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Chapter Text

The Flag of the Second Great Empire of the Dawn

The Small Council of the Six Kingdoms sat at the table in the Small Council chamber of the rebuilt Red Keep, looking with a mixture of emotions at the representative of the Iron Bank who had come to treat with them.

Tyrion sat at the head on one side, as befit his position as Hand of the King. Next to him sat Bronn, the Master of Coin, though Tyrion privately thought Bronn was terrible at his job- but he was loyal, which was a trait few could say nowadays. Next to Bronn sat Davos, the master of ships, one of the few members who Tyrion actually trusted. Next to Davos sat Ser Brienne of Tarth, Lord Commander of the Ravensguard. Always torn between duty and honor, Tyrion knew Brienne, even if she privately might be concerned with the rule of Bran, would only betray him in the worst possible circumstances.

On the right sat the least qualified Grand Maester in the history of the realm. Chainless and expelled from the Citadel, Samwell Tarly had somehow held onto his position these last six years through what Tyrion could only assume was sheer, dumb luck- or, possibly, a prior arrangement with the King.

Next to Sam sat the two newest members of the Council. Serving as Master of Laws was Ser Garth Hightower of Oldtown. His selection had been as much a political appointment as anything else- the Hightowers were one of the most powerful houses in the Reach and with the death of the Tyrell family and Bronn’s ascension as Lord of Hightower, Lord Paramount of the Reach, and Warden of the South, to help keep the Citadel in check due to their continuing outrage over Samwell Tarly’s appointment and flounting of their rules and laws, the Hightowers had been granted the role.

Next to Ser Garth sat the final member of the council. The Master of War, Yohn Royce. As Bran was capable of seeing any and all plots before they happened, the Master of Whispers position was viewed as redundant, but as the Small Council traditionally had seven members, the Master of War position was filled instead.

Tycho Nestoris of the Iron Bank sat opposite Tyrion. He smiled as pleasantly as he could, but a visit by the Iron Bank was never anything welcome.

“To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?” asked Tyrion with as much false welcome in his voice as he could muster. “We are glad to see our friends in the Iron Bank have survived the political transition in Braavos intact.”

“We are fortunate,” agreed Tycho, though Tyrion knew he was lying through his teeth. The Iron Bank was too large an institution for even their new overlords to ever actually threaten so directly. “But as is the way of Essos lately, Braavos recognized the winds of change, and bent to fate.”

“I’m sure,” agreed Tyrion.

The news from Essos had been of great suprise to Westeros. It had started as whispers out of the farthest east- that the ancient nations close to the Shadowlands beyond Asshai, Yi Ti and Leng, had both bent the knee to a new ruler called the Amethyst Empress, who had marched out of the Shadow with powerful armies- and dragons. The Asshai had always said dragons lived in the Shadow, and apparently that had been true. The number of dragons was unclear, but it was definitely more than one.

The Amethyst Empress had proclaimed the rebirth of the mythical Great Empire of the Dawn, though most just called it ‘the Empire’. Her legions, so they were called, had continued their conquest westward. In but a few short years, her armies swelling with every conquest, all of Essos had joined the Empire. Some by conquest. Some fully willingly. Some by a combination of the two.

The Bay of Dragons had been the first lands to bend the knee of their full free will- well, somewhat. The slavers had taken back over after word of Daenerys Targaryen’s death had reached them, but the slaves had risen back up with Imperial support and joined the Empire willingly.

From there the Empire had swept into the- now former- Free Cities. Volantis, mightiest of them all, had been first to fall. Most of the rest, now dreading the day the Imperial legions arrived at their gates with dragons overhead, had bent the knee completely willingly. Braavos had been among the last, but by all accounts, the most eager- the Empire was fiercely anti-slavery, and the Iron Bank had integrated itself into the new order like the parasitic worm it was, becoming the primary treasury for the vast wealth of the Empire.

Most of the rest of the known world uniting under one nation was not missed by the Westerosi kingdoms, and they feared the day that Imperial armies might board ships and came across the Narrow Sea. Privately, Tyrion thought- and he knew Davos and Brienne agreed- that they were probably fucked if they did. Westeros had been unable to fend off one dragon, and the Empress had at her disposal a great many.

And it was obvious Essos was falling under her rule more firmly. Less and less ships came into the harbor with the sigils and coats-of-arms of their former independent nations, and more and more with the Imperial sigil- an amethyst on a white field. Even many of those that had different sails flew the Imperial flag now- the amethyst to the left of a white field, the right-most side bearing an amethyst stripe.

Westeros was still weak and the Six Kingdoms divided. Even with winter lifting its spell from the continent, they were not at all ready to resist a foreign invasion. Dorne was more unruly than ever, and Tyrion was sure they would be declaring independence relatively soon. The Iron Islands had apparently remembered Daenerys’s agreement to make them independent the moment Yara set foot on Pyke again, and had declared herself Queen of the Iron Islands. Yara had playfully remarked in her letter that she had “kind of forgot.” Gendry Baratheon, bless him, was learning on the job, but he was one of the few Lords Paramount doing well. Bronn was a disaster in the Reach, only propped up by Tyrion keeping the most powerful Reachman houses mollified. The Westerlands were Tyrion’s in name only, and they despised him for his murder of his own father. The Riverlands were only beginning to heal now that spring was here. The Crownlands were still laboriously recovering from the War of the Five Kings, the War of the Two Queens, and the Burning of King’s Landing. Only the Vale remained intact, though its wars with its mountain clans had become more even now that a great many of their famous knights had perished at the Battle of Winterfell.

Of the two realms on the continent, the North was still relatively stable, though Tyrion privately suspected that was because Sansa’s carefully managed food stores, designed to last the entire North for five years, had been able to be stretched thanks to the fact that her kingdom had suffered a great loss of life in the invasion of the White Walkers. Work on repairing the Wall went well, though Tyrion doubted it would ever truly be needed again. Sansa, at least, seemed to remember that the White Walkers had been thought defeated once before. The South didn’t send men to the Night’s Watch anymore. Bran just didn’t seem to care.

It was not helped that Bran was, Tyrion had come to suspect, a terrible choice for king. He cared little, if any, for the state the Six Kingdoms had found themselves in. Starving, angry peasants… the resurgent Faith of the Seven and their anger at a ‘follower’ of the Old Gods being King… greedy merchants. Bran preferred to lose himself in the past, rather than the future. Only the Empire’s conquest had truly seemed to interest him. Specifically, he was concerned that he could not see the Empress, or near her, and as her influence grew, his sight diminished. It was increasingly hard for him to peer into Essos now.

Normally in a kingdom with a disinterested ruler, things would then fall on the Hand, but Tyrion was too despised for most of Westeros to listen to him. Cersei’s supporters and the ones who had opposed Daenerys hated him for ‘bringing her’. Everyone else hated him for betraying her.

And still doubts whispered at the back of Tyrion’s mind about that day, the day Daenerys had gone mad and destroyed the city, the day Tyrion had convinced Jon to kill her. It had only truly become apparent to Tyrion that that day was uncommonly celebrated to everyone other than a few in Westeros when he had read Samwell Tarly’s so-called “historical” book.

Far beyond Tyrion having not been mentioned at all- a fact that honestly impressed him as much as it infuriated him, given his checkered yet important contributions to the years- Daenerys had been turned into history’s greatest monster. Things Tyrion knew were not true. That she bathed in blood. Sacrificed nobles by the thousands for sexual pleasure. Laid with horses, and had laid repeatedly with Viserys, murdered him, nearly bore his child, miscarried it only to eat it, and then burnt her husband as a sacrifice for dragons. Tyrion at times was tormented by nightmares of a bloodthirsty queen with glowing red eyes and blood running from her mouth, turning to a shy young woman who offered him a pin shaped like a hand. He had no clue how they had reached that point. Sometimes he dreamed of a spider with blood dripping from its fangs, the blood bursting into flame when it hit the ground.

Tyrion knew Samwell hated Daenerys for killing his father and brother, but to go so far, to attempt to rewrite history, all because of the execution of his family...

Though Tyrion disagreed with the method of execution, he did not dispute that the deed had, perhaps, been fully justified. Oathbreakers were executed, and Daenerys had been far more merciful than she had needed to be by rights, given that the Tarlys had betrayed House Tyrell, sacked their castle, and helped kill the last few scions of that family.

Tyrion looked at Tycho interestedly, shaking himself out of his reverie. “It isn’t often the Iron Bank sends a representative. How can we help you?”

“I have been sent to inform you of an alteration to the debt,” said Tycho. Tyrion frowned. The debt had been being paid regularly and on time. To prevent the risk of further instability. Especially now that Braavos flew the Imperial flag, and thus could call on the might of the Empire’s legions to bring Westeros to heel.

“What sort of alteration?” asked Tyrion.

“You no longer owe the Iron Bank anything. Rather, the Amethyst Empress has seen fit to purchase the debt from the Iron Bank. She and her court are the ones who you shall pay now.”

Tyrion thought that over. That rather complicated matters. The Iron Bank, despite its might, was a bank. Banks cared for the sweet song of numbers, not politics. So long as the debt was paid regularly, they were content.

The Empire represented a rather different animal entirely. They could call it in full tomorrow and use the inability to pay as justification for immediate invasion.

“Why?” asked Davos simply.

“Her Majesty’s whims are not our purview to guess,” said Tycho simply. He stood. “I believe that is all.” He bowed and left.

“Is this good or bad?” asked Bronn, showing his stellar incompetence at the role of Master of Coin.

“We can't guess their motives,” said Tyrion. “Perhaps the Empire is merely buying the Iron Bank’s favor… or perhaps they’re seeking to throttle us and invade us.”

“Can the King tell us anything?”

Tyrion privately thought no, but expressing such sentiments might be considered treason to the right ears. “Perhaps. We should consult with him.”

Davos shot Tyrion a glance that indicated he shared Tyrion’s thoughts.

“I think that’s all on the agenda for now,” said Tyrion. They all stood. Tyrion started to make his way to the throne room, where the King was usually perched upon the platform that allowed his wheelchair to serve as a throne. Davos followed him, falling into step beside as they entered the throne room.

Tyrion glanced up at the repaired window, inside of which was hung an iron symbol that looked like a raven.

“I cannot tell you why the false Empress has purchased our debt,” said Bran in his ethereal manner. Tyrion sighed. Of course Bran had been watching the meeting. But again he referred to the Amethyst Empress as the ‘false Empress.’

“You keep calling her the False Empress,” said Tyrion. “What is so false about her?”

“The only one that could truly have restored the Great Empire died alone, childless and betrayed,” Bran said.

“And who was that?”

Bran gave a slight smile. “It doesn’t matter now. Destiny was fulfilled. She was pierced by the spider’s fangs in its death throes, and they ran with the venomous blood of serpents.”

Another riddle. “What should we do about this?” asked Davos, more to Tyrion.

“I have been thinking about this matter,” said Bran. “I cannot see her… my knowledge is limited. Perhaps it is time we follow the example set by Lord Varys, and seek out a different sort of little bird.”

“To do so,” said Tyrion, “we would need a Master of Whispers.”

“We do not have time, I fear. The reckoning is coming soon. I need information.” Bran looked at Tyrion. “We need someone to meet her.”

Tyrion paled. “I am your Hand,” he said. “I should remain at your side.”

“I can’t trust any of the rest of them. Not to successfully gain what I need to prove her fake.”

“And what do you need?”

“Her eye color. The Gemstone Emperors always were named for the color of their eyes… the last Amethyst Empress had a very specific eye color. Her last true heir shared it. If she does not have that color… she is fake.”

“Anyone could tell you an eye color,” said Davos.

“But only Tyrion could keep why he is there secret. It cannot be the true Lightbringer. We need to know that they are fake… and then sunder her empire. This is an order. You shall sail within the week. She has set up her court at Volantis for now.”

Tyrion bowed, unable to refuse an order- and keep his head. He and Davos left.

“I’ll be coming with you,” said Davos. “Somebody’s gotta keep you from bankrupting the Six Kingdoms through whores.”

Tyrion nodded, though he was sure Davos had a different thought.

Neither were sure if they would bother sailing back to this failing land. Tyrion long ago would have fled North if he could.

Black Betha, Davos’s new ship- tastefully named the same as his old one, which had sunk at the Battle of the Blackwater- made port in Volantis. At once the port authorities accosted them.

“I am Lord Tyrion Lannister,” said Tyrion. “Hand of the King to King Bran of House Stark, of the Six Kingdoms of Westeros. This is Ser Davos Seaworth, Master of Ships. We seek an audience with Her Imperial Majesty, the Amethyst Empress.”

The port magistrates exchanged a glance. “We will send word to the Imperial Palace,” said their chief. “Please wait on your ship.”

It was an hour or so later that a group of heavily armed soldiers, with spears, swords, and heavy violet shields came down. They were led by a man in splendid armor and a flowing purple cape. On his back was a greatsword, pale like moonlight.

“Imperial Guard,” warned Davos to Tyrion as soon as he spotted them. Even in Westeros they knew of that group. The Imperial Guard were the personal bodyguards of the Amethyst Empress. Their closest equivalent in the Six Kingdoms was the Ravenguard, but there were more of them- two thousand, Tyrion had heard.

“Tyrion Lannister,” said the man at their head.

“I am,” agreed Tyrion.

“Davos Seaworth,” said the man to the Onion Knight.

“Aye,” agreed Davos.

“What business does the Broken King have with Her Imperial Majesty?”

“We have been told that the Empress has purchased our debt from the Iron Bank,” said Tyrion. “We are here to discuss what she intends to do with it.”

“Is that all of why you’re here?” asked the man skeptically.

Tyrion nodded as convincingly as he could. “It is a great change in matters. We would like to maintain positive relations with the Empire.”

“Would you?” The man looked at Tyrion with calculating purple eyes. It caused a shiver in Tyrion. Purple eyes… his nightmares of a young shy woman offering him a pin seemed to become more vivid. “You are to come with us.”

“Understood,” said Tyrion. The Imperial Guard fell into positions around them as they were taken through Volantis. Last time Tyrion had been here, red priests had been preaching that Daenerys Targaryen was the promised one who would remake the world. She certainly had tried, Tyrion mused.

The townsfolk- many of whom still bore slave tattoos, even if they were obviously no longer enslaved- cleared out of the path. They were led to the Imperial Palace, a large structure constructed by the Empire to serve as their headquarters.

“We’re out of sight,” said one of the Imperial Guards in a heavy Volantene accent when they were through the outer gates.

The commander nodded. “Shackle them,” he said.

At once Tyrion and Davos were seized. Guards shackled the two of them, hands and feet. “We’re envoys!” protested Tyrion.

“Or spies,” said the commander.

“Who are you?” asked Davos. “Your accent is Dornish.”

“I am the Lord Commander of the Imperial Guard,” said the man. “Her Imperial Majesty’s uncle. Ser Arthur Dayne.”

A name from the grave.

“The Sword of the Morning,” said Tyrion. “You were part of the Targaryen Kingsguard. You… died.”

“I did,” agreed Arthur Dayne. “But death is not always the end of life.”

“Not for those chosen by our Lord,” said a mysterious voice from the doors. Out stepped a woman in a long red robe. Tyrion’s eyes instinctively flicked to the low cut exposing her ample cleavage, but he was not fool enough to allow any fantasies of bedding a red priestess. Especially not this one.

“Lady Kinvara,” said Tyrion hesitantly. She was part of the reason Tyrion had been scared of coming to Volantis.

“Tyrion Lannister,” greeted Kinvara. She knelt down and caressed Tyrion’s face. “Do you fear me?”

“Last time we met, you were preaching on behalf of Daenerys Targaryen,” responded Tyrion. “You swore that if we served the same queen, I had nothing to fear from you.”

“And then you betrayed our queen,” responded Kinvara. “And so now you fear me. You are wise to do so… but in this, you are misplaced. The Empress wishes to meet with you… and she is the one you should fear.”

Something was nibbling at the back of Tyrion’s mind, but he shelved it. It was not the time to be distracted. He was in danger, he knew.

Did Bran know? Was this his plot to get rid of his troublesome Hand? Was Tyrion even troublesome?

“You say you’re the Empress’s uncle,” said Davos. “That would make her father your brother?”

“My sister Ashara, her mother,” responded Arthur.

“I remember Lady Ashara,” said Tyrion. “I saw her at the Tournament at Harrenhal. She was sitting in a box with Prince Rhaegar and Princess Elia Martell.”

“She was,” agreed Arthur.

“She danced with Eddard Stark. Was he her father? I’m familiar with her siblings, in that case.”

“You are familiar with one of her siblings.” Arthur smirked. “Ashara was more to Prince Rhaegar than lady-in-waiting to his wife.”

“Ah, a mistress to a loveless marriage," said Tyrion. "I imagine it must have burned her when Prince Rhaegar crowned Lady Lyanna. That would make your Empress a Targaryen bastard.”

“So much more than a bastard,” said Kinvara. “She is the one who was promised, who shall remake the world. She has passed beneath the shadow and touched the light, and become who she was born to be. She brings the Dawn. She is the Lightbringer.”

“You had a different chosen one last time we spoke.”

Kinvara smirked sinisterly. “All is as He meant it to be.”

A woman entered. She looked at Tyrion disdainfully. He recognized her. Ashara Dayne. Her violet eyes narrowed at him.

“Sister,” said Arthur. “Is she ready?”

“Nearly,” said Ashara, looking at Tyrion. It took him a moment to realize she was staring at him in abject, pure hatred. Something about her expression… it unnerved him.

“Lady Ashara,” said Tyrion, with far more confidence than he felt. “I see rumors of your demise are exaggerated.”

“No rumors. Death is not always the end of life. I gave myself to the storm so my daughter could live, and I was reborn to watch over her from the shadows. So she could fulfill her destiny, as painful as it was. When she awoke, I got to hug her for the first time since she was a babe. Since my death paid for her life.”

Ashara knelt before Tyrion and looked him in the eye. “You had best hope she is merciful,” she whispered, “for if she is not… I will inflict such horrors upon you that you will long for a death that will not come.”

A page appeared at the heavy doors leading into a great room. “The Empress has called for them,” he said.

The Imperial Guards practically lifted Davos and Tyrion and carried them in. It was a great room, dominated by a large series of stone tables forming a circle, behind which sat ornate chairs. The center of the circle was carved in white marble surrounding the purple amethyst sigil of the Empire. This, Tyrion realized, was the meeting room of the Elder Council, the high advisory body of the Empire.

At the far side, before no tables, sat the Dawnthrone. Few laid eyes upon it, so Tyrion had never heard of what it looked like. It was an ugly thing, made of dark metal, lumpy and misshapen. It at least looked more comfortable than the Iron Throne, as it wasn’t made of swords.

Tyrion and Davos were set down in front of it. It was empty. Tyrion could not stop staring at the throne. It was a new Iron Throne, he realized… but it wasn’t forged of the iron swords of the Empress’s enemies.

It was made of the broken chains of the slaves she’d freed.

“I know it hasn’t been ten years,” said a voice from behind Tyrion. A most familiar, feminine voice. Light footsteps sounded. “That’s what you and Jon agreed on, wasn’t it? It’s only been six. But tell me, Lord Hand. Do you still doubt if it was right?”

Tyrion turned.

Daenerys Targaryen looked as beautiful as Tyrion remembered. Certainly far more healthy than her last days in Westeros, her hair seeming to shine, her skin polished, her violet eyes looking at Tyrion with a mixture of disgust and regret. She was wearing clothes much like she had in the heady days they had been on Dragonstone, but she had abandoned the black and red of House Targaryen.

Instead, her dress was white, with purple accents upon the edges of her sleeves and her shoulders. Her silver chain flowed over her shoulder and breasts like it had in her first life, but rather than a three-headed dragon brooch, she wore a gigantic amethyst wreathed in silver on her right breast. Clasped to it was still a half cape that flowed over her shoulder, but it was of pure purple silk, not red and patterned after dragon scales. Her hands were clasped in front of her in white gloves. Her riding breeches of leather underneath her dress’s split skirt were white as well, as were her boots. Her neck was covered by a purple shirt underneath her dress.

“You’d burnt the city to the ground,” said Tyrion. “It had to be done.” If he was to die, he'd go out defiant.

“By the man I loved?” shot back Daenerys.

“He was the only one who could have gotten close… you killed so many people. You killed my brother. You killed my sister.”

“Your sister was a monster who tried to kill you many times.” Daenerys circled around and sat in the Dawnthrone. She was quivering in anger. Perhaps sensing she was near the edge of her control, she glanced at the Imperial Guard. “Leave us.” They all left, except for the Empress’s mother and uncle, and a young man, the page who had fetched them. His face had become blank and emotionless.

“Take all the people my sister killed,” responded Tyrion. “All the people your mad father killed. Add them up and they don’t add up to half of who you killed that day. You had become everything you had sworn to never be. The Mad Queen.”

Daenerys looked at the ground. It was only after a moment Tyrion realized tears were running down her cheeks. “He was never my father,” she said quietly. “But that was all anyone could ever see me as. The mad king’s mad daughter. You all saw exactly what you wanted, regardless of the truth. We all have regrets, Tyrion.”

“We do. I regret that I ever betrayed Varys for you.” At that Daenerys looked up at him in anger, her tears ceasing. “He was the only one of us that saw your mental state clearly. All he did was send word to the Lords of Westeros that Jon had a better claim than you, and you murdered him for it.”

“He was having a serving girl put poison in my food,” she responded quietly.

“Then I regret that I betrayed him before he could succeed. How many more would live if you had died?”

Daenerys laughed at that. It sounded rather mad. “All your learning and you still don’t see,” she said. “None of you see. Varys didn’t fail. He succeeded.”

Tyrion was confused at that. He shook his head. “If he succeeded, you would have been dead. I don’t believe you.”

“The spider’s fangs ran with the blood of serpents,” responded Daenerys. “I thought you would be clever enough to have figured it out after all this time. Even as he died, his fangs pierced me and set in motion my final downfall.”

“You’re mad,” responded Tyrion. “If he bit you, it was all he could do. His fangs ran with dragon blood, and it burnt him.”

“Dragons aren’t serpents,” responded Daenerys. “And blood can be venom.”

Tyrion turned, but then he remembered what Bran had said at his last meeting.

“She was pierced by the spider’s fangs in its death throes, and they ran with the venomous blood of serpents.”

The venomous blood of serpents. Dragons weren’t serpents.

Basilisks.

Tyrion suddenly froze, horrified. Basilisk’s blood. A rare poison. If eaten or drunk, it induced in any creature, warm or cold blooded…

“... violent, savage madness,” finished Tyrion out loud.

“Come again?” asked Davos. Daenerys smiled slightly with satisfaction, but her eyes showed nothing but a thousand-yard stare.

“Basilisk’s blood,” said Tyrion to Davos. Seven gods… He turned back to Daenerys, who was looking at him with grief in her eyes. “Varys would never-”

“It would have been too obvious if he’d poisoned me dead,” responded Daenerys. “That was not his goal. If I had died suddenly, you, Grey Worm, Jon… you’d all have figured it out within moments, and he’d have been immediately executed. No, his attempt was much more subtle. Have a servant put a few drops in my food… go around telling everyone who would listen I was going mad, when all I was doing was grieving the death of my child, my sister-in-heart… suffering the rejection of the man I loved.

“Eat the food… appear to fall to the Targaryen Madness. Jon takes the throne… the controllable puppet Varys always sought. Me? I don’t know what his plan was for me after that.”

“But he’d never have put the city at risk like that,” responded Tyrion.

“He didn’t intend to. He wanted me to go mad while I was watched, so he could convince you and Jon and others that my mind had broken, and you would have restrained me while discussing how I certainly cannot rule anymore. I had seen the fear of the little girl who brought me my meals. I knew there was poison in it. Not what kind, I was sure he was trying to kill me. I executed Varys, but his little bird did not stop his plan. The next day, I ate for the first time in a week, before the battle… I thought you had betrayed me, my only last real supporter. I knew there was a chance it was poisoned. I didn’t care anymore. ”

Tyrion stared at the ground in horror. It made too much sense. With Bran confirming it independently… he knew it to be true.

She’d been poisoned. She’d not been in her right mind.

She was innocent.

Tyrion had convinced Jon to murder the woman he loved… and she’d been innocent. Not in body, perhaps, but her mind had been compromised.

“It was wearing off,” said Daenerys. “I wanted to forgive you. I was… becoming horrified. I’d started believing I had gone mad.”

Daenerys stared at her knees. “I loved you like a brother, Tyrion,” she said, tears running freely now. “But everyone I loved never saw me as anything but the Mad King’s daughter… it was so easy for you all to just believe I had gone mad…”

“You’d…”

“I can never forget what the poison made me do,” whispered Daenerys. “I see it every time I close my eyes… I see the burnt bodies of the children. I see you staring at me in disgust as my mind begs you to tell me, this isn’t right, something’s wrong… I see the moment Jon decides to do what he did… I hear him pledging I will always be his queen… I feel his hand going to his belt and drawing a dagger as he kisses me, and while I’m distracted, I remember the man I loved putting it in my heart.”

Tyrion fell to his knees. He’d never known… he’d not known that Jon had done it in that manner. He could almost see it before his eyes. Brave, honorable, Jon Snow, murdering the woman he loved… because Tyrion had been too stupid to see the truth of what had happened.

“I’m sorry,” said Tyrion, crying in earnest himself now. “I’m so sorry. It never felt right… never. I was too blind to see it. I… it’s all my fault.” He took a deep breath. “Execute me. Please.”

Daenerys looked over Tyrion, then glanced at the page who had remained behind. Still emotionless, the man nodded. Daenerys closed her eyes before looking back down at Tyrion.

She climbed down from the Dawnthrone and knelt before Tyrion. He was too ashamed to look up at her. Her gloved hand reached for his chin and pulled his face to look at her.

“Will you betray me again?” she asked.

Tyrion shook his head. “I’m so sorry,” he repeated. “So sorry…” Daenerys shot another glance at the page, who again nodded.

She then pulled Tyrion in and hugged him. Tyrion leaned into her, unable to hug her back because of his chains, and they cried against one another, and for a moment, she was no longer the most powerful person in the world, and he was a man who had found something he’d long since lost.

“Please don’t make me your Hand again,” joked Tyrion after a few moments.

“You’re in the Empire now,” said Daenerys. “We don’t have that position.”

“Thank the gods.”

When Daenerys stood, she turned to Davos, who was watching and had a few tears running down his own cheeks. “I’m sorry too,” he said.

“Ser Davos,” said Daenerys. “Have you ever done a thing wrong in your life?”

“I should never have let Jon push you away. We never should have abandoned you like we did.”

Tyrion frowned. He had not considered Jon in this. He glanced at the Dawnthrone. “You know once word of your identity becomes more widely known,” he advised, “certain people might again prefer a man…”

“Sansa Stark, you mean?” asked Daenerys. Tyrion did not respond, which was all the confirmation Dany wanted. She snorted, her tears drying. She sat once more in her throne, her hand rubbing the melted chains on her armrest almost lovingly. “Let her try. I don’t care that Jon is my brother, or older than me. This Empire doesn’t trace descent from Aegon the Conqueror. It traces descent from me because I made it. I have the only claim.”

Davos and Tyrion exchanged a glance. The Jon matter had to be settled… but both knew one truth: they were not returning to King’s Landing.

They served the Empire now, and they were glad of it.

Chapter Text

A few weeks before...

For Jon Snow, every day of the last six years, since That Day, had been like a nightmare he could not wake up from.

How had he been so wrong about Daenerys? That was the question that fluttered through his mind, endlessly. He barely dreamt anymore- he had not since his death and resurrection- but he was grateful for that. If he dreamed, he was sure they would all be of her, the blood running from her lips, the betrayed look in her eyes… Drogon poking her body with his nose and calling out in grief, before turning his furious gaze on Jon, the violet, dead eyes of his mother reflected in his…

He was glad he was not king. How could he be? He had supported a monster, that was what the world had told him. He had fallen in love with a woman who he truly believed in, and yet she had suffered horrid loss and endless grief, and in the end had proven herself the tyrant her enemies always claimed she had been.

When the word came that he was being exiled back to the Wall, he had accepted it. He deserved it. Probably worse, his guilt told him.

His rational mind and eyes told him that he had done the right thing.

His gut… his instincts, though told him… it had been a colossal, massive, crime against nature. That the world itself had torn itself asunder in grief at what he had done, as Drogon had screamed in grief.

Oathbreaker.

Queenslayer.

Kinslayer.

He had murdered the woman he loved… he had murdered his own kin.

Tormund had been waiting when he got back to Castle Black. Tormund didn’t judge. Tormund kept an eye out for Jon, even as Jon failed to keep an eye out for himself. Jon had no intention of ever saying the words of the Night’s Watch again. He left. Who would trust him to keep an oath?

At the start, Jon woke up every day wondering why he bothered to get out of bed.

He’d had one of his few dreams, and rather than process it… he had spent the next day blind drunk. In horror.

The dream had occurred a few times since, but Jon hated it. He hated what it was telling him. He couldn’t accept it, he couldn’t bear with it. He refused to think about it, even as he knew in the back of his mind, he had accepted it.

He prayed every time he went to bed to wake up and to discover that the lengthening years had been nothing more than a bad dream.

Tormund was probably the only reason Jon was alive. When he was so drunk, Tormund watched him. Kept him alive.

After a few moons, Jon had settled himself into a routine, to keep him going. He had been busy. Helping the freefolk.

Being busy kept his mind occupied.

Being occupied kept him from thinking about it.

Sansa had tried to stay in contact, but Jon eventually stopped responding. He didn’t want to hear about it. How the south was in chaos, but the North was fine. That the food she had been so concerned with was expected to last them through winter.

If she had kept her damn mouth shut, the South would be in good shape as well. Dany would have been a good queen, without her losses… without Varys betraying her.

Varys had seen Dany’s darkest nature, perhaps better than Jon, and had tried to prevent her from sitting the throne. He had tried to rally the lords of Westeros to oppose her, in his name.

Daenerys had killed him for it.

But everything about that day still felt wrong.

Jon couldn’t understand. How could he rationalize what his instincts were indicating, with the cold, hard truth of what Dany had done?

“Let it be fear, then.”

Westeros certainly had reason to fear her. No lord would have been brave enough to take up arms against her. Not after King’s Landing.

But there had been something in Dany’s eyes that day that Jon didn’t recognize, a manic glint. Something he'd never seen before. The woman he’d loved would never have done that. She had always been a champion of the little folk, a woman who had unabashedly made friends with former slaves, eunuchs, dwarfs. He’d remembered her telling him why Drogon was bigger than his brothers.

“I had to lock them up,” she had said, ashamed. “Drogon killed a little girl… I chained his brothers to protect my people.”

The woman who had chained her dragons to protect her people would never have burnt a million innocents alive, after they had surrendered.

But Jon had watched her do it.

And then she had refused to see anything wrong with it, had told him she was going to keep burning the world down and calling it freedom, and asked him to take her side.

He knew his sisters would never have bent. Arya had already been in the city. If Jon hadn’t done it, Arya would have killed Daenerys herself. She had come to King’s Landing to kill a queen, after all.

Jon had done what he did to protect his sisters.

Was that truly Dany’s innermost nature, her tyrannical self coming out? She had killed Sam’s father and brother, yes… Sam had told him himself. And then he’d told Jon the horrid truth, the truth he wished he’d never learned.

All his life he’d wanted to know who his mother was.

The moment he had, he wished he’d never learned.

It didn’t matter to them he didn’t want the Iron Throne. All his sisters, it had been the only thing to matter to them. Sansa and Arya had betrayed his trust… and Daenerys had known what it meant for her.

Her loss of status as the ‘rightful heir’.

She had begged Jon to keep silent… she had said Sansa hated her. Jon had thought… this woman he loved begged him to stay silent, and that was selfish and wrong. His sisters deserved to know their father had never betrayed Catelyn Stark.

Lady Stark had hated Jon for being something he never was.

How ironic that in that, he and Dany were so alike.

He had thought Dany selfish for it… but Sansa and Arya had proven her correct to fear such. A sacred oath meant nothing to the idea of him sitting on the Iron Throne. As King.

He didn’t want it.

He never had.

She was his queen.

How many times did he need to say that?

Now, as far as Jon was concerned, the affairs of Westeros didn’t matter to him anymore. He had made his choice. They had refused to accept it.

They could endure the consequences of their refusal.

Jon was a freefolk now. It was all he cared to be.

Keeping busy helping the freefolk was the only contentment Jon found anymore. Helping build huts, helping them expand, hunt…

He wished he could go back. To before he had sailed to Dragonstone. Knowing what he knew now… knowing what his dreams had told him… he’d do things differently.

He would still have bent the knee, he knew that. Because at her core, he was still sure Dany then was not the person who had burnt King’s Landing.

If she was a monster, she was the monster Westeros had turned her into. With Missandei, Jorah, Rhaegal… she was a good person.

Grief had laid her low and turned her into something she never had been.

Something Jon still had difficulty believing she could be.

He lifted his ears as he heard a horn blow. He had made the wildlings adopt the Night’s Watch system of horn blowing. Tormund had grumbled- ‘we’re not crows’- but admitted it was a good idea. The wildlings were scattered. Hornblowing told them all important news.

One blow for visitors approaching. A trade party from the south, maybe.

The horn blew a second time.

Jon stood and started heading for his hut. To get Longclaw. Two blows meant attack.

He had just reached his door when the horn blew a third time.

Jon felt his blood run cold.

It couldn’t be…

Three blows for the wildlings meant the exact same thing it did for the Night’s Watch.

If that wasn’t an accident, or someone’s cruel prank… they were all fucked.

Tyrion and Davos were shown to rooms in the palace itself. Nice rooms, but not all that close to the Imperial apartments where Daenerys and her family lived.

“Have you ever suddenly gotten everything you ever wanted,” said Tyrion to Davos. “But that you hadn’t realized you needed?”

“No, can’t say I have,” said Davos.

Tyrion slept contentedly that night. The next morning, he and Davos were invited to break their fasts with the Empress.

They were shown to a small but opulent dining room. Daenerys and her mother sat on one side of the table- Daenerys at the head, of course. Tyrion and Davos sat at the far side, a respectable distance away. Imperial guards were stationed at the corners, except Ser Arthur standing behind his niece, holding his milk white greatsword that Tyrion suddenly realized must be Dawn, the legendary sword of the Daynes.

They were served spicy foods from across Essos, which caused Davos some distress, which made Daenerys smile and point at the cow’s milk on the table. Ashara Dayne watched their new guests suspiciously. It was an open secret that if either of them betrayed Daenerys… she would punish them for it.

A young woman- only slightly older than Daenerys- entered a bit later. “Mother,” she greeted, nodding at Ashara. “Sister,” she said to the Empress.

“Sister,” responded Daenerys warmly. Tyrion and Davos exchanged a surprised glance. Daenerys noticed and smirked.

“Allyria Dayne,” greeted the newcomer. “Sister to Her Imperial Majesty.” She sat at an open chair next to Dany, who gave a slight smile to Tyrion.

“Your family situation is much more… pleasant than it was when we last met,” said Tyrion. “It must have been quite a surprise.”

Daenerys gave her mother a glance, but Ashara kept her eyes averted and downcast, and Tyrion suddenly realized that there must have been an awkward exchange. Not only had Daenerys awoken from death itself to discover she had never been the Mad King’s daughter… she had a family. A family that had never once contacted her during her life.

“A mother, an uncle, a sister… and a brother,” said Daenerys. Jon, they knew.

Jon, the man she’d loved.

Jon, the man who’d killed her.

“Have you… contacted him yet?” asked Davos, awkwardly. Daenerys did not smile. Rather, a troubled expression filled her face.

“I know you’re concerned for him,” she said quietly. “I do not intend to hurt Jon, rest assured.” Ashara shifted uncomfortably next to Daenerys, and Dany shot her mother another glance. “Nor do I intend to let anyone else hurt him. No… even if I wanted to cause Jon pain… and I’ll confess, there’s a part of me that does… you both know Jon. There will be no pain I could cause him greater than telling him the truth.”

“It’s gonna break his heart,” said Davos.

“I confess that after he put a dagger in mine I don’t much care,” said Daenerys. “The other revelation- that I’m his sister- is also going to hurt him. He was disgusted when he thought I was his aunt.”

Tyrion leaned forward. “Do you… still have feelings for him… in that way?”

“No,” said Daenerys, simply and firmly. There was no trace of lie in her eyes. “Of all my emotions I have for Jon… that is not one of them. Not anymore.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what I want to do with Jon. Part of me wants to leave him to rot at the Wall.”

“Jon left the Wall,” said Davos. “Reports say that almost as soon as he got there, he went off with the wildlings. We’ve not heard much of him since… but what snippets we’ve heard are, he’s… not entirely well.”

“He has demons from what he did,” said Tyrion quietly. “As surely as I felt uncertain… Jon feels it worse. I know it.”

Daenerys took a deep breath. “If I can offer one bit of advice, Your Grace-” said Davos.

“Your Majesty,” corrected Arthur Dayne.

Davos nodded. “Your Majesty. You can’t just let the wound fester. You’ve gotta face your fears, if you’re going to heal.”

Daenerys closed her eyes, sighed, and looked at her uncle. “It looks like you and Ser Davos are of one mind, uncle,” she said. Arthur nodded. Daenerys turned next to her mother. “Find him.”

Ashara stood and lifted from her long blue robes a twisted black candle. She set it on a corner table, and took a thin dragonglass dagger. She pricked her finger and dripped a few drops of blood onto the wick. At once, it lit with an odd light. Ashara stared at it, her eyes unfocusing.

“A glass candle,” said Tyrion interestedly.

“My mother is a shadowbinder,” said Daenerys. “I believe you knew one, Ser Davos. Melisandre was one, in addition to being a red priestess.”

“Aye,” said Davos, looking at Ashara warily. “I’m familiar with what they-”

“Daenerys,” said Ashara suddenly. The urgency in her voice caused Daenerys to leap to her feet and make her way to join her mother. Once she fixed her eyes on the glass candle, they also unfocused.

“Where are they?”

“Heading east.”

“Are there any deep water bays nearby?”

“One on the maps. Hardhome.”

Davos sat forward at that, recognizing the place. Tyrion looked at him, but Davos had his eyes fixed on the mother and her daughter.

Daenerys stepped away, and turned to face a page. “Fetch the admiral. Now. I don’t care if she has a man or woman in her bed, or what protests she gives.” The page bowed and quickly left. Daenerys, her face white, turned to return to the table. “I thought we had more time,” she muttered.

“What is it?” asked Tyrion.

“The wildlings, Jon and the redhead- Tormund- are running east. They’ve lost a few men already. Women and children at the lead… warriors near the back.”

“What are they running from?” asked Davos.

Daenerys fixed her eyes on him, and they burnt with a fire.

“Death.”

Tyrion saw dead bodies crawling from crypts, their eyes lit with an evil blue light… how close they had come to dying. All of them. All of the world.

“Does Jon know to head for Hardhome?” asked Tyrion.

Daenerys frowned. She took a deep breath and returned to her mother’s side.

Jon laid his map on a tree and stroked his beard in frustration. The math in his head… they were travelling slowly, and the Army of the Dead was growing with every man they lost.

Tormund approached. “Do your scribbles mean anything?” he asked. Tormund did not know how to read a map, even if Jon pointed out the shape of lands Tormund knew like the back of his hand.

“We’re not gonna reach Eastwatch,” said Jon plainly. “They’re coming on us too quick. We need to find a defensible position and hold out and hope for help.”

“Crow… our runners didn’t make it. We don’t have enough warriors. Too many women and children.”

Jon considered his response. “I know,” he admitted.

“We should stop here. We got good trees… can build a wall, if we can.”

“Or pyres,” said Jon. He shared a meaningful glance at Tormund, who grimly nodded. Jon glanced beyond Tormund, and he went pure white.

Daenerys was standing there, staring back at him.

She looked just as Jon remembered, apart from her clothing. She wore a white dress over riding leathers, much like the black one she had worn at Dragonstone when they’d first met. But whereas her violet eyes had always been filled with warmth and love, now they were filled with coldness and regret and the simple question… ‘how could you?’ Across her breast flowed her silver chain, and a purple half-cape hung from her shoulder. On her breast, rather than a three-headed dragon brooch, was a gigantic amethyst.

Jon stared at the apparition. Surely, this was his guilty mind and the lack of sleep paying tricks on him. Daenerys stared back, but her eyes filled with purpose as a horn sounded once. Twice.

Thrice.

“Hardhome,” said Daenerys simply.

Then she faded into nothing.

“Jon?” asked Tormund, concerned. He looked back at where Jon’s eyes were fixed, and saw nothing. “Jon? Stay with me, crow.”

Jon shook himself out of his trance. He looked at Tormund. “We make for Hardhome,” he said.

Ashara waved at the candle and ghostly white, Daenerys turned to her chair. She took a few deep breaths. Her hand massaged her chest.

Allyria took her sister’s hand comfortingly. “You’re strong,” she said. Daenerys smiled at Allyria and returned a smile of her own. “You can do this.”

Daenerys nodded, and turned to her uncle. “Get them all out.” Arthur nodded. “And uncle… Jon is to be unharmed. No matter who tries to harm him.” Arthur scowled but again nodded his assent.

The page returned, looking more than a little scared, and trailing behind him was a fierce woman with long brown hair and a scowl across her face. She had very obviously hastily dressed and thrown a black sash with a yellow kraken over her shoulder and waist. Tyrion and Davos both sat up, for they recognized her immediately.

“It’d better be something damn important for you to scare my bedmate out of my room before I could get some action in the morning,” snapped Yara Greyjoy.

She froze when she saw Tyrion and Davos staring at her. She scowled.

“Play nice, Queen Yara,” said Daenerys warningly. “And yes, it’s very important.”

“Some job breaking the wheel,” snarled Yara at Tyrion, who went beat red. “Killed a good queen and put a tyrant on the throne.”

“I’ve never regretted anything more,” said Tyrion ashamedly.

Yara turned back to the Empress. “What do you need?” she asked, sitting in an empty chair and kicking her feet onto the table. Arthur glared at her from behind his niece’s back. Yara shifted into a more proper position. “What are your orders, Your Majesty?” she asked, with playfully mocking subservience.

“You are to take a small fleet, along with my uncle and a portion of the Guard,” said Daenerys as Yara picked up an apple and sank her teeth into it. “You’re to go to the lands beyond the Wall, to a place called Hardhome. There you’ll bring to your ships all of the freefolk and… anyone who is with them. You’ll bring them back to Volantis.”

Yara looked at Daenerys in confusion. “Why?” she asked.

“Because your Empress ordered it,” responded Arthur tartly.

Daenerys waved her uncle down. “Time is of the essence, Queen Yara, but suffice to say: the white walkers that your brother and I, among others, battled at Winterfell are back, and the wildlings are in danger.”

Yara scowled. “Fuck ‘em.”

Daenerys leaned forward, narrowing her eyes at Yara. “This is an order, Admiral Greyjoy. Shall I find someone else for your position?”

Yara couldn’t help but smirk. “Your wish is my command, My Empress,” she said, again with exaggerated obedience.

“One more thing, Yara. Jon Snow will be with them. He is to be unharmed.” Yara frowned fiercely at that. “Unharmed. No missing limbs, no fingers cut off, no torture. Are we understood? You are not to lay a hand on him.”

“Just a punch,” begged Yara. “A single punch?”

Daenerys considered her response. “Break no bones, knock no teeth out. A single punch.”

“If Your Majesty permits,” said Davos, “I’ll go with Queen Yara. A friendly face might convince Jon that we’re here to help. And forgive me, Queen Yara, but your face looks anything but friendly where Jon is concerned.”

Yara inclined her head but nodded. Daenerys looked over at Davos and nodded, too.

“I’ve got a few ships ready to sail on short notice, always,” said Yara, standing. “We should be off before the tides. Favorable winds should get us there in a few weeks.”

“Let’s hope you’re in time,” said Daenerys. Yara gave a perfunctory bow, then left. Davos bowed, much more respectfully, then followed her out.

He fell into step behind Yara as she walked. “So how’d the Queen of the Iron Islands find herself pledged to the Amethyst Empress of the Dawn?” asked Davos.

“‘What is dead may never die,’” quoted Yara. “‘But rises again, harder and stronger.’ No true Ironborn would ever deny those words. She stepped onto the deck, risen again, harder and stronger. I dropped to my knee at once. Besides, she knew I’d stayed loyal, unlike the Imp and Jon fucking Snow. Made me Lady High Admiral of the Imperial Navy.”

“I understand,” agreed Davos. “Wasn’t so great a shock to me, I suppose. Samwell Tarly said her dragon was heading for Volantis. I figured we might not have seen the last of her. Never put together that the Amethyst Empress was the Dragon Queen, though.”

Jon wiped his face as the trees of the Haunted Forest started to thin. They were not far from Hardhome. A week or so left.

The retreat had been difficult, but better than Jon had feared. The wights were not as quick moving as they had been in the past. Jon still knew they couldn’t reach Eastwatch, but Hardhome was well within their range. He hoped they’d at least have a few days to discover… why the vision had told Jon to make for there.

Was Jon mad to trust a vision of the woman he’d murdered? She had not appeared before him again.

Jon’s gut was telling him to trust it.

It wasn’t like they had any other options.

Tormund stepped next to him. “Gettin’ close, now,” he said.

“Aye,” agreed Jon.

“You think Hardhome will be safe? You were there, last time we were. You remember what the walkers did to us?”

“I do. Haven’t seen a walker yet, just the wights. Might go better for us this time.”

“Why are we going there? You looked like you saw a ghost, then said, ‘make for Hardhome.’”

Jon shook his head and took a swig of mead from a waterskin at his side. He’d taken a great liking to the drink… the last six years had not been easy. Mead had helped. “What would you say if I told you I did see a ghost?”

“I’d say I hope it was a friendly one,” said Tormund.

“Didn’t look it.” Jon sighed. “I saw her, Tormund.”

“Dragon Queen?” Tormund raised his brows, suspicious.

“Aye. She was staring at me. All in white and purple. Big gem on her breast. Looked at me just… hurt. All she said was, ‘Hardhome’, then she was gone.”

“You really think we can trust the ghost of the woman you killed?” asked Tormund.

Jon smiled. “Way I see it,” he said ruefully, “if my ghost is wrong, we die. If my ghost lies, we die. If we don’t listen to her… we die. If it was a vision, a true one… maybe we’ve got a chance.”

“If I die and you live… I’m gonna haunt you, too,” said Tormund, but the strain of the last few moons was clear on his face, too.

Arya Stark had wondered if Meereen would be a safe city to make port in, but they were short on food and had little choice. Nymeria pulled into the docks, but Arya had the sails furled, lest they show the Stark direwolf. It didn’t seem that was a good idea to show off so openly.

Because as far as she could see, Arya saw two flags: the symbol of the Great Empire of the Dawn she had become familiar with in the eastern ports… and the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen.

She wasn’t surprised, she supposed. Meereen and the other cities on Slaver’s Bay had been “liberated” by Daenerys Targaryen. Privately, Arya expected the Dragon Queen had merely seen an opportunity to gain followers out of the poor and disadvantaged and “saved” them only to forcibly make herself their queen. The same way she had expected the North to bend to her because if Jon hadn’t knelt, she would have let them all die.

Once Nymeria was safely shackled to the dock, Arya stepped down. Most ships she saw bore either the Imperial amethyst sigil or the Targaryen dragon. Arya knew that Jon was a Targaryen too, but that sigil was irrevocably tainted for Arya by the memories of King’s Landing. It was in her mind, the sigil of the Mad Queen, the most evil woman to have ever lived.

How had Jon been so wrong about her?

Arya had to turn away from her inspection of Meereen as the Imperial port magistrates came up, a few soldiers at their rear. Arya quickly judged their intentions, specifically the soldiers. They were bored, there for security. No threat to Arya.

“Westerosi?” asked the lead official.

“Aye,” confirmed Arya.

“Cargo and port of origin?”

“No cargo, and King’s Landing.”

The magistrate smirked. “Dornish?”

“Northern.”

“We don’t get many Northern adventurers here. Most Westerosi who come through hail from Sunspear, but we haven’t seen many these last few years, since Mhysa’s death. How’s your Valyrian?”

“Middling.”

“You’ll want to speak Valyrian as much as possible. Westerosi are not popular here, not after they murdered Mhysa.”

Arya frowned, but she held her tongue. “I’ll do my best. The fee?”

“Ten golden coins.”

Arya reached into her coin purse and handed them over. The magistrate put them into his own money bag before returning to his paperwork. “Ship name?”

“Nymeria.”

“Ah, the Dornish queen?”

More like the direwolf, thought Arya, but she nodded. It was, after all, named after her in a roundabout way.

“And your name?”

She was not fool enough to tell them her real name.

“Arya Snow,” responded Arya. Snow like Jon. A good name.

The magistrate recorded her information in his ledger before snapping it shut sharply. “Welcome to Meereen. Respect the laws and you will be fine here.” He and his officials made their way back up the dock, eyeing another ship that had just made port, a junk from Yi Ti, but one with the Amethyst sigil on its flags.

Behind her, apart from a few, her crew was already scattering into the city, in search of whores, fresh booze, and beds that didn’t move.

Arya found a merchant to restock the Nymeria’s supplies. Then she set out to explore, to see the sights. She’d heard of the Great Pyramid of Meereen, and it was easy to spot. It had a large Imperial flag flying from its summit, but not a Targaryen one.

She couldn’t understand much of the conversation she overheard, but that was expected. All the Free Cities spoke different dialects of Valyrian that were somewhat interchangeable with each other, but here in the Bay of Dragons, it was an even more bastardized version of the old High Valyrian, mixed and influenced as it was by the dead Ghiscari tongue that they’d spoken before the Valyrian Freehold had conquered them.

Arya stood aside as a group of Imperial soldiers marched past, a hundred or so strong. Their shields and clothing were red like a ruby, but other than that they looked no different from the Legionnaires that Arya had seen further east, in Yi Ti, and Leng.

Meereen seemed to be prosperous. The people were happy and safe. It did surprise Arya. The Empire was based out of the east- that was where the Amethyst Empress had made her first conquests in her takeover of Essos. In Qarth, there had been some grumbling, but no outright defiance. Jade-clad soldiers from Yi Ti had kept a very wary eye on them. But the Bay of Dragons was even more loyal than Yi Ti, and Yi Ti had been very proud of their membership in the Great Empire. Arya supposed the slaves represented an easy majority to have won the loyalty of, to the woman and armies who had freed them again.

Arya knew that after Daenerys Targaryen’s rightful execution by Jon after she had shown her true colors and committed outright genocide, the slavers had taken back power in Slaver's Bay. But the slaves had never forgotten what it was to be free. When the Ēnkategītsos Lehgiones- the Gemstone Legions- and their Amethyst Empress had come west, the slaves had risen up at once. Once they had retaken control they had joined the Empire willingly, and the Amethyst Empress had punished those who had taken slaves again. Through dragon fire.

Arya couldn’t help but wonder why the love of the people still went to their “mhysa” and not to the Amethyst Empress, who had not just freed them once more, but had made it stick. Not only that, she’d extended her control over all of Essos, and freed every slave on the continent.

Arya found herself in a large plaza outside the Great Pyramid. Children laughed and played with one another under the watchful eyes of adults, street merchants advertised their goods, there was an orderly queue under the vigilant eyes of Legionnaires to enter the Great Pyramid and speak to the Imperial magistrates and…

A large statue of a tyrant.

Arya approached. The statue was well crafted. Daenerys Targaryen in effigy looked as lifelike as any statue Arya had ever seen before. She had a baby dragon over her shoulders, and an arm raised holding a broken chain.

But there were things that didn’t add up. Her clothing was much like Arya remembered, but rather than a three-headed dragon brooch, there was a large elongated octagon brooch.

Arya looked down. The plinth was topped with offerings. Lemons, broken chains, written notes praising Mhysa, golden coins. Many of which had Daenerys Targaryen’s profile on them.

Arya looked down at the engraving.

Lanta Mhysa Mīrīn

Melkasta Dāriatoliot Daenērys Targārien

Or, in the common tongue:

Twice Mother of Meereen

Amethyst Empress Daenerys Targaryen

Of all the things Arya had ever expected… that was not one of them. It couldn’t be… but it was there, clear as day, and it all made sense.

Daenerys Targaryen was the Amethyst Empress.

Daenerys Targaryen was alive.

Arya stared at the statue, horrified. Not only was the woman who had killed a million innocent people alive and apparently well… she was more powerful than ever.

Arya suddenly glanced around, at the happy people of Meereen. These people… they knew what she had done, surely. And they didn’t care. None of them. They praised their Mhysa, their Empress… who was the worst woman to have ever lived. Even Cersei had never destroyed an entire city that had surrendered. Even Cersei had never plotted to conquer all the world… and Daenerys Targaryen had apparently not changed her plans after her death. She ruled all of Essos.

House Stark was not safe. Bran and Sansa were king and queen of the lands she still presumably claimed. Jon had killed her. Arya had told Jon to do it, and survived her rampage in King’s Landing.

Daenerys Targaryen would not stop at the Narrow Sea. Her legions and dragons would surely cross over and make slaves of all of Westeros. Winterfell would be burnt to the ground. Her entire family would be killed- they would be lucky if it was as quick as dragonfire.

Arya stared at the statue again. The proof that her family was under threat. Perhaps the greatest threat imaginable.

Her fear and horror were not diminished when with a loud roar, three dragons flew overhead. None of them were Drogon. She really did have new dragons.

The Mad Queen could never be allowed to use them again, Arya decided. All Westeros would burn if Daenerys Targaryen returned to their shores.

She returned to the Nymeria and found her crew. “We leave for Volantis at first light,” she announced, to general groans. The crew wanted to at least stay in port and whore and gamble and drink for a few days, but Arya was resolute, and her crew loyal. Arya had to get to Volantis. There was no more time to waste.

If there was a threat… Arya would do what needed to be done.

Tyrion sat on Daenerys’s balcony looking down on the city of Volantis, at the hundreds of Imperial flags as far as the eye could see. He was astounded by the reverence the city had for their Amethyst Empress.

“Do you know what I don’t understand?” started Tyrion. “How you could have been the Amethyst Empress, and word never once reached Westeros of your true identity.”

Daenerys smiled and poured two glasses of wine. She carried one to Tyrion and sat next to him. Tyrion took it and raised it to her gratefully. “Most people don’t call me by name anymore,” she said. “Across all of Essos, I’m known as ‘The Amethyst Empress’, ‘Her Imperial Majesty’, or merely ‘The Empress’. The only place that’s truly different is in the Bay of Dragons, where they still call me ‘Mhysa.’ And after... what happened to me in Westeros, the Bay of Dragons refuses to trade with the people who killed me. In winter, travel between Westeros and Essos was not easy, and trade was light as a result. And it wasn't like Westeros was in a state where many sailors crossed the Narrow Sea... even if most of my Empire's merchants know who I am, they weren't going to broadcast it. They know Westeros hates me. They just think you're idiots."

“How much of the truth do they know?”

Daenerys hesitated, sipping her wine thoughtfully. “The Elder Council does know,” she said. “All of it. That I burnt the city, but that I had been poisoned with basilisk’s blood. That I was murdered and restored to life. Most people outside know varying parts, but they’re skeptical of the idea I destroyed the city at all. Obviously, my path of conquest across Essos was not carved with burning cities. In truth the popular idea is that I must have been framed by your sister for the destruction of the city.

“Regarding my death and resurrection, I believe most believe something akin to the truth: that I was betrayed and murdered, but was reborn to remake the world and break all the chains.”

“Do they know who...” began Tyrion hesitantly.

“Killed me?” finished Daenerys. “Again, the Elder Council does.”

“Will they demand justice when they find out he is in the city? You’re very popular. Many would want your killer dead.”

“Only I can demand justice for my own murder,” replied Daenerys. “As for my popularity here in Essos, most don’t believe a woman who would declare a crusade against slavery and injustice would start burning a city of innocents.”

“They’re wiser men than we were,” said Tyrion comfortingly. “It never felt right. Ever. In my heart, I knew something was wrong.”

“And yet you didn’t let your heart stop you from doing what you knew was right,” said Daenerys. She took another sip of wine. “That was something I always liked about you. You looked at a situation, even when it personally involved you, and always strove towards what you thought served the greater good. I know it wasn’t easy for you to ally with Ellaria Sand, after what she did to your niece. But you knew we needed her help for a quick, clean war, so you advised me to continue on with it. Likewise... that day... you thought you knew what you’d seen, and even if you felt it was wrong... you did what you thought was best.”

“I did what I did to try and save my own life,” said Tyrion. “You were going to execute me.”

Daenerys shook her head. “You were in no danger from me.” Tyrion raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “Suffice to say... the poison was wearing off. You needn’t have feared me. If Jon hadn’t...” She shuddered. “You wouldn’t have had to worry about the Mad Queen ever again.”

“Jon did what he thought was right,” said Tyrion, “but not what he wanted. He was afraid... you’d hurt his sisters.”

“And to save the sisters who betrayed him, he killed the one who’d never have hurt him,” said Daenerys quietly. “Jon swore her to secrecy before a heart tree, you know. Sansa. How quickly did she break her sacred oath? What had I ever done to her that was so horrible?” She stood, breathing deeply to stay calm, her hand moving to her chest, pressing on it. “Of all the people in Westeros... she is the one I hate the most. Other than King Bran.”

“I suspect he outplayed us all,” said Tyrion quietly. “He removed the two last claimants to the throne. He had Jon kill you.”

“And yet in the end, Jon also saved me,” said Daenerys quietly. She stood. She set her wine on a table and went to her desk. She picked up a small wooden box and carried it back to her seat. She took a deep breath. “I wanted to say, Tyrion, that before... I never really understood how it was for you. To be going against your family. You knew Cersei could not continue to sit on the Iron Throne, but you didn’t want her dead. I should have understood. I hated Viserys, yet until he did the one thing I could never forgive, the one thing that made me realize he was merely the man that had once been my brother... I’d loved him, too. I’d miss the good brother he had been when we were young, rather than the cruel and weak one he became when he was older.

