Chapter 38: The Little Wolf

Early, 301 AC

The sea was restless beneath the shadow of Dragonstone, waves crashing against the jagged rocks that crowned the ancient Targaryen fortress. The winds carried the scent of salt and storm, mingling with the faint, ever-present hint of ash—a reminder of the dragons that called this island home.

Aemon Targaryen stood atop the battlements, his gaze fixed on the horizon. The grief of the Red Wedding still burned within him, a constant, simmering flame that threatened to consume him. But his purpose was clear. He would bring fire and blood to those who had wronged his family, and he would unite Westeros against the darkness that loomed beyond the Wall.

But fate had other plans.

The Escape from King's Landing

Far across the Narrow Sea, chaos had erupted in King's Landing. The opulent halls of the Red Keep had become the scene of a royal tragedy—King Joffrey Baratheon lay dead, his face twisted in agony from poison, as the Purple Wedding descended into madness.

In the chaos, Sansa Stark slipped away, her heart pounding with a mix of fear and hope. For months, she had been a prisoner in all but name, enduring the cruelty of Joffrey and the Lannisters. Now, with the city in turmoil, her moment had come.

Guided by Petyr Baelish, the man who had long lingered in the shadows of her family's downfall, Sansa fled through secret passages and hidden corridors, slipping past guards distracted by the king's death.

"Trust me, my lady," Baelish whispered as they boarded a small, swift ship in the cover of night. "I will take you to safety. To the Vale."

Sansa nodded, her mind a whirlwind of emotions. She did not trust Baelish, not fully. But he was her best chance to escape the city that had stolen everything from her.

Intercepted by Dragons

Their ship cut through the waters of the Blackwater Bay, aiming to skirt the coasts and head north toward the Vale. But fate was not on their side.

As dawn broke over the horizon, a shadow fell across the waves. The unmistakable roar of a dragon echoed through the air, sending a shiver of terror through the crew. Above them, Ancalagon, the mighty black dragon, circled with wings outstretched, his eyes gleaming with predatory intelligence.

Before the sailors could react, Unsullied ships appeared on the horizon, sleek and swift, bearing the banners of House Targaryen.

"We're trapped," Baelish hissed, his eyes darting for any possible escape. But there was none.

The Unsullied boarded their ship with ruthless efficiency, their spears gleaming under the rising sun. Sansa's heart pounded as she was seized, her mind racing with fear. But when she heard the soldiers speak of Dragonstone, a flicker of something else stirred within her—curiosity.

Baelish tried to bargain, his silver tongue weaving promises of alliances and loyalty, but the Unsullied were unmoved. Bound and escorted, they were taken to Dragonstone.

Reunion at Dragonstone

The great hall of Dragonstone was as cold and imposing as the fortress itself. The black stone walls seemed to absorb the light, casting long shadows that danced in the flickering torchlight.

Aemon sat upon the throne, his eyes sharp and calculating as the prisoners were brought before him. Daenerys stood beside him, her expression unreadable, while Missandei observed with quiet curiosity.

When Sansa was led into the hall, her heart stopped.

She knew that face. The dark eyes, the stubborn set of his jaw, the way he held himself with quiet authority—it was impossible.

"Jon?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Aemon's eyes widened as recognition dawned. "Sansa?"

In an instant, Sansa broke free from her captors, rushing across the hall. The Unsullied moved to intercept, but Aemon raised a hand, stopping them.

Sansa threw herself into his arms, tears streaming down her face. "I thought you were lost. I thought…"

Aemon held her tightly, his own emotions threatening to overwhelm him. "It's a long story," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "But you're safe now."

Daenerys watched the reunion with a mixture of curiosity and unease. This woman—this Stark—had a claim on Aemon's heart that she did not fully understand. Missandei observed the tension, her sharp mind already considering the political implications.

For a long moment, the hall was silent, save for the soft sounds of Sansa's quiet sobs. When she finally pulled back, her eyes searched Aemon's face, as if to confirm he was truly there.

"How is this possible?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "You're... You're a Targaryen?"

Aemon nodded slowly. "Yes, Sansa. My name is Aemon Targaryen. But to you, I will always be Jon."

Sansa's heart swelled with a mixture of relief and confusion. "I thought I had lost everyone."

"You haven't lost me," Aemon promised, his voice firm. "And you never will."

A New Beginning

In the days that followed, Sansa adjusted to life at Dragonstone. She was no longer a prisoner but a guest—and soon, much more. Aemon, recognizing the strength and resilience she had gained in King's Landing, took her into his court. Their bond, forged in childhood and tempered by hardship, grew stronger with each passing day.

Daenerys watched this closeness with a wary eye, but she understood. She had distanced herself from the court to focus on their daughter, Visenya, and she knew Aemon needed a queen by his side. After a private conversation filled with unspoken tension and mutual respect, Daenerys accepted Sansa's place in their lives.

And so, in a quiet, solemn ceremony, Aemon married Sansa, making her his second queen. The North and the Targaryen legacy were united in a way no one could have foreseen.

But the road ahead was still fraught with danger. Aemon knew that to truly consolidate his power, he would need to rally the Northern houses—and to do that, he needed to find Rickon Stark.

As the banners of House Targaryen and House Stark flew side by side over Dragonstone, Aemon prepared for the next chapter in his conquest. The dragon and the wolf had united, and Westeros would soon feel the fire and fury of their combined might.