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Tyrion

The Silent Sisters were nearly finished cleaning Cersei's feet before they would place the clean veil over her body. No longer a Queen, but a dead prisoner, no fine garments dressed her body like they had for Joffrey, Myrcella, and for Tywin. For Cersei's, it was just a simple black gown. No jewels, no gold, only two stones with painted eyes that rested on her face.

 

Tyrion stepped back as the veil was pulled over Cersei's body and she was lifted into the casket. Despite being criminal to their family, Tyrion still had a few sources of Lannister gold throughout the city, and he thought the least he could do was use them to do what he could for his sister. Her casket was of polished oak and the Lannister lion carved in the lid. She would writhe and spit at him for doing that for her, but she was dead so it didn't matter. Not that it would matter anyways. The casket, the garments, and Cersei's body would all be burned and her ashes scattered among the ruins of the sept with Joffrey, Myrcella, their father, and the others of their family who burned in its destruction.

 

It was his fault that their House cracked when he left. If he hadn't killed their father, then the Martells would have been too scared of Tywin's wrath to kill Myrcella. The High Sparrow would never have wreaked his havoc over the city. And maybe Aegon wouldn't have been able to take the throne despite his mystical aid.

 

But he did fire that crossbow, he did weaken their family, and he did run away. And now without a Queen to serve, he was free to do as he wished, and that was to mend the cracks as best he could, no matter the hate from his own kin, and no matter the ridicule of the tall folk. Cersei's burial would be the first step.

 

Now he would be going home to Casterly Rock, to face his family, and be where he was needed. With Jaime stuck in a cell, Tommen needed the best guidance he could receive if he was to become lord.

 

But before Tyrion would leave for Casterly Rock, he would take the next step and try and get Jaime free as Jaime once did for him, by negotiation or by the dark of the night, he would do it… somehow. He didn't know where to begin, but he would find a way past the Starks and the Tyrells. There had to be some in the city that still had some favors they owed him.

 

Finding help proved to be a harder matter than expected. There were many of his old drinking friends among the thieves and Gold Cloaks, but he was the Imp of Casterly Rock and a Kinslayer. To be involved with him now was asking for the worst of luck. All except for one, a former guard of House Lannister, Hoke. He had been one of the men who spent several shifts every fortnight as a cell guard. For want of greater fulfillment as a knight, he had shed the colors of the golden lion for those of the three headed dragon. His help was small, but it would be enough.

 

His other option was to plead mercy and favor to the King, offering whatever he could. But with Aegon locked away in his solar, and Lord Davos, Sansa, and Olenna were all too busy to see him so soon, Tyrion was faced with the only member of Aegon's Small Council left, but instead of a formal meeting in the Throne Room per usual, Tyrion had to chase down the Blackfish at the castle barracks. The soldiers there were training harder than usual it seemed.

 

"No," Ser Brynden said flat out after listening to Tyrion's request. "Unequivocally and absolutely."

 

"It's not as if I'm asking him to attend the funeral in person free of shackles under Lannister guard," Tyrion argued, "all I ask is that you give him a place with… a window at the least so that he can see the smoke. That would be enough." Enough to slip a key to Jaime. Despite the change in Kings, the black cells and every other lock throughout the castle remained the same as they were, and that meant the spare set of keys Hoke told him about hidden in the armory would be put to good use.

 

The Blackfish, who this entire time hadn't given Tyrion a first look and kept his eyes on the men he was training, finally peered down at him. "The last bit of sympathy I would ever give is to the sons of Tywin Lannister. Your brother's suffering is what I consider the first part in repaying your debt for Catelyn and Robb."

 

Tyrion tilted his head, "Then there is in fact a price for your help. What else do you want? Name it and I will do everything I can in my power to get it."

 

"What power? Your Hand to no one now, Imp. But if you insist, the first thing you can do is meet me at the castle bridge after twilight so I can throw you off it." He snapped his fingers and pointed at Tyrion. Immediately, two men came up from behind and pulled Tyrion back.

 

"Is this how you honor a man who kept his word to you? The Boltons would have slaughtered hundreds of Northmen if Jaime hadn't given you safe passage north! He fulfilled his oath to Catelyn through Lady Brienne!" He called out, but his words were ignored. The soldiers were not as kind as to simply bring him to the door. Instead, they decided to throw him into the dirt.

 

Tyrion hissed when pain shot through his leg after landing on a small rock. "I am still under the guest right," he said through clenched teeth.

 

"You're not bleedin', Imp. Count your blessin's." One of the soldiers laughed before returning to their training.

 

Dusting off the dirt when he got up, Tyrion spat in their direction.

 

Fine, if he could not get Jaime somewhere more favorable for escape, it would have to be straight out of the Black Cells. He could use the same passages he took when he escaped. Hopefully no one thought to block them off or put sentries at the entrances.

 

Creeping his way into the Red Keep, Tyrion easily found his way to the Royal Armory, convincing the guard to be allowed entry under the pretense of checking for any Lannister weapons left behind that would be unwanted. To his surprise, Tyrion actually noticed several when he wandered about, one of them being Joffrey's old sword, Heart Eater.

 

Checking the spot Hoke told him, Tyrion rummaged inside the breastplate of a dusty set of armor propped on an armor stand and sure enough found a key ring with several keys. At first, Tyrion realized he didn't even know what the key to the black cells looked like, but once he examined the keys, he guessed that it had to be the only key on the ring made of black iron.

 

Once it was removed from the ring, Tyrion slipped it in his doublet and left the armory.

 

"Yes, yes," He said casually to the guard outside, "quite a few pieces indeed. But I don't care for any of Joffrey's trinkets so by all means, do with those what you desire. Melt them, break them, or keep them. They're practically new without a single drop of blood ever touching them."

 

The hour was drawing closer for the funeral, and all Tyrion had to do was drop off the key. Convincing the cell guards to let him through wasn't too hard. Even though they were Northmen, they seemed far more honorable than the rest who held tight the spite for the Lannister name. After all, Tyrion had no restrictions placed on seeing his brother in the cells.

 

The iron hinges creaked as the door to the cell swung open. Peering in, Tyrion saw his brother sitting back in the corner, chained to the wall at his ankles. The gold, the glory, the honor, all taken from him again. At least he wasn't covered in his own shit.

 

"Bit ironic, don't you think?" Jaime said when Tyrion walked in. "Same cell, but now I'm in the chains, and you're the free man."

 

Tyrion frowned ironically. "Except our family still prefers you over me."

 

"Well, I have better cheekbones."

 

Tyrion sat down across from his brother. "I tried to get you to a window so you could look out and see the procession at least, but I was refused. We'll be burning her body at Baelor's ruins."

 

"Hm," Jaime didn't look up at it. He just kept staring at the stump of his arm. "I suppose losing your power from the Dragon Queen doesn't leave you with much now, does it?"

 

A huff. "None at all. No respect, no friends, and no authority. I'm practically no better than some drunkard who wandered in from Flea Bottom."

 

Jaime cast a tiny smile. "What difference did you have with that before?" Even Tyrion had to chuckle dryly at that. It was amusing, even if it did hit too close to home. "So what now for you?" Jaime asked. "Will you stay here and do nothing or go north to march with the King into battle and death?"

 

"We both know dwarves can't march when they waddle," he mused but Jaime didn't even flinch a smile. "After the funeral, I'll be heading home. Tommen's still in need of someone with more than and a strong arm and half a brain, especially with our reserves depleted. I can help find more gold to mine."

 

"Good luck. Father already scoured all the places our ancestors both did and didn't use."

 

Tyrion shrugged. "Worth a try. The mountains were always good to us and a dedicated search will see that they'll continue to be. And there's always Castamere."

 

Nodding, Jaime looked towards the ceiling. "We obtained the power father so craved and look what we did with it." He spat on the floor for good effect. "'Tommen the puppet. Young and kind, yet controlled by those around him.' That'll be the best thing the histories have to say about us."

 

"Father may have thought legacy to be the most important out of everything but what some scholar or bored Princess reads about after my body's long since reduced to bones doesn't concern me." This would be the perfect time for a bottle of wine. "That being said, I'd rather not let things fall apart in the next few years, and if my advice can prevent it only in Casterly Rock then that's enough for me."

 

"Tyrion," Jaime sighed, "what if father was right about you? That you don't have a place in his House? You have the ability to rise into someone powerful without needing our name. Maybe it's what you should have done."

 

The suggestion shook Tyrion deeply. Never once had his brother ever said something to him like this. "I am his son. I have every right to have his name as much as you do and every single other man, woman, and child of our House."

 

"And yet none of them want anything to do with you. If you set foot in Casterly Rock, you'd be cast over the cliffs. Tyrion, make your own home, your own life, your own name. Let go of the lion. Chasing it has always ended in disaster for you."

 

Tyrion didn't know what to say. If Jaime was shouting all this at him at their first reunion, it would have been understandable. But now, so calm and honest, it was more painful than the blade that carved into his face.