“But now I remember how family is. I have a sister I adore. An uncle, a mother. And yes, even a brother. As much bitterness I have for Jon as how he did what he did, I know what he did, he did for his love of family. For his sisters. And what you did, you did for your siblings. My mistake was not in naming you my Hand. But it may have been putting you against your family. You wanted to see me on the Iron Throne. Even when you knew of Jon, you still supported me. You freed your brother to save him and your sister, but that was not betraying me. You only turned against me when your eyes told you that I had gone mad.”

“I should have known,” said Tyrion bitterly.

Daenerys raised an eyebrow. “How?”

“I considered myself a learned man. I should have known Varys would have tried something. It was in his nature, I knew he had betrayed you.”

“You trusted a friend, and you betrayed him for me because you still believed in me.” Daenerys’s face fell in sadness. “I was lost in grief. Everyone was turning against me. Jon had pushed me away. Varys was, I thought, trying to kill me. The North hated me. Missandei and Jorah were dead. Jon’s family had never accepted me, even though I loved their brother with all my heart. Jon had so looked forward to me meeting them... but it doesn’t matter now. I know who they truly are. And I know who I truly am. Never the Mad King’s daughter. Rhaegar’s daughter.

“But you never saw me as the Mad King’s daughter, not until you thought I had gone mad. You always counseled what you thought was right. Maybe at times I leaned too heavily upon you- I think we’d both agree that I should have hit King’s Landing at once. Burnt the gates, stormed the streets, landed my dragons upon the walls and had them roar until the blade of every soldier in the city had fallen to the dirt. You did not know my children; you did not trust them to restrain themselves.”

Daenerys glanced at the box and opened it. She pulled out a black sash, that went over the shoulder down to the waist, and back up. “Do you know what this is?” she asked.

“It’d better not be a Hand of the King pin,” said Tyrion.

Daenerys chuckled. “It’s not. I don’t have one Hand. I have a council. Through the many, we find wisdom. I surround myself with intelligent people who are loyal to both me and my vision of a better world.”

“I betrayed you,” said Tyrion, seeing where this was leading.

“But not until I’d betrayed myself. How could you have known?”

Daenerys stood, and gestured to Tyrion to stand as well. She flipped over the sash. Sewn into it, on that part that would sit over the upper chest, was a golden version of the Imperial sigil.

“Tyrion Lannister,” said Daenerys. “I would name you Elder Councilor, on behalf of Westeros.”

Tyrion took a deep breath, overcome by emotion. “You mean to invade Westeros?” he asked.

“I mean to give them their King… and for that King to rule in fealty to the Dawnthrone.”

Tyrion nearly gave in to the emotion. “You should give it to Davos instead. He never broke faith.”

“I have another one ready for him when he returns.” She placed the sash around him. “If you truly do not feel worthy of this, if you truly want my forgiveness… help me build my better world.”

Tyrion nodded. He smiled. “I feel… nostalgic. I hope I do better.”

They looked over as someone entered. Ashara Dayne approached. “She’s left Meereen,” she said. “She’s on her way here.” Tyrion glanced between them, confused. Just as he was considering if he should ask who they were speaking of, Ashara glared at him with such coldness that he decided to keep his mouth shut.

“Have her watched,” said Daenerys.

Ashara frowned. “We should not give her a chance to-”

“I do not fear her,” replied Daenerys quickly. “You have helped me with that.”

Ashara’s frown flipped to a smile. “You learned well and quickly.”

Daenerys gave her mother a warm grin.

Chapter Text

For one of the few times in the last few years, Bran had deigned to visit the Small Council meeting. Admittedly, it was a bit smaller than normal, as two of the members had gone and not returned.

“I’m sure they’ll be back soon, Your Grace,” said Sam. “It’s only been… a moon or so.”

“The dwarf likes power too much to hand it over to some foreign whore,” said Bronn confidently, leaning back with his boots on the table, much to the annoyance of Garth Hightower next to him. “He’s Hand of the King.”

“They’re not returning,” said Bran in his ethereal manner.

“Can you see them?” asked Sam.

“I cannot. They are in Essos now. In the past, I could see into Essos, but since the rise of the false Empress, my vision is limited. It is quite annoying.” Despite his stated annoyance, Bran didn’t even change the tone of his voice.

“I suppose we’ll be needing a new Hand then,” said Bronn, kicking his feet down from the table.

“I expect you say it should be you,” said Ser Garth disdainfully.

“Fuck that,” said Bronn, laughing at the idea. “Sounds like a lot of work. The king shits and the hand wipes, after all. Coin’s simpler. Why are we paying the Empire again?”

“Because they have dragons and armies and we are in no state to resist a foreign invasion,” replied Garth as if he was an idiot.

“Paxter Redwyne shall be offered the position of Master of Ships,” said Bran dreamily. “He shall accept. We shall legitimize Joy Hill as Joy Lannister and name her the new Lady of Casterly Rock, Wardeness of the East, and Lady Paramount of the Rock.”

“And Hand?” asked Sam.

“Wyman Manderly shall be offered the role,” said Bran.

The rest looked at him and each other in confusion. “Lord Manderly is part of the North,” said Brienne. “Part of your sister’s kingdom.”

Bran gave a faint smile that reeked of arrogance. “The ravens have already flown. It shall not be Sansa’s for much longer.”

Brienne looked at Bran in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“The issue of the only true threat to my throne shall soon be settled,” said Bran. Despite no change in tone, his words sounded ominous. “And Sansa shall be blamed. The North cannot stand a kinslayer.”

Sam looked at Bran in horror. “Jon?” he asked, terrified for his friend.

“That will be all,” concluded Bran, not at all elaborating on his statement.

They all left. Sam paused, seeming to want to say something to Bran, but he obeyed his order and scampered off back to his quarters.

Podrick stepped behind Brienne. “What do you think he means about the threat to Lady Sansa?” he asked.

“Queen Sansa,” corrected Brienne, walking quickly through the Red Keep towards their quarters. “And I do not know what he means. He is our King.”

Pod was not at all convinced, sensing her hesitation. “It sounds like he has a plot in motion to seize the North.”

“That is his business. He is King. We have sworn oaths to him.”

“You swore oaths to protect Sansa as well. The North will…”

Brienne froze and looked at Pod, but he could see she was very conflicted. “My vows to the King are greater than my oaths to Lady Catelyn. I am bound by my word.”

Pod hesitated. “You really refuse to save Sansa?”

“Save her from what?” asked Brienne.

Pod shook his head. “You know what he is,” he whispered, as if that would protect him from Bran’s all-sight. Their only hope was that Bran was looking elsewhere at that time. “You know Lord Tyrion and Ser Davos were never going to return to King’s Landing.”

“That is their prerogative. If they wish to sacrifice their lands and titles, they were free to do so. I have honor. I have sworn vows to King Bran. I cannot break them.”

Pod thought of his response. “Some would say… Ser Jaime should not have broken his vows to the Mad King. But what he did that day was the most honorable act in his life.”

Brienne scowled. “This is completely different,” she said.

“How full are the Black Cells?” hissed Pod. “Do you think his plan for Sansa involves her surviving? He says they will call her a kinslayer. The realm knows why Jon Snow did what he did, but still they whisper that he has slain his own kin. No act is more cursed than kinslaying. Sansa will not survive.”

Brienne could not answer. Pod glanced each way, as if he would be able to see Bran watching them, even though he was… somewhere. “Why do you care?” asked Brienne.

“Because if Lord Tyrion had offered to take me with him, I’d have accepted his offer in a second. And I think you would have, too. Because you know there is no honor here.”

Brienne was completely shaken. “I will hold to my oaths,” she said. She then looked pointedly at Pod. “All of them. If my oaths conflict… I will do as honor demands.”

Jon and the freefolk reached Hardhome. A few wildlings had settled here to fish, and they’d done some rebuilding, but the settlement was still completely open to attack. Jon hoped Dany’s ghost hadn’t led him astray, because not only were the walls broken, there was no wood for pyres to burn the dead.

They set up their camps as close to the water as they could, and set watches around. So far, they seemed to have outrun the wights, but there was no sign of any rescue or salvation coming.

“Get as much wood as we can from the forest before the dead get here,” ordered Jon. “We’ll need watchfires. Signal fires if we can spot a ship. Pyres, if we need ‘em.”

The freefolk followed his orders as they could, but it was a few cold nights.

“I think your ghost must have led us wrong,” said Tormund after a few days of this. They knew the dead were getting closer, but still nothing. Nothing but the cold deepening, which they all knew was an ominous sign.

“Aye, maybe,” said Jon.

They heard a commotion in the camp behind them. Turning, they went to see what it was.

“Sails!” said a young woman. She pointed.

Twelve or so ships had appeared on the horizon and were making straight for them. Jon felt a good deal of tension seem to melt off him. He offered a thanks to whatever gods were listening… and to Dany’s ghost.

She had not led him wrong.

“Even dead,” said Tormund, slapping Jon on the back and smiling widely in relief himself, “Dragon Queen can’t get over your little pecker.”

Then a horn blew. They all froze.

It blew again.

And dreadfully, terrifyingly, a third time.

It was like Jon’s nightmares had returned. Horrified, he looked up at the cliffs nearby, expecting to see the Night King standing there, watching him, as he had done nearly ten years ago… the last time Jon had been faced with this exact situation, at this exact place.

The plan this time was the same as that time. He only hoped the Army of the Dead was not so numerous as to make it impossible.

“TO THE SHORE!” shouted Jon. “GET TO THE SHORE!” The freefolk made their way to the coast as quickly as they could. But the wights were coming, and coming quickly. Jon drew Longclaw. Tormund drew his axe, and they led the fighters to the front to fight for as long as they could.

The wights charged through the ruins at them. Jon raised his sword and they held the line to defend.

The horde smashed into them, and more freefolk fell than wights, but they did their number. All that mattered was holding them off long enough for the old and children to be taken on board the ships. Jon couldn’t bother to spare a glance back. He felt his cloak get torn from his back by the wights as they surged forward, snarling and growling. It was one of the last things he had from his previous life. Sansa had made it.

He was knocked back and the wights surged forward, and Jon closed his eyes. I’m coming, sister, was what he thought would be his last thought. Ghost stood over his master and prepared to die alongside him.

Then a milk white greatsword cleaved through the wight.

Soldiers in heavy armor and purple garments were charging forward to join the line. The man with the white greatsword bent down and hefted Jon to his feet.

“Fall back,” he ordered in a gruff voice. He shot a fierce glance at Jon with his purple eyes, then turned to study the advancing wights.

The purple-clad soldiers pushed the freefolk behind them. They were all armed with heavy purple shields and dragonglass blades, and they overlapped their shields, forming a solid wall. The soldiers behind pressed against the front line to keep them braced against the surging dead. Jon knew enough to recognize excellent cohesion- and therefore that to try and push forward to fight more would actually weaken the defenses.

Jon turned and saw that the fleet had anchored offshore and sent boats. Nearly all the freefolk were already safely heading towards the safety of the ships. The soldiers stepped back as one with a discipline that immediately reminded Jon of the Unsullied.

“Go,” ordered Jon to Tormund and the rest of the freefolk. Tormund looked as stunned as Jon felt about their mysterious rescuers, but he nodded. The soldiers were clearly armed to fight, and step by step they retreated. They weren’t killing as many wights as the freefolk had been, but nor were they losing nearly as many fighters.

The man with the greatsword was issuing orders in Valyrian, and his men retreated foot by foot in lock step, not weakening the shield wall. Jon stayed to support as the soldiers retreated step by step, but soon they were back at the shore.

Jon watched as the rear lines threw their dragonglass-tipped spears at the wights., who fell in waves as they were pierced.

It was clear the goal wasn’t to kill wights. It was to buy time for the soldiers to get aboard the boats. The milk-white greatsword of their commander cleaved through them as if they were parchment.

Jon climbed on the nearest boat. It took Jon a split second to realize that the sailors manning the boats were actually Ironborn, unlike the soldiers. Tormund and Ghost hopped in right behind Jon. The commander waited until as many of his soldiers as he could were aboard, then turned and leapt into the last boat. The one with Jon and Tormund.

“Thank you,” said Jon as the commander sheathed his sword and counted the number of dead soldiers. “We’d all be dead if not for you.” The man glanced at him with a disdainful expression, then turned to look over his men in the other boats.

“Who the fuck are these people?” asked Tormund to Jon.

“The sailors are Ironborn,” said Jon. “The rest… I don’t know.”

“Your brother send ‘em?”

“I don’t know,” repeated Jon. Grateful as he was for the rescue, Jon had no clue who their saviors were, beyond that they worked with the Ironborn. He glanced up at the sails of the ships. They had a large purple amethyst sigil upon them. Jon felt something cold in his gut, but he wasn’t sure why.

They reached the lead ship and the sailors aboard helped the freefolk and soldiers climb up. Jon reached the deck and finally allowed himself a moment to breath.

“Glad to see you made it, lad,” said a familiar voice. Jon turned to see a smiling, but nervous, Davos Seaworth.

“Davos,” said Jon, giving Davos a hug. Davos returned it warmly. “I’d given up hope. Did Bran see what was going on and send you?”

Davos’s face fell at the mention of Bran. “Not exactly. Your brother… I’m not sure that is still your brother, honestly. But… he’s not a good king. He didn’t send us. The Amethyst Empress did.”

Jon looked at Davos in confusion. “The Amethyst Empress?” He thought that sounded vaguely familiar. Rumors from the farthest east, last time he had been at Castle Black for supplies.

“Aye.” Davos hesitated.

“What would this ahmthes Empress want with us?” asked Tormund, mispronouncing the title.

Davos looked straight at Jon. “It’s her, Jon. It’s Daenerys. She’s the Empress.”

The world seemed to freeze around Jon, his breath stopping in his shock.

He vividly remembered suddenly the ghost of Daenerys standing before him, a gigantic amethyst on her silver chain, her white and purple dress…

Tormund turned to stare at Davos warily. He glanced at Jon’s pure white face.

“Red woman,” elaborated Davos. “Same as you.”

“Is she… is she still mad?” asked Jon in a high voice, almost barely able to hear Davos, his heartbeat was so loud in his ears.

Davos frowned. “That’s… she never was, Jon. She was poisoned. It fucked with her mind.”

Jon almost felt his heart had stopped in his chest.

He remembered the manic excitement in Dany’s gaze at the idea of burning down so many people in the name of ‘freedom’. But he also saw a ghost of horror in her eyes...

“Varys,” continued Davos. “He was trying to make us all think she was mad so we’d remove her. Basilisk’s blood. It causes violent insanity. He was having servants put it in her food, hoping we’d all turn against her. She was clever enough not to eat. She had Varys executed…”

Jon remembered standing there as Varys burnt alive. He’d never known that the spider was having poison put in Dany’s meals. He’d have killed him himself. He just thought that Dany had learned Varys was telling people of Jon’s true parentage. It had disturbed him immensely…

Dragonfire had been too good for Varys.

“The next day, she ate breakfast,” said Davos, “but the little serving girl… continued on with Varys’s plan. The poison made her angrier and angrier, and her mind snapped.”

Jon knew without any question that Davos was telling the complete truth. The old man was like a father to him. He would never have lied, not about this, but he only would tell Jon if he was utterly sure it was proven to him beyond doubt.

“I killed her,” whispered Jon, remembering that the moment he’d done it, that overwhelming surety had entered his mind that it had been wrong. The feeling that the world itself was torn asunder by his deed. “She was innocent, and I knew it, in my heart, and I killed her.”

“You had no way of knowing, Jon,” said Davos, placatingly, but Jon was not interested in excuses.

“I knew her, Davos. I… I should have known it wasn’t her. I… I…” Jon took a deep breath, choosing to focus on the other bit of news- that like him, Dany had returned from death itself.

Somehow, Jon was less surprised than that, and more surprised that he had never considered that she would of course have been brought back. Dany was magic. Jon had known that from the moment he’d met her, the moment he’d seen the miracles she’d done.

Jon had one last thing he needed to know, one last thing that he feared the answer, but needed to hear. “She’s alive. She’s… my half-sister, isn’t she?”

Davos narrowed his eyes, stunned. “How the hell do you know that?”

By all the gods, it was true. Jon knew it. He had known it for years. “Ashara Dayne’s her mother.”

Davos nodded. “Aye. We met Lady Ashara. She’s… terrifying.”

“She’s alive?” asked Jon.

“Very.”

Jon felt his knees buckle, and he fell into darkness.

He awoke, how long later, he wasn’t sure. He’d been taken into a cabin and laid in a bed. He looked at who was sitting at the edge of the bed.

“Took a bit of a shock there,” said the Onion Knight. He chuckled. “Not the prettiest face you’ve woken up to, I know.” Ghost sat up from where he’d been curled up at the foot of the bed.

“Aye,” said Jon, sitting up some. He knew exactly who Davos was referring to, even if the memory of how he had felt when he saw her sitting there caused him some distress now. “I had a vision of Dany a few weeks ago. Told us to go to Hardhome.”

“We were there, on the other end,” confirmed Davos. “Her mother’s got a glass candle. She used it to see you were in trouble. The Empress sent a fleet to get you and the wildlings out, told you, go for Hardhome.”

“Gods, Davos…” Jon leaned back against his pillows and rubbed his face in his hands. “Does she plan to kill me? I deserve it.”

Davos smiled sadly. “I don’t think so, Jon. Her uncle seemed to be saying the same thing I was: she needs to talk to you, to heal. I don’t think she wants to be your lover again. I don’t know what she really wants. Not to hurt you. Worst thing you’ve gotta fear is to be given to her mother.”

Jon hesitated. “What’s so bad about her?”

“She’s a shadowbinder, lad. Like Melisandre, except without the red priestess part. And she’s very protective of her children.”

Jon flinched. He stood up. “I need some air,” he said.

“Aye, let’s get you out.” Davos waited as Jon dressed and they went out onto the deck. Behind them, Ghost took the opportunity to claim the bed.

They had lost all sight of land, but as Jon could tell by the stars at this hour, they were heading south, still- presumably- in the Narrow Sea. Jon felt the boat rolling beneath him, and realized… this was the first time he’d ever left the continent of Westeros. He was going as far afield as he ever had before.

“Where we heading?” asked Jon.

“Volantis,” said Davos. “That’s where the Imperial court is.”

Jon ran his hand along the siding, thinking. He had no clue how Davos had come. Dany’s soldiers, yes… though he still had no idea who they were. “How did you find out it was her? How did you come to be allied with her?”

Davos sighed and leaned against the railing. Sadness was in his eyes as he knew what he had to tell Jon. “I told you, your brother’s a shit king. He sent us to try and figure out if the Amethyst Empress could be legitimate- whatever that means. He said, the last true heir to the Dawn had died. He dropped cryptic hints like ‘the spider’s fangs flowed with the venomous blood of serpents.’ When she repeated Bran’s words at us and said Varys had successfully poisoned her, Tyrion figured it out almost at once.”

“Tyrion?” asked Jon, tensing. He was filled with anger. Tyrion had… he’d told him to do it. He’d outright manipulated him into it. “He’s… gone back to her?”

“Aye. When he figured out the truth, he fell to his knees and begged her forgiveness.”

“He’s the one that told me to kill her.” Jon scowled. “I never should have listened to him. I should have trusted her. I killed the woman I loved, because he told me to.”

Davos looked at Jon. He shifted nervously, but had one last question to ask. “Do you still love her?”

Jon felt bile in his throat rise, but he knew why Davos had asked such. “No. I had dreams, Davos. That’s how I figured out she was my half-sister. I saw… I saw things. And I knew what they were telling me. Once I knew that… kind of disgusted me, what we’d done.”

There was a clearing of a throat behind them. Davos and Jon turned. Yara was standing there, looking at Jon with narrowed eyes.

“Lady Yara,” said Jon. He should have figured, once he realized it was Ironborn, of course Yara had to be involved.

“Queen Yara,” corrected Yara proudly and fiercely. “Queen of the Iron Islands, and loyal vassal of the Amethyst Empress.”

Despite his emotions, Jon managed to smile for her. “I’m glad. Your-”

Yara pulled her fist back and punched Jon straight in the face. Jon drew back in pain due to the cheap shot. “You’re lucky that’s all she told me I’m allowed to do to you,” said Yara. “She was your queen and you betrayed her.”

Jon rubbed his cheek, but he wasn’t even slightly mad at Yara. He knew he deserved far worse than a single punch. “Aye. Oathbreaker, kinslayer, queenslayer. All things I’ve called myself. Whatever she wants to do to me, I’ll accept.”

“Here’s me hoping she’ll give you to her mother,” said Yara sinisterly. She stepped away. Jon opened and closed his jaw to make sure it still worked, and spotted the commander of the soldiers watching him carefully from the quarterdeck. His purple eyes were filled with suspicion.

Davos noticed Jon and Arthur staring at one another. “Jon,” introduced Davos. “This is Lord Commander of the Imperial Guard. Her Majesty’s uncle… Arthur Dayne.”

Jon felt his jaw nearly drop in surprise. He knew that name. He’d heard the story of his uncle’s defeat of the legendary knight many times. “The Sword of the Morning,” said Jon, in awe. “Thank you for the rescue. I know I probably didn’t deserve it, but the freefolk are innocent.”

Arthur looked over Jon calculatingly. Jon was sure that Arthur had correctly located every single place on his body he still had a weapon. “I obey my Empress,” he said. “Never, ever harm her again.”

Jon chuckled to Davos as Arthur turned and made his way to the rear of the ship, looking for pursuit. “Looks like Dany’s got a family,” he said.

“Aye,” said Davos, actually smiling, “and god forbid anyone touch her again.”

Daenerys turned away from the glass candle after watching it with her mother. Almost at once, as soon as her eyes re-focused, she started breathing heavily. Her hand moved to her chest. She went to the table and leaned on it, gasping.

“Breathe,” said Ashara, turning and walking to her daughter. “Breathe.”

“I’m not ready,” responded Daenerys, her pupils wide. “I’m not.”

“You are ready. You always have been.” Ashara pulled her daughter into a tight hug. Dany nestled into her mother’s arms, and her breathing began to calm. Ashara stroked Dany’s hair comfortingly, making sure not to accidentally undo any of the braids. “I remember how hard these are to get right,” she said, smiling. “I did them every day for you while waiting for you to awake.”

“I’m sorry,” said Daenerys, hugging her mother tighter, tears running down her cheeks. “I said so many hurtful things when I woke…”

Ashara hugged her soothingly, rocking slightly. “Hush, child. You had every right to. How could you have known the price I paid for my second life? The price of watching, guiding from the shadows. Preparing for that day.”

“I know,” said the Empress, comforted by the embrace. “You paid your life for mine. Like any mother would. Like I would have…”

“Anything you said after that was forgiven immediately. I could see in your eyes, you understood.”

“I looked at you and knew you were my mother, and I embraced you as such at once.” Dany chuckled sadly. “I understand now. Family is more complicated than ever.”

Ashara let Dany go, sensing she had calmed down. “I will never let anyone harm you again, Daenerys,” she said.

“I know.” Dany hesitated. Her eyes went back to the glass candle nervously, though since it was extinguished, she did not see anything more. “I don’t think he’ll harm me again, but I can’t forget… he was the only one I still trusted. I loved him. My own brother, even if neither of us knew it.”

“I was forbidden to tell you,” said Ashara, her voice sad.

“And his father- Eddard Stark- chose not to. He chose not to do many things.”

“He was a good man,” assured Ashara.

Dany did not appear convinced. “His children were not.”

“We are not our parents. Even had you been the Mad King’s daughter, you were not defined as such. We are our own people.”

Daenerys turned to the balcony to look over Volantis. Ashara stepped next to her. Looking out over the city, the Imperial flags as far as the eye could see… it reminded Dany how far she had come from that day.

No longer was she a girl fighting to reclaim a throne that her family had been thrown from.

Now she was a woman who sat on a throne she had forged for herself. A throne quite literally made for her.

“You say you will never let him hurt me,” said Daenerys hesitatingly. “But what if seeing him hurts me? It reminds me of that day. He tried… he tried to love me. The poison… it’s not solely to blame. ‘Let it be fear, then.’ That’s what I’d said to him. As I blamed you when I awoke from death… how could he not blame me?”

“You did not kill me for it,” said Ashara. “He loved you and he murdered you.”

“He was not the only one planning for me to die,” responded Daenerys. She closed her eyes and sighed through her nose. “Tyrion and Davos. What do you think of them?”

“I think the dwarf thinks himself too clever by half,” said Ashara simply. “Westeros is in the state it is in largely due to his failures. You had Cersei defeated ten times over and he let her find a way to even the scales.”

“I won’t be taking his advice on military matters anymore, rest assured,” said Daenerys, smiling slightly. “I have an uncle and many commanders to advise me on those now.”

Ashara placed her arm around her daughter and pulled her to her side. “Take all the Lannister’s advice with a grain of salt. If our allies did not assure us his begging for forgiveness was sincere, I’d have thrown him into my dungeon. Alongside my other ‘guest’. As it stands, as one more voice among many… See that you listen to your instincts.”

“I will,” agreed Daenerys. “And Ser Davos?”

Ashara had no complaints about Davos. Even before, she had thought him one of the few good men around Daenerys and Jon. “His loyalty to the boy notwithstanding, he seems a truly good man. You can trust him far more than the Lannister.”

“He was the only one who proposed the most obvious solution. Marriage.”

Ashara smiled. “I think I would have had to break the rules and intervene had that become the plan. I can’t imagine how the boy would have reacted to learn he was in love with his sister.”

“‘I don’t want it,’” said Daenerys, but with a faint, fond smile. “‘I never have.’ I’m just honestly surprised Sansa Stark didn’t begin plotting to marry him the moment she learned he was her cousin, not her bastard half-brother.”

Ashara’s face darkened at the mention of Sansa. “Perhaps she did. In the end, she saw a chance to gain power on her own, rather than as a consort.”

“She claimed to Tyrion that Jon was a better choice, and she didn’t even put him forward,” said Daenerys scornfully. “Instead who she thought was her brother was named King and she still chose to declare herself Queen in the North.”

Ashara’s eyes glittered dangerously. “Power is power. That is the lesson she learned. She craved power as to her, it meant safety. Safety from forced marriages. Safety from control.”

Daenerys nodded. “And now the enemy I sacrificed so many fighting against before, present a threat to her kingdom once more. And this time, if she begs for aid… I know who she is, and I know who I am. I know that House Stark’s honor is but a lie.”

Ashara raised an eyebrow. “There are good Starks,” she assured her daughter.

Dany picked up a wine glass. “Everyone I’ve ever met with the name of Stark has betrayed me. And I will never let them betray me again.”

“There's one who didn't,” said Ashara.

Tyrion had prided himself as Hand of the King as to being as aware of the major comings and goings of Westeros as he possibly could.

It was rather more difficult when only a few of the lords even did the minimum of pretending to respect him despite his title of Hand of the King. Of the rest, around half of them responded with a more tastefully worded- usually, at least- “fuck you for betraying your family for the Mad Queen”- and the other half responded with a more diplomatic “fuck you for betraying Daenerys Targaryen”.

Tyrion wanted to see the reaction of each group for different reasons. The first group, he wanted to see the terror in their faces when they saw that once again, he had pledged allegiance to Daenerys Targaryen- and she was far, far stronger than before. The second, he wanted to see the shock in their faces when they saw that he had been accepted back INTO her service.

As but one member of the Elder Council compared to the Hand of the King, Tyrion’s total workload was much diminished from his time in Bran's court. Daenerys had assembled a group of intelligent, loyal advisors from across Essos who bought in entirely to her vision of her ‘better world’.

The Elder Council legally was an advisory body more than an actual governing council. Ultimate, supreme authority still rested on the Dawnthrone, in the hands of the Amethyst Empress. It was she the legions were fully loyal to- and, more to the point, she was the only one the dragons answered to. But Daenerys listened to her council nearly always, and quite often, she allowed them to vote to decide issues.

Tyrion had spent the week since his appointment to the Elder Council doing his best to understand the lay of the land of politics here in the Empire. As best Tyrion could see, the political situation was rather simple: where Westeros was fracturing, Essos was uniting.

Most lands, especially those that had bent the knee before being conquered, maintained their old system of governance. The rulers of Yi Ti and Leng had been forced to stop calling themselves Emperor or Empress, and had become King and Queen instead, but they still held authority over all their lands. In fact, in Yi Ti’s case, they held more authority than they ever had before, supported as they were by the legions and the dragons.

The Bay of Dragons had resumed the councils that Daenerys had set up with Tyrion’s aid when they had left for Westeros, though they were far more stable at the fact that the Masters had been punished most severely when she had returned in her new life to discover they had taken back control and re-instituted slavery and crucified her most ardent supporters. Tyrion was still unsure of the fate of Daario Naharis. He was privately surprised not to find the man warming her bed again.

The Free Cities by and large maintained their old systems of governance, mostly helped by the fact that nearly all of them had bent the knee willingly once Volantis had fallen. Volantis still had its three Triarchs, even if all citizens of the city and its hinterland settlements were now allowed to vote without proving descent from Old Valyria. Braavos had its Sealord. All the old rulers and governments just bowed to the Dawnthrone and were required to follow Imperial laws and pay Imperial taxes now.

Tyrion had expected that some of the older nations, such as Yi Ti, might have been very angry about being forced to kneel, but he had been very surprised. The Golden Empire of Yi Ti claimed descent from the first Great Empire of the Dawn. Daenerys represented their founding myths come to life- Yi Ti was devoted and loyal. The Bay of Dragons to no surprise were utterly devoted to their Mhysa, as was Volantis, where the freedmen had become the dominant political force.

One might have expected Braavos to have been less loyal, but they had very enthusiastically pledged themselves to the Empire. Daenerys had become a bit of a folk hero to the Braavosi, whose first rule was ‘no slavery’ and had fought wars to curb the practice themselves. When she had returned and had smashed down their ancient rivals in Volantis and ended slavery across Essos for all time, their admiration had spilled over into devotion, and the Sealord had been virtually forced to bend the knee by his own people. Their loyalty was ensured by the fact that Daenerys had seen fit to make vast deposits in the Iron Bank’s vaults.

The most basic fact Tyrion discovered was that the ‘game of thrones’ as existed in Westeros simply either did not exist in the Empire, or existed in a form that was almost completely unrecognizable. Daenerys was beloved, the freedmen and smallfolk of Essos embracing her as their savior. Tyrion wondered if this was what it would have been like to live in Westeros during the days of Aegon the Conqueror, the bloody wars and conflicts that had raged throughout the previously independent Seven Kingdoms held in check by a strong central monarch and the threat of dragonfire.

And Daenerys was far more worthy of loyalty than she ever had been before. Gone was the fiery passion of the Dragon Queen, that woman who would laugh merrily at a joke one moment and vow to burn someone alive the next. Instead she behaved far more deliberately. Her laughs were less long, her smiles less bright, but her anger less fierce, and her rampages gone outright. She was not as icey as her mother- who Tyrion made every effort imaginable to avoid- but her fire had definitely cooled somewhat, into an air of melancholy that reminded Tyrion more of Jon than of anyone else. It resonated with Tyrion, who had never fully forgiven himself for killing his father and dooming his family… for letting Jaime go. For not saving Cersei and her unborn babe, even if he now blamed Varys solely, and Daenerys not at all. It was evident she had suffered very greatly, and had reforged herself into a much more measured person. Ruling was her duty more than her right.

Tyrion wondered what had changed her more. Her death and resurrection, and all the knowledge that had come with that, or her memories of that day in King’s Landing, what her poison-fucked mind had done.

Or maybe her sadness was that the man she had loved had been the one to kill her.

Tyrion was not looking forward to seeing Jon again. He had surely been told the truth… and Tyrion’s errors in judging Daenerys guilty. He would be absolutely livid with Tyrion.

They were due to arrive in the next few days.

The Imperial fleet reached Volantis, and Davos and Arthur Dayne led Jon down the gangplank. Without even glancing back, Jon followed them, trailed by Ghost and Tormund. A few more Guards fell in behind them.

“Big city,” said Tormund to Jon. He pointed. “Big bridge.” He was pointing at the Long Bridge, from which were hanging Imperial banners. “Lots of the Dragon Queen’s new flags.”

“Aye,” agreed Jon, disinterested. Yes, the city was spectacular, but Jon could not appreciate it. How could he? He was about to see the woman he’d murdered… alive.

Jon felt oddly at peace regarding it.

“You’re not scared?” asked Tormund to Jon. He started trying to air out his shirt.. “Fuck, it’s hot here.”

“Whatever she does to me,” said Jon resolutely, refusing to shy away from whatever fate awaited him, “it’s what I deserve. Course I’m scared. Scared to see her again. I murdered her, Tormund. I don’t...”

As they were led through the city, Tormund spotted the tattoos on the faces of many of the residents. “What are those markings?” he asked to Arthur Dayne.

Jon did not expect the Lord Commander to answer, but surprisingly, he did. “The mark of slaves,” he said.

“Slaves?” asked Tormund.

“Aye,” said Jon. “It’s when a person claims ownership of another person.”

Tormund was disgusted. “The fuck would someone do that?”

“Because they can,” answered Jon.

“Why would anyone let them do that to them?” asked Tormund, looking over a group of former slaves with various tattoos on their face. Some flys, some tears.

“Because they would be killed otherwise,” said Arthur.

“Some things, death is better,” responded Tormund firmly.

“Are you brave enough to be nailed to a cross, and left to die of hunger and thirst?” asked Arthur dangerously. “To have your man parts cut off and left to bleed out as an example to any others who defy them? ‘There are no masters in the grave,’ that’s what the slaves aspired to.”

“Dragon Queen allows this?” asked Tormund, his eyes narrowed dangerously.

Jon chuckled sadly to himself as they entered a market. “No,” he said to Tormund. “She hated it. She waged wars to stop it. ‘The Breaker of Chains,’ that was one of her titles.”

“There are no slaves anywhere in Essos anymore,” said Arthur as they walked through a market. Tormund sniffed interestedly at some sausages as they walked by a stand, but the Imperial Guard made sure he kept moving.

“The marks?” asked Tormund.

“Some marks don’t come off.”

“The Dragon Queen freed these people?” asked Tormund. “Even before?”

“She did,” confirmed Jon.

Tormund narrowed his eyes. “Your sisters were fucking idiots.”

They reached the gates to the palace shortly after. The heavy gates opened at once for them. They walked up a long staircase to a landing outside the heavy wooden doors. Jon noted with a pang that they were painted red. Waiting outside was Tyrion, along with a woman Jon did not recognize… and one he did, from his dreams.

Dany’s mother. Ashara Dayne.

“Jon,” greeted Tyrion nervously, drawing his attention away from the suspicious elder woman.

Jon looked at Tyrion and sized him up. He could see Tyrion was nervous, but frankly, Jon did not care one bit. “You told me to do it,” he said. “Does she know that?”

“She does,” confirmed Tyrion, looking at the ground in shame. “I… I’m so sorry, Jon. I didn’t know. They told you about the poison?”

“Aye,” snarled Jon, torn between wanting to punch Tyrion and scream at him in rage. He settled for a raised voice. “Here was me thinking you were supposed to be clever. That you loved her. You and I both knew it was fucked, Tyrion, but you were supposed to be the smart one.”

“I regret nothing more,” said Tyrion, full of shame. “I don’t deserve her forgiveness. I don’t know if she’s actually forgiven me… but she’s taken me back into her service. I’ll never betray her again.”

“If you do, I’ll cut you down myself,” said Jon, scowling at him.

“If he does, he belongs to me,” said Ashara Dayne, stepping forward and looking at Jon with suspicion in her gaze.

Jon knew it was time to face his fate, and he fell to his knees. “Lady Ashara,” he said. “I’m so sorry…”

“Not as sorry as you should be,” retorted Ashara, standing over him intimidatingly. Even though she was still very beautiful, Jon could sense the danger from her, a feeling he hadn’t felt since... “You remember Melisandre of Asshai? What she was capable of?”

“Aye, I do,” confirmed Jon. Ashara set his nerves on edge the same way she had.

Ashara leaned down. “If she doesn’t forgive you… if you ever harm her again… I will show you such horrors that your mind will break beyond repair.”

“I deserve it,” said Jon honestly. “I do.” He glanced up at Ashara, who was staring at him sternly, Jon seeking familiarity in her face, to the face he remembered so vividly. Her skin was a more olive color, her hair brown. He couldn’t see much of Dany in her, except in the eyes, which were the exact same shade as Dany’s.

“Fortunately for you, that decision does not rest with me,” said Ashara. “My daughter will be the one to decide who you belong to.”

“She is waiting,” said Allyria. She looked at her uncle. “She is looking over the Third Emerald right now. They just finished their training.”

“Jon, this is Lady Allyria Dayne,” introduced Tyrion. He frowned. “Princess Allyria?”

“Just lady,” stated Allyria, positively mortified at the idea of being called ‘princess.’

Tyrion turned back to Jon. “She is… Empress Daenerys’s half sister.” Jon’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “Not yours. Through her mother. Yes, quite surprising, I know.”

“It’s an honor to meet you,” said Jon, looking over Allyria, who stared back at him without fear. He could actually see a little of Dany in her, even though her eyes were grey, not violet.

“Your blade,” said Arthur Dayne gruffly, holding out his hand. “Any of them you have on you.” Jon didn’t even blink. He unbuckled Longclaw and handed it over, then reached into his clothes and pulled out a hunting knife.

“That’s all of them,” confirmed Jon. Ashara was watching him warily, but she nodded to her brother.

“The Empress is waiting,” said Allyria. She turned to lead the way inside. The Imperial Guard fell into step behind her, Arthur stepping next to his niece. Tyrion stopped Davos and Tormund as Jon, his heart hammering, followed.

“Not us,” Tyrion said to them. “She just wants to speak with Jon for now.” He looked at Tormund in surprise. “You could have stayed with your people down at the docks. You’re quite a loyal friend to follow Jon into the dragon’s jaws.”

“It’s as fucking hot as the dragon’s jaws,” said Tormund, sweating.

Tyrion chuckled. “We’ll find you some more comfortable clothes.”

Jon followed Allyria and the Guard through the palace to a high walkway that overlooked a large field. There, standing on the edge, Daenerys- guarded by even more Guard- was watching the marching procession of an army, who bore heavy green shields and green clothes under their armor.

She turned to look at the approaching party, and her eyes at once fell on Jon.

Jon stepped before her. It was her. He had been told she was reborn. But having been told it, and seeing it, were different things altogether. He was flooded with shame and regret and overwhelming gratitude that despite all he had done she still had saved his life again.

He felt himself stepping forward before he even realized what he was doing. A voice behind him shouted to stop. Before he knew it, his arms were wrapped around Daenerys, hugging her tightly. “I’m sorry,” he said, nearly sobbing with joy at seeing her again and grief that he had killed her. “I’m so sorry.”

He felt something was wrong when Daenerys went rigid. At once, strong arms pried him off of her, and threw him backwards onto the ground. When he lifted his head, he found Dawn held to his throat and the Imperial Guard surrounding him.

Jon looked at Daenerys, and she was pitch white, her eyes and pupils wide in fear. She was gasping desperately for air, and she fell to her hands and knees, seemingly unable to catch her breath. Her hand was clenched over her chest… right over, Jon realized horribly, where his dagger had pierced her heart.

The last time he had embraced her… it had been to murder her.

Daenerys had been the most powerful person alive when Jon had met her at Dragonstone seven or so years ago. The amount of power she had at her disposal then paled in comparison to the might she wielded now. She had the love and adoration of an entire continent, hundreds of thousands of professional soldiers at her beck and call, loyal vassals and counselors in nearly every position. A loving and supportive family.

And despite all this merely the act of hugging her caused her to lock up in panic and fear.

Because he had killed her.

Jon felt so disgusted with himself for not realizing, for doing it in the first place… he wanted Arthur’s sword to slice his head off.

Allyria bent down to hug her sister, and Daenerys clenched to her, her breath becoming less panicked and ragged. “I’m fine,” he heard her mutter after a moment. “I’m fine. I just…”

“Say the word, niece,” said Arthur, completely seriously.

The Empress waved her hand at Arthur dismissively, even as she finally caught her breath. “No… no…” Daenerys stood. She took a few last deep breaths, and wiped tears from her face.

“Dany… I’m sorry,” said Jon as the Imperial Guard stood down. Daenerys took one last glance at him, and looking around at the Guard, turned to look back at the marching Third Emerald.

“No,” she said. “You don’t get to call me that. Not now. Not ever again, maybe.”

“I’m so sorry…” Jon climbed to his feet but stayed as far away from her as was reasonable to have a conversation. As if he had a choice. The Imperial Guard had taken positions between them.

Dany’s face was quivering in her mixed emotions, that Jon could not see. “They told you everything, I presume?”

Jon hesitated, then nodded. “Aye… you were poisoned. It drove you mad. And… you’re my sister.”

“Half-sister,” corrected Daenerys.

“Does that really matter?” asked Jon.

Dany snorted. “At times? Yes, it does.”

“I know I can never make it right, Dany-”

“Don’t call me that,” said Daenerys fiercely, a scowl forming on her face, even as she did not turn back.

“-but… whatever you want to do to me… I’ll accept it. Kill me… hand me over to your mother. I deserve so much.”

Daenerys hesitated, weighing her options. “I don’t want to hurt you, Jon,” she said. “Nor do I want you in my bed, ever again. Does that reassure you? Your half-sister no longer desires to be your lover.”

“Aye, a bit,” confirmed Jon. “I wish I’d known before… maybe we’d be able to love each other in that way, as siblings. I understand you’ve got a sister.” Daenerys did not correct him with the ‘half’ designation, and Jon noticed. Daenerys loved Allyria, he could tell. “Maybe we could have been as close as you and she are.”

Daenerys paused, then took a few steps towards the overlook. She spread her arms as the Third Emerald Legion continued to march past. Over her glove on her right hand glinted the ring of Queen Rhaella. “Do you see all this, Jon?” she asked. “I’m building my better world. That’s what we talked about in the throne room that day, wasn’t it? You begged me… stop. Stop. What do you think? Am I just as bad as you feared?”

“You haven’t burnt any cities, and you never would have without the poison,” said Jon with surety.

“I have burnt many people,” said Daenerys without shame. “Does that bother you? Do you weep for the slavers who had put my people back in chains and crucified the councils I had left in place to see to their welfare? Do you mourn the nobles of Qohor who slit the throats of a thousand children so their black god would grant them protection against my armies?”

Jon’s face became stern. “No. I don’t. I know you.”

“You knew me before. You loved me before. And yet when Samwell Tarly told you I had killed his family, you did not care for my reasons. You did not care that they had broken faith with their liege, Olenna Tyrell, and sided with Cersei Lannister. That I still had offered to them the chance to bend the knee and retain all lands and titles. That I had offered them even the choice to take the black, and they spit on me, called me a foreigner, refused my mercy. That his brother, even when his father and Tyrion both begged him not to, still made the choice to stand with his father.”

Jon closed his eyes. Sam had never mentioned any of that. That his family had been oathbreakers. “I’m sorry. Sam never told me that.”

“Of course he didn’t, and you assumed the worst. How could you have not assumed the worst of me later?”

“I… I didn’t know about the poison… but I should have. I should have known something was wrong.”

“Even I didn’t know something was wrong,” Daenerys responded. “I awoke weeks later and my mother told me everything. It didn’t matter much to me. I was still tormented by my memories, still cried nearly every hour of every day in hatred for myself. I still see it every time I shut my eyes. Do you dream anymore? I don’t. I’m grateful. If I did, I would relive that day every moment I slept.”

“I dreamt of… the truth,” said Jon. “Not the poison, but… I knew you were my half-sister. I had dreams of it.”

Daenerys sighed, but her face lit with a smile. “I need to have words with mother,” she said to Allyria. “Tyrion dreams of spiders with blood running from their fangs… Jon dreams of the truth of our actual relation. Mother has been sending dreams to people.”

“Can she do that?” asked Jon, surprised. It hadn’t been dragon dreams?

“She’s a shadowbinder from Asshai,” responded Daenerys. “She was watching over me all my life. She’s why even though it took days for them to bring me back, I didn’t decay while I was dead. She put forth all her magic to prevent that, to keep me whole. Physically, at least. My mind is…”

“Healing,” said Allyria comfortingly. Daenerys gave her a smile. The Third Emerald had finished marching past. Daenerys still didn’t turn to face Jon again.

“I’m so glad you’re alive, Dany,” said Jon. Daenerys didn’t bother to correct him this time. “I’m glad you’ve built yourself an empire that is the greatest in the world. I’d take it all back, if I could. I wish I’d trusted you, I wish I’d never…”

“Killed me,” finished Daenerys for him.

“Aye,” said Jon, refusing to step around the issue.

Daenerys hesitated. “Why did you do it that way?” she asked in a voice that was far too quivering for her taste. A few tears escaped her eyes. Allyria took her hand and squeezed it.

Jon felt a frog in his throat. “I… wanted it to be painless. I wanted your last thoughts to be knowing I loved you.”

“My last thoughts were knowing that you’d betrayed me,” said Daenerys, her voice obviously wavering as she held back crying. Jon’s face fell. “You knew, Jon. You knew what it was to feel the knife of someone you trusted pierce your heart. You know what it is, as life fades, as the darkness comes, for the last thing you know is that you were betrayed. You were the only one left I trusted.”

Jon was crying in earnest, in horrid guilt and shame. “I hate myself,” he admitted. “I’ve hated myself for six years. Aye, I know. I wanted Drogon to burn me alive. I understand why you must hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” admitted Daenerys, truthfully. She shook her head. “Do you want to know the truth, Jon? I may despise the manner in which you did it. I can never forgive you for that. ‘The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword.’ That’s what you said your father had told you. You passed the sentence and carried it out, but you didn’t even have the courage to tell me. Instead you used my love for you to get close to me, and then you put a dagger in my heart. But I can’t despise you.”

“I’m so sorry, Dany…” wept Jon. “I wish I’d never killed you. I’m so sorry I did it.”

“I’m not. I can never forgive how you did it… but I… you saved me, too.”

Jon’s tears ceased in his surprise.

“You were not the one in that throne room I was going to hurt, Jon,” said Daenerys, steeling herself, her crying stopping. “Even with the poison, I’d never have hurt you.” 

Daenerys finally turned to face Jon again, her cheeks wet, her eyes red. “I was going to find the tallest tower,” she admitted quietly, “and throw myself from it. My mother and Kinvara, the red priestess who led the ceremony… they needed my body intact to bring me back. I’d have killed myself in a way that they’d never have been able to resurrect me.”

Jon fought down a wave of bile at the revelation. “You were innocent…”

“None of us could have known. Tyrion, for all his knowledge… you for all your honor. Even me. I’d actually begun to believe they’d been right about me all along, that in me was this horrid monster called ‘The Mad King’s Daughter.’ I was very glad to hear that I never was.”

“And to have a mother?” asked Jon, trying to reassure her. “That must be nice.”

Daenerys’s face shifted awkwardly, and Jon realized he’d strode on a sore spot. Allyria glanced nervously next to her. “Now, yes,” said Daenerys. “My mother and I are very close. She gave her life to save me. Daughter of death… child of three.”

Jon sighed. “I know… you say you don’t want to be together as lovers again, Dany… and I’ll admit, nor do I, not now that I know you’re my half-sister… but I’d like to get close to you. As your brother.”

Daenerys hesitated. “Perhaps with time,” she said slowly, “we can become close in that manner. But… it will take time, Jon. There is a great deal of bitterness I must work through…”

“I understand,” said Jon, nodding. He dared to take a step forward. The Guard moved to block him, but Daenerys waved them down. Jon stepped to only a few feet away- he still did not want to get closer. “It is amazing what you’ve built. Even on the ship, I can see how much your people love you. Westeros were idiots to reject you.”

“Perhaps,” said Daenerys, smiling faintly. “Your brother Bran… if that is still Bran, I mean… you know he’s a terrible king, yes?”

“You’d have been the best queen they’d ever had,” said Jon confidently. “If you want to take Westeros… I won’t stop you. Not this time.”

“After what I did, they won’t ever accept me as their Queen,” said Daenerys. “No… Bran must be removed, I agree, but they hate me far more than they hate him. There’s only one person they’ll accept on the throne now. Thanks to Varys. Thanks to Sansa. Thanks to you. I told you what would happen if you told them, Jon. It was the one thing I ever asked you for in Winterfell… and you couldn’t give it to me.”

Jon grimaced. “I told you, I didn’t want it. I still don’t.”

“And I told you it would go beyond your control, until it took on a life of its own,” Daenerys’s face was an inferno. “The Seven Kingdoms needs a strong king. Someone with the right name, and the strength to hold it together.”

“That’s never been me,” responded Jon. “It’s you, Dany. You’re the one who can do it. You’re my Q-”

“DON’T YOU DARE SAY THAT,” snarled Daenerys furiously. How dare would Jon say those words to her, the words he had said to her before he had stabbed her. “I was your Queen and I thought you loved me and you put a dagger in my heart!”

Jon stepped back as if he’d been burnt, feeling terrible, knowing the source of Dany’s rage. Just as he was happy that they seemed to be back on the right foot, he was afraid they’d undone it all. Allyria seemed to sense it, too. She put her army around her sister comfortingly. Daenerys caught her breath.

“Jon,” she said, more calmly. “I will help bring Westeros peace, but I can’t do it alone. Nor do I expect you to.” She drew herself to her full height- which was not much. “I will place you as King in King’s Landing, Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms… but you will pledge fealty to me as the Amethyst Empress.”

Jon shook his head, confused. “A King who is a vassal? Is that possible?”

“Yi Ti, Leng, Mossovy,” listed Daenerys, “all lands that have kings. Yara is Queen of the Iron Islands still. All in fealty to me. All supported by my Legions and my dragons. Westeros will be part of my better world.”

“What if I say no?” asked Jon, still not at all willing to rule the Seven Kingdoms.

“Then if you still desire my help against the return of the White Walkers, I’d be forced to use my Legions to occupy Westeros and put down the constant rebellions that would flare up at the horrid return of the Mad Queen. I cannot suffer a tyrant like your brother to oppress his people. You are a hero. With your support, there will be peace. I will have Legions in place to support you. But Gendry Baratheon, Edmure Tully, Robin Arryn, they know you. They trust you. They’ll support you. If you need help, I will supply it.”

Jon frowned. “Let me think on it, at least.”

Daenerys nodded. She turned to look back at the field where the Third Emerald was forming back up to march out. “Jon,” she said. “I hope… things can be well between us, with time.”

“Aye,” agreed Jon. “So do I.”

“You know Sansa will continue to be an issue for me, yes, when she discovers I live?”

Jon scowled. “I’ll deal with Sansa,” he said. “I’ll not betray you ever again. You have my word.”

Then they heard padding nearby.

“WOLF!” shouted an Imperial Guard, and at once they sprang between the Empress and the great white beast that had come out of the palace and was staring at Daenerys. They drew their blades.

“HOLD!” shouted Daenerys. She pushed her way towards the direwolf, Allyria behind her. She and the wolf stared at one another. In all her time at Winterfell, Jon had never seen fit to introduce her to the wolf. It was like he had kind of forgot.

Jon stayed far away as Dany took a cautious step forward. She removed a glove and reached out a hand to Ghost. The direwolf came to her, and sniffed at her hand.

Then he started licking her fingers. Dany smiled widely as Ghost’s licks became more and more enthusiastic. She knelt down, and Ghost put his paws on her shoulders so he could tongue-attack her face with vigor.

Dany laughed joyfully and wrapped her arms around Ghost, sensing his delight at meeting her. Ghost panted happily next to her ear. Jon smiled widely.

“I will be taking a day to get acquainted with this wolf,” said Daenerys sternly to Jon, but she was obviously happy. “I will spoil him with meat from animals he didn’t know existed, let alone tasted.”

Ghost licked his lips eagerly.

“Aye,” agreed Jon. “I’ll leave him to your care, then. I’ve got to go check on the freefolk. Your people might panic at seeing a wolf in their streets without the Guard around.”

He gave a bow, and a smile, and walked off. Daenerys watched him leave, and sighed. Ghost nuzzled her cheek, placing his head on her shoulder.

“I think he’ll never hurt you,” said Allyria. “How was it, seeing him again?”

Daenerys thought about her answer for a moment. “I think I can love him as a brother,” she said. “But whenever I remembered what we once had… pain. Only pain. I know he doesn’t want to go back to that… and I think I know now for sure, I don’t either.”

“I think you’re right,” agreed Allyria. “He seems like a good man. He’ll stand by you.”

“Careful, sister,” teased Dany. “He didn’t care for thinking I was his aunt. Cousin won’t be much better for him.”

Allyria chuckled. “Not in that way. Not after what he did to my sister.” She put her arm around Daenerys and held her comfortingly.

Ghost sniffed at Dany interestedly. She pulled her head back and placed his snout between her palms. “You smell it, don’t you?” she asked.

Ghost licked her face in response. Dany smiled, but sighed sadly.

“Do not tell him. I will do it when… if… the time is right.”

Chapter Text

Tormund looked over as Jon returned, having been escorted down to the docks by Davos. Jon had to chuckle at the sight of Tormund, the fearsome freefolk chieftain, in a light silk shirt. The ginger didn’t care, though. “Still alive, I see.”

“Aye,” confirmed Jon, stepping next to Tormund. “How are the freefolk settling in?”

Tormund grunted. “Fuckin melting is what we are. Thought you southerners were crazy for heat. This is another thing entirely.”

Jon couldn’t help but smile slightly, despite his own distraction at what Daenerys had proposed and just seeing her again. “And other than that?”

Tormund nodded, seeming content. “Dragon Queen’s got us beds and food. Healers looking over the sickly. Hasn’t demanded we kneel. This isn’t the true north, but it’s better than being dead.” Tormund leaned over. “She gonna help us again? Or we gonna be here from now on?”

“I think she’ll help us,” admitted Jon, his mind still reeling about what Daenerys had proposed. The King of Westeros vassal to a foreign nation… It’d make Jon angry if he didn’t still feel that she was the rightful Queen. “Her plan is to make me king of the kneelers.”

“She don’t want it for herself anymore?” asked Tormund. What the freefolk lacked in bookish intelligence, he made up for in insight.

Jon smirked. “I think her plan is for me to kneel to her and her Empire. We’ll be part of her realm, but I’ll rule Westeros in her name.”

Tormund raised an eyebrow at Jon skeptically. “You willing to go against your brother and sister?”

Jon frowned. “ She is my sister,” he said plainly.

Tormund frowned, unconvinced. “You chose them over her once before,” he said.

“Only because I thought she’d burnt a city of her own free will.” Jon scowled. “There’s no divide in me now. No Sansa pushing me to take her throne from her. She built her own nation. I’ve got no claim on it. Davos and even Tyrion both say, Bran’s a shit king. People are starving. He doesn’t care. What love I had for them… it’s my duty.”

Tormund looked at Jon. “You chose duty over love once before,” he said plainly. “And it destroyed you.”

Jon could not answer that.

Tyrion sought out Daenerys almost immediately. He found her slumped in her private sitting room, her head in her hand, staring thoughtfully at a fire. Her eyes were blood-struck, but her tears had ceased.

Tyrion noted that she definitely had more grief in her face, but she also appeared to be more at peace.

Also that a colossal white direwolf was sitting in front of her with his head in her lap, and she was stroking it gently.

“How did it go?” asked Tyrion gently.

Daenerys looked over at him, and chuckled. “You’re the one who told him to do it,” she said, “and you think seeking me out is a wise idea right now?”

Tyrion sighed deeply in regret. “Forgive me.”

“It’s fine. You didn’t tell him to do… it that way, did you?”

Tyrion shook his head. “All this time I honestly thought that Samwell Tarly’s book was close to the truth. I couldn’t have imagined…”

“Brave, honorable Jon Snow…” said Daenerys, her eyes darkening. She sighed. “He lives. He has his freedom. He knew Rhaegar was my father even before Davos and my uncle found him.”

Tyrion furrowed his brows in surprise. “How?”

“The same reason you had dreams of spiders with blood running from their fangs,” said Dany. “My shadowbinder mother.”

Tyrion sighed. Somehow he wasn’t surprised. “He didn’t want to… return to your bed?” asked Tyrion frankly.

“He hated the idea I was his aunt. No, knowing I’m his sister has not made him more eager to leap into my bed again. Nor would I let him in.”

Tyrion nodded. “Well, I’m glad. I think this is good for you. To make peace with Jon.”

“Before this I wasn’t so sure,” admitted Daenerys. “My uncle and Ser Davos both argued for it. Turns out, age belies wisdom. I do feel better.”

“On the topic of people returning to your bed… whatever happened to Daario Naharis?”

Dany raised an eyebrow at him. “Why do you care?”

Tyrion shrugged. “I’ll admit? A part of me wonders if he’s been in Volantis all this time, and I’ve merely not crossed paths with him. I’m sure if I found him he would… punish me for turning against you.”

“He would be a hypocrite if he did,” responded Daenerys bitterly. “No, the moment news of my death reached Meereen, Captain Naharis was given an offer he did not refuse. He let the masters and their sellswords back in. And in return, he was named King of Meereen, in the name of the Great, Good, and Wise Masters of Slaver’s Bay. He saw the councils we established butchered, and those I freed thrown back in chains.”

Tyrion frowned. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“I remember the day well. News of the Amethyst Empress’s true name had not spread west yet. Or else they would not have dared oppose me. Not that it would have saved Daario.”

Five Years Ago...

The United Kingdoms of the Harpy had marched their army to Khyzai Pass to intercept the march of the Gemstone Legions from the east.

