Chapter 35: The Dragon Queen

The noises from inside the tent haunted Jon through to his bones. The screeching and wailing were not from this world, and the Dothraki gathered around the tent were watching on, both confused and fearful. Jon, Jorah, Jory and the other two Northmen that had travelled to Pentos and beyond with Jon and stayed with the Khalasar, Rickard and Desmond, all stood in the open space between the tent and the crowd, while Ghost lay down just outside the entranceway. Everyone was silent, listening as the horse that had been taken into the tent cried its last cries, and Jon turned to see Daenerys stagger out, blood covering her clothes and her face.

The Dothraki crowd staggered backwards away from her as the Targaryen got adjusted to the bright sunlight quickly. Jorah went over to her, fear in the old Knight's eyes too. "What have you done?" He asked.

"What was necessary." Dany told him, but her voice was shaky. She grunted, her hands going to her belly. Jorah noticed this and guided her away towards Rakharo as the shrieks grew more alien.

Jon was breathing heavily, his hand on his pommel in anticipation, which turned out to be handy when Qotho, one of Drogo's bloodriders, pushed his way to the front of the crowd.

"This cannot be." He said in Dothraki. "This cannot be."

"This must be." Dany replied, her voice weak.

Qotho stared at the blood-stained Daenerys with pure rage in his eyes. "Witch." He accused.

Rakharo placed his hand on Qotho's shoulder from behind to stop him from going further. "Nothing good will come of this." Rakharo warned. Qotho didn't respond, instead he threw his elbow back and caught Rakharo in the face.

"No!" Dany cried, pushing away from Jorah and towards Qotho, but the Dothraki bloodrider swatter her aside with ease, and Dany fell forwards on her belly.

Jon immediately withdrew his sword as Qotho walked past Jorah, and the other Northmen did the same, blocking the path into the tent. "No further." Jon warned.

Qotho snorted in amusement. "Put your blade away, little man." He said snidely.

Jon just shook his head. "No further." He repeated. The tension was ramping up as the voices from inside the tent grew louder and Dany groaned in agony. Qotho just looked even more angry and flexed his Arakh in his hand before lunging out. Jon swatted it aside as his men began to circle the Dothraki bloodrider. Qotho wasn't so important to Drogo for nothing however, he deflected Desmond's strike and swiftly guided his Arakh deep into Rickard's midriff, pulling it out forcefully and spilling both blood and guts on the floor. Jon grimaced, lunging himself only for Qotho to parry, kicking out at Jon and sending him to the floor.

Jon got back up to see Desmond's neck had been opened by the dangerous Dothraki, his chest was aching, but he was determined to not let Dany down. He swung again with pace, laying a barrage of attacks on Qotho. Jory was doing the same, ducking and weaving around the quick swings of Qotho but unable to get in any wounds of his own making.

Jon was knocked back and winded again from a blow to his face and spat out blood to see that Qotho had turned them around and was in between the Northmen and the tent. Qotho smirked and backed towards the tent, making sure that none of them were going to make any sudden moves. What he had forgotten however, was the Direwolf in the doorway. Ghost snarled, startling the Dothraki and making him turn towards the tent, and Ghost jumped up, latching his teeth around the Dothraki's sword arm. The Arakh clattered to the floor and Qotho screamed in agony, pounding the Direwolf's back to try and get him off. Ghost wouldn't budge though, so Qotho went for one of his other blades strapped to his hip. He never got them out of his sheath though, as Jon was quick to rush towards the Dothraki and in two quick movements, he severed both Qotho's spare hand and his head.

Panting, Jon went over to pet Ghost, who at the death returned to his position in front of the tent. Jon turned around and saw Jory stand beside him, the elder Northman panting too. "Nobody enters." Jon stated loudly. He saw Jorah pick Dany up in his arms, the Targaryen woman still groaning in agony. The Mormont walked towards Jon, making the younger man uneasy. "Nobody is to go in." He said as firmly as he could.

"Stand aside, Jon." Jorah said, not unkindly.

"The baby…" Dany moaned in pain. "He's coming."

"The only people that will help her are inside." Jorah told him.

Jon stood still for a moment, not sure what to do, when Dany cried out in pain. Nodding, Jon stepped aside to let Jorah enter the tent, and both him and Jory stayed put with their swords out to ensure that nobody else went in.