 

"You want nothing to do with me anymore, is that it?"

 

"No," Jaime shook his head, "you need to realize that you don't want anything to do with us."

 

"Your my brother, Jaime," Tyrion pressed. "You gave me a second chance over Cersei, father, all of them."

 

Jaime sniffed a laugh, letting his eyes fall down to the floor. "Because I had to pay my debt for stealing a life you could have had." The silence was held hard.

 

"What are you talking about?" Tyrion finally asked, just as he was about to get the key for his brother.

 

"I lied. Father made me and I couldn't find it in me to ever tell you the truth."

 

Tyrion froze. "About what?"

 

Jaime lifted his head and whispered a single name that shook Tyrion to his core. "Tysha."

 

Every feeling seemed to disappear. The state of disbelief was so hauntingly powerful that it made Tyrion's heart pound like Robert's hammer against his ribs.

 

"She wasn't a whore I paid. Father wouldn't let a peasant girl wed a Lannister, and more than that he couldn't believe that a woman could love you for you and not the Lannister name. And I did too, so I lied for him."

 

If ever the gods were to grant Tyrion one wish, it would be now, to make him as tall and strong as the Mountain so he could rip Jaime from his chains and throw him across the room, to beat him unrelenting, to bellow a roar that would shake the cell, anything to release the rage and betrayal that scorched inside.

 

"You are a bastard, Jaime." Tyrion hissed with a quivering lip. "A sister fucking, handless bastard." He couldn't stand being near this man anymore. How could he? Turning fast, Tyrion marched for the cell door, but stopped just before leaving. "I've always felt heartbroken for you, Jaime. But for the first time, I'm glad you didn't get to be a father to your children. You didn't deserve it." He left the Man Without Honor to wallow in his cell.

 

Ten steps up the stairs of the dungeons, Tyrion suddenly felt his strength abandon him in both his body and his composure. He had to lean on the wall to keep from collapsing and panted for air as tears streaked from his cheeks.

 

Bran

Summer pressed his nose close to the snow, brushing the top layer to dig as deep as he needed to try and find the scent of his brother. But he could not find it. The snow had covered too much of the ground and Brother was far better in the free wild than him. The scent was gone. Summer looked out beyond the trees, glimpsing at every spot his eyes could find for the smallest faints and clues. But there was nothing. Brother was gone again and so was his pup. A sorrowful howl filled the forest around Summer, going as far as it could through the trees and snow.

 

Bran returned to himself from his wolf's mind. The sound of the howl disappeared, for Summer was tens of miles away in the Wolfswood.

 

"Did you find your brother?" Leaf asked.

 

Bran shook his head. "Summer couldn't follow them anymore. Will Acorn be able to find him?" Of the three remaining Children of the Forest, Acorn was the finest hunter among them, but also she had an ability to whisper with the trees and hear their secrets much like listening to a weirwood.

 

"She will, but a tree's voice can be slow. It may be days, or maybe months. But she will find him."

 

"That's not good enough…" he needed faster answers. He needed the powers of the Three Eyed Raven. To see everything would make this search trivial. But that power was not yet fully his. But it was for his older self. He set his hand on the weirwood and the great pull into the sight took him immediately.

 

The godswood faded away and a castle room replaced the surroundings… a quite familiar room that Bran absolutely hated. He looked over to the window where he last stood on anything before the Kingslayer pushed him out. He walked over to the ledge and looked out, half expecting to see his younger self laying half dead at the bottom of the Broken Tower.

 

"Here it began for us," Bearded Bran whispered from behind and Bran turned around, seeing him lay against the wall as if he had been there the whole time. Seven hells, Bearded Bran was starting to fade away like dust. His face was beginning to crack and flecks of what looked like dust hovered over them. "Where everything began for all of us."

 

"The things we do love," Bran replied, reminding himself of the moment his life changed forever. But he couldn't let himself look back on those times now. "I need your help finding Rickon."

 

Bearded Bran took a deep breath and tried to stand up, but he couldn't even do that. He slumped back against the wall and wheezed. He shook his head and his eyes wandered to the floor. "I can't yet… warging a dragon was the most depleting act I have done yet…" To Bran's amazement, Bearded Bran managed to smile. "But it was also the most exciting. All of that power contained in a body like that… it's a feeling so divine… you think you're a god." He looked off into the distance. "Even Jon and Daenerys and all Targaryens before them could only begin to comprehend it."

 

Such whimsical philosophy didn't help in the here and now. "There's nothing you can do?" Bran asked with a growing anger in his voice. "All your power and you can't even at least look for him?"

 

Bearded Bran looked back up to him. "And If I found him, then what? You send hunters to drag him back to the home that has become another cage for him. No, if he is to return, it must be on his own terms, his way. And if he does, then you must be there for him, waiting."

 

"He's my damn brother!" Bran shouted. "I won't just leave him out there just to look at ancient history like before!"

 

"And what about your sister? Is Sansa of any lesser importance than Rickon?"

 

Bran paused. He had become so engrossed with searching for Rickon that the goings on of his family in King's Landing as of late have gone ignored. "What concerns her?" He stuttered, trying to regain his balance in the argument. "Is she in danger? Is she hurt?"

 

"Aren't we all in danger?" Bearded Bran asked with a sad smile, only to look off into the distance. "They are growing lost. There is something that Jon fears most of all, more than even the Army of the Dead, and it came close to happening right in front of him again."

 

Bran swallowed. "Again? Is this something that happened before? In your time?"

 

"You've seen it before. Daenerys Targaryen, the Mad Queen. This morning at the peak of her anger… something happened. She had visions of herself from my past. It broke her heart when she woke up. And now, she has departed and the cracks in Jon are deeping. He has held himself together for so long and now he risks falling apart too much to bring back up."

 

"What are we supposed to do? How do we help them?"

 

"We start with Sansa. Her cracks are not as deep, but they are there. If Jon is to remain whole, then he needs her to help him."

 

Bran became confused. "Why is it hard on Sansa? And why does it matter?"

 

"They both care for Daenerys. Jon has always loved her more than he hates himself… but not Sansa. In my time, our sister and Daenerys distrusted and resented each other, yet now they were on the verge of becoming the closest of friends, like sisters." A deep sigh. "If this is not mended, then I fear the results of my time will be the same for Sansa. These pains hurt others greater than most. You have to help her and then Jon."

 

"But what am I supposed to do? I can't communicate with them like you can."

 

"Have you forgotten the memory at the Tower of Joy? The height of your desire to be heard broke through time and memory to our father. You can do it… you have to." Bearded Bran's eyes fell to the ground and darted back and forth. "I must go now. These clouds in the sight… I must find out what they are hiding." He extended his hand out to Bran. "If you are to gain control of this power, and not let it control you, then you must have faith and trust yourself and follow your instincts.

 

The tower disappeared and Bran was suddenly in the King's solar of the Red Keep. he was standing by a grand bed looking into the room. There were several people here, all of them clustered on one end of the room across from Jon as he leaned on the stone railings of the balcony outside his room overlooking the Blackwater Bay.

 

"Your grace," Lord Davos Seaworth began, "we must take action. The courts are in confusion and they need your voice to calm and command them."

 

No response came from Jon.

 

"Jon, I know you're upset that the alliance with Daenerys failed, but the people need to know that war is not upon them with dragonfire."

 

Jon's fingers curled into fists. "I once told you that I thought I knew how to do this, but I failed. And you said to me: 'Good, now go fail again.'"

 

Davos became confused, clearly searching his memory for that interaction. But Bran could hear the echoes of memories that never happened for his time.

 

"Well I did, and this is what happened. I lost. Without Daenerys… the dragons… we can't win. What hope are thousands of squabbling men against one army with one purpose?" Jon leaned his hands on the surface of the stone window sill. "Winter is Coming."

 

"Jon?" Davos' fist curled up and he walked up to Jon. With a sudden shove on his shoulder, Davos attempted to force Jon to look at him, but Jon blocked Davos' arm and shoved him away to the ground before turning back around and looking out to the bay.

 

"Get out," Jon growled.

 

Ser Beric helped Davos to his feet. "Damn you," Davos growled back with a shake of his head, "and damn your throne." He grasped the golden pin of the Hand from his tunic and tore it off, throwing it to the ground and shoving his way out of the chamber. Everyone else looked at each other in puzzlement.

 

"I said get out," Jon said again. That time, everyone else left the room without a word.

 

Bran walked up to Jon, observing the emotions festering in his brother, but also seeing the streaks of where tears had passed down on his cheeks. The eyes that looked outwards were deep with fear, anger, and hate, all of them creating the sufferings in Jon.

 

Focusing his mind and taking a deep breath, Bran began trying to find the right feelings to make himself be heard. "Jon…" There was no reaction. "Jon," Bran repeated but still nothing. "Jo-" his third attempt was interrupted by a mighty shout.

 

"LEAVE!" Jon bellowed, turning his body in Bran's direction. Eyes that burned with a fiery rage bore into Bran's sole, scaring him just as much as staring into the cold death eyes of the Night King. The sudden reaction made Bran startle backwards, falling down and panting from shock.

