I am quite busy at the moment,” she added, she curtsied and then made to walk away.
“I shall pray that He shows you the way as well, my lady” Stannis called after her, Sansa stiffened as she turned around to offer some kind of response.
“Lord Baratheon,” sir Leighton’ voice surprised her for its strength, “I believe the king has need of you, you ought to go to him presently” he stated.
Lord Baratheon nodded and left in a hife, Sansa turned to sir Leighton, “Did he really…”
“Not at all,” sir Leighton offered with a shrug, his hands clasped behind his back as he smirked, “but I am sure the walk to the rockery shall help him clear his head, he sounded like he needed it,”
Sansa almost laughed at that, “and what if it, instead stokes his fury?”
“He is welcome to my blade any time he wishes, my lady,” he told her, “I have been tasked with your protection and I take my duty seriously,”
Sansa considered him, “Or very unseriously,” she said in jest. Sir Leighton looked like she had just complimented his fighting form or anything of the kind, then he gestured with a hand to have her precede him and Sansa was once again quite thankful for his presence.
Jory was with her lady mother and her sister, Dacey, and Sansa had been remiss, she had not summoned sir Leighton who ought to have accompanied her everywhere if Jory was not there, since the keep was bustling with enemies. Yet she had wanted to give sir Leighton all the time he needed to stay with his brother after months apart, Gods knew how much she hadn’t wished to be parted from her brothers upon reuniting again.
When later Aemond found her in one of the halls overseeing the arrangements for the summit, his first question was, “Do any of you know why lord Baratheon seemed intent on speaking with me?”
Sansa couldn’t help but chuckle and sir Leighton looked mighty proud of himself as well, when Sansa recounted her encounter with Stannis to her betrothed beside the earful she received because she had been without escort, she received also a heartfelt, “I will send him away, if you ask it of me. Ban him from your further presence,” he said, “I thought banning the red woman would be enough but I was mistaken,”
“Do not make of it a state affair, leannan,” she said, the endearment slipping easily from her lips, “I am fine and sir Leighton has his own unorthodox methods to keep me safe from their presence,”
Aemond mumbled something in old valyrian for sure some sort of curse, but then bent to kiss her on her forehead.
Sansa leaned into his touch, before someone cleared their throat, Sansa turned around to find herself face to face to a small child, “Yes?” she asked, the girl came closer and Sansa outstretched her hand, the little one pressed the brooch she had seen prince Oberyn wear in her palm.
“The Godswood,” the girl commented.
Sansa looked up at Aemond and saw the decision in his eye, “Thank you little one,” Sansa said, gently patting the girl on the head, “go the to kitchens and tell them I send you, they will give you something to eat,”
“Thank you, Your Grace!” the girl exclaimed before skipping out of the chamber before Sansa could utter the protest and the wrong title being addressed to her.
“I shall visit Shae’ tomb,” she informed the servants so that if someone came looking for her, they would be guided in the wrong direction, “shall you come with, my king? To visit your son?”
“So I shall,”
They had little time so they had to make it look like they were directed to the Banks of the God’s Eye and then take the long way back and find their way to the Godswood. Sansa wore a cloth of blue over her head, to make so that her red hair didn’t stick out too much and wore simple clothes, Aemond donned on a furlined hood to cover his head with.
And by the time they reached the Godswood Jory and Sir Leighton, wearing a similar cloth on their heads as them must have reached the tombs, prince Oberyn was… dancing, for there was no other way that Sansa could describe it, with a knife balanced in his mouth e several dancing in the air and back in his hands.
“Prince Oberyn,” Sansa greeted him, her voice even as she made their presence known to the dornishman, who slowly finished his motion to then drop the knife he had in his mouth and twirl it, instead of sheathing it, though, the prince threw it in their direction.
Sansa paled, wondered if indeed the Spider had already betrayed them, before Aemond’ arm wrapped around her waist, hoisted her across his side as he grabbed the edge of the blade in his bare hand, blood seeping out of the cut palm.
Prince Oberyn offered them a devilish smirk, “You must forgive me,” he said, “but I don’t proper trust men who cannot hold their blades,” he shrugged.
Sansa remembered in that moment that prince Oberyn was knwon as the red vyper also because the man often poisoned his knives and blades, to ensure the death of his opponent.
“I do not poison my knives but in special occasions, princess” prince Oberyn claimed, as if he could read her like an open book, “your dragon prince shall be fine, if he can stomach a small wound,” he added, his tone challenging.
In all reply Aemond twirled the blade across his fingers as she had seen drummers do with their sticks, and with a movement much faster than she could follow and for a moment in almost looked like the knife had disappeared from sight, before Aemond threw it himself, the blade cutting prince Oberyn on the cheek before embedding into the tree trunk behind the dornishman.
Aemond was already suspicious of the dornish because in his time Dorne had still been in open rebellion against Targaryen rule, and because they had finally joined the Seven Kingdoms when the blacks had been on the throne, the knife throwing was just another way as to not make an impression on her betrothed.
“Can you, your highness?” Aemond questioned, his tone even but hissing somehow as low as the wind kissing her cheeks, prince Oberyn seemed surprised by Aemond’ chosen version of reply and raised a hand to his cheek, “You must forgive me,” Aemond said “I was under the impression dornish thought they do not bled, and I do not trust those who do not bleed,”
Prince Oberyn studied him for a long moment and then jutted his chin up, “At last a Targaryen prince who doesn’t mince his words,” he said “I had grown tired of my good brother penchant for somberity,” he commented, “Noble and silver Rhaegar Targaryen, who abandoned his wife and children for another woman,”
Sansa almost flinched, thinking of Jon, who was the fruit of Rhaegar’ eloping with another woman, which had resulted in princess Elia and her children death.
“That was your mistake,” Aemond commented, “the matriarch of the Black line wanted to put her bastards on the throne, had her own husband killed so that she could marry another man and wanted to rob two ladies of their birthright by pushing for her sons to inherit Driftmark. You allied with the wrong Targaryens, and we did ask your support, but you denied it,”
Aemond shrugged, “You reap what you sow,”
Sansa observed the exchange with the utmost surprise, as it was quite clear that her betrothed had chosen to leave diplomacy back inside the keep, prince Oberyn in all reply laughed “And you think you have sown for the Iron throne to be your ripe?” he questioned.
“I fought and died for my brother and king,” Aemond pointed out, “I fought and died for my family, did your Targaryen prince?” he asked.
Prince Oberyn studied him at lenght, “I suppose not,” he said at last “though I cannot unbury him from his tomb and have justice by him,” he commented “unless you’d be willing to share how you defeated death,”
“I am unaware of my death,” Aemond said, “Vhagar and I fell in the Gods Eye and then rose in the sky over the Stark troops, almost two centuries from my death,” he shrugged, “so I cannot offer you that which you seek against Rhaenyra’ blood, but your noble sister waswn’t killed by Rhaegar Targaryen. She was killed by the Mountain, and so were her children,”
“Tywin Lannister, who ordered her death, has already met justice for his crimes,” Sansa offered, “his own blood killed him, and his line ends with the son of the woman he tried to destroy for having married his Imp son,” she said.
“The Mountain is now an anointed guard of Queen Cersei,” she said, “and on him you can have your justice,” she promised “his head shall be delivered to Dorne for his crimes,”
Aemond nodded, “They were the blood of Rhaenyra but they were innocent, like my nephews,” he said, “I would have torn to their assassins with my bare hands could I have, I will not withhold that justice from you and your kin”
Prince Oberyn looked between Sansa and then Aemond and then back at Sansa, “You suffered much, princess, under the hands of Joffrey,”
“I did,” she confirmed “and for that and my father’s unjust death I shall have justice, he will give me justice,”
Oberyn returned to look at Aemond, “I heard you have granted House Stark their independence,” he said, “and taken one of their own for bride,” he said “and that princess Myrcella shall be declared a bastard, with what does Dorne remain then if we help you?”
“You will mantain your status of princedom,” Aemond offered, “you will have justice for the deaths of princess Elia and her children,” he added, “I learn that your brother shall be succeeded by his daughter, House Targaryen shall provide a husband for her, or, a wife for one of princess Arianne’ brothers, in exchange for the rupture of the betrothal between Myrcella and the prince,”
“These are all things Daenerys Targaryen could offer as well, and with two dragons,” Oberyn pointed out, “what can you give us that she can’t?”
“Hatchlings,” Aemond corrected, “and only one, because, prince Oberyn, I can offer the surety of two dragons against one,”
Oberyn frowned, “You have claimed a second dragon?” he questioned unsure.
“My cousin Jon did,” Sansa said, “my aunt Lyanna’ son,” she specified and she saw the moment that truth registered in his mind.
“Rhaegar’ bastard is alive, when my nephew lies six feet under? How is that justice?” he shouted.
“It is not,” Sansa stated, “it is not because the culprits for their death are still alive. Jon bears no guilt for what happened to his half-brother and sister,” she said, “he would not have wished for it, he is kind and brave. He has taken the black, so that our claim to Winterfell could never go challenged and he could still protect the North,” she said, “he has relinquished any right anyone might think to press for the Iron throne, he wishes only to protect the Realm as his duty as Lord Commander, when he learned the truth he was so nauseated by it that he could not eat for days,”
“Do not hold him accountable of his father’s sins. Jon is Lyanna Stark’s son, and when the Great War is done with he shall spend the rest of his life at the Wall as he has vowed to,” she said, “I was raised alongside him, as his half-sister and I can assure you, Jon would have never stole their birthright and he doesn’t mean to stain their memory either,”
Prince Oberyn sighed and brought a hand to his face, “I am of Dorne, princess. We don’t hurt children for the sins of the father’s in Dorne,” he said.
“Good because the guilt lies with Rhaegar Targaryen, king Aerys, Tywin Lannister and the Mountain,” she said “the Mountain still lives, but not for long,” she promised, “House Stark and House Martell have both been wronged by Rhaenyra’ line, king Aemond plans to make amends,” she added, “a child of his blood for your niece or nephew, principality for Dorne, a permanent place in the Small Council for House Martell, two dragons to defend you in case of war,”
Sansa stepped closer, “My aunt and your sister the princess, they are both dead, they both died because of Rhaegar Targaryen, the same man Daenerys Targaryen idolizes enough to have named one of her dragons after him,” she said, “she who styles herself after Aegon the Conqueror and Maegor the Cruel,”
“She who bases her right to the throne on her mad father and dispotic brother,” Sansa said, “she who styles herself Queen of the Rhoynar when she has not gotten your allegiance yet,” she added.
Oberyn considered her, “I had imagined that to be a ploy from lord Hightower, I am proved wrong, colour me surprised, princess,”
“It is not a ploy, prince Oberyn,” Aemond said “Dorne was independent from when I came, and right now you have suffered more than enough at the hands of Rhaenyra’ line, I base not my right on Aerys Targaryen, I base it off my brother, king Aegon second of his name, of House Targaryen and our father before him,” he told him, “and neither of them donned the title of king of the Rhoynar,” he stated, “so neither shall I, unless I have your allegiance,”
“Dorne shall retain its princedom status,” prince Oberyn said, “and a child of yours will be given to Dorne, that is not enough,” he added, “we want Aegon to be recognized as the sixth of his name even if he ruled but the breath he took whilst Aerys died,” he said, “a dornishman shall join your kingsguard as well, and a Martell shall have a permanent seat in your Small Council, the head of the Mountain, and the Iron throne shall lower its taxes on Dorne,” he added, “until the match you promise has not been finalized we’ll pay only one third of the annual taxes and we’ll retain to pay only half of what the other regions pay, or you’ll give us independence as well, and one of my Sand Snakes shall be in your kingsguard and another in your queen to be retinue, so that friendship between Dorne and the Realm shall be fostered,”
Aemond studied him, “This is amenable,” he said “but Kings Landing shall have better commercial conditions and upon the third match struck between House Targaryen and Martell, or a royal match, Dorne shall relinquish to pay up to a seventy of what the other regions pay and fill the rest with goods,” he added.
Oberyn watched him and then slowly but surely raised his arm, he dried the frozen blood from his cheek and then offered his bloody hand, Aemond clasped it in his own cut one, “Our blood is one now,” he said “go back on your word and I will kill you myself, and I’ll ensure it sticks,”
Aemond smirked, “Betray me and I will return the favor tenfold,”
Prince Oberyn nodded, “Then I ought to let you know,” he said “a news that the Spider has gathered from the east. Daenerys Targaryen is barren,” he told them, “some kind of sorcery done in the east by some slave of her husband’ khalaasar, they say she birthed a deformed, half-dragon babe and that, that made her barren, she has taken lovers and a husband since and she never even had a failed pregnancy,” prince Oberyn told them.
They could use this, for those who would support the Targaryens, but would rather support Daenerys over Aemond because of the history between the Blacks and the Greens. If she could not give the Realm a heir in any case the Realm would then pass to Aemond and his line. And if Oberyn knew it was more than probable that House Martell could have been moved by a match alone, but he had milked their treaty for as much as it was worth.
Aemond studied the man, “You shall join my Council,” he said “and you shall be my Master of business, since you are so clever,” he added, “you shall serve me well and serve me long,”
The man smirked and offered a bow, “I am at your service, Your Grace,” he stated, “though there is another favour I’d ask of you, and it is quite personal…”
Aemond arched a brow, and gestured for him to continue, “I’d like to see Vhagar up close,” he said, “it is not everyday that a dragon from ancient ages is returned to our time,” he added, “her sister Meraxes was felled by the dornish, and yet Vhagar whistood all that came her way. She’s legend, and I wish to die knowing I have seen the legend up close,”
Aemond shrugged, “She may not like you, and I will not be responsible for your life if you threaten her in any way,” he said “which one of your daughters shall be a member of my guard?”
“My daughter Elia, Lady Lance they call her, she’s very skilled with both lance and short-blade she’ll serve you well,” he replied, “my daughter Sarella instead would be honoured to join your retinue, princess, she’s a quiet and sweet young woman, she’s a well versed scholar and interpreter, she’ll make a fine addition to your retinue,” he promised her, “they are both bound to arrive in a few days time, if the winds are good,”
And, like that, they had Dorne.
Sansa made note to herself to reward lord Varys for his services, the man wanted no material good, for he was rich enough, what he wished for was for his voice to be heard and Sansa would make sure it was heard. He had spoken of many changes he wished to see to the Realm, for the people not to starve in the streets and for the criminality rate to drop.
Sansa would ensure recovery for the poor and ill were many and well-structured, founded by the royal coffers, if the poverty was at its lowest so would criminality, they would perhaps renovate the City’s Watch, Tyrion had been able to make the criminality rate drop when he had appointed sir Bronn as Commander of the City’s Watch, a criminal ensuring he was the only one to have the riches, it had been a genius move. Sansa needed something even better if she wanted to make the change permanent.
And she would.
If she was to be queen, she’d make them all love her.
Chapter 23: Jon Snow, part 1
Chapter Text
“See here,” Aemond said, pointing at the tail end of the saddle on the schematics, “this is fashioned to let her grow, without hindering the movements,” he explained, “usually, with such a young hatchling, the saddle would be fashioned only for short-rides, not for battle, she’s still too young,” he said, “to actually engage into battle,”
Jon scrunched his face, “Aren’t dragons old enough for battle when they start to breathe fire?” he questioned.
Aemond made a face, clearly annoyed whilst inhaling sharply from the nose and exhaling loudly by the mouth, he pinched the bridge of his nose.
“That is…” he paused, as if he was trying to battle his inner sarcasm, “such a great misconception,”
Jon almost felt the need to clap him on the back and congratulate him on his patience, it was clear that his many questions and apparently misconceptions were wearing down on him, especially with so great concern at the horizon.
“Dragons aren’t mature enough for battle by the time they breath fire,” Aemond told him calmly, he then grabbed one of the tomes he had amassed on the table and then grabbed a piece of paper, ink and quill, easily and quickly drawing a small dragon in a series of growing figures, “Vhagar is just around her prime,” Aemond told him, “she’s old but not as old as the dragons in Old Valyria got,” he explained, “by that standard she is an adult,”
He then pointed on the last figure, the biggest, and yet the one which resembled more a old woman, “but, if we consider the span of lives of the dragons since Valyria fell, she has already surpassed the peak of her prime,” he explained, “as Balerion died approximately at 210 and she’s almost 184,”
Jon listened to him raptly, it was like listening to a book, and Aemond was showing he had loved learning about the dragons and history of any kind.
“Your she-dragon is around here,” he said, pointing instead to the third stage, “at the first stage they are barely new hatchling,” he explained, “they are as big as a small cat, they can emit smoke and articulate their songs and screech, but they cannot breath fire. Around this time, usually, the one for whom they had hatched and or their caretaker ought to feed them personally and spend time with them, often if they were already claimed at birth the future rider would have them on their shoulder everyday and would sleep with them as well,”
Jon nodded, “You missed that step,” Aemond pointed out, “in around two years they reach this stage,” he explained, dragging his finger on the next figure, “they are still as big as cats, but they can start to breath fire though they cannot hold it long enough to do damage unless it’s frequent, it’s around this time that they start to hunt on their own,” he said “even those born in captivity were let roam and hunt, even if overseen by their caretakers,”
“So how old do you think she is?”
“I’d wager no older than eight to ten years of age,” he replied, “judging by her stature and her curiosity,” he said, “they stop being hatchling at twenty years of age, when they are able to hold their fire for almost a quarter of hour,” he explained,
“At war even hatchlings younger than six and ten were used,” he said “though the minimal age may have decreased with Daenerys’ Targaryen, if it’s true that she used the dragons before now,” he explained, “but it is very dangerous, they are faster than older dragons, but they cannot hold their fire as long, their membranes are still too soft,” he said “hence your she-dragon’ wounds; and the scales of their belly is softer too, and between the shoulders and the collarbones as well,” he explained, “that’s because their fire is very hot because they are very young and thus the scales have not yet had time to become stronger,” he explained “the more they use their fire, the softer the scales are,” he said, “thus they are more vulnerable,”
He crossed his arms, “It would be good practice if such a young hatchling has to be used in battle, not to have them breath fire unless it’s necessary,” he said, “instead used their tails and talons and their claws and horns,” he explained “you need to learn in this time all kind of flying acrobatics, and how to use them to weaken your enemy, and any kind of diversive pivots to avoid her getting wounded,”
He made a series of gestures, showing some of the maneuvers Jon would have to learn to command the she-dragon to do.
“They enter their third stage around six years of age,” Aemond explained, “if they are big enough they can start to be ridden, if the rider is very young but only for short spans of time,” he said, “it’s around this time that they differentiate their primary sex and between dragon and wyvern,” he explained.
Jon frowned, “there’s a difference?”
Aemond sighed, so long frustrated and persecuted.
“Wyverns and dragons have a common ancestor, by my researches the old Valyrians had gathered that the wyverns were smaller dragons who found themselves against predators or preys who were impervious to fire, so they developed the ability to spit venom and like a scorpion used their tail to inject the venom in their preys,” he explained, “though there are types of dragons who maintain the two legged feature even if they never develop the venom” he said, “Seasmoke was such. Caraxes instead had venom in his tail but could not spit it,” he told him.
“The problem with wyverns is that if they have venom only in their tail it makes them helpless against older dragons as their scales are hard enough to not be penetrated by the tail unless they manage to hit a softspot like an eye,” Aemond said.
Jon nodded, “alright so she might either be a dragon or wyvern,” he said, “and how long until we can say for certain?”
“It depends from dragon to dragon, though the necessity of battle might force the dragon or wyvern to develop faster than they would and have them differentiate earlier,”
Jon nodded, “alright, so if she’s a wyvern and so young, I doubly need to find a battle-strategy that takes into consideration that,” he said, “and the vulnerabilities she has,”
Aemond nodded, “Ay,” he said “precisely,”
Jon nodded and they lapsed in a long, heavy silence, “I…” he looked down, “I wanted to thank you, you have had no reason to trust that I will not use all of this informations against you, yet you are telling me anyway,”
Aemond considered him, “Sansa loves you, you are her brother and she favors you so, it is mostly due to her that I am trying.. to not let the truth of your birth come between you and me,” he said, “do not make me regret it,”
“I will not,” Jon assured, “I want to know, because I wish to take care of her, because she could be a great asset both in the Great War and the one to come,” he said “but I will not use her against you,” he promised, “Rhaegar Targaryen might have been my sire, but Lord Stark was my Father, and he valued honor above all but blood, and through Sansa you have allegiance both by blood and through honor,”
Aemond nodded, “Good,” he said, before resuming their lesson, “what I’d suggest would be a flight together to cement your bond, but I would dissuade you from flying on her without the saddle securing you to her back especially since she may be annoyed by your bond to the wolf,”
“Is that why I had that attack when she chose me?” Jon questioned.
“Not exactly,” Aemond said, “bear in mind that it has never happened for a dragonrider to have more than one dragon at the same time, and I don’t know how your bond with your wolf works,” he told him, “but by my experience even if there hadn’t been the bond with the wolf she would have forced the bond into action with you mostly because she has been possibly neglected by her Mother since she has her own dragon and yet have commanded her to battle,”
Jon nodded, “The dragons are solitary creatures by nature but their centuries long cooperation with the valyrians have ensured that they now need their rider to be stronger,” he said “hatchlings who are claimed as soon as birth grow faster, stronger and bigger than hatchlings who aren’t,” he explained, “on the top of that, your she-dragon has been wounded in battle so when she felt you close she needed to cling onto something to kick on the healing process and strengthening herself,”
“So her bond was born of desperation,” he said, “which is why she is ill tempered, especially considering how young she is and that you are pretty much ignorant about anything dragon-related,”
Jon nodded, “You were woefully unprepared when she kick-started to bond,” Aemond said, “which coupled with your anxiety at what is to come, made for an explosive reaction. Dragons are intelligent creatures, perhaps more intelligent than we realize, but they are also still beasts, which means that riders run much closer to their animalistic side, that was exploited in you also because of the bond with the wolf,” he explained “you need to learn to control them both, or they will destroy you,”
“What do you suggest?” Jon asked.
“I would recommend you learn as much as you can about dragons, by my understanding your bond with the wolf is fully formed and strong, because you grew and learned together,” he said “the same is not true for the dragon, and she’s the most ill-tempered of the two, you must understand her and her moods and ensure she feels strong in your bond so that she doesn’t perceive the wolf as a threat to her and your wellbeing,” he said, “you ought to avoid all too stressful situations, don’t let your emotions get the best of you, in any circumstance,”
Jon nodded, “And how do I do that?”
“You spend time with her,” Aemond replied, then he pointed at the tomes, “and learning about her and her kind. The faster the saddle is fashioned the best, so you can have your first flight which is the truest and strongest bonding experience,” he explained, “until then don’t be sure about your bond to her. Avoid letting your emotions run wild,”
“Alright,” he said, “but why did you choose such a slender saddle?” he questioned, “I may not be as tall as you are, but won’t that be uncomfortable?”
“Perhaps for long flights, but we need you and her for small and short incursions,” he said, “and whilst she may not yet have differentiated, unlike the other hatchling, she most surely will develop into a wyvern. Wyvern and dragons have different attitude, she was more defensive in battle, and protected her tail and the back of her neck more than she did the rest,” he said, “which suggests that the glands that produce the venom are already forming. Wyverns are more of the sneak-attack type of creatures, because of their smaller, more slender frame, so their fighting and flight strategy reflects that,” he pointed at the saddle, “the handle is there because this way the metal and reinforced leather can protect her primary venom gland, and the back is fashioned so because later, for battle, it shall have a retractable addition that will make her tail even more lethal,”
“The other one acted like a bull, and pressed me head-on, though he is smaller than Vhagar which suggests that he will become a full dragon and not a wyvern”
Jon nodded, “You ought to treat her like you would your favored stallion,” Aemond told him, “help her groom, polish her horns and claws,” he said, “and always bring a snack,”
“Speak to her,” he added, “open up to her, she might not answer but I guarantee she can understand,”
Jon blinked, “and how can you form such a bond with a dragon who already had a rider?” he questioned, “how did you with Vhagar?”
Aemond considered him for a long while, then sat, Jon followed suit and Aemond observed the light of the candle for a long while before replying, “I think a dragon never really forgets its first rider, or a favored one,” he said, “for Vhagar it was Visenya. One way or another all riders she had since Visenya died, embodied her spirit in some way. Laena was bold and stubborn,” he said, “Baelon was brave and a renown warrior,” he shrugged “all qualities Visenya possessed in abundance,”
“And you..?” he asked, “why did she choose you?”
“Spite,” Aemond replied, “by the time I claimed Vhagar I was the only one old enough to have a dragon who did not have one,” he said, “Jace and Luke both had their hatchlings, Aegon had claimed Sunfyre and Helaena Dreamfyre, Daeron had claimed Tessarion,”
He looked in the hearth for a long while, “that made me the odd one out, they made jest of it. They all laughed,” he said, “put two paper wings on a pig and said that would be my dragon,”
He nursed a cup of ale they had previously disregarded, “when lady Laena died, Vhagar was on Driftmark, alone and unclaimed,” he said, “everyone thought Laena’ daughter would claim the dragon, and I had no intention of robbing her of the chance, but my father the king challenged me,” he said, “he asked if I had the backbone to claim one of the unclaimed dragons in the isle,”
He took a sip of his ale, “Out of spite I sneaked out my chamber and approached Vhagar, my father could no longer ignore and humiliate me if I had claimed the biggest dragon of the world. He would have to be proud,”
He looked back at him, “That is what Vhagar saw in me, spite” he said, “pride, and my attitude to be hot-headed and unforgiving,”
“She saw all my flaws,” he said “and choose me for them,”
Jon took a sip out of his own ale, “I’d wager she saw boldness too, no matter how spiteful I doubt I would have approached that big of a dragon,” he stated.
“You never were spiteful then,” Aemond commented.
“Maybe,” Jon conceded, “it was then that you, ah-” he gestured vaguely with a hand to his eye.
“Ay,” he said “the other children weren’t impressed with me claiming Vhagar,” he commented, “I foolishly thought they would accept me, then” he said “I was wrong, they claimed I had stolen Vhagar and that they would make me pay,”
He scratched his temple with a hand, “But I’ve always said, I lost an eye but I got a dragon, the Queen of dragons,” he said “it was a fair trade,”
“No, it was not,” Jon said, “if what you say is right then the dragon claims you back. She cannot be stolen,” he said, “it was a crime,”
Aemond studied him, in silence.
“It wasn’t fair,” Jon said, his tone almost stubborn, “there should not have been a choice,”
“Perhaps,” Aemond conceded, “doesn’t change the truth. Besides, the ink is dry on the past, they are dead and I am here,” he said, “so perhaps it was a fair trade, after all”
Then his expression darkened, “though the price was high, too high”
They spoke no more, not of dragons nor of the past. Jon took the schematics Aemond had given him and left to go to Robb to ask for it to be fashioned, whilst Aemond retired, his eye clearly bothering him.
“king Robb is busy at the moment, Lord Commander,” the servant boy told him, “the queen has taken abed with fever,” he said.
The boy was short, with lusterless brown hair and clear eyes, Jon paled, “I will pray for the Queen,” Jon said, feeling suddenly very egoistical, “I shall seek the king out later today, then”
“You ought to, m’lord,” the boy said, “you look exhausted,”
It sounded so cheeky that Jon almost missed it and, in a blink of an eye, the servant was gone.
“Odd,” Jon considered to himself as he walked back to his chamber, on his way he encountered Sansa who, instead, was starting her day.
“You look tired,” she considered softly, pushing a curl away from his forehead, “you should rest,” she said, “I’ve got the rest under control,”
Jon nodded, “Thank you, Sansa”
Sansa smiled, “You’re welcome,” she said, “oh, and I took the liberty to have some new tunics fashioned for you, yes, they are black and some for dragon riding too,” she told him, “they’ll should be done in a few days,”
Jon smiled at her affectionately “Thank you, little sister,”
Sansa gently pushed him at the shoulder, “Go rest,” she told him, “I have the whole matter under control you should just focus on your new development,”
Jon rolled his eyes, “I was, but I learned about Roslin,” he said, “I was on my way to ask Robb about this saddle and..”
Sansa held out her hand, “Give me here,” she said, gesturing with her hand, “I’ll have this done as soon as possible,” she said, “let’s not bother Robb with this things until the babe is born,”
Jon nodded, “Thank you,”
“Don’t mention it,” she said, “I might just be the fourth in line,” she commented with a smile, “soon to be fifth but I still hold some sway around here,”
She nodded to him and made to leave, Jon grabbed her elbow and stopped her, “You hold much sway, Sansa,” he promised her, “you are important, don’t you forget it,”
Sansa smiled at him, “Uh, so no more don’t tell Sansa?”
Jon flinched, “you knew,” Sansa arched a red brow, “of course you knew. Well, I am no longer a small, insecure boy” he offered, “I now know it’s best to trust you, you are smarter than anyone gives you credit for,”
Sansa smiled, “And don’t you forget it,” she said with a smile.
“Your Highness,” Sansa turned and the boy servant was there once again, “the Maester has the records of the stores ready for you,”
“Thank you,” Sansa turned to him once again, “Go rest, Jon. Do not make me come inside and have to tuck you in bed,” she threatened and Jon chuckled.
“Your impression of Arya is getting better,”
Sansa blinked, “It’s not an impression,” she defended, “I am her sister too, is it so surprising that we may be more similar than expected?”
Jon cursed as his sister excused herself, the boy cocked his head to the side to study him and then turned tail and walked away, slowly.
His rest was fitful and did not restore him, by the time he woke he felt more exhausted than he did when he had retired to sleep.
He went to the balcony, to get a whisk of cold air, the heat was too much now that he was used to the coldness of the Wall and beyond, and almost jumped when he found himself face to face with the she-dragon.
She was, once again grooming her wings, keeping the wounded one tucked close to her side.
“I am sorry girl,” Jon murmured, “that must hurt,” he offered. Before he realized he was doing it he found himself petting her snout, the heat coming off her in waves.
“I broke my arm once,” he told her, “Maester Luwin was afraid I would have never recuperated my full strength, because I was so embarrassed I had fell off my horse that I didn’t tell anyone until Arya noticed,”
“She twisted my ear so badly I had to walk folded on myself,” he commented with a smile on his lips, “she’s got lady Stark’ grip that one,” he commented.
“It was a bummer,” he commented, “but I was lucky the break did not worsen because I kept training with it despite the pain,”
He felt almost stupid, talking to someone who could not talk back, but he realized it was not so different as talking to Ghost, after all.
The she-dragon cocked her head to the side and leaned into his touch, like a cat.
“I am sorry you are hurt, I promise we’ll try to avoid it, in the future,” he said.
The she-dragon studied him with her bronze flecked eyes and Jon had to peculiar sensation that she was really understanding him.
“You’re really gorgeous,” he said, “you gleam like moss and bronze,” he commented.
In all reply the she-dragon, or she wyvern, preened and emitted a low rumbling deep in her chest. The air around her smelled of burned meat and coal, but there was also an hint of something sweeter that he could not place, he was reminded though of one of Maester Luwin lessons that some poisons might have a sweet taste and smell.
Maybe it was another hint that she might differentiate into a wyvern, he was most excited by his discover so much that he stopped petting her, and she sneaked her tail around him, mindful of her spikes.
Jon had a moment of pure panic and she hissed a mute screech suddenly no more rumbling, like a hiss against his cheek, so Jon forced himself to relax, and dragged a hand around her horns.
She seemed to relax instantly, “Gods,” he breathed out, “nobody would believe me,”
In all reply the she-dragon emitted a small, white and green fume and Jon chuckled, “You are a cuddly lady, aren’t you?” he questioned, “my sister Sansa was the same before… before she got too old for it,”
The she-dragon, possibly reacting to the shift in the mood, shrugged so as to wrap herself firmly around him, her talons harpooning on the balcony and making it creak.
“Seven hells, Jon!”
Jon flayed like a child, as the she-dragon wrapped more defensively around him and screeched right next to his left ear, making his ears ring.
“Lykiri,” Jon called trying to soothe her sudden rage, when finally she was under control and the ringing had subsided he turned toward Robb, “May the Gods send you sliding on the ice, Robb!” he exclaimed, “I could have died,”
“You..!” Robb exclaimed in reply “I could have died!” he shouted.
“Quiet!” Jon hissed. For some reason every time he was with Robb he reverted back to his teen self, even though he was a man grown, the Lord Commander and a battle tested brother of the Nights Watch, “she just calmed down,”
He patted her neck and in all reply she coiled even closer around him, harrumphing.
Jon disentangled himself from the she-dragon, and commanded softly “Sovas,” the she-dragon fixed him with a glare that rivaled lady Stark’s but then obeyed, flying back to the tower she had chosen to nestle around.
“Hells, that’s so odd,” Robb muttered, “Snow, I don’t think I will ever grow used to it,”
Jon adjusted his tunic, “Ay, me neither, Stark” he commented as he watched her fly away, “I heard about Roslin,” he said.
“Aye,” Robb replied, “the Maester says it can happen and that she seems as healthy as possible,” he said, “doesn’t stop me from worrying though,”
Jon nodded, “I suppose not,” he offered, “did you manage to speak with her?”
“Ay, she was wroth with me,” he said with a smile, “said the babe must have taken after my big head, which is giving her grief,” he muttered, “which in turns makes Edda a nightmare,”
Jon chuckled, “What did Father used to say?” he questioned.
“War is easier than daughters,” he said with a smile, “Good Gods, war is easier than women,”
Jon chuckled, “Indeed,” he agreed, “or she-dragons,”
To keep himself busy Robb asked him all Jon had learned during his lesson with Aemond, and Jon was happy sharing such things with him.
By the time they left Jon’s chamber it was time for them to take the midday meal which they spent listening to Sansa plan for the summit.
Almost everyone was here, lady Olenna had come from the capital to oversee as the matriarch of House Tyrell; Lord Hightower had taken his place beside Aemond as his Lord Hand of the King and House Tully was present; even lady Genna Lannister had been invited and had reached them.
Daenerys Targaryen was living like a recluse, with only the members of her party, whom she had not introduced to anyone, or with her Dothraki.
Jon was worried about how she would react about him claiming the she-dragon, Aemond had lost an eye when he had claimed Vhagar.
Would Jon suffer the same fate?
He was actually surprised that word had not yet gotten out of what had transpired between Jon and the she-dragon before now, though perhaps, since Aemond rode a dragon they might think he was trying to do something to the other dragon, before thinking Jon actually had bonded to her.
Aemond had told him not to hide, because the she-dragon would feel his hesitance and that could lead to problems.
But how could Jon parade around proud that the man who had sired him had abducted his mother, raped her and then had sited a child off her, a bastard who had taken her life as he had been born.
That was not something Jon could be proud of, not even act he was proud of. He was horrified, if it was not imperative to have every men, every asset they could, Jon would not have approached the she-dragon, but they needed her.
It made him feel as dirty as lying to Ygritte had felt.
“You were always right about me,” Jon remembered having told the wildling that day, spite coating his tone. I was never a turn cloak and I will never be a Stark nor a Targaryen, but Jon could die as a Stark, defending the North from the Enemy even if it meant embracing his Valyrian ancestry in the meantime.
Aemond had told him Jon perhaps had never actually felt that spite, but Jon had and it had been the only thing that had ensured he could escape.
I will look in those eyes and drown.
Jon felt like drowning now.
“My Lord,” Jon turned around and smiled when he saw Grenn swinging his short blade around, “care for a spar?”
Jon was grateful for Grenn, whilst Satin was busy drafting the papers Jon had asked him to, and be generally awed by Sansa, Grenn had mostly kept to himself, in the corner never really away but not suffocating him.
When Jon had told him the truth Grenn had laughed and told him that that might be why he had been such a prick when they first met, he was the get of kings. And that had been that.
Grenn had been as accepting as Jon had not felt; for some reason, Sansa and Robb, even though they kept repeating he was their brother felt like they felt the need to say that to make him feel like nothing had changed but it had changed.
He could feel it in the shift of their dynamic. Robb had been Jon’s twin and yet he said he didn’t know if he could ever get used to Jon being bonded to the she-dragon, it felt to Jon as if they were ignoring wilfully the truth, as if it didn’t matter.
But it did.
It mattered.
Grenn didn’t hide from it, didn’t treat him differently, to him Jon had always been a noble born bastard who had joined the Watch and who was now his sworn brother, that didn’t change just because Jon had a father instead of another.
Jon smirked, “if you care to find yourself with your butt on the ground,” he jested, as he prepared.
Grenn had learned much about proper sword-fighting from him, and now he offered some challenge even if Jon was much better than him.
Grenn managed, here and there, to lay some good hits, like when he hit him with the hilt of the sword in the chin, making him stumble back.
Jon took that as a challenge, because he smirked despite his bloody teeth and attacked with ardor he had not had before, he did no longer pull his hits, he let his impetus show Grenn what it really meant to spar with a swordsman.
It was like he was single-mindedly focused on destroying his opponent, even though it was just a friendly spar, and yet Jon did not care.
The dead won’t care, he told himself, I’ve been letting them off too easily.
Of sudden Grenn was no longer Grenn, he was but an enemy to be destroyed. A weakling.
Grenn stumbled two steps back, his mouth was moving but Jon was not listening, Jon was not hearing, the pump of his blood in his ears making him deaf to anything but his heartbeat.
Grenn fell on the ground, and rose his sword to defend his weakened form, but Jon knocked it out of his hand, ready for the last strike.
Does he deserve to live if he is so weak he cannot hold his own against an enemy who tires?
A dark part of his mind questioned.
“Jon!”
“My lady!”
“Your highness!”
“No!”
Suddenly someone was standing between him and Grenn, red hair against the stark gray of the sky, black and blue woven around her like a cloud.
“Jon, enough!” Sansa’ voice was small, and it reached his ears as if he had been underwater, but Jon could not shake the feeling of upbeat energy in his body. His rage. Thought she looked like she was shouting. Her arms open to shield Grenn from his sight.
Sansa, he thought mindlessly, your sister is asking you to stop.
And yet his arm was moving anyway. Not her, not her. I don’t want to do…
“Sansa!”
He recognized that voice, it was Aemond, and it was filled with terror, even though Sansa’ didn’t move an inch even with his arm slowly coming down on her.
He fought.
He fought so hard.
And yet his hand kept moving.
Not Sansa, memories flashed behind his closed eyelids.
The babe, so small and fragile, in her crib, a whisk of red hair atop her head, and big blue eyes that always seemed so tired. Robb had been let hold the babe, not Jon.
Lady Stark had kept the babe for herself. Jon had been introduced to little Sansa as Lord Stark bent down on his knee and showed them the newborn babe. She had been so quiet.
Her small hand curling around the finger he had not even realized he had outstretched.
“Seven hells, Jon!” the voice snapped him out of whatever had happened, he blinked away the tears, and he realized that his arm was shaking, as he held it high above everyone, it did not move, he realized with a shaky breath.
Standing between him and Sansa, and further through Grenn, was the servant boy that had sent him back to bed that early morning.
His expression so very cross that Jon had to frow, the boy was holding a long, slim blade in his hand, his hold secure.
Aemond, who had been sprinting from the other side of the courtyard came barrelling between all of them, grabbing Sansa by her elbow and hoisting her across his chest, his body positioned to shield her.
His good eye dark and unrelenting, unforgiving.
What did she see in you?
Spite.
“- what in the seven hells is wrong with you!” the boy demanded, his voice shrill, and Jon’ suddenly felt as if he had no more strength, and Long Claw scattered to the ground as he panted and bent down to vomit.
As he heaved empty breathes he finally had the strength to look back up and as he blinked away the tears, he followed the length of the slim blade the boy was holding.
His eyes searched his face, and suddenly the boy smirked, he raised his hand to his face and, like it was taking off a mask, his face suddenly changed.
Arya Stark, with grey eyes and her long, solemn Stark face stared right back at him, “Seven hells, Jon,” she said.
“Arya?!” Sansa exclaimed, grabbing the - one moment ago - boy and turning her around to look at her.
Arya’ grin must have been all teeth, Jon heard it in her voice, “I am a bit confused, how must I call you now? Is it Your Highness or lady Honeywine or lady betrothed?” she questioned, “I cannot really wrap my head around it, I always was terrible at it, you know”
Sansa let out a sobbing laugh before grabbing Arya and crash her against her, her hands clutching at her back.
“You stupid little dancer,” Sansa muttered, her eyes filled with tears, but all Jon could see was how scared she had looked before; and Aemond’ eye was accusingly staring into him.
By the time Arya turned around to greet him, Jon bolted.
He ran, he ran without thinking. Without knowing where he was going. Running until her was out of breath.
“Jon!”
“Jon!”
His sisters called, but Jon did not stop, he ran away. No thoughts but tho get away, get away from here, get away from this all.
You can run from them boy, the voice of Thorne echoed in his mind, but you can’t run from yourself, lady Stark has always been right. Embrace it, bastard.
Jon ran, and ran, and ran, until he found himself covered in sweat and rain, his eyes red and puffy and his chest heaving.
