42

Chapter 42: Chapter 41

Notes:

We're still looking for help from someone who knows photoshop

I'll get the moodboard up later. I had to upload the chapter from my phone

Chapter Text

Sansa

'Get back to Dragonstone.' That's what Jon said to her. Except it wasn't until Viserion flew out of the smoke and battle that Sansa wondered how in Seven Hells was she supposed to follow through with that command?

Everything that led her to be riding on the back of Viserion was not at all planned. She saw the dragon flying back at the window of Arya's room and just felt something inside of her urging to ride him. She could not explain it to herself when it happened, just that it felt right.

That same feeling that gave her the courage to face down Viserion when he landed and climb him must have been the same one that guided the dragon into battle. And now it was guiding them to Dragonstone.

The sight of the island brought intense relief to Sansa's heart. The moment Viserion took flight, she was terrified. Even knowing the fight against Euron was over, the prospect of a safe place to rest and recover felt heavenly to her.

Roaring as he descended, Viserion seemed to think the same thing. "Just a little more, boy," Sansa cooed, as if Ghost or Shaggydog, but still very afraid. She stroked the scales in between his spines. "Almost there," although that was meant for herself to hear.

Viserion hooted, a softer cry. Did he understand that?

Sansa supposed he did. It made her smile.

The keep of Dragonstone soon loomed large beneath her. Gazing down at it from dragonback, Sansa drew a whole new level of appreciation for the wonders of the world. From the sky, there was a different sort of majesty that no other castle of Westeros she had ever seen possessed. It was no wonder the Targaryens felt themselves beyond the rules of men or gods, even with the damage that had been done by Euron.

With the momentary awe passed, saw a crowd of people forming outside the gates of the castle. "Down there," she said, "take me down, please!" Viserion grumbled a noise before slowly swooping down.

With a thud, he landed not fifty feet from the crowd, all of whom wore stunned expressions. 'Well, no guesses as to why,' she thought to herself. She'd been quite surprised herself when Viserion came to her and the sheer madness of it all, given she had not one drop of dragon's blood, but Sansa hadn't truly had the time to reflect on everything till now.

With a haste, Sansa carefully climbed down from Viserion's back. The moment her feet touched the ground she took in a deep breath, happy that she was no longer in the terrifying excitement of the took several steps to the crowd of people, but then her strength immediately left her and she fell down to her rear, exhausted mentally from the night she just had.

"My lady!" Lord Varys rushed over fast to help her. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," she said, breathing deeply, "I came from the battle at the Driftmark. Euron is dead."

While the Targaryen loyalists were relieved, it was muted. Mostly from shock. "What has become of Daenerys?" asked Lord Varys, the first to recover his bearings.

Sansa paused. "She was strapped to a shipmast like the colors. Jon went to save her, but Viserion took me away from the battle before I could see what happened." Varys looked back at Lord Tyrion who was standing with a woman in deep red robes. Sansa put together that this woman was the Red Priestess who served Stannis Baratheon whom she heard about. Jon dismissed her at Castle Black before she had arrived, but she could not place a name to her.

"If the battle is won," Tyrion said, "then we should be receiving a raven within the hour."

The Red Woman smiled calmly as she approached Sansa closely, studying her. It almost looked like she was about to cry out of joy. Her eyes then gazed adrift to the smoking horizon, "I can feel that a prayer has been answered this night. We shall see her again." Her eyes drifted to Viserion and then to Sansa and a smirk played at the corners of her lips before she turned on her heel and made for the castle.

Looking up at Viserion's amber eye, Sansa sighed. Feeling her shoulders slump as the tension left them. There was something about those eyes when they looked back at her that reminded her of Lady. some level of understanding between their gazes.

Tyrion walked over to them but kept his eyes on the bronze dragon. "I believe I speak for all of us when I say… Seven Hells."

Sansa just chuckled in spite of herself.

Viserion then stretched out his wings and took flight back into the sky, roaring out to the bay.

Tyrion's eyes kept flickering to the dragon and Sansa. "I'm sure there's a story behind how you… managed this." One that we're all quite eager to hear.

"There is, but it's a rather short one," she shrugged as Varys led her to the castle entrance. "I saw from the Red Keep and there was this feeling that came over me. Somehow I just knew that I had to do something with him. And I did." She felt the slightest squeeze on her arm where Varys held her.

"Does this mean you're his rider from now on? And without any Valyrian blood?" His tone was quizzical, not hostile, but also slightly envious.

Pursing her lips, Sansa looked back at Viserion where he flew. "Perhaps it was just for this one night, to help save my friend. Even so, it was quite the experience."

Varys looked over to her, his usual calm and collected demeanor absent. His eyes were full of something behind them akin to shock and awe. "I would not bury that hope just yet, my lady," he said quietly.

Sansa wondered what made him suggest that, but before she could ask, Tyrion spoke up.

"Given the battle has been won, I expect much to become of this aftermath ahead of us. With both factions of House Targaryen uniting for a single cause, the tensions made just days ago have already begun relieving." Sansa smiled at him as she and the others entered Dragonstone castle through the large doors. "Tell me, if Viserion has indeed chosen you, what are the odds that my favors curried throughout our years might be returned as a passenger into the sky?"

Sansa suppressed a giggle. "I think it all depends if he is fond of you, Tyrion.

"Well I did release him and Rhaegal from their chains… though I guess allowing me to walk away without so much as a spark across my skin was their way of repaying that favor." He made an exaggerated expression of sorrow. "Some dreams are destined to be unfulfilled then."

"That is the nature of some dreams, to remain merely dreams…" The sound of Viserion's roar echoed from outside just before the doors closed behind them. "Or to manifest in ways you never thought to imagine."

"And I thought I have a way with words," Tyrion replied. "The histories will well quote your many aphorisms, Lady Stark. You will become a fondly remembered figure for generations… If the world does not end, that is."

A frown crossed her face at that. A small one, unnoticed, but profound to her. A fondly remembered figure here, but nowhere near that in Jon's past. Histories were written by the victor, but by the glimpses she witnessed everything was rapidly collapsing even before the Night King returned.

Rulers that sowed division even without meaning to always were condemned in posterity. Viserys I came to mind, and his reign was prosperous. Unlike mine.

"I didn't become her." That made Sansa stand straighter.