 

Out of what had to be instinct, Bran disappeared from the presence of the wrothful King, the last image he saw was Jon drawing his dragon hilted sword and marching away. He had never seen Jon like that before. He was usually able to be calmer about things when he was angry. But there was like facing down a roaring beast, or a dragon unleashing a taste of the fire burning up inside.

 

At least he knew that he could be heard now.

 

Heeding the wrath of Jon, Bran appeared in the gardens of the Red Keep, next to a small pavilion. He didn't mean to go there, he just simply appeared. There were fewer people around, but based on their reactions, they had all heard the echoes of Jon shouting from his chambers.

 

It was then that Bran noticed that under the pavilion were Ser Loras and Lady Olenna Tyrell, and Sansa. Olenna and Loras were looking up at the tower but Sansa was staring blankly at the table they sat around.

 

"Now we know how the King is doing I suppose," Loras said, turning his gaze from the tower back to the table at the same time as Olenna. "So is this it?" Bran didn't think he'd ever seen a knight look so scared. "Is this war? Another Dance of Dragons when we can least afford it?" 

 

"It's what the pigeons of court are suspecting." An attendant had brought Olenna a cup of something but it rested untouched on the table beside her. "Have a message sent immediately for our people aiding the Stormlands to be ready to march if we need them. But pray that raven won't need to be sent."

 

"At once, my lady." The man said, dashing off to his duties.

 

Olenna brushed a finger over her cup, but pulled back, looking unnerved to even take a drink. "Whatever transpired in the Throne Room before Daenerys set sail could very well be the answer." Her eyes looked at Sansa. "You have an idea, don't you, my dear."

 

Sansa stared at them as Bran paced behind his older sister. "If Jon had his way then he wouldn't be on the Iron Throne, Daenerys would be. But there's always something between them. It's not the respect or hold of the realms. It's something more personal, and it got out of hand. And now my friend has left."

 

Olenna nodded, placing a finger under her chin. "In any case, the Dragon Queen storming off wasn't a declaration of war. If anything, I would have considered it a lover's quarrel."

 

"But they're not lovers," Loras blurted out.

 

"I suspect Daenerys was perfectly willing to be, but Aegon's reticent. Whatever concerns that come out of it are downhill from that."

 

Loras nodded, kicking at a stone idly with his foot. Whatever improvement in the mood that had transpired was dashed away. "You think there will be war?"

 

Sansa shook her head. "Neither of you understand… neither of you know what is driving them. Why Jon is like this. Why he can't… ever let himself be happy…" She trailed off, lip quivering. Emotion being too great for her.

 

Olenna looked at Loras. "We all have our secrets. Some are harder to live with than others, especially the ones we ourselves cannot accept. His burden is that he cannot simply set aside what he has seen in his visions. All i have uncovered is that everyone around him was someone else, someone who betrayed him. Whether it is the truth or simply a possibility for our capacity, he must bear through it."

 

A sudden epiphany came to Bran. Jon was boiling with a fiery anger from all of this. Dragonfire made flesh, his draconic rage finally emerging. Perhaps what he needed to calm down was a cold touch. Then Sansa rose, her chair scraping on the stone floor. "You're wrong."

 

"My Lady?" Loras approached, but was waved away. "How are we wrong? 

 

But what in Seven hells was he supposed to do? He needed the Three Eyed Raven or Bearded Bran to help. They were the ones who knew the past and the future enough to understand where to start looking for answers.

 

The more he thought about it, the more a strange feeling was sweeping through him, like the currents of a river that was there. It was soft, but as he started to focus on what this feeling was, there was more to it. It wasn't just sweeping through him, it was trying to carry him. Was this the power of the sight itself?

 

A powerful tug swept Bran from the present and into the thrashing currents of the sight. 

 

He was in a corridor of stairs, and marching up from the bottom was Daenerys Targaryen. She looked absolutely furious as one would be ready to break anything within their reach.

 

And behind her was something odd. Creeping in her trail was a shadow that amassed and took the form of a man.

 

Bran sucked in his breath and stepped back, fearing it was the Night King following him. But it wasn't. This shadow did not become the Night King, it remained as it was, but then from its face came the glow of a single blue eye and the faint echoes of a man's laughter could be heard emanating around. The blue glow flashed white just before Daenerys Targaryen's did. She still before she collapsed to the ground and a great chill overtook him.

 

He felt the magic of the sight resonating from Daenerys. He stepped forth and placed a hand on her head.

 

Immediately, catastrophic and terrible memories of Jon's past flashed in his mind. Horrible images of destruction and death.

 

"Daenerys!" Jon shouted as he came up the stairs with several others behind him.

 

Without even thinking, Bran left the memory and fled someplace the Night King's power wouldn't find him.

 

Outside the Cave of the Three Eyed Raven, Bran found it destroyed and collapsed in. The weirwood above had split apart and died. But the dead were nowhere around. Bran approached a large boulder and sat down, trying to calm his mind and form a plan. 

 

That shadow he saw, it wasn't the Night King himself, but it was the same power, that much he could feel to be true. Daenerys Targaryen's departure had been galvanized by whatever happened to her in that corridor by desire of the Night King. He wanted Daenerys to take her dragons away… or was it her that he wanted away more?

 

The knowledge he learned over the past few months had collected itself before him. Azor Ahai failed to kill the Night King because the power he needed was incomplete. Bearded Bran's family lost the war because someone without the power needed was able to destroy the Night King's body but not his spirit. Somehow, Daenerys was tied to all of this for that very reason. They needed her if they wanted to defeat the Dead once and for all.

 

But what was he supposed to do? What could he do?

 

Taking a deep breath, Bran closed his eyes and focused on the power of the sight. He listened and felt for the pulls in the memories, trying to find something that called to him.

 

And then, like a gentle whisper of a father, he felt something and followed its pull.

 

Something felt different this time. The pushes and pulls were strange as the memories rushed before him. He felt like he was deeper in the sight somehow, going above the tides of memories into a place that did not exist. At least, a place that did not exist for him.

 

Bran was in Winterfell, in the Great Hall to be exact, the last place he expected to be. But things looked… different. Just hours ago when he had been breaking his fast, everything was clean and tidy. But now things looked… unkempt. Cobwebs covered the corners of where the walls met the ceilings, the tables were filthy with stains and some were splintered.

 

"Another Raven from Deepwood Motte, your grace," Maester Wolkan said as he walked into the room and presented a scroll to… Sansa. She was older, maybe by a decade and dressed in finer robes than she ever was and a silver direwolf crown sat upon her head.

 

"What now? Are they pressing their demand for the Ironwood again?"

 

"No, it's something else, your grace." Wolkan shifted nervously as Sansa unrolled the scroll and Bran walked up next to her and read it himself.

 

Queen Sansa Stark of Winterfell

 

I, Lord Robett Glover, am one of many who have discussed and decided that the fate of the North is becoming a fragile state as the days pass by. It has been over six years since you aided the overthrowing of both Mad Queens and claimed Independence for the North and taking upon the Crown you deserved for many years prior. However, your lack of response to your duty as Queen leaves many of us skeptical of the North's future. You have yet to take a husband and mother an heir. Therefore, I and several other lords shall present ourselves in Winterfell within the coming weeks with our choice of marriage candidates that we believe are best to sit beside you and father your heirs. My grandson, Ethan, has just turned twenty, and is a strong and ripe young man. I believe he will be to your liking when you meet him.

 

Lord Robett Glover of Deepwood Motte and Bear Island

 

Sansa sighed and practically tossed the scroll onto the table in front of her. "Seven hells, is Lord Glover truly going to do this while we have enough on our plate as it was?"

 

"Your grace," Wolkan said quietly, as if scared to continue to talk. He held out his hands with five more raven scrolls in them. "The messages contained within these are of the same matter. Houses Ryswell, Hornwood, Whitehill-"

 

"Enough," Sansa held up her hand. "Bear Island wasn't enough for him then. Send out riders to meet with these lords if they have already departed and send them back to their homes. I cannot set aside the current problems I am trying to solve just to focus on different ones."

 

"By your order, my Queen. But in regards to the grain shortage, the battles between the Dormunds, Wibberlys, and Caulfields for the Dreadfort took more lives than expected. There weren't enough hands to tend to the fields and most of the wheat has gone to waste and the Iron Bank will refuse to grant another loan. The port of White Harbor is already owned mostly by them and of all the rest, they say there is not enough collateral to grant even the smallest sum." 

 

The figure of the Queen bristled. "They insult the North?" A tight fist squeezed on the table before it was released. "We are the largest Kingdom in Westeros. What Braavos says they have has no comparison to our bounty."

 

Wolkan said nothing for a moment. "To be bold, your Grace, but winter still grips us. The ironwood forests are nearly gone without the Forresters' knowledge of cultivation and our mines continue to dry with each passing year."