Until his soles met the banks of the Gods Eye, the two tombstones standing like eerie reminders of the truth, the truth he could not escape.
His mother had been abducted, raped and he had killed her by being born. He tried to scream but he felt as if his head was underwater.
The tombstones were a masterful act of craft, with the dragon and the wolves curled around them to protect those entombed.
He remembered his mother’ statue in Winterfell and in the crypts. You do not belong here, you aren’t a Stark.
He fell on his knees there, tears streaming down his cheeks. He had told Aemond he was Ned Stark’s son and he wanted to be, but hadn’t he today been threatened with his inability, his lack of control, both of Ned Stark’ little girls?
Ghost wrapped around him, suddenly at his side, like a cloak. Keeping him warm, and making him fell less alone, if not less of a stranger in his own skin.
“You’re here,” Arya’ voice made him stiffen, from where he was sat with his knees against his chest, “Sansa is going out of her mind,” she said.
And Jon felt the tears flow more freely down his cheeks. He loved his siblings, more than life itself, and yet today he could not stop, “she’s concerned for you,”
“I almost killed her,” Jon muttered, looking away, in that moment not even the novelty of Arya’ arrival, theatrical that it had been, could shake him from his self-doom.
“No you didn’t,” Arya replied, plopping down on the wet ground besides him, “you could never hurt any of us, let alone Sansa,” she said.
Jon didn’t even look her in the eyes. Ghost lowered his massive head on his shoulder, heaving him further down.
“She trusted me to stop, that’s why she came in between,” Jon said, lowering his head further, “she trusted me not to harm her, and yet..”
“And you did not harm her, honestly,” she said, “I jumped in because I was too anxious, you had already stopped,” Jon turned and Arya was tugging at the grass, her eyes fixed on the waters of the Gods Eye, “had you just opened your eyes,” she said, her tone teasing, “you would have seen you had already stopped,”
She rolled her eyes, “You are such a drama queen,” she said, “and I thought Sansa was bad, Gods how did I miss how much of a dramatic fool you were?”
Arya shrugged, “I would have not stepped in if not for her betrothed,” she claimed, “he looked like he was contemplating murder. Admitted so too,”
Jon shrunk in his own skin, “And he would be right,” he said, “what use am I, if I can’t control it?”
Arya rolled her eyes once again, “Ay,” she commented, “ask Sansa that,” she said, “I could not utter word before she was already giving him the dressing down on the century,” she offered, “would have come with me if Roslin’ labor hadn’t started,”
Jon blinked and look at his sister, truly looked. He even pushed Ghost’ head away from his shoulder to look at her.
She looked different and yet the same.
Familiar in a way that nagged at his mind.
“You’ve grown,” he said. Pushing down the gulp in his throat when he realized she resembled his mother’ statue in the crypts.
You do not belong here, boy.
Arya smiled, “I remember you were taller,” she teased him, “now you’re just broodier,” she offered.
It was then that Jon’ gaze befell on Needle again, “You still have that,”
“Would have not parted from it on your life,” Arya replied, her gray eyes twinkling, “it served me well in my voyages,”
Jon studied her, “Where were you, Arya? Why didn’t you come to Robb?” he questioned.
Arya shrugged, “I met a man,” she said, “whilst I was on my way to Robb and Mother. I saved him and… he took me to Braavos,” she recounted, “I learned many things there, I wanted to be able to help Robb when I returned, and now I am”
Jon gestured to his face, “Like that… thing you did before?”
Arya’ face became unreadable then, “It’s the game of faces,” she said, “how many things one can learn, wearing the right face,” she commented.
Jon didn’t truly know what to say to that, then, and Arya all of sudden whipped her head around to look at him and for a moment Jon could not recognize the girl before him then. Then Arya’ façade broke and she started laughing, Jon followed suit feeling like the ground had shifted beneath him.
“And…” Jon said “what did you learn with that face?”
Arya shrugged as she tugged at some more grass, “Many things,” she said, letting the unsaid hang in the air, “you are my brother,” she said at last, “not my cousin or my half-brother, you are my brother. No matter which name you bear”
It was so… honest, so heartfelt that for a moment Jon did not even breathe.
“I missed you, little sister,” he told her softly.
Arya smiled, “And I missed you,” then she stood up and offered him her hand, “I already missed so much and so did you, we are not missing our new little Stark’ birth,” she told him.
Jon looked down, “I am not a Stark,”
“Though luck then,” Arya commented, grabbing him by the arm and hoisting him up with a strength Jon had not expected from her, “you’re coming with anyway,”
There was flapping of wings above and a shadow passed above them, Arya was still and stiff like a wolf ready to attack, but Jon could feel her.
He watched as the she-dragon pivoted around them and then screeched, he tried to imprint into her mind that she should not land, as she had possibly gone to hunt, but she did not listen to his silent command, and instead landed just before them, folding her wings across her body and cocking her head to the side to study him.
“Seven hells!” Arya exclaimed, “it’s massive!”
Jon rolled his eyes, “she’s still a hatchling,” he said.
As he had supposed Arya’ eyes gleamed in excitement, “it’s a she dragon!” she exclaimed, her smile bigger than he had expected as Ghost started growling.
Jon grabbed him by the scruff of his fur, his hands carding in his fur, “Ghost,” he commanded, “stay”
When Ghost, albeit still on the defensive, stopped growling he turned to Arya again.
“She’s, yes” he said, “and she’s quite the spitfire,” he added, “it’s her…”
“Her rage that you feel, I know,” she said, Jon frowned and she gestured to her face, “learned a great deal of things, remember?”
“Sovas,” he commanded of the she-dragon, “dohaeris. Sovas,” he repeated several times, before she actually listened.
“That’s terrific,” Arya said, “and we should totally spar,” she commented, “but before, we need to return to the keep, I’ve brought your horse,”
By the time they reached the keep once again, the night had fallen, and the keep was bustling, both with word of what had happened in the training yard and with the news of Queen Roslin’ having been taken to the birthing bed.
Aemond intercepted them before they reached the antechamber where Robb was waiting with his immediate next of kin and court.
On the way they had passed sir Leighton on his knees, as he stood penitence possibly to not act fast enough, even if nothing had come from it.
Aemond grabbed him by the collar of his tunic, “There will not be a next time,” he promised, his voice ominous, “what in the seven hells were you thinking?, exerting yourself so much and letting your blood run high with the rush of battle?”
Jon casted his eyes down, “I am sorry,”
“Today you can say you are sorry,” Aemond hissed, “next time I’ll make sure you are,”
Then he let him go with a shove, Jon noticed only that way that Arya’ hand was curled around a knife, though her expression would betray no malicious intent.
He grabbed her by the elbow and tugged her back discreetly, and then nodded, “You are right, if she had gotten hurt I would have been deviated,” he admitted, “forgive me,”
“Forgiveness is not mine to give,” Aemond said, “it’s hers and she dollies it out like she is untouchable, so I will ensure she is,”
Jon nodded, “Thank you,” he said, Aemond nodded back and Jon saw Arya relax her hold on the knife.
Just then though the cry of the babe cleaved through the heavy air, and Jon sprinted toward the antechamber.
By the time he was there, Robb was already gone inside. But Sansa was there, dragging her hands on a white apron she had been wearing to help with the birth, her hair held into a bun and a cloth.
As soon as she saw him Sansa’ eyes brightened, “You found him”
“I did,” replied Arya, “you were right he was brooding,”
Sansa nodded and came closer to him, then she took his hand and squeezed, “I am glad you are back,” she told him softly “how do you feel?”
“I..?” Jon questioned, “how do you feel?”
“Like I just helped during a birth,” she replied, “I was never scared of you,” she said, then she met Aemond’ eye, a challenge in her orbs, Aemond met her with the same fervor.
“My brother means to ask you to be godsfather,” she said softly.
“I’d be honoured,” he nodded.
There was still tension but it looked like it was dissipating. Sansa stepped closer, “Have you returned to yourself?” she demanded in a whisper.
“I never departed from myself,” Aemond replied, “we cleared the air,” he added, gesturing to Jon.
Jon nodded, “Do not be cross with him, he had warned me. I did not listen and you almost got hurt,” he said, “my remorse doesn’t change that fact,”
“Nothing happened,” Sansa protested.
“But it could have,” he replied, “I was warned but I did not think. I am sorry, Sansa”
Sansa squeezed his hand again, “There is nothing to forgive,” she had enough time to say, before Robb returned from inside the chamber. He was cradling a small babe, wrapped into a Stark’ cloth with a whisp of red hair peeking from the hem of the cloth.
“Meet my son,” he said proudly, then looked at him, “Prince Jon Stark. Second in line to the northern throne after the Princess of Winterfell, the Duke of Moat Cailin,” he announced, thus confirming Edda’ position as his primary heir.
Jon had scarcely time to breath, realizing the importance of Robb naming his son after him, the declaration that Jon was still his brother, no matter what, that when Sansa, who walked by Robb’ side and peeked inside to collected another babe almost passed unnoticed, until Robb smiled down at his other child, “And,” he said, “this is his younger sister, princess Bethany of the Wolfswood,” he stated.
Sansa took little Bethany Stark’ hand around her finger and cooed down the babe.
The lords reunited there, started to clap and hail, and Aemond looked for the split of a moment as if he was heartbroken, before Robb approached them, followed by Sansa.
Robb smiled and delivered the babe in his arms, “There you go, uncle Jon with weeJon,” he stated and Jon for a moment was completely silent, the weight of the small babe in his arms enough to ground him against any wind.
“Hello, little one,”
And the world for some reason had sense again, even as Jon turned around and meet Aemond’ eyes just as he picked little Beth from Sansa’ arms, “I am to be her godsmother,” Sansa told him, “and you too Arya,” she added “we shall share this duty”
There were wars coming, and yet Jon was content, could he remain in this moment for ever.
Prince Jon Stark and Princess Bethany Stark were born in the sixth moon of winter.
King Aemond served as Prince Jon’ godsfather and soon to be Queen Sansa served as Princess Bethany’ godsmother, together with her sister, the Princess Arya Stark.
In the day that the brave princess stood between blade and man and dragon and dragon wolf, forcing them both to peace.
“My bite is as dangerous as your fire, my love,” the brave princess said, “and much quicker,”
Chapter 24: Jon Snow, part 2
Chapter Text
Jon Snow, part 2
He watched in silence as the door to Roslin’ chamber opened and Sansa exited it, slowly unbinding the bloody apron from her hips and gently fondling it before entrusting it to a servant, together with the cloth she had wrapped around her head.
“Thank you, Myrta,” she offered quietly as another maid led her to a basin with clean water to clean her hands, Sansa stood scrubbing at her hands as the weeJon nursed at their wet nurse.
Robb was cradling little Bethany whilst Edda sat tucked in his side cooing at the babe. It reminded Jon of when Arya had been born, Robb and Jon were older then, old enough to know how important that moment could be. Lady Stark was yet resting from the grevious birth, and Lord Stark was sitting the same way Robb was now, with baby Arya cradled into his arms and Sansa tucked in his side, small, smaller than Edda was now. Lord Stark had benoked them both closer then, and Robb and Jon had sat around him and the girls.
Jon had been let hold Arya, which he had not been let with Sansa and it had been small Sansa indeed who had made it possible at the time. Lord Stark had given her the babe, after Robb had cradled her and agitated her a bit, Sansa was small and her arms had grown tired soon, but instead of delivering the babe back to her Lord Father, Sansa had delivered baby Arya into his arms.
In her mind at the time there was no difference between her brothers, two and half years old Sansa had just looked at Jon and had known he had wished to hold the babe.
It was something that had happened again when Bran had been born; Sansa under the guise of freeing her hands to keep Arya under control, had delivered baby Bran in his arms.
By the time Rickon was born Jon had come to expect it from her, and Sansa had not disappointed him.
It was perhaps the small act of rebellion she had always made, in silence, for him. Even if she always called him nothing but half-brother when they were together.
To Jon it had meant much more than he had ever told him, just like Robb naming his son Jon.
Aemond stood up as Sansa scrubbed her hands clean and offered her the clean, folded cloth the maids had left there for her to dry her hands.
Sansa took it gingerly, their fingers grazing, “Thank you,” she told him softly and Jon was glad that whatever fight they had because of him was on the mend.
“I know,” Aemond murmured to her, low enough that Jon knew it was supposed to be private, still he couldn’t help but overhear.
Jon didn’t know what exactly he knew, but it seemed like Sansa was perfectly aware of what he was speaking about, she gave him a small, timid smile, “Good,” she said, “and don’t you forget it,”
“I will not,” Aemond promised as he took Sansa’ hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it, “you must be tired love, you helped two lives in the world today,”
Sansa rolled her eyes, but fondness was in tone as she spoke next, “I did next to nothing,” she said, “the midwives helped Roslin do the most of it, I was barely of any help”
“Don’t sell yourself short, Sansa,” Robb interjected, “Roslin said you have been tremendous help,”
“She’s too kind,” Sansa commented as she let Aemond guide her to one of the chairs.
In the beginning Jon had been suspicious of the Targaryen, but over the weeks he had learned to see a tender side of the man which he reserved for Sansa alone, and his fierceness in defending Sansa even against those who loved her, warmed his heart.
His sister would be safe with him.
“I’ve seen her in the last few days,” Robb confirmed, “I love my wife, but she was not kind in these last days of the pregnancy,”
Sansa rolled her eyes, “She has not been unkind,” she offered, “she brought two lives into the world today. That is not easy feat, it is indeed quite taxing,”
Robb smiled looking down at his little Beth, whereas Edda had inherited the Stark coloring, both Jon and Bethany had inherited the Tully red, though especially in Jon’ there seemed to veer more on the golden-red than Tully red, perhaps a good mix between the mother and father’s colouring.
“Seven hells it is not,” Arya proclaimed, “I remember Bran and Rickon’ births, and Mother was exhausted, imagine birthing two babes,” she made a face and Jon was so reminded of her younger self that Jon could not help but smile.
“Arya!” Sansa exclaimed, “mind your language, there are little ears present and you are a lady,”
“No I am not,” Arya replied crossing her arms with a shit-eating grin on her thin lips, “I am a princess!”
Sansa rolled her eyes and swatted her on the arm, “Then sit straight, not so slounched,” she said, but her tone was so full of fondness that Jon wondered if that had always been the dynamic but both Arya and Sansa had been too young to understand each other, “your royal highness,” she jested.
“You’re as annoying as you always were,” Arya protested.
Sansa smiled, “Just as you are,” she said, “and very strange too,” she offered.
Arya shrugged, but did not raise to the bait, just as weeJon finished nursing, and was delivered back into Sansa’ waiting arms, “Hello, sweetheart,” she cooed, gently booping the babe on the nose, “you’re very handsome,”
Aemond at her side harrumphed, but his face softened, Sansa smiled tucking the babe in her arms so that Aemond could peek at him.
Sansa pointed with hand, “See, that is your namesake, uncle Jon, he is very brave and the Lord Commander of the Nights Watch,” then she pointed to Arya, “that is your auntie Arya, don’t let her drag you into some unseeming adventure, she’s known to do that,”
In all reply Arya stuck out her tongue as if they were still nine and eleven and not two young women.
“Back at home there’s grandmother Catelyn and uncle Rickon, and back in Casterly Rock there’s uncle Brandon,” she went on, “and this here,” she said, literally delivering the babe into Aemond’ arms “is your good-uncle and godsfather, Aemond Targaryen,” she leaned closer to the babe and whispered something that made Aemond chuckle under his breath.
“Let’s hope none of your children inherit their aunt’s penchant to antagonize people bigger and meaner than her,” Aemond jested, looking at Robb, “or you’ll have your hands full,”
Robb smiled, “we were a chaotic bunch as children,” he said, “I hope to fill Winterfell, as full as it was before all of this happened,”
Sansa smiled softly “Ay,” she said, “little Edda, weeJon and little Beth will be the darlings of the North,”
Aemond smiled down at her, and when weeJon groaned, his voice little but powerful, before he begun to wail, to Jon’s surprise Aemond easily handled the babe, swapping his position in his arms and gently rocking him as he patted his little bum.
The babe relaxed almost immediately and it was clear to his eyes that Aemond was comfortable with babes even so little.
Sansa’ eyes were as bright as stars as she observed the scene, “I never could get this little munchkin to settle so quick,” Robb said, caressing Edda’ head, “you need to teach me that,”
“My niece, Jaehaera,” Aemond said, a hint of sadness in his voice, “was a sweet little girl, but she was also very opinionated for a babe. My sister Helaena always had trouble with her, but she settled like a tired kitten if we held her this way,”
Oh, Jon realized, right.
Aemond had been an uncle to young children, children who had been mercilessly murdered.
Unsurprisingly his mind ran to Princess Elia’ children.
The siblings he had never got to meet, and their horrid fate.
A fate that only chance and his uncle’ sacrifice had spared him.
“Heard that, sweetheart?” Sansa cooed to the babe, who even tried to rise his small head in her direction, Sansa chuckled and brought her hand at the back of his head to support him, just as Aemond was doing.
“Gods Sansa,” Arya muttered, “you’re such a mother,” but there was no real heat in her voice.
Sansa smiled up at their sister, “One day,” she said, “one day I will,”
A smile caught at the corner of Aemond’ lips, Sansa quirked a brow in reply as if they were privy to a jest only theirs. Which they probably were.
The nurse came to take the babes then, and they were once again all alone, Robb adjusted his tunic and then turned to Arya, his eyes filled with happiness, “So, little sister, why don’t you tell us what happened to you since…” his voice broke.
“I was with my dancing teacher,” Arya said, “when they came,”
“You..?” Robb questioned, looking between Arya and Sansa, his voice bleeding with disbelief “dancing?”
Sansa shrugged, “I was as surprised as you were, but Father talked her to it, though she was so clumsy… she always returned covered in bruises,”
“Water dancing,” Arya specified then with a grin, “it is a special kind of fencing style, Syrio Forell the best swordsman of Braavos was my teacher,”
She turned to Jon, “Father said that if I were to possess a sword I should have known how to use it,” she said.
Jon smiled.
“Stick them with the pointy end,” he said and Arya nodded, “stick them with the pointy end,”
“That would explain it,” Sansa summarized, “she was learning fencing,” she rolled her eyes up and Jon could see the hint of tears in her eyes.
Arya grinned and Sansa, despite the wetness behind her orbs smiled down at her as well.
Jon racked his mind, trying to understand why that would make her teary-eyed.
Aemond seemed to be on his same wavelength because he studied Sansa, “it’s nothing,” she mouthed to him.
But Robb, bless Robb for his memory, “Ah,” he said “so you were fencing whilst Sansa was having her harp lessons, which was why you got separated,”
Sansa looked away, “Ay,” she said “something like that, I was with Septa Mordane,”
Arya looked down, and Jon could read in her face that she knew precisely why Sansa had been moved near to tears.
“So, Syrio helped me escape,” she went on, “Not today,” she said as if it was some kind of prayer, “it is the only prayer we have for the God of the Death. Not today”
“I ran,” she said, “I was almost captured once,” she added “but Needle saved me. I was there, when Father was executed,” she said, “Yoren of the Nights Watch found me, cut my hair and told me my name was Arry and then I left the capital with the recruits of the Nights Watch,” she reported.
“I voyaged with them, for a while,” she said, “but then that sick fuck of Joffrey sent his men after my friend,” she told them, “almost everyone was killed and I was imprisoned here,” she said, “in that time I served as Tywin cupbearer,” she told them.
“Tywin Lannister?” Sansa questioned.
Arya shrugged, “Yes,” then she looked at her sister, “they say you killed him, did you?”
“I wish I had,” Sansa replied truthfully, “but no, I framed him to weaken House Lannister, I did not expect Joffrey to poison him in open court,” she played with her hands, “but he did, just before I managed to escape,”
Arya nodded, “He was awful, clever and commanding, but awful” she said, “I am glad he is dead,” she added, “I had saved a man’ life, and it turned out he was Braavoosi, he took me with him and I became an acolyte of the House of Black and White,” she told them quickly, Jon was sure she was glossing over many details, “Valar morghulis,”
“Valar dohaeris,” Sansa and Aemond replied almost in a blink of an eye, and Arya studied them.
Aemond studied her in return, and Jon felt the tension rise, Sansa shifted her gaze from her betrothed and their sister and Jon felt the urge to put himself between the man and Arya.
Arya then smirked, “At least you’ll know what is coming for you if you hurt her,” she said at last, as if that would break the tension, “and you will not see me coming,”
“Arya!” Sansa exclaimed in outrage.
“Just saying,” she said on the defensive, “told you I was practicing in case it was needed to kill the prince,” she commented, mimicking a stabby motion.
“That was Joffrey,” Sansa protested, “and because of what had happened in the Riverlands,”
“Same thing,” Arya shrugged, “actually if you had not demanded peace and truce, Joff and Cersei would be already down,” she crossed her arms, “you always spoil my fun,”
“Anyway,” she added, clapping her hands, “I stayed in Braavos until a few months back,” she said, “then I returned home,”
“And they just let you?” Aemond questioned.
“I didn’t ask for permission,” Arya replied, her tone even, low and dangerous as well.
Aemond considered for a long minute then nodded, and apparently let the matter drop.
Robb looked at him, “What am I missing here?” he mouthed to him and Jon shrugged signaling he didn’t know either.
“Nothing,” Arya said, “nothing no one would want you to know anyway,”
Robb made a face, as if to say that that did not sound quite right but then they received their supper and fell back into a comfortable conversation about childhood, remembering the time everything had been simpler.
“We should have never left Winterfell,” Jon commented, “everything went to shite after that,”
Robb nodded, “but now we are outside Winterfell,” he said, “and since they call us wolves, wolves is what they’ll get,”
He shrugged, “I offered them terms and they refused them, now we’ll litter the south with their corpses,” he said, “I did promise,” he shrugged.
“Lord Lannister,” Sansa said, “has bent the knee and sworn allegiance to Aemond,” she added, “this also frees me from any vow to Tyrion by default as lady Tysha, she refused to be called lady Lannister, is still his lawful wife,” she said.
“This means,” Aemond told them, grabbing her hand from her lap and intertwining their fingers, “that we can proceed with the marriage,” he said.
Robb nodded, “we were thinking of saying the vows here,” she said, “before the summit,” she added, “so that in that occasion everyone will be forced to be aware of it and its legitimacy,”
“It makes sense,” Robb said, “the papers are already drawn and we just need to sign them,” he added, “I’ve set aside some lands for you near Riverrun,” he said, “which will serve as confine between the North and the Six Kingdoms,”
“Sansa will be awarded a northern and riverlanders household,” he said, “the title of Lady of the First Men remains her to hand down to any of her children as they’ll have the blood of First Men,” he added, “House Stark will pledge its alliance, whatever war you’ll face the North will be at your back,” he said, “and you’ll keep to send southerners to mann the Wall,” he said, “we ask the same of you,”
“House Targaryen will honor your alliance,” Aemond said purposefully, “if the Enemy to the North pass the Wall the entire Realm will be in peril. House Stark and House Targaryen united will defeat that enemy and launch a new golden age,” he added, “one they’ll remember for centuries”
Robb nodded and stood up, offering him his arm, Aemond followed suit, and Sansa stood up as well, her hands collected before herself and Jon watched as Aemond and Robb clasped arms.
“I once entrusted my sister to a golden prince,” Robb said, “we rose hell to avenge what was done to her and our Lord father, know the same applies to you. Love her and love her well,”
Aemond nodded, “I am no Joffrey Baratheon,” he said, “your sister shall be safe with me, and the Realm shall be better off for it,”
Sansa smiled and walked to stand between them at their side, and put her hand above their clasped hands.
Jon observed the scene and realized this was the kind of stuff that, silently, made history.
And Sansa was to be the bridge between the newly established Realm of the North and the Six kingdoms.
“The Realm shall know peace after almost half a century of wars,” she said, her blue eyes sparkling, “and it will because of this,” she added, “because we’ve chosen the path of alliance instead of the path of war,”
“Look at her,” Arya breathed out in a mutter, Jon frowned to look down at Arya expecting frustration but instead all he saw was pride, even if there was that fond annoyance in her.
And Jon was ever touched just as Arya seemed to be.
“My Lord,” Satin called, and Jon looked up from the drafts his steward had written, “you have a visitor,”
Jon frowned, “Who?”
“Prince Oberyn Martell, my Lord,” Satin replied.
Jon felt his hands suddenly sweat at the mention of the man, he gulped; he knew Aemond and Sansa had vouched for him when they had spoken with the dornish prince, they had assured him that Prince Oberyn had understood, but Jon had known. He had known this moment would come.
“Let him in, Satin,” he said, collecting all of his papers in an ordinated manner, “then you are welcome to go wherever you please I will not have further need of you,”
“Thank you, my Lord” Satin bowed and then proceeded to show Prince Oberyn inside.
Jon stood up to welcome him, as soon as the man walked in, all saunter and danger, his dark viper eyes fixed on him.
“Welcome, Prince Oberyn, what can I do for you?” he was surprised by how little his voice shook.
“You don’t look like him,”
Blunt. Jon could work with that.
“That’s a relief,” Jon replied, equally as blunt, “I do not wish to look like the man who abducted and raped my mother and left to die his wife and children”
Prince Oberyn considered him, “You don’t act like him either, it would seem,” he offered, “perhaps you are more your mother’ son that you are your father’s,”
Jon gestured for the seat before him, “I am afraid I have taken after both my mother and my father, my father was Lord Stark, your highness,” he told him, “Rhaegar Targaryen bears no weight in my mind,”
“And yet you claimed a dragon,” Oberyn questioned, sitting down like a cat curling around himself.
“To defend the North,” Jon replied truthfully, “I will be frank with you, your highness,”
Jon leaned forward, placing both elbows on the surface of the table, “you have not all be summoned here because of nothing,” he said, “king Aemond has both the manpower and the ability to take the Realm in a few well placed battles,” he added, “less if he was as forthcoming as once in the usage of the dragon,”
“Then why have we been summoned here?”
“Because there is a greater enemy who is right now marching against us,” Jon replied, “House Stark had once banished this enemy in the Lands of Always Winter, far North, but his slumber is done now,” he said, “this enemy doesn’t tire, doesn’t stop; this enemy offers no terms and stipulates no truce, this enemy is coming and it brings winter and death with itself,” Jon said.
“The king knows his duty to the Realm and if the North falls, the South will soon follow,” he told him, “king Aemond already saw the truth of this enemy, and in an attempt to avoid further useless bloodshed, and to have as many men as possible to fight this war he has been willing to accord his enemies a truce. That is why you have all be summoned here,” Jon said.
“And that is why I claimed the dragon,” he added, “I will not lie to you, the idea of being a dragon-rider is as exhilarating as it is horrific,” he told him, “and perhaps I had no chance to avoid it, for she has claimed me before I claimed her,”
Oberyn frowned.
“So, had my nephew and niece survived you would have left them the first chance to claim her?”
Jon shrugged, “By all that I have learned,” he said, “dragons claim you back as much as you lay claim on them. I cannot tell you what I would have done, had things been different, because they aren’t,” he claimed, “but I can tell you this. I would never steal Winterfell from any of my siblings,” he promised, “I joined the Watch to have my place in this world, to make a place in this world to myself without risking destroying their chances,”
Oberyn studied him, “At the very least you are honest,” he said, “a testament to Lord Stark’ parenting perhaps,” he offered.
“I’ll repay honesty with honesty,” he continued, “I don’t like you. And I don’t like that you got to claim a dragon, a dragon who perhaps was supposed to be by one of my sister’ children. But I can agree with your cousin and king Aemond, you are not malicious,” he said, “and I know better than to lay the guilt where it is not. Your cousin ensured that Lord Lannister got what he deserved,” he said, “and even got the new, young Lord Lannister to offer formal remorse and apology for what his grand sire did,”
“That is not enough,” he said, “it would never be enough. But she is right, the cycle of violence needs to finish now, now we rebuild,” he made a face, “do you love your siblings?”
“More than my life,” Jon replied without hesitation, “I would gladly give bone and life for them, I would sacrifice my honor and soul for them if needed be,”
Prince Oberyn studied his face and must have seen some truth in his eyes because he nodded, “Then I pray you do not suffer the same pain I and my brother did in being unable to protect my sister and her children,” he said.
Then he stood up, and nodded to him, “I shall see myself out,” he said, gesturing with a hand as Jon made to follow suit and stand up.
Jon stood up anyway.
“I did not get to meet them,” he said, “nor your sister, the princess. But I am sorry for your loss, and I did suffer that pain when I thought Bran and Rickon and Arya dead,” he told him, “they were restored to me, and I shall never stop thanking the Gods for it. What happened to them was a terrible crime, it would be my honor to see their memories restored and their death avenged,”
Then he nodded to them, “One of the castles of the Wall, will bear their name,” he said, “it is little but I hope it can convey my sorrow over their unjustified end,”
Prince Oberyn studied him, then offered him his hand. Jon clasped it in his, the prince’ hold sure and strong.
“My sister would not have wished ill fortune on a guiltless child, I wish you good fortunes in the wars to come,”
“At to you, Prince Oberyn,”
Jon watched him walk away and felt like a monumental weight was somewhat lifted from his chest.
But apparently, his day was not yet over. The door creaked open just after voices raised beyond it.
Jon frowned, and looked back at it as Daenerys Targaryen of all people stepped inside the solar Robb had given him.
Daenerys Targaryen was some kind of angelic beauty. Tiny of frame, fair of skin and with silver-gold hair hanging in little braids around her face, little bells moving as she walked in.
Her face though, beautiful as it was, was scrunched into an unbecoming grimace.
“My apologies,” she said, “I hope I have not disturbed you,”
Jon frowned, “Is there a problem with Prince Oberyn?” he questioned, cautious.
“His nephew, Prince Quentyn, died protecting Meereen from my enemies,” she told him, “whilst I was forced away,”
Jon considered her at length, her eyes were several shades darker than Aemond’s, if Aemond’ eye was a light purple that looked almost cerulean, hers were a very deep indigo, but they seemed sincere.
“I see,” he offered, “the man loves his family fiercely, as we all do,”
Daenerys studied him, “As we all should,” she offered, before gesturing with a hand to the chairs, “may I sit?”
“Of course,” Jon offered, “excuse my manners, I was raised better than this. Lady Stark would have my hide for my lack of manners,”
Daenerys replied with a beam that was as luminous as the dawn, “I am afraid I would be considered very unmannered as well,” she offered, “I never did receive a proper education,” she said, “we were always on the run and then… well let’s say that Dothrakis are not the best teachers on courtesies,”
Jon sat down as well, “Well, I did, so I really ought to know better,” he offered.
In this light, he thought as Daenerys giggled, she looks almost like Val.
“I won’t hold it against you, if you will not hold my lack of courtesies against me,” she offered.
Jon smiled, “What can I do for you?” he asked, mindful not to address her by any title.
“I wanted to discuss with you the possibility of have the Unsullied, once I take the Iron throne, join the Watch,” she told him, suddenly completely businesslike.
Jon blinked, “I beg your pardon?”
“You see, they have been sold as slaves, they are battle-eunuchs,” she said, “if they wish to keep fighting for me, I’d have them defend the Realm from the wildlings, rather then sit idly,”
“Joining the Watch is a vocation,” Jon interrupted her, “a call. I don’t argue that many men hear it before they are executed,” he said, “but that doesn’t make it any less true,”
“Their vocation is to follow my orders,” Daenerys told him, “they’d die on their sword if I but commanded it of them,”
“You could free them from your service,” Jon offered, “once your battles are done with,” he said, “they could settle or choose a path that agrees with them,”
“I was under the impression the Watch needed men,” she said, her tone now almost dark, edging on dangerous.
“It does,” Jon confirmed, “but the Watch is not the place for slaves,”
“They are no longer slaves,” she said, “they are free men,” she told him, “they are my men. And I am offering them to the Watch after the war is done with,”
“And you don’t think you will need them..?” he questioned.
“Let me tell you a story,” Daenerys said, leaning forward and placing her hand above his, “of a little girl, who couldn’t count to twenty. I was so small, all I wanted back was the great house with the red door and the lemon tree,” she told him; “my brother had the right of it. He was cruel and scared, but he was my brother and my king and he kept me alive,” she said.
She looked away almost coy, “the Iron throne was taken from us,” she said, “and when Viserys died, that day,” she looked back up to him and strengthened herself as if thinking about it pained her, Jon could emphasize with that, so he grabbed her hand back, “the saddest thing was his smile, he was sure we would return home and take back what was stolen from us. So when he died I promised myself I would do it for the both of us,” she said, “and my children were born,”
She looked up at the canopy as if she was trying to stave off the tears, “It was difficult, and we almost looked back so many times. I was sold like a broodmare, I was chained and defiled, humiliated and tortured,” she said, “and only one thing kept me strong. Faith. Not in Gods, myths or legends. But in myself,” she told him.
“I was born to rule the Seven Kingdoms,” she told him, “and I will. I will keep my realm peaceful, the people fat and happy and there will be peace, under the rightful queen,” she said, her eyes glazed as if she could already picture it.
She looked back at him and her smile was as bright as a thousand stars, a sweet thing.
“They will smile when I ride by,” she told him, as if it was a prophecy, “and when they’ll see my children they’ll see wonder and not fear,”
“My brother sold our mother’ crown to keep us alive and they called him beggar,” she told him, “I shall feed the entire Realm and wear my crown, and they shall come me queen,”
Jon almost felt bad for her.
She sounded so true and forthcoming, so charming as well, yet she had headed on in dragon battle as if there wasn’t any problem.
But she had said she didn’t have any formal education, maybe she had been as ignorant as Jon about the dragons, and as they had been the only ones she had thought she had it all under control.
Still.
The north was free and independent.
But Jon was a brother of the Nights Watch, he had to appear neutral.
“It’s a pretty picture,” he offered.
Daenerys suddenly appeared cold and unrelenting, “You believe I jest?” she demanded.
“On the contrary,” Jon said, “perhaps we should consider your offer after the summit and after the war is done with,” he added, slowing wriggling his hand free.
Daenerys’ hand spasmed for a moment as her dark indigo eyes almost accused him.
“Indeed,” she offered, “perhaps we could,” her smile was as false as spring in the middle of winter, “perhaps you’ll be more agreeable then,”
She then stood up, dusted off her red and black gown, she turned to him her gaze expectant, Jon refused to stand up, this time.
“Is it not custom in Seven Kingdoms to address the queen as ‘Your Grace’ and stand up when she leaves?” she questioned.
Jon smiled at her, perhaps condescending, but something was nagging him about her behavior.
“Oh but these are not the Seven Kingdoms, this is the Trident,” he said, “kingdom of His Grace Robb of House Stark, King in the North and of the Trident,” he told her.
Daenerys set her jaw and clasped her hands before herself, “I regonize no kingdom of the North and the Trident,” she said, “they are part of the Seven Kingdoms, my birthright,”
Jon cocked his head to the side, “The kingdom of the North and the Trident exists whether you recognize it or not,” he told her.
“I thought the Nights Watch was supposed to be neutral,” Daenerys accused him.
“Indeed, precisely because it is it recognizes all kingdoms and kings as long as they protect the Realm,” Jon said, “and I fail to see how you do yet,” he told her, “but I hope I shall see soon, as soon as the reason of this summit shall be revealed. Until then, I wish you good fortunes in the wars to come,” he said, “Your Grace,”
Chapter 25: Sansa Stark of Winterfell
Notes:
So I debated if make it longer and show the summit in this chapter, but in the end I chose to split it and show Sansa now and then show the summit by another POV.
Hope you enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Sansa of House Stark,
The morrow princess Sansa of hath to marry king Aemond the One-Eye, the snow fell over Harrenhal cloaking the greatest keep of the Seven Kingdoms in a white coat of shimmering beauty, the white coat of her untouched maidenhead.
The banners of House Stark and House Targaryen were hoisted up and the household king Robb had awarded his sister, was ready outside the princess’ chamber.
Queen Roslin for the occasion left her retirement early, and helped Princess Sansa prepare herself as her mother, the lady dowager Catelyn Stark was back in Winterfell with her youngest son, the prince regent of Winterfell.
It hath saith that the princess’ household was composed of leal northern servants and riverlanders young maids and grooms.
As custom, the princess Sansa wore her hair of auburn-red in braids, the weaves framing the sides of her face kept underneath the ears by her headdress, of a white as pure as snow, with the crown her husband to be had gifted her atop her brow, pearls were woven in her hair as well.
As most brides of the North do, Princess Sansa wore white for her wedding, a gown of pale ivory bejewelled with pearls and stitched by her own hand.
Her maiden cloak was of white and green with a hooded cape. Both the gown and the maiden cloak were fur-lined with ermine fur, and she held on one arm a fur muff of the same quality. A most rich and noble ensemble even for a princess. Her brother the king had gifted her with beautiful slender arm-guards of battered bronze with First Men runes, and thus as she stepped out of the keep at nightfall, she was inch-a-inch the northern royal bride.
King Aemond reached the Isle of Faces, where the vow would take place, on dragonback.
He wore a coat of black and gold and green, and a slender dragon-riding gear stitched by the princess’ own hand with shreds of Weirwood tree and obsidian, her third gift. He had opted to avoid the crown and instead had chosen to wear a chain of command.
Dark Sister was fastened at his hip, polished and once again ready for glory.
King Aemond visited his son’ tomb, and both him and Princess Sansa chose Prince Oberyn and Princess Arya to serve as witnesses of their vows.
Princess Sansa reached the Isle by boat, as night fell, and walked alone on the candle-lit path to the Heart Tree.
Her brother, king Robb, gave her away, and king Aemond took her under his protection.
— the Great History, the Dragon and the Wolf
Sansa walked slowly, her arm cradled into Robb’ elbow, as her brother led her through the path on the Isle of Faces.
Vhagar was slumbering near, the fumes she emitted as water evaporated from around her body clear despite the night sky.
“It is not too late,” Robb jested as they walked at a slow pace, his eyes were alight and it was quite clear he was as nervous as he was bound to have been when he married Roslin.
Sansa giggled, “The Faith is always an option,” she teased back.
Robb grimaced, “That was insensitive of me, forgive me,” he pleaded, his voice downcast.
Sansa patted his hand over hers, “I forgave you a long time ago,” Sansa said, “not sure if you deserved it, though,” she commented.
Robb chuckled, as the clearing of the Heart Tree came in sight.
Everyone they cared about, or who was a member of Aemond’ court was present, but all Sansa could see was her family; Arya, Jon and Roslin with little Edda.
And then, then Aemond stepped forth and Sansa’ eyes zeroed on him.
He was wearing the doublet Sansa had stitched for him, enriched with Weirwood shreds and obsidian, in the dancing pattern of a fire breathing dragon and a sword.
His long hair were shimmering with golden and silver threads and gently befell off one of his shoulders in a soft weave, kept together by a small lace and a dragon-headed pin.
He was not wearing his usual eyepatch, he had chosen a different one, made of leather but with the three headed dragon branded on its surface, his good eye, a lilac so clear it bordered cerulean fixed on her with all the tenderness Sansa had come to know of him.
The Septon, brought by the Lord Hand, Lord Hightower serving as the king next of kin, and standing beside Prince Oberyn and Arya offering official witnesses, stood a step beyond him with his back to the Heart Tree.
Sansa turned slightly toward Robb, “I go to be wedded,” she said softly, “wish me luck,”
Robb kissed her cheeks ever tender, “Good luck,” he murmured, “dearest sister,”
The ceremony was to be a mix of the northern way and the southern, so as they stepped closer, Arya demanded, “Who comes here tonight?”
“Sansa of House Stark,” Robb stated, “Princess of the North, lady of the First Men and lady Honeywine,” he said, “a maiden noble and trueborn, she comes her to be wedded,”
“And who takes her?” Prince Oberyn offered, having easily learned his role.
Aemond stepped to them, “Aemond of House Targaryen, last son of the royal line of the noble Houses of Targaryen and Hightower,” he claimed, “king claimant to the Iron throne,”
He outstretched his hand, “Who gives her?”
“Her brother, Robb of House Stark, King in the North and of the Trident,” Robb said, then he turned to Sansa and formally asked, “do you take this man?”
“I do,” Sansa replied and then Robb gently delivered her hand above Aemond’s.
Her husband-to-be’s eye was sparkling quite nicely as he smiled down at her, then together, as one, they turned to the Septon, who first anointed their foreheads and then bind their hands together with a green ribbon.
“We stand here in the sight of Gods and men to witness the union of man and wife: let it be known that Princess Sansa of House Stark and king Aemond of House Targaryen are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder,” he said, putting his hands above theirs, “look upon each other and say the words,”
Words which fell like liquid gold from her lips.
“Father, Mother, Smith, Warrior, Maiden, Crone, Stranger,” they recited.
“I’m his, and he’s mine”
“I’m hers, and she’s mine”
“From this day to the last of my days,” there was a small round of clapping, then the Septon raised both arms and disentangled their hands, “You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection,” he stated.