A hot bath awaited her in the guest quarters given to her, and after letting the simmering water soak away the aches and stiffness of her joints and muscles while leaving her skin clean and soft, Sansa realized how tired and famished she was. She went the whole night without sleep for the battle, but she was also restless. A hot meal rectified that quickly, and by the time she finished, one of the castle staff had informed her, Tyrion, and Varys about a raven scroll from House Martell.

The handmaiden handed the scroll off to Lord Varys, considering that he was the only one among them who was actually part of Daenerys' council. The spider unraveled the scroll and a sigh of relief escaped him. "The Dornish forces have rescued Lady Missandei from the Ironborn at the Witch Isles. She is on her way here now."

"I feared the worst for her," Tyrion commented, "but I am curious why the Dornish came to fight with our forces. I thought the whispers had said they were angry at the loss of Ellaria." Eyes turned to Varys.

"They were. But as we have just heard, these were Martell ships. My little birds have told me that Prince Manfrey had secluded himself in Sunspear since the death of Doran and Tristane."

"And with Ellaria and her bloodlust dead," Tyrion added, "he may no longer need to fear setting foot outside his family home. Regardless of his motive, his rescue of Missandei will gain him much favor."

Sansa set her fork and knife down. "There were Dornish ships at the battle as well. They came in later and helped secure our victory before Drogon killed Euron."

"Then it seems their days of being idle are over," Varys commented as he stood from his seat. "Pardon me, but I must seek to find whispers of these matters." Folding his arms into his sleeves, Varys bowed his head to both Tyrion and then Sansa. He held Sansa's gaze for a few extra seconds, holding back a smirk but his eyes spoke his feelings. He knew something they didn't. What was he plotting?

"Is there something I don't know about?" Sansa asked openly after Varys left the room.

"Tens of thousands of things I imagine," Tyrion said as he sipped his wine, "you'd have to know everything to answer no to that…"

Sansa rolled her eyes at him. "And you're far out of practice with your quips."

"That's because the wine's been away from me for so long." Tyrion set his cup down and sat back in his chair. "I've seen him in an oddly constant company with Lady Melisandre. I don't know what it is, but something happened between them that removed his revulsion to those he once so openly deemed as fanatics."

"Hm…" With warm food resting in her belly, ease started to take her as did the weariness of everything. "I'm going to get some rest now. Perhaps when I wake I can think better about it." There were so many things going through her mind since returning, so many questions and concerns. But now she was finally starting to lose track and want her rest even more.

On her way to her quarters, Sansa noticed Lady Melisandre and Lord Varys standing together watching several of the castle servants carrying what appeared to be a large curtain or maybe a carpet. Both of them observed with delight clear in their faces.

Jon

The aftermath that followed the battle was a rigorous affair. Yara had taken her place as Queen of the Iron Islands, executing the worst of those loyal to Euron and gaining the respect and the rest after displaying how their great King was nothing more than a glorified sailor, not a leader. In the wake of victory, she led the cleanup and salvaging of who survived and what remained of the battle even as the pillars of smoke continued to climb into the sky from ships sinking into the sea.

But Jon was not a part of any of it.

There were no maesters on any ship to help. Even if there were, Jon would let none of them come near Daenerys. Maesters had their uses yet were useless in this single night. Someone like Luwin would be allowed, but Maester Luwin was much like Ned Stark, one man among ten thousand. What the fleet had were a few vessels with medicinal supplies on stand-by for after the battle and while Driftmark was close, it was not close enough. It would take too long to bring the wounded to healers so they had to bring the healers to them. But no maesters, only men without the chain who knew healing. He didn't trust those men any more than Barbrey Dustin did.

Jon didn't need a maester. His years in exile were spent as a caretaker of the Free Folk, learning many of their ways in healing and medicine. One wouldn't think they had any, but thousands of years in winter was no simple life. They had many things to teach him that maesters would think were ridiculous.

Jon's cabin of his flagship was given to Daenerys, his bed made perfect for her treatments. He took care of her as gently and carefully as one should for anyone. Without any handmaiden of the sort, Jon was the one to change Daenerys from her tattered clothes into a warm gown and to look over for any injuries. Now wasn't the time for formalities.

Using clean cloths and water, he bathed her and washed the filth and blood from her body that the ocean did not. There were times that Daenerys winced in her sleep when he washed over a bruise. It made him flinch with worry but he pressed on, finishing with her beautiful hair by washing every last bit of salt out of it.

There were many bruises marking her body from head to toe but nothing serious. Jon had dried red grass brought to him. Most men chewed the stuff for some satisfying release and flavor they got from it but its true purpose was overlooked.

Jon worked without rest to prepare the solution he needed to lift the bruises, using many tools he never even touched before in his first life at this age. People came and went, he wouldn't deny anyone to see her so long as he approved.

Others came and left, some to see him such as Ser Davos and his Kingsguard, others to see Daenerys like Grey Worm and Ser Jorah. But Jon never left. It took him all through the night to prepare and apply his medicine to the bruises. It would only take a few hours but the bruises and the sting they had would be gone.

Jon was done with his treatments and the cabin was filled with a somewhat chill. He covered Daenerys with the warmest of furs and finally found a moment to breathe. He had not slept in two days but he couldn't find any desire to sleep.

He kneeled at Daenerys' bedside, watching her rest peacefully and still worried that there was something he may have missed. He reached out to her hand, holding it softly and stroking his thumb in circles over her knuckles.

The entire time he was next to her, the same thought passed through him as many times he blinked in a day.

'Did I save her?' Daenerys was alive but could they all change? Would the God of Death collect what is owed? Would there be any mercy at the end of fate? He was on his own now that Bran had faded away from the sight. But he didn't feel alone, not when he was with Daenerys.

Daenerys

She was back in the Red Keep again, the crumbled structure of what once was a magnificent palace built by her forebears. It was exactly like her last dream when she was here, including the apparition of her sickly self… her future.

Daenerys walked forward to the apparition and when they were face to face but her future was the only one of them to smile.

The ruins of the Red Keep softly began turning into dust in the wind, repairing into the structure it once was before the demise she would one day wrought upon it.

"Thank you," Daenerys' apparition said with a heartwarming smile. She turned her back and walked away as Daenerys could feel herself wake up. The last thing she saw was her apparition stretch out her hand and a shadow of a child running happily at her.