Daenerys and Arthur rode along the lines as her troops formed up for battle. First and Second Jade, First Ruby, First Sapphire. Those were the legions that were ready. More were mustering back in Yi Ti and Leng- Arthur reported with the closest thing to pride that Daenerys had ever seen that the rosters were overflowing with recruits, ready to fight and die for the Great Empire of legend reborn- but this was the invasion force as it currently stood. Sixty thousand men... and Daenerys’s secret support.

Across the field the Harpy banners fluttered overhead as the Great Good Wise Masters- representing the united masters of Meereen, Yunkai, and Astapor- prepared their troops to meet the Imperial armies in the field. Their numbers were lesser, but in the pass, they could prevent the Imperial forces from outflanking them.

“They’re fools to fight us,” said Arthur.

“They were fools to fight me before,” said Daenerys. “This time there will be no mercy for the masters.”

A horn sounded from the Masters army as a group of riders came forward. Daenerys did not send out a parley force of her own to meet them. She did not consider them worth her time. Still, killing envoys was frowned upon. She would not.

As the envoys reached a few dozen feet from the Legion’s front lines, they halted. Daenerys. They stood in front of the 1,900 men of the Imperial Guard ranks, marked by their violet shields, who held the center of the Imperial line. A hundred held back with their Empress, to guard her. On the left was formed up the Jade Legions. On the right, the Ruby and Sapphire. Her commanders- her Rōvudrāzmio- were waiting with her, but they turned to listen as the Masters’ envoy began to shout.

“The Great, Good, and Wise King of Meereen, Daario Naharis, on behalf of the Great, Good, and Wise Masters of Slaver’s Bay, demands your army’s immediate retreat and reparations to be made for this flagrant violation of our ancestral lands.”

“Allow me to defend your honor, my niece,” begged Arthur.

“You are too dear to me, uncle,” said Daenerys. “I cannot bear to lose you.”

Arthur smiled. “You won’t.”

“They’ll fight dirty.”

“Then I’ll fight using Dawn.” Daenerys gave a slight smile back and nodded.

Arthur Dayne, Dawn in hand, strode forward. “I, Lord Commander of the Imperial Guard Arthur of House Dayne,” he called back, “am here to fight for the honor of my niece, the Amethyst Empress. Are there any among you man enough to challenge me?”

The Legions gave a shout of support for Arthur. Daenerys, Allyria, and Ashara watched as a rider came forward from the Masters’ parley force. To Dany’s great disappointment, it was not Daario.

“I, Tahaemon Nohtalor, Commander of King Daario’s Second Sons, will have the task of killing you, what little honor can be found.”

Arthur hefted Dawn. Overconfidence, Nohtalor dismounted his horse, and strode forward to match blades man-to-man with the Sword of the Morning.

“Slave masters have no honor,” said Arthur. “Nor do sellswords or traitors.”

“Honor gets one killed,” responded Nohtalor. He swung his blade at Arthur. Arthur raised Dawn to parry, and then counterstruck. Nohtalor barely got his blade up in time to block the blow.

Or, rather, try to block the blow.

Dawn broke the sellsword’s blade. Stunned, Nohtalor could barely react as the Lord Commander brought Dawn back for another strike, and took Nohtalor’s head clean off with a single swipe.

The Imperial army cheered loudly. Dayne placed Dawn blade-first in the ground and looked across at the stunned and angry Masters.

“You’ve got a death wish, old man,” said Daario. He rode forward, drawing his jeweled arahk. “That was one of my best men. I’ll take your head.”

“You can try,” mocked back Arthur. “The duel of honor has been fought. Your man lost.”

“You think that means we’ll surrender?” asked Daario, sneering.

“Oh, please don’t,” shouted Daenerys. Daario turned to look at the lines as the Imperial Guard ranks split so Daenerys could walk forward. “I have no intention of honoring your surrender. As my uncle said, the duel of honor has been fought. Return to your army, or don’t. It doesn’t matter to me. You’ll meet the same fate either way.”

“Daenerys,” said Daario, stunned.

“‘Her Imperial Majesty,’” responded Arthur. “Daenerys Lightbringer of House Targaryen, First of Her Name. Amethyst Empress of the Great Empire of the Dawn. Breaker of Chains, Mother of Dragons. The Unburnt. The Reborn. The Princess Who Was Promised, The Bringer of Dawn.”

“She died,” said Daario, panicking. “YOU DIED.”

“And now I live again,” stated Daenerys. “You betrayed me, Captain Naaharis.”

“You betrayed me first!” snarled Daario. “You left me alone, in Meereen. It was an impossible position, once you had gone off with your army, your fleet, your dragons. I hear you got most of them killed, along with yourself. I told you you should have stayed in Meereen. With me.”

“Maybe I should have,” agreed Daeneys. “But if we look back, we are lost. I made my mistakes, and I paid for them. And I see now that leaving you in charge of Meereen was a great mistake. How quickly did you turn the city back to the Masters? How many slaves died as you made yourself King of Meereen and helped the other cities fall back into chains? Did you even have the decency to wait until I was dead before you betrayed me?”

“You abandoned me! I loved you and you abandoned me!” He pointed his arahk at Daenerys. Daenerys calmly raised her arm. Behind her, the bow and crossbowmen of the Legions readied their weapons, awaiting her command. Daario, realizing they had him dead to rights a hundred times over, lowered his blade. Daenerys waited a moment before putting her hand back down. The Legions stood down.

Daario and Daenerys continued to stare at each other. The Legions stood behind their Empress, silent in their ordered ranks. The Army of the Harpy on the far side, baying and mocking.

“You were only special because you had dragons,” said Daario. “Where are your dragons now?”

“Do you really want me to show you?” asked Daenerys.

“We didn’t believe it, I still don’t, but we’ve got those scorpions the Westerosi designed. They’ve killed dragons. Bring forth your last one, we’ll kill him too.”

“Oh Daario,” said Daenerys, stroking his face tenderly with her gloved hand. “What a fool you are. I need only a cloth dragon to defeat your army, and not a lick of fire. And fear not. I mean not to kill you. I would like to introduce you to my mother.”

Daario narrowed his eyes at the perceived threat. “I don’t believe you. Everything the Westerosi said about you is true. You have gone mad.”

“Is madness so far from wisdom? For you lack both, in that case. You say only my dragons make me special, but I won my first victories when my children were no larger than dogs. I was Queen of Meereen with far less large an army than this one... and I will rule over the Bay of Dragons again. Do you think my people have forgotten me? Do you think your slave soldiers will still fight for you, when they realize against who you fight?”

Daenerys strode past Daario to face the Army of the Harpy. She spread her arms wide and called. “Mhysa ēza māzigon arlī syt ao!” Mother has returned for you! Behind her, the Imperial Guard unfurled a large banner bearing the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen.

The Army of the Harpy sat there, dumbfounded, before a single word started being shouted by the front ranks, the ranks of slave soldiers. “Mhysa! Mhysa! Mhysa!”

“Gūrogon arlī aōha ābrar! Ēza va moriot issare aōhon! Aōha belma issi yn pirtra!” called Daenerys again. Take back your lives. They have always been yours. Your chains are lies.

At once, the sheer joy and reverence exploding out of them, the slave ranks at the head of the Army of the Harpy turned on their stunned masters. It was swift, brutal, and utterly without mercy. The Imperial Guard surrounded Daario and his delegation. Those who fought died. Arthur Dayne brought the flat of Dawn against the back of Daario’s knees as he watched the slave soldiers he had brought lay utter waste to the soldiers of the masters. Daario fell to his knees, but he continued to watch next to Daenerys as the slaves overwhelmed the masters.

“A man who has known freedom,” said Daenerys, “merely needs a small taste to seize it once more.”

As the slaves cheered victoriously, Ashara and Allyria came forward. “You died,” said Daario again in disbelief. “You died.”

“I did,” confirmed Daenerys. “Death is not always the end of life.” Ashara came to stand behind the Empress as Daenerys knelt and took Daario’s chin in hand. “Nobody’s life can ever belong to another... but you must pay your pennance, Daario. I, Daenerys Lightbringer of House Targaryen and House Dayne, sentence you to prison.”

“Prison?” asked Daario. “Not death?”

“Oh, Daario. I’ve died before. Once you die, there is nothing. What pennance is that for one such as you? No, Daario. This is my mother. She shall be your jailor.”

Present Day

On the one hand, Arya felt more at ease in Volantis, by the mere fact that as far as she could see, nobody in the city flew the flag of the three-headed dragon above their houses.

On the other, now that she knew the truth of who the Amethyst Empress was, she felt the Imperial flag and its amethyst gemstone sigil was worse, even. And it felt like a full quarter of the houses in Volantis had the Amethyst sigil hanging from it, or flying above it.

Everyone who flew that flag surely knew the truth of what Daenerys Targaryen had done in Westeros. A million people turned to ashes beneath the fires of her dragon, as its mad mother rode upon its back, commanding it all.

Even despite all her training to remain emotionless and in control, Arya had felt a stab of panic the first time a dragon had flown overhead here in Volantis. It had not at all been eased when she realized that unlike the ones in Meereen, she recognized this one. It haunted her nightmares sometimes. She had last seen it in King’s Landing. And Drogon had gotten even bigger than he had been then. Arya was sure he might now be larger than Balerion the Black Dread. His scales would be like iron. Even a scorpion bolt might never hurt him again.

But despite Arya’s unease, dragons were a fact of life here. They nested upon the roof of the Imperial Palace. They flew overhead all the time. Most Volantenes didn’t even look up. In fact Arya quickly realized that merchants had figured out natives didn’t look at the dragons. People from outside Volantis did. People from outside Volantis generally didn’t know what a fair price actually was when they were haggling.

Arya had explored the city, going across the long bridge, mingling in the markets, even watching the whores in the brothels carefully, trying to take the city’s measure. In her paranoia, she was sure she felt eyes on the back of her neck. Like the townsfolk knew who she was, and were waiting for a sign to strike at and murder her.

Because if there was one thing Arya didn’t at all understand, it was how anyone could know the truth of what Daenerys had done, and love her despite it.

And her people loved her.

Arya had seen it. She had been at a market stall when a group of emerald-clad Imperial legionnaires had arrived. For one heart-stopping moment, Arya had been sure they were there for her. She had been determined to go down fighting, and had reached for Needle on her waist, only to find nothing there- in her panic she had forgotten she had it hidden in a secret place at the docks. Arya loved that sword, but Daenerys had surely seen it on her waist during her time at Winterfell.

But the legionnaires were not there for Arya. They had surrounded one of the customers. He had tried to run, but the crowds- who had of course immediately taken an interest in the spectacle- seized him and threw him to the legionnaires. They had restrained him with a few heavy knocks, shackled him, and dragged him off. All the while, the people cheered.

“Imperial justice!” cried a man. “Long live her Majesty!”

The crowd had toasted that.

Arya later had heard that the man arrested was accused of murdering his wife. He would be put on trial, and if found guilty, executed.

Once, another day, Arya had found a large crowd. A man wearing a black sash with a golden version of the gemstone sigil sewn into it- guarded by violet-clad soldiers that Arya knew marked them as Imperial Guard, the Empress’s best soldiers- listened to petitions. They had begged him to bring up the matter of lowering the price of flour for bread, and he had pledged to raise it at the next council session. Arya had later learned that the man was Doniphos Paenymion, a former Triarch of Volantis, and now a member of the Imperial Elder Council.

Two days or so later town criers had announced that the Elder Council and Empress had agreed to pay farmers nearby to expand their fields to grow more grain to grind into flour. Increased supply would result in lower prices, but in the interim, the Empire would buy grain from farmers in the Bay of Dragons, where there was a surplus, and bring it to Volantis. Then, legionnaires had opened bags and tossed bread to cheering crowds.

Arya was of two minds about this.

Was this all a ploy? Arya remembered Sansa telling her all about Margaery Tyrell. How she had helped the people- but had made sure to be seen helping the people. People who thought the Empress was good and just were not inclined to think her a tyrant.

But the people did not flinch when dragons flew overhead. They stepped out of the way of legionnaires and Imperial Guard when they marched through the streets, but they did it respectfully, without fear. Once Arya even saw a little girl take a flower to a legionnaire, and the soldier promptly put it into his helmet. Arya had been confused until she saw the girl race back to her mother, who had a tattoo on her face- the mark of a former slave.

To Volantis, the dragons and soldiers didn’t represent tyranny. They represented freedom.

In fact the only people Arya could find- and she had made the effort to search- who spoke ill of the Empire were the deposed old blood, in their palatial estates. They grumbled about how the power had been seized from them, how the freedmen should be slapped back in chains, how the Black Walls would be rebuilt and the pure blood of old Valyria would rule again, as was right and just.

They met openly. They spoke of their views freely. The people- especially the freedmen- hated them, but the legionnaires and Imperial authorities did nothing to stop them so long as they only used words, not violence. In fact once Arya saw a freedman assault one of them. The freedman had been arrested and fined for breaking the Imperial law.

Most of the other freedmen around muttered that the Empress’s law was the law, and the man had broken it. Even if they all understood why, and had enjoyed watching the former master get beaten.

It was this that was causing Arya to hesitate.

This wasn’t tyranny.

If Arya hadn’t had personal experience with Daenerys Targaryen, with her demands that the North bend the knee, with her flying overhead burning everything within sight, with watching mothers hold their babes as the flames turned them both to ash... she would have thought her a good, just, wise ruler.

This was the sort of woman Arya could see Jon falling in love with.

The demon monster Westeros despised was the angel hero the Essosi loved.

Despite that, Arya knew she could not suffer a threat to House Stark to live. Surely, Daenerys Targaryen would cross the Narrow Sea. She would remove Bran from what she regarded as her throne, even if it never had been hers- always Jon’s. She would pay back Sansa’s hate with dragonfire. She would murder Jon for murdering her.

Arya’s father would tell her, justice must always be done. Daenerys Targaryen had murdered nearly a million people. She had died for that crime once, and she had been reborn. Nobody was above justice. A life for a life; Daenerys Targaryen owed a balance that still must be paid.

And the pack must be protected.

Arya’s loyalty was to the pack. Always to the pack.

She would protect the pack. She would protect Sansa. She would protect Bran. She would protect Jon.

Jon... what would Jon think, Arya wondered? That the woman he’d loved and killed had come back from death itself, and Arya had killed her again?

Jon didn’t know what was best for him. If Jon knew, he would never have fallen in love with her in the first place. Jon would have to never learn that she lived again, nor who had killed her. Jon couldn’t hate Arya for doing the right thing, then. How would he ever know? Jon was safely in the lands beyond the Wall, with the freefolk. He would never find out. It was impossible.

Then why did Arya still have trouble getting Jon’s face staring at her in revulsion and hate out of her mind?

Daenerys Targaryen must die. Arya knew that.

Why did the idea make Arya feel sick?

Sansa Stark stepped into the Great Hall of Winterfell and noticed that the muttered conversation of the Northern Lords died rather more quickly than it usually did. Many of them were looking at her suspiciously. Still, they stood when she entered, and waited until she had sat on her throne before they returned to their seats.

Jon and Robb and even father had, rather than sitting on a throne, sat at the center of a table, flanked on either side by their family and advisors. Sansa had done away with that. A Queen deserved a throne. One made just for her. It was just one of the ways Sansa was better than Daenerys Targaryen, who when passing judgement over Jaime Lannister, had sat in the high table, like the North belonged to her. Even though its people hated her.

Sansa had always known Daenerys Targaryen was a tyrant and a lunatic, and Jon had been a fool to love her. It was the rule. When you played the game of thrones you win… or you die. There is no middle ground. Daenerys Targaryen had lost. She had lost her armies, her dragon, her servants that she pretended were her friends, and finally, her mind… and then her life. House Stark had won. This was their destiny. They had suffered more than any, let alone a foreign princess living in luxurious exile. Sansa had survived Ramsay. What had Daenerys Targaryen survived?

Sansa had earned this. Her mother had always promised she’d be a queen. Sansa had thought it would be as a queen consort, wife to a king, but instead she ruled in her own right, even if it was just the North. Sansa knew that perhaps the smartest thing to do would have been to push Jon for the Iron Throne- or, whatever was left of it after Daenerys Targaryen’s last dragon had melted it to slag- and marry him, since he was her cousin by blood. The thought made Sansa shiver in disgust. Jon was her brother in heart, and the pack did not mate with their own. Even if Jon had fucked his aunt.

“Your Grace,” began Wyman Manderly, before Sansa could begin court. “We have received ravens…”

“Ravens from where?” asked Sansa.

“The Wall. They claim that…” Manderly froze, nervous.

Sansa raised her chin imperiously. “That what?” she asked.

“That you have had Jon Snow murdered.”

The room muttered and watched Sansa carefully.

Sansa was flabbergasted. “They say what?” she asked in disbelief. “I haven’t had contact with Jon in years. He left beyond the Wall to join the wildlings. Why would I have him murdered?”

Manderly looked at Sansa closely. “Because you felt he was a threat to your throne.”

Sansa bristled. She rubbed her throne’s armrests. This was her throne. Made for her. How could Jon be a threat to it? He wasn’t even really a Stark. He had a Stark mother, but that gave him no claim on the North. Not compared to a trueborn daughter of Eddard Stark.

“I assure you, Lord Manderly, these are lies,” said Sansa. “And you had best watch your tone. I am Queen in the North.”

“Your Grace, I ask you of this,” said Manderly, defiant. “Speak truthfully. Did you have Jon Snow killed?”

Sansa narrowed her eyes. “Do you have proof?” There was no proof. She had done nothing of the sort.

Manderly hesitated, then nodded. “When the ravens came, I wrote… to the King in the South, Bran Stark. He confirmed that he had seen men under your employ… sack a wildling settlement at Hardhome, where Jon Snow had settled. I sent a ship to investigate… and we found a ruined village. And this.”

He lifted a cloak. Sansa recognized it at once. She had made it at Castle Black for Jon. It was badly damaged.

“These are lies!” said Sansa, horrified. Jon was dead? He was her brother. Maybe not in blood, but in heart! She would never have hurt him. “Did you find his body? Any wildlings?”

Manderly shook his head. “The settlement was deserted, but King Bran had said that the wildlings had fled into the wilderness. We found no trace of them, apart from the signs of battle.”

Glover stood. “Do you have any proof of Queen Sansa’s involvement, Lord Manderly?” he asked. He had always been one of Sansa’s staunchest supporters.

“There is no proof!” snapped Sansa. “I did no such thing. I am your queen. My word is law.”

“The laws of men, aye,” agreed Lord Kegan Flint of Flint’s Fingers. “But kinslaying is against the gods’ laws. It must be judged.”

“Still, all we have is proof that Hardhome was attacked, and Jon was there,” said Sansa. “I did not order it. It could have been Ironborn.”

“No Ironborn ships have been sighted by Northern or Southern fleets,” said Manderly. “I can assure you of that as Lord Admiral of the North.”

“And Ser Davos?” asked Sansa.

Manderly shook his head. “Ser Davos has vanished from King’s Landing, along with Lord Tyrion Lannister. But King Bran assures me of the same truth: the only fleet either my ships or his have seen are a small Imperial fleet. They rounded Braavos and went east, towards the ports on the northern coast of the Empire, according to King Bran.”

“Is Bran sure?” asked Sansa. “Maybe it was the Empire.”

“I do not doubt your brother’s sight,” responded Manderly.

Sansa was sitting there in horror. She had done no such thing… and Bran knew it, she knew.

Why was he doing this?

“I would never hurt Jon,” said Sansa. “He was my brother. I am the Queen in the North. The daughter of Eddard Stark. I swear on my house’s honor, it is true!”

“And the King in the South is Eddard Stark’s son,” said a lord. “And he tells a different tale!”

“Lord Bran told me,” said Manderly, “that in your desk… there’s a letter that proves it.”

“There is no such letter!” snarled Sansa.

“Then will you consent to allowing us to search your desk?”

Sansa knew then that there was a letter in there. She hadn’t written it.

Bran had.

Bran was framing her.

“I… I…” stuttered Sansa, feeling trapped. A horrified feeling she hadn’t felt since the crypts at Winterfell, during the Battle of Winterfell, when the dead were coming out of the crypts… when all sense and logic had left the room and they had kind of forgot that the White Walkers could raise the dead. It still didn’t make any sense to Sansa.

Manderly looked at Glover and Flint. “The three of us shall search the desk,” he said. “We shall swear to be truthful.”

“If there is a letter,” said Sansa, “I didn’t write it. Bran is framing me.”

Shouts of outrage. “Liar!” she heard. “Kinslayer! Usurper!”

“Bran is the usurper!” shouted Sansa in a panic. The lords were turning on her. “He is coming for my throne!”

“He is the trueborn son of Eddard Stark!” said one Sansa didn’t recognize. “You usurped his throne!”

“We shall see what this letter says,” said Manderly. He, Glover, and Flint left.

They returned with ashen faces and a letter in Manderly’s left hand.

“Maester Wolkan,” said Manderly. “You are a chained master of the Citadel. Sworn to neutrality, yes?”

Wolkan gave a nervous glance to Sansa, but nodded. “I am,” he confirmed.

Manderly offered him the letter. “Can you confirm if this is in Queen Sansa’s hand?”

Wolkan took the letter and, hands trembling, opened it. He gave a terrified glance at Sansa, but nodded to Manderly. “I can confirm,” he said. “This is her hand.”

The lords shouted in outrage. More and more lords took up the call of ‘kinslayer.’

“Even more,” said Manderly, “Queen Sansa was plotting to have Bran Stark killed.” Loud shouts of outrage. “She was then plotting to put herself forward at the next Great Council of the South to be Queen in the North, AND Queen in the South.”

“KINSLAYER!” there were more shouts. Sansa collapsed into her throne.

“She must be arrested!” shouted Flint, and the lords acclaimed his word.

“Queen Sansa,” said Manderly. “As the most senior of the Northern lords… for the crime of kinslaying, I place you under arrest.”

Sansa couldn’t move as two lords seized her. She glanced up at a window.

A raven with milk-white eyes was sitting there watching.

Sansa could swear over the din of the lords, she heard it laugh.

Tormund went to meet with the Empress the next day on behalf of the wildlings. He had to surrender his weapons, which didn’t surprise him. He was led to a small courtyard with a statue of a beautiful woman. A painter was adding color to the effigy, working on her blue dress- the rest was still mostly undone. The Empress was sitting with her mother and sister at a small table, on which was wine and small snacks.

Daenerys stood respectfully to greet Tormund, but the wildling leader gave her a big, toothy grin and before the Guard could stop him gave her a gigantic bearhug.

“Dragon Queen,” said Tormund fondly as he set her down. “Shoulda known you’d come back. You and Lord Crow. Thick as thieves, you are.”

Daenerys looked up at Tormund and could not hide some surprise in her face. Tormund noticed it. “What?” he asked.

“I didn’t really think you liked me that much,” confessed Daenerys.

Tormund’s face shifted into alarm. “Why the hells would you think that? You saved our lives, you and your dragons. Flew in and burnt a thousand wights and took us off the lake.”

“The feast,” said Daenerys. “‘What kind of fool climbs onto the back of a dragon? A madman, or a king!’”

Tormund balked in disbelief. “I toasted you!”

“The only one,” said Daenerys.

Tormund grunted. “Snow impressed me because I’d known him, since before his death, since after. Never known you as anything but a dragon rider. I don’t know why Snow’s sisters hated you. You’d come to fight with us. Freefolk respected that. We respected you. Fuckin’ southerners cared too much about what your kin did. Care too much about where you come from.”

“You didn’t hate my foreign hordes of savage horsemen?” asked Daenerys.

Tormund grinned widely. “Hate ‘em? Dragon Queen, they were more like us than any of those southerners. Loved a good fight. A good fuck in a few cases. Got some copper-skinned kids in our camps nowadays. Where are the horse men now? Was looking for some of their drink.”

Daenerys stared at him in surprise. “You actually like their fermented mare’s milk?” she asked.

Tormund lifted his drinking horn. “Reminds me of our goat’s milk.” He held it out to her. “Be strong, Dragon Queen.”

Daenerys took it after a moment’s hesitation and took a sip. She didn’t flinch. “I’ve tasted worse,” she said. “But I prefer wine.”

Tormund grunted. “Snow said you want to make him the kneeler king.”

Dany’s face shifted at the mention of Jon, but she nodded. “Lord Tyrion and Ser Davos both agree Bran cannot continue to rule.”

“And his sister?” Daenerys raised an eyebrow meaningfully. Tormund rolled his eyes. “You know who I mean. The redhead.”

Daenerys frowned. “I hate her,” she admitted. “But I hear she’s done a decent job. Queen Yara has been begging me to sanction the Ironborn to hit their coastlines, but I don’t want the people, bigoted and hateful though they may be, to suffer. It’ll be up to Jon.”

Tormund nodded. “I’ve been watching out for Snow even since he came back. You really forgiving him?”

Dany frowned. “Not yet.”

“Snow’s had it bad since then. Days he got so drunk I was afraid I’d come back and find him gone. Helpin’ us was his way of coping. The busier he was, the less he thought of it. His heart didn’t lie. Hearing you were alive again, even scared as he was, was the first time I’ve seen his eyes light up again. It killed him, what he did.”

Daenerys narrowed her eyes at him. “You do understand that the act for which you’re saying killed him was to literally kill me , yes?”

“I don’t know what that word means, literally, but aye, I get your point. Still… he’s got regrets.”

Daenerys sighed. “We both do. But rest assured, I don’t mean to harm him. I think we both need to work through our past, and heal.”

“And your mother won’t hurt him either?” asked Tormund.

“Ask her yourself, she’s sitting right behind you.”

Tormund’s eyes widened in fear and he turned. Ashara raised her wine glass to him. Tormund instinctively took a step back. Daenerys smiled in amusement.

“I’ll be getting back to the freefolk, then,” said Tormund. He stepped out.

“Am I really that terrifying?” asked Ashara as Daenerys returned to sit at them.

“Sometimes,” said Allyria. Ashara smirked. Allyria turned to Daenerys. “Was that drink really not that bad?”

“Oh no, it was one of the worst things I’ve ever tasted,” admitted Daenerys. “Worse than eating a whole raw horse heart.”

Sansa had been in her cell for only a few days when she was taken from it, escorted by her own guards out of her own cell in her own castle.

She was taken to her own great hall, where Manderly had become the acting regent. “Queen Sansa,” he said.

Standing behind him was Brienne of Tarth and Podrick Payne.

“I didn’t do it,” said Sansa indignantly. “I swear I didn’t.”

“That shall not be for us to determine. King Bran has requested you be sent to him. He will put you on trial. Jon Snow was kin to him as well. I shall sit on behalf of the North. Ser Garth Hightower and Princess Arianne Martell shall sit on behalf of the south. You will get a fair trial, I assure you.”

“I- I am the queen,” blurted Sansa. How could the queen be put on trial? They were above the laws of men.

Manderly frowned. “Even a queen is not above the gods’ law. In light of this, should you be found guilty… Bran Stark shall be crowned King in the North.”

Oh, Sansa realized… so that was what Bran was up to.

“You will bow to a southern ruler again!” she yelled angrily.

“Only so long as Bran Stark sits the throne,” clarified Manderly. “Once he passes, the kingdoms would separate again.” Manderly waved his hand at Brienne. “Lady Commander Brienne and Ser Podrick have come under orders from King Bran to escort you to King’s Landing. They will treat you with honor.”

“I didn’t do it, Brienne,” begged Sansa. “You’re sworn to my mother.”

“I’m aware of my vows, Queen Sansa,” said Brienne. She shot a desperate glance at Sansa.

“The carriage is waiting,” said Manderly. “You shall depart once you gather whatever possessions you wish to take.”

Sansa went to her chambers and gathered a few clothes. They were placed into a trunk. She took her crown and placed it on her red locks. They could pry it from her cold dead hands. If she was to be executed, she would die wearing her crown.

Her servants loaded it into the carriage, and with a last wistful look at Winterfell, she climbed in. Brienne and Pod mounted horses, and led the carriage out of the castle, heading for the Kingsroad.

It was a few hours later that Sansa heard the sounds of battle outside.

The door was wrenched open, and Brienne looked in. “Quickly,” she said. “We’ve knocked out the other guards, but we must be fast.”

Sansa climbed out at once. Pod was holding a horse for Sansa. “My possessions-” said Sansa.

“No time. We must ride quickly. We have a ship moored at a hidden inlet on the coast. We know King Bran framed you. I swore a vow, Queen Sansa, to protect you. It was my first oath. I will not break it, not when what is being done to you is unjust and dishonorable.”

Sansa felt compelled to hug Brienne, and launched herself at the tall woman, wrapping her tightly. Brienne shifted awkwardly, but patted Sansa’s back. The deposed queen then turned, opened her trunk, grabbed a few dresses, and mounted her horse.

“Where shall we go?” asked Sansa.

“Bran’s vision can’t go into the Empire,” said Brienne. “He can’t see into Essos anymore. We will sail there. We should be safe from his sight.”

“And we can figure out how to prove my innocence,” said Sansa. “Can your ship get us to Volantis?”

Brienne nodded.

“Then we shall sail for Volantis. If we can find Lord Tyrion and Ser Davos, we can work to find out who killed Jon…”

Jon knew he should be worried about the return of the White Walkers. The last time they had come, six years ago, he had had many sleepless nights.

But gods be damned, he had had the best sleep he’d had in years, and he was not at all happy to hear knocking on his door. He groaned and tried to sink deeper into the bed. The bed was so soft and warm, Jon didn’t ever want to leave. Dany did not skimp in her palace on luxury.

Jon heard the jingle of keys and then the door opened despite Jon’s wishes. Davos walked in. Jon had buried his head beneath his pillow, but the Onion Knight did not care. “Ah, good, you’re up,” he said.

“I was no such thing,” responded Jon. He sighed in regret, knowing that his sleep was over. “What hour is it?”

“Not far off noon,” said Davos. Jon inched his eyes open and saw Davos was wearing a sash, like the one Tyrion had been wearing. “Council session’s already done for the day. Fasts broken. I’m sure you can have something sent up from the kitchens, though. Fair warning, they use spices here that’ll fry your mouth if you’re not ready.”

“What’s so important I must wake?”

Davos shrugged. “Daenerys is gonna inspect one of her legions. She thought you might want to come with her to see her army, especially since you’re gonna want them to help against the Army of the Dead.”

Jon groaned, but he threw his coverings off- what few he’d been able to tolerate in the Volantene heat, anyways.

“You’ve got some more comfortable clothes in the closet,” said Davos. “Figured those furs might make you pass out in this heat. A bit warm here for a northern lad. I’ll get you some food sent up. After that, we’ll go find the Empress.”

Davos stepped out.

Once he had dressed- in clothes made of more fine silk than Jon had ever touched before- and eaten- the food was as spicy as Davos warned- Jon stepped out of his chambers to find Davos waiting.

“How are you doing?” asked Davos, leading Jon through the halls of the palace.

Jon sighed. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’m glad she’s alive, but… I killed her, Davos, and she was innocent. She says she doesn’t hate me. How can she not?”

Davos shrugged. “She probably figures you had no way of knowing why she’d burnt the city.”

“I knew her, Davos. I should have known.”

“How could you have known when even she didn’t know?” Davos shook his head. “Way I see it, it’d be fair for her to hate you. And she doesn’t. That’s her decision, really.”

“I’ve spent six years hating myself.”

“If she doesn’t hate you, how can you hate yourself?”

Jon didn’t have an answer to that.

“Healing’s a hard thing to do, lad,” said Davos. “For six years you’ve been miserable because of what you did. Because it didn’t feel right. Everyone fucks up from time to time. You had no way of knowing she hadn’t snapped. With your sisters… you know who I mean, telling you not to trust her.”

“Aye,” said Jon darkly.

“You’ve got a chance to make things right, Jon. Damn miracle is what it is. Don’t run from it. Embrace it. Do the best you can. She wants to work through your issues. She wants to forgive you. You did her a great wrong, but she knows you did it for the right reasons, as it were. If you don’t trust yourself, trust her. Trust that she thinks you’re worth forgiving.”

Jon nodded. “What do you think of her? Now?”

Davos shrugged. “Same thing I thought six years ago. A just woman. And you’re still an honorable man.”

They stepped out of the doors of the palace into the bright Volantene sun. Standing at the summit of the stairs leading down into a large open space was Daenerys. Arthur Dayne was with her, as were a few other Imperial guards. Sitting in the shade nearby, looking positively well-fed, was Ghost, who padded up to Jon in greeting. Jon rubbed his wolf’s head.

“How behaved was he?” asked Jon

“Extraordinarily good,” said Dany. “And he was well rewarded for it. Good boys get tasty meat.”

“You’re going to make him fat.”

Daenerys chuckled. She was looking down at the field at an army. “What do you think?” she asked. “This is our newest legion. Third Emerald. They just finished their training and will be marching to their fortresses near Qohor soon.”

At a quick glance, Jon guessed there were over ten thousand soldiers here. Up front was infantry, with heavy armor and green garb, and green shields. Each bore a sword on their waist and a spear strapped to their back. Strapped to their shields were a few shorter spears, that Jon quickly figured out were for throwing.

Behind the three rows of formations of infantry were ordered companies of marksmen. Some formations wielded regular bows. Others had crossbows. Their armor was significantly lighter than those of the infantry. They each had a sword at their waist, but it was clear they were not intended to fight hand-to-hand.

At the rear were groups of mounted soldiers. They were as well-armored as the infantry, and had a cavalry lance as their main weapon, and a sword for a sidearm. 

“They look impressive,” said Jon, cautiously taking a few steps forward. “How’s their combat?”

“They’re not as individually skilled as the Unsullied,” said Daenerys. “But they’ve all trained for moons, and will keep training. In one-on-one combat they cannot stand up to a Dothraki bloodrider, nor probably a skilled Westerosi knight. But they’re trained to fight as a unit, not alone.”

“Aye,” said Jon. “At Hardhome, your soldiers linked their shields and formed a wall.”

“They can do more than that,” said Dany. She looked at one of the squares of infantry. “ Grēze korziō rīza, ” she called down.

At once the soldiers sprang into motion. They collapsed into a smaller formation, and moved their shields. On the edges, the shields faced outwards. Inside the square, they held the shields over their head, forming a roof. Jon realized immediately it would be very effective against arrows.

“Like a turtle,” said Jon in appreciation.

“That’s what the formation means,” confirmed Daenerys. “Armored lizard. Valyrian for turtle.” She nodded down to the commander of the square, who barked out a command to his soldiers, who returned to their ordered ranks.

Dany stepped down into the path between the formations. They followed her. “Each legion is broken up into three Azantyr, ” she explained. “Each of those is divided into five Bykazantyr. Three of those are foot soldiers. One of those are ranged. One cavalry.”

“No Dothraki?” asked Jon.

“They will come if their Great Khaleesi calls,” said Dany.

“Unsullied?”

“Protecting Naath. Finding their peace.” Dany looked over the formations. “Each Bykazantyr is divided further into ten Gārvali, which contain ten Ampavali , which contain ten soldiers.”

Jon inclined his head. “Fifteen thousand soldiers. Nine-thousand foot. Three-thousand ranged. Three-thousand horse.”

“Correct,” said Arthur.

“I was always decent at sums.” Jon looked at a flag overhead. It was a green version of the Imperial flag, with a large Valyrian 3 numeral on it. It flew next to the regular Imperial flag. “This is the third Emerald legion, you said?”

Dany nodded. “Legions are named for gemstones, which signify where the legion is from. Jade for Yi Ti. Ruby for the Bay of Dragons- they still idolize the three-headed dragon flag. Sapphire for Leng.”

“Emerald for the Free Cities?”

“Valyria, yes.”

“How many legions do you have?”

“Around 20.”

Jon stopped. “That’s 300,000 soldiers. You could easily fend off the Army of the Dead.”

Dany frowned. “Not all of them will be coming with us. I will not leave the Empire undefended from any threats that may rise.”

“What threats?” asked Jon interestedly.

Dany shrugged. “Any that might rise. There are still many that might seize a moment where my legions are gone to rise up and restore their old ways. The Dothraki might be tamed, but the Jogos Nhai are not. Only the legions and the threat of dragons keep them from attacking Yi Ti again.”

Jon nodded. “How many dragons do you have?”

“Enough,” was all Dany said.

“Where are the Amethyst Legions from?”

“There are no Amethyst Legions,” said Arthur gruffly. “Purple is reserved for only the Imperial Guard. The best, most loyal soldiers.”

“Two thousands,” said Dany.

“How many soldiers will you send to Westeros?” asked Jon.

Dany frowned. “That is up to you if I send any. Why should I send soldiers to die for those who do not want my aid? Those who hate me?”

Jon looked at her pleadingly. “Dany…”

“I will not be putting myself on the Iron Throne. Or, whatever throne Bran sits upon.” Dany glanced over at Davos. Jon too wondered what served as a throne nowadays.

“Just a platform to set his wheelchair on,” said Davos.

Dany nodded and looked back at Jon. “I fight to save people from tyrants. I don’t want to rule as a tyrant, which is what I would be in Westeros. Not without help.”

“But the people,” said Jon. “The people are innocent. And if you let them all die, they’ll come for Essos. They’ll come for the Empire, and they’ll be too many to defeat.”

Dany looked at the ground. “I don’t want to let the White Walkers take them,” she said. “But nor do I want to become a tyrant who rules through fear. I cannot suffer your brother to rule if I cross the Narrow Sea again. And the people will never accept me. Not like they would you.”

“They’ll learn,” said Jon confidently.

“Will Sansa?” asked Dany pointedly.

Jon didn’t even want to think of that. What Arya and Sansa would do when they found out Dany was alive. Would they tell him to kill her?

He never would harm her again. But nor did he want them to die either.

He prayed he at least would have time to figure out how they could all live in peace together. Because he was sure Sansa, at least, would never accept him as King, if he had bent the knee to Daenerys. She’d rebel. Against him.

He’d been forced to choose before. He didn’t think he could stand to do it again. To have Daenerys, his sister by blood, stand against Sansa, his sister by heart.

And he still wasn’t sure he wanted to be King.

Sansa stepped next to Brienne on the deck of the ship. “I know how hard it was to break your vows, Brienne,” she said. “But thank you. I don’t know what would have happened to me if I’d fallen into Bran’s clutches.”

Brienne thought over her response for a moment. “Pod asked me what Ser Jaime would have done,” she said. “Jaime was right. You swear vows and oaths, and sometimes they conflict. I couldn’t hold to the vows I’d sworn your mother to protect you and your sister, and the vows I’d sworn to King Bran. I had to make a choice. I chose to help you. There was no honor in what he was doing. Framing you.”

“Thank you,” said Sansa. She sighed. “And now we’re together in exile. How very bitter.”

“Better in exile than dead.” Brienne glanced at Sansa. “Jon Snow... is he truly dead?”

“I don’t know,” said Sansa. In all her troubles, she felt guilty for not being more concerned for Jon, and his apparent death. “I’m afraid he might be. Lord Manderly found his cloak at the ruins of Hardhome.”

“I was thinking,” said Brienne, “if we could find him, or proof that you were not involved, you might be able to rally the Northern lords back to your side.”

Sansa thought it over. It was a good idea. The lords had betrayed her because they believed Bran. Prove Bran a liar, and her lords should return to her. “Maybe we can find a few ships to hire, and sail to Hardhome to search. I have some wealth deposited at the Iron Bank. I was thinking we might need to use it on sellswords.”

“There aren’t many sellswords left in Essos,” stated Brienne. That surprised Sansa. Maester Luwin had always said Essos was a land of constant war, as the continent still suffered from the Doom of Valyria. “Most fighting men have signed on with the Empire’s Legions now. I understand that the Amethyst Empress keeps them well-paid, and they are utterly loyal to her for it.”

“I don’t know much about the Empire or the Empress,” admitted Sansa. The affairs of Essos had not been of great interest to her. Not unless the Empire tried to add her or Bran’s lands to their domain, which Sansa thought was unlikely, if not impossible. Bran would surely have seen them coming… she HAD thought, until Brienne had told her Bran couldn’t see into Essos anymore. “Lord Manderly dealt with their trade ships and such more than I did. Mostly from the former Free Cities. Sometimes one or two from Qarth or Yi Ti. I was hoping you might know more, due to your time on Bran’s small council.”

Brienne nodded. “He was very interested in the Empire,” she said. “The rest of us were concerned how we’d defend ourselves if they tried to expand into Westeros. Fortunately, it looks like they were content to stop at the Narrow Sea, at least for now. Not long before we left, we got word from the Iron Bank that the Empress had purchased the crown’s debt from them. Lord Tyrion was afraid that inability to pay might be used as justification for invasion.”

“Is that why Bran sent him and Davos to meet with her?” asked Sansa.

“Partially, I think. But your brother was very convinced that the Empress was not... legitimate, if that makes any sense. He said that there had only been one who could restore the Great Empire of the Dawn, but that they’d died.”

Sansa blank. Of course, it was so obvious. “He was talking about Jon, wasn’t he? Bran had Jon killed because he was afraid Jon would take over the Empire.”

Brienne tilted her head. “Why do you think that?”

“Just remembering what the red priestess said. ‘The Prince that was Promised shall bring the dawn.’ She thought Jon was the prince. Maybe she meant he could restore the Great Empire of the Dawn.”

“I wouldn’t trust the words of that woman,” said Brienne shortly, her opinion on Melisandre of Asshai completely clear. “She burnt a young child on the stake. She used black magic to kill Renly Baratheon. And in any case, your brother said it was a woman who could have restored the Dawn. He had seen her dead, I’m sure of it.”

If it wasn’t Jon, that made no sense to Sansa at all. “So Bran is convinced that this Empress isn’t the… I don’t understand.”

“Nor do I,” said Brienne. “I was more focused on the military matters. Making plans of defense. Working with the lords to prepare strategies if an Imperial warfleet bearing Imperial legions came.”

Sansa nodded. “I understand the Empire has dragons?”

“More than one. They came from the Shadowlands beyond Asshai. Fully grown. We’re not sure how many... Aegon the Conqueror was able to unify all of Westeros with three. Daenerys Targaryen needed only one, even if she...” Brienne paused. She and Sansa both remembered walking the streets of King’s Landing after the burning, at the horror.

“Proved herself the tyrant I’d always said she was,” said Sansa firmly.

Brienne nodded. “The Empire has quite a few, as best we know. And their armies are much larger than ours.”

Sansa sighed. “So you’re saying that...” Even she, who was not a military woman, knew that a nation with large armies and dragons, against those without either...

“I believe your brother was scheming against the Empress because he knows that we cannot win if she chooses to invade,” confirmed Brienne. “If he could prove her false, he felt it would destroy her realm. But all I know is, as her power grows, your brother’s sight into Essos wanes. That makes it the safest place for you right now.”

Sansa nodded, running her hand along the railing thoughtfully. She watched the sailors work. Privately, she thought... how very glad she was to be born high enough that she would not have to toil like that. “Maybe if we can convince the Empress than Bran is her enemy,” she said thinking through her problem, “we can convince her to aid me in regaining my throne. If she can help me prove that I did not kill Jon, the Northern lords should return to me. They chose me, after all. And they chose Jon. If we can prove Bran killed Jon... they would overthrow him at once. Maybe all the south, too. Nobody likes kinslayers. What do you know of the Empress herself?”

Brienne again considered her response. “Not much. I’m not even sure if she has a name. All the dignitaries I stood guard over as Lord Tyrion and your brother met, never referred to her as anything more than ‘The Amethyst Empress’, ‘The Empress’, ‘Her Majesty’. What I do know is that by all accounts, her people love her dearly.”

“She conquered an entire continent and the people love her?” asked Sansa incredulously.

“She didn’t conquer most of it. Most bent the knee to her willingly, for fear of her invading. Apparently in Volantis, as the Volantene Army was opposing her, the slaves rose up behind them and took the city. She beat the Volantenes in the field, and had her dragons smash down the walls dividing the inner city, where only those who could trace descent from Valyria itself could live, and opened the elections of the city to all. The freed slaves brought the city into her grasp, and most of the rest of the free cities bent the knee at once.”

Sansa thought it over. “Is she a tyrant?” A woman who freed slaves didn’t sound much like a tyrant.

“I don’t think that many people could love a tyrant. If the city bent the knee, their rulers kept their seats. They just recognize her as their overlord, but do have to change things in accordance with her laws, which usually sound like they’re to protect the people. I don’t think she is a tyrant. I think she hates tyrants.”

Sansa’s brows lit. “Maybe I can convince her to help me protect my people from a tyrant,” she said. “Do you think she killed Lord Tyrion and Ser Davo? Why have they not returned?”

Brienne sighed and fingered Oathkeeper’s hilt absent-mindedly. “In truth... from the moment they said they were sailing to Volantis, I didn’t think I’d see them come back. Neither of them... well, I’m just surprised they didn’t come to join you in the North.”

Sansa looked at Brienne in confusion. “You thought Tyrion would leave the position of Hand of the King? He practically ruled.”

Brienne’s face twisted, becoming a battlefield. She wanted to say something, but Sansa could tell she was fighting against her vows. Finally, Brienne settled on speaking her mind.

“Your brother is a terrible king,” she said. “There were days I... starving peasants kneeling before the throne, begging him for tax relief so they could feed their families... and he threw them in the dungeon and let them starve to death. Tyrion did the best he could, but too many people hated him, and Bran was of no help. All I could do was hold to my vows.”

Sansa took a deep breath. “You think we should have defied Daenerys Targaryen’s army and crowned Jon?” she asked.

Brienne’s face shifted. “I think anyone would have been a better choice than the Three-Eyed Raven. Maybe even Cersei.”

“What about Daenerys?”

“I wouldn’t go that far. I never expected her to do what she did, not when she fought with us at Winterfell... but there must have been something truly dark and evil inside her, to twist and corrupt her mind into such madness.”

Sansa stood in silence. Brienne stood next to her, comfortingly, as the Narrow Sea rolled beneath their ship, unmarked sails taking them east, towards Essos. Towards the Empire.

Towards the Empress.

Sansa would never bend the knee to a foreigner... but maybe she could convince the Empress to help her remove Bran.

And then, after all... if Jon truly was dead... who would be better for the rule over the Seven Kingdoms than Sansa?

’Everyone is your enemy. Everyone is your friend.’

Sansa would try very hard to make the Empress her friend.

After all, she couldn’t be worse than Daenerys Targaryen.

Chapter Text

Apart from the heat, Jon quite enjoyed life in Volantis. After so long serving as a leader- of the Night’s Watch, of the North, of the alliance of the living, of the freefolk… just taking some time to live without having to worry about the lives of others was peaceful.

Excepting that he couldn’t forget that the White Walkers were active in the lands beyond the Wall again. That chilled Jon every time he remembered. His hand reached for his waist for his sword for comfort… but it grasped nothing but air.

Daenerys had not returned Longclaw to him, but that mattered little to Jon. All that mattered to him was that she was alive. Alive, and they were on the path to forgiveness. Dany forgiving Jon… Jon forgiving himself.

Maybe even Dany forgiving herself, though privately, Jon felt she had nothing to blame herself for.

The whole North- who Jon had sworn would come to see her for who she was- had refused to even give her a chance. The moment they’d heard he had bent the knee to ‘the Mad King’s daughter’, they’d turned on him as well.

Jon wished he was surprised, but when he had inquired about where Petyr Baelish had gotten off to, Arya had told him he had nearly successfully turned the Northern Lords over to Sansa. If she had wished it, she would have been crowned Queen in the North. And he and Dany would have returned to a land that did not want their help.

The distrust of the Northern Lords for Daenerys was expected, Jon knew. It was his family that hurt him the most. Sansa and Arya. Bran… he was beginning to suspect that that wasn’t really Bran anymore, but a stranger wearing a familiar face.

He’d thought Sansa and Daenerys would bond over their similar struggles. Maybe Jon was an idiot for thinking that- neither were defined by their trauma, but in how they had overcome it- but he’d hoped Sansa would at least appreciate that Daenerys wanted to change things for women. In the end, though, Sansa wasn’t even willing to give her a chance for Jon’s sake. She wasn’t willing to trust that Jon would never have bent the knee to a woman just because he loved her.

Arya hurt the most. When they’d left Winterfell, him towards the Wall and the Night’s Watch, her towards King’s Landing, she had been a wild young girl who loved stories of fierce dragon riding women with silver hair and purple eyes. Jon had been confident that Dany and Arya would become fast friends.

But Arya had trusted Sansa’s opinion more than Jon, and in the end had never even spoken to Daenerys, let alone given her a chance. She had insisted to Jon that Daenerys was not trustworthy.

In the end, they had been the ones who had proven untrustworthy.

He had sworn them to vows beneath the heart tree. As sacred a vow as a Northerner could make. A vow Eddard Stark would hold to.

A vow they had broken within the day. Tyrion had been told.

Tyrion had told Varys who had poisoned Dany.

“You’re brooding,” said Daenerys, snapping Jon out of his reverie.

The two could only work through their past by talking, and Jon was sitting across a room- Daenerys’s own solar- to speak with her. It was a mark of trust that the only people present besides them were Dany’s mother and uncle.

“Aye, I suppose so,” admitted Jon, looking over at Ghost, who was laying in the corner contentedly. He had bonded incredibly fiercely with Daenerys, though admittedly, that was helped because of the fact she loved to spoil him. “I was just thinking… I’m sorry, Dany. I should have listened to you when you begged me not to tell Sansa and Arya. I thought I could trust them.”

“I know, Jon,” said Daenerys, sipping a cup of tea behind her desk. “I think I went about it the wrong way. I should have told you we could tell them… eventually. I knew you didn’t want the throne. You yielded the one you’d already had to me, after all. The one you actually cared about.”

“I believed in you. And they didn’t trust me. Instead they betrayed me the first chance they had. I swore them to a sacred vow… and they broke it.”

“Your sister Arya didn’t believe in the Old Gods anymore,” said Dany quietly. “And Sansa… I told her I loved you, you know. I sat with her and tried to clear the air, and she asked me, what about the North, that they would never bow to a foreign ruler again.” Dany snorted. “She didn’t want to bow to a local one either. Her brother was named King of the Seven Kingdoms and she seceded the North.”

“If I hadn’t told them, how much better would the world have been?” asked Jon, thinking it over.

“I don’t know.”

“I’m just… I loved you, and it didn’t mean anything to them.”

Dany sat there for a moment. “Did we love each other, Jon?” she asked.

“What?” Jon didn’t understand.

“Yes, we’d gotten to know one another during our time on Dragonstone. I’d lost a dragon saving you on the lake. And we were together on the ship to White Harbor. But the moment we arrived in Winterfell… it all fell apart. Even before you learned your truth, even.”

Jon frowned. “I did love you,” he said. “It hurts to say now, knowing who we are to each other. But I did love you. I just…”

“The first time we ever met someone opposed to it,” said Dany, “what happened to us? They seeded you with doubts against me, and it began. Then they plunged the knife with the knowledge of your true birth- but not of mine. Our love was so brittle that at the first difficult moment, it was broken.”

Jon felt defensive. “You weren’t exactly helpful, either,” he said.

“No, I wasn’t,” admitted Daenerys. “I did love you. But when you told me the truth of your birth… I cared more for the throne than I did for you. I can’t justify it. Explain it, maybe. All my life, I’d been fighting for the throne. For my family. Even when I was a little girl who just wanted to go home, to my house with the red door, there were people who wanted me dead just because of my family name. The throne was the only way to be safe.

“But the moment you said those words, I was sure the moment others found out, all my struggles would be for nothing. The moment they learned of you, no matter that it was my armies and my dragons fighting for a Targaryen restoration, they’d demand I step aside for you.”

“I’d never have made you step aside for me,” said Jon.

“They’d not have left you a choice.” Daenerys sighed. “Would you have been able to suffer it? As they rose against me, one by one, and demanded I yield? Raised their banners in rebellion? Or would you have chosen to take the throne from me to preserve peace?”

“Would you have let me?” asked Jon. How could he have expected to beat her?

“You were the one person I could never have hurt,” said Daenerys softly.

Horrid guilt shot through Jon like a lance, but he squished it. He remembered one of Dany’s old sayings- ‘if I look back, I am lost.’ He couldn’t not look back, not if he wanted to get over the past, but guilt served nobody. “It doesn’t matter now,” he said. “We aren’t that to each other anymore.”

“And about my new throne?” asked Daenerys. “Do you feel you have a claim on it? If others beg you to take it from me, will you move against me?”

Jon looked at her oddly. “Who in the hells would want me to take the Dawnthrone?”

“There are those who would,” said Daenerys. She shot a quiet glance at her mother, who was watching Jon carefully.

Jon chuckled at the very idea. The throne was literally made of the broken chains of slaves she had freed. How could anyone think he had a claim on it?

He looked at Dany’s teacup interestedly, and pointed at the kettle, still unwilling to approach Daenerys and cause her another panic attack. “Can I try that?”

Daenerys poured a second cup, and carried it over to Jon herself upon a saucer. Jon took it gratefully. “It’s a tea from Yi Ti,” she said. “I developed a taste for it while we were in the furthest east.”

“I’d love to hear about how you made the Empire,” said Jon.

Dany smiled as she returned to her chair. “Perhaps someday.”

“As for your question… Dany, I’m pretty sure I have no legal claim on your throne. On the grounds that it literally didn’t exist before you made it.” Jon took a sip of his tea. He nodded. “That’s good.” He looked back at Dany. “And if there’s one thing I swear to you… I will never betray you again.”

“Even for the daughters of Eddard Stark?” asked Ashara Dayne suspiciously.

Jon frowned. “I can’t say I want you to go after them… but I get the feeling if you were going to get revenge on them, you already would have. Hells, I don’t even know where Arya is. If she still lives.”

Dany took a sip of tea to prevent her expression from giving away that right now, Arya was trying to find a way to infiltrate the Imperial Palace. “I can’t imagine your sisters will be happy to learn I live,” she said diplomatically.

Jon leaned forward. “ You are my sister,” he said plainly. “And if you have to defend yourself… do what you need to. I won’t stop you.”

“We shall see,” said Ashara darkly, behind Jon.

Sansa sighed, Brienne and Podrick at her back, as the ship made port in Volantis. They were accosted by the port workers.

“I am Queen Sansa of House Stark,” announced Sansa regally. “Queen in the North. We seek shelter and hospitality, and to treat with the Amethyst Empress regarding a possible alliance.”

Word was sent to the palace, but no reply came back for a few hours. Eventually, they were taken to a house, a decent distance from the Palace.

“Will the Empress receive us?” asked Sansa once it was made clear they were not to be taken immediately to her presence.

“If she wills it,” responded a servant. Sansa bristled. She was a queen… she should be treated better than this. At least the house had a guard… green-clad soldiers.

Brienne went to the window and looked out at the Imperial soldiers. None were inside the house itself, which Brienne had to admit, was regal. Distantly, she heard a dragon roar, and saw its shadow pass over some houses in the distance.

Pod stepped next to her, looking outside. “What do you think?” he asked.

“The soldiers are well armed, and appear vigilant,” said Brienne.

Pod leaned in, glancing back at Sansa, who was distracting herself from her frustration by admiring some of the sculptures and art, the softness of the chairs.

“I more meant the fact that they appear to be as keen on keeping us in as anyone out,” whispered Pod.

Brienne looked at the guards again. After observing their movements and their vigilance, she had to agree with Podrick. He had become a very observant knight.

“Volantis is a large city,” responded Brienne. “We could get lost and not find our way back.”

Pod glanced at her, trying to figure out if she believed what she was saying. To Pod, it looked rather like they were under house arrest.

Daenerys did not turn away from the door leading to the balcony the next morning when Jon, Tyrion, and Davos were shown into her solar. She’d been speaking to her mother. “Sansa is here,” she said simply.

That caught them all by surprise. Tyrion furrowed his brows. Jon watched Daenerys fearfully. Davos glanced between them all, trying to figure out the best way to ease the tensions he could sense those words had raised.

“She arrived this morning?” asked Jon.

“She arrived yesterday,” responded the Empress. “I was waiting to figure out if I wanted to let her stay or if I’d order her to return to her ship and find a new port outside of my Empire.”

“There aren’t many ports outside the Empire anymore, that aren’t in Westeros,” said Tyrion. “Why would she leave the North? Who is with her?”

“Ser Brienne and Podrick Payne,” said Daenerys. Tyrion and Davos exchanged a glance.

“What happened?” asked Davos. “Brienne was head of the Ravenguard. She’d want to hold true to her oaths.”

“From what I can understand, King Bran has accused Sansa of murdering Jon, claimed she is a kinslayer, and had her vassals remove her from her throne.”

“But… he’d know that Jon was alive,” said Tyrion. “He may not know where he is, but he’d be able to see Ser Davos and Lord Commander Arthur getting him.”

“Which means this is an excuse to seize the North from Sansa,” said Davos. “A lie.”

“We should at least hear what Sansa has to ask,” said Jon. Daenerys could not help but feel the corners of her mouth turn up very slightly. Jon was Jon still. Even though Daenerys had not hidden her feelings on Sansa Stark, Jon still wanted to give her a chance.

“I will not send Imperial forces across the Narrow Sea because Sansa Stark wants to be Queen in the North,” she said. Ashara smiled faintly.

“Maybe an accord can be reached,” offered Davos.

“Do you honestly think Sansa would ever wish to bend the knee?” asked Daenerys. She sat behind her desk.

Tyrion had to smile. “No,” he said. “Especially not to you. But she might be mollified by your policy of allowing her to remain Queen in the North, but in fealty to the Dawnthrone.”

“Still, though,” said Davos. “Westeros can’t fight off the White Walkers. Not again. Not without help.”

“I will not again make the choice I made to sacrifice my armies,” said Daenerys sternly.
“Not for nothing. Not alone. Terms will be offered, and accepted.” Daenerys frowned. “And the decision will be left to the Elder Council, by vote.”

“That seems fair,” agreed Davos.

Daenerys looked at Tyrion. “Go with my uncle and bring Sansa and her followers to the Palace,” she said. “You are forbidden from telling her it’s me.”

“She wouldn’t come if she knew it was,” said Tyrion sadly.