Gently Aemond guided her to turn around and unclasped her Stark cloak from her neck, then he carefully folded it and delivered it in Arya’ awaiting arms, then Lord Hightower stepped forth and gave him the golden Targaryen cloak.
Aemond wrapped it around her shoulders and adjusted it at her neck, then he pressed a kiss to the back of her hands, “thus I thee wed,” he told her, and then, just as in the songs, he kissed her.
It was a sweet and soft kiss, but a peck of lips against hers, as sweet as the first they shared upon dragonback.
When he let go of her, with the guests clapping, Aemond pressed another kiss to the corner of her mouth.
Sansa felt like a small girl, elated as if she had finally got her happy-ending, when it was but a happy middle, still, the happiest she had been in a long time.
Aemond cradled her hand in his arm, “Wife,” he smiled almost like a boy, and not a man alive again.
Sansa beamed, “Husband,”
And Aemond almost shivered, “At last,” he said, “I had to endure a century and half in the throes of death and nothingness to find you,” he told her, “after I first saw you in the fires,”
Sansa fearlessly stepped closer to him and pressed another soft kiss against his lips, for the elation of their guests, “I am here now,” she promised him.
“Ay,” Aemond grinned and it made him look younger, and more handsome, “we’re here now,”
The rest of the royals guest in the keep, discovered of the ceremony only the day after; when after a ride atop dragonback the newlyweds were seen together.
The banquet they consumed wasn’t a real feast, Aemond promised her they would have one for their coronation, and Sansa agreed that it would be best, but still they dined as one, sharing one plate and one cup, and eating with their hands, often feeding each other as requested by the old Valyrian custom.
There were singers and Sansa was swept off to dance by both her brothers, though she shared the first and last dance with her husband.
Even Prince Oberyn asked for a dance, and after her husband and she spent quite some time whispering together about sir Eddard Karstark who had been chosen to be part of her northern guard, and who had managed to sweep Jorelle Mormont to a dance.
By the time the bedding ceremony was to take place, Aemond stood up, grabbed her hand and smirked devilishly to the guests, “If you wish to disrobe my wife, be my guest,” he challenged, “but you’ll be guests of my blade as well,” and Vhagar outside screeched.
Then he hoisted Sansa up and gently kissed the back of her hand, before leading her out of the hall they had taken their private banquet within.
The other royal guests had been entertained with either small banquets of their own, private in the halls Robb had given them all in Harrenhal before the day of the summit, to anyone bothering to ask House Stark and Targaryen were celebrating the birth of the twins, not a wedding.
As the night, as dark as lark, opened up above their heads as they headed out, Aemond donned on a hooded cape and helped Sansa wear one similar, as they left the courtyard for the walls, he helped her up and as they passed through several lines of Stark men, they reached the spot where Vhagar was slumbering, the dragoness studied them and then silently offered her shoulder to help them climb back.
Sansa had not been once again atop dragonback since they had returned from the North, and the gown made her a bit clumsy, upon climbing, but Aemond’ sure and firm hold around her waist ensured she did not fall.
He helped her settle in the saddle and climbed after her, setting behind her as Sansa adjusted her feet and her seat on the saddle. He was mindful of the several layers of her gown, careful not to rip it as he buckled the belts around her tights and waist, by the time he was done strapping them both, Sansa placed her hand on his tight as he leaned in close.
He fished from a satchel at his side, her gloves and his. He put his on and then helped her to put on hers.
He pressed a kiss at her temple and on her lips, and then smiled, “You’re ready, love?”
Sansa grinned, and then said, her impression of Valyrian perhaps provincial but not for that less welcomed by him, “Pāsagon nyke,”
Aemond’ beam could have lit the whole sky, “Vhagar,” he commanded, “Sovas,” and Vhagar soared in the nightsky.
Sansa had by now grow accustomed to riding also dragonback, and whilst she quite never would gather the courage to approach the beast on her own, she now could admit she found comfort not only in her husband’ presence at her back but also at the warmth the dragoness’ body awarded them.
It had been Aemond’ idea, for them to have a nighttime ride dragonback, as it was, apparently an old valyrian tradition for the husband to take the wife dragonriding before the first wedded night, if the woman was a dragonrider as well all the better for it; and Sansa had agreed.
Aemond knew the Riverlands from atop the skies as much as Sansa knew her way around a needle, and he had Vhagar land in a field of snowdrops, Sansa found the field of dancing flowers as enchanting as magic, with the moon high in the sky kissing her cheeks like a lover might.
Aemond helped her climb off Vhagar and together they strolled, barefoot, to her insistence, the field. She might look a ghost, all dressed in white, barefoot and with but hair as red as blood. Yet she did not care, especially as Aemond started reciting an old valyrian poem for her.
Sansa had become better to understand valyrian, though she still did not feel confident about speaking it, Aemond had taken great care for her to learn his ancestral language, and in return Sansa has taught him some of the old tongue most Houses had forgotten.
She had been surprised when she had realized he had first asked Jon to teach him some, in an attemp to surprise her with it, but Jon had little patience when it came to teaching the language her lord Father had always said was natural for any Stark.
They danced in the field of snowdrops until Sansa’ feet hurt, and then he carried her back to Vhagar, nestling nearby, he helped her don on her boots, her feet cold, warmed up between his hands and Vhagar' body wamth, then Aemond helped her climb up the dragoness back and urged her back in the skies.
They flew together until the Moon was high in the sky, and only then did Aemond veer Vhagar toward the Isle of Faces, were a building would serve as their alcove for their first wedded night.
Her maids had taken care that everything was ready for their arrival, and though they were mindful of the dragon, they seemed comfortable enough with her presence to still care for their lady’s needs.
Sansa made to let go of Aemond’ arm and follow them, when her husband grabbed her gently by the elbow, “Dismiss them,” he said, and though it had been phrased like a command, it sounded like a plea.
Sansa blinked, “But…” she murmured gently, “I still have to take a bath,” she said, “I stink of dragon,”
“So do I,” he said in all reply and Sansa read in his eye what perhaps he could not convey at words, she turned to her maids and nodded to them, then she grabbed his hand in hers and tugged him along.
“Come, husband,” she said, the softness of her voice surprising even herself, the maids helped her only with the first layer of her coat and cloak, then she dismissed them as he had requested, the tub was filled with warm water, a luxury with winter approaching and the first snows, there might be some time before they could bathe twice in a day, though the occasion called for it.
Almost as if her feet had a mind of their own, Sansa walked to the tub and leaned down, just enough to feel the warmth coming from the water-surface, mist collecting on her palm and on her knuckles. She was as if entranced by the swirling of vapour on the water.
When even the last maid had left, closing the door behind herself, Sansa turned to her husband, and found he always already watching her, he had discarded his coat and had folded it neatly on the back of a chair, but was standing still, merely observing her.
Sansa found that, differently than her last wedding night, in which she had been but a little girl, barely flowered and afraid, wedded to her enemy; now she felt much more comfortable.
She straightened and walked to her husband, who offered her his hand to draw her closer, Sansa let him and gently helped him disrobe as a wife should.
Aemond skin was soft, but there was coarseness on his palms, the hands of a warrior, as he caressed her face, as she helped him be done of his doublet and worked at the laces of his tunic, his movements were slow and he did not make move to disrobe her either, as he let her help him out of the tunic, and, as his breeches hung from his hips already unbuttoned Sansa gently moved her hand to his eyepatch.
She let the clasp snap and easily removed it from his face, his sapphire glistening in the dim light, she caressed his face. She leaned forward and her husband sneaked an arm around her waist and drew her closer, before claiming her lips with his in what Sansa could describe only as a ferocious kiss.
It tasted like metal.
It tasted like lemoncakes.
It tasted like the rosecakes.
It tasted like fresh summer snow, and like cold water in a dry summer day.
Sansa knew this taste, though she had never quite explored it that much.
She pressed her hands on his chest, feeling the rise and low of it, the wingbeat beneath the flesh.
His heart, dead once and returned by the Gods.
The heart that now was sworn to hers.
It was a sweet thing, the way his kisses tasted, Aemond let her go and his good eye had become almost black, and only a small circle of lilac made so dark it was almost blue indigo remained around his pupil, Sansa could almost see her own reflection in his eye.
Gently, devastatingly gently, Aemond brought his hands to her headdress and unlaced and unpinned it, letting her red hair bounce in the braids to crown her head and frame her face; with nimble fingers he unweaved her braids, carding his hands through her red locks, his nails scraping against her scalp, making a shiver run up her spine. He placed the headdress and the crown settled atop it on the table, to be ignored until morning came.
She was almost cold for how warm she felt she was inside.
Sansa had never quite felt that out of breath before in her life.
Aemond pressed a kiss against her jaw and Sansa felt her breath itch as his hands came to rest against the buttons of her gown at her back. Without missing a beat she turned around and collected all her hair around her neck and dangling across her left shoulder, to leave him easy access of her corset.
His fingers were skilled, like those of a trickster, or a musician.
He liked to play with his blades, twirling them between his fingers; or playing with a coin that he made appear and disappear between his knuckles. And now, that skill came in handy as he easily undid all of her buttons and laces, helping her step out of her corset and unlacing the first top layers of skirts.
He aided her in stepping out of the skirts that had pooled at her feet, and she felt her body be overcome by a shiver now that her skin was naked to the touch of the light and the cold air, her thin undershift leaving her milky arms and forearms bare.
Aemond guided her to turn around to face him again and Sansa held a breath she had not known could get stuck in her throat like that. Reverently he pushed her red hair from her chest behind her shoulder, following with his digits the profile of her jaw, down her neck and in a soft caress on her collarbone.
“You are astounding,” he told her, “gorgeous in a way I cannot explain,”
Sansa let out a small, nervous laugh, “Let us hope that makes up for the lack of experience, my lord husband,” she jested, hoping to dissolve the lump that had formed in her throat at his words.
She was not accustomed with the idea of being unprepared. All her life she had been prepared to be the lady of a great keep, a queen and be a good wife to her lord husband; but she had learned since leaving home that the real world was made of more than duty.
And, in what wasn’t duty she felt woefully unprepared, especially considering that her husband had already fathered a son and had a very experienced and skilled partner.
Aemond took her hand gently in his, and urged her to look up in his eyes “What was before, was before,” he said, “it is but the memory of two centuries past and cannot do us harm, I won’t let it,” he told her, “we shall learn together,” he promised.
He kissed gently her temple, “Now let’s get you in tub before my self-control vanishes and I take you to bed immediately,”
He helped her inside the tub and then nestled inside, just behind her, gently guiding her to lean back across his chest. He had discarded his breeches as well before climbing inside behind her and Sansa could feel the hardness of his body against her.
Out of control she felt herself still and stiffen, her eyes closed as the memories of Joffrey’ unkind, violating hands permeated her mind. She had promised herself she would not let him haunt their bedchamber, but she was making a poor job of it.
His hands, now wet for the water, raised up and down her arms, in a soft, comforting manner; as if, even if unspoken her tension had not gone unnoticed.
“Breathe,” he murmured against the shell of her ear, as a command, as he had when they had first flewn on Vhagar together and it seemed to unlock something in her, and suddenly like a blinding light Joffrey’ haunting wormy lips were chased away by the press of his open mouthed kisses across her shoulder, and Sansa sagged against his body.
Her own flesh suddenly once again warm as the memory of the vilifying hands of a cruel boy-king were burned away by his touch.
“I am here, my love,” Aemond murmured softly against her skin, making her shiver, “this is only ours and no one can take it from us,” he promised as his hands kept travelling up and down her arms.
Sansa nodded and leaned back, resting her head against his chest and twisting just enough to meet his lips in a soft but passionate kiss as their hands carded together at the edge of the tub; with their fingers still interlocked Aemond raised his hand to caress her jaw and press more firmly his lips across hers. He did not stop kissing her.
Her lips.
Her cheeks.
Her jaw.
Her neck.
Her shoulders.
The back of her neck.
He did not stop kissing her even as one of his hands travelled lower, disappearing underneath the cooling water, gently guiding her own hand to her center. Sansa did not know if it was done with that purpose, but it gave her the impression of being in control, even if she knew that he was the one leading.
She knew the bedchamber should be reserved for duty, her duty to her House and now to his, and to the dynasty that would come after them. The duty to their people.
And yet, as he explored her body, guiding her hand to explore it in return, she felt like with every touch he erased the scars, and the bruises – unseeable, now, but that she knew by heart — left by the hands of those who were supposed to love her as he was.
No one would marry me for love, she remembered having told him once.
I am.
It never felt as true as when pleasure exploded in her core and behind her eyelids, making her suddenly feel without strength and blaring alive alltogether; never as true as when he gently nibbled at her lips and chin.
In a explosion of bravery Sansa leaned forward and then twisted in the tub, with the help of his guiding hand, and caressed his shoulders and chest; bravery seemed to forsake her as she strengthened her resolve to explore his body as much as he had explored hers.
He kissed her fingertips and her inner wrist, before guiding her softly, slowly. Sansa learned every softness, every sharpness, every crook and nook of him, braver the more they went on as Aemond’ gaze on her, unwavering, gave her a courage she had believed to have deserted her the first time Joffrey had visited her bedchamber.
His fingers grazed the inner corner of her neck, where sat the small scar of the cut of Joffrey’ blade against her tender flesh. Then, abruptly almost, he grabbed her elbow, “Come, wife,” he said, “or I will be spent and the water will grow cold and soiled,”
Only then did Sansa notice that her skin was covered in goosebumps though she had felt none of them, she nodded and after he kissed her hand, he grabbed her by the waist, the fabric of her shift stuck to her body and drawning Unknown paths against her flesh, and helped her stand up in the tub, accompanying her movements as she climbed out of it.
In a moment of boldness Sansa grabbed at the hem of the shift, as he still was in the tub, and unhooked it from her shoulder, helping it down her body.
Goosebumps raised more fiercely yet on her skin, but they were not uncomfortable as Tyrion’ gaze had felt, vilifying as Joffrey’ hands had been.
Before she could even breathe and feel the embarrassment of her sudden boldness, Aemond’ body was glued to her back, and his lips were at her neck.
“You will be the death of me,” he murmured against her skin and Sansa felt the smile curl at her lips. She had never taken the lead in the bedchamber.
Tyrion had at times commanded her to get naked, at times he had groped at her breasts, but that had been it. If he ever graced her chambers he usually contented himself to watch.
Joffrey had always liked her impotent; with his hands curled around her neck or tugging at the bow he had personally tied to her neck. If Sansa ever were to move against his unwanted ministration it would crush her breathe in her throat.
She smiled at him, “Not for a while yet,” she teased and Aemond’ smirk broaden in the dim light as Sansa led him by the hand to the matress and the furs.
If duty was the coming of two bodies together, becoming one like the vows taken before men and Gods, Sansa could describe herself as dutiful beyond reproach nowforth. If it was to see her husband recline on the matress and hoist her up his body, guiding her to discover for herself if duty could ecstasy or pain…
… Sansa could never see how love could be the death of duty. And she could see how it was indeed. For, had she been shackled to only duty and found love outside the marriagebed, the bedchamber would be worse than horror. It would be cold and unfeeling.
She was ever grateful that the Gods had seen fit that to Sansa duty and love may become one.
She had resolved many years ago that she had to find beauty in her husband, it was what the Septa had taught her, what her mother had done with her lord father. Finding beauty where many only saw coldness. She had believed herself fickle and arrogant that she had been unable to find that beauty in Tyrion.
But now, she could not longer say she felt such.
Not when her husband loved her ever so sweetly than the pain of her maidenhead coming undone was soon drowned in the softness of his touch and the exhilarating truth that, when they were one, in the intimacy of their bedchamber the world came to an alt and they could just be.
She woke that her husband was already up, half naked, wrapped only in his robe of black and gold, at the widow, observing the snow gently falling as the sun bleed light behind the clouds as it raised across the lake, painting it in soft lilac, oranges and blues.
Sansa made to stand in silence, feeling that he was thinking of somber thoughts that may sadden him. Foremost the loss of his family, who he’d never see again before their life was done.
She wrapped the fur around her body and made to stand, but after she took the first few steps, she found her legs wobbly and had to lean on the feetboard of the bed to remain standing. The noise alerted her husband she had woken and he turned around, there was sadness glistening in his good eye, but as soon as his gaze befell on her it softened so that it was overcome by fondness.
Only then did Sansa notice the rosary he had been holding and rolling through his fingers.
He stood up and in a few, powerful strides he reached her.
“Sorry,” she murmured, “I hadn’t meant to disturb you whilst at prayer,” she said, as embarassment colored her cheeks.
I must not blush, she reminded herself, I look like a pomegranate when I do.
“I was praying for your company, anyway,” he told her and in his eyes Sansa could see no lie, “Do not leave me,” he murmured, “you are all I have, now,”
Sansa cocked her head to the side and cupped his face in her hands, “I will not leave you,” she promised, “you are my husband, where else am I suppose to be than by your side?”
“I do not wish to be like my father,” he admitted to her, and Sansa gently guided him to sit on the matress, he laid down, his face resting atop her lap as she gently carded at his long, silver-gold hair, “he loved his first wife, and still he killed her in the pursuit of a heir; I do believe he cared some for my mother, in the beginning at least, but the arrival of heirs made of her a snake agaist his breast, and against his wife memory,”
“In the end he loved more the wife he killed to get a heir, than the woman who gave him three,” he told her, his voice broken by emotion, “I do not wish to be like my father,”
“Then do not be,” she whispered softly.
Aemond sighed, “I don’t know if I know how to,”
Sansa pressed a kiss to his head, “We shall learn together, then” she promised him.
They remained nestled in one another’ embrace for a couple hours more, and then Aemond, when he saw her wobble on her feet once again, grabbed her from below her knees and laid her down the matress, tucking the furs around her still naked body, to then ask for some food to be brought to them.
They broke their first wedded fast abed, Sansa wrapped into the furs that had seen their lovemaking and him covered only of a thin robe. Later on he braided her hair for her, and then wrapped the long braid around itself in a bun that he clasped with a hairpin that prince Oberyn had given her as her wedding gift, it was styled as a small blade, should she ever need to use one, with a snarling wolf on the other end.
Sansa brushed his hair in return, securing them in half ponytail, and crading with brush through the locks until they shone and were as light as a feather, he helped her don on, once again, the pearls she had gifted to Shae and she helped him dress, with the tunic and doublet she had embroidered by her own hand.
The servants that had remained behind to aid them in the morning would be ferried by boat back to the mainland, but Sansa and Aemond would fly.
Aemond made quite the show of the landing too, landing Vhagar on the other side of the hatchlings – with Jon’ green and bronze dragon observing them with keen eyes – instead of Stark men posted there were Hightower men, something she was sure Aemond must have planned with Robb, because as soon as Vhagar landed and Sansa climbed off her back, her hand nestled in Aemond’s as he helped her down the guards turned to offer her their salute.
Sansa was still wearing the golden and black Targaryen marriage cloak, and after Aemond climbed off after her, she saw him fish out of one of the satchels attached to Vhagar’ saddle, the small chest that enclosed the crown he had fashioned for her.
He unbound her hair letting them fall into soft waves of fire on the black and gold cloak.
In one swift movement he took it from it and discarded the chest by placing it at their feet, Sansa knew by heart what to do if not by plan, she bowed her head and fell into a curtsy as Aemond set the crown across her brow.
In Casterly Rock it had been the Septon who had anointed Sansa’ crown and young lord Lannister’ forehead to crown her as the future consort.
This wasn’t a proper crowning, that would happen in the Great Sept in Kings Landing, officiated by the High Septon and conjoint with Aemond’s; but it had the same meaning.
After the crown was set at her brow, Aemond kissed her knuckles and then claimed, “All hail the Queen consort!” echoed by their guards, for seven times they echoed him, then he would say it again and they would echoe it seven times again.
After he had hailed it seven times, and they had echoed him seven times more, the entirety of the current inhabitants of the keep were aware of what was happening and if the words were not enough to convince them, the bridal cloak at her shoulders certainly was, as those who counted themselves in Aemond’ court fell into a bended knee as Vhagar roared and Aemond pressed a kiss to her lips.
She was Aemond Targaryen wedded and bedded wife, now.
His queen consort.
A princess of House Stark.
Sansa curtsied to the courtyard, the smallfolk and the lords and knights and ladies at the widows.
If I ever am queen, I will make them love me.
Notes:
See you soon for the summit and what will happen then. And many things shall happen!
Chapter 26: Tyrion
Chapter Text
Tyrion
“All hail the Queen consort!” the people echoed, as Sansa, ever graceful, ever elegant, with that crown on her brow and her long auburn hair falling into waves to her waist, curtsied to the curtyard.
You look very handsome, she had told him, the day of their wedding, my Lord.
Tyrion had believed that with time he could have grown on her, and had believed that time to have come when she had testified for him. But he had been blind, blinded by her innocent face and he had believed her free of any machination, incapable of it even.
He had been foolish.
Foolish to believe her incapable of deceit, when she had been deceiving them all for all this time.
She had wanted a golden prince, when Joffrey had proved below the request; she had worked tirelessly to return to her family and on the way she had gotten herself a Targaryen prince of old.
“You got yourself a Targaryen prince,” Tyrion muttered.
Just as, below them, Cersei commented a-likely, her face curled in disdain, “You always did want to be a Targaryen queen, did you not, little dove?”
And yet, he was her husband. Sansa could not escape this truth, she was married to him before the eyes of Gods and Men, one heart, one body and one soul; and this betrayal would not go unpunished.
He would not let her.
They would win this war, and Sansa would have no choice but to accept him as her husband and lord.
He would bend her.
Like none had been able before.
A nasty, curling grip grabbed at his loins, she was his. His little wife, his father had been a terrible man, but giving him Sansa had been his best gift.
Tyrion had been foolish, he had wanted her to feel safe in their marriage before he shared into her bed, he had laid night after night next to her, at times he’d demand her naked, at times he could not be bothered.
He hated that this Targaryen prince had seen his wife as only Tyrion ought to.
He turned to speak to Daenerys, his tool to see his vengeance come true, but she was not there.
He caught her little advisor’ golden eyes, though, “Where is the Queen?” he demanded.
The girl looked at him sideways, “The Queen is in the courtyard, my Lord,” she stated, almost bothered by his question.
Tyrion turned around and looked once again down, he was to remain hidden, until Queen Daenerys chose to reveal his survival, but that did not mean that he would remain out of the loop of what was happening.
“She is not a Targaryen Queen!” Daenerys shouted as she walked, her stride sure and proud, to the couple as they were welcomed by Robb Stark and his family.
The little bells braided in her silver gold hair were ringing, singing her song of fury and rage as she stomped for that was the only way Tyrion could describe it, to the — for now — happy couple.
Sansa, who was cradled in the dragon prince’ embrace, turned to look at her and Tyrion recognised that look.
For Sansa had worn it more than once, usually watching his sister, or his nephew.
Tyrion was too far away to hear what Sansa replied to the dragon queen, but by her expression he could gather that her marriage to the Targaryen prince had given her some sort of bravery she had lacked whilst in Kings Landing.
No, that would be untrue, he reminded himself, he had seen firsthand some of Sansa’ snarky comments, still she had never quite been that open about it.
He narrowed his eyes in an attempt to focus his eyesight better on the happenings below and he caught the end of Sansa’ phrase, “…there is no need to raise your voice, Your Grace” he saw her mouthing.
“Marrying a dead Targaryen prince doesn’t make of you a Targaryen queen!” Daenerys said, her voice still above the acceptable, but calmer. Deadlier. “He’s the blood of an usurper and a kinslayer to boot”
“I am very much alive,” Aemond Targaryen replied, his voice powerful as his dragon curled protectively around both him and Sansa, her enormous head coming to stand beside Sansa’s, so big that it was taller than Sansa and her new husband mounted on one another, her eyes fixing on Daenerys, “and I am either as good or as bad as you, since you attempted to kill me, who share in your dragon blood”
Daenerys in true dragon queen fashion, was unafraid of the dragon, and snarled right back at the creature.
Aemond rolled his shoulder with an unbothered look that made him look like he was a cat playing with a mouse.
But Tyrion has seen enough mouses to know that some of them will outsmart the cat and survive.
“Marrying me does make of her a Targaryen queen,” he added “bearing a Stark name,” he added.
Tyrion could already see where this was about to go, all of the Stark family was around them, careful but unafraid of the dragon.
A girl who could be none other than Arya Stark was eyeing Daenerys with that dark look that Tyrion knew all too well; Robb Stark was but an inch away from unsheathing his sword the moment the Dothraki flanked their queen and amongst all, Jon Snow was shouldering past the first rows of people to reach them.
“You are not the king!” Daenerys shouted, “you have no right to the Iron throne! You lost any right the moment you usurped the rightful queen’ throne, but we survived, I am here. I am her heir and the Iron throne is mine”
“If I have no right as Rhaenyra’ line got the Iron throne and thus I am no king,” Aemond replied, as Tyrion slowly stepped away from the window, “then you have no right to the Iron throne as Robert Baratheon has conquered it and his line is the rightful one. You are as claimant as I am and you are not a rightful Queen”
Daenerys’ hiss was so powerful Tyrion heard it even as he stepped away from the window, but it was too late because Sansa raised her gaze; was it fate or the will of the Gods, and her gaze met his.
She paled of sudden, maybe believed him a ghost returned to haunt her.
She grabbed Aemond Targaryen by the hand on her waist and he turned, as if Daenerys shouting in their faces was no threat at all, to listen to what she was telling in his ear.
Tyrion was as if glued on the spot, unable to look away as the Targaryen prince of old rose his lilac eye to met his.
Tyrion felt cold all of sudden, as if the keep itself had frozen around him, as cold as ice, as the Prince’ face curled into a malevolent smirk.
He cocked his head to the side, just as Daenerys leaned closer and grabbed at the sword at his waist, “This is my heritage!” she shouted “my heirloom!”
Aemond Targaryen didn’t even move an inch, he just looked down and to his surprise — and Tyrion’ both — Sansa’ hand was wrapped around Daenerys’ wrist “This is a most unbecoming conduct, Your Grace,” he saw her mouth “just as your company is unbecoming,” she added.
Daenerys hissed as she tugged her hand free of Sansa’s, and suddenly all eyes were on him.
If anything, Tyrion considered, there was something savage about the way Joffrey and Cersei’ faces scrunched in the same exact expression of disdain, surprise and hate.
He even went as far as twirl his hand in a mocking gesture as he offered the entire household a jester bow.
Daenerys’ smirk was as malevolent as Aemond, Tyrion lost what she must have said but it had Jon Snow grab her by the arm and tug her away from his sister and her new husband.
Her false husband.
Daenerys in all reply all but shrieked, and tried to shake away from his hold, her Dothraki blood riders unsheathed their arakhs, followed by Robb Stark, his battle guard and Aemond Targaryen as well.
One of the Dothraki swung a whip he had at his hip toward Jon’ wrist, grabbing it and tugging to make Jon let go of his khaleesi.
In all reply Jon made a face Tyrion had never seen him make, it was almost animalistic but before he could utter even a word a roar tore the sky apart and from the clouds came plummeting in a violent land on the ground the green and bronze dragon of the Queen.
The dragon landed near the green and iron dragoness, infinitesimally smaller than the ancient dragoness, but not for that less fierce as it roared in the face of the small group.
The Dothraki finally managed to tug Jon’ hand away from Daenerys’ arm, and Jon stumbled a couple of steps back.
Daenerys’ smile was as full and as enchanting as a summer haze, as she made to caress the beast, but in all reply the beast roared in her face, refusing her touch.
It was then, Tyrion supposed, that she noticed, that they all noticed it. The green and bronze’s tail was wrapped securely around Jon Snow’ middle as the dragon shouldered against the stumbling man, after he had been tugged away from the dragon queen.
When one of the Dothraki came too close for comfort the dragon spat on the ground, the saliva hissing against the stone, corroding it like acid. The Dothraki who was hit by several drops of it started to shriek and cry and shake until he fell off the walls to an ignominious death.
It took a couple of beats for Daenerys to gather the voice, or perhaps the word, “THIEF!”
Tyrion had never seen anyone look as annoyed by anyone as Aemond Targaryen looked in that moment, “A dragon cannot be stolen, it can only be claimed” he said, and a muscle jumped in his jaw on the side of the scar, as if his body was remembering something painful, “Jon claimed this hatchling,” he said “he’s now her rider, as she has accepted him”
“He has no right to it!” she grabbed Jon by the jerkin and started to shake him, “you have no right to him!”
Jon grabbed her by the wrists again, “Is this the way a Queen should behave?” he screamed and his scream was somehow potent enough to reduce her sobbing to a pin drop silence, “you say you are a Queen, then prove it!”
“I am a mother who has seen her child stolen!” she shouted and Tyrion watched as Aemond Targaryen literally looked heavenward and sighed.
“Get in line then,” Sansa said of sudden, as dark and unrelenting as the husband at her side, “because thousands of other mothers have seen this,” she said “and thousand more will see even worse if we do not work together,”
This seemed to have touched Daenerys a notch, because suddenly Tyrion saw her sobs recede, “You will explain this to me,” she demanded, pointing her finger at Jon.
“Jon Snow is a Brother of the Nights Watch,” Aemond proclaimed coming to stand between Daenerys and his new good brother, and Tyrion watched as Jon turned to look at him, “kin to my wife and through her to me,” he added “and he has accepted my rule as Head of House Targaryen, of which he is part through the blood of his sire. Any further implication will neither be confirmed or denied at the present time. He owes you no explanation,”
Through the blood of his sire?, Tyrion questioned in his mind as Jon looked as pale and as Stark as he always had, as solemn.
And yet, with the red and bronze dragon coiled around him like an armour… pits of flame red eyes against his chest like rubies.
In this light he could almost be Eddard Stark…
…In this light, he could almost be Rhaegar Targaryen.
Cersei must’ve made the same connection because she started to laugh hysterically below, Tyrion could not know she was not mad if not by looking at her, or perhaps she was indeed mad, “What… oh what harm can the ghost of Lyanna Stark ever do to us?” she kept repeating like a chant, like a prayer.
Like madness.
And if the implication wasn’t mad enough, Jon Snow looked down and Tyrion knew then.
It was true.
It was like when an obvious truth that has been staring at you for decades suddenly becomes completely clear.
You doubt how you could ever have been that fool.
“Lord Eddard Stark,” Tyrion muttered, half surprised, half admiring, “you have beaten us all, from the grave”
It was then though, that familiar and yet unknown azure eyes stared up at him as sad and as defiant as the last time he had seen them.
His heart lost a beat.
The boy looked like Tommen.
The boy looked like Jaime.
The boy looked like Myrcella.
The boy looked like Tysha the most.
His eyes were the very same, though those azure jewels were not set into a golden glaze of skin so bright, but on pale alabaster.
There was sadness, and betrayal and defiance all wrapped together in that glare. And Tyrion felt like the sky and ire of the Gods was reflected in those eyes.
To the point that he completely missed what else was said to ensure the tension was smoothed over, and Tyrion could only watch as his little wife and her new husband talked quietly together as he helped her down the parapets and back inside.
“Who is the boy?” he asked of the dragon queen as her handmaidens dried her tears and brushed her silver gold hair.
Daenerys did not look even at him, it was Jorah who replied his query “Jon Snow, he was Ned Stark’ bastard,” he said, “or so we thought”
“Only someone of valyrian descent can claim a dragon,” she hissed “he either magicked a bond where there was none or he isn’t who he said he is”
Tyrion sighed, barely concealing his frustration, “I don’t mean Jon Snow” he clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth, “Ned Stark claimed him as his bastard son, but now it is clear to me,”
By looking at Jorah he could tell that the man had come to his own same conclusion, the same conclusion Cersei had drawn from Aemond Targaryen’ phrase.
A damp silence filled the chamber, and Daenerys turned to look at him and then Jorah with a questioning, demanding glare, Jorah, ever dutiful faced her with his hands collected before himself “Ned Stark claimed the babe as his bastard,” he said “and none of us dared question him, but apparently he might be the son of your brother, Rhaegar, and Ned Stark’ sister, lady Lyanna Stark”
Daenerys studied him, then lowered his gaze, “so he might be my nephew?” she asked, almost hopeful, “my brother’s bastard son?”
Tyrion wanted to laugh “Ay,” he said “the son your brother forced on Lyanna Stark”
Daenerys seemed hurt by this and Tyrion almost felt sorry for it, she turned to Jorah “You told me my brother fought nobly and valiantly, and that he died, tell me, my Lord those that look like someone who’d force a babe on a girl?”
Jorah looked down sheepishly “And yet he did,” he admitted “Lyanna’s abduction was… it was the reason Brandon Stark was captured by your father and he and his Lord father were put to the death, Khaleesi” Jorah told her.
Daenerys lowered her gaze, “I cannot make peace with that,” she said “you and Barristan both said that my brother was a good man, a gentle man. How could he have wanted that?”
Tyrion tsked, “Mayhap he did not want the death of Lord Stark and his heir,” he said “but he did abduct and rape Lyanna, everyone knows the story”
“Well maybe the story everyone knows is wrong!” Daenerys bellowed, desperate to believe ever an ounce of decency of her family “after all it’s the Usurper’ version”
She clasped her hands so tight that the knuckles became white.
Tyrion knew to choose his battles, “I was talking about the boy, not about Jon Snow” he said.
Daenerys frowned, “the boy with golden hair and clear eyes. With the burgundy vest”
“I thought you would tell me,” she stated “they say he is the new Lord Lannister, your son” she hissed, “I had expected someone younger, your lady wife seems quite too young to be his lady mother.”
Tyrion looked down.
Tysha’ boy.
His boy.
But…was he really his boy? After all the entire Lannister garrison had taken Tysha after his father had discovered of their marriage.
“Is there something I should know?” Daenerys questioned, her glare unnervingly penetrating.
Her lilac eyes were puffy and red for the tears she had cried.
“I… I was married before Sansa, though that marriage was dissolved,” he said “he could be the son of that marriage”
“Why was that marriage dissolved if your wife was pregnant?”
Tyrion looked away, uncertain on how to explain, “She was lowborn,” he said “my father did not approve, the boy could be anyone else’s”
Daenerys studied him, “What are you not telling me?” she demanded.
“My father told me she was a whore my brother had paid to make of me a man,” he said, “he forced me to watch as… as several Lannister guards took her and paid for her services” he told her “and then forced me to take her as well a pay her for her trouble”
He looked up at her lilac eyes “Each of them gave her a silver coin,” he said “but he had me pay a golden one, because Lannisters are worth more” he looked away “I told you he was a terrible man”
“My first whore, he called her” he said “a crofter’s daughter who had known no kindness but my own,” he told her “and she was repaid with more silver than she could carry”
Daenerys wasn’t looking at him as she rose a hand, “Remove him, from my face” she commanded “I do not wish to lay eyes on him again”
Tyrion was then grabbed by her Dothraki bloodriders and thrown outside of her chamber, he almost had not the strength to stand up after they shoved him on the ground kicking him for good measure.
“Tsk, if it isn’t the Imp of Casterly Rock” he looked up and there she was, Arya Stark, taller than he remembered her being, with longer hair and unrelenting eyes.
She almost looked like Sansa.
She almost looked like Ned Stark.
She looked the most like Catelyn Stark, the damned she-wolf.
“Lady Arya, I must say that your appearance is quite unexpected and welcomed,” he said “I never wished any ill on you and your siblings”
“You did not wish any ill on my sister neither, they say” Arya commented.
“I treated her with respect,” Tyrion claimed, “I never once laid with her carnally, for she did not wish me to”
“And that is such a decency coming from the man who’d watch his wife being raped by all those men” she replied.
Tyrion looked up at her in surprise as he was busy dusting off his jerkin, “You know Tysha?”
“If by Tysha you mean the lady dowager of Casterly Rock,” Arya said “I do know her, she came to my sister with her truth and her son, swore allegiance and now rules in Casterly Rock for her queen and her son”
Tyrion felt like the world had suddenly narrowed, where do whores go?
Where do whores go?
Where do whores go?
Where do whores go?
“The boy…”
“Your son you mean?” Arya Stark if nothing had inherited Ned Stark’ lack of patience with Lannisters, Tyrion considered.
Jaime had told him that he had hated how the man seemed to be annoyed by him and any other Lannister by principle.
“He’s my sister’ guest and a member of her husband’s court,” she said “they have risen him to Lord of Casterly Rock, he is a good boy,” Arya told him “he seems to have inherited only the golden hair of House Lannister, all else he seems to have taken after his mother”
Where do whores go?
Where do whores go?
Where do whores go?
“Come,” Arya Stark bid “the queen and her husband wish to speak with you”
Tyrion moved as if he was a puppet to which they had finally started to tug the strings; he had always known that children were bound to replicate the dance their father’s had chosen for them, and now it looked like that tune had finally reached him as well.
In a heartbeat he was before the apartments he knew had been granted to the Targaryen prince and his little wife, Stark men and Constayne men were posted outside the chamber, they nodded to Arya, called her Princess before she showed him inside the solar.
Aemond Targaryen was sat at head of the table speaking in low tones with both Jon Snow and Robb Stark as well as sir Baelor Hightower who was serving as Hand of the King in the his father’s stead, they were pouring over some parchment, a map and several schematics.
He had foregone his eyepatch, maybe because he was in private, and the sapphire nestled into the empty socket of his eye, seemed to brim at the candle light.
“Your Grace,” a lady older than him, with fair hair and eyes called, attracting his attention to the side where she was offering Sansa a cup.
“Thank you, Malora”
It was almost a two years since he had last seen his little wife, her auburn hair were longer, falling into soft waves to her waist, her face had matured some still, but her blue eyes seemed unchanged.
It made Tyrion wonder how he had missed her machinating streak when he had been married to her for three years.
She was wearing a velvet green and blue gown, with a belt of battered bronze medallions, alternated between the Stark direwolf and the Targaryen three headed dragon.
Near her stood a northern guard, with black hair and clear eyes and the white sun on the black background of House Karstark.
Arya Stark neared her sister, his little wife, and spoke to her in hushed tones and for the first time since he was a boy, he felt invisible.
Sansa looked up from Arya’ face and locked gazes with him beyond her sister’ shoulder.
She nodded to Arya and then walked to him, followed dutily by the Karstark guard and her sister as well as lady Malora.
“My Lord,” she greeted him “You look incredibly lively for a corpse” she turned around to the table, “is this what you meant, Jon?” she questioned.
Her half-brother turned cousin, turned secret Targaryen bastard had the audacity to chuckle, “Love,” Aemond Targaryen chastised, clearly amused “what have I told you about picking fights?”
Sansa turned to him, possibly to make a face, and her false husband smiled at her as if she was the one who had hung the moon in the sky, lowering his eye, and if he could have blushed he perhaps would have.
“Do not worry, Your Grace” Tyrion prodded, his temper flaring, gesturing with a hand in dismissing wave, his smile unrepentant, “sarcasm, I have learned, is a love language for the Starks,”
He then turned to Sansa, before the Targaryen prince could speak, “Why, my lady, I do feel quite lively, for a corpse,” he gestured for a hand, “I am touched you noticed”
“If sarcasm was a way to show love for me, my Lord” Sansa commented, “then I would be still wearing Joffrey’ favor,”
“And if it was a way to show hate, my lady, he would have dropped dead”
“Maybe he’s a lively corpse as well” she commented, and her false husband clicked his fingers on the surface of the table.
“He is a dead man walking,” Aemond Targaryen commented, “sadly we have more pressing concerns before I can get my hands on him, and snap his scruffy neck”
Robb Stark patted him emphatically on the back, “come now, if you promise me the first blow I may leave you the final one”
“After what he did to my wife?” Aemond questioned “you’ll be lucky if you come close enough to some remnants of him when I get my hands on him”
“Now who’s picking fights?” Sansa questioned with an easiness that Tyrion had never known of her as she walked back to her false husband with one of those smiles that brightened her whole face.
It made him even more mad than she would smile that way at a kinslayer to boot, and would not deign to offer him but the most guarded of smiles.
He had always thought she had warmed up to him, that she may grow fond of him, she might have with time, like when they strolled together and she would shared tidbits of her childhood, like the sheepshift prank her sister used to subject her to.
A devil monkey and the daughter of a traitor, made for one another.
Jealousy and hurt reared their ugly heads at him then, as easily Aemond Targaryen proffered a hand in the air in her general direction and Sansa went willingly, grabbing his hand as he pressed a kiss to her knuckles.
The smile they shared was one of first wedded bliss, Tyrion had seen it reflected in Tysha’ eyes… so many times in his dreams and in his nightmares.
Blue eyes.
As blue as Sansa.
Eyes that would break your heart.
Eyes now staring at him from across the chamber.
The boy’ hair were a golden brow so fair they shone like real gold, he was shorter than Jaime had been at his age, but broader as well, his eyes were blue instead than emerald, but his nose… his nose was all Tywin.
He looked like a lion.
He was a lion.