 

"Then we scour for other sources," Sansa scolded, sounding harsh much like their mother. "We have other forests with timber don't we? Our ports are brimming with fish and our mountains are filled with iron and tin."

 

"The mountains are covered with snow and ice, your grace. We have few boats, and all those at White Harbor are already working day and night to fish the bay. The Hornwood is ripe, but with the rivers frozen over we do not have the men to transport them south."

 

"Enough." Sansa held up a hand, stilling her maester. "Get out. Let me think." He scurried out, leaving Bran to watch Sansa drink deeply from her flagon. Arbor gold, a fine vintage. One Cersei Lannister would drink… and now Sansa. "Fools… they're all fools." She nearly slammed her cup on the table. "Our independence, we suffered the yoke of tyrants. I won't let us lose it, never."

 

The few men and women gathered at the tables all nodded and banged against the wood, agreeing with her. It was only then that Bran looked at them more closely. These people were frail and old, withering away without the young to come after them, and they were ignoring it.

 

A gust of wind blew through the stone windows, making all around shiver. "Isn't their survival more important than your pride?" Jon's voice echoed in the memory, carried on the wind.

 

Reaching his hand out, Bran touched Sansa's shoulder and looked into the many memories the sight showed him, those of the days after she left Winterferll and lost Lady, the day their father was beheaded in front of her, the hours Joffrey and Cersei kept over her with manipulation like vultures, and the terror of her days returned in Winterfell with the Boltons. The sight of what Ramsay did to her made Bran's stomach turn to the point that he wanted to throw up but couldn't. But then Ramsay was gone, and Jon was there, giving hope to Sansa again… until it faded, until she drifted away from everyone until she was alone and proud.

 

The visions ended and all went absolutely quiet and still as Bran was gone from his home, now standing within a cavern, one somewhat familiar like the one he was refuged in with the Children of the Forest and the Three Eyed Raven. But this one was different… cleaner in a sense. There weren't hundreds of roots all around and many candles illuminated the inside with warm light.

 

There were several people in the cavern, an elderly woman dressed in deep crimson robes kneeling to a collection of candles with her hands over the small flames, a lone Child of the Forest who was looking directly at him with her amber eyes, and a man covered in roots and moss as he slept… It was Jon. He was older with gray hairs in his beard and hair and a face hardened by time.

 

And across from Jon, sitting quietly with a needle and thread as she sewed a woolen shirt, was Sansa. The crown she once had and the prideful complexion was gone. She had this blank look about her that he'd never seen before from his sister.

 

Bran passed by Jon, standing next to the Child. "I need to speak with Sansa, alone."

 

She nodded to him. "Come," the Child said and all eyes went to her, "we must leave for now."

 

"What?" Sansa asked as she paused her work. "What do you mean?"

 

"You must stay," said the Child, "but we must go." She said to the red robed woman who's only response was a slow and understanding nod. Both of them walked silently out of the cavern, leaving Sansa alone with Jon, at least to Sansa's knowledge.

 

Sansa sat back and scoffed, clearly confused but didn't really respond to it. She looked back to her work and resumed as Bran walked up next to her.

 

"Sansa," Bran said quietly.

Sansa (Future)

A sharp breath was sucked into her lungs. Sansa's needlework halted and her head shot up. She was alone in the cavern with Jon and yet she just heard a voice as though it were right next to her. "Who's there?" She called softly.

 

"...it's me, Sansa." the voice came again and it was strikingly familiar. No, it couldn't be.

 

"Bran? What happened to your voice? You sound younger."

 

"It's because I'm not your Bran, not the Three Eyed Raven. I suppose I'm the new one. Even saying it sounds strange."

 

Her heart nearly leapt out of her chest. Even though she had been in correspondence with her brother in Winterfell over the years, hearing his younger voice with such personality behind it was almost like meeting him for the first time since she left Witnerfell when she was a girl.

 

"Bran…" Her voice nearly trembled with joy, but she composed herself. "What are you doing here?"

 

"We need your help, Sansa. Things have gone to the Seven Hells in King's Landing. Everyone is just about lost in despair now that Daenerys has left."

 

"She left?" Sansa repeated as conflicting feelings arose within. Part of her was shocked that the greatest assets for the armies were gone now. Three dragons and the Dothraki used right would have decimated half the dead at Winterfell by themselves. But the other part of her felt glad that the power hungry woman tucked tail and finally left where she wasn't wanted.

 

"It was the Night King's doing. Somehow he was able to show what happened to her in your past and it broke her."

 

"The Night King? Why would he want that?"

 

"Because she's part of the prophecy that will defeat him. Without her, it's incomplete."

 

"And what do you want me to do about it?"

 

"We need to get Jon set straight. He's heartbroken and hopeless. He needs you to help him, the other you. But you're just as sad as he is that Daenerys left."

 

"What? Why would I be sad?"

 

"Because she's your friend. The two of you became confidants."

 

The idea left a sick feeling in her stomach. "You're mistaken."

 

"I'm not!" Bran shouted, startling her. "Jon needs your help, and so does Daenerys. But I don't know what to say to you!"

 

"Bran… Maybe it is for the better. Without her dragons, the Night King can't bring down the Wall and Jon united the Seven Kingdoms. We'll have just as many soldiers on the greatest defense in the world."

 

There was a moment of silence that hung. "How could you have become such a fool?"

 

Sansa was struck by the accusation.

 

"I saw what your North had become after you were made Queen. Withering, empty, and blind. You were free but you were alone."

 

"I just needed time!" Sansa called out, "just a little more time. I could have saved our honor if I just had more time!"

 

"And how many died for what was left? Why was your pride more important than their survival?"

 

"You don't understand! None of you would understand!" she slammed her fist against her thigh, sending pain in both her leg and her hand. She began to feel tears stinging at her cheeks not because of the pain, but the humiliation. She was once the Queen of the North, every Lord and Lady of the North raised their swords for her the day she finally took independence back for them. And now here she was, alone in a cave, covered in dirt and sewing ragged clothes.

 

"I understand why. I saw your past and watched the horrible things you had to face alone. That was the same woman I saw on her throne, doing everything she could so she didn't have to leave it because she's afraid of being anything but alone."

 

Sansa shuddered as her heart felt viced with cold stone. 'Everyone who isn't me is the enemy.' That is what she told herself years ago when the men and women in her court began to turn away from her. "I'm sorry," the words just slipped from her lips. They weren't for Bran or Jon or Daenerys. They were for herself. "I didn't mean for it to be like this."

 

"Then help us, help yourself so she can help Jon."

 

"How can I? I've no magic."

 

"I think I have an idea. I don't know if it'll work, but I'm going to try."

Sansa (New Lifetime)

Years ago, when she was a simple hostage in this place, the gardens of the Red Keep were full of so much vanity to the Lannisters apart from the flowers and the other bright plants that grew. There was a statue of Joffrey triumphantly standing over a direwolf as his fresh kill of a hunt. Oh how he had glorified it, taunted about how the direwolf was named 'Lady.'

 

Now the damn statue was gone, smashed into dust and replaced with something far better and much more peaceful to the surroundings.

 

Upon a stone mound stood two figures, one man and one beast. The beast was a direwolf, but not one riddled with bolts, instead a lively creature following close to his master who was portrayed to be Jon. The likeness was good enough to know it was him, but Sansa could easily point out how many differences there were.

 

The statue had been commissioned by Sansa the day before the previous one had been torn down. And unbeknownst to all, she made sure that the statue was not of Aegon Targaryen, but Jon Snow, the man she knew… the brother she used to know and thought he was and wished she had given the love he deserved. But she was wrong. Jon Snow was gone. Aegon Targaryen was the man she stood by and advised.

 

Her cousin by blood and brother by all else, and love him she did. Just as much. Moreso even. But she still had to remind herself that he wasn't a Stark. Of Stark blood, but a Targaryen in all else.

 

For the first time in a long while, Sansa felt helpless. She didn't know what to do. Not in the sense of her duties as Stewardess and advisor, but as a woman who just lost a great friend. All felt lost and she was afraid.

 

If she were in Winterfell, she could go anywhere to feel calm, but this was the Red Keep, a southern castle that became so foreign and undesirable to her the day she saw her father murdered on the steps before Baelor. She wanted to go home, back to the cold winds clean of the city smells, the warm stones of the castle halls, the calm feelings of the solemn godswood…

 

Her eyes turned to the canopy of crimson that now stretched out in the gardens near the sea. The weirwood from the North had taken root well and it brought her peace when she prayed at it far more than the oak tree did in her years of captivity.

 

The journey went undisturbed, despite the many nobles she passed by along the way. Sansa usually had to deal with their pestering that were feeble attempts to gain an audience to kiss Jon's boots for favors or put daughters in his way, but ever since Daenerys' departure, the castle was quiet and tense, waiting for the King to make some kind of declaration.

 

Arriving at the privacy of the heart tree, Sansa knelt down in front of the pale trunk and folded her hands to her chest.