Daenerys’s face darkened at the reminder- as if she could forget- that Sansa was only here because she didn’t know it was Daenerys. “If she dares complain about treatment, let her know that this is the new world, and her loyalty to the old world will not serve her well here.”

Tyrion, Arthur Dayne, and a few members of the Imperial Guard went to the house Sansa and the others had been loaned. The Emerald Legionnaires stood aside for them at once, and when they knocked, the door opened nearly immediately.

“Lord Tyrion?” asked Brienne, stunned.

“It’s good to see you, Ser Brienne,” said Tyrion warmly. Brienne had been one of the few good people during his time serving Bran. “I know King’s Landing was not the easiest service for such a noble knight of the realm as you.”

Brienne frowned. “Nor for you,” she said. “I assume you decided to stay here in Essos rather than return to King’s Landing.”

“Davos and I both,” said Tyrion. “Matters were… rather different here than we expected, though.” He patted gently on his sash. “I’ve been granted a role on the Elder Council.”

“That quickly?” asked Brienne.

“Her Imperial Majesty wants Westerosi advice for Westerosi affairs,” lied Tyrion smoothly. “She has sent us to bring you to her for an audience.” He gestured at Ser Arthur, who was standing there watching everything. “Ser Brienne of Tarth, may I introduce you to the Lord Commander of the Imperial Guard, Her Majesty’s uncle, Arthur Dayne.”

Brienne’s eyes snapped onto Arthur. “Ser Arthur Dayne?” Dayne did not respond. “The Sword of the Morning? Her Majesty’s uncle?” Still silence.

“He doesn’t speak much,” said Tyrion, “but I can assure you, Lord Arthur, that Ser Brienne is one of the finest knights I have seen, utterly honorable, and completely trustworthy. May we speak with Queen Sansa?”

Brienne nodded and went to knock on the door to a small solar. “Your Grace,” she announced when Sansa told them to enter. “Word from the Palace.”

Tyrion and Arthur entered. Tyrion noted that Arthur was likely following him out of a lack of trust for him as much as Sansa. He supposed that was fair.

“Tyrion,” said Sansa in surprise.

“Sansa,” responded Tyrion with only a degree of warmth. He had played a part in ruining Daenerys, and this woman had set him on the path.

Sansa, abandoning propriety, made her way forward and knelt to hug Tyrion. He returned it reasonably warmly. “We’d heard you had gone missing when you went to treat with the Empress.”

“Missing from King’s Landing, yes,” agreed Tyrion. “Davos and I have entered her service. I now sit as a member of her Elder Council and as her advisor.”

“That quickly?” Tyrion smiled at Brienne. Sansa’s mind worked much the same way.

“Her Imperial Majesty wants Westerosi advisors on Westerosi matters. As I was Hand of the King, I know more about the Raven King’s mind than many others.”

“I’m sure.” Sansa sat. “What have you heard?”

Tyrion sighed. The sailors on their ship had not been silent. “You’re the first ship from across the Narrow Sea since it happened, so no word directly from the North… but drunken sailors do spread rumors, and ears report on what they say. I heard Bran has framed you for the death of Jon. I’m sorry.”

“They turned on me,” said Sansa. “They all turned on me… I didn’t hurt Jon, I don’t even know where he went. If he’s dead… I grieve for him.”

Tyrion shook his head. “He’s not dead. He’s here.”

Sansa, Brienne, and Podrick looked at Tyrion in stunned silence. “He- he’s here ?” asked Sansa.

“It turns out that Her Imperial Majesty is Jon’s half-sister. Rhaegar Targaryen had a babe with Lady Ashara of House Dayne. A daughter.”

Sansa bit her lip. “And she sent for Jon, and he didn’t tell anyone where he went?”

“They did not really have a chance, and since he got here, he has been… facing some of his ghosts. The events of six years ago have hovered over him. He was not well.”

“We’re his family!” said Sansa indignantly. “Not a word… from him…”

Tyrion frowned. “This is Lord Commander of the Imperial Guard, Arthur Dayne,” he introduced. “We are here to escort you to the Palace for a meeting with the Empress.”

“The Sword of the Morning,” said Sansa predictably. Tyrion could not help but chuckle. “You were a member of the Kingsguard, sworn to House Targaryen. Jon is the true heir of Rhaegar Targaryen, and still you serve the Empress?”

Sansa didn’t even know the Empress was Daenerys yet, Tyrion fretted, and already she was trying to turn her servants against her.

Arthur Dayne narrowed his eyes at her. “I do.”

“You swore oaths…”

“If you accuse me of being an oathbreaker, you accuse your brother as well. Did he not swear the vows of the Night’s Watch?”

Sansa frowned. “Jon died at his post. His vows ended.”

“I died at mine, defending him. My vows ended. Death is not always the end of life. My loyalty rests with my niece now.”

Sansa, unable to accuse him more lest she also denounce Jon, dropped it. “When is the audience?”

“We are to take you to the palace immediately,” said Tyrion. “Any delays further, I do not know about.”

Sansa nodded. She smoothed out her dress, shifted her crown, and smiled. “We’re ready.”

They were led out and the Imperial Guard fell into formation around them. Podrick was looking at Arthur Dayne. “Is that Dawn?” he asked.

“It is,” confirmed Arthur gruffly.

“I’ve never seen a finer sword. What is it made of? I’ve always wondered how the Sword of the Morning is decided. Have you been back to Starfall lately?”

Arthur did not answer and Brienne pulled Pod back into line. Tyrion distinctly heard Arthur mutter “squires” as soon as he could get away with it. Tyrion smirked. He stepped next to Pod. “It’s been a few moons,” he said. “How fairs Podrick Payne?”

“It was not an easy escape from King’s Landing,” said Pod. “The moment we learned of the Raven’s plot against Queen Sansa… it was a hard choice to break our vows.”

“My brother once said, you swear so many vows, you’re always breaking some. In this, I think you chose rightly. We all knew who Bran was. Had I known, I’d never have put him forward for King.”

Sansa grimaced, unable to defend Bran after what he had done to her. “The Empress is Jon’s half-sister, you say?”

“She is.”

“Is she… can we trust her?”

Tyrion considered his answer, how to allay Sansa’s fears… even though he knew full well that the Empress outright hated her. “You’ll need to form your own opinion on her,” he said, “but I find her very trustworthy. Look at Volantis. Back when I travelled through here with Varys on my way to Meereen, there were five slaves for every one citizen in this city. Now, thanks to the Empire, you will find no slaves anywhere in all of Essos.”

“She sounds like quite a woman,” said Sansa. “Far better than the last foreign queen you served.”

Tyrion had to bite his tongue. “Daenerys freed many slaves,” he said. If Sansa hadn’t even bothered to learn that one key fact, it was evident she had never intended to give Daenerys a chance.

“She crucified hundreds of nobles who opposed her! She was a tyrant!”

“You refer to her crucifixion of nobles outside Meereen? I wasn’t there yet, but I heard it from Jorah, from Missandei, from Grey Worm. She crucified exactly one hundred and sixty three slavemaster nobles, because as she marched on the city, starting from one hundred and sixty three miles away, they had crucified a young child at every mile marker. To provoke her.”

Sansa frowned. “I can’t believe you defend her after King’s Landing. She killed far more people than she ever saved.”

Tyrion took a deep breath. “She was innocent,” he said.

Sansa stopped and looked at Tyrion in disbelief. Even Brienne, watching the crowd carefully, gave a stunned glance to the dwarf.  “Arya saw it herself, she told me everything,” said Sansa.

“Arya might be familiar with the reason for why she did what she did. Varys had been trying to poison her. Clever little spider, he knew if she dropped dead he’d lose his head immediately. He was using a rare poison called basilisk’s blood. It’s designed to induce savage, violent madness. He was trying to convince us all that she was mad. Daenerys, bless her, could tell the serving girl was trying to poison her. But she didn’t think that when Varys died, the plot would continue. That morning… the girl slipped it into her food.”

Sansa stared into Tyrion’s eyes, trying to find a trace of lie. “And you know this how?” she asked, skeptically.

“Bran. I didn’t figure it out for some time… he liked to drop cryptic hints. ‘The spider’s fangs flowed with the venomous blood of spiders.’ Once a few more pieces dropped into place… it was confirmed for me.”

Sansa bit her lip. “Does Jon know?”

Oh yes, Tyrion thought. Jon knew. Like Tyrion himself… he probably always knew, in his heart. “He was… not happy.”

“Of course not. He murdered the aunt he was fucking. Please tell me he’s not sleeping with his Targaryen half-sister…”

The furthest thing possible, Tyrion knew. It was incredibly obvious that the two would never bed each other again. He frowned. “Let’s not talk about that. You told me the secret Jon had begged you not to tell because you wanted me to do exactly what I did. Daenerys was my queen, and my friend. And I told the man she loved to kill her.”

“She was a tyrant. You said it yourself, everywhere she went evil men died.”

“She tried very hard to make peace in Meereen. And every time, the masters rebelled. I regret only ever telling Varys.” Tyrion stepped beside Arthur Dayne as they neared the palace, not wishing to converse with Sansa any more, lest he slip and reveal the Empress was Daenerys reborn. Sansa frowned, but fell silent. Arthur glanced down at Tyrion, and gave him an approving nod.

They were led into the palace where a page showed them straight into the chamber of the Elder Council and the Dawnthrone. The Council was not in session, and they were led through the circle of tables and chairs to the throne. Ghost was sitting next to it.

“Ghost!” greeted Sansa warmly. “What is he doing there?”

“He has been quite taken by the Empress,” said Tyrion.

Sansa reached out her hand. Ghost did not come to her. Instead, he stared at her with his red eyes. When she strode forward anyways and put her hand on his head, he shook it off, and seemed to glare at Sansa, who was shocked.

Setting aside Ghost’s odd behaviour, Sansa’s gaze fell next to the wolf. “What is it made of?” she asked, looking at the Throne.

“The broken chains of the slaves she’s freed,” responded Tyrion. “That is her birthright.”

They turned as they heard people approaching, footsteps echoing on the marble floor. Jon had entered, Davos in tow.

“Jon,” said Sansa. She rushed forward to hug him. Jon did not return the hug. Sansa pulled back, concerned. “You should have told us that you’d left the north…”

“It was a surprise to me as well,” said Jon, his tone clipped as he tried his best to fight down the bitterness he felt. “The Empress sent a fleet to bring the freefolk and I to safety.”

Sansa could sense Jon was upset with her. Had he chosen his new sister over the family he’d been raised with? “Jon… you’re still my brother, no matter who your parents truly are. You should have sent word. We’d have brought you home, we’d have helped you.”

Jon just looked back at her in disappointment. “Oathbreaker,” he said quietly. “Queenslayer. Kinslayer. The three worst things a man can be. And those are what I became. She’d told me what you would do if I told you… so I swore you to secrecy, beneath a heart tree. I never should have told you. Within the day, you’d broken your vows. Father would be disgusted with you.”

Sansa looked at Jon, hurt and confused. “Jon… I… she was stealing your birthright. Your claim. You were a threat to her… She would have killed you. You would have been a better king than her. You were the better choice.”

“I didn’t want it,” snarled Jon. “I wanted you to know father never betrayed your mother. Not for you to use it to try and make me king. I believed in her. I’d sworn vows to her, I supported her, I wanted to see her sit on the throne. I’d seen the kind of queen she’d be, and it was far better than me.”

“SHE WAS A TYRANT!” said Sansa desperately. “We’d taken the North back and she forced you to hand it over.”

A look of great pain over Jon’s face. “No, she didn’t,” he said quietly. “She’d stopped demanding I bend the knee when I did. I did it because she lost one of her dragons saving my life, on a stupid mission, a stupid attempt by me to be a hero… and she’d pledged her support to us unconditionally. Aye, I bent the knee to her. Because I saw the real her.”

“You were blinded by love!” responded Sansa, getting defensive in turn. She would never regret what had happened to Daenerys Targaryen. No matter if she was ‘innocent’. “I was the one who saw her for the real her, the tyrant she was!”

“You never knew her, you never cared to know her,” retorted Jon.” You didn’t know what she’d done in Essos, how many slaves praised her, called her ‘mhysa’ and revered her as a hero. How many people she’d helped. In the end, you betrayed the vow I swore you- a sacred vow beneath a heart tree- because you were incapable of trusting not only her, but me . And it set things in motion that caused me to murder an innocent woman and ruined my life.”

Sansa stood proudly. “I don’t regret it,” she said. Jon scowled at her. “I saw her for who she really was. She wasn’t one of us. The North would never have rallied behind her. She’d have burnt anyone who opposed her alive, and forced all of Westeros to be her slaves. Maybe she was poisoned that day in King’s Landing. All it did was show who she truly was.”

“And yet here you are,” barbed Jon. “How’d the North rally behind you, that now, here you are, begging the Amethyst Empress for help to take back your throne?” He glanced behind Sansa. Daenerys was standing a dozen or so feet away, staring at the Queen in the North with hatred in her gaze. Beside her on her left, her mother stood, and she appeared to be wishing for Daenerys to give the word to seize Sansa. On the right stood Allyria, but her expression was more amused.

“How dare you-” shouted Sansa, furious. “You were too weak to do what needed to be done, to protect our family! You’d handed everything we worked for- everything Robb and father and all of them had died for- to her because you were enamored with her silver cunt! She hadn’t suffered like we had, she hadn’t done a damn thing to earn it like I had, like you had! The North knows no King but the King in the North, and his name is Stark! We’d never have accepted her, and she’d never have let us go. But you had always been one of us, they’d have accepted you, they’d have happily bent the knee to you! Yet just like Robb, you fell in love and it ruined you and nearly destroyed the North. Hate me if you will, but everything I did, I did for my family, including you. I defended your birthright because you were too weak to.”

Jon sighed. “I pity you, Sansa. You’ve trusted the wrong people, it’s made you incapable of trusting the people you should. You should have trusted Daenerys. She understood your struggles. If you’d bothered to even take a moment to know her, you’d have known she wanted to change things. So nobody would ever have to go through what you went through. But in the end, you were Littlefinger and Cersei’s student, and you turned everything to your own benefit, because the only thing you trust is power, and family. How’d trusting Bran work out for you? If you’d trusted Daenerys, you’d still be Lady of Winterfell, and maybe Wardeness of the North. Now… here you are, begging for your throne.”

“Better trying to reclaim my birthright,” responded Sansa, “than letting someone steal it. You tell me father would be disgusted with me, but you’re the one who fucked your aunt. You’re the one who killed her.”

Jon stepped towards Sansa and she almost took a step back instinctively, his face was so furious. But Jon glanced over her shoulder, at Ashara. “Did my father know?” he asked.

“He knew,” responded Ashara. Sansa did not look back to see who spoke, holding Jon’s gaze defiantly.

“Aye,” said Jon to Sansa. “I killed her. Do you know how I did it, Sansa? Because of what you set in motion? I kissed her. I told her she was my queen, always… and then I plunged a knife into her heart. She died knowing I’d betrayed her, utterly.”  Sansa actually started as she looked at Jon, horror entering her defiant eyes. She’d never thought Jon was capable of that.

“But let me make one thing clear,” continued Jon. “Father wouldn’t be disgusted with me for falling in love with her, and if he was, I’d not care. Because he’s the one who didn’t tell me who I was. Who SHE was. She was never my aunt, Sansa.”

He leaned in dangerously. “She is my sister,” he hissed.

Sansa stared at Jon, completely shocked.

He could see the moment Sansa understood. Her eyes went wider with horror.

Daenerys took a few steps behind her. Sansa did not dare turn to see who was there.

“Death,” said Daenerys quietly, “is not always the end of life.”

“You stand in the presence of Daenerys Lightbringer of House Targaryen,” began Allyria. “First of her Name. Amethyst Empress of the Great Empire of the Dawn. Queen of Valyria. The Breaker of Chains, the Mother of Dragons. The Unburnt, The Reborn, The Princess who was Promised, the Bringer of Dawn.”

Brienne and Pod stared at Daenerys, stunned. Brienne instinctively moved her hand to the hilt of Oathkeeper at her side. Immediately the Imperial Guard surrounding them moved to draw their own blades, Arthur stepping before Daenerys and reaching for Dawn. Tyrion put his hand on Brienne’s arm and nodded reassuringly, and Brienne took her hand off Oathkeeper, and the Guard in turn stood down.

Daenerys moved to stand before the Dawnthrone. As the Empress sat, Sansa stared at her, seeking any sign of weakness she could exploit. Daenerys made sure she found none. She reached her hand out to Ghost and Sansa was shocked to see the direwolf lean his head into her touch as she pet him. The deposed Queen in the North narrowed her eyes calculatingly. Tyrion could almost see her mind whirling. A quick glance at Jon made Tyrion sure Sansa was trying to figure out how to seat HIM on the Dawnthrone.

“So were you really poisoned that day?” asked Sansa. “Or are they just so desperate to believe you might be ‘good’ that they’re willing to believe your lies?”

“It’s as I said,” said Tyrion. “Bran verified it independently. He didn’t even know who the Amethyst Empress was. He sent Davos and I to find out. She told us the truth… and given what Bran had said, I was able to figure it out.”

“I’m sure,” said Sansa scornfully.

“It’s true, Sansa,” said Jon. “I knew it as soon as I heard it. I think I always knew it.”

“We will have rooms prepared for you in the palace,” said Daenerys. “In return for the… hospitality… you offered me at Winterfell six years ago. I expect you’ll want to be pleading your case to my Elder Council. They are the ones who will be deciding if we help you or not.”

Sansa gave Daenerys a glare, then breaking protocol completely, turned without bowing and marched out. Brienne gave a last, concerned look at Daenerys, but following a reassuring nod from Tyrion, followed Sansa out. Pod fell into place behind her.

“I have a feeling that the Council will be hearing all about how Jon is your elder half-brother and therefore rightful Emperor,” said Tyrion to Daenerys. “You may wish to prevent that.”

“Prevent it?” asked Daenerys. “I’m counting on it. Let Sansa understand the way of the new world, if she wishes to live in it… or, if she chooses, she can remain in her old world, and never see Winterfell again.”

“You’re not concerned about treason?” asked Jon.

Daenerys leaned back in the Dawnthrone confidently and gave a predatory smile. “Not in the least,” she said.

Chapter Text

Tyrion called on Sansa again later that day, to find her pacing in her quarters. Daenerys and her staff had set her up in a room near Jon’s, even if Jon was not at all feeling particularly friendly to his adoptive sister right now.

The rooms were a small solar with a bedchamber off through a side door. It was ornately furnished- Sansa could not at all complain about hospitality. The only amenity it lacked that Sansa’s own chambers back at Winterfell had was a private privy, but Tyrion did not think that was the cause of Sansa’s frustration right now.

“You lied to me,” she snapped at the Imp.

“I didn’t lie to you,” replied Tyrion. “I merely didn’t tell you who the Empress was. As she had requested me to do.” Tyrion sat in a chair as Sansa continued to do her very best to pace a hole into the floor. “I did try to make you understand that perhaps you were mistaken about the sort of woman she was.”

“That’s the sort of power she has over men,” snarled Sansa. “She flashes you a pretty smile, takes you into her bed, and next thing you know Jon and you are both begging her forgiveness and throwing yourselves at her feet. Has Jon started bedding her again?”

“No,” said Tyrion. “You and I both know it was terrible enough for him when he thought she was his aunt. Knowing she’s his half-sister was… not pleasant for him. As for her, though as a born-and-bred Targaryen she’s more amenable to… those sorts of things, she’d sooner sleep in a bed of knives than be with the man who used her love for him to murder her.”

Tyrion poured himself a goblet of wine. “And now if you have any real hope of ever ruling in Winterfell again, you need her support.”

“Fat load of that,” snapped Sansa, collapsing into a chair across from him and pouring herself a goblet of her own. “She’s already turned Jon against me.”

Tyrion raised an eyebrow. “It struck me that everything Jon protested against from you was something you did.”

“To protect MY FAMILY. To protect Jon’s birthright. To protect the NORTH from a tyrant.” Sansa took a large swig of more than half her glass.

“I thought you were more clever than this. She represents the only opportunity to save the North from Bran, who I assure you, is a tyrant. I know it from experience, as do you. The Dragon Queen six years ago was the most powerful person in the world. The Amethyst Empress is the most powerful person to have ever lived. ”

“You were terrified of her,” said Sansa exasperatedly.

“And I was wrong to be. She spoke bluster but always listened to her advisors in the end. And then at King’s Landing she showed that her instincts had been correct all along. She could have taken the city in an hour with barely any innocent deaths. Certainly less than our plan of a siege. I expect that her knowing that she’d been right all along contributed to the anger the poison had put in her, and sparked the madness.”

Tyrion leaned forward. “You have come here to the heart of her power, to the seat of her Great Empire,” he said plainly, “because you have had your home and your throne stolen from you. Diplomacy is your only hope to ever have either back, and yet you’re making it very clear that you still consider her an enemy.”

“I don’t trust her,” responded Sansa.

“Of course you don’t. I can’t say I blame you. You did your very best to make an enemy of her six years ago and she has not forgiven you for it, nor will she, I expect. But you need to understand that this is not Westeros. You cannot afford to have her as your enemy.”

“She’s said she’s letting her Elder Council decide,” said Sansa dismissively.

“And who do you think the Elder Council is loyal to?” asked Tyrion. He patted his Elder Council sash fondly. “I sit on it, and I assure you, I will be voting to aid you. Walk around acting like the Empress is your enemy, and you will find very little support elsewhere.”

“I know how to play the Game, Tyrion,” responded Sansa.

“Not here you don’t. She is no mere player among players. She commands the loyalty of hundreds of thousands of professional soldiers. She has at her beck and call her own personal army of dragons. Her advisors are selected for their skill and loyalty and their enthusiasm for her vision of a better world. Her favor is the prize they all seek, and she bestows it generously upon those who aid her people. Everywhere her gaze falls, evil men die. But not only do evil men die, good men thrive. She walks through the ashes of all her enemies with her dainty booted feet to reach down and offer her hand to the downtrodden who have been crushed beneath the wheel, and in response they call her ‘mhysa’ and love her like a mother. She not only allows her council to debate her decisions, she actively encourages it, and they love her for it. This is her realm, and her people revere her as if she is a goddess. ”

“But is it really her realm?” asked Sansa quietly.

“ Yes ,” insisted Tyrion, knowing what she was beginning to get at.

“But what if they choose someone different? What if they’re made aware of a better choice?”

“It won’t work, Sansa.”

“It worked before,” insisted Sansa.

“In Westeros, and the matter remains that we never got to see who the Lords of Westeros would have chosen- the woman with a large army and dragons and unquestionable lineage- even if we all apparently should have been questioning it all along- or the man whose only supporters claiming his lineage was his family and closest friends.”

Tyrion stood. “Make your case to the Elder Councilors, but know this: Daenerys is beloved. Disrespecting her is the surest way to make them not want to listen to you.”

Sansa began her meetings with the Elder Council with a name that at least seemed friendly: Belar Maegyr. The man was the current patriarch of the Maegyr family, and Sansa remembered that Robb’s wife had been a part of that house.

Sansa wasn’t familiar with Talisa Maegyr, other than to know that she had been Robb’s queen, and had died at the Red Wedding.  Sansa knew her brother had been pledged to marry a daughter of Walder Frey, but that he had abandoned his oaths to marry Talisa.

Sansa wondered if she had seduced Robb, taken him into her bed, gotten a child off him, then forced him to marry her, lest his son be born a bastard. Robb was honorable. Just like father. It was what father would have done.

It was, after all, what Cersei had taught her a woman’s power was… but she would never voice such to the man she was to meet right now.

She knocked gently on the door and a servant opened.

“Queen Sansa,” said Councilor Maegyr, standing respectfully.

“Lord Maegyr,” responded Sansa, stepping in and bowing her head respectfully. “My brother Robb’s wife was of your house. On behalf of House Stark, allow me to offer you my condolences.”

“Talisa was my niece,” said Maegyr, sitting behind his desk. Sansa sat across from him and the servant poured them each a white wine. Sansa took her glass gratefully. She took a sip and smacked her lips appreciatively.

“I unfortunately never had a chance to meet her, but I’m sure she was a wonderful woman.”

“She was.” Maegyr nodded. “To me, at least. I was a member of my family who greatly opposed slavery. Her father- my elder brother- was not, and we were expected to follow our patriarch in all things. When Talisa wished to leave, I helped her. My brother and I had a great falling out over it, but still I did what I could to serve my family. I argued against attacking the Breaker of Chains in Meereen, but I had no say, and as I expected, our forces were annihilated. Years later, after the city had toasted our survival after her death in Westeros, we received messengers from the east. She had returned, she had powerful armies, and she had dragons. Fealty was demanded.

“I told my brother, bend the knee, free all his slaves, and he will live. He did not. He was a Triarch at the time. He spat at her feet. When she took the city, he was executed. I did not weep. I hated my brother. I had loved my niece, and he disowned her for her ‘betrayal’ and cast her from the city. I still told him not to stand against the Empress, and still he did, and she killed him for the crime of owning slaves. And now I sit on her Elder Council.”

“I am sorry for your loss,” said Sansa gently. “I know myself the pains of being at odds with my family. I have been thrown from my home. I came here to beg for aid. She said she is leaving it to her council. Will you help me?”

Maegyr leaned back in his chair and regarded Sansa. “You ask us to send armed forces to wage a war for you to regain your throne,” he said. “And what do you offer in return?”

Sansa paused. “The bonds of family,” she said. “Your niece was a wonderful woman. Queen to our King in the North. We beg you, remember our bonds.”

“I didn’t even know my niece was Robb Stark’s queen until he got her killed,” responded Belar coldly.

“And we mourn her loss. Her and her child.”

Maegyr hesitated. “Alliances work two ways, and even if we had bonds, they are broken. What can you offer the Great Empire?”

“Gold?” asked Sansa, trying to figure out if her wealth kept at the Iron Bank was enough to entice the Elder Council.

“We have gold. We have all the wealth of Essos, and the Iron Bank mints coins with the Empress’s face and sigil upon it.”

“Our people are independent,” said Sansa, understanding where Belar was leading with his refusal. “They will not bend the knee.”

Belar nodded in appreciation at Sansa knowing what he was demanding. “Ah, you cut to the chase. I like a woman who does not waste time. Despite your objections, fealty is what I think you can offer.”

“We bent the knee to her once before against our will,” said Sansa, furious at the very idea of being made to bend the knee to Daenerys Targaryen. “We will not do so again. She demanded it or else she would let us all die.”

Maegyr gave a faint smile. “You should speak to Jon Snow about that, and ask him the true story.”

This… this foreigner was telling her what had happened in the North? What Jon had done? “I know the true story, I was there.”

“When he bent the knee?” asked Maegyr knowingly. “We know the story of Her Majesty’s time in Westeros. She told us the truth.”

“Then why is she the Empress?” asked Sansa, trying to spring her trump card. “She has an elder half-brother, one trueborn to Rhaegar Targaryen and his wife, Lyanna Stark. A bastard cannot rule. They are covetous and low. Jon is-”

“Not our Emperor,” said Maegyr sternly, parrying Sansa’s attempt to inspire treason- and to her terror, looking rather disgusted at the very idea.

“By law he is.”

Belar laughed. “What law? What laws of succession rule the Dawnthrone? You ask us to seat a different man on the throne made of the broken chains of the slaves she freed. None other.”

“The laws of succession are clear. Men always come before women, and bastards cannot inherit.”

Maegyr looked at Sansa with a predatory smile on his face. “You do not understand. She inherited nothing. Everything she has now, she made for herself. There cannot be any other Empress. There was no Empire before she made it. How can anyone have a claim upon the birthright she forged for herself?”

“She usurped Jon’s throne once before, and she’s doing it again!”

“She is no usurper. Not here. She is a conqueror, as Aegon was before her. As there had never been an Iron Throne before Aegon, so there was never a Dawnthrone before Daenerys Lightbringer. You ask me two things I cannot tolerate; treason to my Empress, to whom I am loyal… and stupid adherence to the backward ways of your old world. Not because even you believe in it, but because you seek a more malleable pawn. She is the Empress, and there can be none other.”

Maegyr nodded to his servant, who opened the door behind Sansa. “You know my terms for support. Fealty. I believe I have heard enough of your treasonous words.”

Sansa bit back a bitter retort, but she knew she was dismissed. “Thank you, ser,” she offered. She stood and left.

Samwell Tarly looked up from writing in a book as he heard a knock on the door. Without waiting for him to call out permission, Bronn stepped in.

“King wants to see you,” he said simply.

“Oh!” said Sam. “Do… you know why?”

“Don’t know, didn’t ask. Just said to come fetch you.”

Sam nodded, confused, and set his quill in the inkpot. He stood and made his way to the throne room, where upon the platform, Bran was perched in his wheelchair. His eyes were white currently, but as Sam approached, they returned to normal.

“Samwell Tarly,” said Bran. “I have something to ask of you.”

“What is it, Your Grace?” asked Sam politely.

“Tyrion and Davos are not returning. I saw Davos briefly… I believe that he may have entered the service of the Empress.” Bran looked at Sam and seemed to stare through him. “I sent Tyrion and Davos to obtain information for me, and I still need that information. I would like you to sail for Volantis. You shall inquire with the Empress about their fate, but I need you to tell me something else when you return.”

Sam was confused. “What is that?”

“Her eye color. If her eyes are not purple, she cannot truly be the Empress.”

Sam remembered one woman with purple eyes. She had come to thank him for saving Ser Jorah- a good man- and then had told him she had killed his father and brother.

She hadn’t even ever been the rightful Queen. Sam had had a difficult, to say the least, relationship with his father, but he was fond of his brother. She had demanded they bend the knee, and when they refused, she had killed them. She was the usurper, who unjustly murdered his family. That was why he had gone to Jon. To open his eyes as to who she really was.

Sam regretted how things had turned out for Jon, but he didn’t regret telling him his parentage. He had been the rightful King. She had strong-armed Jon into bending the knee and Jon was too honorable to oppose her despite the tyrant she had proven herself to be. She had led foreign armies to conquer what had never been hers. What she had no right to.

When he heard that the dragon Jon had died- Rhalgal, Sam thought his name was- had been killed, Sam had been sure that that was it. Jon could only oppose her on a dragon with another dragon.

Instead Jon had seen the light and pushed her away, and in response she had gone mad, as Targaryens always did. It was the curse of their blood; madness was inevitable.

Jon had killed her, as someone should have done long before.

Sam only regretted not pushing Jon for the throne at the dragonpit Great Council, but his idea- that the smallfolk should have a voice- had been voted down unanimously, and the rest of the lords too scared of Daenerys’s remaining army to support him.

But then they’d elected Bran king, and Bran had offered Sam the role of Grand Maester.

It had been everything Sam had ever dreamed of. The Citadel had protested vigorously; Sam had stolen books, never earned a single chain, but now he was their voice on the Small Council.

After how they had refused to help against the White Walkers, when the Long Night had come, Sam didn’t care much for their opinion. All of Westeros could have died. Bran recognized that.

He had helped with Archmaester Ebrose’s book and filled it out with what he could pick up. The archmaester had filled out most of the history of Westeros already, even if Sam recognized he had taken some liberties with it- specifically, leaving Tyrion Lannister out. It had fallen to Sam to fill out events beyond the Wall- which he reported truthfully- and from Essos, the story of Daenerys Targaryen.

He had made the truth of her madness abundantly clear. Even despite what she had done, Daenerys Targaryen still had allies and defenders in Westeros. Sam had made sure that nobody could ever defend her again. It was what his family deserved. Killed simply for not bending the knee to a foreign invader usurper. The Mad King’s daughter.

Bran had raised Sam out of the nothing. Protected him from the Citadel. From the whispers that he was an oathbreaking black brother, had sworn vows to the Citadel as well, yet was allowed to live with his family in King’s Landing, in the Red Keep itself.

If Bran asked this, Sam would do as he did. He owed everything he was to Bran.

“I will sail at once,” said Sam.

“Good,” said Bran. “There is one more thing I will require of you. Give me your wrist.”

Daenerys continued to write her paperwork as a servant girl brought in a meal. “Dinner, Your Majesty,” said the girl, “as requested.”

“Thank you,” said Daenerys. The girl set it on a free spot on the desk.

“Will that be all, Your Majesty?”

“That depends.” Daenerys lifted the pitcher of wine and poured herself a glass. “Would you like some wine?”

The girl shook her head. “My master wants me back to help with laundry, but thank you, Your Majesty.”

“Ah, well. More for me, then.” Daenerys took a sip of her wine. The girl bowed. “If that’s all, then.”

The girl turned to leave. She had reached for the door when Daenerys glanced up and spoke again. “For the record, Lady Arya,” she said, “my servants do not use the term ‘master’, as they are not slaves. I know all who serve me directly by sight, and that face doesn’t belong to any of them. Which is fortunate for you, because if you had murdered one of my serving girls and stolen her face, you would have been made to answer for it. Murder is a capital offense here.”

The servant stopped, reached for her face, and pulled it off. Arya turned to glare at Daenerys. “And what about mass murderers?”

“Much the same.” Daenerys set her quill in the inkpot and lifted her head to look at Arya. “Just so we may clear the air, what is the reason for your presence here? Are you protecting your family because you believe I’ll kill them all out of vengeance? Are you operating under a misguided belief that if I die, Jon would be crowned the new Emperor and have all my power and might at his disposal? Or is it just because you don’t like me?”

“You need to ask why?” asked Arya in disbelief. “I’d thought you were at least a little clever. You stole the North from us.”

“Your King bent the knee,” retorted Daenerys.

“Because you would have let us die if he hadn’t.”

“No… I’d stopped demanding that he do so when he did. I’d promised to support you. No fealty. I think I was angling for uniting our realms through marriage, me as Queen of the Six Kingdoms, him as King of the North.”

“‘Your realm,’” mocked Arya. “It was his. It was always his.”

“A matter for the legal scholars to have delighted in debating. Also helped by the fact that Jon didn’t want it. He swore you to secrecy before the heart tree, did he not?”

“Only because he was infatuated with what you had between your legs,” responded Arya.

“Not by then. He was disgusted by our shared blood, that I was his aunt. And when he bent the knee, we were still figuring out who we were to each other.” Daenerys smiled and took a sip of wine. Arya couldn’t hide her surprise. “Do you think it’s much worse for him to know I’m his sister? I assure you, after he put a knife in my heart, I have no intention of accepting him into my bed ever again.”

“I don’t believe you,” said Arya.  “And besides, you’ll never get the chance. I won’t let you hurt my family. Ever. You hate them and all they did was the right thing, always.”

Daenerys looked at Arya thoughtfully. “I do hate your sister,” she admitted. “But I don’t hate Jon. That said, I do not want any of you dead. If I did, I would have done it long ago.”

“Jon killed you and you expect me to believe you don’t hate him?” asked Arya. “The moment you get close to him, you’ll burn him alive.”

“You’re less informed than you think.” Daenerys chuckled. “Jon’s here. He’s staying in the palace. As is Sansa.”

Arya stared at Daenerys in disbelief. Clearly she was an immensely talented liar now to tell Arya such ridiculous stories, and not have a hint of deception on her face. “You’re a liar.”

The Empress raised an eyebrow and a mocking smirk. “Am I?”

There was growling behind Arya. She turned instinctively.

At the door leading to the Empress’s bedchamber was standing a colossal white direwolf, teeth barred- at Arya.

“Ghost?” asked Arya, completely shocked.

The direwolf padded his way next to Daenerys, who put her hand on his back and scratched him. Ghost did not take his red eyes off Arya, staring at her. Defending the Empress, Arya realized.

If Ghost was here...

“What did you do to Jon?” asked Arya.

“Saved his life again,” responded Daenerys. She took another sip of wine. “You can thank my mother as well. She’s a shadowbinder from Asshai, and helped me discover Jon and the freefolk were in danger. She’s taught me many things since I awoke from death to find her crying over me. Such as poison immunity. After what I went through before, I thought that something very important. In case you’re confused why the Essence of Nightshade you put in this wine isn’t killing me.”

Arya’s face dropped. “You… what?” she asked.

“I’ve known you were here since you arrived in Volantis. We were tracking you since you left Meereen, even. I confess to wanting to see how far you’d go. If you were here to kill me, or merely to watch me. I suppose I have my answer now.” Daenerys picked up the pitcher of wine and dumped it out on the balcony. “Still, I find it curious why you feel I had to die. Since I was reborn I have done nothing to earn it.”

“You haven’t paid your penance,” snarled Arya. “I was in King’s Landing that day. I was in the city as you flew overhead. I saw little girls die in their mothers’ arms as your dragon turned them to ash. There is no forgiveness for what you did. Jon killed you for what you did, but that’s not enough. Die in agony and come back a million times, one for every person you killed, Mad Queen. Only then will your debt be paid.”

“I know,” whispered Daenerys, her face ashen, her hand clenched in Ghost’s fur for comfort. Arya saw the horror she felt of that day, the nightmares that still tormented her, echoed in the face of Daenerys Targaryen. “I see it every time I close my eyes. I don’t dream, truly, ever since I came back. I don’t think I’d dream of anything else. I feel the black pit in my mind, the rage that had been growing ever since I ate my breakfast. I hear Jon confronting me… I hear my own voice echo back and know the horror of my words. I feel his lips on mine, and then the pain of his dagger in my heart.”

“You don’t regret it,” said Arya. “You’re a monster.”

“That’s all any of you saw me as,” continued Daenerys. “I came to defend your home, to fight alongside you. To try and impress the family of the man I loved. And you didn’t trust him, didn’t try and know me, turned Jon against me, got my armies killed defending Winterfell, rejected me, plotted against me, betrayed me. And when that day came, not one of you bothered to think, was this truly her? Was there something more going on here?”

“There wasn’t,” responded Arya. “Just madness.”

“Basilisk’s blood,” whispered Daenerys. Arya stopped and narrowed her eyes. The Empress’s eyes were pools of grief and horror and nothing but regret, but Arya could detect no lie. “Varys was trying to prove to Tyrion and Jon that I was mad. He had a servant trying to slip it into my meals. I spent my whole childhood fearing assassins, seeing the looks in peoples’ eyes. I saw it in hers. She trembled when she brought me my meals, and so I didn’t eat them. When Tyrion confirmed Varys had betrayed me, I knew what he was doing. I executed him. His little girl didn’t stop. That morning… I ate for the first time in weeks. It smelled so good... I thought it was just my hunger. I knew there was a chance it was poisoned. I’d stopped caring. What was the point in living now that everyone I loved was gone, or betraying me?

“I had never imagined that Varys’s goal was not to kill me. Of course, now I realize. If I dropped dead, Jon and Tyrion would have immediately known what he’d done. Jon would have split his head in his rage. Varys was trying to make me ‘go mad’ so I could be removed by other hands than his. The girl didn’t stop trying, even though he was dead. I cared so little for my own life then, I’d have welcomed death. Instead… a furious, violent rage grew in me. And when I saw that I’d been right all along, that I should have taken the city the moment I’d landed in Westeros, that Tyrion’s clever plans had failed me… my rage broke. I broke. I… you know what I did.”

Daenerys was crying, her control failing despite her best efforts, the wounds and trauma of King’s Landing, of her betrayals, still raw and bleeding. Arya didn’t believe it, she couldn’t believe it... but it was hard to lie to her, after her training with the Faceless Men. The haunted, broken look in the face of the Amethyst Empress…

“When it started to wear off,” continued Daenerys, “I thought myself a madwoman. I tried to justify it. They had sided with Cersei, the murderous, tyrannical usurper, over me. I thought it would all be worth it if I could just rule with Jon at my side, but as my horror at what I had done grew… I’d have ended my life myself. And then he pretended to come back to me. He pledged I would always be his queen, and then he murdered me. You had all poisoned him so much against me that he didn’t even bother to try and understand. I loved him. Even under the poison’s influence, I’d never have harmed him, or his family, because I loved him.”

Daenerys muffled a sob. “All I wanted was to be a good queen,” she said. “I didn’t even want Jon to bend the knee when he did. But I came north to defend my people… and you hated me. You wanted me to die, when I had come to fight alongside you. Nothing I could have ever done would have been enough for you. I’d come to defend you and you cursed me as a foreigner and wished I’d go away. If I had, you’d have despised me as a coward who had abandoned you to die. For the North, death itself was preferable to accepting my help...

“But if I could have ruled, together, with the man I loved, that was all I’d wanted. And then your bitch of a sister broke her sacred vow to Jon, for something he didn’t even want. I’d told him what would happen. And it took on a life of its own, and ruined both of us. Kinslayer, queenslayer, oathbreaker. That’s what your sister’s actions made of Jon. She ruined his life as surely as she ruined mine.

“And now she’s here. I spoke the truth, though I did not not allow you to know it before now. I’ve known you were amongst my servants for some time. I kept you away from her. She didn’t know it was me, I’m sure, or she’d never have come, but she came to beg for aid from the Empire to reclaim the North after your brother- or whatever is in your brother’s body- took it from her. Do you think her an evil tyrant for seeking foreign armies to reclaim her birthright, I wonder?”

Arya sat there, thunderstruck. This meeting had not gone anything like she had expected. She had expected to find a mad tyrant intent on vengeance against her family; instead she found a broken woman who appeared to want nothing to do with the Starks or even Westeros anymore, even as they seemed to arrive before her one by one. “Are you going to help her?” she asked, quietly.

“I confess to not having any desire to,” said Daenerys. “But I seek to protect the world from tyrants everywhere. Yet I have no desire to put my people and armies at risk for a land that has already shown me they despise nothing more than foreigners. I’ve left the decision to my Elder Council. And what is Sansa doing? Going from counselor to counselor, trying to convince them to remove me from my throne, that I forged with my sweat, blood, and tears, that I have the only claim upon, and seat Jon upon it. Jon has as little interest in that as he does in bedding me. We shall not become lovers again. We are both trying to move on and heal, perhaps embrace one another as brother and sister.”

“You’re truly not going to hurt him?” asked Arya.

“No, the fate I have in mind for him is much worse. Sansa told his secret in the hopes that he would be King of the Seven Kingdoms. I intend to give her exactly what she asked for… except he will sit in King’s Landing and rule over Westeros in fealty to me . She will serve him as Wardenness of the North… or I will place someone else in charge of the North.”

“They’d never be loyal to anyone who isn’t a Stark,” said Arya.

“Yes, they were certainly lining up to help you take Winterfell back from House Bolton, weren’t they?” asked Daenerys scornfully. “Stark blood isn’t as special as you seem to think. But if it is what you insist on, how convenient it is that my beloved sister Allyria’s father was Brandon Stark.” Daenerys gave a slightly cruel smirk. “She’s a bastard by Westerosi law, yes, but I could legitimize her. She’d keep the name Dayne, as she… isn’t fond of her father. By my understanding of the laws, as Brandon Stark was Rickard Stark’s heir, that would make Allyria… the rightful Lady of Winterfell.”

Arya frowned. “I won’t let you steal the North from my family,” she said.

“Then do what you will. You will not succeed. I don’t believe Ghost would kill you, but he will defend me. He knows who I am. Jon’s sister. His only true sister. I’m no longer a young lovestruck woman trying to be on good terms with the family of my beloved. You are the family that ruined me and led to my death. You need me but I certainly don’t need or particularly want to help you. If you want my assistance, you need to learn to play by my rules. Live in my new world, or else as far as I’m concerned, you can die in your old one. ”

The door to the hall opened and the Imperial Guard entered. Arthur Dayne glowered at Arya furiously, before glancing at Ghost, seeing him defending his master’s blood sister. “Good boy,” he said.

“You’d best hope we don’t find any bodies with their faces carved off in Volantis,” said Daenerys, “or you’ll earn a much different form of hospitality than I’m currently offering you. And if you think you can murder your way to what you want… you’re welcome to try. The Faceless Men are quite eager to repay you for your betrayal, and it’s only my word that keeps them from claiming you. They’re watching you. Move against me, and they move against you.” She nodded at her uncle. “You’re dismissed, Lady Stark.”

Arya was roughly bodied and hauled out of the solar, but all she could think of was that House Stark found itself completely at the mercy of the woman they had ruined… and she was holding literally all the cards.

Even worse, given what Daenerys had confessed to her… Arya couldn’t help but feel they’d entirely earned this fate.

Sansa couldn’t think of what to say to Jon, even as he sat across from her desk, brooding and drinking wine. He had made it very clear that he was livid with her for her actions six years ago, even if Sansa still was sure she had done the right thing.

The door was jerked open, causing them both to jump. Arthur Dayne stepped in and looked them over. “This girl has been skulking in the palace for several days,” he said coldly. Arya was shoved in by the other guards outside. Jon and Sansa both stood in surprise. “She just decided to disguise herself and enter the Empress’s office. Were my niece a woman of less mercy, this girl would be dead. See to it that she does not threaten the Empress again, or she will be executed immediately.”

At that Arthur stepped out and slammed the door behind him.

“Arya,” said Sansa, stunned. She rushed forward to hug her sister. Arya hugged her back. “How?”

“We made port in Essos,” said Arya. “We heard about the Empire… I heard they were restoring Valyria. I wanted to see… and then I learned who the Empress was.”

“And what did you do?” asked Jon.

Arya shook her head, still shaken by her encounter. “It doesn’t matter what I tried,” she said. “I only got as far as I did because she let me. She knew I was here the whole time.”

“Then it really is hopeless,” said Sansa. “Winterfell might as well be lost to us. That bitch isn’t going to help us.”

“Why the hell should she?” asked Jon angrily. “She came to help us once and you repaid her with distrust, hostility, and betrayal. The fact she hasn’t thrown you out of the Empire at all is her being far more generous than she should be.”

“All because you couldn’t help yourself from betraying us first,” snapped Sansa.

“What happened to you two?” asked Arya. “Why are you here in Volantis?”

“She rescued me,” said Jon. “Me and the freefolk. The White Walkers are back.” Arya gaped in horror. “SHE-” he pointed at Sansa- “is here because Bran accused her of murdering me and engineered a rebellion that had her overthrown, because she trusted the wrong people.”

“Stop it,” said Arya as Sansa opened her mouth to reply. “STOP IT. We’re all finally together again, and you two can’t stop screaming at each other! We’re a pack, we’re family! We can’t tear ourselves apart, not with- whatever’s wrong with Bran! Not with the White Walkers threatening the North again!”

“I will not be bending the knee to her,” said Sansa.

“Then you will never see Winterfell again,” replied Jon.

“She cannot hold the North. They’re loyal to us, to House Stark,” responded Sansa confidently. “I am the rightful Queen in the North.”

“She doesn’t need you,” said Arya. “She said she has a sister… Allaria?”

“Allyria,” corrected Jon.

“She’s our uncle Brandon’s bastard daughter.” Arya looked at Sansa. “She’ll legitimize her. Since Uncle Brandon was father’s elder brother… she says that’d give her a better claim on Winterfell than you.”

Sansa stared at Arya, surprised. Jon could only laugh. “She’s got you completely outplayed, Sansa,” he said. “She’s got armies, dragons, loyal people, and now she’s got an answer to Northern loyalty.”

“Not completely outplayed,” said Sansa. “She has an elder half-brother, and she’s nothing more than a bastard.”

“That doesn’t matter.” Jon stood. “And I’m disgusted you even think it does.” He turned and left. Arya followed him.

“Jon,” she said. Jon slowed up slightly to let her catch up. “Are you okay?”

Jon hesitated. “More okay than I’ve been for six years,” he admitted. “I knew it, Arya. I knew it was wrong. But you, and Tyrion, told me… ‘I know a killer when I see one.’ Honestly.”

“All I knew was what I’d just seen, Jon,” said Arya. “I was… I was in the streets, when it happened. I saw… terrible things. I didn’t know about the basilisk’s blood.”

Jon scoffed, not believing Arya believed Dany. “You believe her?”

“I do. I was a Faceless Man, Jon. I learned about it in Braavos. And I could tell she wasn’t lying. I’m hard to lie to. She’s…”

“Broken,” finished Jon for Arya. “She’s broken. And we broke her. All of us. Me most of all, but Sansa and you played your parts. I swore you to secrecy under the heart tree, and you broke that vow within a day.”

“I broke nothing!” said Arya, indignant. “I didn’t tell a single soul. I didn’t even know Sansa had, not until after Daenerys was dead. I left Winterfell that day to go to King’s Landing to kill Cersei. All I thought… was that she’d chosen to make an example of King’s Landing, to any who opposed her.”

Jon took a deep breath. “That’s what I thought too,” he admitted. “‘Let it be fear, then.’ That was one of the last things she said to me, before that day. And I was wrong. Maybe she would have done some terrible things to shore up her own power, it was all she had left after Sansa and Varys betrayed her. But nobody expected that. I loved her, and even I immediately assumed the worst.”

“You didn’t know,” said Arya. “How could you ever have heard about basilisk’s blood?”

“I should have given her a chance.” Jon sighed. “But we all played a part in it, Arya. Do you know what hurts the most? I was so looking forward to her meeting you all. I had this amazing, beautiful woman I was in love with. She was excited to meet you. I told her, Arya, she was my favorite sister, and growing up she’d loved the stories of the Targaryen women dragon riders. She said she’d take you with her on Drogon, she’d tell you all the stories of the far off, exotic places she’d been and seen. And then we get there, and Sansa’s cold to her, and you’d started parroting her about Daenerys being untrustworthy, and a tyrant, when neither of you had even tried to know her, the real her.”

Arya had to blink back some tears at the pain in Jon’s voice, the betrayal he felt for how his family had doubted him. She could imagine it, bringing someone home to meet her family, so eager for them all to get along, only for her own siblings to treat them like scum. “I had assumed she forced you to bend the knee,” said Arya. “Sansa was sure you were blinded by love. I… I’m sorry, Jon. I should have trusted you.”

“Aye, you should have,” agreed Jon. “She never forced me to bend the knee. She tried, for sure. But eventually… she stopped demanding. And then she lost a dragon saving my life from the Night King and his army, and when I woke up, she was sad, but she wasn’t even sorry it had happened. She’d had to see the Army of the Dead to understand the threat. And she allied with us unconditionally. It was only then I bent the knee, because I believed in her. Aye, maybe I was in love with her, too, but it wasn’t that.”

Arya sighed. “You’re still in love with her.”

Jon actually grimaced at that. “No, I’m not. I haven’t been in love with her, at least not like that, for a few years.” He sighed. “I had dreams. I dreamed of Dragonstone, of hearing a babe crying weakly, before passing. I dreamed of a castle with purple banners with swords and falling stars, and another babe with violet eyes with blue lips and not breathing, and a mother throwing herself from the tower so her daughter could live. I… I saw my pregnant mother, standing next to Ashara Dayne as she nursed a grey-eyed baby, talking about what they would name the next one. I knew what the dreams were, I just didn’t want to accept it. When Davos said those words… it was just telling me what I didn’t want to admit.”

“Dragon dreams,” said Arya helpfully. “Daenys the Dreamer had them. It was what led House Targaryen to flee Valyria before the Doom.”

Jon chuckled. “You know your Targaryens, but no, it wasn’t those. Lady Ashara was sending the dreams, I just never thought anything of them but I knew Dany had had visions. I honestly can’t believe a Targaryen dragon riding queen could ride into Winterfell and she wouldn’t immediately become your hero.”

Arya sighed. “I think I was partially afraid she was trying to steal my brother from me. You were home, Jon, more than the castle or Sansa or any of it.”

“She’d never been trying to steal me. If I was your brother… she wanted to be like a sister to you.”

Arya looked at the ground, ashamed. “And now she hates us all, and she’ll never forget it.”

Jon turned to face Arya. “She doesn’t think all Starks are bad,” he said. “If what you say is true, Allyria is one of us and she adores her. She and I are working on it, and I murdered her. I don’t think we’ll ever go back to that way again- neither of us want it- but I’m hoping we can be brother and sister. If she can get past me murdering her, I think she might be able to get past you being cold to her.”

“And Sansa?” asked Arya hopefully.

“Sansa told my secret deliberately, specifically to hurt Daenerys. More to the point, she told me to my face she doesn’t regret it one bit, even after all that happened. And I’ve got a strong feeling her meetings with the Elder Counselors have been about removing her from the Dawnthrone and putting me on it.”

“Do you think she’ll succeed? You are her elder half-brother, and you’re not a bastard.”

Jon smiled. “Show me that knowledge of Targaryen history. Who was the rightful King of Westeros before Aegon the Conqueror?”

Arya shook her head. “He united the Seven Kingdoms. There wasn’t one.”

“So could anyone have had a better claim on the Iron Throne than him?”

“No.”

“And that’s why Sansa won’t succeed, because there wasn’t a Dawnthrone before Dany. And besides… I didn’t want to take the Iron Throne from her six years ago, and I have no interest in taking the Dawnthrone from her now. Nobody has a better claim on it than her, and even if something happened to her, the succession goes through House Dayne instead. Allyria’s her heir, followed by Lord Edric of Starfall-”

“- I feel like I know him, but maybe it was just a dream of another life-”

“- and from there who knows.”

Arya sighed. “I’m not going to murder her, if that’s what you’re afraid of. Not least because she… she thinks I already tried, and she told me I can’t.”

Jon frowned. “Why does she think you tried to kill her?”

Arya took a vial out of her pocket. “Essence of Nightshade,” she said. “She thought I’d put it in her wine. She knew who I was all along, and then she kept drinking it.”

“She DRANK WINE she thought was poisoned?” Jon was horrified at what both Dany and Arya had done.

“She said her mother taught her how to make herself immune to poisons.” Arya narrowed her eyes. “Of course she’d want to do that, if she had been poisoned with Basilisk’s Blood. Poison immunity would prevent that from happening again. But she told me the Faceless Men want me dead, and only she’s kept them from killing me. But if I move against her… they’ll stop me.”

“She has the Faceless Men on her side?” Jon looked around as if expecting to see one of them lurking in a manner most similar to Petyr Baelish.

“She says she does, at least. I don’t know how, they’re devoted to the Many-Faced God. If someone paid them enough, they’d kill her. I imagine it’d take half the gold in the world by this point, though. The more important the target, the higher the fee.”

“If you were scared she was a threat,” asked Jon, “if you had the poison… why’d you not put it in?”

Arya hesitated. “I’ve traveled parts of the Empire, and seen how much the people love her. It didn’t make sense to me, at all, not with what I thought I knew about King’s Landing. And I… I thought if you heard she’d been brought back… and then that I’d killed her, you’d never forgive me.”

Jon hugged Arya. “You’d have been right.”

“I’m not saying I’m going to trust her… but I’m going to give her the chance I didn’t six years ago.”

“I think that’s all I can hope for. Just don’t get yourself killed.” Jon shuddered. “And don’t cross her mother.”

“How scary is she? Scarier than the Night King?”

“Aye, I honestly think so,” said Jon, and Arya could tell he was not lying. “Imagine someone as devoted to her daughters as your mother was to her children… and then give her the magic of the red woman, Melisandre.”

Arya grimaced.

Chapter Text

Daenerys smiled as she tossed chunks of meat into a pit filled with baby dragons. They were staring at her impatiently, and once the meat splattered into the pit, they fell upon it, roasting it with their fire breath, and tearing it to shreds between them.

Wiping her hands clean on a towel a servant carried for her, she turned to see Arya watching her. The servant gasped, but Daenerys did not step back.

“How many dragons do you have now?” asked Arya.

“I think you’ll understand that I don’t share that information freely,” responded Daenerys. “Enough.”

“One was enough.”

Daenerys flinched. “Can I help you, Lady Stark?”

“I’m not a lady,” responded Arya. She hesitated. “Two things. First, I didn’t tell anyone Jon’s secret. I swore a vow under the heart tree, and I kept it. I’ve still never told anyone.”

Daenerys looked between both Arya’s eyes, trying to spot a lie. She nodded, satisfied. “And the other thing?”

“The wine I served you a few days ago wasn’t poisoned. I hadn’t put it in. You wasted good wine.” Daenerys actually smiled at that. Arya continued. “Are you really working things out with Jon?”

“Not as lovers, no,” said Daenerys. “But… I know Jon would do the right thing, always. It was one of the things I admired about him. It would have been so easy for him to bend the knee to me, get my support. But his people had placed their faith in him. He didn’t want to abandon them so easily. In hindsight, he never should have. It was impossible for me to earn your respect.”

Arya closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and exhaled. “I’m sorry.”

Daenerys tilted her head. “You’re… sorry? For what, may I ask?”

“All of it. Jon told me how excited he was for you to meet us all. That he’d told you about how I’d loved the stories of Visenya, Rhaenys, and the other Targaryen women dragon riders. He said you’d planned to take me on your dragon with you. I hadn’t known you didn’t want him to bend the knee when he did. I didn’t know you’d lost a dragon saving his life. I should have trusted him, and I should have given you a chance. I’m sorry.”

Daenerys narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Are you doing this in the hopes I’ll help your family take back the North?”

Arya grimaced. “A little bit, honestly. But… I didn’t know you. I still don’t really know you. But I’ve seen what you’ve done for Essos, how much your people love you. And I saw how much my brother loved you. Even though it turns out he’s your brother, not mine. I think I’d held that against you, too. Jon had always been what I thought of when I thought of home. I was afraid I’d finally get home only for Jon to go running off with you to King’s Landing.”

“I’d never have tried to steal your brother from you,” said Daenerys quietly.

“It was a childish fear. We’d been driven from Winterfell, we’d tried to get it back, and nothing was the same when we did. I tried to cling to what I’d had. But I should have given you a chance. You made Jon happy, and I should have trusted his judgement on that.”

“My true parentage would have come out eventually,” said Daenerys, but she smiled slightly. “That would have made Jon very unhappy.”

“But not you?” Arya raised an eyebrow.

“I was raised Targaryen. For most of my life I’d believed Viserys my brother, and that I’d marry him. Loving Jon would not have been so vile to me.”

They stood there. Arya leaned against the edge of the pit, looking down on the baby dragons. “They’re so small,” she said.