The Northmen were camped underneath the thickly forested hill that once housed the magnificent castle that claimed rule over the entire Riverlands. Now however it was just an overgrown ruin, with the curtain walls at the top of the large hill barely reaching Torrhen's waist, whereas before they fell into ruin Torrhen imagined them as being 40 feet high and strong as anything.

They were only staying for the night, with everyone eager to be back in the North as quickly as possible, although Torrhen found himself unable to sleep. He closed his eyes and felt his mind rush out of his body, and suddenly when he opened his eyes again he was tucking into a fawn that had had the misfortune of meeting Balerion.

After finishing his meal, Torrhen bounded further up the hill, hoping to find the only part of the castle that was still intact. On the ground you could just about tell where the walls had been, and Torrhen walked Balerion over towards the sepulchre of the greatest King of the Rivers and the Hills that history had documented, King Tristifer IV Mudd. The stone was cracking and crumbling in the corners, but the white marble was still relatively intact.

A snapped branch quickly gained Balerion's attention as his ears went up so that he could hear properly. It was so late at night that Torrhen thought everyone was in their tents getting some rest. Going to investigate, Balerion rose up and down the mossy hummocks that remained of the keep and went into the Godswood.

In amongst the giant oak trees that stole all the light even during the day sat Ned Stark, staring down at a large white tree stump. Torrhen moved the Direwolf over to stand beside Ned, and the Stark patriarch took one glance at Balerion.

"I suppose that's you in his skin, Torrhen?" He murmured gently. "Join me, if you cannot rest."

Torrhen nodded Balerion's head before he returned to his own skin. He put his black leather armour on again and tied Winter's Bite to his hip before departing up the hill, reaching the Godswood minutes later to find that Ned hadn't moved and Balerion had decided to lie down.

"There are far too many stumps in the South." Ned commented.

Torrhen nodded. "Aye, I'll be forever grateful to our ancestors for stopping the Andals." He breathed out a light laugh. "If the histories are right, the greatest First Men Kings of the Riverlands were destroyed by a Vance."

"The histories throw up all sorts of moments like that." Ned admitted. "Now House Vance is split into two, thanks to yet another war."

Torrhen knelt down by the Weirwood tree and closed his eyes as he held his hand out on the stump. He stayed there for a minute before shaking his head. "Nothing."

"Were you expecting anything?" Ned asked.

Torrhen shook his head. "I'm just a conduit, I can't control what I see as Bran could, before." He told Ned before sighing. "I wonder if I've ruined his life by making sure he didn't become the Three Eyed Raven."

Ned knelt beside Torrhen, looking at his son. "You saved his legs. That can never be a bad thing."

Torrhen wished he was as confident. "He can have his wish and be a knight of course, but what happens if he dies at sea against the Ironborn? That's on me."

"No." Ned said firmly. "If the Gods will that to happen then that's on them. But I have faith, Torrhen. You were brought back for a reason more than just preparing Westeros for a battle against the White Walkers. Look at the difference you have made already, I'm still here. Winterfell is stronger than ever, the North is more united now than at any point since the Andal invasion." Ned placed an arm on Torrhen's shoulder. "You have done so much good already."

"I slaughtered innocents." Torrhen said bitterly. "You hear what they call me now."

Ned sighed, nodding. "Battle fever claims us all differently." He explained. "Did I ever tell you about the Battle of the Bells?"

Torrhen shook his head. "You rarely speak about your own actions in the Rebellion, only the King's."

Ned stared at the Weirwood stump as he spoke. "It was a dark time. Robert had lost at Ashford and we hadn't heard from him in weeks. We had the biggest army gathered at that point in the war yet no idea what to do with it. My Father was dead, my brother was dead and for all I knew my sister was dead. I was angrier than I have ever been, before or since, and as soon as we heard tales of Jon Connington searching in the Stoney Sept we marched quickly." He sighed at the memories. "Jon, your Grandfather and I each took our men to separate parts of the walls to assault them quickly and hundreds died. The Northmen took the East Gate and as luck would have it that was the closest to the brothel Robert was hiding in. We defended it until Robert could get his armour on and then we swept through the town, slaughtering any Targaryen loyalist we could find. I must have killed dozens myself that day."