Daenerys' eyes fluttered open. She felt the damp streaks of tears on her cheeks and a welcoming warmth on her hand. She was in a warm bed in a ship cabin. There were wrappings on her body with thick ointments where she had bruises. She felt wonderful though, out of the fire and water.

The warmth of her hand was not of the soft furs covering her. With a simple turn of the cheek she saw Jon asleep over her bedside, holding her hand in his.

He never left. She didn't know how she knew but she did. Sitting up, she checked her wrappings and found her bruises nearly gone. She would leave them on for just a while longer.

She leaned over to Jon and kissed his cheek. She carefully slipped her hand from his and got out of bed. A part of her wanted to wake him, but the other part thought to let him sleep. He looked so tired.

She found a cloak with a fur mantle to wear, it was Jon's. So warm and smelled of him when she wore it. She pulled it tightly around her, relishing the warmth.

Going barefoot, she walked out to the deck. There weren't many out and about, but they all stopped when they saw her come outside. The morning sun was rising to the eastern horizon, the perfect shape of a circle resting on the flat of the ocean.

She walked over to the starboard railing and looked out of the great fleet and the remains of the battle. Bodies floated in the water, unfortunately she witnessed a shark gruesomely snap one and drag it down into the dark depths. Among the Ironborn ships with Euron's colors, she saw many men being hanged from the boom of the mainmast. At first she thought that it was Euron's doing but she wouldn't have woken up to Jon at her side if it were. Not only that but the Iron Fleet were blotching the red eyes from the kraken on the sails. Yara and Theon had their true fleet now.

They had won. They had beaten Euron and secured the future dynasty of House Greyjoy in their favor. And now House Targaryen was without its temporal enemies distracting from the greater enemy. Yet it felt so surreal to Daenerys. The throne, the clash of armies upon the field or the ocean… It was all she had done in the past years since emerging from the fire with her dragons. All she had thought about, all she had strived for.

Scanning the scene around her, her eyes found Ser Jorah walking over to her at a quick pace.

"Khaleesi," he greeted with eyes filled with relief and a soft embrace she was most welcome to have. "I knew you would return to us."

Daenerys held him longer than she normally would have. After all that had happened, she felt she needed to be with those she loved most now more than ever. "Is everyone else alright?"

"As much as they can be," Jorah told her. "What about you?"

"I don't know," Daenerys said with a near quivering voice. She finally woke up from the nightmare, but the terrible things that happened were real. All the horror, the death. A faint gasp slipped through her lips, and Jorah was able to predict what she was about to say.

"It wasn't your fault, Daenerys." He said fervently. "That was dark magic at work. You were nothing more than a puppet at the whim of a master."

"Jorah…" The feeling weighed down on her too much. "It's because of my fear that I was able to become that. I fled the city into Euron's trap, I let the pain of those visions hold onto me… I failed."

Softly, Jorah took her hands in his and kissed her at the knuckle. "You are still alive, Daenerys. And as long as that is, you have not failed. Tomorrow is a new day, and how you choose to carry on will determine whether or not your words are true. After all I have seen of you, I know you can prove yourself wrong." He smiled gently at her, the calming feeling invited her to hug him softly. Her faithful knight, no matter what.

"Then what do I do today while I wait for tomorrow?" She asked.

"Khaleesi, it's twilight now, not daybreak."

Daenerys looked out to the horizon and indeed saw the sun set, and the last lights being cast on the underbellies of the clouds above.

How ironic of a thing, she realized. She thought it was a sunrise in the west.

"But to heed your words still," Jorah continued, "perhaps it's time you and Aegon faced each other without the throne in mind, or wars, or titles." He nodded at her and took his leave.

Looking out once more to the last light of day, Daenerys pondered if she had the courage to. She had seen a lifetime that ended in betrayal for the both of them. She blinded herself to madness and broke Jon's heart greater than any other man could bear. How could anyone still have love for a monster like that?

'I will love you always.'

Those words bore the same honesty and truth that hurt him to say as it did in the Dragonpit when he refused neutrality to Cersei. He hates to lie…

But what if she could not be what he deserved? What if she broke his heart again?

Taking in a breath, she decided that there was no avoiding it any longer. Tomorrow, all would be settled, either together or apart. She made her way back to the corridors of the ship until she faced the door.

Daenerys knocked upon the wood of the door thrice. She wasn't sure why she did, she could have just walked on in. But this felt more right to her. As for why, she didn't know.

It took a few seconds but she heard the fumbling of a waking man rushing to his feet almost in a slight panic. It made her smile just a little bit, enough that it didn't fade when she heard him reach the door.

The door swung open and Jon stood there with nothing but worry on his face. His breathing stuttered and his lips twitched open as if he had to speak but he was lost for his words.

Daenerys looked up to him and slowly walked into the room. She placed her hand on his, finding them still warm, and closed the door, leaving the two of them alone.

"Did you ever leave?" she asked quietly.

He answered with a slight shake of his head. "Not once."

She staggered. "You came back for me." Daenerys said. "Why? Because I'm your kin? Because it was the right thing to do? Because your guilt brought you here? Or because-"

"I love you," Jon finally said, the words plucking at the strings of Daenerys' heart.

"You promised you wouldn't lie to me."

Jon walked to her, their faces only a foot apart. "I never will, not to you, or anyone again." In his manner of undress, hair tousled from sleep and beard untrimmed, he looked natural. All the walls broken down. "Lying to myself has been the one of the greatest mistakes I ever made in two lifetimes. When I am with you, the world doesn't exist. The Throne, the name, nothing. When I was without you, I couldn't feel anything anymore."

"Then why did you keep away from me? Tell me."

There it came again. She'd seen the expression before on him, starting with the moment they first bore witness of each other at the failed audience. At that moment Daenerys had thought it weakness, only after knowing Jon did she assume he was simply overwhelmed with meeting his Targaryen kin for the first time. But now she knows the truth.

But she waited for him to speak… which finally he did. "I've told you how we met… the first time."

Guilt. It was guilt, his own conscience and soul tearing himself to pieces for the decisions he had made. The greatest of agonies.

"Meeting me, being with me… if you hadn't done any of those, things could have been different the first time. You could have taken the crown, united Westeros, and still saved us. Instead you lost your friends, your dragons, and yourself."

"I don't blame you, Jon…" She had to take a moment to let herself fully let go of the pain she felt of seeing such a memory. Her dream she had in her sleep, seeing the scar upon her apparition's chest and that shadow at the end.