“My children, when I hatched them, were even smaller,” said Daenerys. She leaned onto the railing to the pit next to Arya, surprisingly close. “I know what it is to lose your home, you know. When I was a little girl, home to me was a house with a red door, and a lemon tree outside my bedroom window. Ser Willem Darry, it had been his house, I thought. He always smiled at me kindly, called me ‘little princess’, took my hand in his. When he died, his servants stole what little gold we had and threw us out. Viserys, he constantly ranted about taking back Westeros, but all I wanted to do was go back to that house. For many years, that was all I wanted.”

“What changed?” asked Arya. “What did you want instead?”

“To hold my son in my arms,” said Daenerys quietly. “A witch murdered him while he was still in my womb. I burnt her alive, along with my husband’s body. In that fire, my dragons hatched. From then, all I wanted was to leave the world a better place than when I found it. I can’t blame you for not trusting me when I came to Winterfell. I’d lost my way.”

“My father always said you find your true friends on the battlefield,” said Arya. “You came to fight with us. We should have remembered that. It’s one of our favorite sayings. ‘The North Remembers.’ And what do you want most now? Your Empire to cover the whole world?”

“For that day to have never happened,” whispered Daenerys.

Arya flinched. “I hadn’t known about the basilisk’s blood. If I had, I’d never have told Jon to kill you.” She sighed. “Well, maybe I would have. I’d feared that with you knowing who he really was, you’d hurt him.”

“Even under the poison,” said Daenerys, “Jon was the one person I’d have never hurt.”

Arya turned to face the Empress. “For what it’s worth,” she said. “I was on the ground that day… knowing about the basilisk’s blood now… I forgive you.”

Daenerys stared at Arya, and her eyes shone. “Thank you.”

“I’m still not going to trust you immediately… but I want to give you the chance I should have six years ago. I hear I have a cousin, I want to know her too.”

“Allyria would be happy to meet you,” said Daenerys. “Mother always made sure she knew that there were good Starks, even if there were bad ones, too.” Arya looked at Daenerys curiously, but did not ask. “You aren’t going to turn on me because your sister continues to scheme against me, right?”

Arya shook her head. “She’s damaged, in a way. She trusted the wrong people and she suffered horrors for it. I don’t know if she can trust anyone, other than her family.”

“One’s family can be just as cruel as one’s enemies,” said Daenerys, a bitter look on her face. “I know it well.”

“Jon?” asked Arya.

“Among others, yes.”

Arya nodded. “I’ve done some terrible things in my life, but I’ve always tried to live up to the ideals that my father instilled in us. He was a good man. Too good. King’s Landing destroyed him.”

Daenerys’s face was like stone. “Nobody’s perfect,” she said. “How much grief would have been avoided if your father had told Jon who he was?”

“He lied to protect him,” defended Arya.

“He lied to never have to live up to the choices he had made,” responded Daenerys. “His choice to be loyal to a man who would have seen his entire family dead if he knew what he had done. Among others.”

Arya knew Daenerys had a point, even if she knew her father was a good man, a man of unimpeachable honor. Even though Daenerys maintained her control, a hint of anger seeped through her mask when she spoke of Ned Stark. “Still, he taught us to always defend and trust the pack. Our family. Every time Sansa has trusted someone that wasn’t family, it’s gone wrong for her.”

“I can understand and sympathize with her reasons, but you must understand: right now it is only hurting her cause. My council is loyal to me, and they are not happy with her continued whispers. Some are questioning why I haven’t thrown her in prison, or thrown her out of the Empire yet.”

Arya wondered. “Why haven’t you, yet? You certainly don’t like her.”

Daenerys smiled. “Because I’ll confess, watching her bash her head against a wall is giving me a great deal of satisfaction, and because I feel the most stable situation the North could have is a trueborn daughter of Eddard Stark in Winterfell beneath a King of Northern blood. My love for my sister and hate for yours cannot diminish two things: that Allyria has never set foot in the North, and that I want what is best for the people. The nobles, your sister included, can get fucked for all I care. I want a better world for the people… even if that means I need to bite my tongue and work with those I despise.”

“Does Allyria want the North?” asked Arya.

“Not particularly. Until recently, I understand what she wanted was to meet her Stark family. She didn’t know a thing about me until I was reborn.” Daenerys’s warm smile faded, leaving coldness in her wake. “She was not impressed when she found out how coldly you had all treated me. Nor by Sansa’s actions here in Volantis.”

“I… hopefully, I can redeem House Stark in her eyes. Truly. I mean it.”

“I know you do.” Daenerys snorted. “You Starks and your pack. That was all I wanted, really. To be accepted into it.”

“We’d suffered under so many other people,” said Arya defensively, but without malice. “We didn’t feel like we could trust anyone who wasn’t us.”

“‘Anyone who isn’t us is an enemy,’” quoted Daenerys. “How very Cersei of you.”

Arya couldn’t help but grimace at how true that was. Daenerys started to walk away, but she turned. “Thank you for your apology,” she said. “I accept it. Let the past lay where it is. If we look back, we are lost. And thank you for your forgiveness. It truly does mean a great deal.”

Arya watched as the Empress walked off, her servants and Imperial Guard trailing in her wake, and felt... at peace. Which surprised her immensely.

Davos walked into Jon’s solar later that day to find him sitting there with Arya, and he nearly jumped out of his boots, he was so surprised.

“Lady Arya,” he said, unable to keep the surprise out of his face.

“Ser Davos,” responded Arya.

“I hadn’t realized you’d arrived,” said Davos. “Figured you were somewhere on the far side of the world, exploring new undiscovered lands.”

“I tried, for a time. Then I sailed east. Wanted to see Yi Ti. Leng. Sothoryos.” Arya shuddered. “Not Sothoryos anymore. Never again. Went up to Leng and Yi Ti, learned about the Great Empire of the Dawn. Sailed west when I heard they’d been sending expeditions to Old Valyria. Thought maybe I’d see if I could help. Made port in Meereen… learned who the Empress was.”

“Aye,” said Jon, privately reminding himself to profusely thank Dany for not having Arya executed.

“Well, it’s good to see you,” said Davos genuinely. “We were worried for you. Glad to know you’re back with you family.”

“Bran was worried for me?” asked Arya. If what Jon had said was true and Bran had overthrown Sansa, she was surprised that Bran would have been concerned for her. Especially since she thought Bran could have just… done whatever he could do, and found her with his all-sight.

Davos bit his lip. “No,” he said.

Arya felt the unease Davos had when he said that. “I thought you served him,” she said problingly.

“Aye, I did,” confirmed Davos. “As did Tyrion, and Brienne, and Podrick. We’re all here in Volantis now for the same reason: Bran’s a shit king, and evil.”

Arya looked to Jon for confirmation. “Aye,” said Jon, who as he learned more and more of what Bran had gotten up to as King, was becoming more and more certain that that was not truly Bran. “Why do you think he never warned Dany or I about Euron Greyjoy or his ambush? Why do you think he turned down rule of Winterfell, just to become the King of Westeros? Why do you think he framed Sansa for my death, and had her bannermen turn on her?”

“I asked Lady Brienne about it,” said Davos. “She said Bran was going to put Sansa on trial. He’d framed her good, all on his reputation as ‘Eddard Stark’s son’. If she were found guilty, he’d have seen her dead.”

Arya took a deep breath, processing this. A few weeks ago, life had seemed to simple, and then everything had changed.

Volantis had not at all been what she expected. She had come to this city expecting to find a mad tyrant plotting to murder everyone with Stark blood she could get her hands on.

Instead she’d found out that Daenerys was Jon’s half-sister, had saved his life again, wasn’t immediately taking revenge on even Sansa, had a sister with Stark blood that she obviously was very close to, and that the evil tyrant they’d all feared was real, but bore the name Stark .

There was a low knock on the door and it opened. Tyrion stepped in, carrying a heavy tome. He did a double take when he looked at Arya.

“How?” he asked.

“I’ll explain later,” said Davos.

Tyrion chuckled. “You Starks really do travel in packs, don’t you?”

“We used to,” said Jon sadly. “What do you need?”

Arya noted Jon was a little tense with Tyrion, but when Tyrion visibly relaxed, she could tell it had been worse before. She remembered that Tyrion had been the one to tell Jon that Daenerys had to die. Arya had as well, of course, but Tyrion had been the one who had finally, fully convinced Jon that the deed was necessary.

“Look at this,” said Tyrion, showing his book to Davos. “Of all the places I ever expected to stumble across a copy of this book, the palace library was not one of them. Daenerys showed it to me.”

“I thought she’d have every copy of that shit burnt,” said Davos, disgust dripping from his lips.

Curious, Jon and Arya leaned in to study the embossed title on the front cover.

A Song of Ice and Fire

by

Archmaester Ebrose of the Citadel

assisted by

Samwell Tarly

“Sam?” asked Jon. “That’s the book he was working on?”

“It is,” said Tyrion.

Jon smiled. “Good for him.”

“No,” said Davos, “not good for him.” He was looking at Jon, stunned.

“He was beyond the Wall,” said Tyrion to Davos, glancing up meaningfully. “He doesn’t know.”

Jon’s grin had faded. “Know what?”

“You’ll find out,” said Tyrion, setting the book down on Jon’s desk. “Daenerys wants you to read it.”

“What does it say?” asked Jon, very confused about why Tyrion and Davos were so dismissive of the book. Sam was his friend, a good man.

Tyrion and Davos exchanged a glance.

“It’s very complimentary of you ,” said Tyrion. “And it doesn’t mention me at all, but given what it said about…” He stopped.

Jon suddenly understood immediately and he looked at the book with a hateful gaze.

“What does it say about Daenerys?” asked Jon, a cold fury emanating from him.

Tyrion opened the book and found a page with a little searching. He passed it to Jon. Arya leaned in to read over Jon’s elbow.

Daenerys Targaryen had her Dothraki savage husband bewitched, even as she mated openly and proudly with her own brother in front of him. When her womb took a child, another vile incest spawn of House Targaryen, Khal Drogo believed he was the father, even as obvious as it was that Viserys was the true sire. Viserys was a good and honorable man, free of the curse of madness of his father and sister, but she was a woman of bewitching power, and had him wrapped around her finger. To have her succession unchallenged, she had her husband murder Viserys for her, to leave her the true power behind their unholy progeny. However, Westeros was spared the wrath of another Targaryen heir, as her poison womb rejected the child. The Mad Queen merely ordered the unborn babe cooked and served to her, and then burnt her husband alive, using the powerful blood magic to summon forth three dragons, becoming the great threat of Fire.

Arya glanced up at Jon to see his teeth barred, absolutely livid.

“I’m gonna fucking kill him,” he snarled. “She loved her son.”

It wasn’t until then that Jon suddenly realized that Rhaego would have been his nephew.

“You might get the chance sooner than you think,” said Tyrion. “Lady Ashara says he has taken ship and is on his way here.”

“Why?” asked Davos, surprised.

“I imagine the same reason we were sent. The King wants to prove the Empress false.”

Brienne was a dutiful and honor-bound knight who held true to her vows, but even those vows allowed one to take a break. Pod was guarding Sansa now, which freed Brienne up to visit the kitchens for a quick meal, wash and bathe away the stink of sweat from the Volantene heat and heavy armor, and sleep.

To their credit, the Imperial Guard was quite accommodating. She and Pod were allowed to keep their weapons- a courtesy she noted had not been afforded to Jon Snow, though Brienne understood the reasons- and escort Sansa virtually anywhere, standing guard outside as she met with the Elder Council (and, Brienne noticed, left in frustration every single time). Arya flitted in and out at will, but Brienne knew she could handle herself, even if like Jon, she was not allowed to carry a weapon. Only the Imperial apartments were not open to them freely. Brienne had even crossed paths with Daenerys a few times, who nodded at her with a respectful ‘Ser Brienne’ before continuing on her way, Imperial Guard trailing in her wake.

Even the training grounds were open to her. She hadn’t been asked, or felt like asking, anyone to spar with her yet. She would normally train with Pod (or more accurately, train Pod), but she did not want Sansa unguarded.

It was in the early morning, Pod outside Sansa’s chamber doors, that Brienne went to train at a dummy in the hopes of beating the heat. She picked up a training sword and hacked away at the dummy. After about half an hour, she realized she wasn’t alone. At another dummy was Lord Commander Arthur Dayne himself. He was watching Brienne interestedly.

“The Imp was right,” he said. “You can fight.”

Brienne bowed her head respectfully. “Lord Commander,” she said.

Dayne bowed his head back. “Lady Commander... though not anymore, I suppose. Who dubbed you?”

“Jaime Lannister,” said Brienne. Arthur’s face was normally stoic, but Brienne saw a brief flash of mixed emotions cross his face at that name. “He was a good and honorable man, and an excellent swordsman.”

“Until he lost his hand,” said Arthur. “I trained him. Boy was one of the most naturally talented fighters I’d ever seen. Yes, he had honor. I know that. Bravery. Skill. I was the one who dubbed him. ”

“You did?” asked Brienne, surprised.

“I did. He helped me deal with the Kingswood Brotherhood. He saved Lord Crakehall and did well against the Smiling Knight. I saw his valor and put my sword on his shoulder. If I’d known what would happen after… I might never have done it.

“He saved King’s Landing,” said Brienne. “Did you know that?”

Arthur nodded. “The wildfire, yes. My niece told me. Don’t fault him for that anymore. Aegon and Rhaenys, though… Elia.”

“I’m sure he would have saved them if he could,” said Brienne.

“Did he save the city? Or was he just trying to save his father, and himself?”

Brienne narrowed her eyes. “Where were you, then?”

Arthur squared himself. “Following my Prince’s orders,” he said. “Protecting Lyanna Stark and her babe. My sister, too.”

“Rhaegar was not King. You served Aerys loyally and faithfully, even as he became mad.”

Arthur paused on his response. “Not so easy, is it? Your vows. You were Lady Commander to the Raven King. Now you’re here, breaking your vows. What took you so long, if serving a bad king is clearance to break the vows you swore? When honor is your guide, your salve?”

Brienne and Arthur stared at each other. “I suppose we both had to choose between being honorable and being good,” admitted Brienne.

“Not me. Aerys was an evil man, that much is true. It was Rhaegar I served. You say he wasn’t king, but he would have been. He was planning to gather all the lords of the Realm and unthrone his father. That was what Harrenhal was for. He paid for the tournament. Varys found out. He told Aerys what Rhaegar was up to, so when Aerys came to the tournament, he was able to keep the secret meetings from happening. It was Rhaegar we were loyal to. He commanded. We obeyed. Aerys didn’t contradict him.”

Brienne tilted her head. “And Varys…”

“Poisoned my niece,” said Dayne sternly. “She burnt him alive with dragonfire when she found out he was trying to poison her. Dragonfire was too easy for him. How many would have lived if the Spider had kept his damn mouth shut? How many would have lived if he hadn’t been playing everything from behind the scenes, always?”

Brienne sighed and leaned on her sparring sword. “Is she good?” she asked plainly. “Daenerys? How many more has she burnt alive?”

“Only those who deserve it,” responded Arthur. “Slavery is ended. Human sacrifice is ended.”

“Who is she to decide who deserves it?” insisted Brienne.

Arthur glanced at Brienne. “When you see a child, starved and rotting alive, crucified because he defended himself against the master’s whip… you know who deserves death. When you hear the pleading of hundreds of parents because their lords took their children from them and drained their blood into pools in the name of their god, you know who deserves it.”

“And when she returns to Westeros? With legions and dragons?” asked Brienne. “How will she see the distinction between the lord and the master? Will she burn only those who deserve it? Or will she burn any who don’t bend the knee? Like the Tarlys?”

“Oathbreakers,” responded Arthur. “Did you know that?”

Brienne sighed. “Not then,” she admitted. “But still, the point stands.”

Arthur glanced at the palace. “Your lady broke her oath, and she hasn’t burnt yet. Jon Snow murdered her, and he hasn’t been burnt yet. Arya Stark just tried to kill her… and she hasn’t been burnt yet. Perhaps you miss that my niece has learned something. Wisdom .”

“I hope you’re right,” said Brienne.

Sansa’s efforts to find Jon support to take the Dawnthrone had so far failed dismally.

Every counselor had not only told her that Jon had no claim, they had refused to even entertain the slightest notion of betraying their Empress. 

She had even branched out and found three of the commanders of the Gemstone Legions to try and convince them that Jon would reward them. Two had demanded she leave immediately once she had started whispering what they called treason. The third had only called her in, knowing full well why she was there, to mock her efforts and inform her that the Legions revered their Empress.

So Sansa had started looking for people who were both powerful, and maybe less than loyal.

One, a counselor from Yi Ti, was a very influential figure on the Elder Council, and was known to have butted heads with Daenerys. She was, apparently, the niece of the last independent ruler of Yi Ti, who Sansa assumed Daenerys must have slaughtered in her annexation of the nation. Her name was Bu Dai.

She accepted Sansa’s meeting at once, and Sansa started to think maybe here she had made progress.

When Sansa entered, Brienne standing guard outside for her, she saw an attractive woman in her 40s, regarding her with eyes that bespoke a devious and cunning intelligence. Sansa’s first thought was that she was a younger, foreign, Olenna Tyrell.

“Welcome, Queen Sansa,” she said in the common tongue with absolutely no accent. “Please, be seated. Would you like some tea from my homeland?”

“Thank you,” said Sansa politely. Tea from Yi Ti was highly spoken of back in Westeros. Sansa had never tasted it.

A servant poured them each a cup. Sansa tasted it. It was delightful.

“I understand you’re seeking support to retake your home,” said Dai.

“My homeland chose me as queen,” said Sansa. “My brother accused me of a crime I did not commit and convinced many of my lords to rise up against me. I had to flee or I surely would have died unjustly.”

“Dying unjustly for a crime you did not commit would be a very horrid death,” said Dai. “You were wise to flee. Live and get revenge. Those who wronged you must always be dealt with.”

“The only ones you can really trust are family,” said Sansa testingly.

“Do you feel that sometimes it is better to allow your enemies to think they have won?” asked Dai. There was something in her eyes, though, that Sansa did not entirely like… but her words…

“We of the North hold ourselves firmly to honor,” said Sansa. “We are quite well known for it in Westeros. A northerner’s word is their bond.”

“I have heard much of the North of Westeros. I hope to see it someday.”

“As I would like to see Yi Ti,” lied Sansa, so well she thought that Petyr Baelish would be proud if she and Arya hadn’t slit his throat.

“It is a beautiful, wondrous land,” said Dai, her eyes swimming over with pleasant memories. “Though recent events have been… different, for sure.”

“I understand your family once sat on the throne in Yi Ti,” said Sansa carefully. “I understand how it feels to lose your birthright.”

Dai’s eyes glittered maliciously, and Sansa suddenly realized that she had not found an ally. “The strongest birthright is the one you forge for yourself. How stable was yours, based on your father’s name? I understand Westerosi society usually favors the man over women. Yi Ti is much the same way. I had no future, despite that I was more clever than my uncle, the Emperor. Now I sit on her Council, and argue how best to improve our nation. I disagree with her on some things, yes, but she revels in debate, and knows that disagreement does not mean disloyalty.”

Sansa wanted to scream, but she tried to save face. “I just was sympathizing about seeing your family lose your birthright.”

“Oh, my dear,” said Dai. “My uncle was the last of the Azure Emperors of the Golden Empire of Yi Ti. Seventeenth of his line, he was, a dynasty stretching back hundreds of years. And even his birthright was questioned. A general had declared himself the first of the Orange Emperors. And a man claiming descent from the Yellow Emperors, as well. Do you know how well his birthright defended him when the Amethyst Empress descended upon us with her legions and dragons? The Yellow pretender died in dragonfire. The Orange usurper died in battle. My splendid uncle? He did as any sane man would do. He bent the knee. He rules over Yi Ti now as the Azure King, in fealty to the Great Empire reborn.”

Sansa shook her head. “She doesn’t fear he plots against her?”

Dai laughed. “He knows better than any how that would fare. And why would he ever plot against her? For millenia the colored dynasties of Yi Ti claimed to be the God-Emperors, descendants of the Maiden-Made-Of-Light and the Lion-of-Night, as the Gemstone Emperors of the first Great Empire were. And in three moons she tore those claims to shreds, for all the world to see.” Dai smiled, her brilliant white teeth sparkling. “Our people embraced her immediately. The Jade Legions strive to be her most loyal armies. Because she destroyed our claims of divine descent the only way she could: what sort of gods were we when she decimated us so easily? She is the Dawn’s true heir.”

“She’s not,” breathed Sansa. “Jon is her elder half-brother.”

Dai looked at Sansa pitifully. “And it is a sign of Westeros’s backwards philosophy that you think that matters at all.”

“It’s the way of the world.”

“The way of your old world, perhaps. How well did that serve Westeros, when the Mad King, when Joffrey, took the throne?” Sansa could not answer. Dai leaned forward. “If I may offer you some advice on the way things work in her new world, Queen Sansa: the Empress has no birthright to rule over us but the one she made herself. She is the Empress by our choice, not by inheritance. The Elder Council is loyal to her. And like all councils, including your small council, we bicker, we debate, we scream, we scheme, we make promises and we break them. She even allows us to disagree with her freely. But we will not tolerate disloyalty, nor disrespect, of our Empress.”

“I just wanted you all to know you had another choice-” said Sansa desperately.

“Freedom is making your own choices... and we’ve made ours. Also understand this: such things as disrespect of our Empress are noticed by more than the ones you speak to. Think on that when you try and inspire sedition against our chosen ruler... when it is by our decision that your kingdom will stand or fall.” Dai nodded to Sansa, who understood she was dismissed. Mumbling thanks for the meeting, she excused herself.

Brienne fell into step behind her. Sansa almost felt for a moment that she had something she wanted to say, but Brienne did not speak. Sansa brooded furiously to herself, trying to figure out who she could approach next, certainly Daenerys had made some enemies somewhere.

She walked through a courtyard and passed Ashara Dayne, who was standing there watching as a painter worked on a statue of Daenerys, or what Sansa would have thought was a statue of Daenerys if Daenerys’s mother wasn’t instructing the painter on the precise shade of brown to add to the hair. Sansa didn’t even glance at Ashara, even as she sensed her eyes, the precise shade of Daenerys’s eyes, land on her, and smug pleasure flowing from them. Sansa did not fear Ashara Dayne. Tyrion scurried away from her whenever he saw her; Jon merely gazed and the ground in shame, but Sansa knew in her heart she had done nothing wrong.

She was almost back to her quarters when she almost ran headlong into three Imperial Guards.

“Queen Sansa,” said the foremost one, who bore rank insignias. “The Empress has asked for you.”

“I will call on the Empress when I have had a chance to rest,” said Sansa.

She was not allowed to pass. “Your presence is required, not requested,” said the captain coolly. Brienne glanced nervously at the men, but Sansa waved her down. She knew she had no choice but to fall in line behind the captain, the other two guards stepping behind her, escorted to Daenerys’s solar.

When the captain knocked and the Empress’s voice called out from behind the door, the captain opened it and looked pointedly at Sansa to enter. Brienne was not allowed to enter. Daenerys did not stand, nor even look up from the paperwork she was working on.

“You wanted something?” asked Sansa, foregoing any respect.

“Eight, is it now? Lady Bu makes eight, am I right?” asked Daenerys. “Eight of the Elder Council you’ve spoken to to try and convince them to crown Jon the... I’m not sure what he would be called. Onyx Emperor? Gray is sort of black, isn’t it? That’s not even mentioning the three Rōvudrāzmios who you’ve called on.”

“The what?” asked Sansa, legitimately not knowing that word.

“Legion commanders.” Daenerys set her quill down in the inkpot and looked up at Sansa disdainfully. “How many of them have entertained your ideas that Jon should take the Dawnthrone?” Sansa didn’t answer. Not a single one had, but she did not want to say it. Even though it was clear Daenerys certainly knew the answer. “You should know that all of them informed me of what you had said to them. Some were more angry than others, but none were pleased to have to listen to your attempts to inspire dissent. I believe the word ‘treason’ was thrown around at times, as was ‘ungrateful.’ And to think you sailed all this way to ask me for my help, only to do this, in my own home...”

“I’d never have come if I’d known it was you,” snapped Sansa.

Daenerys smiled. “Ah, that Northern stubbornness I so despised last time I was in Westeros. The knowledge that death itself is preferable to my aid. Forgive me; having died once, I’d perhaps understand a bit better than you that being alive is vastly preferable to dying.” She leaned forward onto her desk, her smile fading, her fury showing in her eyes. “Still, I’d think you’d understand your position a bit more clearly now. You come to my Empire and once again try and undermine my claim. What you need to understand is that I have the only claim because my Empire did not exist before I forged it. I understand that your power rests on your family name, on being the daughter of the honorable Eddard Stark. Here... my family name is irrelevant. As there was no Iron Throne before Aegon the Conqueror, here, there was no Dawnthrone before Daenerys Lightbringer.”

“How convenient you subscribe to a worldview that gives you everything you want,” said Sansa dismissively. “Jon is your elder brother, and is trueborn.”

Daenerys raised an eyebrow. “Who are you trying to convince? Me, or yourself? Do you even truly believe what you’ve tried to sell my council? Or are you only speaking such because you think it is the only way to get you what you want? Do you truly think after what you did, Jon would wage a war on your behalf

“Allow me to clarify the truth: Jon has no claim upon anything I have, and as you have seen, nobody else feels as you do, for they are not loyal to House Targaryen. My armies, my dragons, my council, my people, are loyal to me, and me specifically, not because I am of House Targaryen, but because I am me . They love me because they know me.”

“They don’t know you,” retorted Sansa. “You were a fool when you were in Westeros. You got Olenna Tyrell and your Dornish allies killed. You let Cersei sit there and gain power. You actually believed she would send her armies North. Cersei would never have agreed to that.”

“We didn’t want her armies, we wanted a truce. And she’d agreed to it, after the wight Jon had brought charged at her and tried to kill her. She was so terrified she nearly pissed herself. And then Jon blundered his way into admitting that he’d bent the knee to me- which I’d stopped demanding when he actually did it- and Cersei changed her mind and refused everything. I made the mistake of trusting Tyrion against his family, and when I started to consider naming a new Hand, everyone told me how dare I ever doubt Tyrion despite his constant failures. Despite the fact that I had come to save all your lives. You all fucked over Jon, too, by telling him things he was happier not knowing. He was so content, but his happiness meant nothing to you. And as you ripped his joy to shreds, he fed off your distrust and turned on me, pushing me away as I was grieving the deaths of my closest friends and yet another of my children, and then assuming the worst of me and pretending to come back to me, kissing me, only to draw a dagger on me while doing so and putting the knife in my heart.”

Daenerys could not restrain her anger. “All because I told him you would do exactly what you did, and push him for a throne he didn’t even want, and broke an oath you swore before a heart tree. Congratulations, Sansa Stark. Not only did you lead directly to the burning of King’s Landing, as you broke your vow and told Tyrion, who told Varys, who put basilisk’s blood in my breakfast, but you ruined Jon’s life in the process. How convenient you got everything you ever wanted out of it, and got to crown yourself Queen. Ah, but I forget you don’t regret anything. Jon, the king you claimed to have wanted, your so-called ‘beloved’ brother, gets pushed into exile and according to Tormund dangerously close to taking his own life, but it was all worth it because you got to sit in Winterfell and rule as Queen, answering to nobody. Everyone has to answer to someone, though. Your people. Or were their concerns second to you? They, who only crowned you Queen because you removed all other choices?”

Daenerys stopped herself, breathing heavily. She stood and went to the balcony, taking deep gasps of air to calm herself. Sansa was so stunned by Daenerys’s outburst that she couldn’t help but sit there. After a few moments, Daenerys turned back to her desk. She did not sit, but she stood before her chair. “You call me a tyrant because I will not wage a war on your behalf, to seat you on a throne, in return for nothing. Forgive me for not jumping to aid a country that hates me, despises me, that has already ruined and killed me once,” she said.

“Jon would never let innocents suffer,” said Sansa, bravely continuing on her previous path despite the fact that it was made abundantly clear that Daenerys had nothing but hatred for her. “He would never have used a foreign army to conquer his homeland against the wishes of the people, against the birthright of the true king.”

“And what would you call retaking Winterfell with a wildling army?” asked Daenerys. “Would you call them native to Westeros, when they refused to kneel, when they have warred with your people for centuries?” Sansa stared at Daenerys, her jaw hanging in her shock. “How many lords of the North stood by your birthright to help you remove Ramsay Bolton from Winterfell? Only a few. What right did you have to retake Winterfell when the Lords of the North had so clearly chosen the Boltons over you?”

“That’s different,” snapped Sansa. “Ramsay was evil.”

“So was Cersei. Why is it good and just when you use a foreign army to reclaim your home against evil men, and yet when I did it, I was a villain?”

“You killed men who refused to bend the knee. You killed the Tarlys.”

“They were oathbreakers. Ask yourself, what would you and Jon have done if after you retook Winterfell, one or two of your lords had refused to bend the knee? Lord Glover, for example. Their liege, Olenna Tyrell, had bent the knee to me. They betrayed her, sacked her castle, and killed her, all for Cersei Lannister, a woman you know was evil. I gave them the choice to retain their lands and titles in return for fealty. I offered them the Black, if they didn’t want it. They refused both. They left me with no choice.”

Sansa stood to leave, Daenerys watched her with narrow eyes. “I will not bend the knee to you,” said the deposed Queen in the North.

“To me? That’s not what I demand.” Daenerys sat back down. “But you broke your vow to Jon and told Tyrion because you allegedly wished to see Jon on the Iron Throne instead of me. Those will be our terms. You will bend the knee to Jon. You will serve Jon as Lady Paramount and Wardenness of the North. And you will not raise your banners in rebellion, ever. Not even when Jon bends the knee to me as the Amethyst Empress. As you will be pledged to Jon, he will be pledged to me.”

Sansa shook her head, horrified. “That’s- Kings can’t bend the knee.”

“I have many kings who have bent the knee to me,” responded Daenerys simply. “Yi Ti, Leng, Mossovy, among a few. Those are the terms. Jon will sit as King in King’s Landing. And if you want Imperial support, you will bend the knee to Jon as your King and me as your Empress.”

“I don’t need your support,” snarled Sansa.

Daenerys smirked. “Then I wish you good fortune and safe passage to any of the other nations with the strength to help you take back your throne. Where shall be your next port? My navigators would be happy to give you their charts, to help speed you from my realm… for in no city in the Empire will you find anyone willing to listen to you. If you can take back the North on your own, then there shall be peace between our realms.” She grinned maliciously. “Let me know when you find the forces necessary to regain your seat.”

Sansa turned and left the office, slamming the door behind her.

Daenerys’s mockery did not miss the point. There was no realm strong enough to help her. Only the Empire.

Daenerys had defeated her. The Empire was hers. Sansa could not remove her from the Dawnthrone. And according to Arya, nor could she have her killed.

Her only choice was bend the knee to Daenerys Targaryen, or lose Winterfell for all time.

Sansa wasn’t sure which was a more bitter cup to drink from.

Life in the Imperial Palace, under Daenerys Targaryen, was not at all what Arya had expected sailing to Volantis. Setting aside that she hadn’t ever expected to live IN the palace, as a guest of Daenerys Targaryen, under her own face.

First off, she had the run of nearly all of the palace. The only areas she was not allowed freely were the Imperial apartments, Daenerys and her mother and sister and uncle’s private chambers. Arya had been given a room next to Jon and Sansa’s. She was not allowed to carry a weapon, which Arya did not appreciate. She understood the reasons, certainly, and knew they were good ones, but it left her uneasy when the Palace was full of armed soldiers who would kill her if ordered.

Despite that, she did keep up training. Though nobody practiced with her, she was allowed to take a training blade from the rack, though she was not allowed to take it outside of the training area.

She was even allowed into the kitchens, which suited her, as the cooks always would provide a meal if asked, and even have it sent to her quarters if requested. Arya wondered if THAT was because she had been well educated in how futile poisoning attempts would be. Still, poking in to break her fast and even eat dinner was becoming much more appealing than dining with Sansa, who had become more and more frustrated and snappish every day at her failing attempts to find support for Jon to seize the throne from Daenerys- setting aside, Arya noticed, that Jon had no interest in such at all. But Arya knew she had finally given up on the attempt.

Jon ate with Arya when he wasn’t dining with Daenerys and their schedules aligned. Arya read the two’s body language whenever they interacted, and it was obvious that their time as lovers was done, and done for good. Daenerys flinched when Jon made sudden movements in her presence, and Jon’s gaze no longer lingered upon Daenerys’s breasts or buttocks. Likewise, despite the fact in her last life Daenerys’s arousal around Jon was incredibly apparent, she no longer had any lust for him. Yet it was obvious to Arya that every day, things were less tense between them. It reminded Arya of how Jon had been with Sansa, when things between them had not become strained.

Her last conversation with Daenerys had made Daenerys treat Arya somewhat better, showing more trust. Arya had considered asking if she could go and fetch Needle- she was, in fact, at least now somewhat confident she’d be allowed back in the Palace if she left- but for now she felt just being kept out of a cell was fine. She had, after all, snuck into the Palace and attempted to get into position to kill Daenerys, before her doubts had won out and she’d decided to see if Daenerys was mad.

Still, there was one inescapable fact, despite Sansa’s best- and failed- efforts to escape it: if House Stark had any dream of returning to Winterfell, from whatever beast had taken over Bran’s body, there was only one person alive who could help them. The woman they had seen dead six years ago.

Jon would never betray her again, Arya could tell. She was expecting within the next week or so, he would formally bend the knee to Daenerys.

Arya was happy for her brother, at least. There were ghosts in his eyes when they’d said goodbye on the docks at King’s Landing. Horrid doubts- that had proven correct. She’d seen some of them still there when she was thrown into Sansa’s borrowed solar here in Volantis. But every time Arya met Jon, she saw less and less of the broken, sad Jon, and more and more of the old one. His demons were fading. And it was much the same with Daenerys.

Arya was coming back from the training center and realized she had missed breakfast. She went to the kitchen to grab a meal, and was provided a platter of sizzling sausages, fried eggs, buttered breads covered with cheese, and a glass of white wine. She sat at a table and ate, listening to the servants gossip in Valyrian nearby.

She took a glance around. Arya still felt naked without at least a knife. She had been given one to cut her sausages with. Nobody was watching her. With the skill of a faceless man, she lifted her tray, took it to the servants, but slipped the knife into her pants. Nobody noted the missing knife, so she turned and left.

Or at least, she THOUGHT nobody had noticed.

“A girl is not permitted to carry a knife,” said a voice from behind Arya. She stopped.

One of the pages was watching her with an expression that only betrayed the slightest amusement. She didn’t know the voice, but she knew the tone and the cadence.

“Jaqen H’ghar,” said Arya.

The page nodded, then reached up and removed his face. “A man will ask the girl one more time to turn over the knife. There will not be a third.”

Arya bristled quietly on the inside, but reached into her pants. She took out the knife and walked to Jaqen, and handed it to him. “What are you doing here?” she asked. “Shouldn’t you be at the House of Black and White?”

“As should a girl. A girl could not become no one. A girl had immense talent. Her betrayal could have been overlooked, if not for the faces she stole.”

Arya narrowed her eyes. “Do you mean to collect my life?” she asked. “You’ll find it harder than you think.”

Jaqen smiled very slightly. “The Lightbringer has asked we spare a girl… unless a girl attempts to kill the Lightbringer.”

“The Lightbringer?” asked Arya, confused. “You mean… Daenerys?”

“A girl is correct. The promised one who has brought the Dawn.”

“How did she get you into her service?”

Jaqen remained slightly amused. “A girl never truly understood the true nature of the Many-Faced God. There is only one god.”

“And he has many faces,” finished Arya.

“Many of them are her now.”

Arya narrowed her eyes and tilted her head. “Are you saying Daenerys is… a goddess?”

“As a man said. A girl never truly understood.” Jaqen flipped the knife in his hand. “Until, and if, a girl is granted permission to carry a weapon, the next time she is caught carrying one, she will be dealt with.”

Jaqen put his face back on and went off down the hall.

Arya had until recently thought Daenerys was bluffing when she said the Faceless Men were on her side. Apparently, she hadn’t been bluffing at all.

Arya had no clue how the fuck she had managed that.

Chapter Text

Jon took a deep breath, summoning the courage he needed, as he watched Ashara Dayne pace in the courtyard beneath a grove of lemon trees. Finally, with one final breath, he took a step forward.

Then he turned and started to walk away.

The hells was I thinking? he thought to himself. Surely there was someone better in this whole palace to ask than the mother of the woman he’d murdered...

“Your fathers would be disappointed by your lack of bravery,” called out Ashara’s voice. Jon froze. “If you think I’m going to go against my daughter and harm you, Jon Snow... you are greatly mistaken.”

“Sorry,” said Jon, turning. The issue had been forced, now. “I just...” He took a few hesitant steps towards Ashara.

“I know.” She continued to watch Jon as he approached. “You had questions you wanted to ask.”

Jon hesitated. “Are you like the red woman? Melisandre?”

“I am no red priestess, educated in their rituals and rites. But I am a shadowbinder of Asshai, same as she. I can sense what troubles you... but your face makes it easy to read that. Ask your questions. I will answer truthfully. Even if the answers are not what you want to hear.”

Jon paused, considering. “Rhaegar... he was my father. But... I don’t know anything about him, really. And the more I learn, the less I like. He and my mother ran off to Dorne, and he left his wife and children in King’s Landing, where they died. His duty was to his wife, not to my mother... and then...”

“He put a babe in me, despite the fact that you’ve been told he loved your mother,” finished Ashara.

“Aye,” confirmed Jon. “I understand. Men stray so often that they had to think up a whole system of names for the bastards, Snows, Stones, Sands. I grew up believing I was a bastard, that I was the one stain on Eddard Stark’s honor. He never told me anything about my mother, or my true father. When I heard the story of the Tournament at Harrenhal, I even began to wonder if you might be my mother.”

For whatever reason, a bit of regret entered Ashara’s eyes. Jon did not stop speaking, though. “I understand that Prince Rhaegar... he ran away from his wife and children to have me with my mother, and started a war. I’m just... everyone always says he was a good man, but even when he married my mother, he was unfaithful to her.”

Ashara frowned. “He wasn’t unfaithful,” she said quietly. “To Elia, yes, but that was a loveless marriage, one of duty, and she was, shall we say, accommodating. He loved Rhaenys, and Aegon. I was... there.”

“As her lady in waiting? Is that when you became his mistress?” asked Jon.

“I was never his mistress. I was his wife, ” said Ashara insistently.

Jon opened his mouth, then closed it in confusion. “He was married to Elia Martell...”

“It wasn’t a public marriage,” said Ashara. “He married Elia for duty... he married me for love. He believed he was the Prince that was Promised, the one who would wake dragons from stone. ‘The dragon must have three heads,’ he said. The first three heads were Aegon and his wives. He had no sisters to wed, so he married two normal women. I loved him, and I was fond of her, too. There was no love between them, but Rhaegar was very gentle with her, and there was trust and friendship. Elia and Rhaegar were forced into a marriage, and did their duty, and she bore Rhaegar his heirs. She was a good woman… when I lost my first babe, she was so understanding, so gentle… but when his seed did not again take root in me, I became fearful of being set aside.

“I knew Rhaegar wanted three children. Two girls, one boy. Three heads of the dragon. And then at the Tournament at Harrenhal, he crowned Lyanna Stark his Queen of Love And Beauty, over both of his wives. I feared the time had come. He would keep the woman who had borne him his heirs, cast me aside, and marry Lyanna. I raged against the dishonor of it, of taking me as his wife, making me think he loved me, only to set me aside because... I could not give him a child. My barrenness would become common knowledge, and none would ever seek to match with me.

“I bonded with Eddard Stark. Ned. I danced with him, thought maybe, if this was to come, here was a man I could be with. He was such a gentleman. I was very drunk and needed sleep. He did not know where my bed was, so he took me to his tent and let me sleep there. And I awoke in the middle of the night... to your uncle Brandon on top of me.”

Jon gasped with horror. Ashara didn’t show any real emotion, stating this as plainly as if she was talking about the weather, but her eyes became slightly brighter. “He was drunk. He staggered in, saw a woman he fancied, thought his brother had been with me so why not take a turn himself… I never told Ned what his brother had done. I left with my husband to return to King’s Landing. Soon I realized I was with child. And I didn’t know if it was Rhaegar’s, as I’d prayed... or Brandon Stark’s, as I feared. I told Rhaegar what had happened. He was angry with Brandon. Very angry. He vowed to support me.

“Elia and I swelled with our children, and she gave birth to Aegon. When there was a comet in the sky, Rhaegar was convinced that Aegon was the promised one. And yet then the maesters told him, Elia could not bear more children. Rhaegar looked to me and said, ‘there must be one more. The dragon must have three heads.’ Elia understood. As I said, love had never bloomed between them, and she feared death. So long as her children would stay legitimate, she was fine with being set aside. He and Arthur went with others to get Lyanna, and I travelled to the Tower of Joy. Lyanna... your mother, she was not entirely pleased to find me there, but she, bless her, understood eventually. And then I birthed my babe, and when she opened her eyes... they were grey.”

“Allyria,” said Jon.

“Yes. A part of me wanted to cry, that I couldn’t give my husband, the man I loved a babe, but I could get one from one horrid night. But from the moment I looked into Allyria’s eyes, I loved her. Rhaegar said a babe is not guilty of the father’s crimes, and he promised to help raise her well. Lyanna, when I told her the truth, wanted to cut her brother’s balls and cock off and shove them down his throat. When she said that... it meant the world to me. Ned was a good man. Lyanna was a good woman. Brandon was a bad apple, and I’ll confess, when I heard he had met his end, I did not weep. But I held Lyanna as she cried for her father and brother, and...” Ashara sighed. “Your mother, suffice to say... would have fit in well in Dorne. We... became close.”

“You and she were...” said Jon quietly.

“Yes,” confirmed Ashara. “Lyanna became my second love. She, Rhaegar, and I. A union so perfect, so loving, we all felt it was meant to be.” She sighed nostalgically, and her icy demeanor slipped as a small smile lit her face. “Those were... happy days. Nothing had ever felt so perfect as being in that tower with the man and woman I loved, and they loved me, and they loved each other. Away from the prying eyes of court... no need to hide kisses with my husband. Holding Lyanna close as we thought of names for the babes we’d bear our husband. Spending evenings in bed, our six limbs so entangled that it was impossible to tell where one ended and another began.

“When Rhaegar had the marriage to Elia annulled and he wed Lyanna, once the High Septon was gone, she and I stood before each other and our beaming husband, and said the same words. Not for the gods, or the laws. For each other. We knew our marriage was nothing more than an invention of the mind, but it was between us and Rhaegar, and he was delighted. We were committed to one another. When Rhaegar spoke of the idea, we kissed him and each other so fiercely…”

Darkness crossed Ashara’s face as her tale turned to less happy times. “But beyond our happy little tower, war was raging. Aerys had sparked the Rebellion by burning Lyanna’s father and killing her brother. Rhaegar dreamed of overthrowing the Mad King. When he did, he pledged, things would change. Even in the Red Keep, there would be no need to hide anymore. He would have us, his wives before all the men and gods, and we would have each other, too. Our children would be raised by all of us, never caring which mother bore them. You and Daenerys and Aegon and Rhaenys would have played together in the gardens under our careful eyes. You’d have drank from either of our breasts, if we still had milk.”

Ashara looked down, bitter. “When Rhaegar rode away to war, it all fell apart. Lyanna and I held one another, supported one another, tried our best to forget our troubles in one another. I remember many mornings laying in bed holding her, feeling our babe kick in her belly, in the sweet moments when the babes in the next room were sleeping, as we assured one another that our missing piece would return alive and King, and all would be well and our family would grow.

“Lyanna was very pregnant, when the news came that Rhaegar was dead, the rebels had won, and men were coming. We didn’t know it was Ned, but even if we had, we knew the fate of Aegon and Rhaenys and Elia. Robert Baratheon looked at their bodies and praised the deed. Lyanna begged me, run. Flee to Starfall. She was not able to travel in her state. She begged me, save Daenerys, our daughter. I did not want to leave her, but my brother forced me to. He pledged once Lyanna had recovered, and the rebels defeated, he would bring you all to Starfall, and from there we would plot how to put our children into the Red Keep and upon the Iron Throne.

“But Lyanna was not the Stark who came to me. It was Ned, you in his arms, Dawn on his back, and I knew what had happened. I begged him, let me raise you. Let me keep you. You were my son as sure as you were Lyanna’s. Ned, honorable fool, didn’t understand, didn’t accept that I loved his sister, and she loved me, as much as we had loved Rhaegar. ‘He is my blood,’ he said, ‘and I will keep him safe. I promised her.’ I had two daughters to raise. Bitter words were had, but we trusted him, for we knew Robert would kill me if he knew the truth, and he took you with him back to Winterfell, along with a wetnurse from our household, Wylla.

“Allyria and I were left with Daenerys, who had been born weak and ill. I knew her and your claims would be considered fraught, for even though Rhaegar was our husband, the laws were not on our side. One day, as I nursed her, she stopped breathing, and her lips turned blue. I felt lost. My daughter, the one piece I had left of my happiest days, was dead. ‘Only death can pay for life.’ I knew what I must do. I climbed to the top of the Palestone Tower, sobbing for my dead daughter, my dead princess, and I threw myself into the waves below. And as my life ended, Daenerys took breath once more, and lived.

“I was brought back by the grace of the Lord of Light. As had been my brother. There was a price to be paid, and that price was to watch my daughter from the shadows, to not interfere with destiny . It was a nightmare, to not be able to speak with her, to not be able to hold her, to hear her call me ‘mother’ and nurse her at my breast and tell her how loved she was. I’d have raised her well. I’d have told her not only of her father, but of my wife, her other mother. Lyanna. But we all perished, leaving our daughter alone. Rhaegar, Lyanna, and myself. All gone. A childless babe, a child of three, a daughter of death. Taken to be the plaything of a cruel monster she thought was her brother. I spoke with her once. I could not tell her who I truly was. I wore the mask of a shadowbinder and told her my name was Quaithe. She had not met her friend Missandei by then, who I’m sure could have told her the meaning behind that name. An old Essosian dialect... Qathei means ‘mother.’ It was the only way I could hear my daughter call me mother.”

Ashara closed her eyes, and bitterness filled every pore and line, and dripped from her tongue alongside her words like bile. “I knew her destiny. From the moment I’d looked into her eyes, I knew she was the one promised, and all that entailed. I’d paid a hard price, but I’d pay it again, a thousand times over, for by paying it my daughter lived. We watched her, guided her where we could, as she grew powerful. Birthed dragons from stone. Broke chains. Sailed to Westeros. Met and fell in love with you. Fought against the Others. And... as you killed her. I’d known she would die. I’ve always known. Everything I did was in preparation for that moment, to ensure that her death would not be the end of her life.

“I hated you, I wanted Drogon to burn you alive where you stood, for though her death had been foretold, the manner in which it happened was horrifying. But for Lyanna’s sake, I spared you. I touched minds with my magic and told her dragon... let you live. Your grief was torment enough for me. His mother would live again, and if she sought vengeance, I would support her. I said, destroy the throne. It was the evil thing that had ruined the lives of Rhaegar. Lyanna. Daenerys. Even you.

“Drogon took Daenerys’s body and brought it to Kinvara and I here, in Volantis, as I instructed him. As they flew, all my magic was put forth to keep my daughter whole. No rot or decay would touch her. She was laid before us and the priests spoke the words and almost as soon as the first mantra was completed, Daenerys drew breath once more. Her dragon’s roar of joy, I thought, would shatter the world. But she did not awaken. I sat with her as the weeks drew on, fed broth and water down her throat, cleaned her and braided her hair, held her close and whispered that I was so sorry, that I loved her, willing her to wake. Arthur was in the Shadow, preparing her armies he had raised for her. And then after a moon, her eyes opened, her perfect violet eyes, and looked at me, and she whispered... ‘mother.’”

Jon wiped away the tears that were running down his cheeks. “How did she know?” he asked.

“I dreamed of it,” said a voice from behind Jon. Daenerys was standing there, crying herself, holding her hands together in front of her. “When I woke, I knew. A voice had whispered in my mind. ‘Child of three. Daughter of death.’ I saw it. I saw our mothers and father, and their love for each other. I saw my mother planting kisses upon Lyanna Stark’s pregnant stomach and the three of them agreeing that this babe belonged to all of them. I saw the grief my mother had when she said her final goodbye to Lyanna on her bed of blood, saying they would meet again, knowing they would not. I saw my mother throw herself from the tower so I could draw breath.

“It was not pleasant,” admitted Daenerys, “to awaken and know that my mother lived, that my uncle lived, and yet I had been allowed to suffer under Viserys’s care. Heated words were exchanged. Many tears were shed. But I knew my mother loved me. She had died for me. What mother would not pay that price? I would pay it a million times if it could bring Rhaego back to life. Forgiveness was inevitable. Love had been there from the moment our eyes met. I met my sister, and despite the vile man who sired her, she is a wonderful woman, and she reminded me in my darkest moments, when anger and hate and disgust flowed over me, that there was good in the blood of House Stark. And then we travelled to Asshai, to the Shadow, where my uncle and the first legions he had forged for me bent the knee and hailed the Amethyst Empress, Dawn reborn.

“Dragons were slumbering there, since the days of the first Long Night, since the first Great Empire ended in the Blood Betrayal, when the Bloodstone Emperor murdered the first Amethyst Empress and claimed her throne for his own. I strode to a hill and saw the stone forms, and Drogon roared behind me. I spread my arms and cried the words I had heard in my dream. I cannot recall to you now the words as my lips formed them, nor the language that I spoke, but I can tell you what I said. ‘I am the promised one who has come at last, the blood of the dragon, the Dawn incarnate. Awaken and let the world be made whole again.’ And the dragons of the first Great Empire awoke from their slumber, and cried out to me as the new Amethyst Empress, and Drogon roared his joy at having found new brothers and sisters. My uncle looked at me proudly and said but three words. ‘Now it begins.’

“We marched into Yi Ti first, for that nation has always claimed direct descent from the Great Empire. Their dynasties have named themselves for colors as the old Emperors named themselves for the gems their eyes resembled.” Daenerys tapped just below her eye, indicating that her violet eyes were why she was the Amethyst Empress. “There were three Emperors at the time my armies crossed their borders, dragons overhead.

“The army of the Orange Emperor met us in the field. The legions won their first great victory, and uncle Arthur cut him down on the field personally. Next we marched to overthrow the Yellow Emperor. He, cleverly, thought himself more prepared. He had a Valyrian dragonhorn, to bind dragons to his will. He had his servants wind it for him. Its vile magic burnt their lungs, killing them. He laughed, thinking my dragons were his now. When Drogon and a few others landed around him, his laughter died upon his lips. I seized the horn from his feeble grasp and blew upon it myself, and its foul sorcery did not scorch my throat, though my dragons scorched him to ash. I placed the horn before Drogon, who turned his flame upon it, ending its foul sound for all time.

“We reached Yin, the capital of Yi Ti and one of the greatest cities in the world. All the Azure Emperor’s armies were assembled before us, but he came forth and proclaimed me the God-on-Earth reborn and the Amethyst Empress, and when he bowed before me all Yi Ti followed. He rose once more as the Azure King, and still rules in Yin over all Yi Ti, in my name.

“From there I split my forces for now, and we marched west and sailed south. The God-Empress of Leng yielded after but one battle. Qarth... ah, Qarth. The first place I had walked before that I came to again, as the Great Empire came west. Their new Council of Thirteen looked upon me in fear, and I reminded them that I had once stood before their predecessors in need and they had decided to close their doors and consign me to death. Drogon burnt their gates to the ground and I recalled to them that I had once sworn to bring fire and blood upon them. Thirteen knees fell to the dirt at once as the ‘Greatest City That Ever Was Or Will Be’ became part of what they now proclaim to be the Greatest Nation That Ever Was Or Will Be. Whatever allows them to massage their wounded pride, I suppose, for their gates are still scorched ruins, by my decree. No larger will the Garden of Bones before their walls grow, not so long as I rule.

“Gifts of food and a pledge to protect them from the returned Dothraki was enough to earn Lhazar’s loyalty. Taming the Dothraki again was easy enough. Only one or two of the new Khals were proud enough to oppose me. They were killed by their own bloodriders, who had been mine long before they had been theirs. No raiding. No slaving. No raping. The Dothraki obey, even if I allow them their own violent culture, so long as they only practice it upon themselves.

“The Bay of Dragons fell swiftly enough as well. The masters had taken it back, with the treacherous help of the snake I had left in charge. When my people saw me once more, they remembered that their freedom was their own, and their chains were illusions, and their army ate itself alive as the slaves turned on the masters. The legions did not see battle, nor did I use even a lick of dragonfire, to return to the slaves their freedom. I sat once more in the Great Pyramid and all the masters who had taken slaves once more died to dragonfire.

“It was then that I made contact with Yara Greyjoy again. In Qarth I had learned what had happened after my death, that you were not King, that you had been exiled to the Wall once more, and Bran ruled from King’s Landing and Sansa in the North. Yara had declared independence at once upon her return to the Iron Islands, and yet she remembered from her youth that the Ironborn alone could not stand against the rest of Westeros. She sought what was left of my army, the Unsullied in Naath, to speak of an alliance. I sailed to meet her and when I stepped onto the deck, she said her people’s sacred words, ‘what is dead may never die, but rises again, harder and stronger.’ She bent the knee at once. Grey Worm… the Unsullied had been harmed by the butterfly fever, but he had found his peace, and I embraced him again and told him I would not take that from him, and Missandei’s people needed protecting, for I would not conquer them. Never. They may join the Empire willingly if they choose, or still enjoy my full protection.

“I sent envoys west to the Free Cities. Mantarys responded by returning me only their heads, and thus, Mantarys was offered no surrender. With the help of my dragons, the legions traveled the Demon Road with no issues, and arrived outside Volantis. Their army gave battle, but they were no match for us, and their retreating soldiers returned to the city to find Kinvara and the Red Temple had sparked the slaves to rise up, and their leaders hidden behind the Black Walls. My dragons smashed the Black Walls to rubble and cast down the racial rule of our Valyrian brethren. No longer does any have to trace their lineage to Valyria to vote for Triarch. Once Volantis fell, nearly all the Free Cities bowed as well.

“Except for Qohor. Qohor sacrificed a thousand children to their black god for his protection against my armies. Their nobles were put to dragonfire when the legions took the city. Braavos was the last, but the people clamored to join the Empire, not of fear, but of love for my annihilation of slavery. The Sealord bent the knee to me at once, and the city exploded in celebrations that lasted a week.

“The rest of Essos fell under my sway quickly. Merely the word that my legions were marching for them was enough for the rest to bend the knee and join the Empire. Essos united, the wheel of chaos that had sundered the continent since the Doom of Valyria finally stopped. Freedom for all. The masters defeated for all time. Black rituals and human sacrifice ended.”

Jon smiled, and took Daenerys’s shoulder. She flinched but did not withdraw. “Your better world,” he said. A good world, he heard in his mind. A world no one has ever seen before.

“It’s as I said, Jon,” said Daenerys. “We were always meant to do this together. Not as lovers. I think we’d all agree that was a mistake. But as brother and sister. My mother whispered to you in the womb that she loved you. They held each other’s hands as we were born. If father had won, we’d have grown up together in the Red Keep. We’d have nursed from the breast of Lyanna Stark, and from the breast of Ashara Dayne. Lyanna would have taught me how to ride a horse. My uncle would have taught you how to master the blade- as he has me- and my mother would have scolded you and cleaned your training wounds. Stark, Dayne, which mother bore us, none of it would have mattered to us.

“I know you don’t want to be King. Do you think I want to be Empress?” She smiled. “I do, but because only as Empress can I make the lives of my people better. I wasn’t born to sit the Iron Throne; I was born to forge my own destiny. You were born to be Aegon of House Targaryen and House Stark, Sixth of His Name, Protector of the Realm.”

“Still don’t know what Lyanna was thinking about with that name,” admitted Ashara. “It was like she kind of forgot that Rhaegar had a son named Aegon already.”

Daenerys smiled and clasped Jon’s shoulder. “To many in Westeros, we were born with a bastard name. Second marriages, secret annulments, such things would be screamed at us by our enemies that they were illegal. That’s never mattered. We’re Targaryens. If they want to pretend being a bastard is less than being trueborn, let them. You were named King in the North with nothing but a bastard name, and I’ve forged a nation the rival of Aegon the Conqueror himself.”

“Dany,” said Jon, and Dany did not correct him. “I think your nation puts Aegon the Conqueror’s to shame.”

“Perhaps.”

“And it will more... when I rule in King’s Landing as King... in your name.” Jon smiled. “You’re right. It’s what needs to be done.”

“Thank you, Jon.” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “Aegon?”

“Declare me Jon Targaryen,” said Jon. “I don’t want to steal our brother’s name. And piss off the Dornish.”

Daenerys grinned slightly. “You’re learning to play the game, brother.”

Davos found Jon later, sitting in the Elder Council chambers on the steps of the dais to the Dawnthrone, a bottle of mead in hand. “I never much cared for that stuff myself,” said Davos, holding his arms behind him and smiling gently.

Jon gave a small grin. “Picked up a taste for it these last few years,” he said, taking a swig. He sighed. “I had a talk with Lady Ashara earlier.”

“Oh? A scary sort of talk?” Davos sat down next to Jon on the steps.

“I wanted to know more about my father. And I found out a lot more about him and my mother than I thought.” Jon sighed. “Turns out, Ashara was in love with my father… and my mother.”

Davos nodded. “Not frowned upon so much where she comes from. Dorne’s always been a bit more… open to those sorts of things.”

“Aye, but what really surprised me was… my mother was in love with her, too. Rhaegar loved them both. They all thought of themselves as being married to each other. They were gonna raise Dany and I together, like we had one father, two mothers.”