Torrhen saw that his Father looked mournful at the needless loss of life. "You did your duty." He said quietly.

"Aye." Ned nodded. "As did you. So what if they give you a nickname that scares you? When tales spread it will scare others too. Robert may have won allies with his charm and his humour, but he won his throne with blood and steel. The Demon of the Trident won that war in the end, not Robert Baratheon."

Torrhen nodded. "It just feels… I don't know, strange." He admitted. "I'm no butcher, that was just over a decade of pain being forced out into my sword arm."

Ned smiled sadly. "You did your duty." He repeated. "And we will have to do so again before we can rest easily. We'll need both your sword, and your abilities." Ned looked at Balerion. "It's easier now, isn't it?"

Torrhen nodded. "I guess he bled into me during the battle and helped me go feral." He shrugged. "That opened up the link more than any amount of force from me could have."

"He likely saved your life." Ned suggested. "Your mind may be older, Tor, but your body is still young."

"Don't I know it." Torrhen grumbled, causing Ned to laugh.

"Come on." Ned said, getting to his feet. "We better at least try and get some rest, unless you want to spend more time at the Twins than we need to."

That was all the motivation Torrhen needed as he leapt to his feet. "Come on Bal." He said to the black furred Direwolf, turning away from the Weirwood stump and walking back down the hill to the camp with his Father.

After the attack, Robb had seen it fitting to bring Theon back into his old chambers inside the Great Keep and made sure that he constantly had someone outside his rooms at all times in case the Greyjoy man needed anything. A couple of days after the attack, Robb went to go and visit Theon. He was sat on his bed in his night clothes just staring at the stump that should have been the rest of his left arm.

"How are you?" Robb asked, internally kicking himself at the stupid. "I mean…" He trailed off.

"I'm alive." Theon muttered. "That's what matters most."

Robb nodded, pulling out a chair to sit beside his friend. "I'm sorry. I truly am." He said.

Theon shook his head. "This isn't on you. This is on my fucked up family. This is on my father for rebelling both times, it's on Victarion for being such an idiot. It's on me for being weak…"

"You're not weak." Robb said quickly.

Theon scoffed. "If I wasn't maybe I could have fought back. Now what use am I?" He sighed. "You should slit my throat and be done with it."

Robb shook his head fiercely. "No." He told Theon. "No, you have more use than you think."

Theon waved his stump at Robb. "How? I have one hand."

"There's a smith at Castle Black with one hand." Robb countered.

"I'm not going up there." Theon muttered darkly.

"No…" Robb trailed. "That's not my point. I'm saying that there's a one-handed man that makes weapons, that repairs weapons. There are one handed men that fight wars, and you don't need two hands to fuck."

Theon snorted. "I suppose." He fell solemn again. "Thank you, for trying to make me feel better."

"It will take time." Robb admitted. "But I promise you, you will always have a place here at Winterfell. We'll find something for you. It wasn't your sword hand so there's always that."

Theon smiled quickly. "I've done a lot of thinking over the last couple of days, about family. Family isn't who births you or who has your blood, not really. It's about who chooses you, who looks after you when you're sick and who cares for you when you're upset." He sighed. "I'm done pretending that I'm something I'm not. I just needed this as a wake-up call." He held his arm up again. "I choose House Stark. I choose the North, if you'll have me. I'm done pretending my family care for me, I'm done pretending I'm an Ironborn."

Robb smiled. "Are you sure?"

Theon nodded. "I'd bend the knee, but…"

"You don't have to do that." Robb insisted. He grinned at Theon. "As I said, you're always welcome here. Get well enough to be out of bed and we'll get you a role somewhere, I promise." Robb stood up. "Before that though, I've got you a present."

Theon looked confused, and Robb made his way to the door, opening it. In stepped Theon's favourite Wintertown whore, Ros. The red head looked at Theon and pouted dramatically. "I heard someone needs a nursemaid."

Theon smirked, looking questioningly at Robb. "I thought she wasn't allowed in the castle walls."

Robb shrugged with a grin. "It helps to be the heir to Winterfell sometimes." He reached into his cloak and pulled out a purse full of coins, throwing it to Ros. "Make it worthwhile." He said, before leaving the room and slamming the door shut. He turned to the guard. "I'd go and find something to do for a few hours, you won't want to listen in on that." He chuckled.