"I blame myself. Every damned day and I couldn't weaken myself enough to end it all." His head turned to her, and he must've seen the horror written on Daenerys's face so he trailed off. "I was scared it would happen again. It hurt every waking moment to see you and force myself to hold back, but never again. I came back for you. Not Westeros, not Winterfell or the Starks, only you, because a world without your love is a terrible place."

Those words, they broke her. Forced to be stoic, to be resolute and fierce as Viserys never was, the dam broke and Daenerys felt the warmth of tears trailing down her cheeks. The same little girl forced on the streets, but a woman now. Sobbing over the shattered fabric of her family. Of what she had become to Jon, and what her love became.

Faced with her sorrow, Jon did what she knew he would. Rush to her, embrace her tightly without regard for himself. "Dany…"

"I don't deserve you," she murmured. "I deserve none of this."

"Do not speak of that… you are the one I chose, the one I loved more than I knew I could love anyone."

"And look what happened." It was a world she never experienced, not like Jon. The images of his vision were disconnected from Daenerys' own memories, but in a sense it was worse. Never would she truly know why she fell into madness. Why everyone she cared for betrayed her. "I can't be sure of anything anymore… Tyrion, Varys… both are my loyal advisors. Missandei and Sansa…" Was it Jon's agony that truly felt the worst of all, or was the woman she befriended, cared about? Was it seeing the ice in her voice and the hate in her eyes directed at Daenerys herself that rocked her the most.

It was both.

"What if you're right? What if they were right to hate me, that this right now is simply denial on their part?" Her voice dropped to a murmur. "What if I am the Mad Queen?"

"I won't let that happen. I will stand against the entire army of the Dead alone if that's what it took."

"Sansa…"

"She won't allow it either." There was hesitation, but then he kissed her brow. It felt wonderful, a wave of calm coursing through her. "I came back for you, to save you, and it turned out could change her path as well."

Taking a deep breath, Daenerys looked up at him. "Did you not think she was redeemable?"

He pursed his lips. "I wouldn't allow myself to believe she was at times. But that was because I didn't understand, I never tried to until now."

"That she loves you?" Daenerys rested her head on his forehead. "You are easy to love, Jon Snow, and it is a wonderful thing when we can."

He sighed. "I thought I could resist you, to let you go for the good of everything, but I can't." Her heart clenched.

"You're not the only one with that feeling." She huffed a laugh and shook her head. "I saw a glimpse of what a wonderful life with you can be. But do you think we can live it?"

Reaching down to cup her cheek, Jon's smile simply shone. "No better place to start than now."

Could she resist? No, Daenerys couldn't. Breaking, she looped her fingers round the nape of his neck and pulled Jon to her lips. Kissing him, which quickly turned heated. One of his hands went to the small of her back, the other into her hair, tangling it. Tongues battling, dancing even.

Drogo, his kisses were dominant, overpowering her.

Daario, he had been flashy, trying to tease.

But Jon seemed simply desperate. Hungry for her, needing her as water to a thirsty man. Daenerys had no further doubts that she had finally come home.

With eagerness she stripped him of his tunic, only to be reminded of something that made her frown, sighing in sorrow. Slowly, Daenerys brushed her fingers upon the scar across his heart. It was but one of many, almost as representative of the agony he had suffered in his life.

Daenerys said nothing, merely leaning forward to press a kiss against his heart. "I love you," she murmured.

His voice caught. "I love you too, Dany."

She soon felt his fingers lifting her chin. Determined to not let anything else stand in her way, knowing this was what both of them needed, Daenerys pushed off the cloak she wore and then the straps of her nightgown. Letting the fabric slide down her skin and gently exposing herself, she soaked in the look in his eyes, transformed from pain to the most rapturous desire at the sight of her.

It made Daenerys feel the most beautiful woman in the world. Jon moved to untie the ties of his trousers, but she stopped him. "Let me." Forgive Daenerys if she was a little more quick about his own clothes. Deftly tugging out the knots, shoving the trousers down his legs, followed by his smallclothes.

Together, they stood, but eyes locked with each other. Daenerys thought her heart would be beating like a hammer against an anvil, but it wasn't. It fluttered softly. Everything was calm and right as it was supposed to be.

They crashed together, bodies flush and lips kissing. Was it he that pulled her on the bed? She that pushed him and tumbled in after? In her haze Daenerys couldn't be sure, but the result was the same. Her astride his hips, Jon's mouth blazing down her skin

He'd loved her for years and across two lifetimes. Daenerys whimpered, bucking against him with her hands tangling in his hair. "I'm here, Jon."

Another time could be to explore. Right now, Daenerys needed to feel him. To know what it was like to be his woman. His Queen. His love.

"I need you," she gasped, reaching down. Fingers wrapping around Jon, guiding his member towards her pulsing heat. "I don't ever want to go back." With that Daenerys sunk atop him and her world set ablaze, forcing her eyes shut from the wave of feelings enveloping her.

No, she wouldn't close her eyes. She pulled her head back and gazed into the eyes of her lover, her destiny.

Love comes in at the eyes.

Daenerys suddenly pushed herself up. She rested her hands on his chest and smiled. "Let me look upon you," her words were soft like the gaze they held with each other. She felt a familiarity of this and as if a long forgotten memory resurfaced, she knew they had looked upon each other before, knowing that they were meant to be together. Her smile widened. "You are mine, and I am yours."

"Always," Jon whispered.

Slowly, she began a pleasing pace. Their eyes locked as she found herself unable to tear away from him, only continuing to rock faster. Taking what she wanted, giving what she most lovingly gave to this man that saved her.

How long were they at this? A simple give and take, her bounces and his rises to meet her. The lewdest of sounds from their bodies and throats, Jon's efforts destroying any effort by any other man to tickle her fancy. Drogo, Daario… any other, none could compare to Jon, her nephew. Only him, only ever him.

He was her greatest conquest, and achievement. Worth more than the damned Iron Throne.

When they tumbled over the side, gasping and pulling herself up to him in a passionate kiss, Daenerys felt as if she were flying. As if she were the dragon, not the dragonrider. A feeling that lasted long since she clenched around him before they rolled over to their sides.

Alongside love and life, Jon had given her hope as well.