Davos thought it over. “And what do you think of all that?”

“Don’t know. Never really had to think about it much. Men love women, women love men. You’re married to one person, that’s who you’re supposed to be with. Marriage isn’t always about love, either. Most marriages that have love are lucky.”

Davos leaned on his knees. “Jon, I’ve been to lots of places in this world, as a smuggler. As a landed knight. The way I see it, love’s usually a good thing, no matter who it’s with. I loved my wife, before she passed. I think she loved me. I’ve put a few of my sons in the ground. I miss them all every day, but if I could choose between not having had them at all, or their fate, would I have changed anything? Not a damn thing. You’ve loved, too. It might have gone wrong in both cases… but I think you’d agree, it was a good thing.

“Most people are lucky if they find one person they love. We hope everything works out. When we lose them, we miss them every day. I miss Maraya to the hells and back. You miss Ygritte, and before this, I know you missed Daenerys. I think it’s a good thing the two of you aren’t getting back together like that.

“So your mother loved Rhaegar, and she loved Ashara Dayne. They loved each other, too, and they both loved her. What they had is between the three of them. Two of them, gods rest them, are in the ground. Lady Ashara’s the one left, but I bet you she misses the two of them. Would she change it? I bet your ass the answer’s no. If things had worked out, you’d have grown up with tons of love. Not so wrong sounding, is it?”

Jon shook his head. “I suppose not. Just… kind of thinking of what we lost when my father got killed.” He shuddered. “She also told me the truth behind Allyria.”

“Oh?”

“It… my uncle Brandon raped her, Davos.” Davos grimaced. “My father always spoke highly of his brother. Ashara said she never told him. Only told my mother, who was furious with her brother.”

“We’re not all bad and good,” said Davos. “We’ve all got good and evil in us. A good man can do something bad. Stannis was a good man, and he burnt his own daughter alive. Way I see it, that’s pretty irredeemable. Doesn’t completely wash out the good, though. Man raised me up. Made me a landed knight. Was good for my family.”

“Does my bad wash out my good? Killing my sister for a crime she didn’t commit?”

“No, it doesn’t,” said Davos sternly. “All we can do is try and make amends for the bad we do, when we can.”

“Aye, I suppose. I’ve accepted Daenerys’s offer. Tomorrow, she’s gonna name me Jon Targaryen, King of the Seven Kingdoms, and loyal vassal of the Great Empire of the Dawn.”

“I’m glad,” siad Davos. “She’s got a point. All the Seven Kingdoms think of her as the Mad Queen who snapped and burnt King’s Landing to the ground. You’ve got the right name, the right reputation. You cross over both sides of the loyalties dating back to the Rebellion. And King Bran’s a shit king.”

“It’s just… what if I can’t hold it all together, Davos? Dany’s gonna be counting on me.”

Davos shook his head. “Sounds like you’re not doing it alone. I imagine she’s gonna have some of her legions over there to help you keep order. Send her word and she’ll have dragons at your back. It’s the way things work here in Essos. Look at here in Volantis. Apart from the fact everyone can vote now, they still got Triarchs, same as before. Braavos still has the Sealord. But when they need help, they can call on the Empress.

“That’s not all to their benefit, though. The Empress is their overlord. They’ve gotta answer to her. They need to help her out. If they do something she don’t like, she’ll remove them in the best case. I don’t think that’s gonna be a problem for you. But you’ll have her forces around to help out. Aegon the Fifth was a good king, but the lords walked all over his laws. They won’t be able to do that with you, so long as you can point the legions she lends you at them. And they’re ALL loyal to her. So long as you’re loyal to her, you’ve got them.”

“Aye,” said Jon. “What happens if the people don’t like having her as their ultimate lord?”

“Well, you lived in the North for all that time. Lord Eddard was pretty much the King in all but name. Daenerys is gonna be over here, in Essos. You’ll be the one they deal with. You’ll need to keep lords and ladies loyal to you, and they’ll keep the peace. And as said, the legions will be around. Professional soldiers against peasant levies… not gonna go well for the lords if they rise up.”

“Aye, and what if they don’t like me?”

Davos shrugged. “Do the best you can. That’s all you can do. Fact is, the North knows you. They love you. Dorne… she’s got Dornish blood, so they won’t rebel against her- probably. Gendry in the Stormlands, he’s a good lad. He’ll have your back. We’ll find someone who’s actually good to rule in the Reach. Robin Arryn, Edmure Tully… I don’t know. Bran’s kin. You’re not. Get Sansa on side, that might soften the blow a little. Westerlands, fuck, they’re probably glad to be free of Tyrion. Finding someone to rule them might be hard.”

“So much shit to worry about,” said Jon. “Gotta admit, Davos. I’m fucking nervous.”

They looked over as they heard footsteps. “You’re in the great game now,” said Tyrion. “And like I said to Daenerys all those years ago… the great game’s terrifying. Only madmen aren’t scared.” He sat next to Jon. “Fortunately, you’re coming in with a significant advantage. The might of all Essos. The strongest nation in history has your back.”

“Aye,” agreed Jon. “And that nation is ruled by a woman they all think annihilated a city.”

“They’ll learn… or they won’t. Won’t much matter when you have legions and dragons there to support you.” Tyrion took Jon’s mead and took a sip. He grimaced, and passed it back to Jon. “I think I’ll stick with wine.”

Jon chuckled. His anger with Tyrion had evaporated. Even if Tyrion had told him to do it… he had still been the one to decide. “You should try the goat’s milk that Tormund likes.”

Tyrion shook his head in revulsion. “Goodness, no. I once made the very great mistake of trying the fermented mare’s milk that the Dothraki favor. It was so bad I almost wanted to swear off drinking altogether.”

“I’m betting they’re equally horrid.” Jon sighed. “Growing up, I was never supposed to be anything more than Ned Stark’s bastard. Now, I’ll be King of the bloody Seven Kingdoms, Jon Targaryen, First of his Name… hopefully, not the King who Knelt.”

“There are worse things to be,” soothed Tyrion.

Jon nodded. “Queenslayer… kinslayer… oathbreaker. I know what the worse things are.” Jon sighed. “I’m worried about Sansa.”

“Sansa will do as she will,” said Davos. “She might hate Daenerys- still not entirely sure why- but fact of the matter is, Daenerys isn’t obligated to help her just because Sansa asks. Bending the knee is a perfectly reasonable demand. No sense sending forces for no gain.”

“Agreed,” said Tyrion. “As much as I believe Bran needs to be removed, that’s no reason Daenerys should fight to return Sansa her seat. The issue being, it remains to be seen if having a half-Stark Targaryen on the throne in King’s Landing would be enough to keep the North pacified without a Stark in Winterfell. I highly doubt Arya will be wanting to take the title.”

Jon looked at Tyrion in surprise. “Do you not know about Allyria?” he asked. Tyrion furrowed his brows in interest. “She’s Brandon Stark’s bastard daughter. If Sansa refuses to play by Dany’s rules, she’ll put Allyria in Winterfell instead.”

“Why doesn’t she go by Stark, then?” asked Tyrion. He’d always thought Allyria had a familiar look to her, but he had just assumed that was because she was Daenerys’s half-sister.

“She’s got reasons.” Jon did not feel like elaborating about his uncle’s vile deeds more than once in the span of an hour. He took a sip of mead and took a deep breath.

All he’d wanted six years ago was to be by Dany’s side as she ruled them all. Maybe, if he hadn’t fallen in love with her, to have been her loyal Warden of the North.

He supposed vassal king was not that different.

Daenerys sent her own dressers and handmaidens the next day to tend to Jon’s appearance, including Allyria.

They poured him a scalding hot bat, which was too hot for Jon, much to the amusement of the servants.

“Are you not the Empress’s brother?” they asked. “Her Majesty prefers her baths near boiling.”

“Aye,” said Jon, “but…”

“I am her sister,” defended Allyria, “and her baths boil me as well.”

They added some cold water to cool it down, and left Jon alone as he bathed. When he slipped on a robe, they returned, combed his hair, trimmed his beard, scrubbed his skin, and laid out some clothes. They were made of finer material than Jon had ever seen. Daenerys preferred to wed fashion to utility and had developed a wardrobe suited for riding, but with Jon his clothes were entirely regal. Over all went a black sash from the shoulder to the waist. Jeweled in rubies over the collarbone and breast was the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen.

When Jon was finished dressing, Davos and Tyrion were let in. “How do I look?” asked Jon, feeling like he had come very far from Ned Stark’s bastard son.

“Regal,” said Tyrion.

“Like a King,” agreed Davos. “All you need is a crown.”

“I’ve never even seen Dany wearing a crown,” observed Jon.

“She doesn’t like them,” said Allyria. “Her braids are the crowns she wears; her symbol of office is her amethyst brooch. She prefers sashes for her vassals. They can be worn over armor, anything.”

“Allyria,” said Jon meaningfully. “I’m glad Dany has a loving and supportive sister. She and your mother told me you’re my cousin. I’m glad you’re my family as well.”

Allyria frowned slightly. “Did she tell you…”

“Aye,” said Jon simply. “That’s all I’ll say other than… I’m glad to have met you, Allyria Dayne. ”

Allyria took his meaning and nodded and smiled.

Arya and Sansa came in next. Sansa did not at all look happy. Arya beamed at Jon.

“You look like Aegon the Conqueror come again,” she said happily.

“You do look good,” admitted Sansa. She seemed to have a bit to say. Arya glanced between them awkwardly, until Sansa could hold her tongue no more. “Are you really going to bend the knee to her?”

Jon inclined his chin. “Aye,” he said. “I am.”

“We don’t need her,” said Sansa. “We have a ship… we can find allies. Gendry, Uncle Edmure, Cousin Robin… they’ll side with us. We can find enough men to oppose Bran.”

“You forget Bran is your uncle’s nephew, and Robin’s cousin too,” said Jon. “Will they really side with us over their king? The king they voted for?”

“No,” said Tyrion. “They won’t. You might think you know your family, Sansa, but I know the politics of King’s Landing. Bran has dug up dirty laundry on as many lords as he can. And he favored Lord Edmure and Lord Robin rather heavily. I think he feared you would try and turn them to your side.”

Sansa scowled before turning her gaze back on Jon, frustrated. “And you’re still going to demand I bend the knee to you for you to help me take back the North.” If he would just come back with her, she would be able to win her lords back.

He was betraying his family all over again.

Jon held her gaze without letting her intimidate him. “If you don’t want to bend the knee, take the North back yourself.”

“I’m your sister,” replied Sansa.

“So is she,” responded Jon fiercely. “And I won’t ever betray her again. If you’d open your eyes and look around Volantis, around the Empire, you’d see that she’s the best thing that could ever happen to us.”

“She’s not one of us,” insisted Sansa. “She has no right to demand I bend the knee.”

“And you have no right to demand she use her armies to return to you Winterfell,” responded Jon. “If you want her- and my- support, you accept our terms.”

“If you want Imperial support,” said Allyria, “you must accept that it has a price.”

“Our independence,” snapped Sansa. “If you really had Stark blood, you’d understand that to the North, we bow to no one but ourselves. We know no King but the King in the North, whose name is Stark.”

“I might have Stark blood,” said Allyria, “but I’m not a Stark. I’m a Dayne, and proud of it.”

“Then you make your father ashamed,” retorted Sansa.

It was exactly the wrong thing to say.

Davos went pale, Jon’s fury ignited, but before anything further could happen, the door slammed open with enough force that it sounded like a catapult had launched a rock against the wall.

Daenerys stormed in, grabbed Sansa by the throat, and dragged her out into the hall.

Tyrion saw Jon and Davos’s reaction, and his eyes went wide. “It was rape, wasn’t it?” he asked.

Jon paused. “Aye,” he said. Arya looked at Allyria in stunned shock, who was staring at the ground in shame. Instinctively, Arya put her hand on Allyria’s back, comfortingly. Allyria looked up at her in surprise, and smiled faintly.

Outside the room, Daenerys pulled Sansa by the hair down to her eye level. Sansa had never seen Daenerys so furious.

“I have offered you hospitality after everything you did to me in my past life,” she hissed. “I have allowed you to speak to my councilors to ask their aid for retaking your home, and the terms I have offered are, by all estimations, generous. I have tolerated and endured your petty attempts to inspire treason among my advisors and commanders.

“I can accept your hatred of me because I hate you right back. I enjoy your attempts to seat Jon on my throne because it amuses me to watch you fail. I tolerate you because I do not fear you and I endure you because despite my personal distaste for you I know that to keep the North safe and stable having you as the Warden of the North below Jon is the best option.

“But if there is one thing I cannot and will never tolerate it is you daring to insult my sister. I would sooner place a thousand dragons above every keep and holdfast in the North to remind them of the price of betrayal than suffer a woman who insults those dearest to me. One of whom is her kin, through no choice or particular delight of her own. And to compare her, to bring the unworthy scum who sired her against her, as if he is something she should be proud of… you may be your father’s daughter, but Allyria is as far from hers as is possible to be.”

Daenerys released Sansa’s hair and leaned in. “Do it again,” she whispered, “and I will show you that I do not need dragons, nor to harm a hair on your head, to bury you so completely that the moon will wax and wane in the sky ten thousand times before you see it again.”

Daenerys stood up, regarded Sansa coldly one last time, then entered the room, calming herself with deep breaths. Arthur Dayne, standing outside, could not hide the slightest hint of a smile as he watched Sansa collect herself.

Inside, they all turned to look at Daenerys, who immediately approached her sister. “Are you alright?” she asked.

“It would take more than that to get under my skin,” said Allyria, hugging Dany.

“What did you do to my sister?” asked Arya.

“She’s outside, I presume,” said Daenerys, looking at Arya. “I did not harm her, I assure you. Not greatly, at least. She can return to the room in a moment, if she feels brave enough.”

Daenerys turned next to face Jon. “How fare you, Jon Targaryen?” she asked.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” said the future King of Westeros. He smiled slightly.

“You’re not exactly doing this alone, Jon,” said Daenerys, an eyebrow raised. “There will be legions in Westeros, under your command. Should you need more assistance, I can have dragons to you very quickly.”

Jon glanced at Davos, who smirked knowingly.

“Most of the councilors should be in the council chambers by now,” said Tyrion.

“Yes,” agreed Daenerys. “We should not keep them waiting.”

They left the chambers and the Imperial Guard outside fell into formation around them. Daenerys did not even glance at Sansa outside, who was watching fearfully.

Arya stopped to check on her sister. “Are you alright?” she asked.

“She’s mad,” said Sansa. “I told you she was mad. She… she said if I offended her again, she’d haul me out to her dragons.”

Arya could tell that was a lie. She leaned in. “Uncle Brandon raped Ashara Dayne, Sansa,” she said quietly.

Sansa’s face fell. “I didn’t know,” she said, horrified. “If I’d known… I’d never have said it.”

Arya could tell that was true. After Sansa had survived Ramsay Bolton… rape was one thing Sansa despised more than any other.

“Come on,” said Arya. “Whatever you do, do not ruin this for Jon.”

Daenerys and her mother and sister waited outside as Tyrion, Davos, Jon, Arya, and Sansa passed. Sansa stopped to turn to Daenerys. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know what my uncle Brandon did. If I had, I’d never have said she should… if there’s one thing I swear to you, it’s that I would never use that to hurt someone. Not after Ramsay.”

“Nor would I,” agreed Daenerys. “Apologize to Allyria and I will consider it behind us. But remember…”

“I understand.” Sansa followed Arya in and they sat behind Jon, Davos, and Tyrion, as guests.

Daenerys entered a moment later and the room stood for her as she and her family were escorted to the Dawnthrone. Once Daenerys sat, everyone else did. Even Sansa properly followed protocol right now, clearly afraid of provoking Daenerys further.

“Let us begin,” said Daenerys. “Today, I am very pleased to confirm that my brother- my elder brother, as I’m sure most of you have heard by now-” the councilors chuckled and a few shot a glance at Sansa, who took a deep breath to remain calm and not have an outburst- “has agreed. Westeros falls under the rule of the tyrant creature known as the Three-Eyed Raven, who sits in the body of the man once known as Brandon Stark. We cannot suffer a tyrant to rule.

“In line with this, my brother Jon of House Targaryen has agreed to press his claim on the throne of Westeros- the throne formerly known as the Iron Throne before it was destroyed- in the name of the Great Empire of the Dawn. With our agreement, we will remove the Three-Eyed Raven from King’s Landing and unify Westeros once more under peace.”

Bu Dai stood. “Will this be done in fealty to the Great Empire?” she asked plainly.

Daenerys looked at Jon, who stood. “Aye,” he agreed. “Westeros will fall under the rule of the Dawnthrone and I will rule in the name of Her Imperial Majesty. She is the rightful Queen in King’s Landing, even if events transpired to make that…”

“Politically impossible,” finished Dany. But she looked at Jon with gratitude. Dany glanced at Sansa, who looked outraged. “Certain interpretations of Westerosi law might cause some to argue otherwise, but there is one simple truth- Lord Tyrion?”

Tyrion had expected this. He and Daenerys had worked on this for some time. An attempt to squish the legal issues Jon would face- mostly from Dorne. Though both agreed Jon was legitimate, not all in Westeros would.

“Elder Council,” said Tyrion, standing and walking to the center of the amethyst sigil in the center of the tables. Daenerys smiled faintly at him. Tyrion had noticed that ever since she and Jon had started working to put the past behind them, her smiles came easier. To his great relief, her anger did not return as her joy did. She was more like the old Daenerys than ever… but still better.

And what she’d said at their reunion… about having come to love him like a brother… had touched him deeply. He wasn’t in love with her, not anymore- if he ever really had been, Tyrion wondered- but she was very dear to him. She had never looked at him and seen him as a dwarf. She had looked at him and seen him as a person . And he had done a grave wrong to her, and given him forgiveness.

All it did was make him want to cry at how badly he and everyone had lost faith in her seven years ago.

“I’m afraid what the Empress says is true,” continued Tyrion. “By Westerosi law, her and Jon’s father Rhaegar Targaryen was legally married to Elia of House Martell. Westerosi law does not recognize a man taking more than one wife… not when that man doesn’t have dragons, anyways.

“In lieu of this,” continued Tyrion, giving a glance at Sansa, who looked scandalized. “Both Jon and Daenerys were born bastards. By Westerosi law, that would make Viserys Targaryen the rightful King.” Tyrion smiled. “And how convenient that all of Westeros knows that Viserys Targaryen publicly named Daenerys as Daenerys Targaryen, Princess of Dragonstone, and his heir.”

“In light of that,” said Daenerys, picking up where Tyrion left off, “since Viserys has passed- and not by my hand- that made me the rightful Queen of Westeros. As the rightful Queen, I henceforth declare Jon as Jon Targaryen, and abdicate my claims upon the throne of Westeros to him.”

“And I,” said Jon, standing and striding forward to join Tyrion, “do declare undying loyalty and fealty to Her Imperial Majesty, Daenerys Lightbringer of House Targaryen, as the Amethyst Empress of the Dawn.”

Jon fell to his knee. He glanced up at Dany. “Not so injured this time,” he jested. Daenerys smiled, then stood and approached Jon.

“I accept your offering of fealty,” said Daenerys, “and name you Udrāzmatoliot- High Commander- of the Onyx Legions. Rise, Jon Targaryen, King of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the White Wolf.”

The room respectfully applauded. Arya clapped fiercely and proudly. Sansa next to her clapped more slowly.

“Onyx Legions?” asked Jon curiously.

“Black always was your color,” responded Dany. “They match your eyes.”

Daenerys smiled at Jon and returned to her throne. Jon went back to the table with the others. Davos clapped him proudly on the back. Tyrion gave him a grin and toasted him. Arya gave Jon a big hug.

Sansa looked at him, then hugged him. “You can’t be worse than any of the others,” she said pointedly.

Jon gave her a slight glare, then shot a pointed glance at Daenerys. “There’s one who would have been better,” he said. He sat in his chair to watch the rest of the session.

He looked up to see Ashara Dayne watching him carefully. She glanced at her daughter, who was reaching her hand out to take a piece of parchment from a page standing behind her. Her gaze fell back onto Jon, and she smiled slightly, and nodded.

Even Ashara could tell that reconciling with Jon had been very, very good for Daenerys.

As it had been for Jon.

The past was behind them. If they looked back, they were lost.

Only forward now. Back to Westeros.

Maybe not as lovers, but together.

Chapter Text

Samwell Tarly climbed down from the gangplank unsteadily, still feeling a little green from the long ship journey. “Uh, hello there,” he greeted a dock worker. “My name is Samwell Tarly. I’ve been sent by King Bran of House Stark, King of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, to inquire about two men he sent a few moons ago. Tyrion Lannister and Davos Seaworth. May I speak with your Empress?”

When men came down from the Palace, it was not Arthur Dayne who came to fetch Tarly. It was just regular members of the Imperial Guard.

“King wishes to speak with you,” said one in a rough Volantene accent.

“Uh, what king?” asked Sam.

“King of the Seven Kingdoms.”

Sam blunk down some surprise, but followed them up. He looked around in awe and surprise at the city, the Imperial flags fluttering above many houses. When they reached the palace, he was not taken into the Elder Council chamber. He was taken up a few levels to a solar.

The guard knocked on the door and was bidden to enter. Sam entered to see a few familiar faces around. Tyrion was sat in a chair against the wall, looking at Sam suspiciously. Davos stood against the opposite wall, and he was biting his lip nervously.

The third person stunned Sam to see, even if he wasn’t facing him. Jon was facing away from him, holding something, looking out the window.

“Jon?” asked Sam, stunned.

Jon didn’t answer. He moved his hand and Sam quickly realized he was holding a heavy tome.

“Jon? What are you- what are you doing here?”

“‘ Brave Jon Snow boldly entered into the ruined Red Keep and denounced the Mad Queen,’ ” quoted Jon. “ ‘Honorable beyond compare, Jon had held true to the oath he’d sworn to her to protect his people, but her mad and gleeful destruction of King’s Landing had freed him of his bonds of fealty, and he acted in the defense of all Westeros when he drew a blade and advanced upon her. She screamed nothing more than ‘burn them all’ as her father had, shrinking into the Iron Throne as Lord Snow avenged the hundreds of thousands she had brutally slain, either with dragonfire or as her army raped and pillaged the fallen capital. Queen Cersei’s hope to surrender the city and throw open the gates had fallen on deaf ears, but Jon Snow gave justice to the dead. ’”

“That’s not even one of my worst parts,” mused Tyrion. “I particularly like how he hated Daenerys so much that he made Cersei out to be a good queen who cared for her people, just so Daenerys would be more evil.”

“Is that… is that Archmaester Ebrose’s book?” asked Sam.

“I think it’s more your book than his,” said Jon, closing it. “This is the only copy in all the Empire, I believe. It’s been banned, with the support of the Elder Council. Suffice to say, demonizing the woman known as Mhysa over here isn’t much supported. Not when so many owe her their freedom.”

“Jon,” said Sam, utterly lost on why Jon was acting this way. “She… you saw what she did… you killed her for it.”

“Aye, I did,” agreed Jon, turning to face Sam, a furious gaze on his face. “I thought you were supposed to be smart, Sam. I thought you might be smart enough to have done some reading and learned the effects of basilisk’s blood by now.”

Sam’s face fell. “Basilisk’s blood?”

“Aye,” confirmed Davos. “Or were you never around when Bran dropped hints like ‘the spider’s fangs were filled with poisonous serpent blood?’”

“Close enough,” agreed Tyrion.

“I…” Sam gasped. “Jon, I know this must have been a… a shock to you… but I mean… she was showing signs of madness before?”

“When?” asked Jon savagely.

“She… she killed my father and brother.”

“Who had been pledged to Olenna Tyrell,” said Tyrion. “Who had sworn to Daenerys after my sister had blown up the Sept of Baelor and destroyed House Tyrell and many others, including her own uncle and cousin, for all time.”

“Which one was the mad one again?” asked Davos. “The one who came North to fight alongside us against the White Walkers, or the one who betrayed us and left our army behind? Which one did your father and brother side with again?”

“And which one, even after that, gave your father and brother the chance to bend the knee?” asked Jon. “Did she tell you that? You left all that out when you told me she had killed your father and brother.”

“You would have forgiven them,” said Sam.

“They betrayed their liege to side with Cersei Lannister, ” snapped Jon.

“I would venture a guess that the man who had lost his brother to oathbreaking would be rather sensitive to the subject,” said Tyrion.

Sam stepped away from the argument. He could sense that Jon would not yield on this… “What are you doing here? They said you’re king.”

“Oh, right,” said Davos, standing. He looked at Sam. “It’s been a while. You stand in the presence of Jon of House Targaryen, First of His Name. Rightful King of the Andals and the First Men. Commander of the Onyx Legions. Protector of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros in the name of Her Imperial Majesty, the Amethyst Empress of the Great Empire of the Dawn.”

Sam gaped at Jon. “You… what?”

“Isn’t that what you said I was, Sam?” asked Jon. “King of the Seven Kingdoms? I’m taking the throne now. But I don’t have the power to do it alone, so from now on, we’ll be part of the Empire, under the rule of the Amethyst Empress.”

Sam was horrified. “But… our independence!”

“Being part of the Empire is not so bad,” said Tyrion. “The people across all Essos love their Empress. Fighting for her in the Legions is considered a great honor.”

“She’s a just woman,” said Davos. “And Jon’s an honorable man. He wouldn’t be doing this if it wasn’t what was best for his people.”

“But Bran is the king,” said Sam. “Your brother.”

“Not my brother,” said Jon. “Not really. Not even referring to what you told me, that day in the crypt. Arya’s still my sister, and Sansa… well, we’re working through some shit. But I think I can rest easy, knowing that Bran’s not really Bran anymore. Is Bran dead, or trapped in his own body? I don’t know. But that was never my brother.”

“But we still chose him,” insisted Sam. “Davos, me, Dorne, the Vale, the Riverlands… Tyrion proposed him and we all voted ‘aye.’ He put you on his small council and you betrayed him.”

“Of course we did,” said Davos incredulously. “You know what he is. You’ve seen the peasants who come begging for relief from his cruel taxes, thrown into the black cells, to starve and die.”

“I nominated him because I thought someone who knew all of history would make the world a better place,” said Tyrion. “And that was the greatest mistake I’ve ever made. And yet you still serve him, willingly.”

Sam was shaken but stood his ground. “He’s been good to me and my family,” he said. “He’s earned my loyalty.”

“Ah, yes,” snarked Davos, “because a ‘good king’ is the one who does what is best for you. Damn to the hungry smallfolk.”

“But it’s like you said,” argued Sam. “He had the best story.”

Jon- to whom the exact details of the Dragonpit Council were still a mystery- looked at Tyrion incredulously. “Really?” he asked. “That was really why you thought he’d be a good king?”

“I almost wish I’d been drunk when I did it,” said Tyrion. “If I ever see Grey Worm again, remind me to have him punch me for even thinking that I should have been allowed to speak.” He finished off a glass of wine and stood. “We’re out of time for this discussion in any case.”

“Aye,” agreed Davos. “Time for the council.”

“You two sit on the Elder Council?” asked Sam.

“We do,” confirmed Tyrion. “Her Majesty offered us an escape from serving the Raven King. We accepted it gladly. Service in King’s Landing was not what we sought anymore. She likes having Westerosi voices for Westerosi matters.”

“How many councilors are there?” asked Sam, curious.

“Around 30 or so, from across Essos. They debate on and advise Her Majesty on the affairs of her Empire. Through their discussions, they strive to improve the lives of people across the continent. Quite often she leaves the Council to decide on matters through a majority vote.”

“It sounds amazing,” said Sam wistfully. “Like the Small Council, but more voices.”

Tyrion gave Davos a devious glance, and then spoke up again. “Would you like to see it? Councilors have been known to bring guests from time to time, to make requests. Most of them speak the Common Tongue as well, but we have a translator for what’s in Valyrian.”

“Aye,” said Davos, getting Tyrion’s game. Sam would have no clue who was waiting for him there. “I think today’s got nothing sensitive on the agenda.”

“I’d love to,” said Sam eagerly. “Do you think I could discuss, maybe unbanning my- I mean, our book? I know, maybe it’s not the most… popular interpretation of Daenerys here, but I feel like despite some inaccuracies and exaggerations, it’s a valuable history of the War Of The Five Kings and the Long Night.”

“Oh, Sam,” said Tyrion, as Jon behind him looked ready to beat Sam senseless. “I’m sure you can make your case. Come, you can be our honored guest.” Tyrion glanced at Jon who grinned savagely at the idea.

They reached the Elder Council chambers and Sam was allowed to sit behind Tyrion and Davos. Jon also took a place at the table. Though he wasn’t a formal member of the Elder Council, he was- nominally, at least- a very powerful vassal sworn directly in fealty to the Empress (not to mention her brother), so he was welcome at Council sessions.

The Elder Counselors were filing in. Sam looked interestedly at the Dawnthrone. Bu Dai stepped past, and stopped, looking at Sam curiously.

“A guest, Lord Tyrion?” she asked.

“An emissary from across the Narrow Sea,” said Tyrion, “who wishes to meet with Her Majesty. Samwell Tarly, may I introduce you to Lady Bu Dai, Counselor for Yi Ti.”

“Nice to meet you,” said Sam.

“Samwell Tarly?” asked Dai. Tyrion could see her sharp mind immediately knew where she remembered that name. She glanced at Tyrion. “Does he-”

“No,” said Tyrion. “Not at all.”

A glimmer of evil delight filled her eyes. “Well then. I hope your meeting is productive.”

Sam was confused, but nodded. His eyes went back to the Dawnthrone. “I thought the Dawnthrone would be more… opulent.”

“It’s very meaningful to the Empress,” said Davos. “It represents what she’s built her own birthright on. The freedom of her people.”

“Why are you here, Sam?” asked Jon. He was still not at all happy to see Sam, not after what he’d written about Daenerys and sold as the ‘truth.’ He very much doubted he’d ever call him ‘friend’ again.

“King Bran sent me to inquire about the fate of Lord Tyrion and Ser Davos,” said Sam. “Also…”

“Her eye color,” said Tyrion. “He sent us for the same reason. He said that the last true heir to the first Great Empire had died.”

“Yes,” said Sam. “He’s sure she’s fake.”

“She’s no fake,” said Jon.

Sam looked over at Jon. “Why did she send for you?” he asked.

“She’s my half-sister,” said Jon. “Rhaegar Targaryen had a daughter with Ashara Dayne.”

Sam’s face lit up to know that Jon had another sister. “Ah… so she sent for you because you’re family!”

Jon narrowed his eyes. “No, not really. She wanted to heal our wounds that six years ago had caused.”

Sam’s face darkened in confusion. Jon leaned forward again. “Who do you think, Sam,” he asked, some malice creeping into his voice, “would forge herself a new Iron Throne… made of broken chains?”

Sam’s eyes went wide in horrified realization. “She’s dead,” he said.

“So was I, when our brothers in the Night’s Watch murdered me.” Sam gaped at Jon in horror. “You never knew that, did you? When we got back to Winterfell, you never once bothered to ask how come I wasn’t at the Wall anymore. Thorne, and Olly, and a few others, they lured me out and murdered me. A Red Priestess brought me back. The priests in Volantis did the same for her. We all hated her for being the Mad King’s daughter. Truth is, she wasn’t. She’s his granddaughter.”

The doors opened again and Daenerys walked in, escorted by Arthur Dayne and a few other members of the Imperial Guard, flanked on her right by Allyria and on her left by Ashara. Everyone in the room stood, except Sam, who was frozen to his chair in horror, staring at Daenerys as if he had seen a ghost- which, to be fair, he kind of had.

Daenerys sat in the Dawnthrone as her mother and sister took seats on either side. Arthur took a place behind her.

“Lord Tyrion,” said Bu Dai as the room sat. “Your guest might want to know it is proper protocol to stand when the Amethyst Empress enters the council session.”

“Forgive my guest,” said Tyrion. “I believe he is merely surprised.”

“Samwell Tarly,” said Daenerys, looking disdainfully at the man. Ashara leaned in, her eyes narrowed. “A member of King Bran’s small council, Lord Tyrion?”

“He came to check on the welfare of Lord Davos and I,” said Tyrion. “And he had a matter he wished to discuss with the Elder Council regarding the banning of a book he helped write.”

“Ah,” said Doniphos, snapping his fingers. “ That’s where I know the name from!”

“Yes,” agreed Eighdon mo Shazzr, councilor from New Ghis. “This one helped write a most entertaining book of pure fiction. ”

Sam could not stop staring at Daenerys in horror, even as everyone else in the room had their eyes fixed on him.

“Well, Maester Tarly,” said Daenerys tartly. “If you have a matter to address to the Elder Council, please, feel free.”

“Maester,” chuckled Melera Aenoyor, from Braavos. “The man has no chains upon his neck.”

“And yet according to reports he is the Grand Maester of the Broken King,” said Bu Dai.

Sam, finally coming out of his horrified stupor, realized everyone was waiting on him expectantly. “Uh, yes,” he began. “Well, I was- I know-”

Tyrion took Sam’s elbow comfortingly and led him to the center of the amethyst sigil upon the ground. Sam stood before Daenerys who did not smile at him, even as the rest of the Council was looking at him as if they were sharks and he was prey.

“Well,” stammered Sam “I- I know Archmaester Maester Ebrose’s book said some very unkind things about you, Your Grace-”

“Your Majesty,” corrected Tyrion in a whisper.

“Your Majesty,” amended Sam, “but I- I feel apart from some parts the book is an excellent history of the War of the Five Kings, and the Long Night.”

“Unkind things?” asked Daenerys, sitting up upon her throne, and narrowing her eyes. “If you describe saying I had my unborn child cooked so I could eat him as ‘unkind’, I hate to see what you would describe as ‘bad’, Samwell Tarly.”

“Let’s not forget how she massacred thousands of noblemen in Meereen for the purposes of arousal,” said Aenoyor.

“Or that she fed slaves to her dragons,” added Dai.

“This is a lie,” said Agnaq zo Iqqi, from Meereen angrily. “Mhysa did not harm the slaves. She freed us.”

“I, uh, I still don’t think it’s very fair to ban a book just because it’s critical of you,” said Sam.

“ I didn’t order it banned,” said Daenerys. “My Elder Council voted on and banned the book themselves. It was unanimous, I believe.”

Sam blank a few times. “Did they read it or just listen to what you asked?” he asked a touch hastily.

“We all read it,” said Dai. “Or at least, all of us who were on the Council when the matter was tabled. Her Majesty abstained. She left the matter to us.”

“Do you really think we would ban a book without knowing what it said for ourselves?” asked Hala Naidu, from Leng.

“Clearly his experience with his own realm’s small council has left him doubtful of councils in general,” said Aenoyor.

“Her Majesty encouraged us to read the book for ourselves and judge its merits,” said Doniphos. “We found it lacking, especially detailing with events beyond the Seven Kingdoms, or any that go beyond praising King Jon, though he does deserve much praise for fighting against the White Walkers.”

“You… you believe in the White Walkers?” asked Sam, confused. Most people in Westeros believed they were a Northern tall tale.

“I fought them,” said Daenerys sternly. “Or had you convinced yourself that the lies in your book that I took one look at the Army of the Dead and flew off on my dragon in fear were true?”

“From what it sounds like,” said Dai, “the Council and Her Majesty remain in agreement that without significant alterations, the book shall remain banned. Now, Maester Tarly- or whatever title you bear- if you wished to spend some time in the Great Empire learning truths and revising your book to be more truthful, we would happily allow a revised copy.”

Sam’s face was crestfallen. He looked around and found no allies, not even in Jon. He looked back at Daenerys.

And then his eyes went white.

At once Ashara and Arthur sprang into motion. The Shadowbinder muttered darkly, and shadows seemed to leap from the ground to restrain Sam, wrapping around his ankles, his wrists, his head.

“What’s happening?” asked Jon, jumping to his feet.

Ashara reached and grabbed Sam’s wrist. She pulled it to make it face upwards, and pulled his sleeve up. Burnt into his arm was the mark of a raven with three-eyes.

“He’s marked,” said Ashara.

“What’s that mean?” asked Jon. Daenerys was watching from her throne. Imperial Guards took position before her, just in case. Around the circle, the Elder Council watched in alarm. Some stood to look better.

“It means the Raven has put his sigil upon him,” explained Ashara. “Ordinarily even the Three-Eyed Raven cannot warg into a person, not unless that person is weak-minded. If one allows them to place his mark, they open their mind to his freely. The Empress’s power in Essos means the Raven cannot see or warg into anyone on this continent. Unless that person is marked.”

“What’s he mean to do?” asked Jon.

“We don’t intend to find out,” said Arthur.

Sam’s head turned towards Arthur. “What is it you think I mean to do?” he asked in a voice that was devoid of emotion. Jon, Tyrion, Davos, and Daenerys all immediately recognized it.

“Bran?” asked Jon.

“Hello Jon,” said Bran. “I’m surprised you are still alive. I thought you would have taken your life in the North, but though it came close, you never did.”

“Who are you?” asked Jon. “You’re no brother of mine.”

“I’m not surprised. I did tell Sansa that I wasn’t really Bran anymore. Explaining what I am to you would be pointless. It won’t matter.”

Jon stared at the Raven with hatred. “You’re right. All I care about is if there’s a way to save my brother from you.”

“But he was never really your brother, was he?” asked the Raven, mockingly. “Aegon Targaryen. I should thank you. I would never have been able to get here without you.”

“You engineered it all, didn’t you?” asked Jon. “The Night King. The battle. Rhaegal’s death. Daenerys… King’s Landing.”

A malicious grin lit Sam’s possessed face. “I’m not surprised you never figured it out. Did you ever figure out the full truth? She never went mad, Jon. You killed an innocent woman.”

Jon snarled, furiously. “You knew what Varys was up to?”

The Raven seemed satisfied. “You did figure it out. Did Tyrion help? Did you kill him when he told you? He told you to do it, after all.”

“I still live,” called Tyrion, approaching the scene. He glanced nervously at Jon, afraid Bran would reignite his fury towards him. “And I should be thanking you. Without your hints, I never would have figured it out.”

“I’ll kill you,” said Jon, furious. “I’ll save Bran, and I’ll kill you.”

“Just as you killed her,” mocked the Raven. “The one person who could have stopped me… the one person who could have brought the Dawn. The Princess who was Promised. The two of you had the song of ice and fire, and you ended hers, and silenced your own when you did it.”

“Death,” called out Daenerys from the throne, “is not always the end of life.”

The Raven froze. Daenerys stood from the Dawnthrone and approached.

“You…” snarled the Raven. “You live.”

“Born again amidst smoke and salt and a bleeding star,” said Daenerys. “Born again to remake the world and bring the Dawn.”

The Raven scowled. “I should have warged into the boy. He was so weak after he did it. I should have had him cut off your head.”

“You should have,” said Daenerys.

The Raven laughed cruelly. “It matters not. We will win. Westeros is mine. All of it. From the Lands of Always Winter to the southernmost point of Dorne. You might think you can win, but you can’t beat me. You can have Essos. Leave Westeros to me.”

“I will never leave Westeros to a tyrant,” responded Daenerys. “And you plotted my downfall six years ago. I will pay you back for that, with interest.”

The Raven’s blank gaze landed on Jon. “Do you know who she really is?” he asked.

“My sister,” responded Jon.

“Hmm. You no longer know nothing, Jon Snow. How ironic it is that the two women you’ve ever loved… you’ve betrayed both, and both have died.”

Jon’s temper snapped, and he drew his fist back and slammed it into the face.

“You think I felt that?” asked the Raven. “All you’re doing is hurting your friend Sam, if you still do call him friend.”

Jon couldn’t answer. He didn’t consider Sam a friend anymore.

“Ah, I understand. Do tell him to return to Westeros, won’t you? Tyrion and Davos might have decided to stay, but Sam… remind him, I have his wife. I have his children.”

“You monster,” snarled Daenerys.

“If you’re wise, I won’t ever see you again. Westeros still despises the Mad Queen . We will be ready for you.”

Sam dropped to his knees as his eyes returned to normal. He looked at the others in fear and alarm, blood running down his nose from Jon’s punch.

“He… Gilly… Little Sam. Little Jon.”

“Return to your family, Samwell Tarly,” said Daenerys. “Your ship will be resupplied and you will sail at once. I will not have one marked by the Raven in my realm for longer than is necessary. Protect your family. We will be coming.”

The Imperial Guard lifted Sam and dragged him out of the council chambers. He stared at Jon pleadingly. “Help me, Jon,” he begged.

“I will, Sam,” said Jon. “If it’s within my power, I’ll protect your family.”

Sam took a deep sigh of relief, clearly confident that Jon would find a way to help him.

“Can we help him?” he asked Daenerys quietly.

She bit her lip. Despite her dislike of Samwell Tarly, she knew his family was innocent. Them being used as hostages against Samwell Tarly made her blood boil.

“If there is a way, we will find it,” she said to Jon.

Bu Dai approached. “That was him?” she asked. “The Raven?”

Tyrion nodded to her.

“I expected something more terrifying,” said Dai dismissively.

Across the Narrow Sea, the eyes in the body of Brandon Stark shifted back to normal. “I’ve finally seen her,” he said. “The Empress of the Dawn.”

“And?” asked Garth Hightower. He and Bronn were standing beneath the platform with the other powerful nobles of the realm.

Wyman Manderly, the new Hand of the King and Warden of the North.

Arianne Martell, the Princess of Dorne.

Gendry Baratheon, from the Stormlands.

Edmure Tully, of the Riverlands.

Joy Lannister, formerly Joy Hill, of the Westerlands.

Paxter Redwyne, Master of Ships.

Yohn Royce, Master of War, with Robin Arryn, of the Vale, at his side.

“You kept saying it’s a fake one,” pressed Bronn. “Did you get what you needed? Is she not real?”

“No, I was mistaken,” said Bran with his traditional lack of emotion. “She’s real. She’s the legitimate Empress. I should have realized when my sight into Essos diminished. I thought it was because the power of the Red God swelled as her nation expanded; that is true, but it only swells because she is the true Empress.”

“And what does this mean?” asked Bronn. “Can we beat her?”

“We must,” said Bran. “She will be coming.”

“Why?”

Bronn looked around the room. “Because she’s Daenerys Targaryen. The Mad Queen has been reborn. And if we do not defeat her, all Westeros will burn beneath her dragons.”

The room gasped in horror and many Lords began to mutter prayers to the Seven.

“We must raise armies,” continued Bran. “The largest army Westeros has ever seen. We must prepare scorpions. Enough to fend off all of her dragons. Prepare our fleets to keep them from landing. You are my loyal bannermen. I need your help.”

“We will do whatever it takes to protect our people from the return of the Mad Queen,” said Edmure Tully pompously. “I remember seeing the ruins of King’s Landing years ago. I will not see that fate befall the Riverlands, or Riverrun.”

All the other lords nodded. All except two. Gendry Baratheon looked like a stag caught in a snare. Arianne Martell eyed the other lords cunningly.

“Princess Arianne,” said Bran. “I would like a word with you. And you, Lord Gendry. The rest of you, please enjoy my hospitality. We have many days of planning ahead of us to keep our realm safe.”

The rest of the room bowed, and filed out, whispering between themselves. Wondering if it was true. The Mad Queen reborn. And what it meant for them. Gendry and Arianne approached the platform.

“I know you owe her your position,” said Bran to Gendry. “But she blames House Stark for her madness.”

“You saw it?” asked Gendry.

“I know it. Sometimes, we must act to protect ourselves.”

“I don’t fear for my own life,” assured Gendry.

“But what do you think she would do to Arya? To House Stark?” asked Bran pointedly. Gendry hesitated. He had never married- despite several of his lords insisting he should, and proposing matches. Secretly holding out hope that Arya would return to Westeros and accept his offer. “She will see House Stark exterminated.”

“Is she truly still mad?” asked Gendry.

“Ask the ghosts of all you knew in Fleabottom, in King’s Landing, for your answer, Lord Baratheon. That will be all. I trust you, Gendry, as Arya did.”

Gendry bowed and stepped out, his face thoughtful.

Bran next turned to Arianne. “I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “You have been angry with my rule for some time. You care little for the mountain of ashes she left here in King’s Landing. You think to sail to Volantis to treat with her and ally against me.”

“All my sailors have never said the Amethyst Empress has shown any signs of madness,” said Arianne. “Though none have met her.”

“Perhaps… but she represents an insult to House Martell.”

“And what is that?” asked Princess Martell skeptically.

Bran’s eyes shone maliciously. “She claims to be the trueborn daughter of Rhaegar Targaryen. She is indeed his daughter… and not with his legal wife, Elia Martell.”

Arianne narrowed her eyes, curious. “Rhaegar Targaryen and who?”

Jon passed the courtyard to see Ashara Dayne standing before a painted statue of a woman. He froze, looking at the statue. It was beautiful, and immensely lifelike. It had been masterfully carved and painted- mostly, at least.

“Lady Ashara?” he asked gently, walking behind her. “Who is that?”

Ashara Dayne did not answer at once, but her eyes flicked in his direction. She glanced back at Jon before her lips finally opened. “Lyanna.”

Jon stepped next to her, staring into the stone face of his smiling, beautiful mother. The eyes had not yet been painted, nor most of the hair.. “She doesn’t look much like the statue in the crypts at Winterfell,” he said.

“Your stone carvers are terrible.”

“Who carved it?”

“I used my glass candle to recall her image. A master stoneworker here in Volantis wrought her for me. He is much more talented than your men at Winterfell. The best painters are working to give her life.”

Jon looked at the statue. His mother was beautiful.

Jon’s first thought as to who the statue had been was completely different. It hadn’t made sense. Ashara didn’t need to stare longingly at a statue of her.

The facial features were similar. Jon even rubbed her cheek with his hand, and it felt familiar to his palm, though it had been years since he had last touched it.

If this statue had silver-blond hair and violet eyes…

Jon turned to look at Ashara, stunned and confused, and could see she knew what he had seen.

“Ned Stark is your father,” said Ashara quietly. “And Daenerys is my daughter. Do you understand me, Jon Snow?”

Jon took a heavy gulp. “Does Dany know?” he asked.

“She knows everything. She knew it from the moment she awoke. As did your mother. She saw Daenerys in her dreams. The dragon blood touched her as our daughter grew. She said, how perfect she would be, our daughter of three. How she resembled all of us. Lyanna said she had her father’s hair, soft and spun like silver, and my violet eyes. She was the one who, when Rhaegar was gone, proposed her name, as a way of indicating she belonged to all of us. Daenerys Targaryen. ‘Dayne’-eres. She has always borne my name.

“The stress of hearing of Rhaegar’s death, of King’s Landing, Elia, Rhaenys, and Aegon, that men were coming for us... it was horrific. She was born early. Too early. She cried weakly, as Lyanna bled on the birthing bed. She begged me, leave, save our daughter. Find a maester. Starfall was not far. I mounted a horse and rode as fast as I could, leaving behind... our son. You. I could not bring you both; I had a need of haste. I fed her as we rode, as I had kept my milk from... losing my second babe, as I had nursed you. The maester helped her as best he could, but he said, it was unlikely she would live. Ned arrived, took one look at her, and asked whose daughter she was. ‘Mine,’ I responded. ‘As is the boy you carry.’ You, he would not yield on; the girl, though I know he knew, he could not argue. She was too weak for him to take, in any case. ‘Swear it,’ he said. ‘Swear the girl is your daughter. Swear you will die for her.’ I swore it at once, that though you had fed from both of us, my breast was the only one Daenerys had ever suckled.

“Ned said, ‘the girl I cannot deny may be yours, but the boy is Lyanna’s; that much is clear to any who have eyes. I will take him north with me. I swore to Lyanna I would protect her son, though I suspect she birthed more than one babe in her life. The girl I leave to you, for I trust that you have sworn vows to her as I have.’ In her last moments... Lyanna had only made Ned promise to protect you. Did she trust me to keep our daughter safe? Or was she so weak and close to death she could only focus on the babe she saw before her? I do not know. But in that moment, you became Ned Stark’s son, and Daenerys became my daughter, and the two of you were sundered.

“My vows were put to the test soon after Ned left, for a day came where Daenerys could no longer draw breath. I held her and cried, and then a voice whispered in my ear. ‘Only death can pay for life.’ You know what happened next. My death paid for her life. I paid the price. I died so she could live as surely as Lyanna had. A part of me went into her, and she drew breath once more. Now, perhaps truly, a child of three, and a daughter of death. I was brought back; I learned the shadows, and when I was next able to find her, she was with Viserys Targaryen, masked as his sister. And from then, all I did was in preparation for that day. The day your dagger would enter her heart. And when she had passed beneath the shadow of death to touch the light, when her eyes opened again, she knew all, and still she looked at me and called me ‘mother.’”

Jon collapsed upon the ground, stunned. Ashara knelt before him, and took his chin in her hand. “Swear it now,” she said, “beneath the statue of Lyanna, on her memory. You will speak of this to no one.”

“People...” said Jon, “people need to know...” Arya... Sansa... it would change everything.

“That is not your decision. It belongs to her. She is my daughter, in every way that matters, as you are Eddard Stark’s son.”

“Do Allyria and Ser Arthur know?”

Ashara nodded. “Yes. And Allyria is her sister as surely as the faceless wolf is yours. Arthur is my brother, and she is my daughter. She is his niece in truth. You owe my daughter this, Jon Snow. You will swear this vow... or you will not leave this grove with your mind intact.”

Jon took a deep breath. “Can I at least talk to Dany about it?”

Ashara gave a faint smile. “I suppose so, yes.”

“Then aye, I swear it.” Jon fell to his knees. “I swear it... on everything I hold dear.”

Daenerys was drinking wine in her solar, staring at a blazing fire in the hearth, when there was a heavy knock on the door. “Enter,” she called out.

Jon came in, and his eyes were wide with stunned shock. He grabbed a chair and sat across from Daenerys.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked.

Daenerys looked into his eyes and hers narrowed. “Tell you what?”

“You’re... there’s nothing half about you being my sister.”

Dany took a deep breath, stood, and walked to the balcony. She took a heavy swig before speaking. “Who told you?” she asked.

“I... saw your mother... Lady Ashara-”

“You mean my mother,” corrected Daenerys fiercely, setting her wine down on a table next to her.

“She was... by a statue of...”

“Lyanna Stark,” finished Daenerys for him.

“It looked so real, so lifelike... I felt her face. I know your face, Dany. I saw it in hers. I asked- I asked your mother, and she confirmed it. You’re the daughter of Lyanna Stark. My sister, in full.”

“I am Ashara Dayne’s daughter,” said Daenerys fiercely.

“But Lyanna Stark birthed you.”

Daenerys took a few deep breaths. “I don’t see how it matters,” she said simply.

“Dany, it matters. Sansa, Arya, hells, the whole bleeding North, if they knew the truth-”

“If they knew the truth, then what, Jon?” she asked, spinning on him, her face as aflame as the fire in the hearth.

“They’d... they’d accept you.”

“Then FUCK THEM,” snarled Daenerys.

Jon gaped at her.

“Why does it matter?” continued Daenerys. “I fought for them, I nearly died for them, I brought my armies and children and closest friends and sacrificed for them, and still they hated me, still they despised me, all because I was a foreigner. Yes, maybe they would love me if they knew Lyanna Stark bore me and birthed me. Why should who sired and birthed us matter? Why should we be judged for where we come from? Missandei was the sweetest, kindest woman I’ve ever met, and they hated her because she came from across the sea. Sansa is the daughter of the so-called ‘honorable’ Eddard Stark but she still broke her oath to you within hours, for her own power. Arya carves peoples’ faces off and feeds children to their father and wipes entire families out, and yet they love her because she does it to their enemies, despite the fact that I came to fight their enemies alongside them and they still despised me because I wasn’t one of them? I don’t want to be one of them.

“They shouldn’t love me because of who birthed me just as they shouldn’t despise me because of who they thought sired me. We are our own person, not merely our parents’ children. The Mad King died before I was born, they all knew that, but still they hated me as if he had raised me himself and taught me that burning people should arouse me. The sins of the father should not be held against the daughter; but nor should they be credited for the virtues. The North chose to hate me despite the fact that I came to fight with them. ‘We find our true friends on the battlefield,’ that’s what you and Arya said your father spoke, but I took the battlefield alongside them and still they hated me. Why should I care for their love, if they are so prejudiced on behalf of a woman who only held me for moments, who never fed me milk from her breast, who never extracted a promise from Eddard Stark to protect me, was the one in whose womb I grew, in who our father’s seed took root?

“Lyanna Stark died birthing me, and I will always honor her for that, but I sought to prove myself to House Stark and they rejected me. Ashara Dayne gave her life for me. She died so I could live, and she watched me from the shadows so that when I died, I would live again, and feel the embrace of a mother for the first time in my memory. House Dayne has always known the truth, but still Uncle Arthur calls me ‘niece’, Allyria calls me ‘sister’, Ashara calls me ‘daughter’, Edric calls me ‘cousin’.”

Jon hesitated, thinking over his response. Daenerys narrowed her eyes at him. “I know the North didn’t leave a good impression on you-” he began.

Daenerys intervened. “I judge them not for the fact that I have kinship with them, but for their actions towards me, as I wish they would have judged me. And I find them vile. I did nothing to Sansa and Arya but love their brother and seek to defend their home; still they hated not only me, but all who followed me, who had done no wrong to any of them, nor had their father or mother or any of their ancestors into history. I do not regard having Stark blood as a blessing, Jon. I’ve met two Starks in my life who I find worth a damn. One is a Targaryen, the other a Dayne. I do not reject Lyanna Stark, but I do reject the North. I reject Sansa as my cousin. Arya... she, at least, seems to be willing to make amends, and I will give her that chance, for I can tell she is truthful and honorable in her intention. Ashara Dayne is my mother, more than Lyanna Stark was. I will not have that questioned. I would have all the world judge me as I am, not for whose blood I carry. You swore the North would come to love me for who I was, when you bent the knee. They didn’t. And now I don’t care for their love. Only their obedience.”

Jon paused. “I understand,” he said.

Daenerys scoffed, disbelieving. “Do you? What do you think the North’s reaction will be when they find out, for true, you are a Targaryen, son of Rhaegar and Lyanna? I’m sure rumors are all they’ve heard by now. Do you think they’ll honor you? Or will they curse you as a dragonspawn, as Robert Baratheon did our brother and sister? Will they turn on you the moment they learn you’re not Eddard Stark’s son?”

Jon did not want to answer, but he did. “Aye, they might,” he conceded.

“Then why should I care that they’d love me for being the daughter of Lyanna Stark?” asked Daenerys, her eyes shining brightly, a tear running down her cheek. “They hated me for the actions of a man who died before I was born, for a man I hate and despise as much as they do, for his actions ruined my life before I even was free of the womb. They can either learn who I am through my own actions, or go on despising me for his. I will tell them the truth: Ashara Dayne is my mother. They can draw their own conclusions on who sired me. Perhaps they’ll conclude the Mad King raped her as Brandon Stark did. Maybe many of them will realize the truth. It matters not to me. I have my family.”

“I don’t want to rob you of your family, that’s not what I’m trying to do,” said Jon gently.

“They are my family, Jon,” said Daenerys sternly. “You don’t understand.”

“Dany…”

“No, Jon.” Daenerys walked and opened a cabinet against her wall. Sitting inside were three small braziers. “Come here,” she said. “I need to show you something.”

Jon stepped warily behind her. Daenerys picked up a knife. She handed it to Jon. “Cut yourself. Only a little.”

“Why?” asked Jon warily.

“Because I need blood to show you. Your blood.”

Jon, hesitating, held the knife to his palm, and gave a little cut. He winced as blood dribbled out.

“Drip your blood into this brazier,” said Daenerys, pointing at the one on the far right side. Jon approached. The braziers each had a coat of arms embossed on it. The middle one was the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen. The one on the right, the star-crossed sword of House Dayne. On the left... the howling direwolf of House Stark.

“What will it do?” asked Jon.

“Nothing,” said Daenerys, “but that is the point.”

Jon held his hand up and let some blood fall onto the brazier. It hissed when it hit the metal, but nothing happened other than the blood vanishing.

“Now, the other two,” said the Empress.

Jon dripped some blood into the middle one, the Targaryen one. As soon as his blood hit the metal, the brazier lit with fire, despite no wood there to burn. Jon- having enough familiarity with magic to have expected something like this- did not startle. Instead, he did as ordered, and dripped some blood into the Stark brazier. It, too, burst into flame.

“Do you understand what this is showing?” asked Daenerys.

“Aye,” confirmed Jon. “Our blood. If you have the blood, it causes flame. I don’t have Dayne blood.”

“You do... but only a little. Aegon the Fifth’s mother was Dyanna Dayne. He was the father of Jaeharys, who was the father of Aerys the Mad King, who was the father of Rhaegar, who was the father of...”

“Us,” finished Jon. “Aye, I suppose this is proof I am the son of Rhaegar and Lyanna.”

Daenerys waved her hand over each brazier and the flames went out. She pulled off her glove and took up a second knife. She cut her hand and dripped blood into the Targaryen brazier. It lit with flame. She then moved it left, over the Stark brazier.

Given the conversation, Jon was not at all surprised that it, too, lit up.

“You are my sister,” said Jon quietly.

Daenerys glanced at Jon warily and then moved her hand to the third one. A few drops of blood fell onto the Dayne brazier.

It burst into flame as well. Jon couldn’t understand...

“Rhaegar Targaryen sired me,” said Daenerys quietly. “Lyanna Stark birthed me. Ashara Dayne paid her life for mine, through blood magic. Davos could speak of what such foul sorcery can do, I believe. Melisandre of Asshai bedded Stannis Baratheon and took from him a portion of his essence, to birth a babe of shadow that murdered his brother. Ashara Dayne gave of her essence, of her shadow, so I could live. I was born of Rhaegar Targaryen’s seed, Lyanna Stark’s body, and Ashara Dayne’s soul. She is my mother, in more than heart. Her sacrifice reshaped me. Her blood does flow in my veins, joined by the blood of the wolf and the blood of the dragon. I am Dayne as much as I am Stark and Targaryen. Three who died so I could live.”