It had happened as it had before. Rhaego was stillborn, malformed, scaled and twisted. Drogo was alive, but the shell only, everything that made him a Khal was gone, taken from the witch that Dany had been so tempted to burn thousands of times already in this short time. Finally, Drogo had been moved back into his tent and it was time to end his suffering once again. Jon was in the tent with her, her faithful Northman not wanting to leave her alone. Dany knew however that this was something she needed to do alone.

"You don't need to stay, Jon." She said calmly.

Jon shifted nervously. "I'm worried for you, Khaleesi." He told her.

Dany smiled sadly. "I'm not a Khaleesi, not anymore." She admitted. "I'm simply the wife of a dead Khal, the mother of a dead boy."

Jon's eyes were firmly at his feet. "I tried to save the body, but the witch…"

"She spared me the heartbreak." Dany said quickly, interrupting him. "I knew Rhaego was going to die, Jon. It happened before and it happened again, I didn't want to see him."

Jon looked up at her, confusion in his eyes. "Is this to do with the dragons?" He asked quietly. "Rhaego needed to die so they may live?"

Dany shook her head. "Not Rhaego, but Drogo and the Maegi, yes." She answered. "Are they building the pyre as I asked?"

Jon nodded. "Jorah and Jory are seeing to it. Rakharo managed to get the Dothraki that stayed to gather wood too."

Dany smiled. "My faithful friends." She whispered, looking back to Drogo, his eyes wide open and staring at the tent roof. "Go and help them, please?" She asked Jon. "I need to do this alone."

Jon nodded, looking at her sadly before he turned and left Dany alone in the tent with her first husband. She turned to him, rinsing a cloth in a water bucket to wash him one last time. "I'm sorry this happened again, my sun and stars." She told him. "You do not deserve this fate. You deserve to ride in the night lands for all of time." She sighed. "I will remember you always, my sun and stars."

Dany leant down to kiss Drogo softly on the lips one last time. Pulling away, she reached for the pillow by her feet and pressed it onto his face, tears flowing as she smothered Drogo to death for the second time.

Robb was in the middle of being put through his paces in the training yard when the call went up that riders were approaching from the North. He quickly wiped his face down and put his sword away and his cloak back on before he was met by his Mother, Sara and Arya.

"Do we know who is coming?" Arya asked excitedly.

Robb shook his head. "Although if it's from the North, it may be from Ironrath."

"Mira?" Arya asked, even more excited.

"Aye, I'd wager." Robb said. The gates opened, and Robb's hunch was right. In came a group of 4 guards, all of them carrying the white Weirwood tree on a field of black, a black sword in the trunk of the tree. Two men each were either side of a small carriage. The carriage came to a halt, and out stepped Mira Forrester, a long black dress with little white trees on her skirts to mark her birth house, although Robb noticed the direwolf of House Stark in a lighter shade on her chest just beneath the wolfskin cloak clasps. Behind her coming out of the carriage was Ethan Forrester, and the pair both knelt towards Robb.

"Stand, please." Robb insisted with an eye roll. "We are family now, are we not?"

Mira smiled. "Yes we are."

"How was the journey?" Catelyn asked.

Ethan nodded. "As well as can be with a carriage."

"Why did you bring it?" Arya asked before anybody could stop her.

"Arya!" Catelyn hissed.

Mira chuckled. "It's ok, I was about to explain anyway." She turned around and Robb noticed another woman stepping out of the carriage, with a thick bundle of furs in her arms.

"Is that…" Cat whispered, a tear in her eye.

Mira grinned. "We found out not long after I arrived back in Ironrath. I wanted it to be a surprise."

Robb was grinning now too. "Congratulations, My Lady." He offered.

Mira was handed the bundle and she stepped forwards. "Lady Catelyn, Lord Robb, Lady Arya, Lady Sara." She named them all. "Allow me to introduce you to the heir to the Causeway, Asher Stark."

She handed the baby over to Catelyn, who adjusted the furs so that she could stare into the babe's eyes. They were a darker grey than Torrhen's were, but his hair was the darker brown that both Arya and Torrhen shared with Ned. His face, Robb was jovially thankful, was more Mira's.

"He is gorgeous." Cat whispered. "He can't be that old…"

"A couple of months." Ethan answered. "When we heard the news that the war was won, we knew we had to bring him here, to Winterfell."