 

She opened her mouth to begin whispering her prayer to the face of the weirwood, but her breath was stolen by a gentle breeze that carried a soft voice upon it, one that touched her heart with familiarity.

 

"Th… one wo… ies bu… e pack… vives…"

 

It came from the mouth of the weirwood's face, but it was too quiet to hear what it said. Sansa leaned closer, coming a head's width away from the pale bark lips that bled red sap.

 

"The lone wolf dies but the pack survives…" Her father's voice said.

 

Gasping, Sansa looked at the eyes carved by the Children of the Forest and felt a piercing gaze look back. Her breath hitched and her hands trembled. There was a feeling she had that was new, some odd sensation that led her to lift her hand up and touched at the bark of the tree. Her palm came flush and then it felt as though someone put their hand over hers before a powerful sensation came over her like a powerful storm raining sheets of water over her skin.

 

"Sansa…"

 

The godswood of the Red Keep vanished before her eyes like shapes in the sand washed by the tide and just as instantly as it happened, the world became something else, someplace familiar.

 

Sansa was no longer in the borders of King's Landing, or the Crownlands, or the south. She was home, in the Walls of Winterfell… but she was not cold despite the amount of snow around, and neither did she feel the familiar presence being there. This was no illusion, but neither was it real… it was something strange, something magic.

 

In the moment she arrived, Sansa froze at the sight of two people walking her way, herself and Petyr Baelish as he spoke to her.

 

"One of two things will happen. Either the dead will defeat the living in which case, all our troubles come to an end," he said with a single laugh at the irony.

 

What was this? A memory of something that never happened? Or something that could have happened?

 

"Or," Petyr came in front of Sansa's apparition, stopping her in her tracks, "life will win out. And what then? Don't fight in the North or the South. Fight every battle everywhere, always, in your mind. Everyone is your enemy, everyone is your friend. Every possible series of events is happening all at once. Live that way and nothing will surprise you. Everything that happens will be something that you've seen before."

 

The way Littlefinger said these words put Sansa on edge. Her instincts warned her of the venom this man seeped into his words… but it looked as though Sansa's own apparition was not reluctant to believe him, as though she were listening cautiously but with intent.

 

Everything washed away again, but Sansa was still in Winterfell when the world became something of itself again in this place of mystery.

 

Instead of down in the grounds of the castle, Sansa stood upon the ramparts of the northern wall. Beyond the castle were thousands of men at work, digging trenches and raised barricades. She looked to her left and found that she was standing next to herself, only instead of looking out at the defenses, her apparition was looking down in the courtyard. Sansa turned her gaze, following where her other self looked and saw that the familiar blue eyes were filled with a definite scorn at… Daenerys.

 

Daenerys was here, in Winterfell. But why was Sansa's apparition filled with such a boiling temper at her friend? A tense breath came form her other self when Jon appeared next to Daenerys and despite them not being obvious about it, Sansa could see the subtle tells of their affection towards each other. A faint smile, a little laugh at something said, and the eyes they held each other with were so deep with love…

 

Was this jealousy that burned deep in her other self?

 

"It's your choice," came a young man's voice before the world changed again. Gone from the ramparts but still standing next to her apparition, Sansa was in the Godswood now, next to Arya who had a scar above her right eye… and her Valyrian Steel dagger? But with them was Jon… and Bran. Sansa almost lost her breath at the sight of her brother… But where was Rickon?

 

"I need to tell you something." Said Jon coldly. "But you have to swear you won't tell another soul."

 

"What is it?" Arya sked.

 

"How can I promise to keep a secret if I don't know what it is?"

 

"Because we're family!" Jon said with desperation in his voice. "Swear it."

 

"I swear it," said Arya.

 

"I swear it," said Sansa, though almost reluctantly.

 

Jon took in a breath, preparing himself . "Tell them," he said to Bran.

 

A pregnant silence followed when all eyes went towards their brother in the chair. "I was able to see the day father fought Arthur Dayne, what the last Kingsguard was really protecting in the tower. Lyanna was dying after giving birth to Rhaegar's trueborn son, Aegon Targaryen." Bran's eyes looked at Jon as did Sansa's and Arya's. "And that's who Jon really is."

 

So this was what it was if Jon never revealed his real heritage as he did. Did he even know it until now?

 

"You're afraid of her," Sansa's apparition said.

 

When Sansa turned to look at her self, the world changed once again instantly. The clouds above were gone, and they were on the south wall now, and Tyrion was with them, dressed in thick black clothes for the cold and still bearing his Hand's pin. But the one thing apparent was the truth in the observation just said.

 

"Every good ruler needs to inspire a bit of fear."

 

"I don't want Jon to go down there. The men in my family don't do well in the capitol."

 

"No, but as your brother once told me: he's not a Stark." An eerie silence between them followed. "Are you alright?" No response. "Her people love her. You've seen that. You've seen how they fight for her. She wants to make the world a better place. I believe in her."

 

"Tyrion," Sansa called after him, "what if there's someone else? Someone better?"

 

No, what was she doing? She swore to keep Jon's secret! An oath in front of the heart tree! 

 

No!

 

Again the world faded, and finally Winterfell was gone, but the place she came to next was one that she almost didn't recognize. The Red Keep was a disaster, nothing but a shell of a ruin barely holding together. It wouldn't be a surprise if the remainder of the ceiling of the Throne Room collapsed right on top of her and… Daenerys.

 

"Have you been down there?" Jon's voice appeared. Sansa turned around and saw him in utter disbelief and heartbroken. "Have you seen them? Children! Little children burned!"

 

No… no, it couldn't be. The snow around them wasn't snow, it was ash, and the darkness of the sky was not from storm clouds but thick smoke.

 

"I tried to make peace with Cersei. She used their innocence as a weapon against me. She thought it would cripple me."

 

"I will love you, always," Jon said before kissing Daenerys deeply, holding her tight to his chest… and plunging a dagger into her heart.

 

Sansa was aghast, not able to breathe as must as Daenerys wasn't, sharing the same look of betrayal and heartbreak. Gods, if this was his past…

 

No wonder he was in such pain. It all made sense now and her heart broke for Jon. 

 

When Daenerys body went limp, Jon the images of the world changed again but Jon remained. His armor was stripped and a cloak formed over his shoulders. He stood before another apparition of Sansa with Arya and Bran on a wharf near the harbor of the city.

 

"I wish there had been another way. Can you forgive me?"

 

Jon simply looked at her, either searching for an answer or silently giving it as it was plain to see.

 

Sansa gasped and frantically looked around. The same rush throughout her body that occurred when she was first pulled into this magic took over once again, but she was not back in the godswood. She was in a cave.

 

"Hello?" Sansa called.

 

"Sansa," the voice said again, only now she could discern it better. It was a woman's voice.

 

"I'm going mad," she remarked.

 

"You're not," the voice said again, "please, I only have a little time."

 

"Who are you?" Sansa asked, still looking around.

 

"What would have been… perhaps what still might be." It was her own voice… only mature. Burdened. Weary with age. "The truth, my history-"

 

It all clicked for Sansa, and her confusion and astonishment froze into an icy rage. "Why?" Sansa suddenly demanded, her voice colder than Winterfell. "Why would you become someone so horrible?" The voice said nothing, which infuriated Sansa even more. "Why would you become the very person who caged us in this damn place?! Why would shut everyone out?! Why did you hate the woman only trying to help us?!" By the end, Sansa lost it. "Why!?!" The entire clearing in the gardens shook with her roar.

 

"Sansa…" the voice finally said, filled with sorrow and pain, "I can't explain everything that happened quick enough. My time is short-"

 

"I don't care!"

 

"Then listen! Please. Listen," she begged. "I… I was so hurt by it all, so scared to try and let anyone into my life again. I wanted it to be mine to control, so that I could be safe, I just didn't know how to do it right. Resentment, jealousy, pride, all of these became my guides and I did nothing but let others act for my gain."

 

Sansa crossed her arms. "Then bless the Gods I am not you."

 

"You're everything I wish I could have been, with Jon and even with Daenerys… but maybe there's a chance you might still be me."

 

"No!" Even the implication insulted her. Disgusted her. "I will never be like you!"

 

Sansa felt speechless at first. What type of rambling was this? The more she heard the more she felt like a foolish girl listening to some children's story.

 

"I know how you really feel about Jon, that you love him more than you think you should."

 

Her heart started to pound in her chest.

 

"But if you truly mean it, then do not be the fool I was. Don't let this fall apart. Jon and Daenerys… they need each other, they love each other. And I know you love them. That is why you… you have to let go of Jon so you can help them."

 

The words stung deep within her, just as much as her sense of suspicion. "No, you know something don't you, and getting me to do this is some plot to put me in place of power isn't it? Just like Littlefinger selling me to the Boltons!"

 

"I was sold too, Sansa, but I didn't get to have someone help me past the pain of those days of Ramsay's whims. You did, and from everything we've learned about what Jon has done, who you have become, you will never be who I was. But Jon might become the man he did once again. Lost, alone, and content with that life."