Below her, stroking the side of her cheek with all the adoration in the world, it made Daenerys feel herself flawless in Jon's eyes, a heady feeling, and suddenly Jon began to laugh. A gentle snicker turning into mirthful chuckles. Ones that began to vibrate them in place. Daenerys blinked, still smiling but tilting her head confusingly.

His grin was infectious. "Our first time in my past was on a ship as well."

Daenerys' lips curled into a seductive smile, remembering the vision she saw. "And how did… that come about?"

He stroked her cheek with his thumb. "We were making the journey North for the first time. I had… wanted to for the longest time, and finally managed to knock on the door of your cabin."

It was Daenerys's turn to grin like the giddy young girl she was, carefree and madly in love. "Seems I knew enough to wait for you." She played with his hair. "Tell me, were you the one that undressed me, Aegon Targaryen?"

"It was a very joyful moment for me." But then his expression grew sad. "For the longest time it brought me pain, very bittersweet." He kissed her, and Daenerys felt herself going breathless. "Not anymore."

"Let us make more happy memories for you, my love." Daenerys leaned forward and resumed their kiss, not resisting as Jon turned her around.

She felt nothing but rapture after that. Everything in the world felt perfect just for one night for her. The warmth of her lover's body next to hers was perfect, and she had never felt so weightless in her heart and spirit before, it was as if her entire being was of light itself, burning away the sadness, the doubt, and all the other dark things within her.

Rickon

The whole of Winterfell was silent when Rickon walked back within the walls. He wasn't sure why. He expected a great commotion, dozens of people to swarm him asking what kind of fool he was to run away, belittle him for his stupidity, and much more. But there was nothing. Or rather, a few people were going to do all that but stopped short and kept their distance. He didn't know why. He kept his eyes ahead where he wanted to go and didn't spare a second glance to anyone.

He made his way into the castle, to the Great Hall, as though he hadn't even run away at all. He took his seat at the head table and waited for those he expected to filter into the room.

Brienne wheeled Bran inside, but he had her place him with the other lords, giving Rickon the entire table to himself. Lord Reed came in, not sparing courtesies to the other Lords for his arrival as to keep to the mood, and lastly Lady Barbrey who was a light tint of red, but when she saw how quiet it was, she calmed and took her seat.

Once they were all present, Rickon spoke calmly. "I understand what I did was extremely foolish. For that I apologize and hope I can fix any damage I caused. However, my time alone gave me much to think about, and I've come to a decision." He straightened himself up and looked ahead to all those before him. "The past several years have torn the North apart twice over, and it is clear to see that the people have not recovered from the pain of what has been lost. And now they are also afraid of what comes for us all. The dead, the real cold, and who knows what else. I refuse to let this fear fester in my home. If we allow it to, we become frozen and weak when we must be strongest. So to combat this, I will be declaring that on the full moon of our King's return home, we are to celebrate the start of a new holiday in the North, a celebration of life, love, and hope. A night that we take the time to remember what it is we fight for, what we strive to live for. Not gold or land or glory. Family, love, warmth, friends, and peace… it shall be done. That's my final word on the matter."

"Aye!" Lord Forrester nodded and banged his table, many others joining him including Podrick, Lyanna, and Bran.

Rickon raised his hand up. "Now then, Lord Reed was kind enough to inform me of the events I missed in my departure, but news of the attacks with… what was his name again?"

"Euron, my lord," Lord Reed reminded.

"Right. Euron Greyjoy attacked the Dragon Queen but things were… different from what we heard on the road. Was she a prisoner or his ally? The rumors never aligned."

"She was his prisoner," Bran said, "but it wasn't Euron's doing entirely. The Night King used his powers through Euron to take over her mind and her dragons. I was able to free them from his control." The last sentence held a tone of mourning in it. "The battle's been won and Euron is dead."

"What about Daenerys Targaryen?" Lord Umber brought up. "Gulltown was nearly destroyed before King Aegon rode his dragon against hers. Is she still going to tuck tail back to Essos or turn her sights back on Westeros with two dragons?"

"One," Bran corrected with a smirk. "There is a third dragonrider now, and we don't have to worry about Daenerys. I'm more than certain she will join us against the dead."

"Wait," Rickon interrupted, "the other dragon has a rider now? Is there another Targaryen involved now?"

Bran shook his head. "It's Sansa."

In a split second, the calm and patience of the Great Hall erupted into a flurry of commotion and surprise. Rickon's own voice was drowned out by the men and women who exclaimed at the news.

"Quiet!" Rickon banged his fist on the table, shutting up all the lords and ladies. "Say that again, Bran."

Bran was grinning at them all, obviously enjoying the impact of the news. "Sansa is Viserion's rider now." The news shook all into a stuttered silence. "She flew and fought together in the battle."

"How can that be?" Lord Manderly asked. "The Stark have never mixed blood with a Valyrian House before King Aegon and neither have the Tullys!"

"There have been dragonriders in the past who have not been of Valyrian descent. It is not the blood that counts, it is the bond. We don't have to worry. Everything is falling into place as it was meant to."

"What do you mean?" Lyanna asked.

"It's a long story, one that's not mine to tell. Do not fret, my lady. When Jon comes back with Sansa, it'll all make sense. I promise."

The other lords looked amongst themselves, either doubtful or unsure how they were meant to feel.

"Well I believe it," Rickon siad, gaining everyone's attention. "And I believe in Jon enough that we won't have war with the Dragon Queen."

"Of course not," Bran added, "he loves her. And she loves him."

"Good," Rickon said quickly, aiming to close any gap for objection or question. "Then you're right. We've nothing to worry about except for winter and war. Let's all make sure we're doing our best to be ready for both, but not at the expense of exhausting ourselves when we need to be strong."

The northern court dispersed with only several remaining in the hall in small groups, discussing other matters amongst themselves.

Brienne and Podrick both approached Rickon, wheeling Bran over with them. "Are you well, my lord?" Brienne asked.

"Aye. Taming the woods is easier for me than being a lord. But I apologize for causing all the worry."

Brienne smiled lightly. "Rickon, I hope that you know that I'm not just sworn to you as your sword and teacher. If you need counsel or just someone to talk to, it's my duty and my privilege to be here for you."

Rickon nodded to her and Podrick before turning to Bran. "Are you sure things will be alright?"

"You'll see," Bran said, smirking with that kind smile one gives when they know something others don't, "when they get here, you'll understand." The smile died and Bran looked ashamed of himself. "I'm sorry I've been ignoring you, Rickon. That's twice now I failed as a brother."