Sansa seemed to catch upon his shift of attention swiftly, as she waved a hand, “I suppose introductions are in order, Tyrion” she said “meet the new Lord of Casterly Rock by decree of His Grace, Herak of the House Lannister”
The boy’ gaze was unrelenting as Tyrion came closer, almost outstretched a hand to touch him, “You are…”
The boy interrupted before Tyrion was done talking, “I am lady Tysha’s son,” he said “my Lord”
It was harder than a punch in the gut.
And mine, Tyrion wanted to scream, you are mine.
He had no doubt, not watching him. He was the perfect mix of him and Tysha, the wife he barely knew. The wife who never betrayed him.
I love your kindness, she used to tell him.
Now that politeness, that kindness was staring back at him with a ruthlessness that left him breathless.
“Where…” he turned around and faced Sansa once again, “where did you find him?”
Where do whores go?
Where do whores go?
Where do whores go?
Sansa made to reply but before she could the boy, turned to her and bowed his head slightly “If it pleases you, Your Grace, I would rather retire,” he said, to Tyrion it was unclear if he either was speaking to the Targaryen prince or his little wife, “for I do not wish to be present at this time,”
Aemond Targaryen studied him for a moment, “Granted, Lord Lannister,” he said “you may go” he accorded and Tyrion watched him leave, his eyes — eyes he had loved once upon a time, eyes who had loved him — as cold as ice.
“Do not look so surprised, Lord Tyrion” Aemond Targaryen said, “the boy loves his lady mother, he has not taken kindly to the abuse she has had to suffer, as any son worth his name,”
Sansa put her hand over his shoulder as if to console and comfort him, before looking up, “After,” she said, having the kindness of not specifying what had happened “she sought refuge in Oldtown, in a monastery”
“There she birthed Herak,” Sansa said, “aided by the Silent Sisters, and raised him. The Maester who helped her deliver the boy ensured he knew his letters and sums. He will make a fine Lord,”
Tyrion looked up at her, “I am the Lord Lannister” he said “I may have feigned my death but I am alive” he told her suddenly serious “he has no business inheriting Casterly Rock yet”
Sansa cocked her head to the side, “I took Casterly Rock” she said “Lord Kevan did not surrender it,” she told him, “and my husband has granted it to him, unless you bend the knee and I doubt you will, considered your company, I doubt you’ll be Lord Lannister anymore”
“I am the rightful Lord” he said “Casterly Rock is mine”
“Casterly Rock was yours” Robb Stark intervened “before my sister took it and my good brother granted it to Lord Herak, be grateful they saw beyond his Lannister blood and chose to raise him as Lord of the Westerland, I would have razed Casterly Rock to the ground”
“You have a son now, Your Grace” Tyrion said “would you see him inherit the crown before his time?”
“My son will not inherit the crown unless his eldest sister is no more,” Robb replied “and whilst Edda is not yet ready to inherit the North, I would be glad were I defeated if she was granted Winterfell. If she didn’t my bannermen would die to put her back in Winterfell,”
“Sansa could not conquer Casterly Rock!” he hissed “she’s my wife! That mere fact makes void her rule through conquest of Casterly Rock”
Aemond Targaryen’ glare on him seemed to bore a hole in his already deturpated face, he was playing with a blade between his knuckles.
“My Lord,” he said “it seems to me like you were not afforded the luxury of a formal education, let me help you” he added “your marriage to the lady Tysha was never actually dissolved,” he said “the Septons at the Citadel maintain it is still valid to this day, which annuls by default the sham marriage you shared with my wife”
He twirled the blade in his hand, and embedded its point against the surface of the table, “whom you will address as becoming of her, as Your Grace,” he said “though, if you prove difficult, I’ll gladly come for you after I have disposed of your nephew, after this summit done with I’ll have time to kill,”
“Are you threatening me?” Tyrion said “after you sworn truce?”
Aemond Targaryen shrugged “I never said anything about after did I?”
“My love,” Sansa interrupted, the Targaryen prince turned to her, to listen to her raptly, “now, we’re not here to discuss what already proved before the eyes of Gods and Men. Not that Herak is Lord Lannister by right,” she said “the great shock has led Lord Tyrion to misspeak, hasn’t it, my Lord?”
“He misspoke alright, or I’ll cut his throat” Arya Stark snapped, her face as innocent as that of a maid of six and ten.
Tyrion recognised a patronising tone when he heard one, “I may be drunker than property, Your Grace,” he said, his blood surging with fury “my apologies”
He bowed, “I shall now return to my quarters to drink some more!” he exclaimed making a wide gesture with a hand.
“And you, Lord Snow?” he questioned as he made to walk away, “have you got nothing to say about yourself? The dragon queen is determined to prove you’re her nephew, if you are she’s your blood shouldn’t you be on her side?” he hiccuped for good measure.
I will dance on your corpses, and make Sansa dance to whatever tune I choose.
“My family is here, Lord Tyrion” Jon said “if I am blood to Daenerys Targaryen I hope she will prove she’s neither her Father nor her brother and be done with this foolery of war” he stood up “after all, as we squabble over who should sit on the Iron throne, the true enemy is marching on us, and only king Aemond has already started to send the help needed to face it”
“You should have been a politician!” he slurred, the falsity rolling off his tongue like truth “you certainly have the tongue for it, if not the spine”
“And who’s the true enemy? The Others? The wildlings? Old women’s songs?”
“Winter,” Jon Snow said solemnly “my Lord, and the death that comes with it”
Tyrion made show of stumbling and then made a flamboyant bow before leaving the chamber, feeling even more filled with rage than before.
The Gods had taken his mother from him.
Tywin had taken everything from him. From Tysha, to his pride.
Tysha had taken his seed and turned it into a fine young lord.
A son, golden and true and who despised the sight of him.
Cersei had taken any goodwill and spat it back in his face.
Sansa… Sansa had been the worst.
She had taken his name, his pride and his courage, she had taken his long lost wife and son, had dangled them under his nose and snatched them away from him; she kept taking and taking and taking.
Damned she-wolf.
Thrice damned.
Seventh damned.
And she had the brazen courage of patronising him as if he was but a child.
Only because now she had a dragon prince yapping at her every demand, eager to please her.
He would make her regret every single misdeed. Every. Single. One.
And Tysha would love him, and his son would bow his head and call him Father and not my Lord.
And Sansa would pay for every insult, every hard word, every patronising word. Every each of them.
I may not bend a wolf, but I will break one.
And he would be the queensmaker.
Daenerys Targaryen was a diamond in the rough, easy to manipulate if one appeased to her best qualities.
Tyrion would make of her the most powerful queen to ever reign over the Seven Kingdoms and he would be the most powerful man in the Realm, that his father’s only great deed would be having fathered him.
History remembered the Rogue Prince for Rhaenyra’ brief reign.
Tyrion would be better.
Tyrion would do better
And he would win.
Chapter 27: Aemond
Summary:
The dark tag is not for funsies ay?
So expect violence and cruelty. SO BE WARNED.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
TRIGGER WARNING! THE DARKNESS TAG WAS NOT FOR FUNSIES. THERE IS VIOLENCE AND DEATH AND CRUELTY SO BEWARE!
Aemond Targaryen,
He watched the map with quiet intensity, the North and the Riverlands up to Harrenhal were now backing his claim to the Iron throne, the Reach and Dorne as well, the Stormlands still loyal to Stannis Baratheon were as well, with few, local exceptions.
On paper he would, he should be considered already king, yet on the Iron throne sat Joffrey Baratheon, the boy who had hurt his wife so very much, and his mother.
By what little he had seen of Cersei Lannister and Joffrey Baratheon, he’d sooner consider the mother a threat rather than the son. Joffrey Baratheon was arrogant, and cruel but he was also cocksure and weak.
Cersei Lannister was another matter, by what Lord Varys and his Queen had reported to him, Cersei Lannister was cruel, ruthless and singlemindedly focused on just one purpose, protect her children. Now that would mean Aemond would have safe game of her, as he now held two of her three children, sadly, Cersei Lannister regarded Joffrey above all others and when cornered would strike out instead of bend down.
Which made of her a dangerous enemy.
Especially as Aemond had no intention of burning Kings Landing to the ground and risking setting off the wildfire Aerys Targaryen had planted under the whole of the city.
He cannot take the city on dragon back unless he wishes to see it perish.
The best outcome would be for Sansa to rule in his name from Casterly Rock, set up a counter-court from the one in Kings Landing and trust her to prove they’d be better monarchs than the Lannisters, whilst he would fight off the enemy to the North.
He doubt it’d be a difficult feat, though that would mean that Sansa would, once again, be put in the line of fire, without himself and Vhagar here to protect her, she’d be far a much easier target for their enemies.
“You look troubled, my love”
He turned around to look at her, her long auburn hair braided and tucked over one shoulder, dangling at her waist, her blue eyes shining with worry as she looked at him.
“I am troubled,” he replied, leaning back from the table, to make space to accommodate her near his side, “this war doesn’t have an easy solution”
Sansa did not even observe the map, she merely grabbed his hand and brought it to her lips, “You worry too much of the future ahead and too little of the imminent threat,” she told him softly, “setting court in Casterly Rock whilst the true war is fought and the truce, hopefully in place, is the only avaible solution,”
He pressed a kiss to her lips “I worry for you,” he said, “Cersei Lannister and Joffrey Baratheon have every intention of harming you, they haven’t made mystery of it, I don’t like the idea of leaving you with little forces to hold Casterly Rock whilst the main of our strength moves North”
“I know,” she replied, gingerly caressing his scarred cheek, “but without risk there is little to be gained,” she murmured “sir Eddard Karstark will remain by my side, as will Jorelle Mormont, I’d trust them with my life. Some of our leal lords will stay as well. It is our duty, you go to fight against our enemies and I hold the fort,”
Aemond sighed, “I know, my love,” he replied, “still, I would feel better if you were in Winterfell instead,” he added, “you may be yet with child… and if I were to perish against the enemy North…”
“You will not perish,” she rasped, grabbing his face in both of her hands, “I am your queen now and I forbid it. You will be there to see every child of ours being born, all of them. Kings, queens, knights, poets and dragon riders. Every one of them, I command it”
Aemond smiled, turned into her palm and kissed it, “And when my Queen commands it of me,” he said, reminiscent of another time, when she had gotten all authoritative with him, “how can I refuse her?”
Sansa smiled, and her smile was ever so bright, “you worry about the threat North,” she promised him “and I will keep at bay the enemy south”
He gently tucked the braid behind her shoulder and pressed a kiss to the junction between her jaw and her neck, to then press his forehead against her shoulder.
He sagged against her, her scent filling his nostrils and quietening his raging mind, he leaned against her as she wrapped her arms around him and carded her hands through his hair.
“I do not wish to part from you again,” he muttered, feeling like a petulant child.
Sansa smiled, he could feel it in her voice, “I wish we could not part again as well,” she said softly, “if it can comfort you, last time the husband of a Tully looking woman left to war, he returned back to her a victor, and they lived happily for many years,”
Aemond nodded against her shoulder “Let us hope it won’t take me that long to return to your side,”
“I doubt it will,” she replied “you have a dragon, he did not,” she said “with a dragon, the distance between the North and the South becomes inconsequential”
Aemond pressed a kiss against her flesh, “I will win this war,” he promised her “and the one that will come next. I promise you, our children will know peace”
Sansa nodded and leaned her head against his, “I believe you,” and the truth of it blinded him.
All his life he had been nothing but a pariah, ay, he had been a prince of the Realm, but he had also been the unwanted son of his father and the misunderstood son of his mother.
They all laughed.
He had been isolated and bullied, he had been maimed and never avenged until he had taken vengeance in his hands.
He had been deceived and betrayed, sacrificed for a son whose life had been torture.
He had been hated and forgotten.
His name accursed and hated.
And here she was, this wife of his, born centuries after him, beautiful and gentle and clever and wise. Believing in him.
Believing him to be more than the kinslayer he was remembered as.
Believing him to be more than a father with a nameless son.
Believing him to be more than a prince hated and loathed in equal parts.
“I will not tire, I will not stop,” he added “not until we are sat on the Iron throne and the Realm is at peace under us,”
And he felt overcome then, by his love for her, for this sense of belonging he had yearned for, for his whole life.
He pressed soft, open mouthed kisses against her flesh and felt the pleasure curse through him when he felt her shiver against him, as the fingers tightened against his scalp in a soft caress.
He was familiar with this sensation, this proper need to be near her, inside her, always.
He had felt that passion before, with Alys, though the memory dimmed every time he thought back on her.
This urgency to ravish her so that she’d be only his. Forevermore his.
And his kisses grew more urgent as his need, Sansa mellowed in his hold, and if before she had been the one holding him up, now she was leaning on him.
A knock on the door stopped their moment short, and whilst Sansa, ever a fan of property was readying to step back to let him welcome their guest, her whole face overcome by a gorgeous flush, Aemond had other ideas, he straightened just enough that even though he was giving the door his back he would appear but leaning against the table, and twisted to look at the newcomer as he still held his wife close by the waist, he gently pressed a hand at her pulse, his fingertips caressing her throat, shielding her neck and its wanton beauty away from the visitor.
“Who is it?” he demanded.
“Lord Commander Jon Snow, Your Grace,” the Lord Commander of his kingsguard replied from outside, his voice muffled.
Aemond sighed “Let him in,” it wasn’t much that he wasn’t fond in a way of the boy, because he reminded him terribly of Daeron despite his parentage that would have him loathe him on principle, just it looked like he was fond of disrupting all of Aemond’ plans to be with his wife.
Earlier that week, Jon had literally barged into his chamber as he and his newly wedded wife were sharing a private fast.
He had not caught them in any improper activity, but Sansa had yet to prepare for the day, and Aemond disliked a man, any man, seeing his wife as only he ought to, with her beautiful hair of fire unbound and but her nightshift loosely hanging off her shoulder and baring her throat and collarbones for his eye.
Truly Jon had been excited because the wyvern had correctly responded to his command, and had managed to spat venom to a still target, in the first successful training session Aemond had demanded of him and the hatchling.
Still, at least he had learned to knock. Or be announced before barging inside another’s apartments.
He walked in, in a hive only to stop in his tracks when he saw them, and presumably, by the state of discard of the map and their embrace, understood he had, once again, interrupted a intimate moment.
“Hello Jon,” Sansa chirped, ever ready to help her brother out of the discomfort he had caused himself and Aemond both, “what brings you here? Do you have any need of me or my husband?” her voice turned from soft to cold in but a moment, almost challenging.
Jon looked properly chastised, and Aemond felt a dark chuckle shake his chest.
“My apologies,” he said “they have sent word from the leathermaker… the saddle is ready”
It was strange to see the usually stony and solemn young man, become giddy with excitement about anything.
“I swear to the Gods,” he murmured in her ear as he stood up and adjusted her braid once again on her shoulder, “he’s like a child”
“It’s good practice for when ours will come,” she replied with a smile, though her smile dimmed the moment she realised through his gaze that he already had, had that practice.
His niece.
His nephews.
Who had died because of something he had started.
His son, who he never got to meet but whose life was condemned by his sins.
He felt the hurt over that truth double at the way her eyes stopped shining.
He had promised himself to stop living in the past, and start to look forward for the future he’d have with her, but he could not forget all that he had left behind at the drop of the coin.
He dropped a kiss on her knuckles, “I shall need the refresher on the patience needed for a child,” he said, hoping it would mend the sudden rift, and pressed a kiss atop her knuckles.
Her smile was beautiful but it did not reach her eyes.
Aemond was sorry for it, sorry it pained her so, but also elated that someone would feel pained for his sufferings.
“Well,” she offered “this child needs your most impellent attention” she said, “try not to have him fall off dragonback, I’d be really upset if that happened,”
Aemond chuckled down at her, “I promise, my love, I’ll bring your brother back safe and sound”
“Thank you,” and her smile was sincere now, even though her eyes did not sparkle as he liked them to, “go now,”
She turned around facing Jon, “And you be careful and listen to what he teaches you”
“I’ve always been a model student” Jon replied, offended.
“I’d ask Maester Luwin, but we both know he’d back me,” Sansa replied, though there was a sudden sadness in her eyes.
Aemond supposed the maester might have died when Winterfell was briefly conquered by the ironborn.
“He would,” there was sadness in Jon’ voice as well, “you were always his favorite”
“Nay,” Sansa smiled “Bran was his favorite,”
“Let’s not tell Robb, shall we?” Jon said conspiratorially.
“Never tell Robb” Sansa agreed. The she gently pushed him in Jon’s direction.
“So bossy,” Aemond commented, low as he reached Jon.
“Always has been”
“I can hear you!” she called after them, Aemond turned and offered her a smile, “it’s why being queen suits you,” he said, catching a glimpse of her blush before the door closed behind him.
He didn’t remember being quite this playful before, any laughter beaten out of him when they had started isolating him.
They all laughed.
Yet Sansa brought playfulness out of him, she eased his painful thoughts as if she was breathing fresh air in a stale room, as if she was a painter that could turn the black canvas in a riots of vivacious colours.
He prayed their children would take from their mother in that aspect.
Vivacious princesses who’d be the darling of the Realm, dutiful and playful at the same time.
Strong princes who’d defend the Realm with all of their might but would know when and how to laugh.
“You’re so whipped” Jon muttered, his tone slightly teasing.
Aemond glared, “What was that? I’d remind you I am still the king”
“And I am the Lord Commander of the Nights Watch,” Jon rebutted, “Your Grace. My sister has you whipped, Your Grace. Your Grace had no chance really,”
Aemond rolled his eyes, but followed him to the leather marker.
The workmanship for the saddle was but a pallid imitation of the work of his time, but these leathermakers had long forgotten how to shape and create a dragon-saddle which had meant that Aemond and Jon by extension had worked with them at the project as he needed to learn how to makeshift even an arranged saddle if chance demanded it.
All in all the work was better than he had expected, it was workable, though not as refined as his saddle for Vhagar and the leathermakers were too afraid to come too close to the dragoness, as they were not used to her.
Jon carried the saddle across his shoulder, for how strong Aemond could be, he could never carry Vhagar’ saddle, it would take at least several men, but the wyvern was but a hatchling still and it would be a good bonding experience if Jon secured the saddle himself, offered it as a gift to her and then flew with her.
After having chosen Jon as her rider, the wyvern had started to nestle closer to Vhagar than to the other hatchling, to the chagrin, he was sure of Daenerys Targaryen who, after the scene she had caused, had enclosed herself in the privacy of the hall she had been given, never leaving it.
Right now the hatchling was curled around herself, not too far from where Vhagar slumbered.
Aemond instructed Jon on how to set the saddle on her, he told him to show her the saddle, to talk to her and explain to her why it was needed just like he would to a small child.
Jon approached the beast, clearly more confident after the encounter with Daenerys’ fury and the hatchling spitting venom to defend him, and clearly the sessions of training Aemond had imposed of him were working wonders because even as the hatchling turned her body to observe him, she coiled her tail around him and Jon seemed not even to notice.
Giving them a sliver of privacy Aemond reached Vhagar, patting her wondrous neck as the dragoness blinked slowly. It had been a while since they had flown just for the pleasure of it, he vowed that today he would ensure they did.
He’d even ask Sansa to come, but if Jon proved to take well to flight, Aemond meant to show him some of the easiest diverting manoeuvres he needed to learn.
They would be very difficult to perform with Vhagar’ stature, so they could be potentially dangerous for a passenger.
Aemond needed to be focused on Vhagar and the manoeuvre, he could not afford to risk Sansa only because he wished to be near her always.
“No,” he said softly when he felt Vhagar’ probing mind against his, “not today,” he added.
He and the dragoness shared a mind and some old scripture said they shared more, like they had become one single heart, which meant that the dragoness herself had grown fond of Sansa, and as his thoughts strayed to his wife so did hers.
If he were to fall, and Vhagar survived him, he knew she would still protect Sansa from harm, at least until a new rider claimed her.
Vhagar huffed out a puff of smoke, but otherwise didn’t show her disappointment though Aemond could feel it.
Sansa had a way with animals, mayhap that was why she seemed to be able to reign in even his worst impulses, as she could tip in that part of his mind that he shared with Vhagar, primitive and animalistic and bend it to her will.
Jon called for him; telling him that the saddle was secured, in all reply, Aemond approached, and checked, showing Jon how to check that it was snug and secured, as falling off a horse was already dangerous, falling off dragonback was lethal.
The wyvern studied him with suspicion but let him check without hissing once, possibly feeling her rider’ thoughts.
One of the belts was a bit lax, he had Jon fix it so that he would learn which tension was the right one, then he asked Jon to name all of the parts of a dragon, ask him to name his wyvern weak-points and strengths.
“Your Grace,” Aemond turned and sir Eddard Karstark was there, holding a folded cloth over the gift his wife had had made for Jon.
Aemond nodded and grabbed the item from his arms, “Sansa had this fashioned for you,” he said “my wife spent endless nights designing it and oversaw the efforts to bring it to life” he outstretched it toward Jon.
“It’s her way,” he said, tugging the cloth away, “to show you that in her heart you always remain her brother”
The helm, fashioned to protect Jon from eventual accidental sprouts from the hatchling tail, especially in the first years of her life, was shaped as a snarling direwolf, it had white and black plumes at the sides and rubies for the eyes of the direwolf. First Men runes had been branded in the metal, Jon’ hands trembled as he observed the gift.
“It’s…” he seemed to be unable to find the right words.
Aemond felt his own hand rise to his bracelet, her first courting gift.
“She’s ever thoughtful,” he agreed with Jon’ unspoken words “I hope the trust and fondness she poses in you is never betrayed”
Jon’ gray eyes had never looked more purple before, as he nodded, resolution clear in his eyes “She’s my sister. My blood. My family. My heart. Just as Robb, Arya, Bran and Rickon are,” he said “I could never betray her”
“See that you don’t” Aemond said, clapping him in the back, “now, put your foot there,” he instructed, “piston yourself on the handle and mount on her back” he commanded.
Once Jon had done as instructed Aemond nodded and helped him adjust his sitting stance, “Flying on dragonback is different than on horse,” he told him “dragons are much more complex creatures than horses, they’re not mindless. It’s a joint effort, flying” he explained.
“Make sure you keep your hold always firm,” he said, “and keep your weight on your feet and not on your rear,”
Jon adjusted his position, Aemond pointed to the handles of the saddle, “Remember, no stiff movements,” he said “she’s learning just as you are to fly together,”
“Was your first flight with Vhagar scary?” Jon asked.
“I was terrified,” Aemond said “but spiteful enough to approach. The flight… it was exhilarating. Liberating”
Jon nodded, his expression doubt-ridden, “What if I cannot guide her?”
“She will guide you,” he replied, his tone unbothered, “just work with her,”
“Do you remember the word for fly?”
Jon nodded, Aemond asked him to perform some of the movements and tugs of the reins he had explained to him for some manoeuvres.
“You seem ready,” he commented.
“I do not feel ready,” but then he rose his gaze and his lips curled into a snarl; Aemond followed his gaze and felt a dark, looming grin distend his lips as he met Cersei’ Lannister perturbed glance, he turned to look back at Jon.
“You must be” he said his voice brokering no reply, before he walked around the wyvern, ever mindful of her tail and climbed atop Vhagar back.
When he was secured to the saddle, he gestured for Jon to give the command. With wide gestures he instructed him to lean forward, as, when the dragons took flight it was best to be flattened as much as possible against their back, to avoid their chest being crashed in by the strength of the wind.
The wyvern was too young to move enough air but Jon could still get cracked ribs from it, and he needed to learn it like a second instinct, because when she would be grown it would be much more dangerous. He needed to know to do it without thinking.
“Sovâs,” his pronunciation was wrong and all over the place, and the wyvern shook his head. He tried again, for two times, but nothing.
At which point Vhagar had already plummeted back on the ground tired to wait out for the younger one to start and fly.
Jon was growing frustrated and so was the wyvern when finally, almost by chance, he got the word right. And yet, nothing.
Aemond blinked unsure of why the hatchling would not react to the proper pronounciation, until Jon snapped “Fly!” in westeron and the wyvern took flight, possibly spurned more by his frustration than by the word itself.
Aemond patted Vhagar’ neck “Sovas” and had her take flight as well once he saw that the wyvern had gotten in the sky safe so there were distant enough that Vhagar would not hinder her movements.
Jon’ eyes was the picture of horror, but after a few moments he even started to shout in delight, the same way Aemond had when he had first flown on Vhagar.
Aemond flew at security distance, at a slow pace, the other hatchling who was busy eating, looked up in the sky when he saw them and screeched but did not attempt to fly up and create ruckus.
Jon, taken be the enthusiasm tried some of the manoeuvres that Aemond had taught to him about, two they got right, but the third one…
… the third one ended up with the hatchling almost crashing against one of the towers and Jon looked shakily horrified by the time Aemond got close enough to check on him.
“Keep flying” he shouted over the wind “and try again” he said.
Jon seemed too scared, but then something seemed to click in his mind and he flattened himself against the saddle, screaming commands in westeron to the dragon, tugging at the reins at the right tempo, and successfully managing a different manoeuvre.
Aemond clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth and commanded Vhagar to do the same, finding himself flying upside down on Jon’s head for a few seconds, before he urged Vhagar forward and upturned her again.
She was massive and every movement seemed slower than normal, but after their dip in the waters of the Gods Eye she seemed reinvigorated.
They flew until the sun was starting to set, too early in the day, and though Jon’s landing wasn’t the most graceful he could admit that he seemed to be a natural when it came down to flight.
He was panting by the time they were done and there was a light dent on his helmet, so it had been a good thing that he had worn it.
“Good job, girl,” Jon praised and Aemond was pleasing surprised that it seemed he didn’t need to tell Jon he needed to be very talkative with her again.
“You did well,” Aemond said, seeing how exhilarated Jon seemed to be.
“I think I might be too spoiled to ever ride on horseback ever again” he commented.
Aemond remembered the excitement after his first flight and the confidence that came with it.
It’s him.
Yes, it’s me.
“Good,” Aemond said “now if you’ll excuse me, I have a wife to be with”
So, he went in search of his wife, she wasn’t in their shared apartments, nor in her solar. She wasn’t in the Sept either and whilst she had visited the tombs earlier that day, she had long since returned.
She wasn’t even with her sister, who had left the training yard as soon as Jon had dismounted the hatchling to go gush about it with him.
“You’re searching for your wife?”
He turned around and smiled when Robb Stark approached him.
“Are you?” he questioned.
“Yes,” he exhaled sharply “they took Edda out of her lessons,” he said.
“Oh, so they are together,” Aemond commented.
“Which should concern us they might plot us out of our crowns,” Robb commented.
Aemond chuckled “Did you anger your queen?” he questioned.
“I might”
In the end they found them, Roslin rocking one of the twins in her arms, Sansa rocking the other, with Edda with her head resting on her lap as her aunt sang.
If I am a witch, I’ve lived my life caged
A curse on my head,
A shadow of shame,
Her voice drifted like beautiful notes made of crystal air.
And I’ve been so lone
in my tower of stone,
Waiting for someone to find me.
She gently carded her hand through Edda’ dark locks, and it almost looked like the words of her song became truth behind his eyes.
Robb made to enter and disrupt her song, but Aemond grabbed him by the shoulder and stopped him.
There in the shadows you offered your hand,
the lions roared louder,
but you held it fast.
Finding the lost in that tower of stone,
Opening the door to a gold field.
Sansa smiled to herself as she sung, her voice dipping low notes that stirred something in him that he never knew he had.
And where they had burned
You kissed me,
And all that they broke,
You restored.
When you love the darkness within me,
I knew I’d love you evermore.
Evermore,
Evermore…
Aemond remain in religious silence, as she went on with her song, even if now she had seen them.
I still fear their pyres, and flinch
at their stones,
But you lit a fire, deep in my bones
finding the voice that I’d muted so long,
Free as a wolf to the moon.
As her song lowered and ended with a lingering note, Aemond knew he’d sequester her in their bed.
And he did, for, it was late at night that exhausted she finally fell asleep against his side. Her breath was deep and slow, and Aemond let it lull him into a restorative calm.
His arm curled ever more protectively around her middle, which one day’d protect their child.
Contentment helped him fall asleep.
And yet, the nightmares grew ever more frightening and vivid. He woke with Sansa’ screams in his ears, ringing and, at the feet of their bed he could see Alys, covered in blood holding a child, covered in blood with the umbilical cord hanging off him as the babe’ screams and wails shifted and Sansa’ breath was no more.
He pushed the heel of his hands against his good eye until dark spots danced beneath his eyelid.
The migraine that was building promised to be one of the worst since he had emerged from the lake.
Sansa mumbled something in her sleep as she turned around, the moonlight bathing her slim profile from the window, Aemond leaned with his elbow around her head and gently tucked a strand of red hair from her face before pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth, then he tucked the furs around her and stood up from the bed, determined not to wake, especially since on the morrow the summit would begin.
He donned on a black tunic and his breeches, and stocked the fire in the hearth before leaving.
He closed the door behind himself quietly, and nodded to sir Eddard Karstark, who was guarding their door with sir Leighton.
Sir Leighton followed him, and sir Eddard remained behind.
He found solace walking the halls, it calmed him, to see all the proofs that they were here and they were here now; that Alys walked no more these halls.
He stared at the tapestries, silent and lone, as the night lingered quiet.
Sir Leighton kept his distance, understanding his need for solace, and Aemond was grateful he did not see a single trace of Alys’ ghost haunting the halls that had marked their love, her betrayal.
“I never betrayed you,” her voice sounded so real, so vivid Aemond almost turned around, “I thought you knew”
Aemond didn’t turn.
“A life for a life,” her voice dragged, rasped. Grated against his nerves, “that was a sacrifice a Father should be willing to make”
It should have been my choice.
“You chose. You saw the flames”
I loved you. You betrayed me.
“Don’t you think she would as well for the child that may yet grow in her belly? Do not judge a mother for the sins committed for her child,”
Her accusation frayed like electricity against him, as if he was on dragonback in the middle of lightening-storm.
“Wolves are even more protective of their cubs,” her voice dragged, like a caress against his cheek, but it burned.
“Any mother would do what I did, and any Father should have done what you did. She knows this. A woman always pray the child won’t take her life, and yet often it does. Why a Father should be different?”
Aemond clenched his fists.
Your magic condemned our son.
“Yet his ashes were seeds of death, seeds that bloomed in life anew when you rose from the Gods Eye”
Red, hot, blind rage burned and coiled into his chest, he tensed ready to trash the nearest furniture he may find, his hand itching for Dark Sister at his hip.
“Aemond…” her voice was weak, barely above a whisper.
Any lingering haunting memory dissolved with just but one word.
“Your Grace!” Sir Leighton exclaimed and Aemond turned, alarmed.
Sansa was there in her nightgown, covered in blood as red as her auburn hair, her blue eyes filled with tears and fear. The necklace that had been his first courting gift was hanging, the clasp of the chain broken, loosely around her neck on the right side.
There was a smear of blood on her collarbone. Her hair were a mess and tears streamed down her cheeks.
Aemond moved before he even blinked and he reached her in two big strides, grabbing her by the waist as she trembled.
In her hand she gripped tight a ribbon. A ribbon he knew all too well.
She kept it always on hand, together with the pearls her friend had worn when she had been killed.
A reminder of her enemies.
A prayer for their ends.
Aemond did not need her to speak, “I will kill him!”
Her eyes were dead as she looked at him, “We can’t,” she said “we vowed”
“And I vowed before the Gods that you were mine to protect, which how do you think I hold in higher regard?”
Sir Leighton had already alerted the night guard, “Sir Eddard” Sansa said “he’s wounded. He saved me” she added, grabbing his hand.
Aemond caressed her other forearm, he looked at sir Leighton over her head and nodded.
The man took it like the order it was and went to obey it.
“I want him dead” Sansa said between sobs, “I want him dead” she repeated, her fist tightening around the blue ribbon, “I want him dead”
The ribbon he had collared her with, her eyes when they set on him, were dead and filled, “I will kill him” Aemond said, “I will kill him”
Sansa shivered as she jutted her chin up, “We can’t… the vow—”
Aemond inhaled sharply, the firmness of her hold on the ribbon uncovered how mad she actually was, how scared she had been and how much she really wished the boy-king dead.
He drew consolatory circles in her skin, a maid walked in with a basin of water and several clothes, courtesy for certain of sir Leighton.
“You can go,” Aemond commanded of her once she had left all on the table next to them, when she closed the door behind herself, he tugged Sansa near the basin, dipped one of the clothes into the clear water and then gently scrubbed away the blood from her jaw and collarbone.
She shivered, Aemond did not ask her how the attack had happened, he knew that she was a wall of mutism now, and only when she would relax slightly she could tell him.
No traces of blood were left on her skin by the time the keep was alerted that some grievous attack had happened.
Jon was the first to barrel in the hall, still in his sleep clothes, terror filling his eyes.
“What happened? Ghost was bloody and…”
A sliver of fire appeared in the window as screeches rose above the thunder of the rainstorm happening outside. Aemond felt Vhagar’ fury before he could actually comprehend what was happening.
Vhagar shrieked, her roar shaking the panels of the window as she sprouted fire, people were screaming and shouting and crying and the shadow of the hatchling trashing appeared in the window, Jon cried out himself, suddenly overcome by the emotion of the wyvern as a sprout of venom hit the panels as the hatchling defended herself. The venom corroding the glass like acid would.
“Cunt,” Aemond hissed between clenched teeth.
“They are attacking the dragons!” Jon finally voiced and Sansa grabbed him by the elbow, the firmness of her hold enough to get him out Vhagar’ annoyed mind.
“You need to stop them,” she hissed “if we can catch him red-handed we can already impair the Lannisters” she told him and Aemond nodded.
He grabbed Jon by the shoulder and dragged him outside of the keep and into the curtyard. Robb was there as well trying to smooth things over, trying to understand the reason for the chaos and the sudden attack of the dragons. His direwolf, Grey Wind, was standing on all fours, his thick fur standing and making him appeare twice as big as he was.
“What is the meaning of this?” Robb demanded as soon as he saw them stepping down the stairs that led to the entrance, “why are the dragons..”
“Sansa,” Aemond said, “she was attacked in our chamber. Sir Eddard Karstark and Ghost,” he supposed “saved her, but they were aiming for a double attack to maim our strenght. They meant to attack my wife and my dragon at the same time”
The hatchling trashed some more, her tail catching against one of the fused turrets and breaking it apart with the strength of her fear and fury. Jon trashed similarly in his hold and started running after the hatchling as his direwolf, Ghost, with jaws as red as his eyes ran after him as well.
“Seven hells!” Aemond muttered, “JON!” he called as he followed him in his run to get to his wyvern.
By the time they reached the walls, by which they could approach the dragons, whatever enemy had already fled the scene, Vhagar was already calm enough, clearly not at all concerned for the attack she had suffered save than for the fury of the ignominity of it. The hatchling, instead was having a hard time calming down.
Jon, in a most reckless fashion woth the Targaryen name — Aemond had to admit — literally leaped from the wall to the wyvern neck, not worrying either for her horns, that could prove fatal, nor for the accidental sting of her darted tail, that could be even worse.
For the split of a moment Aemond feared he would have to explain to his wife how her brother had been killed by his own dragoness and stupidity, but thankfully, Jon — whom the Gods clearly favored — landed safely on the wyvern neck and held on for dear life, shouting words Aemond could not make out in the thunderous night.
He observed as Jon climbed faticously to sit safely in the crook of her neck, despite the lack of the saddle, holding securely to her horns, he tugged with all of his might and then something wondreous that Aemond had never seen before, happened. Jon’ eyes rolled back in his skulls so that only the white of it could be seen and the dragoness quieted as if suddenly a magic had frozen her on the spot; her eyes as well became as white as snow, rolling in the back of her skull.
Aemond observed as, without any need of direction, man and dragon moved as one, and turned around, no more trashing, no more spitting venom or shrieking. Jon guided the wyvern away from the walls and took to flight, possibly to calm her down.
With the biggest danger to their policitical truce now safely tucked away, Aemond and Robb had to dissolve the mass and manage to calm the storm before it was too late.
It took them four hours to get the courtyard back in a semblance of order and they finished just as the pale ill sun peeked from outside the clouds. By that time both him and Robb were drenched to their bones and whilst Jon and his hatchling had been seen flying overhead they had yet to land.
They returned inside and they met Roslin as soon as they crossed the threshold of the entrance. She had clearly slept none, Robb drew her in his arms as she told him the babies and Edda had settled in the first hours of light, it was clear that she was terrified and whilst Jon’ direwolf, Ghost had been seen standing vigil at the main gates Grey Wind was safelty tucked around the Queen consort in the North. Arya Stark was with them, guarding her nephew and nieces with the Blackfish.
Two corpses, or what remained of them, were found near Vhagar; Aemond could easily recognize them if not name them, as two of king Joffrey’ kingsguards, though they had shed the white cloak for an incognito attire. This at the very least condemned them as the culprits of the attack on the dragons.
His lord Hand flanked him adjourning him as Aemond reached for his chambers.
Aemond left Robb to console his wife as he, himself, reached his apartments to find his own wife. He found Sansa knelt in prayer before seven lit candles, wrapped into a frugal pink and white gown, with her hair yet ubnound. Jorelle Mormont was near her, ashen faced with concern lacing her every feature.
“My love,”
Sansa reacted to his voice like a flower to the spring sun, in a moment he had an armful of his wife, he kissed her brow lovingly and then asked her about Sir Eddard.
“He’s lost the right leg below the knee,” Sansa told him, looking down, “he had a slight fever immediately after the amputation, but the Maesters gave him milk of the poppy and he’s now resting,”
Jorelle Mormont sobbed in silence.
“We have proof,” Sansa told him of sudden, “we can prove it was Joffrey or on Joffrey’ orders,” Aemond leaned her back from his arms and her blue eyes were filled with resolve, “Ghost has dragged one of the attackers to the kennels were he killed him as Sir Eddard forced the others to flee. It’s Sir Osmund Kettleblack, a favore member of Joffrey’ kingsguard” she said, “it’s enough to incriminate him at least,”
She was still holding that bloody blue ribbon in her hand, an end of it was carbonized, so perhaps she had attempted to burn it before thinking better than it.
“An attack of this nature cannot go unpunished, Your Grace,” his lord Hand pointed out, “if we cannot have him executed for his attempt on the life of your wife, we should at least incriminate him and demand him deposed as a term of the truce,”
“As if Cersei would ever accept,” Sansa hissed, “He will die,” she commanded, “I will find a way,” she added, her grip tightening on the blue ribbon.
“The summit has been delayed enough as it is,” Aemond said, “he will face justice as a term of the truce. If he denies it, I will destroy him before I set out against the dead,”
“He will not,” Jon’ voice made him almost jump out of his skin as he turned around. Jon was less drenched than Aemond, courtesy of the wind against him as he flew, he looked tired to the bone, pale and suddenly without strenght.
“Jon!” Sansa cried out, leaving his side to embrace her brother fiercely, Jon folded into her arms and pressed his temple against her forehead.
“I am fine, Sansa. Are you wounded?” he asked his sister, Sansa leaned backward to him. Aemond sneaked an arm around her waist and she leaned into his side.
“I am untouched,” she promised, “but Sir Eddard… he lost his leg,”
“He protected his princess,” Jon said, “and the queen consort,” he added, “I am sure he will be honored for his sacrifice, but now we have more pressing issue,” he added, “Joffrey fled,”
Aemond blanked at that, “What do you mean he fled?”
Jon seethed, “Satin, had been looking for my return, and he saw a young man with four knights escape from the western gates, “they went in two separate directions,” Jon added, “but Satin is sure it was Joffrey,”
Aemond didn’t even had the time to speak, Sansa had grabbed his hand in hers, and was handing to him the bloody blue ribbon off to him, “If he’s escaped the keep’s gates,” she said, “you are no longer bound by guestrights” she pointed out.
Aemond smirked as he closed his hand on hers, the blue ribbon enclosed between their joint hands, “I shall bring you his head,”
Sansa nodded, ever resolute.
Aemond pressed a bruising kiss across her lips, and she bruised him back in return, before he left her, the ribbon secured to his belt and looked at Jon.
“Come, we’ve got a false king to hunt”
Jon grimaced, but nodded. Sansa grabbed her brother by the elbow, “Find him,” she issued of him, “do not kill him, it would be a problem for the Nights Watch’ neutrality, but if you find him, Aemond can bring to him our justice and vengeance,”
Jon nodded, “If I don’t have Rhaegal eat him,” he hissed, then nodded to him, donned on the helmet he must have retrived from his chambers and followed him outside.
The hatchling and Vhagar were once again nestling together but, as soon as Aemond and Jon crossed the curtyard both hatchling and dragoness stood to the ready. Aemond climbed atop Vhagar and did not wait for Jon to follow suit before he had her take flight; on the other hand, Jon knew the drill well enough by now.
They rose in the skies and then went in the two different directions, following each a different trail.
They say the king was at prayer, alone in the haunting halls of Harrenhal, when she found him.
His brave wolf queen was covered in blood, her cheeks tears stricken.
She called his name and he vowed revenge her pain.