 

Sansa felt a chill of sorrow rush into her back and her breath turned cold.

 

"I know you love him, but you it's not meant to be you that he loves back. It's going to hurt, deeper in any way than you've felt before. But if you truly love them both then this is a pain you must bear. Without them together… we will have nothing…"

 

A sudden spell came over Sansa, not like a dizzy spell but something that made her feel blurry. When she felt focused, she saw a reflection of herself. Wait, no, that isn't the dress she is wearing, and she didn't have wrinkles yet. It was then she realized this wasn't a reflection of herself.

 

The vision of her older self walked forward to her and gently took a hand with eyes welling up with tears. "I wish I made better choices, and the ones I did make led to disaster. Jon… I loved him, but never thought I could love and it made me turn on him. You know you love them, don't you?"

 

Sansa sucked in a breath. "I… I do." 

 

A sad smile found its way to her older self. "Then you already have become better than me. All that is left is your crossroads, the choice you must take." The smile faded, left with naught but a woman with nothing left to live for . "The choice is yours, and I'm sorry that this has to be your burden to love who will not love you back the same way."

 

"I…" Tears filled her eyes as well. "I'm scared."

 

"So am I. That is all I've been for the past fourteen years." The blurry sensation came back, and the older Sansa faded away from sight.

 

Reaching out to where the apparition had been, Sansa touched the air of her older self's face.

 

"It will be alright," a final echo whispered around her.

 

"Milady!"

 

Sansa was startled immediately at the voice of Ser Wallace as he just turned from the corner of a hedge and was running toward her. "Milady, come quick!"

 

"What is it?" Sansa asked just as Ser Wallace stopped in front of her, panting from his run.

 

"It's the King. He's… he's gone mad." Hearing the last word of that sentence almost made Sansa want to slap the Kingsguard for daring to say that. But Ser Wallace was in too great a condition of worry to disregard things. "You must come at once."

 

Scrunching up the hem of her dress, Sansa followed quickly behind Ser Wallace back to the Red Keep. They went inside, on their way to where she guessed to be the Throne Room. As they got closer, there were apparent echoes of shouting growing louder and louder. When they finally came to the main doors, there was a small crowd consisting of several guards and servants, nobles, the Kingsguard, Davos, and the Hound watching something in total shock.

 

Sansa pushed her way in front of the crowd and froze when she saw Jon with Blackfyre in his hands and dozens of broken blades scattered around him as he swung the sword viciously at the Iron Throne, turning into a hideous creature of thing compared to the powerful symbol it once was. Her cousin was a man possessed, screaming and bellowing guttural battlecries with every swing of his sword, completely ignoring those around him, watching him.

 

"All of you leave," said Sansa. She looked back when she felt no one move. "Now!" She looked at the Hound. "Make sure no one comes in."

 

The doors of the Throne Room were closed and now it was only Sansa and Jon. She had never seen someone so angry like this. Joffrey's anger was that of a spoiled child's tantrum, Ramsay's was a kind he reveled and enjoyed heartily. But Jon's… it wasn't madness like Ser Wallace said.

 

It was fire. A scorching inferno of rage. This was the dragon of the Targaryens of old awoken in him. In that moment, there was no Jon Snow, only Aegon Targaryen.

 

"Jon?" Sansa reached an arm out as she stepped closer but she was ignored as Jon kept hacking away at the Iron Throne. His face was dripping with sweat, veins pulsed under his skin. The pain he had this morning was either gone or pushed aside by his rage "Jon! Jon, stop it!" She felt herself take a chance with blind bravery and lunged at his arm, grabbing it with all her strength and holding him back. He didn't struggle against her. Instead he turned his head and looked at her, seething through his teeth and shaking with rage. "Please, stop it." She moved her hands to his, taking hold of Blackfyre and pulling it free from his grip and then let it fall to the ground, clanging among the broken swords.

 

A sudden deep breath came from Jon, as if an involuntary action, and the strength of his legs gave way. He sank to his knees and so did Sansa as he held onto her with his other arm.

 

"You don't have to fight or be a King tonight," she said softly and tears began to streak from Jon's eyes. "Let yourself rest." Quiet sobs escaped from him as Sansa wrapped her arms around him and held him tight as he trembled with nothing more than the echoes to keep the two of them company. "I'm so sorry, Jon."

Jon

Everything became a blur after he saw Daenerys' ship disappear on the horizon. He couldn't remember much of what had happened, only that he was miserable and angry. He had come to his senses and everything in his body was sore and painful. The pain in his back constantly burned like an overstretched muscle and his palms were red and stung with the pulses of his heartbeat. He was outside in the gardens and his red doublet had been replaced with a clean white tunic.

 

A soft breeze felt like ice against his skin as Jon realized he was looking out to the ocean.

 

"Jon?" Sansa asked, touching his right hand.

 

"I… what happened?" He looked up to the castle. When did he get down here?

 

There was a small squeeze on his hand. "To put it honestly, you went mad."

 

Mad! Seven fucking hells! "What did I do?"

 

"Jon-"

 

"What did I do? Did I hurt someone?"

 

"No. No one's hurt. But you did get angry and… well… you cut up the Iron Throne like a training dummy."

 

Jon became speechless and his brow arched higher than ever from the surprise. "What?"

 

"You broke the Iron Throne."

 

He looked back to the castle as if expecting the entire thing to collapse or the monument of his fit of rage to be atop the roof for all to see. Then of all things, Jon began to laugh as he turned back and leaned on the railing. "Targaryen to the marrow I guess."

 

Sansa's expression was that if someone tried to strike her, but she didn't flinch. Instead reaching out to him. "You're not a madman, Jon."

 

Her hand was warm on his shoulder. "How would you know? You have no idea the things I've done." Jon hung his head, trying to shrug off her hand but she wouldn't let go - he eventually gave up, too tired. "The people I've killed to be where I am now. I'm not a King, I'm a bastard."

 

A sigh from Sansa. "You have done a lot that is necessary - necessary but things that would destroy a lesser man ever since we left Winterfell. We told you that Starks don't fare well in the south…"

 

"And yet you and Arya seem fine."

 

"It looks that way. But it wasn't. We let ourselves be alone for a time, but then Arya found Gendry. And I had Margaery, Olenna, even… Daenerys. But you've been shutting us all out. You want to be alone. Why?"

 

"Sansa…"

 

"Why?" She was insistent.

 

Jon sighed again, running a hand through his hair and scratching the itch on his scalp. He could not escape this, not when she looked at him the way Ned Stark used to whenever he sought an uncomfortable truth out of the children. Steadfast and insistent. "Sansa… my visions, they…"

 

"They weren't visions, were they?"

 

He looked at her. Seeing the certainty in her eyes.

 

Somehow she had realized it, same as Daenerys did. "You lived through a time when things went the worst they could. And somehow you have a second chance to make it right. That's what you've been doing."

 

Jon shrugged. "Trying to do," he corrected. "But I've ruined it all haven't I?"

 

"No, you haven't. You've done everything you had to for us. You just keep forgetting to do what you can for yourself."

 

"I don't get to have what I want. I'm a bastard… " He was suddenly slapped. A light backhand across the cheek from Sansa now with tears welling in her eyes. 

 

"Stop it!" Sansa yelled, her voice choking at the end. "Stop it right now! You're not a bastard!"

 

It was nothing he hadn't seen before, but this wasn't a little girl weeping over some childish slight or a broken woman in the throes of a flashback to a living nightmare… No, this was simply a woman whose heart was breaking. 

 

"Don't ever call yourself that again," she croaked. "You have been and always will be my brother.."

 

Jon found himself speechless. This sight before him, seeing Sansa so deeply in sorrow for him… it he never saw this from her before so passionately or vulnerable in his life. She always presented a will of stone that no words could break, let alone crack or chip. But now, here she was.

 

"Why can't you just be angry at me like you should be? Yell at me, shout, tell me how much you hate me for reminding you day after day of what you never were?"

 

"I'm tired of it all!" Jon finally said. "And it wasn't your fault." Their eyes locked, his frantic ones and her red-rimmed, pained ones. "I never blamed you."

 

"You should! You should blame me and hate me!"

 

"I never did, not for that." His hate for her and blame for her was for something different, and that woman was not the one before him. Not the sister he'd finally gotten to know and trust "I want to let go of this anger, but every time I try it reaches out and holds on to me."

 

Sansa wiped at her cheeks. "Then that's alright. I know what I did to you in your past, your other past, and I won't ask forgiveness because who would ever deserve it for that kind of betrayal."

 

"No!" Jon said. "That's not you, it won't be you…" He breathed hard as his heart was pounding and the muscles in his neck agitated, pulling and tears with the feelings of fear throughout every fiber. "It won't be you." His heart and neck started to relax. The pain in his back finally began to subside little by little with each passing second. It felt like being washed cleaned of filth that was there.

 

Jon found himself being hugged by his sister and his arms wrapped around her back.