"What was the first?" Rickon asked.

"Leaving you. If you came with us, you could have gone to Castle Black and been with Jon, anything but being in a dungeon-"

"Bran, shut it. It is how it was and now here we are. Let's just forgive and forget, alright?"

Bran smiled. "I'll make it up to you somehow. My work in the sight is done now. All the answers to the riddles have been found, and now I can focus on helping you instead of sitting by the heart tree all day."

Why was his brother being so vague? "What riddles? Is this something that has to do with Jon?" His brother only raised his brow pondering the answer.

"Yes and no. You'll understand when he comes back."

"When he comes back," Rickon folded his arms, "and the reason you can't tell me is why?"

Bran gives that same knowing smile again. "As someone once told me, words can't convey the true weight of it all. Once you see it, you'll be glad you waited. I promise."

Rickon nearly wanted to grab his brother by the collar and slap the answers out of him, but nevermind then. If Bran said it was going to be such a good surprise then very well. Otherwise another vicious prank would befall unto him. "I should've stayed in the woods."

In the corner of his eye, Rickon noticed someone sitting by herself at the tables in the same place she had been since everyone assembled on his return. A lump started to form in Rickon's throat when his gaze met Lady Barbrey's. That cold glare of hers was always so powerful, but something was different about it now.

"Excuse me," Rickon pushed himself out of his seat and almost cautiously approached his caretaker.

There was heavy silence in the short atmosphere between them that if a pin dropped it would be like a clanging hammer on an anvil.

Barbrey's lips opened and Rickon mentally braced himself for the lecture and the disappointment. He expected this would happen and he deserved it, but at least he was facing it head on instead of avoiding it like a damn coward.

"I'm sorry, Rickon."

He blinked. Did he hear her right?

"When I helped Lyanna become the Lady she needed, it was easier for me. But I didn't think to realize that you're much different. You need someone who understands you like I understood her. I didn't know what I was supposed to be for you, and I failed."

"I wouldn't say that you failed," Rickon replied, "just that maybe you're like everyone else when it comes to all the going ons. We just need a day to breathe is all. And I had more than my share out in the woods, so it's your turn to rest. I have much work to do."

The mood between them still felt shaky, but Barbrey nodded. "As you command, my Lord."

Tyrion

The evening seabreeze was finally clear of the smell of smoke and death from the destruction to Dragonstone and the battle at the Driftmark. Once again, the cold smell of the ocean breathed in through the windows of the castle. And with the falling snow, everything was perfect for a bit of spiced mead heated to a warm steam.

Tyrion sipped his drink, letting the warmth fill his body and the liquor touch him gently like a good lover as he sat by the hearth in the Chamber of the Painted Table. For some reason, things felt as though they were about to change… and yet they would be the same. It was hard for him to explain if he could put it in words. The best way he could would be that he felt like he could finally start being his old self again.

Hearing boots scuff across the stone floor, Tyrion turned to see his brother striding towards him, once again dressed in the gilded armor of Aegon's Kingsguard. "You clean up well," he said with a raised brow and looking back into the fire of the hearth.

Jaime shrugged, now sporting a beard that was trimmed neatly. "Anyone does a day out of the dungeons. At least it wasn't the cage Robb Stark kept me in." He looked perfectly clean and put together, only the graying beard and hair where it had once been pure gold belying a hard life for the dashing knight. There was a momentary silence between them that followed, as Tyrion did not feel that his brother deserved one of seven quips he thought of. "Can I share?" Jaime pointed to the wooden pitcher of steaming mead."

"'May' I share," Tyrion corrected, "honestly, didn't father teach you anything when he taught you your letters?"

"Letters are one thing, grammar is another." Jaime retorted as he took a bullhorn mug and poured himself a share of the mead to the brim. He sat down in the seat across from Tyrion. And drank pleasantly. When he finished, Jaime wiped his mustache dry. "I'm sorry, Tyrion."

"Sorry isn't enough, not for either of us." Tyrion drank another mouthful of his mead. "I killed our father and you robbed me of a life I could have had away from him… I'm starting to think Cersei wasn't actually the worst of Tywin's children."

Jaime didn't answer. He stared off into the fire and took another drink.

"Doesn't bode well for us, I'm afraid." Both brothers shared a chuckle. "Last time I was here was when Robert joined the sail to Pyke…"

A sigh escaped Tyrion and his grip on his horn tightened. "Myrcella had just started walking… she was more innocent than any one of us could ever be."

Jaime broke a smile, likely reminiscing of the days he had with his daughter before her death. "Myrcella was my favorite. Parents aren't allowed to have them but we do… She was most like our mother, most like how I wished Cersei would be."

Tyrion cocked his head. "There's something we agree on then. Aunt Genna was always kind to tell me about mother, but when Myrcella came along, I liked to think that she was reborn in her." Again, the pair were in silence, neither wishing to make the next move.

By the time the mead in their horns was finished, Tyrion finally had the feeling to say something he'd been holding in for years. "I didn't mean to do it. My finger was on the trigger and it just twitched when he called Shae a whore… and then I knew it was too late, and I had to see it through. If I had a second chance, I would have left the moment we said goodbye."

The two brothers locked eyes, both sharing the same regrets of their misdeeds and the desire to take it back, but they could not, and what was made of them now was what would determine their future.

"I don't think we can forgive one another for what we've each done… but," Jaime seemed to struggle speaking then, "I don't hate you for it anymore, Tyrion." Setting the horn back on the table, Jaime stood up and took his leave.

It was getting late anyways. Tyrion placed his horn next to Jaime's and followed after to get to bed. Tomorrow was going to be busy, that much was certain.

But when Tyrion reached the throne room of Dragonstone, he found Jaime frozen in place in the middle. When he reached his brother and saw what he was looking at, Tyrion found himself just as frozen. His mouth became agape at the sight of a great and magnificent tapestry of being hung up upon the wall, overseen by Melisandre and Varys, the latter turned to look at them.

"Surprised, my lords?" He asked.

"Completely," Tyrion replied, stepping closer as if expecting the scene before him to change and be something that was explainable for any other reason than fate or destiny.