His woman and his dragon both had been attacked by the vile lion-king; and the king was known to take none too kindly to any attack to those he loved. Still guest-rights behooved him to do his best to incriminate the culprit, but bound his hands against open execution.
When the king discovered the culprit had fled in the night like a coward, his dragoness almost killed in the attempt to maim his strength, his wife attacked… he took Vhagar and flew.
Aemond found them first, and, as the Gods willed it, he found the Lannister bastard as well. He did not hesitate, before the horses could find refuge under the frunds of the trees making him either put to torch the whole of the fields or abandon his ill intent.
“DRACARYS!”
The two member of the kingsguard were devoured by the flames and in the attempt to flee further the Horse of the king unseated him and fell over the boy.
Aemond lost little time to land Vhagar, he climbed off her back, reaching the groaning and wailing Lannister bastard.
Joffrey middle was completely under the dead horse, his body broken, the hind legs of the horse were burned as was half of Joffrey’ head, with half of his golden hair burned to crisp.
“I am the true king!,” he exclaimed feverishly, “The Gods will punish you for this!” he spat out as Aemond squatted by his seeing side, as one of his eyes had been burned away by the flames, “I am the true king! She was mine! Mine to do as I pleased! My whore!”
Aemond grabbed him by the hair closer to the burned off side of his head, leaning him so that he might see him as he dangled the bloody blue ribbon around his face, “Do you recognize this?”
“I am the true king! I may do with the women of my Realm as I please! You will die! The Gods will see you dead!”
“I died once already,” Aemond replied, his voice even, “you can’t shut the hell up even when the Stranger stands before you,” then he fisted the ribbon, “I will make you silent,”
Then he grabbed his jaw with his hand and pushed the bloody blue ribbon inside of his mouth enough to almost suffocate him and certainly mute his voice as he started to plead.
He promised me mercy, he remembere Sansa telling him, then he cut my father’s head off, he said that was mercy.
Aemond shoved his head back and then stood, unsheathing Dark Sister from his hip, “I’ll show you the same mercy you showed Ned Stark, whose only crime was expose your bastardy” he promised, “the same mercy you showed my wife when you forced her to watch her Father’s head mounted on a spike. The same mercy you showed my wife when you tortured, humiliated and tormented her,” he said.
“Any last words?” he taunted, Joffrey wailed more, he smirked, “I will see you in hell,” he promised to then plunge Dark Sister in his heaving chest, cutting his breath short and killing him.
They say there was naught but nothing of Joffrey Baratheon by the time the king reached the body. But many say that the king dealt the final blow himself.
The sources are unclear on if the king brought back his head to make of it a gift for his wife, what is certain is that, when Queen Cersei Lannister promised vengeance, the Wolf queen showed no fear and no remorse.
Those who called the wolf queen a witch, said that in the end her magic had run its course, and after killing the kingmaker it had killed the Lannister king as well.
“You murdered my son, little dove,” the lioness is said to have accused, “I will tear your wings apart with my bare hands,” and as Aemond-king had been announced in the hall his Wolf queen had challenged, “You may try”
— From the Great History of the Kings of the Iron throne, The Dragon and the Wolf
Notes:
Also, the song Sansa sings is EVERMORE by Karliene!
Chapter 28: the Red woman
Chapter Text
The red woman,
Melisandre watched up ahead, as the various participants to the summit began to take place inside the great hall of Harrenhal.
They had wanted to hold the summit outside, but the snow that had started befalling the Riverlands in the night had made it impossible.
Enough fresh snow had fallen that the lower windows were covered in it, and the small folk had taken refuge inside the keep for safety.
Many worked tirelessly to shovel the snow away from the entrances, to permit a normal life.
The dragons, after the nightly battle against their enemies had settled down once again. The Queen of all dragons slumbered near the eastern gate of Harrenhal and the hatchling that had been claimed by the Lord Commander was nestling near her side.
The other hatchling, the red and black one, was on the other side of the keep which had kept him safe from the plots of Joffrey Baratheon.
Melisandre was curious about the role Daenerys Targaryen was meant to play in the Lord’s plan.
If the Lord had not risen his chosen king from death, and had not appointed Stannis as his champion, Melisandre would have no doubts about the Mother of Dragons’ role in the Plan.
Instead, he had chosen a king and appointed a champion, yet he had given Daenerys Targaryen dragons.
One she had lost on the way, another had been claimed by the Lord Commander… which begged another question. What would be the role of the Lord Commander in the Lord’s plan?
He was here to warn them of the Great Enemy laying in the North, but the Lord had granted him a dragon to fight the Enemy with.
Was it a prize for the great responsibility he had shouldered?
He was the son of ice and fire, and yet, her flames pertaining him showed only snows.
Stannis Baratheon was stiff on his feet besides her, his hands fisted at his sides.
Since his wife’ death he had not been the same, she had sacrificed herself for the greater good, and her soul was the purest of all, and yet instead of burning away his terrors with her death, the death of Selyse Baratheon had cast a shadow on Azor Ahai reborn.
Is this the forging of Azor Ahai?
Had he doubted as well, when Nyssa Nyssa fell?
No happiness could be seen shining in his eyes, not for his daughter, who would become queen, not for his duty which he had always endorsed.
He wore the colours of his House proudly, with the royal stag encircled by the heart of flame, it was another concession the king had made.
Both to appease to those who had fought against the mad king and had supported Robert Baratheon both to appease to the fact that Shireen Baratheon would, one day, be queen consort and remained, thus far, princess of Dragonstone.
Stannis felt the urgency to exploit his role, to do his duty, though he steeled through this political mayhem which would be easily resolved if the king simply used his dragon and proved that he was the only king with the Lord’ given right to the Iron throne.
But he was hesitant, he did not want to raze to the ground the Realm. Did this prove he would be a good king or was this a test to purify him?, she wondered.
The Lord’ plan is perfect, she reminded herself, it’s our ability to interpret that is flawed.
King Robb Stark was the hosting ruler of the summit and after all the others, between lords and kings and queens, had taken their places he was the one who stood up.
The Stark banner was hoisted up at the centre of the hall, where once had stood the seat of Harren kings. There he sat with his wife, greatuncle and heir and several of his councillors.
At his right stood their canopy. The king and the queen were sat on equal thrones of Weirwood tree — a gift from king Robb for their wedding — the two thrones had a dragon head on the right armrest and a wolf’s one in the left armrest, a Weirwood tree was painted in the back of the queen’s throne, whilst a Seven Pointed Star was painted on the back of the king’s throne.
Melisandre had tried to talk the king into have painted into the back of his chair the Lord of Light, but he had refused, so the Lord was to be seen through the Seven Pointed Star once again.
There would be time for the Lord to be shown as One, and Melisandre had patience.
Stannis Baratheon stood under the Baratheon’ banner proudly, and wore Lightbringer to his hip.
Next to the king sat Lord Hightower, and his son as well as his daughter, the Maid of Oldtown. His kingsguard stood proudly before him and the queen as did lady Jorelle Mormont beside Queen Sansa.
Her other protector, sir Eddard Karstark, was now abed after he had lost one leg in the pursuit of the defence of the queen.
Melisandre stood near Azor Ahai, his guide and priestess.
Daenerys Targaryen sat on the other side of the hall, with her councillors and wearing the black and red of House Targaryen even in ribbons braided in her short hair.
She looked as terrible as the storm from which she had taken her name, as terrifying with her Dothraki and Unsullied guards.
Next to that pavilion stood Queen Dowager Cersei Lannister, completely in black as she had stated herself in mourning.
She had not screamed, clawed or cried for her son’ death.
She wore the ring she had taken from his dead body once the king had delivered it to the keep after the Flaming woods battle, as the people had started to call it.
She had promised death and torture to the queen, but she had not made attempts.
Melisandre had seen her in her fires.
Three children for you. Golden their crowns, golden their shrouds. You will be queen, for a time. Then comes another, younger, more beautiful to cast you down and take all you hold dear.
She had seen her dream, she sat above all others, sat on the Iron throne and ruling far better than any of the men who had tried to hold her down.
I want Cersei Lannister dead! But first we will take all she holds dear from her!
Prince Oberyn Martell had once and for all showed his allegiance because as soon as Joffrey was declared dead, Cersei Lannister demanded Myrcella was brought back to her and he told her that Myrcella Hill was a guest of House Martell and would remain so until the king decided to deliver her back to her father, Jaime Lannister.
The new Lannister Lord, Herak Lannister, had in the same occasion, formally requested for hi lowborn cousin to be awarded the respect of the lady of a great House even though she was no lady and that she was to be delivered back to Casterly Rock as soon as possible.
Cersei Lannister had replied with an almost irrepressible outrage at that, had screamed until her voice had grown hoarse and had promised even a more gruesome death to the Queen.
Though king Aemond had been about to remind her of her firstborn’ death, he never managed to, as Prince Oberyn had defended the queen himself.
You sit where my sister should have. You have promised me justice for her murder and her children’s, you’ve promised the fruit of your womb to Dorne. I would think I’d like you to be as safe as I wish my sister was.
That simple act, had created something anew.
It had forged a bond between Dorne and the North, a sort of kinship Melisandre had not seen in the flames before.
And she had seen the alliance that bond had forged come true.
Lord Commander Snow stood up as soon as the hall was filled with all the participants. He wore the black fur of the Nights Watch, but next to his chair, on a stool, stood a steel helm, shaped like a snarling direwolf, with white and black feathers and rubies for the eyes of the wolf.
Runes that exuded a power so raw, so primitive and true that Melisandre dared not to touch them.
The helm seemed to have been fashioned to accompany the lord’s sword, clasped at his back, with red gems at the hilt, fashioned to look like a white direwolf.
“We are all here,” Jon Snow begun, “kings, queens, petty lords and ladies and small folk alike, because the true war, the Real Enemy does not care for blood status, for political power,” he announced “the real enemy cares for nothing, he doesn’t want the Iron throne, he doesn’t care for the wellbeing of the Realm. They don’t tire, they don’t sleep. They never stop”
Jon Snow nodded to another brother of the Nights Watch, who opened the lid of a wooden can.
Jon Snow turned and his attendant offered him another sword, different from his own, he grabbed it by the hilt and unsheathed it.
King Aemond nodded to the knights of his kingsguard to prepare for eventual collision and unsheathed his own sword, Dark Sister, grabbing it by the hilt and directing the point against the ground, his arm easily reaching over to his wife, sat at his side.
Jorelle Mormont as well grabbed her morningstar and stood ready to defend in case it was needed.
Robb Stark did the same, as he ushered little Edda Stark on her mother’s lap, as he moved so that he could stand before his wife’ throne.
Stannis did no less, unsheathing Lightbringer from his hip.
Albeit uncertain prince Oberyn did the same, grabbing a lance from beside his seat. Lord Herak Lannister did the same, and upon the Mother of Dragons’ nod her Dothraki and Unsullied stood at the ready, even as nothing happened.
The wildlings that had come with the Lord Commander, handed their rough weapons as well, as the wooden can was upturned by the effort of several men and outside ran, stumbling on a missing feet, what Melisandre could only describe as death.
Bony and famished and inexhaustible as the darkness from whence it had come.
Its screech was powerful enough and raw as many shrieked and shouted and cried out at the sight. The beast was chained, and Melisandre could see in the eyes of the participants they had never seen something quite that terrifying.
Jon Snow ever impassible, moved to the side, as it attacked seemingly blindly.
“It cannot be killed by mere steel,” Jon Snow explained, slashing the arm below his right elbow. The amputated limb kept moving as if of its own accord to the ground, grabbing onto his ankle as the thing continued his restless pursuit even as the Lord Commander danced ever out of its reach, slashing off limbs.
He then bent down and slashed at its legs, cutting them off barely above the knee.
And yet the thing continued its pursuit as ungodly sounds and shrieks left its throat, as it dragged on the ground, leaving a trail of sickly black and shrivelled intestines.
Jon Snow bent down, uncaring of the thing and grabbed the severed hand from his ankle and with great effort freed his boot from its grip.
He turned to his attendant who approached him with a lit torch.
“They can be killed by fire,” Jon Snow told them, setting afire the hand, which charred, with a shriek of the thing still crawling on the ground, fell without any life anymore to the ground.
Then as he was turning around to show the charred hand to everyone, the thing grew close enough to the dais of the wooden raised platform where the king sat with his queen.
“We light the way,” the king muttered under his breath, and before the thing had even come close enough to reach them, he pierced the thing’s back with Dark Sister which opaque and black blade seemed to flame alight reflecting the flames of the torches.
The thing lost all fight and fell in a heap of severed limbs on the dais as the black goo that still lubricated the intestines seemed to only live thing about it.
Jon Snow nodded to him as the king retracted the sword and cleaned its blade with the hem of his cloak.
“Or,” he said “they can be killed by the valyrian steel,” he added.
“How many of these there are?” Daenerys Targaryen questioned.
It was Aemond Targaryen who replied “Thousands of hundreds,” he said “I saw them. And they are not even the worst of it, their commanders… they’re made of the cold, they do not speak and they do not carry steel but some kind of blade that can cut through metal as if greenwood”
“Stories?” Daenerys Targaryen demanded “stories and magick will not win you the Iron throne”
“They aren’t stories, we met one at Sable Hall,” the king said, “they are as real as you and I, as real as our dragons”
Daenerys Targaryen clicked her tongue “And you’d swear it true?”
“On the Seven Pointed star,” the king nodded “on my wife, and my own life. On the memory of my dead son”
Something seemed to click in Daenerys Targaryen’ eyes then.
Show me what I bought with my son’s life!
She nodded, her hands clasped on her lap, “This enemy is greater than any claim on the Iron throne,” she said, “if a truce can be ironed out, I shall stand against this enemy”
It surprised Melisandre, and yet not quite.
Aemond Targaryen nodded to her, “It is our hope,” he said gesturing to his good brother, king Robb, who nodded as well “that a truce can be sealed here, to face this enemy together,”
Cersei Lannister snarled “I want justice for my son!” she hissed “and my daughter delivered to me! Or the Lannister men will stand…”
“Behind king Aemond, as we have sworn,” Herak Lannister interrupted her, his eyes glinting challengingly, “you forget, Your Grace, that I am Lord of Casterly Rock and of the West now”
Cersei Lannister seethed “And you think that makes you their Lord? More than the Queen they have served for seventeen years?”
The boy jutted his chin up, “It does” he said with a confidence that would serve him well in the wars to come.
“Joffrey broke guest rights,” the Queen pointed out “when he attacked me in my private chambers, and then attacked the king’s dragon” she said “then he left the premises, which enabled us to bring him to justice. We were as merciful and as swift as he was when he cut my father’ head off,”
“Tommen and Myrcella are both under the Queen’ protection,” the king added, “as she has pleaded for their lives to be spared, as they are not guilty of their mother and their brother’s misdeeds”
His eye was as dark as a storm, “as long as they do not press their unlawful claim to the throne,” he said “they shall fear no harm from us”
“That is more than I was afforded by your son,” the queen pointed out, her blue eyes as cold as ice.
“I will not accept truce unless…”
King Aemond slammed his fist on the armrest of the throne.
As Vhagar roared with her rider’ anger, a knife spiralled to Cersei Lannister, embedding near her cheekbone on the back of her chair.
Arya Stark stood proudly.
“This is breaking guest rights as well!” Cersei Lannister screamed as Arya Stark threw another knife that embed itself in the bone hilt of the one she had thrown previously.
“If I had wanted to kill you,” Arya Stark hissed “I would not have missed” she said, “nobody cares if you are willing to accept the truce, if you aren’t you will be made”
“Arya,” the queen called, her voice soft but authoritative. She needed not to speak more, Arya Stark took place once again besides Queen Roslin, between the two queens.
But her smile was as cutting as the blades still embed next the lion queen’ head.
Jon Snow took the word again, “We need every sword we can get,” he said “and in name of this, we have to reach a truce,”
The deal for the truce was way more taxing than anyone could have expected.
Queen Cersei’ demanded her brother’ head on a spike for his involvement in the death of her Lord father.
Queen Sansa, albeit no longer married to the Imp, was not keen on that, it was thus decided that Tyrion Lannister would be delivered to Queen Cersei if he stepped foot out Harrenhal which had been declared neutral land.
Which essentially confined him to the hands of House Stark that ruled in Harrenhal as guest.
His son Herak was by default recognised Lord of Casterly Rock even though the lion Queen promised that a lesson would be learned for his impudence.
“I did no ask for your lessons, Your Grace. But you are most welcome to impart them, my lady mother always did say there is much to be learned by our elder”
Even lady Genna Lannister was forced to admit the boy had the Lannister bearing if not her brother’s foresight.
Queen Daenerys Targaryen was afforded Dragonstone on the condition that Princess Shireen may retain her title of princess of Dragonstone, until the war for the Dawn was done with and the dragon Queen proved accepting of that, even though she demanded to know the truth of her dragon’s allegiance to Jon Snow.
Jon Snow revealed himself as the illegitimate son of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen sired on lady Lyanna Stark after her abduction. He recused any claim - real or false - due to his parentage, and recused the Targaryen name, “I am a Snow,” he had said “a Stark bastard”
Queen Daenerys had tried to have him removed from his role as Lord Commander, and following that demanded his neutrality when she and king Aemond would battle for the Iron throne if another accord could not be reached.
Jon Snow reminded her he was the Lord Commander of the Nights Watch and that that demanded neutrality of him by default.
She settled at that, but also demanded a blood oath that Vhagar would not turn against her during the Battle of Dawn and until the truce was officially disbanded.
Many claim king Aemond was most offended by her demand, and that it was his queen who talked him around it, in the end it is unclear whether it took place or not; what is sure is that through it Daenerys Targaryen attempted to claim the king as husband through blood with an ancient Valyrian rite.
Such was not to be, and only in name of the fragile truce the king did not seek repercussion for it.
Especially when, after three months since their arrival in Harrenhal for the summit when the first of the troops set out for it, Queen Sansa’ womb had quickened with child.
Some maligned that, like her lady mother, as her husband rode to war, and she was heavy with babe, Queen Sansa would soon welcome a bastard in her household.
King Robb and Lord Commander Jon Snow had already left with such news was given to the people and discovered of it by raven instead, and many sources say that that was for the best for the truce may have broken the moment either of them may have heard ill of their sister and for them to wish humiliation on her as they inflicted further humiliation to lady Stark.
It is not given to know neither the king’ reaction upon learning the news nor his reaction upon hearing such a disgrace from the mouths of their tentative allies.
He escorted his wife back to Casterly Rock on Vhagar, following her procession there, where they briefly settled court before he left to lead his troops northward.
It is said that upon their farewell Queen Sansa took to throne in his stead, and that they were both rue to separate.
Melisandre drank from her cup, silent and observant as always. Almost all those who had taken part to the summit had now retired to their abodes to prepare their armies for winter come and the Great War.
Queen Cersei Lannister had been the first to retire, possibly because of her fragile hold on the lords who had stood behind her son and who she was now attempting to rally behind her granddaughter, Joffrey and Margaery’ daughter, Joanna, as both Tommen and Myrcella were unattainable for her.
Queen Daenerys left short after, with her Dothraki and Unsullied.
The dragon queen was proud, fiery and fierce, beautiful too; but there was coldness between her and her new allies after she attempted to shackle the king with her with a blood oath.
It had been quite the sight to be seen, when Daenerys Targaryen had demanded a blood oath to ensure the king did not turn against her it had been Queen Sansa who talked him around it, for the king had been unwilling to it.
“It is a small thing, my love,” the queen had reasoned, “and you mean to keep your word anyway,” she had added, but the queen had been ignorant of the ancient Valyrian customs, and the king had been persuaded by her.
Melisandre had scoured the flames to see the Lord’s plan and she had been the one to warn him of Daenerys Targaryen’ ploy.
Is it so far from madness to wisdom?
Melisandre had been uncertain of her role before, she was even more now.
Blood magic was ancient and fickle, difficult to control.
Daenerys Targaryen had given the world back dragons, but she had made four blood sacrifices for it.
She had sacrificed her son for her husband, then she had sacrificed her husband, his stallion, the maegi and herself… and from the pyre four lives had risen.
Three dragons and a dragon queen.
Blood magic left a mark on those who dabbled into it.
Only death must pay for life.
But when one played with life and death without following the Lord’s plan…
… had the Lord risen the king from death because He needed someone to heaven out the odds of the return of the dragons and their Mother on this earth?
One of the dragons, the one who had taken life from the death of the stallion had been the first to die.
The one who had taken life from the death of the Maegi had turned against his mother and had chosen instead a new rider.
The one who had taken life from the death of the Dothraki warlord had become her own dragon. Loyal, fierce and bloodthirsty.
She was still battling with herself, with the potential of destruction the blood rite had unlocked in her.
People who dabbled in dark magic often lost themselves to it, they forgot who they once had been until only their purer form remained.
Washed clean from any uncertainty and weakness they had before.
People who dabbled in blood magic became from the caster the tool more often than not or would loose themselves to the darkness and madness it harnessed.
The wolf queen would no longer plead for a peaceful end of the conflict with Daenerys Targaryen after she discovered the ploy to steal her husband.
And the dragon queen had been smart, she had smarted away from the wolf queen’ coldness.
“You and I are the same, we know what it is to be a woman and rule over displeased men,” the dragon queen had said in her flames, “and we both know the advantages of a good match to quieten their endless whine,”
“I did not need a blood oath to get my husband in my bed, Your Grace. You and I are not the same,” she had seen the wolf queen taunt in her flames as the Lord’ favor shone upon her brow.
Shortly after that king Robb and Lord Commander Jon Snow had left as well, with the most of the northerner troops back northward.
Before departing king Robb had officially named his eldest daughter, Edda, as his prime heir and crown princess and had named his wife her legal regent should anything befall him as the Blackfish who would remain behind to protect his children would act as Lord Protector in his absence.
The hatchling followed them North, though Jon Snow did not ride her as they set out, the king counselled him to fly with her as often as possible and to keep training her so that her attacks were as precise as possible.
As it was imperative that she was as precise as possible as she would be too exposed elsewise.
Prince Oberyn Martell sent word back to Dorne and chose to remain with the court, he would then help march the troops North, leaving several garrisons back to defend the queen once the dornish troops reached the westerlands.
Most of the lords and ladies of the Riverlands and crown lands were as of now loyal to the king or, in the riverlanders case to king Robb and the king both.
House Hightower was torn as House Tyrell had yet to send the support promised especially now that the daughter of Margaery Tyrell had been named infant queen by Cersei Lannister; and so the Reach was torn as well. Suspended.
The Lord Hand himself would travel to Highgarden as the king’ emissary and demand they respected their word and as his son would leave for the North with the king he left his daughter, lady Malora as acting Hand of the Queen during their absence.
Melisandre would follow Azor Ahai North, to ensure the weight of his duty didn’t destroy him. To uplift him and guide him.
To show him the path Nyssa Nyssa’ light had not been able to cast from the shadow. Maybe her light had been so bright that it casted shadows so great that the path was dark and blind for Azor Ahai reborn.
Is this the forging of Azor Ahai?
“The queen is with child,” she had foretold to Stannis before they had even announced it the night before they were set to leave back to Casterly Rock.
Stannis had shown no emotion, “Will it be Shireen’ husband?” he asked.
Melisandre had not seen enough in the flames to know if Shireen’ husband would be the firstborn or if a daughter or a stillborn would be born first.
“The Lord’s plan is unchanged,” she had said then “your daughter will marry their son who will become king,” she said “and he will love and respect her well”
A blade in the darkness and hands stained with blood.
It’s the Lord’s plan. It’s unflawed. It’s Men eyes that are flawed.
Chapter 29: Special chapter
Chapter Text
Special chapter
Seven day fast, seven day pray.
This was the Hightower tradition upon the first pregnancy of the Lady of Oldtown, since the time of the first noble settlement in the city.
The tradition was followed for every firstborn, later on, it was followed after the birth of the first healthy son.
Though some register that some Lords of Oldtown have followed this tradition for all children they bore, noble and lowborn alike.
King Aemond for sure befalls in this latter category, for he always observed the seven day fast and seven day prayer rule upon learning his wife was with child.
“Your Grace,” Sansa turned from where she and lady Jorelle were sat, concern marring their features as they prayed and waited for news, both by the king and Jon, and about sir Eddard. Lady Melora, at their side was convinced sir Eddard would survive the night and many more besides, and had told lady Jorelle to pray instead of despair.
Sansa appreciated, usually, her presence, but at times she wondered if her kind of cleverness made her lack delicacy, for at times she appeared so out of social norms, that Sansa would think her either mad or that she was not quite finished and she was missing a few cogs, only that her family had surrounded her with this mysterious aura that made her less of a fool and more of some kind of genius woman.
Jorelle dried at her tear stricken cheeks as Sansa looked up from her seat to the Maester.
He was a gangly man, with surprising broad shoulder for how lithe his body looked, he had a chain wrapped around his neck, just as Maester Luwin used to sport, and his hair were trimmed short, possibly due the receding hairline, his bear was trimmed and composed, with small braids in the First Men fashion so unlike many Maesters who mostly considered Faith, any kind of Faith, as a social phenomenon more than truth.
His eyes were steel gray.
Lady Melora had brought him with her from Oldtown, he was one of the three Maesters that practiced there for House Hightower and its local branches, and he went by the name of Lexton.
He was perhaps of an age with Lord Glover, and despite his long limbs he had that kind of look that made you consider even an older man a menace.
A quiet menace perhaps, but a menace all the same.
“Maester Lexton,” she greeted, eying the blood red stain on his robes, “any news on sir Eddard?”
“We have managed to limit the infected area and remove it, so that the fever may start to decrease, whilst saving his knee,” he said “he may not ride again, but with the right prosthetic leg, fashioned for his comfort he may still walk”
The man looked down, “though he may no longer be fit to guard you, Your Grace”
“Loyalty is more precious than what our body can afford,” she said “and if Bran could ride with the saddle fashioned for him, I don’t see why sir Eddard could not do the same” she added.
Maester Lexton considered her, “Indeed,” he commented “Your Grace is very determined,” he said “if you command I doubt any would disagree”
Sansa couldn’t quite place if the man was paying her a compliment or rather misspeaking about her, lady Melora smiled warmly, “When Her Grace speaks, the Gods listen” she said “and before the sun will set, they will deliver you what you have so longed for”
After I raise my armies and kill your traitor brother I am going to give you his head as well!
Or maybe he’ll give me yours.
Sansa almost shivered, “Indeed,” Maester Lexton commented, his smile was kind of familiar “her Lord father was the same way, he and his Old Gods,” he commented “he would speak endlessly to them, not with prayers or questions, he would just speak, speak out loud to them and somehow he’d find the answers,”
“You knew my Lord father?”
“Ay, Your Grace,” he said “I was but a butcher boy in the Eyrie, not a noble son at all, but you see I was clever,” he commented “your Lord Father and his late Grace king Robert discovered me once as I had slipped into the library and trained myself to read” he said “they championed me to Lord Arryn so that I may learn the ways of the Gray Men in Oldtown”
“My father was furious, you see, I was his only surviving son and I should have followed in his steps,” he told her “books and letters and sums are for the highborns, for us is the sweat off our backs,”
“Your Lord Father paid for my life, he bought my future and sent me to Oldtown with a letter by his own hand of recommendation,” he said “he even found an apprentice for my father,”
Sansa looked at him but could discern no lie, “I had wanted to serve him in Winterfell, but I was judged too young and too behind in my studies for such a great keep, without considering the matter of me not being a noble, and by the time I had caught up with the studies and proved my worth another Maester had already be sent to Winterfell,” he said “I waited out, I knew him my senior of many years I guess I kind of had hoped he would pass soon and I could repay your Lord Father,”
“Maester Luwin,” Sansa commented.
“Ay, that was his name,” Maester Lexton commented “but he lived so long that when I had completed my chain and had passed all good opportunities I was left behind in Oldtown,” he said “I helped Lord Hightower’ youngest boy when he fell off his horse and broke his elbow, and so Lord Hightower took me in,” he told her “I have been their faithful servant since”
He grabbed her hand and squeezed, “I wept when I learned of his execution,” he said, “as soon as Stannis sent us word about the truth of the parentage of the royal children and of lord Stark’ role in unveiling the truth I helped send ravens throughout the Seven Kingdoms” he told her.
“It was little I could do to repay him,” he said “but I did wholeheartedly, had I learned the way of the sword instead of the way of the pen I might have joined your noble brother in his pursuit against the Iron throne”
Sansa squeezed his hand back, “I am sure my Lord father would be very proud of the Maester you have become,” she offered, the courtesy spilling like water from her lips “and you helped sir Eddard, named after him, to survive today, I’d like to think that it was the way the Gods saw fit to have you repay my Lord Father”
Though something about the way he spoke about Maester Luwin rubbed at her the wrong way, “Maester Luwin was a good man,” she said “he is as much to praise for our education as is our septa and our parents. He thought us to write and read and be kind to one another about our weaknesses, I am sorry to hear you wished him ill”
“I did not Your Grace,” he said and there was sincerity in his tone “I was aware of his impressive curriculum and believed him to be the best candidate for Winterfell when the time came and he was named to it,” he told her “and though I felt robbed I too felt grateful he would serve House Stark whereas I could not and hoped that when the day came that he passed I might inherit his place at your Father’s court”
Sansa considered him, “I see,” she commented “I am glad to hear of it, when will sir Eddard be able to be fit for the prosthetic leg?” she questioned.
“Only the Gods know,” he said “I hope that by next morning the fever will have lowered as much as possible and that he may eat something to replenish his strength”
“We shall feed him by spoon if he cannot,” Sansa told him, resolution tinting her voice, “Bran was kept alive by Maester Luwin as he slept, he might have woken thinner than before but he survived. Sir Eddard will survive as well” she decreed.
“He will Your Grace,” lady Melora agreed, her chin jutted up, “and Maester Lexton will do all in his power to help speed the process forward”
“Your confidence gives us hope and strength, Your Grace”
It wasn’t usual for Jorelle to speak with her heart on her sleeve. It was a common misconception, if one was to ask Sansa, that Mormont women lived as freely and fiercely as they loved.
No.
Jorelle was a woman of few words and even those spoken in private.
She did not honey her words with false courtesies, she spoke what was on her mind with a truerer tongue than many, but she did not skimp on fleeting words for however beautiful they were or not.
It was a more unique than rare occasion for her to speak with that fervor before people who she did not know. Or to show how upset she was about anything, for in a world of men, Sansa knew too well, that could be a weakness.
Sansa grabbed fiercely her hand in hers, her husband black onyx rosary between her fingertips, “We will pray,” she says as the dragons screeched in the darkness of the night, “that the Gods show us a way to have justice for this terrible crime, and we’ll be as patient, and we will persevere as long as it takes, but I promise you,” she swore “Joffrey Baratheon and his goons will pay with their lives this miscreant act,” she promised.
“Gods willing, my Queen” Jorelle nodded, clearly shaken but comforted by her words.
Jorelle reminded her of Jeyne in those first hours after her Lord father’ attempt to coup the throne for Lord Baratheon.
Only more reserved in her pain.
Sansa was beyond grateful of being considered enough of a friend and lady to be privy to her feelings.
She nodded, “They shall will it, I am sure”
And if they don’t then I will.
“A warrior of light knows no hurry. He knows that patience is the virtue imbued in his champions by the Lord of Light for the night is dark and full of terrors but fire burns them all away”
Sansa had not noticed the red woman entering the small internal chapel in which she and her companions had sought refuge and prayer.
The woman was as silent as a snake and her red eyes at times reminded her of a lost child still trying to find her way home and at times reminded her of a feral and ferocious red-eyed rat.
It did not help that her words were marked by another screech as the small chapel was lightened as if by day from a tongue of fire from the courtyard.
“How did you enter?” she demanded, turning back once again to the woman.
“The Lord knows all locks and all fears, you are his chosen Queen, the Queen of Ice for his king of Fire,” she said “and you need me”
Sansa frowned.
Of faithful servants of any God she disliked the most the blind and abject fanatics and by her experience most of the followers of this Red God of Light were as such.
Stannis Baratheon had let his wife immolate herself on a pyre to die through inimaginable pain, on the words of this woman.
Sansa would be wary until the day either of them died, and she wasn’t so sure she would not alert her husband that the woman was not respecting his decree to not be near her and have her loose her head in the process.
“You are not Selyse Florent,” the red woman commented, “nor is the King, Azor Ahai reborn,” she said “there is no pyre in your future and you will stubbornly refuse to be burned upon your death,”
Sansa misliked her all the same.
“What can I do for you, lady Melisandre?”
“The Lord has paved the way for you to have the head of the usurper Joffrey Baratheon,” she said “I myself did the ceremony, to pray the Lord to kill all Usurpers of the throne. The time has come for Joffrey Baratheon”
Sansa hissed behind her teeth “And did you in this ceremony pray your Lord for my brother’s head? Or my husband’s?” she demanded, her voice thick with menace.
“I did,” she said “Stannis chose the order and whilst the king was not yet risen, he named your brother usurper” she admitted as if she had not just admitted to her she had done some magic to kill her brother, “but the Lord in His immense knowledge and power has shown us the true way. He has risen the king and spared the Young Wolf,” she said “others have not been this fortunate”
Sansa could almost hear the words.
Robb Stark.
Joffrey Baratheon.
Renly Baratheon.
Balon Greyjoy.
Renly and Balon were both dead.
Of the five kings of the war just past, two had already fallen.
Sansa advanced on the woman “If something,” she said “anything happens to my brother or, Gods forbid, his children I will hunt you down,” she hissed “see if your Lord of Light can defend you then from the fury of the Old Gods”
Lady Melisandre did not seem shaken by her threat, she merely smiled.
May your God forsake you and your eye turn from blind to seeing so that you see His neglect and absence, Sansa thought darkly.
“Now, leave me. I have no wish of your presence,” Sansa commanded “leave before I have a fashion to tell my husband you have disobeyed his direct order by approaching me”
Lady Melisandre offered her a bow, as reverent as Sansa could find “Your Grace,” she bid “you know the path, you have walked it many times with your eyes closed. Open your eyes and just reach out, the Lord shall give you what you will”
Sansa eyed her darkly as she left, “Maester” she called.
“Your Grace?”
Sansa turned to look at him, “Caring for sir Eddard takes the precedence but I wish to know all that there is to know about this Lord of Light and the ceremonies. That woman is dangerous,” she said “I want to know what her capabilities may entail so that I may stop her from doing miscreant magic in our name sullying our souls”
“As you bid Your Grace”
Later on when Aemond returned with the broken body of Joffrey Baratheon Sansa did not feel avenged, she felt loved.
Because her husband came back to her; her husband killed her tormentor and the boy who had taken unlawfully her father’s head.
And she felt invincible to the point that when Cersei Lannister threatened her, Sansa did not feel no more the need to revert back to a little bird.
And told her plainly to try, if she wished and fail.
Though a few days after the summit she was overtaken with such a fatigue that she ended up missing the nightly meal more often than not and that by the time her husband would return to their chamber she would be already asleep, at times sitting near the window or by the fire.
He would gently scoop her in his arms and gather her against his chest before setting her on the bed and joining her.
It was Maester Lexton who alerted her of the significance of blood rituals in Old Valyria, of how, often men had been tricked by older women in marriage through it, either with the complicity of the family or not.
And how, even the followers of the Red God used blood rites for marriages and such, alerting her of the presence in Dragonstone of a red priestess in service of Daenerys Targaryen.
She had run after her husband then, worried he might consider Daenerys Targaryen either above it or unknowledgeable enough to be unaware.
Maester Lexton advised her not to run, but Sansa did not really care, so he went after her.
In the end she ought not to worry for her husband and was more than aware and convinced that Daenerys Targaryen had made that attempt.
Apparently bloodwives, for that was the translation of the term, were, in ancient time, considered more of concubines than wives, but with the death of so many lawful wives on birthbed they had taken more and more breath as the Valyrian believed that the exchange of blood done with the favor of the God of Trickeries strengthened their womb for a healthy son.
Often they’d also become the Lady of the Dragonlord’ House on the simple principle of the blood ritual, which became the traditional form of exchanging vows.
Daenerys Targaryen tried to play it off as an attempt to unite the Seven Kingdoms which would not threaten her place at court but would avoid useless bloodshed.
Sansa could see straight through her.
Sansa would not have survived long if her husband hadn’t manipulated the ritual to appear made by two blood-brothers more than by a wedded couple.
When back in their chamber, after Sansa had once again asserted her role as Aemond’ only wife and lawful queen with the dragon queen, Sansa had demanded her husband never again left her helpless in the dark about anything.
She had taken his hand and had pressed it to her still flat womb, “We are one now,” she had hissed to him, “and we must protect the children who are coming from anyone who’d harm us for their gain,”
Aemond looked down to his hand pressed against her belly, then up her eyes as Sansa tried to convey what she knew in her heart and what had been already confirmed by the Maester and the midwife he had summoned to ascertain for certain.
She had meant to tell Aemond later, in a more private setting and especially not with servants and ears lurking about already, maybe in the privacy of their chamber, when no more enemies were left in the keep to try and gather intel or harm them.
“And we can’t do that,” she added, grabbing him by the back of the neck and urging him closer to him, “if we both aren’t aware of any and every plot,”
His lilac eye rose up to met her gaze once again, wonder and fondness and love written upon his features.
Sansa had been suspecting she might be with child for a few weeks now, after having missed her courses, but she knew well enough that at times the stress could cause one or several skipped courses though she had been way too regular since she had gotten her first blood to believe a missing course a coincidence.
It had been around that time that she had wanted to share her suspicions with him, especially when he had shared his anxiousness about leaving her alone to go to the battlefront North considering not only herself but the child she may yet carry.
But then, when Sansa had teased him about Jon’s presence to see as good practice for the children they might have .. he had looked so hurt and so heartbroken, that Sansa had suddenly felt like her children would always come second place to those he had lost.
It had hurt her too.
She had known it as irrational, she herself had once dreamed to name her children after the brothers she had believed lost, and in her mind that didn’t hinder in any way the love she may bear her children for themselves.
Yet, for the split of a moment she had felt like she and her children would never be enough.
She knew he bore her love.
She also knew he had loved already, more than once if chronicles were to be believed, and it was only natural for her to doubt if ever he would see them as more than mere placeholders or if that would be their fate.
Then the other symptoms had started to pile up, the fatigue had so far been the worst of it, then her sore bosom and her constant need to relieve herself; but he had been so busy, and so had she, then Joffrey had attacked and everything had almost been lost.
Sansa had wanted to tell him, that night, after the attack but with what had happened she was afraid that if anyone caught whiff of it she and the child she may have been carrying may be dead before she may even get to experience holding them in her arms.
The headaches had been a nightmare as well and when she had gone to Maester Lexton, urged by lady Melora, he had confirmed for her that her symptoms seemed to suggest she may be pregnant already, which should not surprise them as her mother had fallen pregnant with babe in less than a fortnight during Robert’s Rebellion.
He had summoned a midwife of his acquaintance to check as well, and she had confirmed that ay, Sansa was most certainly in the first stages of a pregnancy.
Fear and hurt had kept her mouth closed until almost everyone had left, she felt sorry for not sharing the news personally with her brothers and by now only the Maester, the midwife and Arya were aware of her condition.
“Are you certain?” he asked, his voice little and uncertain, but full of hope.
Sansa nodded, feeling as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders but also feeling a lump claw at her throat as Aemond remained silent.
Her husband looked at the Maester a few steps behind them next to Jorelle, who looked almost as touched as Arya had looked when Sansa had told her, for further confirmation and he nodded.
“Both I and the midwife are confident,” he replied to Aemond’s silent query.
And then it was a split of a moment and her husband was on his knees before her, cupping her still flat belly between his hands, the warmth of his hands seeping through the velvet of her gown and marking tenderly at her flesh.
He murmured something low, in high Valyrian that Sansa did not catch speaking to the life nestling safely in her belly, but somehow she found herself carding a hand through his hair as he looked up at her his lilac eyes sparkling so much it rivaled the sapphire nestled in his other eye.
His good eye was filled to the brim with tears and happiness and Sansa felt as if she could finally breathe.
“The Gods have blessed you, love” he told her softly “and I have been blessed by you,” he added, bringing her hands to his lips and kissing her knuckles.
Sansa smiled at him and that was all the prompt he needed to surge forward and claim her lips in a bruising kiss, despite their audience who started to clap and hail and their health, from noble — the Lord Hand and his sons and his daughter who were the first to congratulate them — to the servants present inside the chamber.
Aemond never once let go of her waist, “Let the bell ring!” he commanded, his smile infectious “let the bell ring!”
And the bell rung, and Aemond fasted for seven days and for seven days he was at prayer in the small internal chapel only Sansa was free to enter and roam inside it.
She was usually the one bringing him water and milk and honey twice a day to sustain him in those seven days.
She would stop and pray with him for a while too, an entire rotation of the rosary usually then she would return to her duties, as he prayed for her.
The Lord Hand told her that this was an ancient Hightower’ tradition and that he himself had partook in it for his heir and for any child he had been able to.
He took part several times of her nightly praying circles and Sansa was quite pleased of it as well.