 

He wasn't sure how or why, but he could feel in himself the absolute certainty of his words finally. "I'm sorry, Sansa. I haven't been fair at all."

 

"You weren't allowed to be. We just didn't know it." They each pulled away and calm eyes found each other. "No matter how many mistakes you make, someone will always be there with you. I will never give up on you, as you never gave up on me." She took a deep breath. "As Daenerys would never truly give up on you, no matter how many times you push her away."

 

He was trembling. "I hurt her. I killed her… how could she ever forgive me or trust me?"

 

She grabbed his chin lightly. "You were both angry. We all say stupid things we don't mean when we're angry. But I know without a doubt that if you go after her, she won't push you away. But that's only if you swear to me and yourself that you won't do that to her, either." They both trembled in each other's arms. "Promise me, Jon."

 

Jaw dropping a little, Jon wondered if this was all a dream.

 

'JON!' The Raven's voice shouted as though dozens of him stood around Jon. It was so powerful that Jon bent forward and tried to cover his ears.

 

"Jon!" Sansa gasped, coming grabbing his side, "what is it?"

 

"Ugh," Jon groaned, "Bran…"

 

"Bran?" Sansa asked.

 

"Jon!" The Raven spoke again in a panicked voice. "It's the Night King! He's been using his power to cloud our minds!"

 

"What?" Jon asked, stepping forward and looking off into the distance. "What are you talking about?"

 

"The Night King, our Night King. He's stronger than I ever imagined because he took my body and my power. My strength is his. The weaker I get, the stronger he becomes. Euron, he made us forget. All of us."

 

The moment Bran said the name, it had been like a wave of enlightenment and memory crashed upon him. His head started to burn with pain. He remembered times when he should have realized this grave error in thinking, but his mind would become distracted. Times when he looked out to the sea and the ships in it, times when he thought of Theon. "This isn't possible. How couldn't you have seen him?" Jon demanded.

 

"Jon!" Sansa asked, "What's going…?"

 

"Sh!" Jon shushed. "Bran, tell me."

 

"He showed Euron his past and I can't see him," the Raven explained, "it was like when I tried to find the wight and I couldn't see Harrenhal. It was a great fog in our minds. But I know where he is now… "

 

Jon looked out to the horizon in the northeast, there were gathering storm clouds far off in the distance and reaching as high as the sky could go. "Daenerys."

 

Daenerys

The bloody winds were against them today, as if some magical fool decided today of all days to send winds that pushed travelers to the one place that Daenerys did not want to be anymore.

 

It would only be another hour before the island would be in sight, or at least it would be were it not for the snowstorm ahead creating a thick impenetrable blanket over the sea. Despite never seeing a real winter, the sight of such ahead felt abnormal to her. One never heard of snow storms at sea.

 

She looked out to it, reminded of the enemy Aegon would be fighting without her now. He didn't need her. She saw what Viserion became for the Night King. A dragon is the key past the Wall. Without her, he wouldn't need to worry. The Wall would be garrisoned fully and a single wight won't get through…

 

Her fingers curled into a fist. Why was she concerned about that? The Lords of Westeros did not want her there in the first place. Aegon did not want her there. And if she stayed then the things she saw would always have a chance of coming to be again.

 

Her enemies had always been right. She was a mad dragonspawn of her father. The pain in her heart kept telling her that over and over.

 

Daenerys' attention was taken by the commotion of her two advisors. She could see Missandei and Ser Jorah arguing about something and started to hear their words.

 

"Your animosity for him has been the problem since the day we set foot in the Red Keep," Jorah said.

 

"Nothing I did or said could change the truth of Aegon's decisions. I was right about him being a threat to Daenerys, about the secrets he kept. All the honeyed words mattered not if he deceived us. If you're questioning my loyalty to our Queen-"

 

"It's not about loyalty!" Jorah exclaimed. "Your constant disrespect for Aegon has been just as constant a disgrace of our Queen. Have you forgotten what we say and how we act reflects onto her? You clearly understood that in Essos with the Masters, but it's perfectly clear such wisdom of court was left behind."

 

"I know that!" Missandei hissed back at him before steeling herself. "I know my outburst was a grievous error." She sighed but steeled herself. "Even now I'm questioning if I should have been left behind as well."

 

"You don't know that," Jorah said, "I don't know that." His eyes turned to Daenerys and Missandei followed his gaze. Both of their moods shifted when they realized just how loud they had been talking.

 

Jorah took in a breath before walking over to Daenerys. "Your grace," he said calmly but with a careful tone. "I regret that things have become as they have, and I understand your anger towards Lord Tyrion, but were his actions today truly enough to constitute his dismissal?"

 

Daenerys felt herself begin to tense. What was she supposed to say? She banished Tyrion from her service because he betrayed her for the Starks and his family in a vision? "His loyalties were made clear." She said quietly.

 

Jorah looked confused. "Were they not when you accepted him into your service? He is loyal to his family as much as I would be to mine were i in his place and my cousin in the Kingslayer's."

 

Normally Daenerys would have thought such words ridiculous, rolling her eyes. But here and now they did not.

 

"Nearly every corner of Westeros named him an outcast after he killed his own father, Khaleesi. Everything he has done for you and his family has been for redemption. Is that not what you have sought for yourself?"

 

Words were lost on Daenerys. It was true that there had been rarely a single Hand among the history of the Iron Throne that did not keep to their House more than his King. The few that didn't were either blind devouts, most of them to the Mad King.

 

Daenerys looked over to Missandei and saw conflict in her eyes. Her handmaiden took notice and it was clear that she was now the one on the spot for her opinion.

 

"Your grace," her words already felt held back and the slightest quiver in her jaw gave weight to the suspicion, "it was rather unexpected… and a rash choice."

 

"A rash choice?" Daenerys repeated. The pressing onward of the matter clearly disturbed Missandei to a degree.

 

"I don't believe that you will find someone who will understand you're quest as much as he did, your grace. Ser Jorah said it all. He sought redemption for himself while you sought it for your legacy. He was outcast from Westeros just as you were. He did stand for his brother today but he always fought for you."

 

"Fought for me… yes." Daenerys ran a hand along the hull of the ship, immersed in quiet contemplation. "He was lucky, Aegon taking away from him the hardest choice of his actions seeing his family defeated. So yes, he had nothing pulling him away from fighting against me." She looked at Missandei, and Jorah. "I rewarded him for mistakes though. He made a treaty with the masters against your advice, Missandei, and it nearly cost me Meereen."

 

Jorah winced. "Men make mistakes."

 

"They do, and yet they aren't rewarded for them." She locked eyes with Missandei. "If I direct you to stay at Dragonstone of at the very least cease representing me as a diplomat, that would be fair for your rash words?"

 

Missandei, chastened, lowered her head. "I only sought your continued victory, my Queen, but yes. I believe that is a fair punishment."

 

"Has Lord Tyrion made a mistake warranting… this, Khaleesi?"

 

Daenerys closed her eyes. "He will," she murmured, the visions haunting her.

 

"And how do you know that?"

 

"The same as I know that Aegon will betray me." The words caused her pain, but what choice did she have than assume it? Aegon said as much to her.

 

Jorah stared at her incredulously. "How can you believe that of him? That he is capable of it?"

 

"I don't know!" Daenerys said with a voice and the verge of trembling. "I was just so angry with it all. Aegon, Tyrion, even myself… and then it all turned into fear when I saw the truth." There was a pregnant silence as the weight of her words settled upon her advisors. 

 

Missandei reached over and touched her shoulder. "What happened?"

 

Daenerys turned around and almost lost the strength to look her friend in the eye.

 

Taking a breath, she found herself struggling to fight the sorrow gripping her, trying to force her into tears. "I… I had a vision. I saw what my destiny was if I stayed in Westeros. I will not become my father, I won't."

 

"Khaleesi," Ser Jorah began, taking a step closer to her, "I don't believe it that you will ever be like your father-"

 

"I know what I saw!" Daenerys exclaimed. "There is no love for me in Westeros. I am the Mad King's daughter, that is all they will see when they look at my silver hair and my dragons. Death and tyranny come again."

 

"What about Aegon?" Missandei pressed. "They would see him as the Mad King's grandson if you believe their judgment so harshly."

 

"He is one of them, Missandei. A Northman with honor without a shred of the Targaryen features to make them think otherwise. The moment he took the throne, there was never a chance I would ever see it. That's all there is to it."

 

Missandei sighed, coming close and hugging Daenerys tightly. "I won't give up on you. Never. Let's just go back to Dragonstone first. Alright?"

 

Daenerys forced a smile and nodded. Missandei took her leave, but Ser Jroah remained, appearing not convinced and concerned. Daenerys' eyes caught sight of something that concerned her. "Jorah, where is your sword?" He had a sword at his hip, but it was not Longclaw.

 

Ser Jorah stiffened and his hand rested over the scabbard at his belt. "I left it behind, Khaleesi."