Robb nodded. "Let us get him inside. We'll have some food brought for you, you must be hungry."

"And Sansa will want to see him." Cat remarked, not taking her eyes off the babe.

They all moved into the Great Hall and a small dinner was set out for them all. Rickon and Robin Arryn had joined them and met with the baby, and so had Wylla with Beron, leaving Sansa the last. The food was almost gone, and Mira was telling Catelyn and Robb about Rodrik's daughter, Alyssa Forrester, the new heir to Ironrath after Rodrik's death at Oxcross when the doors opened and in stepped the eldest Stark daughter along with her husband. "Mira!" She exclaimed, quickly making her way to the table. "When did you get here?"

"Just this evening." Mira replied.

"Where have you been?" Cat asked, holding Beron in her arms as she began feeding him, giving Wylla a break.

Sansa looked abashed. "We went for a ride on Cinnamon." She answered. Lord Ryswell had gifted her a new reddish-brown mare for her wedding day.

"Well come here!" Arya exclaimed, sat next to Ethan. Sansa looked confused but walked over to the table and gasped when she saw Asher in Wylla's arms. She looked between Mira and Asher multiple times before squealing in delight. "Seven hells." Arya groaned, putting her hands over her ears."

"Arya!" Cat scolded again. "Not in front of the children, please."

"Sorry." She shrugged. Sansa sat down beside Wylla and took the baby in her arms.

"His name is Asher." Mira smiled.

Sansa stroked the baby's chin with a finger, and he giggled lightly. "Hello." She cooed. "Hello Asher." She looked up at Mira. "He has Tor's eyes."

"And his smile." Mira commented.

"He's adorable. Come, Dom. Look." She told her husband.

Domeric Bolton leaned over her shoulder and smiled softly at the baby. "He looks strong." Dom noted.

"He had a patch of fever in his first couple of weeks." Mira told them. "But he pulled through."

"And Tor doesn't know?" Sansa asked. Mira shook her head. "Well won't you be the perfect surprise." She cooed at Asher again. "And you'll be best friends with Bear!" She exclaimed, using her nickname for Beron.

Robb watched on happily as Sansa grew excited. He looked around the table at the majority of his family and felt a sense of pure happiness, and even though he knew that Ned and Torrhen's returns would mean he would be sailing off to war again, he suddenly couldn't wait for nearly all of House Stark to be together in one room.

Ser Jorah hadn't been able to watch the burning pyre for long after Daenerys had stepped into it. Even Jory had tried to pull Jon away, but Jon somehow knew that this wasn't the end of his journey in Essos, and he stayed standing, watching the flames and the smoke until dawn came.

He had kept running Dany's last words to him in his head over and over. "We are the blood of Old Valyria, Aegon." She had said, her hand on his chest just before she stepped into the flames. "Fire cannot harm us. Wait for me."

And so he had, he had watched as the witch began to cast her spells and begin screaming. He had watched as the woman's skin melted, and her bones crumbled to ash. He had watched as the pyre began to collapse in on itself as the flames grew hotter and hotter, and he had watched through watery eyes as the fire became smoke.

He felt Ser Jorah walk up to him and realised that it must be morning. The pyre was all but gone by now, and the last remnants of black smoke filtered into the air. Jon saw a lone figure sat down in the middle of it all and his breath hitched. Stepping forwards without saying anything, Jon stopped a few feet away from a completely nude, yet perfectly alive Daenerys Targaryen, a small smile on her face. In her arms was a green dragon, and in between her legs a cream and gold one. Jon's eyes widened, as a black dragon climbed from her back over her shoulder.

"Blood of my blood." Jorah said, wide eyed in amazement. Jon heard Jorah get to one knee, and Dany climbed to her feet, the cream dragon climbing up her leg as she moved. Jon was lost for words. He knew that his mission had been to ensure the dragons were hatched, but until this very moment he never truly believed that it was possible. He dropped down to one knee too, his eyes firmly on the ground. "My Queen." He said firmly, knowing where his loyalties now completely lay.

He heard more men and women get to their knees as Dany stood powerfully, no care for her modesty. Jon looked up briefly to see the black dragon stretch its legs and flap its wings, letting out a shriek to announce its presence to the world. The dragons were back.