There had been some sort of coldness between them before, but now she felt oddly at ease with the man.
Maester Lexton almost never left her side, if not to care for sir Eddard, who had woken from his slumber and was eager to be fitted for his prosthetic leg soon so that he might be of use again.
Sansa berated him until he claimed his ears would bleed, conveying that he was more than useful any way he was, even bedridden.
And that he ought to remember that.
Maester Lexton and lady Malora became her constant companions as Jorelle had already been, but was now focused, on Sansa’ insistence on helping sir Eddard recover as Sir Leighton could be trusted with her protection for a while whilst Jorelle was busy with helping the boy Sansa was sure she had fallen in love with.
Though she’d never say.
Roslin was most supportive as well as the older sister Sansa did not have, the midwife that had checked on her condition for her had been the one in charge of the birth of the twins and Roslin sang her praises to her and how important it was to have a midwife one could trust.
For the fortnight they remained in Harrenhal before departing for Casterly Rock, Sansa was completely overcome by the love she received from the people surrounding her, and when Roslin presented her with the talisman with the Mother’ face depicted on it to protect her pregnancy and later her babe, turnedto the other side and attached to their clothes so that the Mother and the Crone both may look after them; she actually shed a tear.
And she had full blown cried when Arya who should have remained in Harrenhal had instead packed up and was ready to leave to be with her.
“You are my sister” she had told her “my blood. I need you as you need me. I am coming with you” and that had been it “you and the pup are my priority now” she had stated and Sansa had been unable to hold the tears.
They had planned to ride back into the westerlands with the procession, Aemond had suggested she might want to fly, especially in her condition as the air was much safer than the bumpy road and the several perils of it especially considering the persons that lay in waiting to scrape how much they could from any caravan.
Plus, of the three dragons in the Realm, one was ridden by her husband, one by her brother and the other one by a queen who was now sworn to a truce.
The plus side would be that the voyage on dragonback would be quicker and much less taxing on her condition, Maester Lexton agreed as well.
Her sister was against it, reasoning that if anything should befall Aemond in open sky, Sansa and the baby she carried were the only hope for the future.
Sansa had been very touched by how fiercely her sister had defended her, and in the end talked her husband around it, since her husband could anyway escort them up in air and eventually descend on any who dared harm them.
It took them two weeks and half to reach Casterly Rock and when they did Sansa had to admit she might have rather a shorter voyage without all the bumpiness of the carriage ride which had made her feel even more nauseous.
The plainer the fast she would break in the morning the least she would retch it all after a few hours of voyage.
Maester Lexton helped her at best that he could, but in these first stages it would be better if she didn’t inhale any kind of oil to avoid nausea, though he had her munch on nuts and seeds all the way in the day and he ordered her to eat spinaches or green leaf vegetables with every meal, and after a few days that seemed to help her settle her nauseas, though they would come still they were less strong and she could go more lengthy legs of journey without feeling like her insides were twisting up her throat.
Every night she and her husband would take long scrolls, their sworn shields several steps behind and Vhagar always looming, because Aemond remembered how much the evening strolls had helped his sister when she had been pregnant both with the twins and Maelor.
He never spoke of Alys, or how she had taken care of possible pregnancy symptoms, and Sansa never asked.
He was soft and gentle and patient with her, and Sansa would manage to pry a smile or two from him every time they were together.
Arya had even taught her how to handle a small dagger that she had gifted her. Her very first lesson still ringing in her ears.
Stick them with the pointy end.
Sansa was adverse to carry any weapon, but several times before she finally managed to escape Kings Landing, when she had been meeting with possible allies she had left her chamber with nothing but a broken bone-comb or a fruit-knife to defend herself if needed.
Still, by the time they reached Casterly Rock it was a much needed reprieve from the difficulties of the road, and to Sansa it was a most welcome sight.
They were afforded all the honours of reigning monarchs, and lady Tysha welcomed them with the steely resolve she had come to expect of the woman, though her smile warmed her whole face when her son paid his respects to her as soon as they reached the keep.
“I have learned of the great news,” lady Tysha had told her later, as they shared into an intimate sewing circle to catch up on all that had happen “I pray the child shall be strong and healthy and may grow to be wise”
Sansa smiled at her, though the woman looked hurt beyond belief.
“You do not remember pregnancy fondly,” she stated. She had learned that at times boundaries must be pushed a bit, to learn to trust someone.
Lady Tysha looked at her lap than back at her, “It would have been difficult to remember such a time fondly,” she said “my only consolation is my son,”
Sansa nodded, “Forgive me for my indelicancy,” she said “we may never speak of it again, if it is your wish,”
Tysha looked back down on her work, “Would it make them stop?” she wondered, “I hear them always, in the back of my mind. Saying my son is a bastard, the son of rape… the bastard son born of a wench and some lowly guard…”
“Anyone who’d see Lord Lannister would see he has the Lannister look” she said “and anyone dishonouring the name of his Mother should be treated accordingly to his insult”
“I shall see to it that they do that again to their own peril”
Lady Tysha looked up at her then, perhaps startled by her voice, and looked at her. She was older than her, and so very hurt, so much that she almost looked like a girl.
Sansa nodded to her.
“I may not be a fighter, my lady” she said “but I am the queen, and as such it is my duty and my honor to ensure that my subjects are not mistreated in any way within all of my capacities,”
Lady Tysha still stared at her, Sansa resumed her work, “I shall not silence them with violence,” she said “for it would bring you and I just another vilifying name,”
She looked out of the window and absent mindedly curled a hand around her belly; “That,” she said, looking back at the woman “is not the way to ensure people’ loyalty”
Tysha looked at her “And how do you ensure people’ loyalty beyond doubt, Your Grace?” she questioned.
Sansa looked down to her work. She was stitching an emerald dragon on the winter-riding cloak her husband had commissioned. It was a cloak fashioned to not hinder him during flight but still keep him warm when on foot and away from the heat provided by the dragon.
Make sure they fear you more than they do the enemy.
I will remember Your Grace.
“Some say fear is the way to ensure loyalty” she said “make sure they fear you more than the enemy”
Lady Tysha observed her in silence.
“But that,” Sansa told her “is not what I’ve learned. People have died so that I could be here,” she said, her hand coming to touch the pearls at her neck “they gave their life willingly for mine. And it was not because they were afraid” she murmured “they did it because they loved me”
She looked up at her “I am sure that cutting off heads must be very satisfying when faced with opposition, but that is not the way to make people work together” she said “love. Love is the surer route to loyalty”
Tysha looked at her for a long moment and then said “Violence is all I have known. Even the gentleness of the Faith can be violent…”
Sansa studied her, “Fear” Tysha continued “is all I have known since they brought me here that first time. Since I saw him above me, he was crying but he did not stop,” she said “he stopped none of it, and yet I am the one who’s called whore, the one who lived in constant fear my son would be his, or that he would not be” she told her “and later, that he would be discovered and killed”
She looked back to her “I owe a great deal to fear” she said “it kept me and my son alive”
“Aye,” Sansa conceded “fear helps us survive, but it is love that helps us living. You survived thanks to your fear,” she said “but you lived thanks to the love you bear your son”
She leaned over and grabbed her hand in hers, “That,” she said “is a greatest power than fear”
Later, when Lady Tysha sent her a woman to serve her as Septa, a woman who had come with them from Oldtown and had been beside her for years.
Sansa studied her well.
She had never expected to be able to have a Septa in her service again, not one she could trust anyway.
“Why do you wish to serve me?” she asked.
“Your Grace is in need of a Septa,” the woman replied “I can provide for that”
“Can you?” Sansa questioned “my late Septa gave her life for me,” she said.
Do as I told you. Run!
“Hers are big shoes to fill” she said, lady Jorelle standing behind her with such a feral smile even Sansa would have been intimidated if she was on the receiving end of it.
“And I shall fill them at the best of my capacities, with good will,” she replied “and within what the Gods have in store for me, Your Grace”
Sansa liked that reply, because it was unassuming and yet determined.
“Then you are very welcome and Gods willing you will serve us well”
So it was that by the time her husband left her in Casterly Rock to guide the troops North, Sansa had a miniature court of her own.
“As I leave I wish for you to stay safe and be healthy,” he told her the last night they spent together, tangled with one another, his head pressed against her lap, his nose against her still flat belly and his hair a cascade of silver gold across the furs, “I will return for his birth”
“And what if it is a girl?” she questioned, “what if I have only girls?”
Aemond looked up in her eyes, his lilac eye imperscrutable “Then we will find a husband who will protect her and support her as they rule on the Realm” he said “maybe someone from the Stark line or the Hightower line to perpetuate the greatness of our line” he told her “or someone dornish to ensure peace”
“But we shall face this if it comes,” he said.
Sansa nodded.
“Thank you” she said softly, playing with his hair absentmindedly but with a heavy burden in her heart.
He took her hand in his and kissed her knuckles “I will need an heir,” he said “but if daughters is all that the Gods have in store for us…” he told her “I will not make the same mistake my Father made,”
He kissed her knuckles again “Their inheritance will be undisputed” he said, “and every child of ours will be fiercely loved”
“And,” he added “if anything befalls me in the North—”
Sansa started to shake her head then, trying to pry her hand free of his.
“No” she repeated like a broken prayer “nothing will happen to you”
Aemond rose to sit by her side, his legs curled around her, as if keeping her warm and safe, he caressed her face even as she looked away from him.
Refused to look at him.
“My love,” he murmured “I need to say it and you need to hear it. Just once” he urged her to look at him “I do not mean to leave you alone in the world, but if the Gods will take me from you before time…” he pressed his hand to her belly “you will see our child on the Iron throne, and you will love them well, and they will protect you” he said.
“And one day, I’ll come for you. I won’t let the Stranger take you from me after he has taken me once, I promise. I will come for you and we’ll be happy”
Sansa had tears in her eyes “If you won’t let the Stranger take me from you then don’t let Him take you from me either” she pleaded.
Aemond cupped her cheek and kissed her lips “I’ll do my best, my love, I promise”
And Sansa knew. This was the only kind of promise a man riding to war could give as she held the fort.
Still she did not sleep all night, despite the fatigue and when the next day he was the leave, Sansa sent him off.
She was wrapped in emerald green, and white. Arya at her side.
Aemond kissed her forehead and gently pressed a hand to her belly, then he looked at Arya.
“I entrust to you my most beloved treasure,” he said “because I know you will defend them with your life”
“And with several others beside” Arya promised, her eyes unrelenting and Sansa saw some kind of understanding pass between them.
Aemond was wearing the cloak she had personally stitched for him, the emerald dragon gleaming in the pale light.
“I love you” she spoke, soft and true “return to me”
Aemond smiled “As I love you,” he said “Be safe, and do not anatagonize any…”
“…big folk” Sansa concluded for him “I promise” she said “but only until you return, after that all games are off”
Aemond smiled “As it should be”
Then Sansa watched him fly away with their troops and felt her heart constrict and she knew she would not breath well until he would return to her.
At last, she that is oppressed shall prevail, and resist the cruelty of them that came from without. The islands of the ocean shall be subdued onto his power, and the forest of goal shall he possess. The house of the lion shall dread the fierceness of his prowess, and doubtful shall be their end; so had been spoken and so it was.
And as the Great king flew to war his Wolf Queen took to the throne, “I am my husband’ word as he is away” she claimed and ruled as fierce as dragon and as fierce as Wolf as a dragonwolf was slowly growing under her heart.
Chapter 30: The girl in the shadows & Aemond
Summary:
Double chapter. Many things happen and especially in the historical excerpt.
Also at the end of it, tell me if the girl in the shadow is the one you were expecting her to be.
And… I AM sorry for it, though it made sense and felt plausible by a historical point of view even if a cruel one.
Chapter Text
The girl in the shadows,
The Queen consort overlooked the hall of Casterly Rock, since the king had left, the queen, despite her condition, had taken to rule in his stead, aided by his council and her own little court, made of loyal subjects who had proved their worth, one way or another.
On decree of the king, the queen consort was never without protection, either of his own kingsguard, sir Leighton of House Constayne who had been named his protector and guard, or by one of her sworn shield.
With sir Eddard Karstark still abed, and lady Jorelle tearing herself in two to be with either the recovering knight — at the queen insistence — or with the queen, the only other protector the Queen could boost was either her sister, princess Arya of House Stark, that was always by her side, or her own dishonored knight, sir Dontos of House Hollard.
It was slow weeks, those who passed between the day the king left with his troops, leaving behind just enough to hold Casterly Rock if it ever was needed and when first news reached them from the king who had just stopped by Moat Cailin on his way North.
Ravens were frequent between Harrenhal and Casterly Rock as he two queens consort, now regent until their husbands returned from the battlefront, shared into the weight of the duty the Gods imposed of them.
Queen Sansa of House Stark, had once conquered Casterly Rock and the people did not forget that easily, and though they seemed to be well-disposed toward their new lord more than they had been toward the Imp, lady Genna from her keep kept sending gifts to the people to remind them who the real Lannisters were.
The new lord, lord Terak, had left with a good portion of the troops to follow the king northward, and their hope was that, during this tiring time, he might come to be loved by his troops, meanwhile his mother, now left castellan of Casterly Rock for the Queen did her best to gain favor for her son, so long away to battle.
Lady Tysha had to stomach being addressed as lady Lannister and to conceive even more the importance and truth and dignity of her role, the queen had her wear the jewels that had belonged to the late lady wife of lord Tywin Lannister. It was a low blow for the relationship with Kings Landing as Queen regent Cersei had been furious to learn that lady Tysha had been donning on her mother’s jewels.
Yet, when the people from Casterly Rock to Lannisport saw lady Tysha bring out bread and wine and what gold they could spare wearing the jewels that had belonged to lady Joanna Lannister they did recognise her as the new lady Lannister.
It had been a political move from the queen herself, as she had been the one who talked lady Tysha into donning the jewels as she did the name of lady Lannister.
Lady Tysha distasted the way her role put her in the full light of the political scene, especially after what she suffered, and was always accompanied by septas during her visits to the city.
Queen Sansa herself had accepted in her retinue a septa, despite her First Men blood the queen had been born under the Light of the Seven as much as under the Heart Tree as she hailed as well from House Tully in the Riverlands; the woman was always beside her, offering counsel or advice in all the matters about which she felt her competence the greatest.
The Queen, along with a sworn protector, was always surrounded by her dishonored knight, sir Dontos, as well as lady Melora — who many called unofficially the Hand of the Queen — and the Maester who she had brought with herself from Harrenhal.
Both lady Melora and the Maester sat in the king’s council, and would fill in for the position of those who were yet to be named or were battling against the Enemy to the North.
Soon enough the Queen also began to show her pregnancy, the constricting garments usually worn were no longer suitable for her growing womb, and ravens became more insistent from Winterfell and the queen’s own mother, possibly offering guidance even from afar.
Many were saying that her pregnancy was a blessing sent by the Gods above for the ruling couple, and that it showed the fairness of the king’s claim to the Iron throne; and albeit in the South queen Cersei did her best to proclaim that the child would be born with two heads, stumped wings and scales for skin, a true show of the condemnation from the Gods of House Targaryen, not many gave much thought to the southern queen’ complaints.
The lord Hand, who had remained behind, voyaged to Highgarden in an attempt to move House Tyrell from its neutrality, which had become even clearer now that late Margaery Tyrell’s infant daughter had been named queen and remained in the grasp of queen Cersei Lannister.
The Queen consort received many delegations from all the Seven Kingdoms — and some say even from overseas — but most importantly she received prince Oberyn from Dorne, as he, as agreed upon with the king, moved three thousands spears in defense of Casterly Rock.
Two of his daughters — Nymeria and Sarella Sand — accompanied him and were warmly welcomed in the queen’s retinue as ladies in waiting, as was prince Trystane Martell who would squire under the king once the war was done with and would for now permain in his court as an honored guest.
Even the exiled prince from the Summer Isles reached Casterly Rock, some say in secrecy, to ask for support to win back his throne once the war was done with; he had remained as guest for years in King Robert’s court in waiting to receive support to win the Summer Isle back from his enemies.
He came to the court settled in Casterly Rock bearing gifts for the queen such as an exotic head-dress with colorful feathers and polished shells and black pearls and a talking parrot to which had been taught to repeat the Queen’s words — Winter is coming, and hail to the Queen’s and King’s health — and asking refuge and support to reunite the Summer Isles even as a vassal state to the King and the Iron throne, as long as he was promised autonomy.
“Your lands are rich,” the Queen told him, “as is your culture, proved the means to ensure commercial and preferential routes are set in place, the king will most surely help you, but he will not use the dragon to burn your enemies to the ground, you must gain your throne,”
“Winter is coming!” The bird parroted from where he was, perched over the back of the queen’s weird-wood throne, earning a stroke between his chest-feathers from the queen who took great delight in the creature, to whom she taught several phrases and songs.
The exiled prince of the Summer Isles was so welcomed in the court with open arms, though the queen was ever cautious of him for a long time; prince Oberyn would spar with him often and found him lacking in some manner or the other.
“You are a great prince, renown in Essos as well as the Seven Kingdoms,” the queen told him, “make of him a prince worth our support,”
The girl in the shadow observed it all. Arya Underfoot was always at the queen’s side and often would partake in sparring matches and archery competitions as well, she spoke often to the queen who listened to her counsel raptly.
The queen herself carried a small weapon on her person which was quite the surprise, as her sister taught her how to defend herself if ever it would come in handy.
As the pregnancy progressed the Queen was ever occupied and busy to ensure that when she went into labour everything would continue without disruption.
When the first raven from the king came, from Moat Cailin the Queen read it in the privacy of her solar, and only shared the news that the troops were progressing well and that their numbers were growing as they passed through the villages for any able man and even some women were being recruited.
She shared as well that her cousin, the lord Commander was growing more expert in dragon riding under the king’s wise guidance, and that Queen Daenerys’ troops were set to join theirs in White Harbor for they would take port there from Dragonstone.
In the sixth month of the year, the queen received as well a delegation from the Eyrie, led by lord Royce in the name of lord Robert Arryn and his council of Lord Declarant of the Vale.
The Queen had sent many ravens, as many ravens had been sent by king Robb Stark, yet the lady regent of the Eyrie, their aunt, had never broken the neutrality.
Lord Royce was welcomed with the pump of a foreign dignitary and brought the queen news of her cousin in the Vale.
Long since had the knights and lords of the Vale tried to wrestle control of the Vale from its regent, the queen’s own aunt, a disturbed woman who apparently had been involved in the sudden death of her husband.
Once discovered her plot, the lords of the Vale had created a council of noble lords to serve as regent for the young lord Arryn and put the lady Arryn on trial. The woman, overtaken by grief and madness had thrown herself from the Moon Door, and had fallen to her death.
The Lords Declarant had so taken hold of the politics of the Vale and were rising their banners in their support.
“Long have we wished to join your noble brother in battle to avenge your lord father, Your Grace,” lord Royce told her, “and free your from your prisony in the capital, and for our failure in doing so we offer our apologies”
He and his companions had offered stiff but truthful bows in respect of the Queen, who had welcomed them with warmth and dignity, “We could not fight for Ned Stark,” lord Royce said, “but we’d fight with his children,”
Lord Royce favoured rider was the heir to the queen’s cousin, lord Harry Hardying, the Young Falcon and he was most vocal as well in his loyalty to their cause.
“My lord father always did speak highly of the Knights of the Vale, speaking of your unmatched honour and skill,” the queen said, “we are most pleased of having you here. The threat against mankind is real, and as always before, if House Stark and House Arryn stand together we will see it done”
The Queen stood from her weirwood throne then and opened her arms, her mantle opening and showing proudly her pregnant belly, “Everytime there has been unrest in the Seven Kingdom, the North and the Vale stood together and everytime we did, the claimant supported by us has sat on the Iron throne and there has been peace. Let us fight this enemy of mankind and once again see peace and justice restored to the Seven Kingdoms, the king and I will not forget any of this”
The knights of the Vale seemed particularly pleased by her praise and hailed to her health and the health of the babe in her belly as well of her husband as her bird parroted them.
The queen even sent her condolences to her cousin in the Vale and heard of his continued illness offered to send the best healers they could provide. The Knights of the Vale stationed themselves near Silverhill from where they could come to the aid of the Queen if needed and lord Royce became a permanent member of her own council.
The Queen was ever well mannered of them and even knighted personally — as the First Men tradition demanded — the heir to the Vale, lord Hardying, making of him sir Harrold and reinstating her cousin as Warden of the East, an office that too long had been occupied by Jaime Lannister on decree of king Robert Baratheon.
Sir Jaime, albeit stripped of his role as Warden of the East was named by lord Terak as general in chief of the Lannister troops and he was awarded lands near the Blue Fork which his son could later inherit through his line. Lady Melora had been the one who had actually suggested the location of the lands awarded to the disgraced knight.
Lord Hightower returned from Highgarden with the promise of sending more grain, but nothing more about military support as Queen Margaery daughter was still in Cersei’ Lannister’ hands. The new lord of Highgarden, lord Willas Tyrell also informed them that his lord father had died as well during an incident about which many had been unaware.
Apparently the Sparrows Joffrey had been keeping at bay had somehow taken control of the capital, intent on declaring its neutrality and declaring it the Republic of the Seven Pointed Star, and had put several lords to trial between which lord Hightower and his son, sir Loras because of the latter sexual preferences and thus the sin of sodomy.
The two had been killed by the crowd of fanatics and the renewed Faith militant who was keeping the Red Keep hostage and the queen and queen regent inside. The High Sparrow had appealed to the lord of Highgarden good heart in sending the city the grain it needed to survive winter, leaving up in the air the unveiled threat of retaliation against Margaery’ infant daughter.
“My husband is the Shield of the Realms of Men,” the queen declared upon learning of the news, “we cannot move militarily against the capital or we’ll destroy the precarious balance the truce has left us with, but I will parley with this High Sparrow,” she told the Lord Hand, “if I manage I will have them release Margaery’ infant daughter and the remains of the late lord Hightower and sir Loras,”
The Lord Hand offered to organize a meeting himself and the queen commanded him to, so it was that, within two months of regency from Casterly Rock and five months into her first pregnancy that the Queen welcomed the High Sparrow in Casterly Rock.
The Queen welcomed him in a show of humility by wearing the crown over a demure veil and offering him and his sparrows bread and salt upon their arrival.
“Be welcome, Excellency,” the queen greeted him, “I must admit I didn’t have the best of relations with the previous man to hold your office,” she said, her long auburn hair held into a stern northern braid, in a show of humility the queen was wearing no jewels barred from the king’s own first courting gift and the pearls she had never stopped wearing since they had been returned to her with her friend’ head.
Even the bejeweled belt she usually wore was replaced by a leather one, “I do hope things may be different now,”
“The High Septon was a man of sin and gluttony, do not feel sad for your lack of relation to him, Your Grace” he offered back.
The Queen considered him at length before replying “I was still sorry to see the manner of his death,” she said “it was horrific,”
“At times, when the monarchs and great clerks needs to be punished the Gods send a furious crowd to do the deed”
“There was nothing of Godly in that fury, Excellency, I can testify to that” the Queen said, her hand rising almost of its own accord to her neck, and the High Sparrow reached out and grabbed her chin in his hand.
Lord Leighton who had been by her side, held the man to sword point, “Unhand the Queen now,” he commanded.
The High Sparrow ignored his demand, and observed the queen’ eyes, before letting go of her chin and taking a step back, “I’ve seen much poverty, and much degrade in the streets of the capital, I am pleased to see this is not the case here,”
“House Stark has always cared for the wellbeing of its folk,” the queen replied, her voice even, “I have been taught since infancy to care for my common folk,”
“I see,” the man replied, “although the Gods’ justice may appear merciless, it is not so,” he said “the people just did what the Gods had bid”
“So, if the Gods bid for you to be killed so mercilessly all your sparrows would obey?” the queen questioned, her voice even.
All the sparrows that were accompanying him, put hands to the hilt of their makeshift swords, and the queen’ considered them long and hard as the High Sparrow said, “Of course, they would,” he said “I would ask them to”
“Oh, but would you?” the Queen questioned, “if you indeed had strayed and sinned, would you?”
“Not even the worst of sinners is beyond redemption, Your Grace,” the septa interjected, her eyes filled with resolve and disdain as she looked briefly to the men in their company, “as stated plainly in the words of the Mother in the Seven Pointed Star”
“Oh but some must be beyond redemption, if the way the High Septon was killed is of any indication and His Excellency deems it just and the will of the Gods” she stated, “perhaps as high as the Gods raise you so low they may throw you,”
The High Sparrow considered her at length, “Don’t you think, Excellency, that what you are doing is as bad as what the High Septon did?”
“How so?”
“The High Septon favored the high born over the injustice done to the small folk,” she said, “aren’t you favoring the small folk over the injustice done to the high born? What sin did Queen Margaery’ daughter commit aside from being born on the privileged side of the bed?”
The High Sparrow cocked his head to the side, “It is for the Gods to decide,” he said, “but rest assured we are not harming the high born, the child is but the symbol of that unrest thus she will be kept in the Keep, but will not suffer any misdeed,”
The Queen considered him for a long moment, “I believe you, your oaths behold you,” she claimed, “still, I would like for us to find a common ground, tell me, Excellency, why do you think the Gods have made some high born and some low born?”
As the queen asked that question she gestured for a seat before hers, and the High Sparrow occupied it as her councillors took place behind her seat, and his sparrows followed suit behind his.
“I believe the Gods did not make it so, Your Grace. It was men,” he said, “the Gods have made us all alike in heart and soul and flesh, do you reckon a highborn bleeds different than a low born?”
“I’ve bled too much to believe it so,” the Queen replied, “I do believed that those who have been luckier have a duty to protect those who were not,”
“And yet,” she said with a small, sad smile on her face, “my horse eats better than their children,” she looked away.
“Indeed,”
“Once,” the queen said, “I had no bread to give, I would have given it, had I had it. They couldn’t know, they couldn’t understand so they attacked me, they hated me. They wished to see me dead,”
She looked straight into the man’ eyes and added, “But I have bread now,” she said “and as you yourself have noticed I have been using it to ensure the people do not starve”
“That is commendable, but you still live in the warmth of a castle, eat three meals a-day, have servants to oversee to your every whim and wear jewelry that would feed a family through a year of winter” he said, gesturing to the pedant hanging at her neck, “out there many have to fight for the scrapes to get to the end of the day without starving”
“Your husband’ mount,” he continued, “eats far better than your horse, and far more. One could feed an entire village for a year with the amount of food the dragon consumes in a day”
“And yet,” the Lord Hand commented “it is that dragon who is flying against an enemy as ancient as old Valyria if not more ancient. The people receive the high born’s protection and in return they are bound to loyalty”
“The people don’t care for kings and queens and names, the people care that their bellies are full and their homes warm,” the High Sparrow replied.
Queen Sansa stood up then, “Tell that to the northerners. Tell that to Shae,” she said, her hand coming to touch the pearls at her neck, “you may think that you do not care about who sits on the Iron throne, but if a ruler is just and fair the small folk will care. People, common people, wept from the Wall to the Neck and beyond when my lord father was killed. Because he was a just and fair lord. People raised in revolt and killed the dragons when sweet queen Helaena was killed or, killed herself for all the horrors inflicted on her,”
“And are you, a just and fair queen?” The High Sparrow questioned, “you are but a child playing to be a queen”
“You will speak to the queen with the respect that her position demanded of you,” the lord Hand interjected, “it was by the will of the Gods that the king was raised from his watery grave and his seed bloomed into the queen’s womb. Do you deny it?”
“I do not deny some kind of miracle or magic,” the High Sparrow replied eyeing lady Malora’ book on her lap, “might have been at play. If it is the will of the Gods, we shall wait and see, as we will to see if she’s a queen or a witch to be burned at the stake,”
Princess Arya hissed at that, “Threaten my sister again and I will slit your throat” she seethed.
The Queen observed him, instead “There’s no need.” She told her sister, “you are but a man, climbing up a pedestal, thinking that using the common folk you will raise as all others kings and queens, but unwilling to admit it”
“I am not,” he said, “I do no wear the crown of the High Septon and I do not—”
“Your crown is just different looking, but it is there all the same,” she said, “you may not physically wear it, but it graces the brow of all your sparrows,” she added, gesturing to the brand of the seven pointed star on the forehead of all his sparrows, “thus I speak as a ruler to another, release queen Margaery’ daughter, keep queen Cersei for all I care, but release the innocent child”
“The city is ours now, a new Republic that will show everyone that there is no difference between a high born, a queen and a common whore,” he said, “for we are all children of the Mother, but if I were to release the child now, there would be no reason for House Tyrell to keep sending grain for the people. So I will not do so, though rest assured that no ill shall be done to her, and the crimes of queen Cersei will be being disputed and discussed for her own trial,”
The Queen sustained his watery eyes for a long while, before she spoke again, “And thus tell me, are these the words of a ruler or a pious man?”
“Those,” said the Lord Hand “are the words of a dead man walking. We will not forget this slight,” he said “nor will the king upon learning of your disrespect here”
“These are the words of a man who has seen the cruelty of the powerful over the powerless,” the High Sparrow replied, ignoring the threat as if it was nothing more than the whips of the wind “the sparrows are my people, all the children of the Gods are my flock and I will do all the Gods bid of me to ensure their survival and their lives”
Her parrot, perched on the back of her weirwood throne suddenly flapped his wings, “Winter is coming!”
“Winter is coming,” echoed the queen, as if the parrot had been taught to speak at the right time and with the right words, “and winter is the time for wolves,” she stood, her back straight and the pale winter sun penetrating through the panels of the windows and painting the red leaves of the weirwood tree depicted on her throne bloody, “I invited you here in hope I would meet with a pious man and not an ambitious, clever one. I have seen what I needed to see,”
The High Sparrow looked to be suprised by her sudden bluntness as sir Leighton moved behind her, hand ready to the sword followed closely by lady Melora, who had been balancing on her lap a great tome with a cover of black basalt stone and an emerald as big as a fist on it.
The septa fixated a disdainful look on the High Sparrow, “You dishonor the name of Septon,” she said.
Queen Sansa turned to her Maester, as her sister, princess Arya eyed dangerously one of the sparrows who looked like it would take less than a breath in the right direction to send him violently leaping across the small table and attack her sister.
The man fished from his sleeve a rolled parchment, sealed with the seal of the queen herself, she handed it to the High Sparrow.
“The city may be yours,” she said, “but one day, you will look outside the walls of your city and you’ll find thousands of swords who will explain to you why harming an innocent child, why harming anyone without just cause, is not in your best interest” she gestured with a hand to dismiss him, “until then, sleep well and I wish seven blessings upon you,”
The High Sparrow studied the parchment, “I trust that any who wishes to leave the premises of the city will be left doing so in liberty,” she said, “if I get but rumor of misdeed, I will personally march the troops to Kings Landing, and you’ll have me to answer to,”
The girl in the shadows watched as the man gave her a fatherly smile, “They had told me you were formidable,” he said “a witch who used her dark magic to spell the king and kill the most powerful man in the Seven Kingdoms. I must say you were not at all what I was expecting, but alas the sheep-cloth must have grown uncomfortable for you. Gods willing we shall see each other again, sister” he said, dropping the careful attitude who had had him address her as Your Grace since he had been introduced at court, “seven blessings be with you as well”
The High Sparrow left with his sparrows, even if not without spielling their way to the outer walls of the city, trying to get as many people as possible to follow them.
“In your experience, Maester,” the queen asked, after having watched the man leave the premises of the castle, “how long will it take for a government founded on those premises to fall into chaos?”
Lady Melora at her side huffed and offered her a handful of nuts carefully picked especially for her as she sat beside her.
“He is a dishonor on the Septon name,” the septa repeated, “for long years he tried to have roles of importance within the Faith but his ideas… he wished to see the High Septon as the chief of a religious state with military strength and manpower, he advocated for the Faith militant to be refounded in his graduation from the religious studies, but we all know how many suffered because of those wars,”
“He should have been shunned, but his ideas took root, even if in only small sections. The High Septon believed to be able to control it if he let him run free in small locations, with few people, how he got to Kings Landing is a mystery to me” she said.
The Maester meanwhile had prepared a concoction for the queen to sniff at for the headache she had been trying to stave off by massaging her own temples.
“In my experience,” he said “such a government shall not see more than one season, with winter at our threshold it will take but a small matter of time before they will descend into chaos without a true guide.”
“We have to ensure this man doesn’t have enough time to create a structure which will ensure the survival of this republic. For now he is the head of this Republic and all others are below him and follow him without question, but he will need structure if he wish to make his changes permanent, it’s why he needs desperately the grain, otherwise the people would be too busy to fight for the bread for him to build what he wishes to build”
“You wish to stop the grain from Kings Landing?” the Maester asked.
“I don’t particularly care for Cersei,” she said “but I promised Margaery’s daughter life conduct,” she pointed out “so we cannot stop the grain supply from the Reach, but we can control it, just enough to ensure they still have to eat but the threat of famine remain there. If they see their High Sparrow cannot care for them they’ll start to doubt him, and if they come to associate the grain with us then we will become a much prettier alternative than the fanatic who had them revolt and then forced them in into worse condition even”
Lady Melora smiled, her hand coming to rest by her shoulder, “Did you notice his expression when you commented on the people’ freedom to leave?” She asked, “if they haven’t considered keeping the people inside they are now”
The queen nodded, “Let us hope we can address this matter before it gets too out of hand, I’d rather no unnecessary bloodshed,”
“You should let me apprehend him for lese majesty,” the lord Hand said “and be done with this”
“The people believe him to be some kind of messiah,” the queen replied “and messiahs are only strengthened in death and violence. Let us instead let him ruin into the ground his great idea, and the people will slowly abandon him” she added.
“You will write to House Tyrell to continue to send the grain but to send less in more time,” she said “just enough to keep the city from starving, lord Varys is still in the Red Keep,” she added “he will know when and how to have the grain distributed so we’ll have to put him in contact with lord Tyrell. This republic will collapse on itself and we’ll be hailed as liberators”
“As you command, Your Grace” the Lord Hand nodded, “though I still think he needs to be taught a lesson”
“He will be taught a lesson, of his own pride” the queen replied and the girl in the shadow considered that she did not sound like the girl she had once been, she sounded much more like the witch they claimed she was.
The girl in the shadow receded back from the hall.
The Queen, looked like the girl she had been when she was presented with her lost friend, the friend she had believed lost for all those years.
“Jeyne!” The Queen exclaimed, her eyes filled with tears and her lips quivering, followed closely by her retinue as she walked down the slippery path, pregnant and without much care save to reach the friend she had once let go from her arms.
“Sansa!” Arya Stark reprimanded her, “the babe will fall out if you aren’t careful…” but it fell on deaf ears as the queen ignored her little sister to close the distance from the horses.
Jeyne looked at her side to her companion and he nodded to her, so the girl dismounted from her horse and fell into a curtsy before the queen.
The queen ignored the curtsy and instead embraced her and though there was warmth in her, the girl did not embrace her back.
“You must have been so scared,” the queen said, “I am so sorry! I could not protect you”
Jeyne shook her head, “It is not your fault, Your Grace, and I have been well treated thus far” she added, looking at her companion and only then did the queen turn and her gaze befell on the man.
“Lord Baelish” she greeted.
“Your Grace,” he replied “you’ve bloomed since we’ve last seen each other. I am glad of it, I always was your true friend” he said.
The Queen nodded with a smile, “You helped me quite a lot when I was alone and friendless, but I thought you would spend this war in the Fingers,”
“I could never cower whilst you are in peril, Your Grace. Your lady mother is like a sister to me,” he said “and I would like to think of you like a beloved niece. I did not abandon you in Kings Landing I would not abandon you now. The Fingers have little of manpower, but what I do have is yours” he promised, bending the knee and bowing his head.
The queen shared a look with her sister and then nodded, “Arise, lord Baelish, any true and loyal vow is more than welcome in my husband’ court”
“Aye, Your Grace. I heard much of your husband, is he here yet? My men are ready to die for the cause if needed”
“My husband has left,” she said “and though mayhap you cannot join him in the northern battlefront your presence is much welcome at court, for no one knows of the state of the coffers and state affair as you, and you proved yourself a true friend by keeping Jeyne safe” she added, she turned to her “your father?”
The girl seemed as if to hold back a sob, and shook her head unable to say more. The Queen looked distraught “I am sorry to learn of it, I had hoped beyond hope the two of you had been reunited and happy, we shall lit a candle for him as well” she said, this last part directed to her septa, “you are most welcome as well, my Jeyne”
“Thank you, Your Grace” Jeyne replied, “I have missed you” and the queen’ smile almost reminded the girl in the shadow of the girl she had once been, so very excited at the idea of tournaments and knights and true songs.
But, the girl in the shadows knew it was nothing but a farce.
Aemond,
He adjusted his hold on the reins and had Vhagar veer to the side, the ice crystal lance hissing just a couple of feet above his head, the coldness of it pervading his whole being.
“Vhagar” he commanded, “Dracarys!”
The dragoness opened her fauces and a long tongue of black and red fire rained down on them from above, bathing the dead crowded together beneath the Wall, as they made human ropes of themselves to climb up the Wall.
There was only one Other, so they were fortunate enough, especially considering that the hatchling was busy enough in avoiding the spears thrown her way.
They had barely reached Winterfell when they had gotten word that the Wall had been attacked. Jon and he had lost no time to get on dragon back whilst Robb organized the march of the men they had brought with them to the Wall.
Good thing they had done so as well, because they were using the place where the Wall met the sea to try and climb beyond it, still, he noticed, the Other never got quite close enough to the Wall as if the whole icy sheet across the sky rejected his magic.
Still, until they killed him the dead would keep returning, no matter how many they burned.
“Jon!” He screamed atop the clouds to attract the man’ attention as he moved Vhagar more high in the sky, but it was to no avail, because Jon had already commandeered the hatchling in a plummet to the ground in a move worthy of the most reckless of their blood.
Jon literally leaped from the wyvern back as the creature hissed nail and fang against the dead swarming at her, Long Claw in hand to attack at the unaware Other.
The Other parred the first strike but did not manage to par the second blow and with an unnatural, cold and high enough hiss to rupture an eardrum took Jon’ blade into his tummy before exploding into a rain of crystals and glasses that cut at Jon’ face, hands and neck. As the creature died into a shower of ice crystals, singing underneath their soles, the dead stopped fighting and befell on the ground.
Aemond shook his head and tugged at the reins commanding Vhagar to land, the men who had been manning the Wall and had been upturning buckets of fiery pitch on the swarm hailed and exalted and clapped as the dragoness landed in the snowy ground.
He snapped the belts open and slid down her back, ever mindful of eventual threats as he unsheathed Dark Sister from its scabbard, the blade shining like dark flame against the white of the snows.
Jon was sporting several cuts, as his wyvern raised her song — proud of her own rider he was sure — and an angry looking bruise on one side of the face where he had hit whilst flying.
“Tell me the truth,” Aemond said, “do you and your sister rejoice in tackling enemies bigger than you without a thought?”
“Why, Your Grace, my sister the queen is ever thoughtful, you would do her a disservice if you thought she would tackle an enemy without consideration” the lord Commander of the Nights Watch replied with a grin that made him look younger and warmer, less somber and cold.
“Oh so she willingly and calculatedly antagonizes people bigger than her with no certainty of success” he said “I thought you Starks were supposed to be calm and collected”
“Ay, we are, but we have the wolf blood as well,” Jon replied with still a smile atop his lips, “besides, to be fair to Sansa, most people are bigger than her”
Aemond felt somewhat as offended as a boy would at that, “She’s taller than you!” He defended, he loved how lithe and tall his wife was, almost as tall as him but still tiny in his mind, tiny enough he could enclose her in his arms and never let her leave.
“Ay,” the lord Commander said, “the same principle applies to me as well. Do you know how difficult it was to spar with Robb?”
That managed to put a smile on his face as he clapped Jon on the back, “One day you’re going to get hurt, and your sister is going to march her to set you, I and the enemy straight about that”
Jon considered that, “Maybe we should let her believe that and see that pan out, I’d grant the Enemy will either swear allegiance or return whence he came” he offered.
“My wife is not coming in contact with the Enemy, thank you very much” he said.
“A pity, really, would have sorted him out for us in no time, swear she could be as wrathful as lady Catelyn when she was a child, imagine now that she’s to be a mother,” Jon physically shuddered.
A mother, Sansa would soon be a mother and made of him a Father, his hand raised almost of its own accord to the bracelet at his wrist, following the incisions by heart.
“Gods, not again” Jon threatened, “I am not flying after you again,” he said, “she’s safe, you read her letter”
Aemond almost flinched at that, he had almost turned Vhagar around one night after a particularly horrifying dream in which Alys killed Sansa and pierced a blade into her belly. Aemond had all but made it past Winterfell when Jon had caught up with him and had convinced him to come back that they had received news from Sansa and that Alys could not hurt her for she was dead.