Gendry

"Behold how the age of madness comes again at the hands of the dragonspawn!" the crier shouted in his best insulting tone towards the King and Daenerys Targaryen. The crowd certainly didn't seem to disagree. "Since the Mad King's daughter was denied the throne, she will burn all she wanted to the ground and become Queen of the Ashes!" He raised his arms up like some religious preacher.

"Fuck off," Gendry yelled from the crowd, condescending the man. He had only just gotten back last night, but waking up to this nonsense was not something he could ignore. The crowd didn't threaten him, given he sported his warhammer and with an armed knight behind him. "Unless you saw what happened these past days, you'd never understand the truth."

"Ha!" The crier pointed where Gendry stood, "one of the dragonspawn's henchmen is here already to silence what must be said!"

His two guards from Storm's End placed their hands on their swords, but Gendry waved them off. He wasn't interested in bloodshed, it would only prove this second High Sparrow in the making right. "I'm not a bloody henchman, you idiot. I am Gendry Baratheon, son of Robert and Lord of Storm's End, and I was there at the battles, I saw what manner of dark magic played into them!" He pushed his way forward, halfway through the people parted ways for him.

The crier was dressed shabbily, not necessarily a septon but his ragged robes certainly gave off that impression. Nevertheless, he sounded quite eloquent, as if he had an education. "Of course you would say that! It was the dragons that raised you from being a common bastard into the riches of the Stormlands, so of course you are loyal. Of course you lie for them!" He gestured off to the North. "But tell that to the people of Gulltown. The innocents much like those around us whom she burned!"

"That is not…"

Interrupting him, the crier spread out his arms. "The dragons are demons! Spawn of the Mad King, sent to burn all who reject their tyranny!" Some in the crowd shouted at him. Others were quiet, murmuring among themselves, but the presence of a few survivors of Gulltown had lent his claims credence.

Gendry found himself at a loss for what to say. Just a year ago he had been among the faceless mass of smallfolk, led around by whomever seemed to sound the most correct. Looking at his men, mayhaps the best way was to cut this man down before he could spread more of his poison…

"Fuck off, cunt!" A man shouted from the crowd. He was rail thin and looked ancient, as if alive since the first days of the Mad King's reign. "Go toss yourself in the fuckin' bay with the rest of the city's shit!"

"You dare speak such words to me?!" the crier demanded.

"I have seen the creatures of death from the North! I have seen what manner of magic their commander has! Daenerys Targaryen and her dragons were possessed by a dark spell! Who is to blame then? The puppet or the puppeteer?"

"Lies!" The crier shouted.

"Let him talk," Gendry ordered. "I let you speak, you must do the same for him."

Holding up one hand, the other gripping the cane, the old man gestured to the skies. "This time is a time of magic, a time of wonders both terrible and great! Aegon Targaryen and Daenerys Targaryen brought forth these glorious wonders, and fought those nightmares from the depths of the seven hells. They are not liars, and disbelieve anyone to tell you differently!"

His reasoned words were driving the crier mad with anger. "The foreign queen is a woman of greed! Conquering the People of Slaver's Bay and setting her eyes upon our great lands! She will not stop until the world is hers!"

Turning around, the old man looked at him puzzlingly. "Who are you?" he demanded in a way that asked who in Seven Hells let him open his big mouth and say the most moronic things that came out. "Quit trying to cause a panic just for an extra coin in your purse, idiot!"

The crier kept raving on, even as the crowd he gathered was dispersing, although it didn't look like many were convinced. Grinning at the fool, Gendry turned to look for the old man, only to see that he had vanished. That was… odd for someone so feeble with a cane.

Shrugging, Gendry didn't dwell on it. Leaving the fool to his rantings, he headed back for the road with his guards following. "Either of you seen men like him before?" He asked his guards.

"They come and go, milord," the older of the two said.

Regardless of the demise of this crier and his words of treason against the Crown, things overall were not looking well for the Dragon Queen. Gendry believed in King Aegon, but even after the battle and the truth known to him, simply saying it wasn't Daenery Targaryen's fault directly wouldn't settle the hearts of Westeros. They would want justice and consequences done on her.

Sighing, Gendry realized he needed to go somewhere to take a breather. Maybe get a drink and some good mead. There was a tavern nearby that was the favorite of hundreds of locals, especially now that it was getting closer to lunch.

"Come on," he told his guards, "I'm sick of castle food." The Red Keep had food more delicious than anything he'd ever eaten, but that was the problem. It was all so rich and seemed unobtainable. He preferred the simpler things. Instead of a spiced quail perfumed with herbs and aged something or another, he just wanted a simple plate of roast chicken and potato soup, and that's exactly what he had with a good tankard of foaming beer.

The other part he missed was the company. The nobles in the red keep at dinner were always so quiet and proper, but here it was boisterous and jovial. Ten conversations being said at once and anyone could just join in when they wanted.

"Oy, you, Baratheon!" Someone said, earning Gendry's eye and a few around him. By the looks of it, the man approaching him was a bard, or else the lute slung to his back was just a new style of fashion of the smallfolk. "I saw you at that crier before," he sat down near Gendry, "you said you were in the battles, tell me more. I'm makin' a song about all this. Late Tywin's gonna rise from the grave when it beats Rains o' Castamere."

"I want to hear too," another man said from a table across, coming over with his mug and several others, "we were stuck on City Watch instead of going out to join the fighting." A few other men and some women began forming a crowd around him.

"I was just at Driftmark, not Gulltown." Gendry said after washing down his chicken with some beer. "But it's like I said before," he told the bard, "there was dark magic at work. Davos Seaworth told me that Aegon found out Euron Greyjoy obtained magical powers and used them to control the dragons and Daenerys Targaryen. That's the only reason she would have burned Dragonstone and Gulltown was being under someone's control. But she broke free after Gulltown, and Euron tied her to his ship mast like she were his new colors on display. She was a prisoner, not a monster."

The people around him all took his words considerably, the Bard writing some of it down on a parchment. "And what happened to the Dragon Queen? I heard she died in the battle…"

"No, King Aegon saved her from drowning, and… I didn't see what happened, but the other sailors talk about how Aegon prayed for a miracle, and he got it."

"Oh, I love the sound of that," the bard said with a grin, "that should do well for a song, I know it."

"What you mean?" a woman asked. "The way that ended just has me thinkin' questions on what happens next."