 

Daenerys scoffed. "How could a man like you be as careless as that?" She couldn't bear to send a raven on his behalf. If he wanted his sword back, it was his task to fulfill.

 

"It wasn't by accident," Jorah clarified, making Daenerys wide eyed and confused. "Your grace," he started but was almost hesitant to confess, "I brought shame to my family when I dishonored myself. It broke my father's heart and I lost the right to claim that sword. When Aegon offered it back, I thought I was being given another chance, but I was wrong. I never should have accepted it in the first place, and I won't take it with me when my House needs it more."

 

The words of her faithful and vigilant protector shook Daenerys to her core. They were a reminder of what else she was running from, a realization that never occurred to her until now. She had been so focused on the pain of her vision, everything else was just dust in the air.

 

"Are we truly going to abandon Westeros to its fate?" Ser Jorah asked, almost desperate for her to say no. But Daenerys could not find an answer yet.

 

Turning around, Daenerys looked back to the west where they came. The Mainland had long since disappeared, but her mind played the trick of imagining it at the very line of the sky and the ocean far off in the distance.

 

"If I run, they would call me a coward. If I stayed, they would tell me to leave. If Westeros demands what it wants more than what it needs…" The words immediately became foul in her mouth. What was she saying? Those were the words of a fool filled with pride, the worst kind. "I don't know what to do, Jorah." her fingers curled into white knuckled fists on the railings. "My heart hurts so much."

 

Jorah came to her side and placed his hands on hers, his touch relaxed her greatly.

 

"You fell in love with him, didn't you?"

 

Daenerys felt a tear fall down her cheek and she nodded. "I would have given it all up to help them." She turned her gaze to him and saw his cool collected eyes unmoving from hers. "I should have." The sorrow in her heart weighed heavily more than it did and she finally began to ask herself what it was she should do.

 

The ambient silence was gravely destroyed when Drogon began roaring and screeching above them. All eyes shot up at Drogon to see him thrashing his head side to side, much like one might to avoid a wasp or other annoying bug. But the sound he made was that of great pain.

 

"Drogon!" Daenerys rushed to the opposite railing and reached a hand up to her child. The bond she had with him felt off, weak, something was disturbing it.

 

Both Viserion and Rhaegal began acting just as erratic as Drogon was. Thrashing in the air and roaring their pain. What was this? What was troubling her children so much? Something wasn't right. Daenerys felt it in her heart. There was something unnatural happening. The warmth of her breath was stolen as all around fell cold.

 

Her eyes drifted down to the approaching snow storm. What she saw ahead of it coming for them was impossible. Greyjoy ships all sporting a red eyed kraken of Euron Greyjoy were appearing by the dozen from the storm.

 

"Ambush!" Daenerys yelled and everyone turned their attention to the approaching attack. No orders were given before Euron's ships catapulted balls of fire at them all.

 

"Brace!" The helmsman yelled and everyone ran for cover. As the shots came, only a few missed but the rest hit fatally. The main sail of Daenerys's ship was struck and the top half groaned and splintered off, falling into the sea taking the spotter in the crow's nest with it. Another shot hit the dragon figurehead and shook the ship violently, throwing just about everyone on their feet to the deck.

 

Daenerys had to get her dragons. This one attack was Euron's success but the battle would be hers. She found her sealegs and stood. She called for her dragons but they were gone from where they thrashed in the air. Instead they were flying to Euron's ships. Of course, they didn't need her to know where the enemy was. They were in range to unleash their dragonfire… but they didn't. They hovered over the lead ship, Euron's ship. What were they doing?

 

The attention of the dragons turned to her envoy and they started flying at them.

 

Daenerys' grip on the railing tightened as did her chest. She couldn't feel the connection to her children anymore. It was severed.

 

All three of her children roared at her viciously before fire erupted from their mouths. The flames burst down onto the other ships, the force blowing apart everything it hit. Screams filled the air and Daenerys felt lost. "Rhaegal! Stop this!" She cried out to her children but they did not listen, they just kept burning the ships. All of her ships except the one she was on.

 

A loud war cry broke through the roaring flames of the burning ships. Daenerys turned and saw Euron Greyjoy himself at the prow of his ship with a great axe in hand. The prow dropped down like an executioner's axe and hooked into the deck of Dany's ship. Ironborn started running down the prow as a bridge between the two ships, invading hers and attacking her crew.

 

She backed away as the Ironborn flooded on and a battle commenced. Her Unsullied and Dothraki were few but mighty. They rushed to meet the Ironborn in combat and steel rang from the clashing of swords and axes.

 

These Ironborn were ruthless, doing whatever they had to to kill even by using their own allies as objects to die in their place. Being too close in quarters, the Unsullied abandoned their spears and used their shortswords instead.

 

Daenerys drew her dagger and held her stance like Jorah had taught her to do. She would be dead in a head on fight, but she could still support her men. One of the Unsullied was being knocked back in a fight against a wretched looking man wielding a flail. She felt her opportunity arise and darted forward when the flail wrapped around the sword of her guard. She slipped by and slashed the Ironborn across his face, making him reel back and opening himself to be gutted by the Unsullied.

 

Another Ironborn ship came close and grappling hooks were thrown. More Ironborn began invading and outnumbering her forces. Euron himself jumped from his ship and joined the battle. His axe broke through the shields of the Unsullied and cleaved through their leather armor as easy as a knife through bread.

 

The Ironborn were too relentless and too many. They killed their way through all in their way until it was only her and the rest who were unarmed. Missandei and a few members of the crew… Jorah, where was Jorah? Daenerys looked all around but couldn't see him or any sign of his armor or sword.

 

Unfortunately, the fight had been lost. Daenerys had been seized and forced along with the others to their knees as the rest of Euron's crew began to cut out the tongues of those who might still be alive and even the dead.

 

Euron's boots clomped with each step as he over body and blood soaked plank. A gleeful smile stretched over his lips as he looked to all of them. He stomped the butt of his axe with every step.

 

"Daenerys Targaryen…" Euron licked his lips, "I dreamt of a day I killed one of your dragons."

 

Daenerys paused. She remembered in that horrible vision she had seeing Rhaegal struck down by scorpion bolts shot by Euron. Did he have a vision as well? How?

 

"And now," Euron said with outstretched arms, "your dragons are mine."

 

No, it was impossible. Her children would never follow a man like him. But there they were, idling in the air around the sinking ships.

 

"Hahaha!" Euron laughed like a little boy. "I've never been this hard in my entire life!" He grabbed the bulge between his legs and softly stroked it, making Daenerys' face twist in disgust but it seemed to only make him happier. He walked over to one of the dead Dothraki and rested a boot on the corpse's head as one of his men silently came up and held something out to him. It was her dagger!

 

Grey teeth smiled at the trophy presented to Euron. He reached out, but then his hand twitched and his face twisted underneath his eyepatch. "Damn steel…" The weight of his words were so venomous that they could kill. Euron snatched the blade and threw it out into the sea.

 

Daenerys was puzzled at what just happened, and it looked like for a brief moment, Euron himself was too. He stared off with a look that asked why he just did that, but his nasty composure returned and he stared down his captives until he came to her.

 

"I once sailed to lands far west of Westeros. I met a most savage tribe of warriors who put these horsefuckers to shame. They only ride the wildest of beasts, impossible to tame… unless you know how to break them. You know what they do? They lure them deep into the shallow water and then mount them. The beasts can't fight as easy and while you enjoy a simple jostle, the spirit of the beasts breaks little by little until it finally obeys without fault." He walked back over to them, getting close to her and running his blood soaked glove over the back of her braids. "A dragon's no different. Little by little your spirit will break until you submit to me." He jerked down and pulled her, forcing a violent kiss. He bit her lip before drawing away. "Best thing after a fight is a good fuck." He smiled deviously but left her. He walked over to the others, to Missandei and grabbed her by the collar of her tunic and dragged her from them.

 

"No!" Daenerys yelled. She tried to stand but Euron's men forced her down. "Leave her alone! You want me! You damn bastard!"

 

All were interrupted when one of the dragons roared violently like before. Everyone looked to the dragons hovering over the ocean to see Rhaegal acting erratically just like before.

 

"No!" Euron threw Missandei aside and rushed to the starboard railing. "You are mine! You are MINE!"

 

Rhaegal took higher to the skies and flew away from it all. He was heading westward… back to King's Landing. 'Go, my child.' Among the dread and pain of that vision she was shown, she saw the moments of joy, when she and Jon flew together in the North. She knew that's where Rhaegal was going, to find Aegon.

 

Euron pressed a hand over his eyepatch and seethed through his teeth. "Lock them all in the brig!" He made for the bridge to his ship but took a look at Rhaegal one last time.

Daenerys looked out to the western horizon. Rhaegal was just a small speck. 'Aegon, help us.'

Notes:

Didn't see that one coming did you

Let me make this clear, My co author and I will explain things more in depth about how the Night King distracted Euron's presence/made the key players forget about Euron in the comment if you ask because it does lack some details, or you can be patient and get the answers in the story later

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