“Your dead lover cannot harm her,” Jon continued, “besides she’s well protected, let us win this war and then you can be near her to your leisure”
Aemond sighed, “I have the feeling she’s doing well, do not worry too much” Jon added, “she’s stronger than she looks, and she’s a Stark, we’re made of sterner stuff”
“I have the feeling she’s been antagonizing bigger and meaner people than her,” he said.
Jon clapped him on the back, “We’ll settle, and as soon Daenerys will be here as well and you can make a flight back there, to check upon her” he said.
Aemond nodded, “Ay,” he said “I wish these dead will give us respite enough,” he said “I want to be there when the babe is born”
Jon nodded, “I reckon she’d want you there too,” he said “she’d want us all there,” he added.
“You’ve become reckless atop her,” Aemond commented, changing the topic, “you have to be careful,”
Jon shrugged, “I want this enemy dealt with,” he said “and peace again, I want to get warm”
Aemond nodded, “I wish this as well but heading head-first into peril just because you have a dragon now doesn’t make you brave, it makes you stupidly brave”
Together they trekked back to the dragons, “I know that with her you feel invincible,” he said “but one day you’d might discover to your detriment that dragons are not invincible,”
His eye still throbbed with the pain of it, a twin to his lost eye, where the sword he now held into his hand had embedded itself into his skull.
Jon mulled over his words, “It’s not the dragon,” he said “or at least not only that,” he admitted.
Aemond cocked his head to the side and waited quietly for Jon to put order to his thoughts and then speak if he so wished, “Lady Stark was never quite… welcoming of me before” he said “I was a constant reminder that her husband had been unfaithful”
Aemond sighed. His own mother had disdained the presence at court, and near her trueborn children, of Rhaenyra’ bastards and had been furious when Rhaenyra had suggested a marriage between Jacaerys and Helaena.
“It was freeing to be able to look her in the eye,” he said “that makes me feel invincible”
Aemond considered him at length as he wrapped the rope of the saddle around his wrist before climbing up Vhagar’ back.
“It’s petty,” he admitted, “but I felt vindicated,”
Aemond did not comment on that, merely nodded, “Then grow out of it,” he said “I felt vindicated too when I claimed Vhagar after how mistreated I had been before,” he told him “but that arrogance led to my death”
“Do not be that stupid” he added “we don’t know why I was brought back or how”
Jon nodded, he looked downtrodden, just like Daeron would look when one of them reprimanded him in any way.
“Though she’s learned well to obey your commands,” he said “you two have been training well,”
The compliment may raise his spirit somewhat. It seemed to work and together they took flight again, Jon would fly to Castle Black and send word if needed, Aemond would fly back to Winterfell, to help Robb organize the movement of the troops, patrolling also the skies.
Winterfell was as big and fierce as he remembered, lady Dustin a handsome woman with cold eyes had also joined lady Stark in Winterfell with her men, and the Ryswell men as well.
The woman was clearly disenamored with lady Stark - whom she seemed to lack respect for - but begrudgingly had accepted his goodmother invite especially after Sansa delivered to her on a silver-platter the boy who had killed her nephew whom she loved as a son.
Lady Dustin in fact, seemed better disposed toward him than lady Stark, though Aemond could not say if she did so because of his dragon or only to make her displeasure in lady Stark even greater.
“Your Grace,” as if right on cue, lady Dustin was one of the first who he met when he returned to Winterfell, Vhagar landed and nestling safely near the Wolfswood, “you’ve returned victorious” she stated.
Aemond took off his gloves, the gloves Sansa had stitched for him, “Indeed,” he said “they were few and we were commanding two dragons.”
She nodded, “It’s good,” she said “a pity I do not have one of those,” she commented under her breath, “But in the end, I watched as they took his head”
Lord Bolton had been furious when he had learned what Sansa had done, delivering in lady Dustin’ hands his son, even when his victim had been his trueborn son.
To correct the slight, they had offered to him a new bride who could give him heirs. As of now he was set to marry one of his Lord Hand’ granddaughters by his heir, sir Baelor Hightower.
She was young and came from a very fertile family, noble and highborn and Lord Bolton had accepted the match, in hope to have a son soon enough.
Lady Ceryl Hightower had voyaged with them North, after a private ceremony in Harrenhal, officiated with both him and the King in the North as witnesses to honor the bride and nurse the groom’ bruised pride.
Lord Bolton had then settled her in the Dreadfort, and was set to join them with his men in Winterfell as soon as possible.
“Justice is always satisfying,” he said “I am glad my wife could be of service in delivering you hers”
“Yes,” the woman said “I am most grateful of her as well,” she added, though her tone had somehow been mollified and less earnest.
“Now,” he said, catching glance of his youngest goodbrother, Rickon, further down the corridor “if you will excuse me, I have matters to attend to,”
“Of course, Your Grace” she offered in reply and Aemond nodded to her, before walking away and to Rickon, his coat, shouldering off the coat Sansa embroidered for him with Vhagar on the back - in thread so translucid and emerald that made it shine when he walked but pass unnoticed to the inattentive eye - as he met his goodbrother midway.
“Hello,” Rickon greeted him, before giving him a letter, “from Sansa”
“Thank you,” he said, recognising the direwolf with the First Men’ rune she had chosen to represent her, “when did this come?”
“Earlier this afternoon,” Rickon replied and Aemond nodded.
“Thank you,” he said “are you on your way to your lessons?” he asked.
Rickon nodded, “Aye,” he said, “want to come with?” his blue eyes sparkled in a way that reminded him so much about Sansa that he felt his heart throb.
He nodded, “Make way” he said, after all he would already be at the rockery to send his reply to Sansa, and listened raptly whilst Rickon excitedly told him about all the lessons he had already taken and his first few sessions of proper training in swordplay.
Once Rickon was properly sat next to the Maester, Aemond sat at the table at the far corner of the rockery and broke the seal to open the letter.
My love, it begun, her neat handwriting already settling him into a peaceful mindset, the days grow shorter and the nights colder without you by my side. Our child is restless in my womb, and I miss you so.
Aemond would have flown to her right then, and even more so when he read the next bit, apparently House Arryn had finally broken their neutrality and were now stationed close enough to offer support to her in case it was needed. Prince Oberyn had as well reached Casterly Rock with two of his daughters, and was serving as a good advisor as any to his wife.
Margaery Tyrell’ daughter was being used as a hostage not only by Cersei Lannister, but by the High Sparrow as well; a pious man who had build up the Faith Militant, and who had declared Kings Landing the bud of his dream of a Republic of which he was the sanctimonious leader.
He’s a ruler as any other, but worse, his wife told him, he does not recognise the plank in his own eye but disdains the speck of sawdust in ours.
By the way she was wording the whole thing, and by a very descriptive letter by his Lord Hand, Aemond was sure that Sansa had parlayed with the man herself.
He might be quite in a state if it wasn’t that Sansa had attached to her letter at the very bottom a couple of verses in perfect Valyrian from an ancient poet who had been known to write some of the most romantic poetry of the ancient history of Valyria.
So, it was with a lighter heart that he replied to her, inquiring after her health and the progression of her pregnancy, congratulating her on the return of her truest friend and gently reminding her to not put herself nor the babe in any peril.
He wanted to reply with another verse of the same poet, but as he was looking around the rockery whilst deciding which verse to use he noticed the First Men runes incised on the stones of the walls, and turned around, “Maester Wolkan,” he called, and the man turned around to him, “could you point to me to some First Men poetry if you will?”
“I am sorry Your Grace, but First Men poetry isn’t written down, people knew it from memory and by heart,” the Maester said, “If you would, Old Nan seems to be the safest bet to learn some if you so wish”
Aemond nodded, “Thank you” he said, standing up, ruffling Rickon’ hair and walking out of the rockery in search for Old Nan.
He found her in the kitchens, with a woolen cover draped over her lap and some vegetable in her hand as she looked with her lashless eyes outside of one of the windows, the air was so warm in the kitchens - heated walls and fires coupling to make it the warmer place in the keep - that the windows were open.
He approached her and was much touched when the woman told him she knew many ancient poems and she willingly shared those she found most loving, Aemond spent what felt like endless hours listening to her reciting verses in the old tongue, she would explain what they meant to him and he would silently consider them all to decide which one to send his wife.
Midway through it he realized that it would be naught but impossible for him to use one of the ancient old tongue verses in his letter because he did not know how to write the old tongue and Old Nan did not know how to write at all, and since they were taught orally from mother to daughter no one knew how to write the old tongue so perhaps he ought to ask the Maester as well.
He resolved though to learn as much of the old tongue as he could, the North was rich in history but, as opposed to the Valyrian, the First Men passed down everything orally instead that by written word, which was also why such a rich culture was being slowly lost to time.
Sansa had learned the old tongue as a child, as part of her lot as a Stark; Robb was good at it as well, though he admitted that Bran, Sansa and Jon had been the best skilled at that.
So he started to practice at least the poetry Old Nan could teach him, and though Robb offered to help him he found him to be quite the picky student.
One day, he resolved, his children would carry on both ancestry, both the northern and the Valyrian; and they would carry on the legacy of House Hightower again with her ancient magic and blood.
One day, a day that would come soon.
A day, he hoped, he would be there to see, that he would fight to be there to see.
The time the queen consort spent ruling as regent in Casterly Rock was marked by the slow passing months of winter.
The queen was much beloved by the small folk but the same could not be said of the westerlords who still believed her to have been the reason of lord Tywin’ death. They disliked lady Tysha as well, and found upsetting that she would wear late lady Joanna’ jewels. Still, none of them dared to move militarily against her with the great of the troops moved north to fight against the enemy to the North.
Still, it was disputed that the fact that the king had left with his dragon left the queen mostly undefended, only a kingsguard had remained behind with her and most believed that they could make easy target of her sworn swords.
Of course these convictions were fed also by Queen Cersei’ propaganda, which claimed that queen Sansa was a witch of the worst kind and that the High Sparrow which had been seen sharing at her manse, without hurting her - as he had been doing instead with other highborns he considered sinful by nature - was her demon sent to the capitol.
Lady Genna herself seemed to be feeding into this matter, to try and destroy the queen consort’ reputation as much as possible.
The Queen herself albeit aware of these plots against her chose instead to ignore these matters and focus instead on building fort come winter; the lords that had remained in the westerlands, or the ladies were none too impressed with her command to send two fifths of each keep’s stores to Casterly Rock. Her reasoning albeit sound, and a true proof of the reason why Northerners knew how to stave off winter better proved to the scholars that indeed she was a Queen made of winter and would thrive in it, whilst the lords of the westerlands were but summer lords to be frozen in icy ground.
Still, animosity was growing ever persistent even in her retinue which seemed to close around her like an armor to keep her safe, for the woman she had so willingly welcomed in her court proved treacherous and attempted to poison the queen and her babe. The plot did not go accordingly to plan, as the queen’s Maester, alerted by the Lord Baelish - who proved once again his worth - managed to drink the poison in the queen’s place, even if just a sip, as a proof that her once friend had wished her ill.
The Queen was horrified by it, but thankfully lord Baelish was knowledgeable enough to know which poison had been used - the Tears of Lys, the very same poison that had been used on Jon Arryn it would be later be discovered - and the Maester was saved.
When later the girl was questioned she demanded to be released and attempted to strangle the queen barehanded; claimed to have been left to the mercy of the lions, that the queen had abandoned her without second thought and that she was protecting her lord father.
Upon that attempt lady Jeyne Poole lost one hand by hand of the queen’s sword shield; and upon later inspection it was found that the girl had been tortured and tormented with the deceit that her lord father was alive and would be tortured or either killed based off her comportament in the queen’s court; sadly the lord Poole had been killed early on during the war of the Five kings and the lady had been wrongly convinced and brainwashed into hating the queen for all that pain and grief.
The Queen suspended judgment on the woman, and that perhaps represented the first and only time the Hand of the King disobeyed her direct order, and had the woman condemned to death for the attempt, citing as a reason not only the attempt to the life of the queen but also the attempt on the king’s heir growing in her belly.
The condemnation was not carried out though, for the girl hanged herself in her own cell. Later on, and for many years the name of the girl in the shadow was erased from history, only recent researches have brought to light back her name to us.
The contemporary northern chronicles compiled by Maester Wolkan of Winterfell, report that king Aemond had already departed for the Wall with the troops when news reached them of the attempt on the queen’s life; and that such a news was brought to him by Queen Daenerys. The dragon queen assured the king of his consort’ wellbeing as she herself, heard of it had gone to assess the truth of the matter by flying her dragon to Casterly Rock. Not much is known of the words spoken between the dragon queen and the wolf queen, though some sources would have us believe that it was a moment of kindling friendship between the two, though any proof of any kind of friendship if there ever was one were lost to time.
Chapter 31: Daenerys
Summary:
I hope everyone who lives in the places hit by the hurricanes are safe and fine!
Here a new chapter to keep you all company, tho, I’d rather not her company, I’d much rather Sam, but that’s just me 😂
Chapter Text
Daenerys
Casterly Rock was a granite building carved inside the cliff, sheer above the sea. There was something enchanting in it, despite the Lannister banners and what it represented to her House; the very presence of the green Targaryen banner hoisted next the Lannister and the Stark one reminded her of how alone she actually was.
She had hoped that, in time, she would find in Westeros that belonging that had eluded her all her life; upon learning of Aemond One-Eye return from the dead Daenerys had believed that everything would have panned out, may she had been queen Rhaenyra’ infant daughter, killed by the greens, she might have brought peace to the Realm with a marriage to the greens.
Mayhap their dragons would not have gone extinct.
Daenerys had rectified that horrible crime, and meant to have her Realm filled with fat lords and laughing maids; she meant to have her people wave at her and smile when they saw her pass by. It had been her dream for as long as she had known how to dream, first as Viserys’ queen consort - as it had ought to be - and then as Queen regnant in her own right as Viserys’ only heir.
Just like the riverlanders did for Aemond Targaryen and his wolf queen.
She had truly believed that once the prince of old returned from the dead saw her, saw her purity as a true Targaryen, he would have moved heaven and earth to ensure they matched their strengths and became one. He could even keep his wolf queen at his side if he so wished, Daenerys would be his chief consort and queen as it ought to.
As Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters had, Daenerys was willing to accept for him a second consort, and use the way she was so beloved by the people of Westeros to her gain.
Love.
She had known love from the moment she had married Drogo, and later on, when she was wiser and had recognized the truth of her fate, she had known love, undying and perpetual in the people of Essos. They had called for Mhysa to free them and she had become Mhysa. And her children had loved her greatly in return.
She wanted that kind of love west of the Narrow Sea, but so far she had but been meet with disquiet, discomfort and suspicion.
Jorah had told her to expect as such, her father was not beloved in Westeros, for his crimes and misdeeds and the people of the Realm would have needed time to warm up to her, but that they would see the truth of it.
But how could a queen be loved when even her advisors were growing colder and restless?
Being back in the Seven kingdoms seemed to have somehow turned sir Barristan colder than she had expected him to become ever since she had returned from Vaes Dothrak.
She had returned changed she knew.
She had embraced the dragon after bonding to Drogon; and when the Dothraki had tried to kill her she had revolted the Dosh Khaleen against them.
The old widows of the Dosh Khaleen had been set against her, and had even tried to kill her when they had understood Daenerys would have won. Fearsome.
Old.
They can live in my new world, or they can die in their old one.
She had recruited the youngest widows, those who were not already broken by the rituality of the Dosh Khaleen, those for whom the violence of their khal had not been a long lost memory that did not hurt anymore; those who were yet to grow comfortable in this new place the Dothraki culture had decided to imprison them in, carving for them a life in which the wooden bars of their prison would become as binding as valyrian steel chains.
I am the Breaker of shackles, she had reminded herself, as she had set to do what was needed.
They had killed the first Khal in his sleep. Slit his throat from one side to the other. No noise, only blood.
“You cannot shed blood before the Mother of Mountains”, one of the widows had said, she had trashed and started to scream and shout. Daenerys had slapped as hard as she could, and had threatened her low in the back of her throat.
“Do you know what they call me?” she had demanded of the girl. She had trembled upon replying, “Mother of dragons,” and Daenerys had nodded.
“Stay by my side,” she had demanded, “or betray me. I can either be Mhysa or the Mother of dragons,” she had told her “it depends on you. The last servant who betrayed me during the fray got what she deserved, as the Gods saw fit”
The girl had been a mess of tears, and, before they had moved to the second khal, she had slipped to her knees, refusing to continue and taking the knife to her own throat, and had spoken with clear words, “It don’t matter,” she had said “you always are Mother of Death”
Daenerys had watched her slit her own throat and gag in her own blood, falling face first on the carpet stained red from her blood. She had closed her eyes and had waited until the sting of iron had permeated her nostrils.
Her resolve had been steeled in that blood.
The second khal they had to overpower in four, and the third went down with a scream when they speared him with his own spear from behind as he was laying with one of his slaves; a girl younger than Daenerys had been when she had been married to Drogo.
Daenerys had saved her life, she had freed her of her perpetrator and she now was in her service. They had taken the fourth khal bow from his cold hands after they killed him, the slave who had been entertaining him for a late meal, dug the knife in his belly and the fork in his right eye.
They had believed him dead. They had been stupid.
As they had turned their backs he had unleashed his arrows on them, he had killed one of Daenerys’ widows before he had bled to death. Then the screech had come and Daenerys had known the battle was over.
Drogon had rained fire on all the tents in search for her, and one of Daenerys’ widows had taken the bow, “I know how to shoot and shoot well, blood of my blood” she had said and as the streets of Vaes Dothrak burned and everyone screamed and ran, Drogon perched on the Mother of Mountains, its valleys and its sides a torch, a beacon in her name.
They had killed all other khals with her precise arrows, all save one.
Qhono had grabbed her at one point, “You cannot shed blood before the Mother of Mountains” he had hissed, going even as far as to slap her, “I defeated the Mother of Mountains,” she had said gesturing to the mountain aflame “she now burns for me,”
Jhago had come screaming trying to strangle her, but before he could Daenerys had shouted she wished to challenge him, that she had challenged all other khals and they laid at her feet, that she had challenged the Mother of Mountains and it now burned alight in her name.
“I will spill your blood sooner than your dragon can scream, pale bitch” Jhago had promised but Daenerys had only replied “So my challenge is accepted, then”
The man had spat and had cracked his hands, it had been then that Daenerys had seen Jorah’ face in the crowd, between the flaming buildings and had smiled. When Jhago had screamed and launched himself at her, Drogon had shrieked and let out a tongue of dark flame that had engulfed him.
The still moving and screaming man had continued his plight toward her and Daenerys had taken the whip from Rakharo’ hand, “Blood of my blood, you have come”
“Your riders await you” Rakharo had promised and outside of the city’s wall her riders had started to scream and Daenerys had lashed out with the whip and, just like Rakharo had taught her and Irri, it wrapped safely around the burning man’ throat. She had tugged and he had fallen to his knees until nothing but charred bones had remained of him.
She had climbed to Drogon then, “The Mother of Mountains burns for me. I am your new Mother of Mountains now, I have vanquished the ghost grass,” she had screamed and Drogon had shrieked, “I killed all your khals and made your goddess bend the knee. Are you with me, now and always? Blood of my blood?”
Her raiders had screamed their assent, and so had done her widows. The other, slaves and riders and kohs had been forced to recognize her strength and her worth as Khaalesi of all khals, and they had all become her Khaleesar.
The Dothraki now loved her, venerated her. Made of her their new Mother of Mountains, the Vanquisher of the Ghost Grass.
If Westeros would not give her love, she would take it.
Aemond Targaryen had no love, she knew, Viserys had taught her the history of her family. And yet his queen, his red haired northern queen seemed to inspire love and admiration even amongst her foes.
She had snatched Oberyn Martell and the dornish to her cause, even after Quentyn had come to her with the proposal of a marriage between them. The people smiled and ceased their works to look at her, ask her blessing or offer theirs, or simply smile at her.
Daenerys craved that.
And if she could not have it, she would take it from her. And if she had to pry it from her cold hands she would. She was a Stark and the danger of birth did not interest Daenerys anymore, let her keep her smiles, Daenerys would have the throne and her husband.
She would belong away, but a memory, and her body would change now that she was carrying a child. Daenerys would be there to battle beside him, and in between blood and gore, she knew, passion ran high. And at that point they’d be unstoppable and Sansa Stark would be forgotten. She would set to right the horrendous choice Rhaegar had made.
He chose a Stark over his true wife, and House Targaryen suffered for it. She would not let Aemond make the same mistake again. He might have chosen the Stark girl, and sired a child off her, but in the end things would be set to right, she was charming enough, and small paces could go a long way; which was why she had gone to Casterly Rock.
She would ascertain the truth of the rumors she had heard that someone attempted on her life, and above seeing for herself that she was unharmed or if the Gods had chosen to give her even a greater advantage having her either lose the babe or die, and in opposite case, the fact that she had checked on his wife in kinship would go miles to endear herself to Aemond Targaryen.
She landed Drogon just outside the walls and a handful of raiders were sent out to welcome her, Daenerys found disdainful that the queen did not welcome her allied queen in the courtyard and insulting that the members of the household were not welcoming her either.
The raiders that were sent out, she noticed, were neither Lannisters nor Stark men, they bore the falcon of House Arryn, and on their blazons there were ancient runes.
They were Valemen, but as far as she was aware, lady Arryn had kept her knights neutral during the whole war of the Five Kings and had not even sent an envoy to the summit, albeit it could have escaped her notice with how many things had happened in the short time they had spent in Harrenhal.
“Queen Daenerys,” she was welcome, finally, once inside the halls, by Arya Stark of all people, holding her hands behind her back and gazing at her as if she was assessing her, as if they had not signed a truce accord not even a few week past, “we were not expecting you”
No word of welcome, then, she summarized.
The woman was as bold as she was unfeminine.
“Arya Stark,” she saluted back, if the woman was being rude, so would she, “I was under the impression you would remain in Harrenhal with your Queen”
“I am with my queen,” Arya Stark replied “my sister is my queen as much as my brother is”
Daenerys found it as endearing as it was foolish.
“So who would you side with in the evenience they were to war against one another? For sure you do expect that may happen”
“Between Targaryens perhaps,” Arya Stark replied, with seemingly no hesitation, “but we are of House Stark, we do not war against each other. We know winter is coming and we know the rule of the wolf”
“The rule of the wolf?” Daenerys questioned as Arya Stark handed as if absentmindedly the dagger at her waist.
The wolf lady’ so unseeming face twisted into a grimace that reminded Dany of Robb Stark’ direwolf, “the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives,” she said.
Daenerys stiffened, as, for some reason her tone had made a shiver run up her spine, a shiver she had come to recognize as danger calling out to her, as the dragon whispering in her ears about the fate her enemies would suffer at her hands.
Suddenly, entering the wolf’ lair she felt alone. As alone as she ever had.
As alone as she had felt when she had watched her brother sell her off to Drogo for an army of Dothraki. Her Dothrakis now leagues away, unable to help her should she need it.
Have I fallen in a trap?, she wondered.
I must have fire in my eyes as I meet them, not tears.
“I see,” she said. Arya Stark did not comment, instead she gestured with a hand to follow her, “as I was saying,” she said “We were not expecting you, on such a short notice we were unable to prepare a proper welcome, but if you will the lady Lannister has gently offered us her main hall for a formal welcoming”
“There’s no need,” she offered instead, doing her best to appear as well disposed as she wasn’t for their excuses were void and untrue, she was sure the guards must have sighted Drogon leagues away, giving time enough for them to prepare even a short welcome.
“Oh, we insist” Arya Stark said “my sister is a sticker for the courtesies, she will be terribly upset if you were not welcomed properly and I do not wish to see her upset, especially in her delicate condition,”
Then without expecting her reply she turned around and started to make way, Daenerys was left helpless but to follow her and she hated to feel helpless. She straightened her shoulders, I am the Mother of Dragons, she told herself, I am the Mother of Mountains, I am the Vanquisher of the Ghost Grass, I am the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea.
She was welcomed in the hall of Casterly Rock, between effigies of the lion and banners of the green dragon and the direwolf and never before had she felt more unwelcome in her own life.
Sansa Stark was sitting on one of the carved chairs that she and Aemond Targaryen had sported during the summit, granted that she was sitting on the one that Aemond had occupied.
For sure, a hidden signal to remind her that in his absence she was his word.
Daenerys did not care much for such obstentations.
Sansa Stark was sitting snugly on the chair, her hair were braided and bound away from her face and she was wearing a furlined velvet gown of light musk green and ivory, the only spark of color the necklace hanging between the pearls she had never seen her without. Her pregnant belly was half hidden by the cut of the gown, but still in full display to her eyes, and Daenerys felt a kick of jealousy, when she remembered how heavy and fatigued she had been when she had been pregnant.
Prince Oberyn Martell was sitting beside her, as was the Lord Hand of the King and a woman with golden hair and manic eyes.
“Queen Daenerys,” Sansa Stark greeted with her blue eyes as cold as ice and as false as snakes “I was unaware of your arrival, we were expecting you in Winterfell”
An accusation. Blatant at that.
Not only she had the nerve to play the innocent for not having properly prepared for a queen’s arrival, but she was also accusing her.
Ungrateful, spoiled witch.
“Sansa Stark,” she greeted back, mustering by some miracle of her own willpower a smile, “I heard the news about the poisoning attempt, and I rushed her as soon as possible to check on you on my way North to fight your war,”
“To fight everyone’s war,” she corrected “I am touched by your kindness in my regards and I assure you I am well, and my babe is as well,” she said “kicks like a little bull every time I lay down,” she offered.
Flaunting, Daenerys was sure, of her certainty of her blood on the Iron throne. Her brother always did say that the Starks were arrogant but she had not believed them to half as such.
But it was Daenerys’ throne.
Her blood had no right upon it.
“That’s a relief,” she offered, “for I am sure your husband would very much like the reassurance”
“My husband has been reassured enough, Queen Daenerys” she said, her tone suddenly cold “or I guarantee you, he would have flown back here immediately” she caressed her pregnant belly “thankfully news of our wellbeing reached him at the same time as news of the attempt”
“I heard it was someone of your own retinue,” Daenerys said, “someone trusted implicitly” she offered.
Another man was near the carved chair, a man with a short, pointed bear and wearing only dark colors, he held a great book in his hands, and was studying the whole matter with some kind of anticipation of sort.
“Lady Jeyne was a most beloved member of the Stark household,” the man said “sadly, Queen Cersei’ lies were spun so well that she was poisoned against Her Grace,”
Daenerys blinked, her purple eyes glancing his way, “And who might you be?”
“Lord Baelish is an old family friend,” Sansa Stark stated, interjecting before the man could reply “a trusted advisor, and the reason why there were as little repercussions as there were. He was the one to identify the poison as my Maester laid in deathbed for having tasted my tea for me”
A significant look passed on Prince Oberyn’ face, but Sansa Stark remained impassible as the man bowed to her, “You honor me with your kind words, Your Grace”
“Well deserved, I assure you” Sansa Stark said, “Jeyne was once my truest friend and as such I shall remember her and not as the traitor they made of her” she stated “I failed her first, I shall not fail any again”
“A noble pursuit, of course” Daenerys supposed. Sansa Stark’ smile was as cold as her soul.
They dined together, but Daenerys left on dragonback as soon as the supper was ended; the entire atmosphere of reverence toward the Stark woman had made her uncomfortable in a way she could not explain, so she had resumed her flight North to join her troops once again.
The north, she found, was as cold as she had assumed it to be, by Sansa Stark’s attitude. Her mother, the lady Catelyn who was chatelain of Winterfell in her son’s absence and in name of her youngest son, was even colder than Sansa Stark, to the point that Daenerys was more than willing to move immediately to the Wall rather than remaining in Winterfell, where the people looked at her in coldness and suspicion as if she wasn’t there to save them.
When she reached the Wall, only king Robb was present at the encampment as both the Lord Commander and Aemond Targaryen were patrolling the entire length of the Wall, and whilst one was going east the other was patrolling the west.
The Lord Commander and the One-eye had been involved in several small battles already and the dragons had proved instrumental in the victory though by what the Lord Commander said none of the forces they had yet met was as strong as the true army of the Enemy.
The cold, Daenerys decided, was better suited for someone like Sansa Stark and her snake-eyes. Not for their dragon blood.
Chapter 32: Aemond
Chapter Text
Aemond,
The first few months on the battlefront North, proved particularly difficult for the troops.
They were too heterogeneous and often there were reports of scuffles between the different troops. Unsullied and Dothraki usually were a compact front, and it was not unusual for them to be at odd ends with the northerners and there was blatant suspicion and hostility between the northerners and the men of the Realm and the wildlings.
The tentative alliance between their leaders, in fact, did not translate into immediate trust between the actual troops.
The Wildlings were more well disposed toward the Lord Commander for he had been instrumental in their survival but even there, expressions of respect and gratitude varied and weren’t always collaborative.
Men of the Realm were still hung over the petty battles that had interccoured for the War of the Five Kings and despite the truce they were less than forthcoming between parties. And even between stable allies, as the Green dragon and the Young Wolf, there was tension, about provisions, about missions and risks.
King Robb Stark was stationed with the greatest part of the northern troops between Icemark and Castle Black, and the only battle of note in those few months was for the re-garrisoning of the keep, for it had been claimed by the Weeper and his clan who refused collaboration and sent back the messenger Robb Stark had sent blinded and on the brink of death.
They laid siege to the keep, and found several prisoners, men sent by the Lord Commander previously, either blinded or starved.
Lord Commander Jon Snow with his hatchling was patrolling the east side of the Wall whilst king Aemond and the dragoness Vhagar patrolled the western side, going as far as the Gorge, the men led by the Lannister boy-Lord who commanded with his named general sir Jaime Lannister were manning Greyguard and Stonedoor; the other men were dislocated, up to Queensgate and down to Shadowtower.
Westwatch-by-the-Bridge was dutifully patrolled by the king though men of the Nights Watch and wildlings both were manning the keep.
Once she reached the battlefront Queen Daenerys and her hatchling resided at Queensgate and would at times fly Beyond the Wall in exploration with her Dothraki screamers though her numbers dwindled as her troops were unaccustomed to the harsh northern winters. And it was during one such outing that she and her garrison were lost in a terrible snowstorm.
The Lord Commander offered to follow her North, as he was most likely to find her, as he was the most familiar with the lands beyond the Wall but his hatchling could not fly in such a great storm which was probably the reason why the Queen was stuck beyond the Wall. It befell on the Green king to fly the dragoness Vhagar against the impervious cold winds in hope to locate the hatchling, the dragon queen and her men.
“Let me come with” Jon all but begged, “I know the lands better and—”
“There is scarce visibility from the sky, let alone by land,” Aemond replied, “your eyes will be as good as mine,” he said “and Vhagar will have difficulties already flying in this weather, I am secure enough with our bond but I cannot ensure your safety,”
Jon sneered, and Aemond could tell that for the umpteenth time he was cursing Daenerys Targaryen for her lack of forethought. The northerners stationed near Queensgate had told her not to ride out, that a snowstorm was coming, but she believed to know best, replied “I am the blood of the dragon, my child is fire made flesh no snowstorm scares us” and she had ridden out when even he with Vhagar and Jon on the hatchling had been returning to their posts instead of patrolling.
They couldn’t send people by foot and Jon and the hatchling could not fly in this weather, the hatchling had vehemently refused to even move from Vhagar’ side once they had both joined forces at Icemark.
Robb sighed “Must we really go? She has a dragon it will keep her warm”
“In this weather?” Aemond questioned, “if it were Vhagar and I, I would tell you best to leave us be and that one the snowstorm was over we’d be kept alive by her fire, but the hatchling? It’s too small, a cold like this could kill it, dragons, especially hatchlings don’t like cold and they don’t because it weakens them, their flame is not stable enough yet,” he said “and we cannot afford to lose a dragon, especially in the remote evenience that he might be raised too,”
That sombered Robb immediately.
Robb, in solidarity to Sansa’ understandable, potent dislike, had developed quite the personal distaste for Daenerys Targaryen as well and the woman grated on his nerves more than Lord Frey, his good-father a man of dubious character tainted by disgusting behavior.
Jon was cold toward her and unnerved by her character as well but he was more diplomatic than Robb, and could see her as the asset she was right now more than the person she was proving to be.
Aemond himself was too unnerved by her resemblance to his uncle Daemon though he had been grateful when she had told him she had personally visited Sansa to ensure her safety when she had heard of the poisoning attempt. “She’s well,” she had said “and the pregnancy proceeds as well”
It had been somewhat cold, though he had the impression Daenerys had wanted to seem warm and kind and loving.
“I still don’t like this,” Jon mumbled, reminding him so much of Daeron it hurt.
“Your concern is duly noted,” Aemond said “but we cannot afford to lose her dragon to the enemy,” he added “we need to take this risk”
“You are to be a father soon,” Robb said “don’t make your child an orphan and Sansa a widow before the babe is even born”
“She made me promise I will be there for the birth of all our children,” Aemond recalled fondly “to my word I am bound,” he said “death released me once to be by her side, I will ensure the Stranger will do the same again,” he added, as he donned on his winter furlined coat, the fine handiwork his wife had put into the embroidery making him feel her warmth.
He slipped on the gloves and adjusted the the scarf around his neck, dragging it then over his nose and mouth, grabbed the helm he had had the smith fashion for him, and donned it on. It was nothing fancy, not like the helm Daemon had worn during the war, it had more of a spartan look, but the smith had incised on the metal First Men runes, the very same Jon had taught him. Runes for protection, dragon-wings opening over his brow were incised over the front.
“I’ll return with both dragons,” he promised, before following the brothers of the Nights Watch below the keep and to the gate to Beyond the Wall, the cold biting at his cheeks and making the sapphire in his eye as cold as ice against his flesh, ice gathered on his silver-gold lashes; one of the men proffered to him a torch, and Aemond grabbed it with his hand, nodding to them.
The Commander of his kingsguard had protested vehemently about remaining behind, and Aemond knew that he was risking it all to save Rhaenyra’ great-granddaughter from death. If he had a choice he would let the Gods do what they deemed fit, but he did not have a choice, despite what Daenerys Targaryen represented to his battered heart, she still commanded a dragon. A dragon who was barely more than a hatchling and that would die in this weather. He did not know if the enemy could raise a dead dragon as he did a dead man, but he was unwilling to find out.
“If I fall you will win the Iron throne,” he had told him, leaving with him his signed and sealed will, “and sit the child’ my wife carries on it. The Queen will act as regent until the child is of age, and you will give your life for theirs if needed,”
He had seen many things in Alys’ fires. She had shown him many things, things that had been either all a lie or things he hadn’t been able to understand nor overcome, but in betwixt the flames he had seen Sansa as well, and she had given him the northerner support. He had seen Kings Landing flying his banner, and he had seen the Iron throne.
He walked to Vhagar, guided through the snowstorm by their bond. This cold would prove fatal for the hatchling — both hatchlings — if he didn’t manage to get Vhagar to nestle them both, or for them to nest together to keep each other warm.
Vhagar knew the cold, she had seen many winters, though never this far North and never this side of the Wall. He knew many stories were told about the Wall and Jon had shared many more, apparently king Jaehaerys and queen Alysanne visited the Wall once, and their dragons had stubbornly refused to cross beyond.
Bran Stark had confirmed that the Wall was imbued with ancient magic capable of keeping the winter at bay and away as it slumbered, the very same magic — First Men magic or Children of the Forest’ magic that it was — was a kind as different from the Valyrian’s Fourteen pillars of magic and training for the dragons. He had told him that the dragon would be weaker because of it, the Wall was meant to protect the North and the Realm of men, and the fire of a dragon could be a threat to it, as it was made of ice, so it would weaken the dragons which would be much more foreign than the eastern armies were.
The hatchlings’ fire ran hotter than Vhagar’s, but their scales were still soft so the ice could seep between the scales and prove fatal; Vhagar’ scales were harder to penetrate for the cold, but most of her flame went to ensure she would not grow cold and be used if in need against the enemies.
They needed to make haste, he had, had carpenters work tirelessly to manage to create a nest for the dragons near each keep, but it had been useless. The wildlings had proved useful and their knowledge of the cold had helped where the Valyrian science could none. They had suggested shelters made of snow and ice and covered in leather. Snow, they had told him, keeps warm against the snowstorm.
Still, Daenerys’ hatchling alone would die.
Aemond could not afford to lose a dragon in the war for the Dawn.
Despite the storm he managed to climb upon Vhagar’ back with difficulty, with her wings shielding the worst of it so that he may climb the ropes and belts, the torch dying in the snow.
He could feel through their bond that Vhagar was unwilling to fly further North, but they had no choice, “Dohaeras Vhagar!” he commanded, “sovās” he said, pressing one of his hands against her powerful neck, the belts fastened around him, “Ivestragī īlva ērinagon bisa jelmāzma,”
Let us win this storm, he prayed to himself as well as Vhagar roared and took flight, her wings flapping with difficulty against the merciless winds, snow, ice and chilling air crushing against his face, penetrating through the visor of his helmet. Vhagar’ warmth was just enough to not have him shivering, and visibility was truly so decreased that Aemond had difficulty seeing below them.
“Ūndegon se rūs” he commanded Vhagar, find them. He let go of the handles of the saddle one at time, to flex the wrist and tuck the hand beneath the leather with which they had covered beneath the saddle to help keep the dragoness warm. Between the leather and her scales, he would warm up the hand, to then do the same with the other.
He alternated a hand to the other for the whole time as Vhagar flew in the snowstorm.
When the first ice-crystal spear grazed near Vhagar’ neck, Aemond ducked on instinct, letting Vhagar’ mind touch his and trusting her eyes where he could not see; but no dragon in sight fighting against them.
“Sōvegon ilagon, zālagon pōja egrossa!” He screamed above the wind and Vhagar’ replying roar was all warning he received before she pivoted on herself, and descended head first beneath the storm, leaving behind the cover of the clouds, to find their enemies.
It was three Others, all hurdled together, Aemond adjusted the belts around his middle and his legs, and retrieved from behind him the bow yet in its leather-case. He unlaced the case and let it fall down, as he held it up, the ironwood hissing for the cold, as he collected the elk-bone and obsidian blade arrow — courtesy of the smith of Greyguard and the wildling bone-makers — from the quiver and drew back the string.
Underneath his breath he invoked the Warrior “Let my aim be true,” he mouthed, before releasing the arrow. He had learned archery atop dragon back when he had been two and ten, the Maester had told him about the Dothraki across the Narrow Sea, capable of riding before they were of walking, capable of unleashing a shower of deadly arrows as they rode without missing a beat. He had thought it fascinating and had discovered that only a handful of dragon riders in Old Valyria had mastered the art of archery across dragon-back. Usually women, who did not actually fight in real battle, but who would play in competitions.
He had thought it smart to learn the technique as handed down in the ancient scrolls, and though he had never reached a mastery level courtesy of his eye and the lack of a proper teacher for it, it would still be useful if needed.
Alys had convinced him to leave behind his bow — you shall not need it — had Aemond carried it, the battle against Daemon would have had a very different outcome. He had believed it more honorable and striking to instead beat his own uncle with the same terms, and he had died.
The first Other went down in a cascade of ice crystal and with a distant, inhuman shriek that made his teeth clatter more than the cold as Vhagar lowered herself enough that when she roared the snow on the ground shook. The other two shrieked their disappointment and anger as Aemond zeroed on their stack of spears, behind them manned to at least throw a dozen bolts.
He grabbed with a hand the handle of the saddle and pressed his body against Vhagar’ back as another Other grabbed the spear, he could only pray Vhagar would be faster than his arm and their aim truer than his when he commanded, “Dracarys!”
A sliver of fire engulfed the spear-stack in flames, and though dragon fire seemed to not harm the Others the several wights near them went into ashes with a deafening silence that grated on his fraying nerves.
Princes, princesses, knights and poets.
His wife’s voice echoed in his mind of his promise to her.
He commanded Vhagar to raise again in the sky and away from the low ground as he circled around the two Others, the lance hissed in the air with a ringing tone and Aemond groaned when it grazed at his side, just enough to draw blood as it cut through the several leather and pelts layers.
Still the true target went untouched and he had Vhagar circle back around to face them again as another spear hissed this time not even a feet above his head, another one pierced through Vhagar’ left wing, leaving a gaping hole encrusted with ice behind as she screeched, her fury raising across their bond.
Vhagar started to fly, favoring her right side after that, as another silhouette appeared in the sky. Aemond grabbed another arrow with trembling hand, as his side ached reminding him of his wound, and drew the string back, “Dracarys!” He commanded a tongue of fire wrapped around the Others again, and though they seemed to be impervious to it, so were not their weapons, he released the arrow and hit the Other in the leg.
A wound that would not necessarily proved fatal in a human was enough to send it shrieking in a million pieces, as the other one silent as ghost threw his last spear. This time the spear graced Vhagar’ belly making her roar in pain a viscous black liquid stained the white snow beneath them.