"It does," the bard agreed, "but… ever since King Aegon took his place on the throne… Everything's felt better and alright more than usual. I've got a good feeling that it's not over just because of the mess. I have faith in that, mark my words if I don't… oh that's good too." The bard wrote down that bit on his paper and stood up to leave without another word.

Many of the people who came around lingered with Gendry for more conversation, asking about his direct involvement in the battle and how he fought against the Ironborn, and things even led to him telling how he was liberated from Dragonstone and rowed a boat all the way back to the city.

By the end of his meal, the entire tavern was talking all about the mysteries and possibilities of what would become of their future with Daenerys Targaryen lingering by, but now it was in a good light.

Gendry was finding this rather odd. People don't usually let hope guide their thoughts like this. Fear always gripped at them first. Something was happening that he couldn't explain.

His suspicions were further grown when just before entering the richer district of the city between him and the Red Keep, there was another town crier, a woman this time clade in a bright orange and red dress, proclaiming calm to the people about the rumors of Daenerys Targaryen and her dragons.

There was a moment as he walked by that the crier caught his eyes and gave a ghost of a smile at him, like she knew something he didn't. Regardless, he didn't linger on it, instead pressing onward to return to the Red Keep, passing by a cart heading into the city bearing Silent Sisters and bodies wrapped in linens, wounded who did not pull through from the final battle.

After a long day, Gendry was finally back in his solar. The moment he sat down in the chair behind his desk, a great weight seemed to fall away as his lungs suddenly collapsed in a great sigh of relief. Now it finally set in that the fighting was done. He hadn't realized how tense and alert he had actually been the whole day. It was as though he were waiting on a moment's notice for a new notice of another battle to be fought.

He brushed a hand over his face, leaning into it on the armrest on his chair while gazing blankly out ahead thinking what to do now?

His eyes caught sight of a pile of raven scrolls on the desk, more missives from the Storm Lords no doubt. He was supposed to have gone to the Stormlands by now to meet his people and his half brother were it not for the battles delaying him. In truth, part of him was rather glad that he didn't. He was still too nervous about this whole thing. Arya was right, he did accept the proposition to be Lord a bit too fast, but he did what he had to and he would see it through.

Reaching for the closest scroll, Gendry sat up and broke the seal, reading forth what news came his way. To his uplifting, it was from Edric. His half brother was successful in tracking down their last two surviving kin. Their sisters were indeed alive and well and agreed to meet him. A bright smile came to his face as he immediately took three separate pieces of paper and his quill and ink to write his responses to the locations specified. One to Storm's End, one to the Redfort, and one to the Stoney Sept.

However, it wasn't until he got halfway through writing the first scroll that he realized he hadn't a clue when and where to plan this would be. He'd be too busy at Storm's End catching up on his duties with his men and not there for long as according to Davos, the journey to Winterfell was going to be soon underway.

Gendry set his quill down and tapped his fingers on his desk. Even trying to meet his family was proving difficult to do.

Perhaps he needed another day to calm his mind down long enough to think. But he wasn't going to sit around doing nothing either.

Without another thought, Gendry left his room at a quick pace, striding through the halls until he was at Arya's door. He knocked and called through. "Arya? It's me." But there was no response. "Arya?" Slowly, he eased open the door, peeking in only to find that there was no one inside.

This was odd. He knew that her condition would have her confined to bed for at least several more days. Perhaps she was getting looked at by Qyburn?

Instead of leaving to go look, Gendry wandered inside, shutting the door behind him. He'd never actually been in her room except the once after the attack. Even then, he was completely focused on her. He didn't see what she surrounded herself with. There wasn't much.

On a bookshelf were less than a dozen books, all of them were about history but in places across Essos instead of Westeros. On the nightstand next to the bed was a set of five throwing knives and on the wall across from the bed was a bag stuffed with straw that had a drawing of a prissy looking blonde woman. It was probably Cersei, though it could only be a guess since the entire face was ripped apart with strikes from the knives.

"My my," Arya said and Gendry spun around to see her standing in the doorway with a large rucksack slung over her shoulder, "never thought you were the type to creep into a woman's room." Her voice was still strained and weak, but it was there.

"I thought you were still too hurt to be out of bed."

Arya shrugged and walked in. "I had work to do." she sent the rucksack down against the foot of her bed before falling flat on the furs with an arm covering her eyes. "Head's still ringing like a bell though."

Gendry rolled his eyes, upset at her carelessness for her own wellbeing. He noticed that the mouth of the rucksack fell open, exposing a few items that seemed out of place together. A bundle of clothes, a cane, a lute… "Where've you been?" He asked suspiciously.

"Nowhere, just out and about." She said with a smirk. "I heard the people are starting to get their hopes up about Daenerys. Word's been spreading fast that she was under control of dark magic."

"So I noticed…" he reached into the rucksack and pulled out the lute. "I met a man today who had a piece just like this one…" his eyes narrowed as he saw deeper into the bag. "And there was a crier who wore a dress just like that one…"

"That's quite a coincidence," Arya replied, "because everything there was just left in a pile in the city. Sounds like some fools got drunk and naked." She sat up and rubbed at her temple as Gendry reached in again. "You won't like what you see if you keep looking deeper."

Gendry paused, but didn't look away from the sack. "What will I see if I do?"

"What I really am."

There was hesitation, almost a withdrawal, but Gendry reached in and felt the texture of leather against his fingertips. Grabbing what was there, he pulled out a leather satchel. He opened the top and felt his breath lost when he saw inside. He pulled out what someone watching would have maybe thought to be a mask, but up close and holding it in his hands, Gendry knew that it was real skin.

"You're a Faceless Man?" He looked at her with shock.

"Not officially," she said patiently.

Setting the face bag in the satchel, Gendry took a step away from the rucksack. "That's…" he couldn't think of a word for it.

"Horrifying? Inhuman? Terrible?" Arya said for him.

"No… I'm not disgusted by it, but not impressed either. I don't know what this feeling is." Gendry searched his mind for a word he learned in his lessons for this, but he couldn't find anything. "I think it's more like I don't care." It was the best way he could put it, and clearly Arya looked confused whether or not to be offended by that. "What I mean is… you're still you, and I love you." Maybe he should have stayed in the forges after all. It would be years before he could lead a kingdom if this was how he would be able to conduct meetings with powerful men.

Arya, of all ways to react, sat up and walked over to him. Gendry felt his body instinctively move and met Arya for a kiss between them.