Child of three , whispered in Jon’s mind. Daughter of death.

“ And even if that wasn’t true... Ned Stark is your father, Jon,” continued Daenerys. “Not a man who died when you were but newly born. We are not defined by our blood, but by those who raised us. If my mother had never been forced to sacrifice herself for me, as any mother would, she would still be my mother. She would be my mother in my heart, as surely as Arya is your sister no matter who sired you, and that would be blood enough for me.”

Jon stood and took a few steps forward. “Can I hug you?” he asked gently, remembering what had happened the last time he had done so, unwarned. Dany nodded. Jon stepped forward cautiously and wrapped his arms around her. “You’re right,” he said. “They are your family, and the North… would probably never understand this. Let them judge you for who you are. If they’re too stupid to see how amazing you are, that’s their own problem. You’re no more the Mad King’s daughter now than when you thought you were.”

Jon pulled back, and Dany gave him a watery smile. Jon bowed and turned to leave. “Jon,” she said. “What happened that day in the throne room... I understand. There was no way you could have known. ‘Let it be fear, then,’ is what I’d told you. There was only one conclusion you could have reached. And you still tried to give me a chance, you still wanted to believe in me, even as I vowed to burn the world down and call it freedom. You’re the best man I’ve ever met in my life. I’ve always thought that, from the moment I got to know you. I don’t want you back as a lover... but I’m honored to call you my brother. And even without... what we discussed today, if my mother’s womb had been the one that bore me.... I’d still call you my brother. Not half-brother. Not anymore. I’ve made many mistakes in my life. I can’t hold that one against you, not anymore. I don’t… I don’t know if I ever really did. I forgive you."

Jon felt as if a colossal weight that he hadn’t even been realizing he’d been carrying fell off him. He didn’t bother to ask this time; he threw himself at Daenerys and she spread her arms and they hugged as tightly as they’d ever in their lives, tears running down both their cheeks.

“I knew you would hug me the moment I said those words,” said Daenerys, “but in the future, please keep asking. For a time, at least.”

“Aye,” agreed Jon. “I understand.” His brow furrowed thoughtfully. “You’re right. I don’t know Rhaegar Targaryen. You, at least, had stories of him. All I ever heard was that he was the man who kidnapped and raped Lyanna Stark. Ned Stark raised me. He protected me.”

“Why didn’t he come for me?” asked Daenerys, her voice quivering slightly.

Suddenly Jon realized that Dany’s reluctance to accept the North, to accept the Starks, had another reason. A far more heartbreaking one.

Eddard Stark had never come for her. He had left her.

Jon didn’t answer. He couldn’t answer. In truth… he had no clue. It went against everything he thought he knew of Eddard Stark. Would he really have left his own niece alone in foreign lands?

Daenerys sensed Jon’s hesitation and hugged him tighter, crying against him. Jon held his sister closely.

Arya approached Jon carefully as he stared at the Dawnthrone. “You look happy,” she said.

Jon turned and gave her a smile, but his eyes were watery from tears from the sheer emotion running through him. “Aye,” he said. “I suppose I’m the happiest I’ve been in years.”

“What happened?”

Jon hesitated. He blunk a few times to fight back the tears. “She forgave me,” he said.

Arya raised an eyebrow. “Daenerys? She forgave you?”

“Aye. She said... she thought I was the best man she’d ever met. That she couldn’t hold it against me, not when I had no way of knowing. Not when the last thing she’d said to me was ‘let it be fear’. She called me brother... no ‘half’ about it.”

“She’s always called you brother,” observed Arya. “At least to me.”

Jon chuckled. “Has she?” He’d never really noticed that, but yes. It was only in that first conversation Daenerys had insisted he was her half-brother. Who had she been trying to convince, he wondered? Herself? She was his sister. His little sister.

And so was Arya, blood be damned. It was just like Dany had said.

“Was she like this?” asked Arya. “Six years ago? Is this why you fell in love with her?”

Jon considered his answer. “Her true nature was,” he said. “I’d always known it, seen how she talked and was with her followers. In Westeros, we’d have mocked her. Making friends with freed slaves. Dwarves. Eunuchs. She didn’t care. She was a bit arrogant, aye... but Davos and I, we could see her good heart. It was when I awoke... after the lake. After she’d lost a dragon saving our lives. She’d sat with me until I awoke, crying for her child. When I told her I was sorry, she said, she wasn’t. She’d had to see it to know. She allied with us unconditionally, and I thought... this was the best woman I’d ever known in my life. I bent the knee to her not because she wanted me to, not because it was the only way she’d help... but because I believed in her.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell us that?” asked Arya.

“Lots of things stopped making sense the day we arrived at Winterfell,” said Jon. “It was like all sense and reason went out the window. The North wanted to die rather than accept her help. I became so scared of losing their respect that I acted like I’d bent the knee because I had to, not because I wanted to. You... you loved Targaryens, and you didn’t even give her a chance. I never even introduced her to Ghost.”

“We can’t focus on how bad the past was,” said Arya. “You and she... aren’t...”

“No,” said Jon firmly. “By the Gods, Arya, it was bad enough for me to think she was my aunt. You think I’m going to leap into bed with her again knowing she’s my sister?”

“Half-sister,” corrected Arya.

Jon paused. “Even when I thought I was Ned Stark’s bastard,” he said carefully, “you were no less my sister because we didn’t have the same mother. She’s my sister. And so are you. And if there’s one thing I want, it’s for my pack to never go against each other again.”

“Sansa hates Daenerys,” said Arya.

“Do you?” asked Jon plainly.

Arya considered her answer, then shook her head. “No. But Sansa’s my sister. I can’t... Daenerys, I know she’s your sister, but she’s not one of us. I can’t go against family.”

“Aye. Nor can I,” said Jon simply. “But Sansa’s making her own choices. I’ll never harm her... but I’ll never forgive her for breaking my trust six years ago. Dany hates her, Arya. And she’s still willing to let her sit in Winterfell as Lady of Winterfell and Wardenness of the North, because she knows that that’s what’s best for the North. Sansa as Wardeness, me as King... and aye, Daenerys as Empress.”

“But we’ve taken it back,” said Arya.

Jon gave Arya a disbelieving glance. “Have we? Because Sansa’s here begging for help to take it back from Bran. And there’s only one way for her to get it. Her pride won’t let her. Her hatred won’t let her. I assure you, if she manages, somehow, to take it back another way... I won’t war with her for it. I won’t invade and force her to bend the knee. Nor will Dany. But you and I and Dany and even Sansa know the terms- if she wants Imperial help, it has a single term. Bend the knee, to me.”

Arya sighed. “You’re right,” she admitted. “There’s no reason Daenerys should wage a war to put Sansa on the throne and get nothing back from it. Alliances work two ways. But the North... they hate her. They won’t like it. What will she do to them if they rise up?”

“Punish the leaders,” said Jon simply. “Aye, probably a few executions by dragonfire. A few legions sent over to let everyone know that defiance isn’t worth it. And then she’ll set about doing for the North what she’s doing for Essos. If they still hate her after she helps them... that’s their own problem. But she won’t burn castles or butcher smallfolk.”

“And if they never accept her?” asked Arya.

They turned to see Daenerys approaching slowly. “Freedom is making your own choices,” she said. “Who would it be making this choice? The lords, or the people? If the people reject me... I will give them their freedom. They will lose my protection from their lords. If it’s the lords? I confess... I care little for them. They’ll learn.”

“But the lords are the people,” said Arya. “The Northern lords are good men. Not tyrants.”

Daenerys blinked. “It isn’t blood or where a person who comes from that makes them tyrants, or benevolent rulers. Brandon Stark was of your house, the chosen, groomed heir to Winterfell, and he raped my mother. Roose Bolton was an evil man, as was his son Ramsay. How many lords sided with the Starks when evil men ruled over them, after the Red Wedding but before the Battle of the Bastards? How many stayed safely in their castles as Jon fought to take back his home?”

“And who came to defend us when asked?” asked Jon to Arya pointedly.

“How many good men have you met who are not of the North?” asked Daenerys. “Gendry Baratheon, you and he were close. Do you write off trusting him merely because he was not of the North? Ser Davos is one of the finest men I’ve ever met. Your brother Robb fell in love with a woman from Volantis- her favorite uncle sits on my Elder Council. It is by one's actions they should be judged. If your sister had treated me better six years ago, not broken her brother’s trust, even if she had come here and begged my forgiveness... I may have helped her. Even despite all her attempts to inspire treason in my followers, I still have not thrown her out of my lands. Because it is what is best for the North. You know I do not need her. Stark blood in Winterfell. Stark blood in King’s Landing.”

Jon shot a glance at her that let her know what he was thinking. Stark blood on the Dawnthrone.

Arya sighed. “I understand. You’re right. Sansa wants your help. You’re perfectly within reason to have a price for it. You came to defend us six years ago. You lost a dragon saving our King, my brother- and yours, though you didn’t know it. We should have trusted you then. Westeros would be in much better shape if we had. Instead, we trusted Bran, and Tyrion and Davos... they both say he’s not a good ruler. And I do trust Gendry. But his father hadn’t burnt my grandfather and uncle alive.”

“Nor did mine,” said Daenerys simply. “Even so, a child should not be blamed for their father’s actions. Nor, though, should they be praised for their father’s virtues. My father’s only rash action was loving Lyanna Stark. He wanted to overthrow his father, you know. He and Lyanna and my mother spoke of it often, how it would be when the Rebellion was over and they removed Aerys from the throne and lived together in the Red Keep.”

Arya narrowed her eyes. “Your mother?” she asked.

Jon cleared his throat. “Arya... Rhaegar- our father... Lyanna, and Lady Ashara, they were... together. All of them. In...”

Arya’s eyes went wide. “They were lovers?”

“Aye. You’re not... surprised?”

“I’ve been to many places in the world, Jon, these last few years. It’s nowhere near the weirdest thing I’ve heard of.”

“In Leng it is customary for the God-Empress- or, Queen now- to take two husbands,” said Daenerys. “One from the Yi Ti cultured northern half of the island. One from the native southern half. The Emperors of Yi Ti usually had harems of wives, of different ranks and importance.”

Arya looked at Daenerys. “Jon is my brother,” she said. “No matter who his parents truly were. He trusts you. Sansa doesn’t. They’re both my family. You haven’t hurt Sansa, despite the fact that you hate her. And I know if the roles were reversed, if you were in her power... you’d be in prison, or dead. She broke Jon’s trust. If Jon trusts you... if Jon bends the knee to you... I trust you. If you’re his sister, then you’re his blood. And that’s enough for me. Any blood of Jon is my blood, too. You’re part of his pack, which makes you part of mine, too. I’ll stand by you.”

Daenerys’s eyes shined brightly. “You say this, even though we have no blood in common?” she asked.

“I do,” repeated Arya fervently.

Dany extended her hand. Without even a second’s hesitation, Arya took her forearm, and the two grasped.

“You’ll understand if I cannot fully let you in on my councils yet,” said Daenerys. “I do not intend to move against or harm your sister- not unless she forces me to- but if she decides Bran is the lesser of two evils, she may attempt to negotiate with him.”

“I think she hates Bran more than you,” said Arya.

Dany chuckled. “Well, at least she’s wise enough to hate one who actually betrayed her more than one who she betrayed.”

“Out of curiosity… how did you get the Faceless Men on your side?”

The Empress smiled. “Jaqen H’ghar said you never really did understand. ‘There is only one god, and he has many faces.’”

“He said many of them are you now,” said Arya.

“Look in that bag hanging on your belt and you’ll understand.”

Arya’s eyes narrowed in curiosity. She reached into the small bag on her waist. It was full of coins. She pulled one out and looked at it. It was one of the newly minted ones, fresh from Braavos. It had the Imperial sigil, framed by text.

“What’s it say?” asked Jon.

“ Dāriontoliot Ñāqes ,” read Arya off the top line. “Empire of the Dawn.” She moved on to the bottom line. “ Iā Sȳrkta Vys - A Better World.”

Jon gave a glance at Daenerys. “A world no one has ever seen before,” he said.

“A good world,” confirmed Daenerys.

Jon was visibly tense. Even despite seeing all Dany had done for her people, the memories of her using that exact phrase as she vowed to spread her poison-induced madness to all the world made him deeply uneasy. “How do you know what’s good?”

Daenerys extended her arms around the room, gesturing at the tables. “Through wise counsel. Through the people. Through mass wisdom. Not because I know what is good.”

Jon took a deep sigh of relief.

“Still don’t understand,” said Arya.

“The other side,” said Daenerys.

Arya flipped it over. On the other side, as was typical of coins, was a profile of the Amethyst Empress. The top line read “Melkasta Dariatoliot. ” Amethyst Empress. The bottom, “ Daenērys Targārien .”

“What do you see?” asked Daenerys.

“Just you,” said Arya.

“Yes. There is only one god. And he has many faces.”

Arya suddenly realized. It made perfect sense.

The coin was printed with Daenerys’s face.

As were a great many coins, from the furthest East, to the shores of the Narrow Sea. Nearly every monarch and ruler in history had done the same thing, but their faces on their coins.

Money.

The many-faced god was money.

“How expensive was it to get them on your side?” asked Arya.

“Exorbitantly,” replied Daenerys. “Fortunately, a few expeditions into Old Valyria have paid for everything.”

“You’ve braved Valyria?” asked Arya, amazed.

“Many things are easier when you have dragons to support your expeditions,” said Daenerys. “And we have discovered much.”

Arya couldn’t help but smile and wonder if she could join one of those expeditions.

Chapter Text

The next day they had the first meetings to discuss the impending invasion of Westeros.

Jon, Tyrion, Davos, Tormund, and Yara were the Westerosi faces, besides Dany and her family. They were joined by Bu Dai, Doniphos Paenymion, and a handful of Legion commanders. Two of whom had black clothing underneath their armor.

“Shall we begin?” asked Daenerys. She gestured down at the table at a large map of Westeros. “Not quite as fine as the Painted Table in Dragonstone, but we will make do. We have two main goals for this. Seat my brother, King Jon, as King in King’s Landing, and ruler over all Westeros.” Yara cleared her throat meaningfully. Daenerys glanced at her. “Excepting the Iron Islands, which will remain in direct fealty to the Dawnthrone.” Yara smirked. Daenerys continued. “Our second main goal is the return of the White Walkers in the north. Currently, they are contained beyond the Wall, but history has shown that counting on the Wall to keep them out indefinitely is foolhardy. King Jon?”

Jon nodded. “So far, the Army of the Dead is nowhere near the numbers we faced six years ago,” he said. “The White Walkers have not come down from the Lands of Always Winter. Rather, they’re sending wights to track down whoever they can, killing them, and hauling their bodies back to be reanimated. They are the greater threat. It’s as true today as it was six years ago.”

“The Wall still stands,” said Davos. “Queen Sansa repaired it, didn’t she?”

“Aye, she did the best she could, but it’s still weak.” Jon traced his finger over the Wall. “Fact still remains, the Wall is our best advantage. We lost it six years ago and we only won because Arya was able to kill the Night King. I don’t know if he’s back. In my opinion... if I can offer it, Your Majesty?”

“You know Westeros better than I do,” said Dany gently. “Go ahead.”

Jon tapped on Winterfell. “Our first efforts should be to take Winterfell. It is imperative we man the Wall again, as quickly as we can. We cannot hold the Wall without holding Winterfell- our supply trains from White Harbor and other ports would be in jeopardy, constantly. While we have the Wall held, we can send our armies south to remove Bran from King’s Landing. Then, we... I can call all the banners of the south and we can return north to deal with the White Walkers, hopefully before they get through the Wall again.”

The room thought it over. “Do you think the North will be so eager to bend the knee?” asked Tyrion.

“Depends who they’re bending it to,” admitted Jon. “If we can get Sansa on side, it should help. Otherwise... Stark blood would help. But they know her.”

“They know you as well,” said Davos.

“Aye, they knew me as well six years ago, and how much did they trust me? They’ll call me the King Who Knelt Twice. First as King in the North, second as King of the Seven Kingdoms.” Jon shook his head. “It won’t be the worst thing I’ve been called. Aye, some lords might protest. If we can get some of the more powerful ones on side, like the Manderlys, maybe the Glovers... Still, with enough forces, we should be able to keep them calm.”

“I know it went horribly wrong six years ago,” said Tyrion, “but I stand by what I said then. We should seek allies. The less foreign our army, the better.”

“It will be less foreign than you think,” responded Daenerys tartly. She turned to the two black-clad commanders. “May I introduce Rōvudrāzmios - or Generals, since you don’t speak Valyrian- Franklyn, of First Onyx, and Mallor Sand, of Third Onyx. The three Onyx Legions are Westerosi. William Rivers has Second Onyx, but he is not here.”

Arthur’s mouth twisted in the faintest of smiles as Tyrion looked dumbfounded. “You were able to recruit Westrosi legions?” he asked. “How?”

“Exiles, refugees, glory-seekers, adventurers. Ironborn. Dornish. Disgruntled Reachmen.”

Tyrion’s face lit with a smile. “You built armies of Westerosi soldiers to make your invasion more palatable.”

Daenerys raised an eyebrow playfully. “I do remember some of what you said six years ago during my invasion.”

Tyrion grinned. “I’m surprised, given how poorly that went.”

“Yes, and you’ll note you’re here to advise me from a political perspective. Not military strategy.”

Tyrion’s face fell, but he had to concede the Empress had a point. “Well, on that topic. Allies.” Tyrion gestured at Dorne. “Dorne has never sat entirely well under Bran’s rule. You having Dornish blood might make them very amenable to an alliance.”

Daenerys glanced up to spot Jon looking at her knowingly. Jon then glanced across the table to see Ashara watching him carefully. Jon quickly returned his gaze to the map.

“Yes,” agreed Dany. “Having a Dornishwoman for a mother might help our cause.” Ashara nodded.

“In addition, Gendy Baratheon. If we can get Arya to our side, that might make it even easier, they seemed close a few years ago.” Tyrion sighed. “The Westerlands have certainly happily crowned a new leader by now. Perhaps my cousin Joy. She was a bastard but Bran could have legitimized her.”

“Riverlands and Vale are gonna be harder,” said Davos, tapping on each on the map. “Edmure Tully’s Bran’s uncle. Robin Arryn’s his cousin, and Yohn Royce sits on his small council. They’ll feel obligated to side with their kin.”

“So we can count on probably Dorne and the Stormlands,” said Daenerys. “Five of the Seven Kingdoms will remain loyal to Bran.”

“We can probably inspire many Reach houses to rise up,” offered Tyrion. “Bronn was not popular. It was half my time as Bran’s Hand keeping them from rising up against him. Leyton Hightower might accept an offer as Warden of the South and Lord Paramount of the Reach.

“Perhaps.” Daenerys looked around. “Does anyone have an issue with King Jon’s strategy of hitting the North first?”

“The Raven King is the more dangerous target,” said Yara. “We should hit him. Surround King’s Landing at once and drag him out of the Red Keep and burn him alive.”

Daenerys flinched and a ghost of horror entered her eyes. “I think you can understand my reluctance to target King’s Landing with dragons,” she said.

“I’ve never fought these White Walkers,” said General Franklyn. “But from the stories, I can’t imagine a cripple is a greater threat.”

“They are as terrifying as all the stories,” confirmed Daenerys. “Especially if the Night King is back. He killed one of my children with but a single throw of a spear.”

Davos stepped to the table. “So we take Winterfell,” he said. “Hopefully the Northern lords bend the knee to Lady Sansa, or Lady Allyria. We’ll have Jon, so we’ll have proof Bran framed Lady Stark. Then, what forces do we head south with? How many Legions are we bringing? Just the Onyx?”

“I think we’ll bring First and Third Ruby as well,” said Daenerys. “Seventy seven thousand troops… and a few dragons.”

“And the freefolk,” said Tormund meaningfully. “They’re all you need.”

Daenerys and Jon smiled. “Do we have the ships to get them all over in a single trip?” asked Jon.

Daenerys looked over at Yara, who smirked. “We’ve the largest fleet in history,” she said. “Braavos, Volantis, Bay of Dragons, the Iron Fleet. Aye, we’ve got enough ships.”

Jon nodded. “Assuming the Northern lords cooperate,” he said, “I’d say we head south with four of the five legions, and send one and the Northern army to hold the Wall. I don’t know how large the Northern army is, but hopefully it’s recovered from the Battle of Winterfell.” He sighed. “It’d be real useful if Sansa bent the knee…”

“That is up to her,” said Daenerys gently. She nodded. “I agree with my brother. Once we have Winterfell and control of the North, we bring four legions south. We should have control of the seas.”

“You will have control of the seas,” said Yara insistently. “Redwyne fleet, royal fleet… we’ll deal with all of them.”

“If necessary we can bring over Emerald legions. I’ll have orders sent to Meereen to have the Ruby legions begin to muster. Admiral Greyjoy, have enough ships sent to the cities on the Bay of Dragons that the legions can meet us at sea as we take sail.”

“I’ll see it done,” said Yara, nodding.

“Then I believe we’re suited for now.” Daenerys looked at the black-clad commanders. “Prepare your legions. You’re going home.”

The two smiled. They saluted their Empress, and then turned and saluted their King. Jon blank.

He had command of legions. He hadn’t even really realized it until now.

So long as he stayed loyal to Dany.

That would not be a problem.

Arya could see it in Jon. Daenerys’s forgiveness had meant the world to him. He had not only gotten her forgiveness.

He had forgiven himself.

There was no tension left between them. Still no lust, which Arya privately was very thankful for. Well, Daenerys still was visibly wary of Jon’s movements, but that was expected. Arya still had flashes of King’s Landing when she heard the roar of a dragon.

What a group they were. Broken. All of them in some way, broken. Even Arya. Especially Arya.

Arya knew Daenerys was not perfect. Especially not before. Even Jon had admitted, Daenerys had been very insistent Jon bend the knee to her, or else she would not help. Would she have eventually relented on that demand if she had not fallen in love with Jon?

But that said, even Arya had to admit… Jon had not built a good case. He had shown up at Dragonstone demanding Daenerys put her life’s ambition on hold to help him against a fantastical sounding threat. A man she had never met making demands… angry at her for not stopping everything and believing him at once.

It was perhaps a sign of her good-hearted nature that Jon hadn’t had his head removed at once for refusing to bend the knee. Even then, nobody had known of Jon’s parentage. That he had a better claim- though Arya noted with loyal councilors giving good advice, she had torn Jon’s claim to shreds in about five minutes.

Arya could actually see what Jon had seen in her now, though. Especially now that she had become closer with Jon again. Especially now that she was in her element, dealing with people who didn’t hate her. She didn’t look at people and see them as the Westerosi lords did- dwarfs, bastards, women, eunuchs. She saw people for people, and she did what she could for all of them. She was fiercely protective of her people.

She had lost half her army protecting the North… and the Starks had still been so ungrateful that they refused to help her against Cersei. Cersei, who they knew was evil. Cersei, who had betrayed them, and kept her army away from the Army of the Dead. Cersei, who with her fresh forces, never would have let the North be. The moment she’d heard the Dead had been defeated, she’d have marched north, to put an end to all of them.

But Arya wasn’t fully convinced until she tagged along on one of Daenerys’s few visits into the city. Jon had gone with. Sansa had stayed behind to lick her wounds and see if she could magic up an army capable of challenging Bran in the North.

It had been a trip to an orphanage.

The conditions were, to say the least, appalling.

For the first time, Arya had seen the Dragon Queen again on Daenerys’s face. She had turned her furious gaze towards the caretakers, and ordered them arrested. They had protested, but the state of the children… they were skin and bones. Sickly.

Bu Dai had accompanied her, and despite the fact that she was just as horrified as the rest, she had sidled next to the Empress. “There are no laws that they have broken,” she said.

“I am the Empress,” responded Daenerys. “And there will be laws.” Dai had nodded.

Daenerys had then ordered the Imperial Guard to take the children back with them to the Palace. They had been looked over by Daenerys’s personal healers. She had sat with them and feasted them at her personal dining table, listening to their stories. All of which were heartbreaking.

It was a shade of tyranny, but it was for the greater good.

The next day, the Elder Council had vigorously debated orphanage reform across the entire Empire. Laws had been made and changed, and it was mandated that every city in the Empire would host bodies determined to make sure that all orphanages were up to Imperial code.

It had been a very spirited debate. And what shocked most of all was that at least once, when Daenerys offered a suggestion, her council had disagreed with her. Without fear. And she had accepted their ideas and suggestions. But in the end, they had reached a consensus, and rather than Daenerys making it a law, she had the entire Council vote. They had approved the law, and that was that. Word would be sent across the Empire at once.

Arya thought of all the other monarchs she had met. Robert Baratheon would have gotten angry, screamed at someone, then gone and fucked a whore and forgotten all about the orphans. Joffrey and Cersei would not have even bothered to visit. Well, Joffrey might, just to laugh at and mock the orphans. Tommen? He would have cared, but not been forceful enough to actually see real changes.

Jon? He would have cared, but how many of the lords would have helped him make changes?

Sansa? Arya was sure she’d have made changes, but would she have not made kingdom wide changes? She wasn’t sure.

It was as Jon had said. Daenerys had a good heart.

And it was now mended… mostly.

But Daenerys hated the North. That much was clear. Arya understood why. She didn’t think the North was entirely at fault, but she did recognize that they had been unfair to Daenerys. But there seemed something deeper than that.

She still spoke of Eddard Stark- Arya’s father- with rancor. Even as she called Jon his son and praised him as such out of one side of her mouth, from the other, she mocked all of House Stark, and hated Arya’s own father. And not just him. But all the North.

Arya trusted that Daenerys had good intentions, but she wanted Daenerys to see that the North might not see it her way. Not at first, at the very least. To convince Daenerys to lay aside her hatred for the whole of the North, for the smallfolk.

She found the Empress alone. Without any Imperial Guards, even, standing in a courtyard at dusk, staring at a statue. A statue of a beautiful woman, with a long, flowing blue dress, brown hair, and grey eyes.

“Is that Lyanna Stark?” asked Arya.

Daenerys jumped slightly, as Arya had snuck up on her. “Yes,” she confirmed after a moment.

“She does look a little like me. My face is longer, though.” Arya stepped next to Daenerys. “Your mother had this statue built?”

“She did. She loved Lyanna so much. And Rhaegar…” Daenerys sighed. “How different the world would be if they had all lived.”

Arya studied her aunt’s face. She was dead certain that this was as lifelike a recreation as ever. She could see Jon in his mother.

She knew faces.

And yet this statue gave Arya an ominous feeling, for a reason she couldn’t quite place.

“Can I help you, Arya?” asked Daenerys… partially to take Arya’s attention off the statue before she saw what else there was to see there.

“I had some questions for you about the North,” admitted Arya, turning away from the stone Lyanna Stark and towards Daenerys. “About what you intend to do with it.”

“I intend to bring it into my better world,” said Daenerys. “A better world for all the people.”

“I see that. I was with you at the orphanage, after all.”

Daenerys raised an eyebrow. “You disapprove?”

“You’re talking to a former acolyte of the Faceless Men,” said Arya. “Sometimes I understand that sometimes justice, and what’s right, and the law doesn’t always add up.”

“But I am the Empress. My word is law.”

“I don’t think you see it that way. Not unless you have to.” Arya circled Daenerys, studying her face. “And I want to keep the North protected.”

“You swore to stand by me,” said Daenerys.

“I did. I trust you. You have a good heart. But do you agree with the North on certain things? That’s what concerns me. How many lords will you kill for claiming you burnt a million people? They are ignorant. But they hated you before. And they have more reason to hate you now.”

“You think they will not believe me?” asked Daenerys. “I know they won’t. Even if you, and Jon, and even Sansa were to inform them of the truth… they’ll go on believing the lies that are easy for them. Because they want to hate me. Bigoted, hateful people. All of them. Your sister most of all. Did she project her own lust for power onto me? Did the North think that I, who had seen more of the world than they could imagine existed, thought little of them, as they thought of me?”

This was what concerned Arya. Daenerys had a reason to hate Sansa. Hells, she had reason to hate Jon, and Arya. But it was the entirety of the North that drew her ire. Not just those who had personally wronged her. What had the smallfolk done?

“I can see why you hate Sansa,” said Arya. “But the whole North, too? Why do you hate them?”

Daenerys took a deep breath. “On the ship between Dragonstone and White Harbor,” she began, “Jon told me about his homeland. About how honorable the people were. The lords looked out for the smallfolk, and they worked together to survive winters. Like how the small town outside Winterfell was scarcely inhabited in the summer, but busy in winter, as the Starks hosted the people and protected them.

“Then we began the march. My army- the greatest the world had ever seen- was there to fight for them... and the people stared at them in distrust and hostility. Several times, they spat at them. Called them ‘foreign invaders’. I saw no honor in this. I saw people, the same as any of the lands I’d seen before. They cared more for where my people came from, than what they were there to do. I had come to fight and save them, and they hated me.

“But what hurt most of all was that when Jon did bend the knee- not literally, he was much too wounded for that- I had said, ‘what of those who have sworn allegiance to you?’ My own instincts had told me, this would not be something they would accept. He said, ‘they will see you for who you truly are.’ But they never saw me as anything more than they wanted to- the Mad King’s mad daughter. Jon had spoken so highly of his people, I thought... Olenna Tyrell and Ellaria Sand had both come to me for revenge. Because they hated Cersei, not for loving me. Jon was the first to pledge to me because he believed in me , not in what I could give him. I thought, if all the North were like their king... I would, perhaps, find a home there.

“And they hated me. Not only me, they hated all who followed me. Tyrion, I could understand. He’s a Lannister, after all. I could understand their skepticism of me, for in their minds House Targaryen had abducted and raped Lyanna Stark and then murdered their lord and his heir. But Missandei? How had she wronged them? The Unsullied and Dothraki were there to save THEIR lives and homes.

“And then it became apparent that my concerns had been right all along- Jon never should have bent the knee, for it turned his people against him as well. I’m sure the only reason they didn’t clamor to crown Sansa was that my armies and dragons were there.

“When I was brought back after... after King’s Landing, I knew the truth, and I realized... there was no honor in any of the North. Any of you. ‘The North Remembers’ you boast. ‘Whatever suits them’, I respond. The nearly three hundred years of Targaryen rule were ignored for the long-past days of the Kings of Winter, the Kings in the North. ‘We know no King but the King in the North, whose name is Stark’, they called, forgetting that only a few moons ago most of the Northern lords had chosen not to remember such, when the Boltons held Winterfell under the false Baratheon king Tommen. They had chosen Jon as King with only a bastard’s name, and him bending the knee had saved their lives, and they turned on him at once.

“And your family was no better. Jon knew more than any how it felt to be betrayed, to feel the knife of someone you trust pierce your heart... and that’s the manner he chose to end my life. Sansa broke oaths and whispered secrets for her own benefit- how convenient that she declared the North would never bow to a foreign king again, even though the king she refused to bow to was her own brother. She wanted Jon on the throne because she wanted him to grant the North independence and for her to be Queen. Or perhaps- and yes, this will disgust you- now that she knew Jon was her cousin, she wanted me removed so she could wed him herself, and become Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Bran could have helped me, if he had chosen to remember , he who claims to be this world’s living memory, that it had been he more than all we fought so hard to defend. He could have told us of Euron Greyjoy’s ambush, he could have told us what Varys was planning, but he... let it happen. And then he let himself be made king.

“And you... you were the one who did me no wrong, personally. You never reached out, but nor did I. You see, I knew what you were from the moment I saw you. I’d spent my whole childhood running from assassins. I, too, know a killer when I see one.”

Arya could not help but concede the point on that one.

Daenerys continued, and Arya suddenly realized she was ranting, her eyes bright. “And though my mother assured me there were good Starks, doubts ate at me. What good? Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen ran off together and started a war that killed thousands. Brandon Stark raped my mother, and my sister refuses to bear his name because of it. Your father never told Jon his truth, and allowed him to be made to feel like an outcast. Even Robb, when Jon dared make play at being lord of something, was quick to remind him bastards could never be lord of anything.

“And he knew... he knew who I was. And yet as he heard I had fallen into the care of Viserys Targaryen, homeless and hunted and hungry, he stayed in his seat, and did nothing. He only sheltered the one he could easily pass off as his own bastard. He must have known Lady Ashara was gone... that she had paid her life for me, and was now forced to watch me only from the shadows. And yet he sat there, happily serving the King, his dear friend, who would have seen both Jon and I dead if he knew the truth of our birth. House Targaryen had told the world I was the Mad King’s daughter. What risk was there to Eddard Stark or his family if his friend’s assassins found me? Would he have wept if I died, or wiped his brow with relief that his part in my life went to the grave with me?”

Daenerys fell to sit on the grass beneath the statue of Lyanna Stark, breathing heavily, her hand instinctively finding her chest, at a place where Arya knew she had taken a dagger to the heart.

“I... I don’t understand,” admitted Arya. “What did he know? That you were Ashara Dayne’s daughter? Why should he have come gotten you?”

Daenerys closed her eyes. She’d said too much now, for Arya to not figure it out on her own time. “Swear to me,” she said, “the same as you swore to Jon. We may not have a heart tree here, but swear it by the one in the Winterfell godswood, though it be across the length of the Narrow Sea and over half the lands of the North. Swear it as if we stood beneath its branches.”

“I can’t swear a secret I don’t know.”

“Jon knows it. He’d tell you to swear.”

Arya read Daenerys’s emotions, and she could see she spoke the truth. “I swear,” said Arya.

Daenerys smiled wanly, tears running down her cheeks. She looked down and fingered her amethyst brooch. A light seemed to shine from it.

“Look at me,” she said, looking back up, “and tell me what your father knew.”

Arya gaped.

In the light from the amethyst, Daenerys’s hair had turned brown. Her eyes were grey. And her skin had darkened very slightly.

She was the spitting image of the statue next to her, of the smiling, happy, beautiful Lyanna Stark.

“You’re Lyanna Stark’s daughter,” breathed Arya, stunned.

“Ashara Dayne could never give her husband a babe,” said Daenerys bitterly. “Twice she tried, and both times she lost it, to all their grief. The only child of her body that lived was the one she bore the man who raped her. Still she loved me as her daughter. Still Lyanna Stark entrusted her with me, when I was born early, weak and sickly. Still... when a day came where I ceased drawing breath, Ashara Dayne paid her life for mine. Foul, evil blood magic. I’ve hated it ever since the witch murdered my husband and babe... and yet I only live thanks to it. My mother gave of her soul for me. I am as bound to her through blood as I am the man who sired me or the woman who bore me. Child of three. Daughter of death.”

The glow from the amethyst faded and Daenerys’s features returned to normal as she sat there, crying. She looked down. “All I wanted when I was young was a home,” she said, sobbing. “And I had a family across the Narrow Sea, and an uncle that knew of me, who had kept my brother safe. But he cast me out because taking me in put them in danger. I do not reject Lyanna Stark, but I reject you all as my family. Your father knew I was his kin, though he pretended not to. He left me in foreign lands to be tormented and cared not if I died. House Stark has betrayed me for my whole life. I reject your honor.”

Arya was reeling as she stood above Daenerys, who was overcome and crying in earnest now.

Daenerys Targaryen was a Stark.

Of all the things Arya had been expecting Daenerys to say, that had never even crossed her mind.

She could hear her father’s words echo in her mind. ‘When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives.’ How could father have left her? Had he known? He must have.

Had she misunderstood her father’s words? Even after he had entrusted Daenerys to Ashara Dayne, why had he not gone and gotten her when he knew she was living a nightmare life under the half-mad Viserys Targaryen? Why had he not saved her? He had left her as a lone wolf.

Was what father had meant... was it that the survival of the pack was more important than the survival of the lone wolf? Did he cast out the lone wolf, to ensure the survival of the pack? Did he condemn Daenerys to death for the sake of the safety of his own family?

Were the words Arya had clung to for strength in her family... actually her father’s attempts to justify abandoning his niece to whatever fate awaited her? That the lone wolf could die, so long as the pack survived?

Yet Daenerys hadn’t died. Not until winter had come.

The snows had fallen, the white winds had blown. The lone wolf had found her way to the pack, had found her way home, and the pack had rejected her.

The lone wolf had died, but the pack had survived.

Hadn’t it?

Was Arya off on her own, Sansa alone in the North, Jon exiled beyond the Wall, and Bran... well, was that even really Bran, Arya wondered. Was that the pack surviving? Or had it died the moment the lone wolf had?

They had all condemned the lone wolf to death. Sansa had schemed against her, knowing the only rule of the game of thrones- you win, or you die. She had tried very hard to make sure Daenerys didn’t win. Jon had killed her himself. Arya had told Jon to do it.

Rejecting Daenerys Targaryen had made kinslayers of them all.

No wonder the pack had separated. They were cursed. All of them.

Because they had refused to let the lone wolf in. Had refused to trust her. Jon trusted her. Jon had tried to bring her into the pack, and yet Arya and Sansa had thrown her out. They had forced Jon to choose, where he never once should have had to. And Bran had sat there on the side, watching it all, knowing all, surely. He had let the pack destroy itself, and now even though they were all together again, they were all just lone wolves squabbling at one another.

And yet Daenerys was back. Restored to life. There was a second chance. And still the pack had not accepted her. Still some tried to condemn her.

The pack had failed her once, Arya realized. House Stark had failed her. Arya’s father had failed her. Arya had failed her.

The pack would not fail her again. Arya would not fail her again.

The pack would be whole. The pack MUST be whole. Arya, Jon, Daenerys... and Allyria, Arya realized. Allyria was a wolf, too.

The pack would not reject Sansa. Sansa would need to decide for herself... rejoin the pack, or leave herself the lone wolf.

Live in the new pack.

Or die the lone wolf.

Arya knelt next to the weeping Empress. “Can I hug you?” she asked gently, remembering when Jon had told her that he had hugged her without asking when he first saw her again, and she had been terrified.

Daenerys smiled slightly despite her tears. “Only Jon needs to ask,” she said. “Because he did it once and put his dagger in my heart.”

“And I told him to,” said Arya, a few tears running down her own cheeks. She gently hugged Daenerys, who after a moment, hugged her back. “I’m sorry. On behalf of House Stark, I’m sorry. Father should have come for you. He should have rescued you. He left you alone. And because of that... we failed you. I failed you. Jon failed you. Sansa failed you. Bran... well, that isn’t Bran, is it?”

“I don’t think so,” said Daenerys.

“You’ve always been one of us. The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. We held you out of the pack, and you died, and it destroyed us. I will not do so again. You and Jon are brother and sister, and Jon is my brother. That makes you my sister, too.” Daenerys choked a little bit on emotion and clenched slightly tighter to Arya.

“And Sansa?” asked Daenerys once her throat had opened up a bit.

Arya bit her lip. “You swore me to secrecy. I won’t tell her. But I ask you, please... don’t hold her out of the pack like we did to you.”

“What if she chooses to hold herself out?”

“Freedom is making your own choices. If she makes that choice... it’s on her.”

Daenerys hugged Arya. “I will never love your sister. I will never, likely, be fond of her. But for the sake of you and Jon... if Sansa wants to be part of this pack, then I will not reject her.” She fought down another wave of sobs. “Thank you, Arya,” she said.

Arya held her tightly. “I’ll talk with Sansa. I’ll tell her to accept your demands.”

“She won’t like that.”

“I don’t care.”

Daenerys chuckled. “Jon told me you like dragons,” he said. “If you would like, tomorrow morning, I’ll let you feed the baby dragons.”

“I was more hoping for a dragon ride,” confessed Arya.

Daenerys’s face fell apart. “I can’t,” she said. “I haven’t been able to ride Drogon in six years. He begs me to, he puts his head down, and I try and mount him… and then… I remember King’s Landing, and I can’t do it. It breaks his heart…”

Arya felt her own heart break and she hugged Daenerys tighter.

Arya found Sansa in her solar pacing again. Brienne was guarding her door.

“Have you decided if you’re going to accept the offer?” asked Arya simply.

“I don’t see that I have much choice,” said Sansa, sighing. “For now, at least.”

“What do you mean, ‘for now?’” asked Arya.

Sansa sat at her desk. “The game’s not over if we bend the knee,” she said simply. “The Northern lords will never accept having her as our overlord. Even if they know Jon, they hated him for bowing to her once before. They won’t feel better about him bending the knee again. No, we’ll play her game for a bit, and then when the time is right, we’ll make our move. We’ll take the North back, for House Stark.”

Arya felt sickened. “You’ll be swearing oaths to Jon,” she said simply. “You’ll be breaking your vows to him again.”

“I didn’t break any vows to Jon,” said Sansa scornfully. “He swore us never to tell anything he told us. He didn’t tell us, he had Bran do it.”

“You see how you ruined Jon’s life and you’re going to say you didn’t do anything wrong because of a loophole?” asked Arya indignantly. “He killed his sister because you caused her advisors to betray her. His sister who had come to defend us against the White Walkers.”

“Who was there to take our freedom from us,” snapped Sansa.

“Father always said we find our true friends on the battlefield,” retorted Arya, though after a moment, she hesitated. Were her father’s words something she really felt comfortable using anymore? “She came to prove herself our friend.”

“She proved herself a tyrant. She came to me and called it ‘Jon’s war.’ It was everyone’s war. She acted like she was doing us a favor by fighting alongside us, when if the White Walkers had won, everyone would have died.”

“At least she fought. You were in the crypt!”

Sansa stood, furiously. “The dead rose. People around us died!”

“Only because we were idiots and kind of forgot that the White Walkers could raise the dead!” snapped Arya. “I can’t hold that one against you. Jon knew, we all knew, not one of us considered it. It was like we had lost all ability to think. But while you were in the place we thought was safe, she was out there, fighting alongside us!”

“Just because she was there, it doesn’t mean she had any right to demand we bend the knee!” responded Sansa hotly.

“Jon did! Be angry at Jon if you want, but they chose him as King in the North, and he did what he thought was best for the North!”

“They should never have chosen him!’ shouted Sansa. “He was an idiot who gave them everything we had fought for.”

“Is that what it was about?” asked Arya. “Were you so angry that Jon was chosen as King in the North over you that you refused to trust him?”

“I had opportunities to have myself crowned Queen in the North,” hissed Sansa. “Do you not remember? Baelish was practically begging me to. The Northern Lords wanted me to. I stayed loyal to Jon. Even when I got the news he had bowed to his foreign whore, I didn’t turn against him.”

“But you didn’t trust him either!” said Arya fiercely. “You should have trusted Jon was too honorable to think with his cock instead of his head. You should have trusted that maybe if he had bent the knee, it was because he felt it was the right thing to do!”

“ He betrayed us!” screamed Sansa. “He betrayed his family, he betrayed the whole North! He handed the freedom father and Robb had died for to her. She seduced him into her bed. It was just like Cersei told me, a woman’s power is what is between her legs, and she waved it at Jon until he fell into bed with her and did whatever she wanted!”

“Her power was her cunt?” asked Arya in disbelief. “Sansa, she had the largest army in the world that was loyal to her and her alone, she had three dragons. If she had wanted the North it would have been hers with a snap of her fingers! We could never have fought her off! And if you didn’t think she was in love with Jon you were blind. She adored him, she would have done anything for him!”

“We should have died fighting her,” snarled Sansa. “Instead our King betrayed the whole North, and his family.”

Arya slammed her palms into the table in frustration. “She was his family too,” she responded. She was OUR family too. “He thought she was his aunt, but she was his sister the whole time-”

“Half-sister,” corrected Sansa.

“SISTER,” insisted Arya. “Yes, he’s our cousin in blood. But he’s our brother. And you broke your vow to him. Don’t bother to argue that Bran told us, not Jon. You broke your vow. And as a result, look what happened to us? You’re here in exile, trying to reclaim Winterfell. Jon’s putting the shattered pieces of his life back together. Bran… well, that’s not Bran. Not really.”

“So we should bend the knee to a tyrant,” said Sansa. “That’s what you’re saying.”

“She’s not a tyrant.”

“Oh, yes, you-”

“SHE’S NOT!” said Arya. “I’ve been watching her, I’ve been talking to her. Her people love her, and she protects the smallfolk. She understands. She’s letting me in, and she’s forgiven Jon, the man who killed her. She has a family that she loves and it’s all that’s keeping her going. She’s broken, Sansa, and she’s only just now starting to put herself back together. And we broke her. She came to fight for us and we repaid her with betrayal, and turned the man she loved against her until he had so lost faith in her that he murdered her. She’s shattered. And she rightfully blames House Stark for most of it.

“I should never have trusted you over Jon six years ago. You’re my sister, and he’s my brother. I should have trusted Jon. And I will now. He trusts her, so I will. She’s still giving you a chance to go home, Sansa. She thought I’d given her poisoned wine and she didn’t have me executed. That’s all I need to know. You need to shelve your pride, bend the knee. To Jon, if not to her. You owe him. And you know it.”

Sansa’s face was completely full of rage. “You’d side with her over your family.”

She is our family, Arya wanted to scream, but Arya Stark held true to her oaths. She would not break her vow. “She’s Jon’s family,” she said simply. “And Jon is my brother. She’s Allyria’s sister, and she’s a Stark in blood, even if she rejects our name. Daenerys has links to our blood. She wants to be part of the pack, Sansa. For Jon’s sake- for our own sake- I’m giving her that chance. If you want to go against the pack, if you want to be the lone wolf, that’s your choice. But remember father’s words. ‘When the snows fall and the white winds blow…’”

“‘The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives,’” finished Sansa. “You’d really go against your own sister?”

“It’s not me who’d be going against anyone. You and her might never get along, Sansa, but she’s willing to let you be part of the pack. Her warfleet is preparing to sail for Westeros. They’re going to retake the North first. They’re going to put someone in charge of the North as Jon’s Wardenness. Will it be you? Or will it be Allyria?”

Sansa snarled. “Get out. You’ll get your wish. I’ll bend the knee, but I won’t ever forget this.”

“Is losing your home worth your pride?” asked Arya bluntly. “Is a crown so important to you that you’d rather never go home?”

“I said, get. Out. ”

Arya held Sansa’s rage-filled eyes and stood. She left.

Once she was gone, Sansa screamed in rage, picked up a porcelain figure on her borrowed desk, and threw it against the wall, where it smashed into twenty pieces.

She turned to stare out the window but felt only more fury when she saw the Imperial flags over half the city.

Arya found Jon working with Davos and Tyrion on the exact wording that they’d be sending to the lords of Westeros.

“No, no, that sounds too aggressive,” said Tyrion.

“Some aggression is good,” argued Davos.

“It’s done,” said Arya. The three looked at her in confusion. “I’ve talked to Sansa. She’ll bend the knee.”

Their faces shifted to surprise. “How did you convince her of that?” asked Tyrion.

Arya sighed in disappointment. “I told her… Daenerys isn’t someone she needs to fear bending the knee to, and that it’s her only option to go home. She didn’t like it. She’s very angry with me. But Jon is my brother, Allyria is my cousin… Daenerys is their family. That makes her our family. We can’t let our family be divided.”

“Sansa will not see it that way,” said Tyrion.

“No, she won’t,” agreed Davos. “Bending the knee’s not in her nature.”

“Jon, could I have a word?” asked Arya.

“Of course,” agreed Jon. “I’ll be right back.”

He led Arya to his bedchambers nearby. Once they were safely shut in, Arya looked at Jon.

“She told you, didn’t she?” asked Jon.

“She didn’t want to,” admitted Arya. “She kind of got on a roll ranting about the North and how we’ve betrayed her her whole life. I couldn’t understand why she was angry at father for not coming to get her, if she was Ashara Dayne’s daughter. She… did you know her amethyst brooch is magic?”

Jon frowned. “I hadn’t actually considered it, but thinking about it… Melisandre was able to do magic with her ruby necklace. I’m not surprised she can do it, too.”

“She gave herself brown hair, grey eyes… when she did that she looks so much like Lyanna Stark.”

Jon nodded. “That’s how I figured it out. The statue- did she show you the statue?”

“That’s where I found her.”

“It wasn’t finished being painted yet. First glance, I thought it might be Daenerys. I rubbed the face. I… know those features. From before. Lady Ashara confirmed it.”

Arya shook her head. “And she’s sure father knew. And he left her. Even when he knew she was with Viserys Targaryen… he left her.”

Jon sighed. “I don’t know if he ever knew how bad she had it,” he admitted. “But aye, I’ve been thinking the same thing. Did he take one look at her and see her silver hair and purple eyes, and know that it would put his family in danger?”

“‘The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.’ Did… did he mean something else by that? Was he telling us that he’d left a lone wolf to die, to ensure the survival of the pack?”

Jon sighed, sitting in a chair, his head in his hands, rubbing his hair. “There’s so much I’ve always wanted to ask him, but won’t ever get the chance. This, I think, tops the list. I can understand why he never told me who I was… he was protecting me, and he was loyal to King Robert. Couldn’t have me raising banners and trying to make myself King.”

“You’d have been a better King than that fat idiot,” said Arya. “His wife was fucking her own brother and he never realized the three kids weren’t his.”

“Maybe. I only met the man briefly, at Winterfell. You went to King’s Landing with him. He seemed maybe a decent man. Loved father… hated Targaryens.”

“He’d have killed you and the rest of us in a moment if he’d known what father had done. And father still served him,” said Arya bitterly.

“I know. He let me go off to the Wall. Did he want me to lose my claim? Did he let me swear it away so he could serve Robert Baratheon and not worry about the day I decided to fight for the throne? He told me, last time I saw him, the next time would be the time he told me about my mother. Would he have told me about my father? Would he have told me about my little sister? How he let her sit over there and be abused by Viserys Targaryen, sold to Khal Drogo, and raped?”

Arya sighed. “I don’t know,” she said. She sat next to Jon. “Maybe father really was too good to be true. He loved me. Indulged my… less lady-like activities. Hired me a sword trainer when he found Needle. But the idea that he left his own kin overseas...”

“When we get back to Winterfell,” said Jon, “I’m going to have people go through every writing he left behind. I’m going to find an answer on this. I swear it.”

“I’ll help,” said Arya.

“How did Dany take it when you found this out? How did you take it?”

“I told her sorry. House Stark has failed her her whole life. I hugged her… I called her sister. That meant a lot to her.”

Jon stood and pulled Arya to her feet and hugged her. “It means a lot to me too,” he said. “We’ve failed her since the day she was born. Not when father left her with Ashara Dayne, she’s a good mother. But when she’d given her life for Dany, and father didn’t come get her. We can’t fail her again.” Jon smiled at Arya. “You… didn’t tell Sansa, did you?”

“No,” said Arya. “I swore it by the Winterfell heart tree. I will keep to that vow. Even if it would… I like to think Sansa would be better if she knew.”

“Aye, so do I,” agreed Jon. “But I’m afraid she might be too lost in hatred.” Jon sighed. “But I think I understand how Sansa must have felt that day. She gets told something that gives her what she wants, or she thinks she does. I want to gather all the Northern lords in Winterfell, and scream at them, ‘you fucking idiots, she’s Lyanna Stark’s daughter, as Northern as I or any of the rest of the Starks, and you hated her.’ But she’s right, too. Why should she want them to love her for who bore her, when they were so prejudiced they hated her despite what she did for them?”

“I know,” said Arya. “And I don’t want them to rip her family away from her.”

Jon frowned. “They won’t be able to. She’s part of House Dayne by blood, too. Ashara Dayne used blood magic to save her life. It did something to her. She’s got Dayne blood, same as Targaryen blood and Stark blood.”

Arya narrowed her eyes. “What?”

“I don’t really understand it, but it’s true. She’s got these magic braziers. If you drip blood in, and have the right blood, it ignites. I could light up the Stark and Targaryen ones, but not the Dayne one. She can light up all three.”

“But you both would have Dayne blood,” said Arya.

Jon smiled. “You really do know your Targaryens. Aye, Dyanna Dayne. Aegon the Fifth’s mother. But still, I wasn’t able to light it. She was. I don’t know if her blood’s actually different, or maybe if she has some sort of… magic in it that lets her do it. You’d only be able to light the Stark one, I’m sure.”

Arya nodded, but she was still confused. “I think I get it. Whatever happened when Ashara Dayne paid her life, it changed Daenerys.”

“Aye, that’s right.”

“So Allyria’s really not her sister, but… her cousin. OUR cousin.”

Jon inclined his head at Arya. “She’s her sister,” he said confidently. “As surely as you are mine.”

Arya could not argue that. No matter who Jon’s parents really were, he’d always be her brother.

And Arya was quickly realizing… she was starting to feel the same way about Daenerys. Mixed now with a great deal of horror at how House Stark had betrayed her.

The only lone wolf left would be the one that betrayed the pack.

Chapter Text

Jon and Arya stepped into Daenerys’s solar to find her twirling a blade around in her hands thoughtfully. A few weeks ago, Arya would have felt very alarmed by it, but knowing what she knew now- trusting Daenerys- she was not. Especially since she recognized the blade.

“This was the ancestral sword of House Mormont,” said Daenerys, looking over the sword, which seemed much too big for her.  “Was it not?”

“Aye, it was,” confirmed Jon, recognizing the blade as Longclaw.

“Why did Jorah never ask for it back?”

“I offered it to him. He wanted me to keep it.” Jon smiled sadly. “I think his hopes were I’d marry you and we’d pass it on to our children.”

“Would you have? Would you have been able to get over our relation?”

Jon frowned. “Depends on the relation. You being my aunt? Eventually, I think, I’d have been fine with it. But knowing the truth? I don’t think I’d have been able to set aside that you were my sister, Dany.”

“You are a bad Targaryen, Jon,” said Daenerys, but the tone and small smile on her face told them she was jesting. “And if you’d been right that day in the dragon pit?”

“Please do not bring up the idea that I could have gotten you with child, Dany,” said Jon, a slight green tint on his face.

“Such a bad Targaryen,” joked Arya, teasing Jon.

“It almost makes me regret all the effort I’ve put into this,” said Daenerys. “Are there any surviving Mormonts on Bear Island?”

“I don’t know,” admitted Jon. “I didn’t keep up on the politics of the North after my exile. Sansa would be the one to ask, bitter as that would be.”

Daenerys nodded. “Well, if there are... and probably even if there aren’t... I will not be returning this sword to you, Jon. If the Mormonts live, it belongs with them. If not, perhaps I can find a place for it, to honor them.” Daenerys slid the blade back into its sheathe and set it down.

Jon tilted his head, curiously. “What are you up to, Dany?”

Arya looked at Dany and an interesting gleam entered her eyes. “You’ve found something, haven’t you?”

Daenerys smiled and reached beneath her desk. She picked up another sword, about as long as Longclaw, drew it from its sheath, and set it on the far edge of the desk. Its pommel was a large ruby, the grip the same Valyrian steel as the rest of the blade. The crossguard bent upwards slightly and ended in roaring dragon heads. The blade appeared impeccably sharp.

“This was the sword of Aegon the Conqueror,” said Daenerys.

“Blackfyre,” said Arya, slightly in awe.

“It was lost here in Essos during the first Blackfyre Rebellions, when a bastard house of the Targaryens, the Blackfyres, tried to claim the Iron Throne. It’s a bastard swore like Longclaw, so it should feel similar to your hand. I feel, with you taking the throne in King’s Landing, it belongs with you.”

“It belongs with you, Dany,” said Jon.

“I can’t really wield it,” admitted Dany. “It’s a bit large for me.”

“You’ve found Dark Sister, haven’t you?” asked Arya.

Daenerys shook her head. “I’d love to have, but it was last known to have vanished beyond the Wall. I hadn’t yet sent expeditions searching there, and cannot now, for obvious reasons. No, trust me. I’ve got a blade of my own. Uncle Arthur has taught me how to wield it, too. He was quite angry that I had no idea how to wield a sword, at Winterfell, when I was thrown from Drogon’s back.” A door seemed to shut in her eyes. “As am I. If I had... perhaps I’d have been able to save Jorah. It matters not. If I look back, I am lost. I cannot fight from the back of a dragon now... but I can still fight, if needed.”

Daenerys sighed. Jon looked curious. “Why can’t you ride Drogon?” he asked. “What happened?”

Dany’s face turned to stone, but not out of anger. “King’s Landing happened,” she admitted. “Drogon and my bond is stronger than ever... but I cannot bring myself to mount him, no matter how much he wishes me to.”

Jon blanched. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “If I’d not killed-”

Dany waved her hand. “You are blameless completely in this, Jon. Truthfully. It is the memories of what the poison made me do. I would still bear them, even if... the throne room had not happened. In this matter, that may have even been to my benefit. Drogon and I understand one another better, after that. I cannot ride him, but he is much more eager to listen to me... most of the time. Children, after all.”

Daenerys next reached below her desk again, and pulled up another sword. “You’ll forgive me for having retrieved your blade as well, Arya,” she said. “The Faceless Men were watching you the whole time you were in Volantis. They saw where you hid it.”

Arya bristled only a little bit. “Saved me the effort of getting it myself,” she said fairly. “So long as they didn’t do anything to it.”

“Oh, in that case, then I must apologize,” said Daenerys. “For we have done something to it.” She flipped it in her hands and offered the hilt to Arya. Arya narrowed her eyes and took the sword. She couldn’t feel anything different, except maybe it felt lighter. She made to draw the blade, then had the good idea of glancing at Daenerys. The Empress nodded her permission to draw.

The moment it was free of the sheathe, Arya could see what was different. The metal had changed. It WAS lighter, and the metal rippled in a fashion very familiar to Blackfyre and Longclaw. “Valyrian steel,” said Arya, intrigued.

“We worked as much of the original metal into the new blade as we could,” said Daenerys. “Your Needle is now far sharper than it ever was before, and far more deadly to wights and White Walkers. Do you approve?”

Jon had a smile on his face, and Arya nodded. “Where did you get the metal from?”