The dragon in the sky proved to be the hatchling itself, Daenerys Targaryen atop his back, her bells ringing in the air she shouted. The dragon did not breath out fire, but served as distraction for the other, Aemond guided Vhagar in a slow descent, the dragoness ever mindful of her belly, as soon as she was low enough Aemond unclasped the belts and threw the bow on the ground, grabbing instead Dark Sister from its scabbard attached to the saddle and leaped down her back, finding soft snow to cushion his fall as he rolled to the side, kicking what remained of the weapon stack as the Other threw his spear at the hatchling.
He jumped up and swung the sword, the Other though was not caught unaware, for he turned around and ducked out of the way of the blade, meeting it with his in a clash that had him set his jaw as his teeth clattered for the inhumane strength of it as his arm trembled.
He ducked underneath heir joined blades, in a maneuver that did surprise the Other, with a flick of his wrist he secured the handle of Dark Sister underneath the blade and snapped it in two with the high Valyrian reinforced hilt, then as the Other remained with empty hand, he pivoted on his left foot, hissing when pain shot from his wounded side to his sword-arm.
The Other’ chilling cold hand grabbed at his wrist forcing him to keep Dark Sister to the side, but Aemond grabbed his own Valyrian steel dagger from his belt as he turned on his side and embed it to the hilt in the Other’s left cheekbone, “I light the way” he hissed to the creature as fell to the ground with a groan and dissolved in shreds of ice and crystal, Dark Sister gleamed at the light of Vhagar’ still unextinguished fires as they burned the by now charred corpse of the undead.
Aemond staggered back, his hand going to his side, staining the gloves with his own blood. He was lucky that this far North any wound would take far longer to bleed him out than it would to start healing, though the cold could kill him before that; Daenerys Targaryen landed her hatchling near Vhagar as it huddled closer to enjoy the dragoness’ warmth.
Daenerys Targaryen walked to him, her face red and puffy for the cold and her lips chapped and windburned, “You’re welcome,” she muttered, grabbing his shoulder in one hand and helping him to stand straight.
“You are bloody welcome,” he cussed in reply, these northerners are rub off on me, he thought “if you hadn’t gotten yourself stuck here we wouldn’t be in this situation”
“It’s just a little snowstorm,” she hissed, “you on the other hand were about to die, so you are welcome”
Aemond rolled his eyes, he knew better than to try and knock sense in her thick skull, not even the death of both Lucerys and Jacaerys had served to knock some sense in Rhaenyra. He would not expect better from her only female descendant.
“Look at your hatchling,” he snapped instead, “and tell me it’s just a little snowstorm,” he gestured. The hatchling black scales were covered in a layer of frost that was slowly melting the longer he was near Vhagar, and one of his horns had been chopped off by the cold.
“We’re fine,” she said “my raiders await, you may stay with us—”
“We,” he stressed, “are returning to the keep and this is final” he snapped, “Vhagar is wounded and your hatchling will die if he remains in this snowstorm”
“I am the Queen, you cannot command me—”
“You do not have enough wood or the right conditions to burn him if he were to perish here,” Aemond told her, “do you want them to raise him as well and destroy us all?”
And that he saw reached her, then her face disfigured into a grimace of defiance, “They are blood of my blood, I will not abandon them to their fates! I am the blood of the dragon, I shall keep them warm”
Aemond grabbed her hand and slid off the glove, her fingers were pale and her nails were turning blue, he showed her “You can’t even keep yourself warm, stop being stubborn, and in this storm… it’s a miracle he managed to fly here, he’s not strong enough to carry their additional weight and Vhagar cannot. We aren’t Starks, we aren’t meant for the cold,” he seethed.
“Then we should have let them to fight this enemy on their own,” Daenerys hissed in reply “and ought to have left them to their designs, we are the blood of the dragon we are stronger together, as you have seen”
“Both you and I would be stronger if you just listened and we weren’t in this situation to begin with,” he snapped at her, “now Vhagar is wounded and your hatchling on the brink of the death. We are flying south immediately and I will knock you out, bind you to your hatchling and guide him there if you do not comply”
“They are my people,” she protested “I will not abandon them”
”You should have thought of that before you put them at the additional risk,” he told her squarely, they had by now reached the dragons, and he was leaning on Vhagar’ side as he looked a her, “A monarch must look his men in the eye and tell them for this you will die, it rests on their shoulders to carry the blame or the guilt when the command was wrong, or raise their names in glory when the command was just. You claim you are a queen, start acting like it. Your dragon will die if you stubbornly refuse to leave and he will be raised again by the enemy.”
Defiance shone proudly in her eyes still, until figures unmistakably Dothraki appeared in the snow several feet away from them, “koi koi!” she screamed in Dothraki.
But they did not scream back, blue unnatural eyes staring down at them.
Aemond felt a shiver run up his spine and tugged her away as she trashed in his hold, “they’re gone!” he screamed as he shoved her against the hatchling side, and started to climb up the Vhagar’ back “Climb on!” he demanded “now”
But Daenerys pushed herself off the hatchling side and made to sprint to them, as they stayed there, unnaturally still with eyes gleaming an inhuman blue, but this time it was her own hatchling who hindered her, wrapping his wing and tail securely around her middle.
Aemond secured his legs to the saddle and then caressed Vhagar’ side “Vhagar, dracarys!”
“No!” she shrieked as Vhagar rained fire and flame upon the undead Dothraki, the fires engulfing them without a scream, without a sound.
Aemond sighed, and then murmured softly, “Kostagon aōha ñuqir jikagon arlī naejot pōja lenton,” it was an old Valyrian tradition for when their brethren fell far from home.
May your ashes return to your home, it would be little consolation to Daenerys, he knew, but it was the most they could do, especially considering that they could not afford for more people to be changed into wights.
“Climb on,” he said.
Daenerys’ eyes were filled with angry tears, as she looked at him, then defeat overcame her features and she slowly climbed up her hatchling back.
Aemond nodded, “be sure to fly after Vhagar’ line, she’ll shield the worst from you and the hatchling,” then he pressed his body across the dragon’s back to ease her flight with her wounds and commanded, “Maghagon īlva naejot ȳgha”
Bring us back to safety, the only wish he could have for them right now.
It was past nightfall and new dawn, despite the blackness of the sky still, starless, when they finally found themselves back to Icemark, the song of Jon’s hatchling leering them back and showing them the way.
They landed the dragons near the snow-shelter the wildlings had provided for the dragons, where the hatchling that had remained back was nestled with several pelts and leathers.
Once Daenerys Targaryen had climbed off her hatchling, the black dragon naturally shouldered closer to the other hatchling burrowing in her warmth.
Vhagar instead remained closer and huffed more than once, her tail wrapped around his ankle, as if afraid he would let her go untended with her wounds.
“Go,” he said to Daenerys, “I have to check her wounds”
Robb and Jon were both on the bastions rejoicing in their return with the men, though it was a somber thing. The great gate beneath the Wall hinged open and Daenerys was escorted inside as the man of the Nights Watch walked closer to him with the torch.
Vhagar wasn’t bleeding as he had first assumed, for the liquid was less viscous than her blood and darker.
The wound in the wing would heal on its own, a gaping hole would remain until her end, but it would not hinder her flight and movement once the scar tissue took over the edges of the hole.
“Dīnagon naejot se paktot syt nyke, Vhagar,” he instructed her and she obeyed, shifting her weight so that he might take a look at the wound in her belly.
To his surprise, the spear had grazed not her scales, as he had suspected, but her sack, it had wounded it slightly on the upper side, which combined with the cold had ensured she would not lose too much liquid.
It was odd that he had not noticed that her sack was full, instead of empty and flattened against the rest of her belly.
“I am sorry,” he murmured, “I wasn’t aware,” he offered. Vhagar did not reply in any way or form, but Aemond had just enough time to bring his hands under the sack before she pushed out the egg.
Only one egg.
The proof that Vhagar was starting to be too old — otherwise it would have been several eggs — and that the stress she was under whilst North was forcing her to try and secure her legacy and the future of her line.
The egg was covered in thick and viscous dark slime, and a bout of black liquid stained the snowfield as the sack emptied.
After that Vhagar shifted her weight again and simply rolled so that she would lie at the entrance of the snow shelter, both keeping the hatchling from the worst of the cold and being shielded from the cold winds from the north by the snow structure.
As the brother of the Nights Watch observed, shocked the whole matter, Aemond secured the egg between his coat and his tunic, and then together with the black brother trekked back on the other side of the Wall and to safety.
Once inside, he inspected the egg in great detail aided by the candle-light.
The egg was of normal size for a dragon egg, if a bit on the small considering how big Vhagar was and thus how big the egg should have been in her prime, the bone-like scales of the egg were pale pink, and cream gold with some emerald hue as well.
He had not thought of this evenience so he was without the heated steel-cradle to keep the egg warm, so he raided the kitchens for a pot to put over the hearth to keep the egg warm and gave the smith the project for the cradle.
In such an hostile environment the egg could easily become stone because of the cold, so he stressed the great importance and need for the cradle to be made in record time.
After the Green king returned from the rescue mission beyond the Wall, the king remained in Icemark for less than a week before, in the middle of the night he was woken from his slumber by a dream of foresight.
He saddled Vhagar in the dead of the night, took the egg with him in its new heated cradle and flew South to Casterly Rock.
Legend wants that he dreamed of his Queen’ labor and flew south in a fit of madness, abandoning the stalling war to reach her side.
It is perhaps a romantic tale, it is even unknown if the king was present for the birth of his first child, some sources disprove it, whilst others confirm it.
What is sure, though, is that the dragon egg was put in the cradle with the firstborn though it is unproven if the king delivered the egg itself or sent it to Casterly Rock with a messenger.
Chapter 33: Sansa
Summary:
Short but needed. I’ll expand on this on next Aemond chapter do not fret!
Chapter Text
Sansa,
“Your Grace, may I?”
Sansa looked up from her parchments and shared a look with Lord Royce as Lord Hightower fisted up his hands above the table; Sansa offered the newcomer a smile, “Lord Baelish, welcome,” she said.
“If you would be amenable, Your Grace,” he said “I was hoping for a private audience,”
Sansa carefully folded the parchment and handed it off to the Lord Hand, “My lords,” she said, gesturing for them to be dismissed, “we will reconvene at first light”
Lord Royce stood up, as did Lord Hightower, “Your Grace…” he started, but she smiled softly at him, “I am aware, my Lord, but as far as this baby doesn’t chose to be born tonight, we have still work to do tomorrow”
There was something soft and fatherly in his eyes then, “The king will have my head if anything befalls you and the child because I let you overwork yourself…”
She gently placed a hand to his elbow, “Thank you, my Lord, but the Maester has assured me I am well progressing and need not yet to enter confinement”
The man took her hands in his and nodded, “My wife has long been the same way,” he said “I know better than to discuss with a woman, and a pregnant one to boot,” he added “the babe in you makes you all a bit mad”
Sansa smiled up at him, missing her own mother and father a little bit less with his genuine concern for her, “As long,” he added “as you promise to be careful”
Sansa nodded softly “I promise”
He nodded back and let go of her hand, following Lord Royce out of the room just as Sansa made to stand up from her chair.
Lord Baelish moved to help her up but sir Leighton’ arm was there immediately to help her stand up, and Sansa smiled gratefully up at him.
“Thank you sir Leighton,” she offered softly, then smiled up at Lord Baelish, “It seems my size is hindering a bit my footing,” she commented “yet I would love to take a stroll whilst we speak if it is not too much trouble”
She wasn’t overly fond of Lord Baelish nor of some of the words he spoke, but he had yet to prove distrustful and Sansa knew better than to send scurrying such a powerful man.
Instead, she needed to ascertain his true goal and purpose and harness it as needed; Arya disliked the man, I know a killer when I see one, and Sansa trusted her completely.
It didn’t also help his cause that both Prince Oberyn and the Lord Hand were very mindful of the man, considering him much more dangerous than any could give him credit for.
Yet, the man had proved to be their ally thus far, and it was better to hold a man such as him in her sight that let him run rampant.
“None at all, Your Grace,” he offered softly, offering her his elbow to escort her, “You must know I love your lady mother as dearly as a sister, and if things had been different you would have been my niece,” he said “or my daughter,”
Something about that sat very wrong with her, but she ignored it. Her mother as the mother of the king in the North and the queen consort and still in age to have children could be a valuable choice of match for many widowers and bachelor; yet her mother had loved her father dearly and would not so easy be married off when two of her children were still so young and much better off without a match; still many lords were heirless or had become so, and the prospect to have a child related both to the crown of the North and the Iron throne could make a greater man than Baelish play all of his cards.
“And that is something we are most grateful for,” Sansa commented, instead of speaking truly her mind, “so, as a beloved uncle to a niece,” she reasoned “what matter did you wish to discuss with me?”
Lord Baelish’ eyes seemed to glisten as the chill set on their bones when they exited the building to take a stroll in the market in the courtyard of Casterly Rock and from there to the gardens.
Sansa loved this kind of chill, it made her head feel less occluded than the heat inside the keep.
“I know you have been greatly pained by lady Jeyne’ betrayal,” he said, his tone somber and Sansa’ smile died on her lips as he spoke, “and I am aware that for her betrayal she paid the price and that many other instead paid the price of their loyalty”
Sansa’ hand raised of its own accord to the pearls at her throat, between which hung her husband’s first courting gift; sir Dontos — never too far from where she was — was helping distribute covers and furs to the people in need.
“Ay” she said “some did, and I will have Cersei’ head for it”
Lord Baelish nodded, “Your lady mother is much more of the same,” she said and Sansa frowned looking at him sideways “fierce in defending those she loves”
Sansa thought about her mother's scarred hands, from when she caught barehanded a Valyrian steel knife to protect Bran’s life.
“Thank you, my Lord,” she offered.
“Which brings me back to my point,” he continued, “I have taken upon myself, instead of lay in wait, to find those who killed Shae,” he said, “and I did,” he added.
Sansa turned to look at him, stopping in her tracks, “How?” she questioned, and he shrugged, “there is little that money cannot buy,” he said “and certainly a killer’ fee is not between that little”
He smiled down at her, almost fatherly but it made ants crawl up her legs and spine, as if Sansa needed to get away from him.
“They are enroute here as we speak,” he told her, “so that you may give them the Queen’s justice,” he added.
Sansa nodded thoughtfully, her mind reeling, “Of course,” he added, “you could have your vengeance on Cersei as well, once you have disposed of the actual killers”
Yet, Sansa remembered very well Jaime Lannister telling her he had been there when Cersei had received Shae’ head and that the killers had been killed by her sworn shield.
So, who were these imposters, and why did Littlefinger want to use them? What was the worst purpose he could achieve by giving her these decoys?
“That is comforting,” she said, her hand coming to rest around her husband’s gift, the very memory of him comforting more than Littlefinger’ schemes of apparent justice in her name.
“Your Grace,” Sansa turned around and found herself face to face with lady Jorelle as she walked to them together with the Maester.
Sansa let go of Lord Baelish’ hand and turned to welcome them, as the Septa tailed them with her own news by the giddiness in her face.
“Jory,” she greeted with a warm smile as her friend came close to her and took her hand in hers, “tell me all”
“It is as you had foretold, Your Grace,” the Maester said, sharing a look with the septa, “Kings Landing is in tumult after the High Sparrow has failed to convert into sparrows the City’s Watch”
Sansa gestured for them to continue when the Maester eyed Lord Baelish.
“Lord Varys has shared that Queen Cersei seems to be in a mood, as well,”
Sansa frowned “A mood?”
The man nodded “He’s fearful she means to use the stashes of wildfire under the city to burn the sparrows to the ground. He has been trying to avoid it as much as he can, but he is still posing as loyal to her so…”
Sansa nodded, turned to Lord Baelish and added, “I’m afraid I need to cut our conversation short, my Lord” she said “but you’d be more than welcome at the emergency council, if you’d like”
She could see in the way his smile brightened that he was convinced he had finally gotten one foot in.
“I’d be honored, Your Grace” he offered, and Sansa took sir Leighton’s arm, always prompt to help her, and had the Maester summon the Lord Hand, lady Malora as well as Prince Oberyn, Lord Royce.
From what Lord Varys was reporting, Queen Cersei had been separated from the little Queen, who was in the care of the High Sparrow alone, the Republic of the Seven Pointed Star had taken residence in the Great Sept of Baelor and the Red Keep and the whole court was kept hostage as the High Sparrow had taken almost a member per House to perpetuate the religion studies but being taken as hostages.
Queen Cersei was kept in Maegor’s Holdfast, and a cornered Cersei was not a good Cersei. Lady Genna and Lord Kevan had already movemented what troops remained to them to put the city under siege and demand the Queen’s release, but the High Sparrow had replied that the Queen was to be tried for her sins.
Varys was preoccupied that the entirety of the city might go up in flames if the High Sparrow continued with this course of action.
“We should stand back and watch,” Lord Baelish, “Queen Cersei and her kin will ruin the city to the ground around the Sparrows”
Sansa resisted the urge to flinch at the tone of his voice as Prince Oberyn considered him, “Lord Baelish is right, Your Grace,” he said “the capital is yet not your responsibility, and the most efficient way, since the best of our troops is busy fighting north, would be for us to let our enemies destroy one another”
“We agreed to a truce with Queen Cersei,” the Lord Hand pointed out “and if we were to let her be taken out by these subversives we’d be breaking our word,” he commented.
Sansa mulled over the words spoken, her hands collected before herself, frowning when the babe kicked at her insides, pushing against her ribcage something fierce.
“The capital,” she said, pausing for a long moment, “may not be under our jurisdiction as per the truce, but as the king claims the Iron throne the people of the capital are still ours to defend”
Prince Oberyn considered her at length, and then stood up from where he was coming to stand behind her chair, to her surprise, he gently wrapped his arms around the chair and under her belly; Sansa squirmed at the sudden contact but relief immediately overflew her when he gently supported her belly and guided her to sit in a different position.
Sir Leighton looked about to bust a vein, but Prince Oberyn merely explained, “You looked to be uncomfortable, Your Grace” he said “I know much about pregnancies and labors, you should enter your confinement”
Sansa shook her head, waving a hand to him, “I am fine,” she said “this is too important to—”
“Nothing is as important as the babe you carry, Your Grace” the Septa said, and Sansa flashed her a warning look.
Prince Oberyn merely remained in position, and Sansa breathed a bit easier; “Thank you, Prince Oberyn” she offered, and he nodded, retracting his hand and sauntering back at his seat, “but my stance of this does not change,” she said.
“If we were to move our military to the capital Queen Cersei could argue a break of the truce’s terms,” Malora commented quietly “and that would give her free reign to use her troops against us”
Sansa considered it, “but if we abandon the people of Kings Landing they shall not accept us as readily as they should,” she said “we took great care to ensure the people knew the grain from the Reach was being sent on our word,” she commented “and we cannot act on Cersei’ possible plots without breaking the truce”
“Breaking the truce would reflect bad on Your Graces,” Lord Hightower nodded, “perhaps all we can do is waiting”
Prince Oberyn shrugged and Arya folded the knife she had been playing with, “It would reflect bad only if we lost,” she commented “if we took the capital then it would not matter”
Prince Oberyn gave a laugh at that, “I like that form of thinking” he offered.
Sansa shook her head, “That is not how alliances work” she stated, “that’s how a coup works,” she offered “and we do not want to take power through a coup, but through right” she said.
Lord Royce considered the matter for a long moment then he said, “Your Grace could send us,” he offered “we would fly the peace banner and pose only as forces meant to vigil over the safety of the people,” he said.
Sansa twisted her hands when pain bloomed in her side, “What do our lords think on that?” she asked, to take her mind off the pain.
Arya’ eyes were fixated on her, “I could go as well,” she offered “as proof of your good will,”
Prince Oberyn, who was looking at her closely and whispering with the Maester, straightened and agreed as well, “It would be a cautious curse of action,” he confirmed.
She turned to the Lord Hand, and Lord Hightower nodded as well, “Aye, Your Grace,” he said “that seems as a good curse of action,”
Sansa tried to replicate the same manner Prince Oberyn had helped her sustain her belly to try and find a little bit of relief, though it was still uncomfortable.
She dismissed the council then, doing her best to stay seated when she realized that warmth was slowly sliding down her legs, and wetting her small-clothes.
The Maester and Prince Oberyn lingered for a moment back and Sansa gestured to Arya to distract the Lord Hand that seemed to understand that something was wrong.
Lady Malora in all reply caressed her shoulder and then grabbed her father by the elbow, “I believe we are unwanted here, Father,” she said “but you might ready the bells, for the babe will be born”
Well, Sansa supposed as another wave of pain hit her, that was one way to make it obvious.
The first hour or so of labor was a nightmare, Prince Oberyn and her sister helped her walk back to her chamber as the Maester summoned the midwife.
Prince Oberyn counseled against staying put and instead pace up and down the chamber to help the babe on its way to the world.
Arya was clearly squeamish but held tight on her, promising she was doing really well even though Sansa wanted to bite someone’s head off.
The midwives gave her some tea to relax her muscles, and then asked her if she’d rather deliver the baby by standing up or in the bed.
Roslin had heartily and warmly recommended delivering whilst standing up, or crunched though the greatest part of highborn ladies usually delivered laying in their bed.
Sansa was uncertain.
“Do what feels right,” Prince Oberyn suggested, usually Sansa would not want another man in her labor chamber but the prince had delivered safely most of his daughters if not all of them, and the Maester respected his knowledge in the matter.
Though the midwives ushered both men at the edge of the room behind a curtain and instead helped her disrobe.
By the time the fifth hour of labor came around Sansa was ready to push someone off a tower, too bad Joffrey was not in the near vicinity and already dead.
The septa was praying fervently near her and Sansa tried to follow along the lines of the prayers more often than not, though she couldn’t really keep her head straight.
The pain and heat in the lower abdomen were almost uncontrollable and she wanted to scream her lungs out of her body if she only could.
Her brow was covered in sweat and her dress in soot and any kind of bodily fluid and Sansa really did not want to think about that especially as she held on for dear life on the feetboard of the bed standing with bent legs on her tiptoes on two small bricks.
“That is worse than the sheepshift,” Arya quipped unhelpfully and that drew a small giggle out of her, though it was broken by another bitten off scream.
Though, she did not scream but the walls of the keep were shaken by a scream anyway. Sansa was not lucid enough, her vision was blurred and too bright and suddenly too perfect and then again blurred, her insides twisted and hurt and her throat was raw and it felt like someone was twisting some sort of hot-iron in her belly as she felt her babe pushing to come to the light.
“Another push, Your Grace, I can see the head!” the midwives tried to coax, but Sansa was drifting between here and now and nothingness, until outside someone shouted, “It’s Vhagar!”
And Arya popped up besides her again, taking her hand in hers and holding tight, “Look Sansa,” she said “your husband is here!”
The rest of it was not better than a blur, a blur of pain and heat and fear and anguish; Vhagar roared again and she could feel commotion outside her chamber until his voice resounded breaking every other noise in her ears.
“You mean to tell me that other men can assist my wife and I cannot?” Aemond’s voice was no higher than a hiss, but Sansa heard it as clear as if he had screamed, “you mean to tell me that Prince Oberyn might assist at the birth of my child and I may not? Not even the Stranger himself could keep me from that room, so you either step aside or I will make you”
Sansa almost sobbed in relief when she heard that controlled fury in his voice, that underlining of trust.
She had made him promise he would be there, for the birth of all of their children, and he was there. Despite a war, despite the leagues between them, he had come.
So she screamed his name atop of her lungs and suddenly the world blared to life inside her, outside her, around her.
Perhaps he did not make it in time to help her through the whole thing, she would later muse, but he arrived just in time to see the babe falling with a humid thud on the cushion beneath her; fall there, the fall cushioned by the midwives and the pillow both and as the babe was out so was the pain from her body, and Sansa sagged limbless over the bed.
Arya and one of the midwives held her up, just as Aemond — shocked and confused— watched as they guided her to the bed and helped her sit on it.
Sansa was aware of almost nothing, her very muscle feel like numb as the babe gave one powerful cry that shook her core more than any pain and seemed to reel Aemond back in action as her husband almost stumbled on his usually graceful feet to reach her and the bed.
Prince Oberyn intercepted him and patted him on the back before gently guiding him on the other side of the bed, “Your wife might need a minute or…” Sansa heard him whisper, and yet the baby’s wails were so harrowing like it was in so much pain that she couldn’t handle it.
So she let the midwife help her on the bed and let Arya cover up until her middle so that her dignity was preserved and her husband did not see her covered in blood and any kind of fluid; and then motioned for the babe.
The midwife hadn’t even managed yet to clean the small wailing body but seemed pleased to see her proactive approach, and gently held the babe close to her, higher than Sansa would have expected, the whole tiny body pressed against her neck and cheek, and the babe wailed and wailed and the midwife motherly swept a curl of red hair from her forehead, “Breath” she told her softly and only then did Sansa realize she had been holding her breath.
The moment her breath hit the small one’s face, the sobs reduced and the babe calmed almost instantly and Prince Oberyn gave a clap, and murmured something just as Sansa felt the babe’s small breath becoming slowly less labored as she cried against them.
She looked above Arya’s head to find Aemond lingering just there, waiting to be let come close to her; and tears flowed even more freely down her cheeks as she smiled.
“Congratulations Your Grace,” the midwife said, “you have a healthy little prince,” she commented “and by the looks of it, he’s going to be a mam’s boy”
In his eye Sansa could see all that had did not speak. He had another son before, and it hadn’t ended well for him, and he hadn’t been there to protect neither him nor the mother, and he hadn’t been able to assist either.
She gestured for him to come closer and he did, taking her hand in his and bending down to be on her same level, at some point he had taken off his eyepatch, and in his eye she could see only wonder.
When finally the babe had calmed enough and with the midwife’s direction Sansa gently moved him so that he was cradled against her bosom and counted all of his fingers and toes, the umbilical cord nestled between their bodies, “He’s perfect,” she murmured “he’s so perfect”
“He is,” he agreed “and you’re radiant” he murmured kissing her temple, Sansa’ didn’t know how it was possible to love someone so tiny, so little, so fast and so encompassingly.
Sansa couldn’t almost bear to look away from his perfect face, and his red-gold eyelashes, she giggled “I am afraid our son might sport House Tully red hair,” she offered, even the little, thin air on his head were a golden red though there was a strike of silvergold just on the crown of his head above the left eyebrow.
“He’s perfect,” he said, caressing his head apparently uncaring of the state of both of them, “you both are, Ñuha olvie jorrāelatan”
Sansa cocked her head to the side, “What does that mean?” she questioned, as the midwife interjected after the cut of the umbilical cord to take the babe and clean him, “you were murmuring that too when you left and bid farewell to us”
He kissed both her hands, “my most beloved,” he said “it’s a… an endearment only it’s collective,” he offered, “because it’s the both of you,”
Sansa smiled softly at him completely enamored, “Well, he shall need a name as well,” Prince Oberyn offered, as the baby cried out at the other end of the chamber as the midwife and the Maester cleaned him and checked everything was in place; taking the babe in his arms and coming close to them, delivering the babe in his father’s arms for the first time.
“Daeron,” Aemond murmured looking at her, and Sansa smiled and nodded, her little Ned, he would always be, but they needed a Targaryen name and the men who had claimed that name had been bold, intelligent and good kings; a Targaryen name that did not speak of madness, and Jon reminded Aemond of Daeron as well, so it would be a good honor to both of them.
“How did you know to come?” she questioned later, as the bells rung to celebrate their son’s birth.
He kissed her lips then, “I dreamed of it”
The birth of the first of the red dragons was heralded by a dream; the green king dreamed of a babe kissed by flame who vanquished the shadows and the cold, and knew to ride for his pregnant wife on dragonback.
The babe was presented at birth with the dragon egg Vhagar had laid whilst North, as a new dawn for the Realm whole.
Chapter 34: Aemond
Chapter Text
Aemond,
He watched, head bent down against the crib, as his son slept soundly. Normally the babe would be in a nursery of his own with a wet nurse ready to care for his every need, but — understandably with everything going on and the poisoning attempt — Sansa felt unsafe with the babe away from her.
So the wet nurse would sleep in the antechamber, so that the babe would need to make noise to rouse her and thus Sansa as well would be roused, so she would be aware of everything going on in her chamber.
Aemond was remorseful that she had to fear so much for their son’s life; and he was furious about the poisoning attempt, but he — as always — marvelled on her strength and determination.
Aemond knew that a birthing chamber was no place for a man, but his wife had been calling for him, she had been in pain bringing their son to the world so he had shouldered past anyone who thought they could keep him outside the chamber and had entered, just in time to see his son falling to the cushion as he took his first breath into this world as his mother crumbled on the feet-board of her bed, exhausted and yet splendid and radiant even as she looked just as if she was glowing.
And Sansa, his Sansa, his wife had given him a son so early into their marriage, a perfect boy with her hair — that streak of silver-gold like a painting stroke left by some God to unquestionably prove his Valyrian ancestry to anyone; he had seen what not looking like a Targaryen had meant for the Blacks — with a strong, proud Targaryen name to remind the world this child was the heir to the Iron throne.
He wondered if Alys had been as afraid for Aegon’s life as Sansa was for Daeron, or if her conviction he was meant to inherit the Iron throne had made her even more brutal.
He twisted the rosary in his hand, between his fingertips as he softly murmured the Hymn of the Mother as he breathed toward the crib.
The dragon egg Vhagar had entrusted to him laid near his newborn son, it would be his and Sansa’s duty to ensure it remained warm enough as it should have been had Vhagar cared for it.
As the lingering lyrics of the Hymn of the Mother fell off his lips his son twitched in his sleep, fisting and unfisting his little hands on the pelt that covered him.
Sansa had sewn for him little silken mittens for his little hands so that he would not hurt himself with his little sharp and yet soft nails. They were in Hightower Green with little three headed dragons in golden thread.
Suddenly his wife’s warmth wrapped around him as she pressed her cheek against his shoulder blade, her whole body pressed against him. She said nothing and yet her presence vanquished the ghosts that had been dancing in his mind, looking at his son.
“He’ll be the safest babe in the world” she promised him “I’ll make sure of it” she gently caressed his jaw making him twist to look at him “I promise,”
Aemond leaned forward to press a kiss to her lips, “No,” he said “I promise you” he added, grabbing her hand in his and intertwining their fingers “Neither you nor our son shall fear for anything”
Sansa gently caressed his head, carding a hand through his silver gold hair “Fear keeps us alive,” she said “I am well familiar with the feeling, but yet it kept me alive. And I can promise you we’ll be brave, and stay alive”
He pressed his forehead against hers “You already were so very brave,” he said.
He had quite never understood how taxing, exhausting and fearsome giving birth to a child could be; seeing Sansa firsthand… it changed perspectives.
The wildlings had a sane and healthy respect for their women and their capacity to bring life to this world; and now Aemond understood why they named them warriors even if they never handled a weapon in their lives; women who did would be spearwives.
Their bravery in facing childbirth with such determination, was astounding. Sansa had been crying as if they had been cutting her open, but the moment Daeron had needed her to breath properly, Sansa had gathered her wits and acted. Guided by the midwives he had seen his wife guide their son gently to breath properly; and the moment Sansa had held him in her arms she had looked like all exhaustion had left her body.
The Maester had counselled against intercourse so early after the birth — “A woman’s body may take up to the same time of pregnancy to return to fit shape; you men put them through too much” — and Aemond had been even more amazed.
If the Maester was right Sansa might have a wound as big as their child in her body that would take months to repair and she was already up and about caring for their son.
“And I can be again,” she said softly “though I was so very glad you came. How did you know to come?”
He smiled “I dreamt of it”
His wife helped him put on his robe, he would depart again for the northern front as soon as possible. He really had no choice as Vhagar was such a big asset, though he hated in which dire circumstances that would leave his wife and son.
Together they would announce their son’s birth, and reiterate his betrothal to Princess Shireen which would give his already strong claim even more validity. The blacks had dethroned them, but they had been dethroned by House Baratheon and Shireen as heir to Stannis was the Baratheon heir to the Iron throne, despite the age gap, by betrothing the two they would pose as the best alternative.
They had a dragon but they were cautious to use it — he had learnt his lesson well enough — they were honouring House Baratheon time on the Iron throne and their right to rebel against Aerys with the match between their heir and Shireen Baratheon.
The match between them, with their agreement to let the North go free, with half a northern on the throne and eventually an half Targaryen on the throne in the North would mean they were honouring what the North had gone through and ensured that they had much more allies than any other claimant.
And that, both he and Sansa were convinced, would make all the difference needed.
Court took with elation the news of the heir to the throne’s birth, and Sansa made sure Aemond was introduced both to Lord Royce who was acting as regent and envoy to Lord Robert Arryn, as well as Lord Petyr Baelish, whom he had to thank for his wife and heir’ lives, apparently though both his wife and prince Oberyn were somewhat suspicious of the man.
Sansa had naively thought that lady Jeyne had been reunited with her Lord father or, later, ransomed to her Winterfell. Yet, she had neither been ransomed neither slain after the whole start of the War of Five Kings, instead she had been hidden and later sent with the intent to kill her.
“Poison was used to kill Tywin,” she stated “and even though that was all Joffrey, I did have a hand in that matter. Cersei would use this, but she would never stain her own hands so blatantly,”
She had handed him the vial of poison, “this is her doing, but she used someone else for it”
Aemond would take her word for it, Sansa knew the woman better than he did. He wanted to fly to Kings Landing with every fibre of his being, free it both of its Lannister queen and this High Sparrow.
But Sansa had promised only peaceful forces, “A dragon can be peaceful when her rider is not on a warpath”
“And aren’t you?” Sansa questioned, her empyrean eyes shining so bright as she rocked their son in her arms.
Most noble women, most queens, would be dissuaded from such a hand-on approach in their children’ life and education, but Aemond did not have the heart to deny her and neither would she let him.
“Can you blame me? You and our son could have died” he said.
“But we didn’t,” she stated “this is the time to be smarter. By our truce Kings Landing belongs yet to Cersei, if we go back on that we’re breaking the truce blatantly whereas she hasn’t done so”
“And so? I will conquer the city and liberate it from the Lannister queen and the Sparrow. The people would love us for it”
“They would,” Sansa agreed, “but would the lords? The lords would just see another dragon king conqueror and nothing more, then how are you better than Daenerys Targaryen?”
“How are you better than your sister?” she asked.
Aemond reeled back from that as if burned, but she did not let him, her penetrating ice blue eyes staring right through him.
“Am I supposed to let them starve? To let that woman, and that High Sparrow have the throne that belongs to me, to our son?”
“Our son’s birthright will mean nothing if we don’t protect it, and the best way to do that right now is being prudent. We will still be seen and offer the people of Kings Landing our protection but we cannot go back on our word, not even as Cersei did. Because we cannot prove it was her,” she added “the same could not be said about us as the dragon is very tawdry”
That definition had Aemond roll his eyes, and the tension shifted as Sansa leaned toward him and pressed a kiss atop her lips, “I know you just want to protect us, but this is protecting us”
Aemond shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then gently cupped Daeron’ red head in his hand — he marvelled at how little and yet how strong his son was; he was getting to live with him what he should have lived with Aegon as well — as he bent down a press a kiss atop his brow.
Then he cupped Sansa’s perfect cheek in his hand and she leaned into his touch, “I wish things were different,” he said “that our son was born in a stabler realm”
“That,” he added “you did not have to fear for his life, and yours”
Sansa sighed “This is the Realm we have been given,” she said “we can only make it stabler for him and all the children that will come”
Aemond nodded, and as they were sharing into that soft moment, forehead against forehead, someone cleared their throat.
Aemond had already been introduced to Lord Royce as well as several other lords who had travelled to Casterly Rock to pledge their support. This one, this one had been missing that morning.
Aemond disentangled himself from Sansa and turned to look at him. The man had an innocuous look about him, though he misliked his smile, “Your Grace,” he cooed and Aemond had no doubt that the man was addressing only his wife, “let me forward my most heartfelt congratulations and well wishes for the birth of your son and heir, the prince Daeron”
Sansa’s smile was perfunctory and false, Aemond found solace in realizing she had never bestowed such upon him, denoting she had had some degree of trust in him from the very beginning.
Aemond twisted to face the man, who offered him a shallow bow, “Your Grace” he offered. Aemond considered him at length “It seems to me you are the one I should thank for the life of my wife and son, and of our most trusted Maester who took the poison in their place”
“I merely used my considerable means to help the Queen” the man said “she might not have yet shared this, but her mother and I have been friends since childhood,” he added “and for long years I have taken upon me to ensure the queen’s safety whilst at court…”
“A terrific job you did of that, didn’t you?” Aemond questioned, “my wife was beaten, tormented and humiliated and in the end had to flee the capital with the help of lowborn people who devoted their lives to her and paid the price and yet you claims he had such a good friend in the capital”
He turned to his wife, “A powerful friend with considerable means”
“My love,” his wife called “Lord Baelish did offer to smuggle me out of the capital, but I was convinced to have found alone the way out,” she said “and wished to remain. You cannot fault him that”
Aemond considered that and clicked his tongue, “I see” he stated “yet when my wife fled the capital, where were you?” he questioned “she could have used a friend”
“I was sadly busy elsewhere but as soon as I could I armed my men, few that they are, and marched them here, to lay my pledge at her feet”
Aemond felt Sansa’s hand soft tug at his back and he nodded, “Very well, pardon my suspicion, but I’ve grown weary of the people in the capital as my wife has suffered much under their watch without raising a finger”
“Understandably,” Lord Baelish nodded “as I am as good as an uncle to the queen I am but pleased to find you so fond and protective of her, as I am”
Aemond cocked his head to the side, “I doubt you are as fond of my wife as I am, my Lord,” he offered “or I would be deeply offended and concerned”
“I misspoke, Your Grace” Lord Baelish offered “if her mother and I were married she would have been my daughter and as such I love her”
He heard Sansa bristle behind him “I am lord Eddard Stark’s daughter, my Lord, do not forget that”
“I would never and I counselled your father against the conduct that brought to his execution,” he said “in his absence I did my best to protect you”
“And for this we are grateful,” Sansa said, “which is why I meant to ask Your Grace, to formally invite Lord Baelish in his council, so that he may continue to serve and prove his loyalty”
Aemond studied his wife, he knew what she had said about the man, same as with Cersei I cannot incriminate him on thin air and suspects. I need proofs, and to have those I need to keep an eye on him, make him think he has my trust, and give me his in return. At one point he’s bound to make a misstep, Prince Oberyn and I both agree on this matter.
He clasped his hands behind his back, “Very well, if my wife speaks so fondly of you, I shall bestow on you such a honor”
Lord Baelish’ bow this time was profound and looked as genuine as one would like to believe, “I am honored”
You won’t be when I cut your head off.
“Lord Baelish, my love, has long served as Master of Coin,” she said “there’s no one more knowledgeable of the coffers of the Realm than he is”
“Then I’d assume you shall help my wife care for the Realm’s finances as I battle this war” he replied, then he offered his wife his hand which she took gladly as she balanced the babe with one arm, — of course, Your Grace — Aemond kissed her temple and then grabbed the babe from her, nestling him in the crook of his arm. Safe and tucked in his father’s arms Daeron opened his eyes for the split of a moment, his glazed mauve eyes blinking up at him slowly for a moment to then fall shut again.
As soon as they were out of earshot, Aemond turned to Sansa as they walked, freeing his hand to adjust the babe’s head in his arms, “I don’t want you alone with him, have sir Leighton or your sister with you always,” he said.
“I’ll be careful I promise,” she said, as she followed him back in their solar.
Aemond knew the Hightowers — lady Malora first of all — would keep her safe, as would her faceless assassin of a sister and even that Lord Royce seemed trustworthy and loyal to his wife, so Aemond knew that he could not feel her best protected unless he remained too and the northern front needed him.
Upon the birth of Prince Daeron, pelts and covers as well as bread and warmed wine were distributed all over the Westerlands as well as in Winterfell and any other land that had bent the knee to the green king.
Queen Sansa was seen returning to her duties almost immediately after the birth of her firstborn son, ensuring that the people would not starve during winter and the war that would come after.
She was always flanked by her small court of advisors between which became fast prominent Lord Petyr Baelish, who many knew was vywing for lady Catelyn Stark’ hand; or being as close as possible to the new queen who was facing in her duty winter, war and political struggle and affairs in a Realm divided which had been at war for years.
Prince Shireen Baratheon sent forth for her betrothed a protective amulet with the effigy of the Father, the Smith and the Warrior. Queen Sansa in all reply gifted an identical amulet to Princess Shireen for her nameday, with the effigy of the Mother, the Maid and the Crone.
The queen’s own nameday came and went without much fanfare, in a mood of frugality. Queen Roslin voyaged from Harrenhal to spend some time with her good sister and meet her nephew as well, and gifted the Queen with a veiled butterfly silken escoffion. Though the Queen would always say that the best nameday present she received — amongst the well wishes and letters from her loved ones — was the hatching of her son’s egg. The hatchling was no much longer than her forearm many claim, long-necked with a seven spiked tail and a crown of seven horns which many took as a symbol of good wills by the Gods.
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