Daenerys raised an eyebrow in amusement. “We’ve rediscovered the secret of Valyrian Steel,” she said. “I would have the entirety of my legions outfitted with it if I could, but it it is still far too costly and time-consuming to make to make that a real option. We have been mining dragonglass, though, and forging it into blades. They’re less useful against living people than they are against the dead, so we can reserve it for the troops who will be coming with us to Westeros.”

“And your blade?” asked Jon. “I’m guessing it, too, is Valyrian steel?”

Daenerys grinned. “Not exactly,” she said. She stood and opened a secret compartment behind a painting. Behind it was a sword, pale like moonlight. Its pommel was an amethyst. It looked very similar to Dawn, except smaller. Made for a woman’s hand, they realized.

“What’s it named?” asked Arya. “All the best swords have names?”

Daenerys smirked. “ Ōños Mandia .”

“My Valryrian’s alright, but not that good.”

“Light Sister.”

Daenerys reached into the compartment and pulled out a sheathe. She slipped Light Sister into it. “We will be needing it soon. I’m ordering our navy to prepare to depart in a moon.”

“How are you with it?” asked Jon. “I can help train you.”

“Fair,” said Daenerys. “Uncle Arthur has been teaching me.”

“A spar, maybe?”

Daenerys tilted her head. “I’d be happy, but I think my uncle would have panic attacks at seeing me cross blades with you.”

“I would never hurt you, Dany,” said Jon.

“I know that, but he doesn’t. And not only that. He’d be angry at me at teaching others how I fight. Show them how you fight for sport, they might use it against you when it’s real.”

“Our father was the same way,” said Arya, then she flinched. Her emotions towards her father right now were complicated.

Sansa hated this. She hated this with every fibre of her being.

In her mind’s eye, she saw her father looking at her with disappointment. She saw Robb staring at her furiously. She heard her mother whispering that she was supposed to be a Queen. She saw Rickon’s body, dead on the snow…

House Stark had fought and died for their dream of a free North, free from southern rule, free from foreign rule. A North that ruled itself, that bowed to nobody. Robb had died for it. Her mother had died for it. Rickon had died for it.

She had seen the Lords of the North and their disgust with Jon when he had brought his precious Queen back to Winterfell. Their burning fury that they had taken back the North, and Jon had handed it right over. Right over to the woman Sansa was now forced to bend the knee to.

Brienne was standing guard, watching Sansa stare at her crown. It had been made for her. She had suffered, she had fought tooth and nail. She had endured Joffrey. She had endured Cersei. She had endured Aunt Lysa. Baelish.

Ramsay.

She and Jon had taken the North back from Ramsay and the Lannisters.

Sansa had thought she’d secured its independence for all time after Jon had betrayed his position as King of the North and bent the knee to Daenerys Targaryen.

And now she was being forced into the bitterest of choices. Handing it back... or not going home again.

Arya stepped in. “They’re ready,” she said.

Sansa burned with rage at her sister, but she kept her temper in check. “This isn’t right,” she said. “I’m spitting on father’s memory. On Robb’s memory.”

Arya sighed through her nose. “House Stark has always prided itself on its honor,” she said. “We have treated Daenerys completely dishonorably. We treated Jon without honor. House Stark owes them both a great debt. Honor demands that we pay that debt.”

“Honor demands I fight for the North against all its enemies,” replied Sansa.

Arya shifted on her feet, her eyes narrowing. “If you still feel Daenerys is an enemy, after she’s offered to return to you Winterfell, for the simple price of bending the knee to Jon, then you’d be better off not heading down to the council chambers. You will never rule in Winterfell again, not as Lady, Wardenness, or Queen. But you will be free to go wherever you please. But if you accept her offer, bend the knee, and then betray her? You will die. She will drag you out of Winterfell, put you on trial before the Elder Council, and they will find you guilty.”

“And you would just stand by and let it happen,” said Sansa.

“There wouldn’t be a thing I could do to prevent it. You are my sister. Jon is my brother. I do not want to choose between you. But you have been given every chance. It will be Jon you answer to, and we both know Jon will never betray you, never harm you. Not unless you make him.”

Sansa snarled, her control breaking. “You’re spitting on father’s memory.”

Arya’s teeth barred back, wolf-like. “Father made his choices,” she said. “Father was the one who bent the knee to a man while holding a babe in his arms that he knew full well had a better claim. Father was the one who let Jon join the Night’s Watch so he would never threaten Robert Baratheon’s throne. Father was the one who kept you betrothed to Joffrey, even after it had become apparent how vile he was.” Father was the one who abandoned his kin.

“Father was the best man we’ve ever known,” responded Sansa. “Or is your new friend turning him against you as she has turned you against me?”

“I’m not against you,” snapped Arya. “And I’m not against her. Or Jon. How hard is it that we all live in peace together?”

Sansa glared back at Arya. She glanced at Brienne. “What do you think, Brienne?” she asked. “What does honor tell you I should do?”

Brienne did not want to answer.

“Come on,” said Sansa. “Speak freely.”

Brienne visibly bit her tongue in her reluctance, but she did speak freely. “Did you really swear a sacred vow to your brother to keep his secret?” she asked.

“She did,” responded Arya. “She’ll argue that Bran was the one to tell us, but Jon only made us swear to keep what HE told us secret.”

Brienne sighed. “I think you treated your brother utterly without honor,” she said to Sansa. “Honor would demand you make amends to him.”

Sansa could not answer for a moment, quivering in rage. “Fine then,” she said. “If this is what honor demands. Just remember: honor got father killed. It got Jon killed. If it gets me killed, it is on you, sister.”

She stormed out. Arya and Brienne exchanged a glance, then followed Sansa.

To her credit, Daenerys did not want to force Sansa to endure a public spectacle when she formally bent the knee. Whether that was because she was attempting to offer an olive branch to Sansa, or because she felt Sansa would be less likely to reconsider, or have an outburst, with the Elder Council in attendance, Arya and Jon were not sure.

Only a few people were present. Daenerys, sitting in the Dawnthrone. Jon, sitting in a chair on her right, Allyria on her left holding an ornate wooden box. Ashara and Arthur standing behind them. Davos and Tyrion standing next to Jon. At one of the tables, Yara Greyjoy was leaning back in a chair, her feet atop the stone desk. Unlike Daenerys, who was keeping her vengeful satisfaction carefully locked away with her control, Yara was grinning viciously, smug pleasure radiating her from waves.

Arya and Brienne and Podrick trailed Sansa in, Sansa walking quickly, her face a mask of her own. She strode across the amethyst sigil in the center of the tables without even sparing a glance at Yara.

“Your Grace,” said Sansa, stopping before the dais. “Your Majesty. I, Sansa of House Stark, Queen in the North, do offer you my fealty, as the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms, and the Amethyst Empress of the Great Empire of the Dawn.” Without appearing to hesitate at all, she dropped to a knee. “I do ask that you help me retake my family’s ancestral seat at Winterfell, so I may rule the North in your names.”

“King Jon?” asked Daenerys. “What say you? It would be you that Lady Sansa would be pledged to.”

“I accept her offer of fealty,” said Jon. “House Stark, and those who share our blood, have been sundered from one another by the plots of the Three-Eyed Raven, and the mistakes of our forebears. We must unify, against the coming threats from beyond the Wall, and the tyrant who rules our home. Your Majesty?”

“I agree,” said Daenerys. “Your pledge is accepted. I know this was not easy for you, Lady Stark, but I swear to you, the Great Empire shall see you returned to your family’s ancestral seat. Your people are now our people, and we will protect the people, from the threats we know of, and any that might come in the future. You may rise.”

Sansa rose. Daenerys and Jon both stood as well. Daenerys took the box from her sister, and carried it down the steps to the dais, approaching Sansa.

“In the Great Empire,” said Daenerys, “symbols of office are not crowns. Instead, we prefer sashes. As you are Wardenness of the North, allow me to offer you this.” She opened the box. Inside was a blue sash, similar to the ones she had given Tyrion, Jon, and Yara. Sewn into it, in carved pearl, was the direwolf of House Stark. Handing the box to Jon, she took the sash out and offered it to Sansa.

Sansa was not too proud to refuse the sash. If this was the way of the Empire, if she had to be part of it, she would take whatever symbol of office she could. She took it from Daenerys, and put it on. Her hand rubbed the intricately carved Stark direwolf.

“When shall we be departing?” asked Sansa.

“Within a few weeks,” responded Daenerys. “The Onyx Legions are preparing to depart, and we shall be joined at sea by naval forces bearing two Ruby Legions. On Jon’s advice, we will be retaking Winterfell first.” Daenerys nodded to Jon. “You two should work together to determine how best to convince the Northern lords to side with us.”

“We will,” said Jon.

“There’s one you might want to speak to,” offered Arthur. Normally silent, him speaking up surprised the others. “His name is Howland Reed. He was with Eddard Stark that day, at the Tower of Joy. He knows the truth.”

“How much of the truth?” asked Arya.

“Not all of it. Just one.” He gave a pointed glance at Jon, who understood. Howland Reed knew who he truly was.

“Lord Reed’s daughter helped Bran beyond the Wall,” said Sansa. “As did her brother, who unfortunately did not survive. She was very angry when Bran coldly dismissed her. Very offended. She might not appreciate being called to serve House Stark again.”

“She might,” said Daenerys, “if she understands that Brandon Stark was not the one who dismissed her. Something has taken residence in his body. Something very old, and very evil.”

“If she was there,” said Jon, “maybe she knows something we can use.”

Daenerys nodded. “We will see it done.”

“Do you think we can help Bran?” asked Arya. “Do you think we can… save him?”

“If we can, we will,” said Daenerys, holding Arya’s eyes assuringly. Arya nodded.

Tyrion glanced between the two. He could tell Arya and Daenerys had bonded. Bonded strongly.

He tilted his head, curious.

He wondered… He glanced at Allyria, at her features. When you knew what to look for, you could see the Stark in her, beyond her grey eyes. Her cheeks, her chin…

He looked at Ashara, and could see some of her in Allyria.

Allyria looked a little bit like Daenerys.

Ashara, apart from the eyes, did not.

He found Jon the next day at the statue of Lyanna Stark. “I’ve wandered by this more than a few times and wondered who it was,” he said.

“I wondered that at first, too,” said Jon. “My mother.”

“She was beautiful. Easy to see why Rhaegar Targaryen would start a war for her.”

Tyrion looked at the smiling, beautiful Lyanna, and became more confident in his guess. Jon glanced at him. Tyrion was studying the cheekbones…

Imagining her with violet eyes, silver-blond hair…

A picture formed.

A picture that looked rather familiar.

When the dwarf turned to leave, Jon looked at him. “Tyrion,” he said. Tyrion stopped and looked at Jon. “Not a word without her permission, aye?”

“About what?” asked Tyrion.

Jon looked at the statue. “I think you know.”

Daenerys called out, ‘enter’, when she heard a knock on the door to her solar. She heard the door open, but did not step away from the balcony, sipping a glass of white wine. Small footsteps entered.

“Lyanna Stark is your mother, isn’t she?” asked Tyrion.

Daenerys sighed in exasperation, rolling her violet eyes. “By the gods,” she said, disbelief in her voice. “I rue the day I ever told mother she could have that statue made.”

“It’s true,” said Tyrion, shocked that she so easily confirmed his guess.

Dany sighed again and turned to face Tyrion. “Are you one of the people of the opinion that the woman who birthed me is more my mother than the one who nursed me, sheltered me, and quite literally died for me? Is not Eddard Stark more Jon’s father than Rhaegar Targaryen ever was?”

“How?”

Daenerys raised an eyebrow in amusement despite her exasperation. “I believe Rhaegar Targaryen fucked Lyanna Stark until he laid his seed into her, and she became with child.”

Tyrion sputtered out of a combination of frustration with her deliberately not taking his meaning, and appreciation in her jest. “Yes, I... I’m familiar with how it works, though I don’t believe I have ever... where did Lady Ashara come into this?”

“I believe she told me she was holding Lyanna as it happened, their lips upon one another.”

Tyrion cocked his head in confusion. “She was kissing... Rhaegar? Or Lyanna?”

“Lyanna, though as she was quite fond of kissing both, I’d imagine she moved between them.” Daenerys sat down and took a deep breath. “Aegon the Conqueror had two wives. As did Rhaegar Targaryen, though he was rather more blessed in that his wives were also in love with each other, while Rhaenys and Visenya were not. I’d imagine that the Faith would have as much issue with the idea of the two women calling each other ‘wife’ as much as Rhaegar having two.”

Tyrion sat down and blinked rapidly. “How long have you known?”

“Since I woke upon a stone table in Volantis to the tear-filled face of my mother. And yes, by mother, I mean Ashara Dayne.”

“I understand that. When did you tell Jon?”

“He saw the statue. Probably while it was less painted than you. I understand that when you strip away our hair and eye colors, we look quite alike. My mother swore him to secrecy. I myself said too much to Arya, and swore her to secrecy as well. She was already beginning to become more welcoming of me.”

“And Sansa?” asked Tyrion pointedly.

Daenerys frowned. “Outright said to Jon that she does not regret her part in our mutual downfall. She broke an oath to Jon and you can chart a course between that and how his life was ruined, but it was all worth it to Sansa, as she got to be queen. I do not claim House Stark as family. I never will. If I ever choose to reveal it, it will not be a tearful embrace of any Northern heritage. It will be showing them what fools they were.”

“It would keep them quite pacified...”

“If they are fool enough to betray me again after I once again bring armies to protect their hateful lives, the fact I intend to keep at least one Legion stationed in the North at all times should show them the price of defiance. They hated me because they believed I was the daughter of an evil man, a man who died before I was born. I do not care for the idea that they would love me, that they would claim me as one of them. Ashara Dayne is my mother. She is the only mother I care to have. She nursed me. She paid her life for mine. She may not have been there for me, but that was the price of her resurrection, and she watched over me from the Shadow and made sure that when I died, it was not the end of my life. Lyanna Stark... birthed me. She died doing so, and I honor her for that. But the rest of House Stark? I reject them. I reject the North.”

“There are good northerners,” insisted Tyrion. “Jon. Arya. Jorah . Do you reject Jorah? Do you reject his people?”

“Jorah died defending them,” said Daenerys coldly.

“And they remember him fondly for it, even if they aren’t fond of who he served.” Tyrion snorted. “Though that may be helped by ‘A Song Of Ice And Fire’ mentioning his bravery.”

“Alongside my ‘cowardice’,” observed Daenerys. “And not you at all.”

“Well, it was good for one thing,” said Tyrion. Daenerys raised an eyebrow inquisitively. “Kindling.”

Dany smirked.

“But if there’s one thing I’d be satisfied by,” said Tyrion, “it’d be the look on the Northerner’s faces when you tell them. Can you imagine it?”

“Claiming Lyanna Stark as my mother would be to denounce Ashara Dayne,” said Daenerys. “And I am as bound by blood to her as I am to House Stark or House Targaryen.” Tyrion looked at her curiously. “She used herself in a blood magic ritual to save my life,” said Daenerys sadly. “She threw herself into the waters beneath the Palestone Tower. Blood magic. I despise it, but I owe my life to it. It altered me. In my darkest moments, after my resurrection where I knew the truth of my birth... Kinvara prepared some braziers for me. Dripping blood into them causes them to burn, if you have the right blood. I showed them to Jon, when he came to me, after he had learned the full truth. He could ignite the Stark and Targaryen flames, but not the Dayne. I can ignite all three. Her blood is in my veins. Daughter of death. Child of three.”

Tyrion shook his head. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“We speak of blood magic, Tyrion. It never does.”

“But I think I understand,” said Tyrion gently. “You’re afraid of losing your family.”

Daenerys opened her mouth to protest, but she closed it. She couldn’t deny it. It was true.

“You’re afraid that by accepting the truth that Lyanna Stark bore you, that she died birthing you... you’ll be rejecting the family you’ve found. But you’ve known the truth as long as you’ve known them. Does Allyria? Does Arthur?”

“They do,” confirmed Daenerys.

“And still they love you as a sister and a niece. Nobody can take your family from you. If what you say is true, they are your family by blood. But even if they weren’t, they’re still your family. Especially Allyria, who I believe this makes your cousin.” He frowned. “And your sister. Targaryen family trees really do get complicated, don’t they? How would the maesters record this? Inheritance laws are all sorts of fucked in this situation.”

Daenerys frowned. She looked down at the floor. “Is it so wrong of me that I just don’t want to be one of them?” she asked sadly. “So wrong that those people, apart from the Masters, I find the worst in all the world? We came to help them, Tyrion, and they hated us. We fought alongside them against death itself, and to them we were worse. ”

Tyrion suddenly understood the melancholy that had followed Daenerys. He had found it familiar. He carried it himself.

It was self-loathing.

She hated the idea that she had Northern blood. That those people were her kin.

“We aren’t our blood,” said Tyrion comfortingly, sitting down. “I’m not my father- thank the gods. You’re not your grandfather. You might have Northern blood, but you didn’t live there. They are who they are because of their experiences, and you are who you are because of yours.”

Daenerys smiled, and wiped a few tears. “You’re right,” she said. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready to tell them. Part of me wants them to prove them wrong by my actions, not by my blood. To hear them say, ‘we were wrong’.”

“They will,” said Tyrion assuredly. “They will come to see you for who you are.”

“That’s exactly what Jon said to me, on the boat, when he bent the knee.” Daenerys took a heavy swig of her wine. “They proved him wrong, too. And this time, all we have to fight against is their belief I murdered a million people.”

“You have Jon, and Arya, and me to argue on your behalf this time.”

Daenerys smiled wanly and drank what was left of her glass. “I don’t think they’ll be at all inclined to listen to you, either.”

“Well… fuck them, then.”

Daenerys chuckled.

Arya walked at Dany’s side as behind them marched- alongside the omni-present Imperial Guards- a few servants carrying crates full of meat. Some raw, some cooked.

“Why cooked meat?” asked Arya.

“Dragons only eat cooked meat,” explained Dany.

“Then why isn’t it all cooked?”

“They like to cook it themselves. But some are too young to do so, so I do it for them, as any good mother should.”

The roof of the Imperial Palace had been turned into one gigantic dragonpit. Only a few nested here. Among them, the gigantic black and red dragon that Arya remembered from before. Only a few couples nested here, watching over their eggs and hatchlings, as most of the Empire’s dragons preferred to reside in the wild, hunting freely.

“Aren’t you scared they’ll hurt people?” asked Arya when she had been told that.

“They know better,” explained Dany. “My son has made it abundantly clear that people are not to be eaten.”

“And if they eat livestock?”

“Most herders hope to have their animals eaten by one of my dragons. The Empire pays them three times the market value, in either coin or new animals.”

When they stepped into the bright sun, there were no adult dragons present currently, but the trills and calls from one of the pits demanded their attention. “Don’t their parents feed them?” asked Arya.

“They do,” replied Daenerys. “I just like to have a bond with them of my own.”

At that Daenerys removed her gloves and her servants set a crate of meat before her. She reached down and handed a cooked slab to Arya. Arya looked down at the baby dragons, who were staring up eagerly. The floor of the pit was littered with bones already, but it was clear that for a growing dragon, no amount of food was too much.

Arya tossed it in and the dragons fell on it like a pack of dogs, ripping it to shreds between them and gobbling it down as if they’d never eaten before. She giggled, and reached down for another. The dragons stared at her as eagerly as they had just moments before.

Once the baby dragons in that pit had eaten their fill, they moved on to another pit. The dragons in this one were older, and all they had left was raw meat. Arya took it in her hand and tossed it in.

When the dragons tore it to pieces, they each threw it into the air then breathed fire on it, cooking it immediately. It was only when it was smoking that they ate it.

“They’re so greedy,” said Arya.

“They know what they like,” said Daenerys, “and what they like is food. They’re not alone, either. My chefs have reported that a certain direwolf has been trying to find ways to sneak into the pantries.”

“Ghost is looking a bit heavier than the last time I saw him,” said Arya.

Once the food was all tossed, they were about to leave when a huge shadow passed overhead. Instinctively, Arya flinched. Nightmarish memories floated through her mind... buildings crumbling, people screaming.

Daenerys took her shoulder. “You’re not there,” she said. “Come back.”

Arya steadied her breath. “Sorry,” she said.

“You don’t need to be. I understand. I am the one who should be sorry. It was-”

“It wasn’t you,” said Arya. “It wasn’t. It was Varys. He did it. He put it into motion. All I hope is that he suffered.”

Daenerys frowned. “I burnt him with dragonfire. He didn’t suffer long. It was too generous for him.”

They looked as the dragon who had landed approached. It was Drogon. He was colossal.

“Hello, sweetling,” said Daenerys, approaching her son. His head was bigger than her entire body, but he lowered it and almost seemed to smile as his mother approached. She rubbed his snout comfortingly. “Good hunting? Will we be hounded by petitioners asking recompense for their goats tomorrow?”

Drogon chuffed.

Daenerys turned to Arya, standing next to her son’s massive head. Drogon sniffed and his eyes narrowed at Arya, who instinctively took a step back as smoke curled from Drogon’s nostrils and barred mouth. “She’s a friend, Drogon,” said Daenerys. “A friend.”

Drogon did not at all seem inclined to believe his mother, but the smoke stopped. Arya still did not feel brave enough to approach.

Daenerys smiled and turned back to her son. Drogon rubbed his snout against her body comfortingly, then put his head down. His expression looked almost pleading.

“I’m sorry, Drogon,” said Daenerys. “We tried just a few weeks ago... I’m not ready. I don’t know...”

“Go ahead,” said Arya. “Try. The only way you’ll ever be able to do it... is to try.”

Daenerys nodded. As soon as she did, the Imperial Guard and the servants removed themselves. Clearly it was a standing order that when the Empress attempted to mount her son, it be in private.

Dany approached Drogon’s shoulder. Taking a few deep breaths, she started to climb.

Arya knew after a few steps that something was wrong. Daenerys froze, and her skin went even whiter than normal. Her breathing was becoming ragged and horrible. Her pupils were wide and her face terrified.

She fell in her panic, and curled up on the ground. Drogon groaned sadly.

“I’m sorry,” Daenerys was muttering as Arya braved herself to race forward. “I’m so sorry... I wish I’d never... I don’t want to have. I’m so sorry...”

Arya pulled Daenerys to a sitting position and hugged her. Daenerys did not stop muttering.

“The scar,” said a voice. Ashara Dayne approached swiftly. “She must feel the scar.”

Arya pulled off and Ashara knelt down to her panic-stricken daughter. Without any concern, she pulled Daenerys’s dress apart, exposing her breasts.

And, to Arya’s horror, a nightmare scar.

A scar that seemed to tunnel straight to the heart.

A scar that looked like it should be pouring Daenerys’s blood onto the ground.

A scar that no living person could- should - bear.

Ashara took Daenerys’s hand and placed it over the terror. Daenerys’s breath seemed to become less ragged, less panicked. “I was punished,” she said quietly.

“You did not do it,” said Ashara. Over them, Drogon was staring at his mother with grief in his eyes. He chittered sadly. Ashara looked up and rubbed the dragon’s chin with her hand, as she comforted her daughter. “Remember. It was the poison. It was not you.”

“Poison, not me,” repeated Daenerys. She took a few final deep breaths to calm herself, then removed her hand from the scar. She fixed her dress, and climbed to her feet shakily.

She looked at Arya. “I’d say sorry... but that went better than usual. I usually vomit.”

“I shouldn’t have told you to do it,” said Arya.

“No, no, you’re right. If I ever want to fly on Drogon’s back again, I need to... put it behind me. If I look back, I am lost. If I keep looking back, I will always be lost. I wish I knew how to do it. How to recover.”

Arya wished that, too. Seeing Drogon staring morosely at his mother, Arya felt brave enough to rub his face. Drogon glanced at her in suspicion, but when Daenerys’s hand joined Arya’s, he allowed it.

“Are you going to let Jon ride a dragon?” asked Arya.

Daenerys blank a few times. Drogon growled beneath their hands at the very idea. “I honestly hadn’t considered it,” admitted Daenerys. “I was more concerned with figuring out how to ride one myself again than letting someone else ride one.”

Drogon snorted. Daenerys smiled. “He will never hurt mother again, my son,” she said comfortingly.

“And if he does,” said Ashara, “you can have what is left of him, once I am finished.”

Drogon smirked.

Arya had to novel at the idea that she was petting a dragon- or, at least, his nose. Her younger self would have been beside herself. She’d probably have tried to climb on Drogon’s back, heedless of the danger.

Thinking of her younger self reminded her of Bran, and she frowned.

If there was one thing she was sure of now, it was that they were going to war, and it was not against Bran. It was against something else. Something evil.

“Do you think there’s a way to save Bran?” asked Arya.

Daenerys looked at Ashara.

“Kinvara and the Red Priests have been poring through their prophecies and tomes,” said the Shadowbinder. “And the Shadowbinders have been searching for us as well. If there is a way known, we will find it.”

“And if we can’t?”

Daenerys waited a moment before answering. “What we must,” she said.

The next few weeks were spent in frantic preparation for the departure.

Jon took the time to meet the Onyx Legions that were under his command. There, he discovered that despite Dany’s very best efforts, they were not completely Westerosi. And even amongst those that were, many were the descendants of exiles from the Seven Kingdoms, and had never set foot on their shores.

But a very great many were Westerosi natives. Jon was sure he would have heard the whispers. ‘Oathbreaker, kinslayer, queenslayer,’ if not for the fact that their Empress was the kin he had called queen that he broke his oath to and slain. And the commanders were completely fluent in the Common Tongue. And like all the legions, they were utterly loyal to the Empire and its Amethyst Empress.

“You don’t have a problem with me?” Jon asked William Rivers, General of Second Onyx.

“Not unless you betray her again,” he responded simply.

“You will follow my orders?”

“Unless those orders conflict with her standing orders.”

“What are those?”

“No raping. No looting. No massacres.”

Jon did not think at all that he’d have issues with those orders.

Every day more and more ships poured into the harbor. Plans changed somewhat when the Ruby Legions made port at Volantis as the Onyx Legions were still preparing to depart- the winds had been favorable, and they had arrived early. Volantis felt more full of legionnaires than it did regular civilians, but the townsfolk did not care.

“You think he’s noticed?” asked Jon to Dany one day as she walked through her legions. They loved seeing their Empress, especially the Ruby Legions, many of whom were freed slaves. They called out ‘Mhysa’ to her, and she reached for them, thanking them for their service in Valyrian.

“Not through his sight,” responded his sister. “But these many forces cannot be hidden for long. The time to strike must come soon. Without sight, he cannot know where we intend to go. We can bring all our forces to bear in one place, while his must be separated, protecting his entire coastline.”

“He won’t expect us to hit the North, I bet. He’ll think we’ll hit him, especially if we know that we’re aiming to put me on the throne.”

“I’m not entirely sure we shouldn’t,” admitted Daenerys. “Take him out first, then we can focus on the threats beyond the Wall.”

Jon hesitated. Daenerys turned to look at him. “What is it?” she asked.

“I’m wondering how connected the Three-Eyed Raven is with the return of the White Walkers,” he said.

Daenerys raised an eyebrow, and then her eyes narrowed. “You think the Raven and the White Walkers are linked?” she asked. By her tone, Jon could tell she was not skeptical. Rather, she was intrigued.

Jon considered how best to answer, even as he picked up a dragonglass blade that was being packed and loaded. He tested it. He was still practicing with Blackfyre- the blade was very close to Longclaw, but Jon didn’t want to completely count on it feeling familiar.

“I don’t have any proof,” said Jon. “Just a feeling.”

Daenerys nodded. “You’d rather go with your feeling than having no proof. That doesn’t really sound like the Jon I remember.”

“Aye, it doesn’t.” Jon set the dragonglass blade down, then tested the sturdiness of one of the heavy tower shields the Ruby Legionnaire bore. “But the last time I ignored my gut in favor of what had been proven to me…”

“Was?” asked Daenerys.

Jon gave her a wary, ashamed glance. “The throne room.”

Dany sighed, her eyes becoming colder. “You don’t need to feel so ashamed of that, Jon,” she said. “I’ve already told you, I was also planning my death.”

“That doesn’t help.”

“Yes. Because you loved me, and I loved you, and you used it to murder me.” Daenerys stopped and waited until Jon looked at her. “You want the honest truth, Jon? As we’ve put the past behind us… there’s one thing I’m coming to realize. That… perhaps it was for the best you did it that way.”

Jon felt disgust but was very confused by what Dany had said. “I don’t understand,” he said.

“Take Samwell Tarly’s book. You, marching bravely into the throne room, denouncing me, drawing a sword, and stabbing me. Making your intentions very clear, very apparent. I agreed with you, by what sense and reason told you, I deserved death. Not even I knew I had been poisoned, after all. Even I doubted myself. What do you think I would have felt for you if I had come back and not only agreed with you killing me, but the manner in which you did it?”

Jon tilted his head. “I don’t understand.”

“I not only would not be angry with you… I would probably still be in love with you.” Dany chuckled. “And when I awoke, I knew the truth of my birth. I would have flown to you, but I would have made the decision… be honest with you, and lose any chance I had of you loving me back? Or lie? Lie and hope you never discover that I’m your sister?”

“That would have been really…” said Jon, slightly green.

“Fucked up.”

“Aye.”

“So, look at the brighter side of it, Jon,” said Daenerys. “We’re together, we’ve made peace with what happened between us… we both know the truth, the whole truth. Neither of us are in love with the other… but I think we’ve found the right kind of love. That of a brother and a sister. And not in the Targaryen way.”

“Aye,” agreed Jon. He reached out his arm to put it around Dany’s shoulders, then paused. She nodded permission, and Jon held her to his side comfortingly, as they continued on through the legions.

Sansa’s preparations for going home were more of trying to figure out which lords she felt she could count on, and who had made her shit list as a result of their betrayal of her.

Say what they would about kinslaying being a crime against the gods, Sansa had been Queen in the North. She was returning as Wardeness of the North… and she blamed three people, or groups of people, for that.

Daenerys. No matter what everyone else told her, Sansa felt that Daenerys had no right to force her to bend the knee. How she’d gotten Arya on her side, Sansa could not guess. But Arya had clearly chosen to side with Jon and Daenerys, over Sansa. Her blood sister.

Jon was second. If she had just managed to convince Jon to return to the North with her, she would have had iron-clad proof of Jon’s survival, and therefore, of Bran’s duplicity. She was sure the Northern lords would have turned against Bran for that. But Jon had thrown himself at Daenerys’s feet and begged forgiveness and she had leashed him to her through his guilt.

Third, though, were the Northern lords as a whole. They had chosen her. And they had then betrayed her. Figuring out which of them she could trust, and which ones she would settle the score with, was another matter entirely.

Glover had always been a staunch supporter of her. Sansa was sure that he would return to support her… if he could get over that she had been made to call Daenerys her Empress.

Manderly… news had crossed the Narrow Sea that he was now Bran’s Hand, and Warden. If he didn’t get back in line immediately, Sansa would see him and his family powerless and penniless, as they had tried to leave her.

Kegan Flint? A young boy. In his first major test, he had chosen to betray her. If he failed even slightly more, she would see him dead, or exiled.

But there were more options. She was part of the Empire now, for better or worse… and it was time to test to see how much power she had within the Imperial power structure.

She met with Franklyn, head of one of the Legions. “I was glad to hear Her Majesty had arranged to bring native Westerosi forces to Westeros this time,” she said. “I’m sure you will respect our people.”

“I will,” agreed Franklyn, who had no last name, either of a house or a bastard name.

“Will you respect the orders that the lords give you?” asked Sansa.

Franklyn inclined his head proudly. “I follow the orders of the Amethyst Empress. And by her will, the orders of the King of the Seven Kingdoms. We will defend and protect her people. All of her people.”

“The Warden of the North rules in the North in the King’s name.”

Franklyn shook his head. “Not to the Legions.”

Sansa, after her previous difficulties dealing with the legions, had expected this. Still, she had to test the waters, find out how much authority the sash she wore now had given her. None over the Legions, that was clear.

She obviously wouldn’t have power over dragons.

Sansa spoke with Jon when she had a chance to find out how much latitude he would give her.

“I’ll be in King’s Landing,” said Jon. “Aye, you’ll have the North. But remember, there will be legions throughout Westeros. Including the North. They’ll be there to protect the people.”

“I would never harm my people,” replied Sansa. With how hard she had struggled to gather food before the Battle for Winterfell, to feed the North… Sansa was offended Jon would ever imply her people didn’t matter to her.

“I know. But neither will your lords, ever again. No Roose Bolton raping peasant women, siring monsters like Ramsay ever again. Imperial justice will account.”

“She should have remembered that when Jorah Mormont pledged to her,” said Sansa. “Didn’t he sell people into slavery?”

“Aye. But he helped her free far more than he’d ever sold. And then he died defending Winterfell alongside her.”

Sansa frowned.

As she made her way around, trying to figure out what she needed to do to sail, she wandered through the courtyard with the beautiful woman’s statue. She gave it a passing glance. Ashara and Allyria were drinking tea at a small table near it. Sansa was not intimidated by Ashara.

“If you ever betray her, Sansa Stark,” said Ashara as Sansa was walking by, “I will know it.”

Sansa stopped and looked. She approached. “Jon and the others are all scared of you… but I’m not.”

Ashara stood and stepped forward. Sansa stood her ground. “Your father was a good friend,” she said. “I once thought I might have felt something for him… but I loved my husband.”

“Rhaegar Targaryen was married to Lyanna Stark,” retorted Sansa. “Jon was legitimate, and you know it. Not your daughter.”

“You truly are your mother’s daughter. Caring more about how a person was born, rather than who they are.”

“My mother was a good woman,” responded Sansa coldly.

“Did you know Jon was terrified of her?” asked Ashara. “Did you know she mistreated him? That Jon learned, very quickly, that to be visibly better than Robb was to suffer?”

Sansa didn’t answer. She did know, but she didn’t know how Ashara knew.

“Do you know what she whispered under her breath when Jon came to visit Bran Stark, when he laid there, comatose?” breathed Ashara. “‘It should have been him,’ is what she said, of Jon.”

“I don’t believe you,” responded Sansa.

“Well then, believe this…” Ashara leaned in. “‘It was for love,’” she said in a higher voice, clearly imitating Sansa. “‘Father wouldn't even give me leave to say farewell. He was going to take me back to Winterfell and marry me to some hedge knight, even though it was Joff I wanted. I told him, but he wouldn't listen.’”

Sansa went pure white. She stared at Ashara in horror. “How do you know that?” she asked.

“It doesn’t matter to you,” replied Ashara. “I know it. Does your sister? Does Jon Targaryen?”

Sansa turned and fled, horrified.

Chapter Text

The day came that it was time to launch the invasion of Westeros.

The crowds cheered as Daenerys, escorted by the full Imperial Guard, rode a white horse from the gates of the Palace down to the port where her flagship awaited. Most of the legions had taken to sea already; the waters off the coast were full of ships as far as the eye could see, nearly all of them holding the Amethyst sigil on their white sails, apart from but a few. Black Betha bore the onion sigil of House Seaworth. Nymeria bore the direwolf of House Stark. Arya and Sansa would be travelling together on her ship.

Jon rode at Daenerys’s side alongside Allyria and Ashara, Arthur at the head of the column keeping a wary eye on the mass of people watching the Empress and her family depart.

They reached the port without issue and the Imperial Guard broke apart to board their ships, two dozen finding lodging on the Imperial flagship. It was a massive ship, one of if not the largest Jon had ever seen.

“What’s she named?” asked Jon.

“Amethyst Dawn,” replied Daenerys.

Waiting on the deck were eleven members of the Elder Council, including Tyrion, Bu Dai, and Doniphos. They all bowed for the Empress, who respectfully bowed back slightly, as the crew sprang into motion as the escorts and servants came aboard behind their Empress. They were led up a small set of stairs to a second floor, where inside a hallway were a few cabins. Central of all was Dany’s own suite, with a small solar, separate bedchamber, and private privy. Next to her on either side was one for Ashara, and one for Allyria. Jon was given one a level down, but still on the deck level, next to the ship’s captain, a Pentoshi man named Groleo. He had actually served Daenerys since before she had ever set foot in what had then been Slaver’s Bay- he had been the captain of her ship Balerion that she took from Qarth to Yunkai, before her famous sacking of that city. Opposite Groleo from Jon was Arthur. Tyrion and the other Elder Councilors were given a set of cabins on the level just below the deck.

“Naturally, the journey where my cabin isn’t next to hers is this one,” said Tyrion to Jon jokingly. Jon looked at him, confused. Tyrion’s face suddenly became awkward. “It’s nothing.”

Jon suddenly remembered Tyrion’s cabin had been directly next to Dany’s on the ship journey from Dragonstone to White Harbor.

He and she had not been quiet.

Jon felt ill and didn’t think it was the swaying of the ship.

Learning Dany was Lyanna Stark’s daughter in blood had made it even worse for Jon to remember that. He’d be ashamed at the thoughts of what Eddard Stark would think of it... if Jon didn’t blame Eddard Stark for most of it. If he hadn’t wanted Jon to fall in love with his sister, he should have told him he had a sister.

Tyrion was not the only one inclined to joke about it, Jon discovered to his disgust.

When he knocked on Dany’s cabin to check on Ghost, who had taken to the sunbeams her large cabin windows afforded, her eyes narrowed when she opened the door.

“Gods dammit,” said Jon, “you’re my sister, and I know it this time.”

Daenerys smirked and let Jon in to see that Ghost was happily sunning himself. Jon looked out and saw Volantis and Essos behind them, the seas as far as he could see filled with gemstone sails. Not far off he saw Nymeria . The warships- mostly those of the Iron Fleet- were at the head of the armada, protecting the transports. Other ships of the Iron Fleet- those the raiders had designed to be able to be pulled ashore- were loaded up with as many horses and their riders as they could carry. Infantry and archers could be transported ashore by rowboats. Horses, not so much. Many more would need to wait to disembark until they had secured a port.

“Was it like this in your first invasion?” asked Jon.

“More,” said Daenerys. “Even more. A hundred thousand Dothraki. Thousands of Unsullied. And dragons.”

There was a loud roar overhead right then, reminding Jon that Dany had more dragons this time than she had in the past. Six were accompanying the legions. Drogon their leader.

The fleet sailed west along the Orange Coast west of Volantis. Staying close to the shores of Imperial territory kept them out of the Raven’s all-sight, but they were sure such a large armada would not go unnoticed by the naval forces loyal to King’s Landing. Yara had sent out picket ships, and sure enough, Westerosi scout ships had been sighted. The Ironborn had engaged and struck first blood as the armada crept along the coast.

“That’s Lys,” said Daenerys, pointing at an island off their port side as she, Tyrion, and Jon stood on the deck.

“The pleasure island,” said Tyrion. “They say the Lyseni are the most beautiful women in the world. Famous for their brothels. They call them ‘pillow houses.’”

“You speaking from experience?” asked Jon.

“Unfortunately no. Though I imagine their trade has taken a downturn with the abolishment of slavery.”

“Less than you’d think,” said Daenerys. “They’re no longer enslaved, but the pillow houses of Lys still thrive. By the choice of their employees, rather than the tyranny of masters. Yara assures me their services are as good as freedmen and freedwomen as they ever were as slaves.”

“We should stop there for a day or two,” said Tyrion. “Surely it wouldn’t set us back much.”

Jon was not entirely opposed to the idea. Not until Daenerys leaned in and whispered to him. “They all look like me.”

“We should go far away,” said Jon swiftly. “As far away as we possibly can and never return.”

“Cheater,” grumbled Tyrion at Daenerys.

“I am the Empress,” responded Daenerys. “My word is law. And my word is, you can travel to Lys as often as you want... after we have dealt with our business in Westeros.”

It was not far off Lys that they saw a small fleet of ships approaching. Their sails were purple, and painted on them was the white sigil of a sword crossed with a falling star.

“Cousin Edric!” said Daenerys, delighted.

The Lord of Starfall, Edric Dayne, had sailed to join them.

His ship was allowed into the Imperial fleet, and pulled alongside the Amethyst Dawn. The flagship dropped anchor, as did the Dayne ship in the lead. A gangplank was extended, and across came a young man with pale blond hair and eyes that were so deep a blue they almost looked purple.

Jon’s first thought was that he had immediately understood why, according to Lady Ashara, even if his father had known in his heart who Daenerys was, he had been unable to challenge Ashara about who was Daenerys’s mother. Between Lord Edric’s hair and Ashara’s eyes, there indeed was a form of resemblance, even if hidden beneath her color was Lyanna Stark’s daughter.

Daenerys strode forward and hugged Edric, who returned it tightly. “Cousin,” said Edric.

Ashara and Allyria came forward next and hugged him as well. Arthur mussed the young man’s hair fondly. They exchanged warm greetings.

“Jon Targaryen,” introduced Daenerys. “Lord Edric of House Dayne. Lord of Starfall.”

Jon strode forward and extended his hand. After a split second’s hesitation, Edric took it and shook. “Your Grace,” he responded.

“Lord Edric,” greeted Jon.

“We weren’t expecting you,” said Arthur.

“Plans changed,” said Edric. He looked at Daenerys. “The Raven has sent word throughout the Seven Kingdoms of your return. Princess Martell has not determined who she shall side with. We felt it safer to join House Dayne to your cause now, rather than wait for Martell spears to surround us.”

“You left Starfall undefended?” asked Arthur, slightly indignantly.

“Not entirely. Enough to hold against a siege. Not enough to withstand one.”

Daenerys nodded. “If they attack Starfall, we can break their siege with dragons.”

“There’s more,” said Edric. “”Word is that the Raven has sent Princes Martell word of your true parentage.”

“Which true parentage?” asked Arthur.

Edric looked meaningful at Daenerys. “Child of three.”

“Daughter of death,” finished Daenerys. “He has not sent word of that to the North, I presume?”

“Not that we know of.”

“It’d lead to the Northern lords turning on him, maybe,” said Jon.

“Who else knows?” asked Edric.

“Jon, Tyrion Lannister, and Arya Stark,” said the Empress. “In addition to my family, of course.”

“Aye,” agreed Jon. “Her family.” He gave a pointed glance at Edric.

“Good,” said Edric.

“We’ll have quarters prepared for you on the Amethyst Dawn if you would care,” said Dany.

“That would be most welcome,” said Edric. “I’d like to get the measure of the new King.”

Jon bowed his head slightly. “A man who made a terrible mistake,” he said. “And thanks whatever gods are listening that his mistake was undone.”

“There is only one god you should be thanking,” said a voice from behind Jon. He turned to see a red priestess standing there, smiling faintly at him. “And that god is the one true God.”

“Jon, may I introduce you to Lady Kinvara,” said Daenerys. “High Priestess of R’hllor. First Servant of the Lord of Light.”

“You were the one who brought the Empress back?” asked Jon. Kinvara nodded her head, still smiling serenely. Jon noticed Tyrion was deeply uneasy of Kinvara. “Then my thanks. I don’t think there’s any better way to put it than I fucked up.”

“It is my honor to serve the Lord of Light, and the Lord’s chosen champions,” replied Kinvara. “And his chosen Empress, the Lightbringer.”

Jon couldn’t think of anything more to say. Kinvara bowed to Daenerys and went below decks.

“I’ve never been entirely at ease around Red Priests,” said Tyrion. “Except for Thoros of Myr, but he was usually drunk. Which I sympathized with.”

“He was a good man,” said Jon. “Aye. Melisandre brought me back and even after that she still gave me the creeps. Of course, she’d burnt Shireen Baratheon…”

Tyrion glanced at Jon. “To bring you back?” he asked.

Jon shook his head. “No. To change the weather.”

“Good. Well, not good. But I hate to imagine how Daenerys would be if someone had been burnt to bring her back to life…”

“It’d have destroyed her,” agreed Jon. He looked over Tyrion. “You seem scared of her in particular, though.”

“She once told me that so long as we served the same Queen, we were on the same side,” said Tyrion. “And then I betrayed Daenerys.”

“You’re not alone.” Jon sighed. “Does it feel right? It hasn’t been ten years.”

Tyrion shook his head. “It never felt right, did it?”

Jon closed his eyes. “No. Because it wasn’t. And we both knew it.”

“Stop that brooding,” said Daenerys, her eyes narrowed. “If you look back, you are lost.”

It was the Stepstones that they expected the first difficulties to sail the armada through.

The Stepstones were an island chain stretching from the Broken Arm of Dorne across to what were once called the Disputed Lands, dividing the Summer Sea on the South and the Narrow Sea to the North. The islands had once been a den of pirates, disputed territory between the former Free Cities of Myr, Tyrosh, and Lys, and the Seven Kingdoms on the other side. Daenerys and the Imperial authorities had cleaned the Stepstones out of pirates to establish safe shipping lanes between the northern Free Cities- Pentos, Braavos, and Lorath- and Volantis, the Bay of Dragons, and the Furthest East.

The armada stuck close to the Essosian coast, sailing between the mainland and Tyrosh.

A Westerosi fleet was waiting as they entered the Narrow Sea.

“Redwyne sails,” said Tyrion, peering at the mass of ships that had their sails at battle speed. They were nearly all warships, as best as Tyrion could see.

“I’d imagine every single one of those are loaded with scorpions, aye?” asked Jon, as they stood at the bow.

“Most likely many of them.”

“You don’t need to remind me,” said Daenerys. Tyrion could see in her eyes she was remembering that day, of watching Rhaegal getting speared by scorpion bolts… helpless. He still thought it was… stupid and sad.

“We outnumber them significantly but most of our ships are transports, not warships. And even if we don’t bring forth the dragons, those scorpions will outrange us.”

“Yara has command of the naval matters,” said Daenerys. Ahead of them the Imperial warships were pulling ahead of the transports, sailing out to meet the Redwyne fleet head-on. “And we may have a few surprises for them.”

Tyrion suddenly realized that he could see the shapes of scorpions on the Imperial warships as well. But there was something different about their ammo…

“I hate those things,” admitted Daenerys, “but I had to admit, how effective they were against us at range… knowing that my enemies would surely load their ships with as many as they could bear, I had to find an answer. Fortunately, we have made some improvements as well.”

They could see the form of Yara Greyjoy herself manning the scorpion on the bow of her ship, the Theon Greyjoy . She fired.

When the bolt hit a Redwyne ship, it exploded, tearing a huge gash in the side. Tyrion’s eyes widened in surprise.

“A gift from Yi Ti,” said Dany. “A powder that ignites when it makes contact with fire. Enough of it, and…”

The Westerosi ships launched bolts of their own, but the warships of the Imperial fleet- in direct comparison to the transport that Tyrion so vividly remembered being on when Euron had ambushed them near Dragonstone- were made of thicker wood. The Redwyne bolts stuck to their holds and did not penetrate.

The Iron Fleet and other warships moved their sails to full, and began closing the gap, launching exploding bolts at the opposing ships all the while. They could see Imperial soldiers, wearing light armor in case they fell into the ocean below, preparing to board.

“My legions are skilled on land,” said Daenerys. “How does one use that advantage at sea?”

An Iron Fleet warship rammed into a Redwyne ship, and dropped a spiked gangplank on the stern onto the enemy ship. Imperial soldiers charged across, the two ships latched together by the boarding platform.

“Turn it into a land battle,” finished Arthur.

As the Redwyne ships continued to desperately try and fend off the Imperial ships, with their exploding bolts, there was a loud roar- from behind them.

Drogon had led his dragon friends to their rear. The Imperial dragons attacked from the sky, as Daenerys had done to decimate the Iron Fleet seven years ago.

A bolt launched and hit Drogon. It bounced off his scales, harder than ever due to his age.

It was not long after that the Redwyne ships started to strike their sails and surrender. Half of their fleet- the strongest fleet in Westeros- had been destroyed outright. More that could were trying to escape. Drogon roared at the other dragons, clearly issuing orders, in a way, to keep the younger ones from pursuing. His scales were hard enough to resist the scorpion bolts- not theirs.

“First blood to the Empire,” said Jon.

The path into the Narrow Sea was open.

“Seventeen,” said Yara, having come aboard to make reports to the Empress. “Seventeen ships lost. But seventy two were captured. I’m sending Ironborn over to man them and keep an eye on the sailors.”

“We can stop them over in Pentos and find sailors,” said Daenerys.

“Aye, and Braavos.”

The swollen armada continued to press northwards. The captured ships sailed ahead, to Pentos and Braavos, to replace the captured Westerosi sailors with loyal Imperial citizens.

“Pentos is where you married Drogo, right?” asked Jon as they passed the Bay of Pentos. They couldn’t see the city itself, but Daenerys had pointed it out.

“It was,” said Dany.

“What happened to Illyrio Mopatis?”

Dany frowned. “He’s still alive. He lobbied me for a seat on the Elder Council, but I do not trust him. Not one bit. He did me both a great wrong, forcing me to marry… but also a great boon. Three dragon eggs. And Drogo and I did grow to care for one another… in a way.”

Seven years ago, Jon had felt a jealous twinge every time Daenerys had spoken of her husband. Now, though, he felt… nothing. Regret, yes, that Dany had suffered through what she had gone through. That they had lost the chance to bond all their lives as the brother and sister they were.

“Have you been to Braavos since you were brought back?” asked Jon, trying to move the topic to happier times.

“I have.”

“Did you ever find your house? With the red door?”

Daenerys sighed through her nose and closed her eyes. “It was never in Braavos.”

Jon furrowed his brows. “Then where was it?”

“I haven’t… I don’t know. I suspect my grandf- Lord Dayne, my mother’s father, would have known. But she, my uncle, they were both gone and lost track of me, until I was with Viserys. I don’t know where I was, just that it was not Braavos.”

“You’ll find it,” assured Jon. “I’m sure you will.”

“Someday…”

Daenerys turned and walked along the railing sadly.

Jon again felt a horrid stab of guilt. He knew he hadn’t had the best childhood, compared to his ‘trueborn siblings.’ Compared to what he would have gotten if Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen had lived.

But he had had a home. He had a family that loved him.

Dany had Viserys, and the life of the exiled.

And he still didn’t know why he had been afforded his life, but she had been cast out. A lone wolf.

Nothing made sense about it to Jon. He wanted to- needed to- talk to someone about it. But Davos didn’t know the secret, and in any case was on his own ship. Not far off, but out of easy speaking range. Tyrion knew, but Jon didn’t think he could answer Jon’s questions.

There were only two people Jon felt could answer his questions, or that he would at least like to speak to it about.

Jon wondered if Uncle Benjen had known who he was. If he’d known that he wasn’t the only babe Lyanna had borne.

But the only one who could guarantee answers to all Jon’s questions was Eddard Stark himself, and his answers had died with him when Ilyn Payne took his head off outside the Great Sept of Baelor.

It kept Jon up at night. Laying in bed, thinking. Ghost curled up at the foot of the bed- at least, when the direwolf wasn’t with Daenerys. In truth Jon realized now that that must have been why Ghost took to her so fiercely.

The wolf had a keen sense of smell. Surely he had smelled what Jon had only seen when he had beheld his true mother’s face, unpainted. Free of color, it was obvious Daenerys was her daughter.

That face wasn’t the only one that floated through Jon’s mind at night. Picturing his father’s- for that was how he still thought of Eddard Stark- face. Jon didn’t know how he’d react if, by some miracle, he was allowed to speak with Ned Stark again.

Anger… anger mostly. Not so much for the secrets he’d kept from Jon, about his mother and father.

But for his sister. The lone wolf.

This revelation had shaken Jon to his core even deeper than learning his true parentage. Because that revelation, Jon understood. Ned had certainly promised Lyanna to keep her son safe. Not to sit him on the Iron Throne… which, Jon knew, was about as far from keeping him safe as was possible. And Jon had had… a decent childhood. Robb was as good a brother as Jon could have hoped for. Arya was, of course, the best sister possible.

Had Lyanna not made Ned promise to protect her daughter? She had loved Ashara, surely. Had splitting the babes been her idea? Trust one to her wife, one to her brother?

Had Ned promised to protect both her babes… and decided the best way to protect Daenerys was to keep her separate?

Had he broken his promise because Daenerys’s silver hair and purple eyes made her true parentage obvious? Because Ned had feared, in the North, there would be those clever enough to look upon her face and see Lyanna Stark reborn as a dragon?

Hells, Jon wondered… was Rhaegar Targaryen hidden beneath his black hair and grey eyes? With silver hair and purple eyes, would anyone look at Jon and think anything more than ‘Rhaegar Targaryen’s son’? Jon didn’t know.

Robert Baratheon would not have suffered any child of Rhaegar Targaryen to live. He had believed Daenerys merely his sister, and Jon knew her death had been something he desired greatly. She had been born after both her actual father and her presumed father had died. An innocent babe.

Sentenced to death by the King of Westeros from the moment she left the womb, for the crime of bearing the Targaryen name.

And Ned Stark had not protected her as he had Jon.

Jon wanted answers. He knew he and Arya- who was just as confused by this as Jon himself was- would tear Winterfell apart in their search for answers. Hiding it from Sansa would be another matter entirely… except for the fact that Jon knew she would have to be told eventually.

How would she react? Would she throw herself at Daenerys’s feet and beg forgiveness on grounds of kinship- an act that Jon was sure would only serve to infuriate Daenerys more, given what she had said about wanting to be judged for her actions, not her blood? Or would she refuse to believe it, accuse it of being lies, a trick?

Would the Northern lords even believe it, if they were told? Or would they refuse? Even if they could see it to be true, would they prefer to continue believing that it was a lie, rather than face the truth that the woman they hated… was one of them all along?

Jon had no clue. He was dreading discovering the answer. It could lead to peace… or it could lead to Jon sundering himself from the North for all time.

Because Dany was his sister. As Stark as he was. If they accepted him as a Stark, but rejected her… Jon would not suffer it.

If the North rejected his sister, Jon would reject them.

The armada continued northwards.

“Scout ships say that the Raven has amassed a colossal naval force at Blackwater Bay,” said Yara a week or so later. “He means to keep us from approaching King’s Landing.”

“Could we win?” asked Daenerys.

Yara considered her answer. “Aye, we could… but it would be hard fought.”

“They won’t be expecting what we’re actually doing, then,” said Jon. “To be-”

“Shhhhhhhhhhhh!” hissed Daenerys. Jon fell silent at once. “We’re on the borderline of his sight and Essos. We cannot confirm that he cannot see us currently.”

They met in Dany’s solar, which the servants had replaced to be a large meeting room, with a large map of the North over the table.

Kinvara came in and chanted some in Valyrian, marking sigils in ash on the walls. As the Elder Council stood around waiting and watching, she finally turned.

“We’re sanctified,” she said. “We’re safe from his sight.”

They gathered around the table. It was a bit of a tight squeeze.

“We’re a few weeks from reaching White Harbor,” said Daenerys. “No matter what our plans are, we must have that city.”

“Aye,” confirmed Jon. “It’s the only real city in the whole of the North. Nothing like Volantis, or King’s Landing, but still, a deep water port with enough docks to unload the whole force.”

“We can expect it to be held against us, is what you are saying?” asked Dai, an eyebrow raised.

“If they’re smart,” said Jon. “Our plan was to hope that Lord Manderly would come over to our side, once he saw that I was alive, and Bran had framed Sansa. But the news we got that he’s Bran’s Hand of the King now, that makes it a bit more difficult.”

“Lord Wyman will be in King’s Landing, I presume,” said Tyrion. “Traditionally, his son will now rule in his name.”

“Aye,” agreed Jon. “As Robb ruled Winterfell and the North when Lord Eddard was Robert Baratheon’s hand, so Wylis Manderly will be in charge in White Harbor. It’s unlikely we’ll be able to convince him to turn to our side. It’d put his father in terrible danger. Or his father would be forced to name him a traitor.”

“Is there a chance the Northern army will be assembled outside King’s Landing?” asked Doniphos. “Admiral Greyjoy reported that most of their fleet is at Blackwater Bay. Could they have brought all their forces to defend what they thought would be an attack on the capital?”

Jon looked at Tyrion. “I don’t think so,” said the dwarf. “Not if he was clever. He’d have hedged his bets. He’d have realized if he could not win at sea, he could not hold King’s Landing. Much of the city was still indefensible. It’s more symbolic now than strategic.”

“If they hold White Harbor against us,” said Dai, “can they repel our attack?”

“We must assume that once Bran warged into Samwell Tarly to confirm that Daenerys was the Amethyst Empress, he began preparing for dragons. We can expect he had copies made of Qyburn’s scorpion designs and sent to every castle, holdfast, city, maybe even farm in Westeros.”

“We should not need the dragons to take White Harbor,” said Daenerys.

“We should not use them on a city,” said Jon.

Jon glanced up to see Daenerys, Ashara, and Allyria all glaring at him. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean it like that. Obviously, I know, it was the poison…”

Dany nodded. “It’s okay.”

“The plan is,” said Arthur, “we’ll land forces around the city. A dragon will blow a hole in the wall. The legions will take the city. They know their orders. No looting, raping, massacres. Just take the city. Cleanly.”

“How many troops can we get ashore?” asked Jon.

“Mostly foot. Some cavalry. Enough to take the city, and defend against any relief attacks, easily.”

“I’ll never forget when the Lannister and Tyrell armies arrived at the Battle of the Blackwater,” said Tyrion. “Stannis had the battle won, until my father arrived. We can’t allow any last reinforcements to turn the tide at the last moment.”

“Our first priority should be to take the ports,” said Jon. “Take the docks, and we can unload all our troops and supplies.”

“I agree,” said Daenerys. She took a deep sigh. “Does anyone else have any concerns?”

None currently did.

When Jon went back to his cabin, he heard a gentle knock on the door. “Enter,” he called out, knowing who it would be.

Daenerys stepped in. “How are you doing?” she asked.

Jon smiled. “I should be the one asking you that,” he said. “It can’t be easy to be going back to Westeros… to the North.”

Daenerys closed her eyes and sighed. “I’m not who I was then,” she said. “And I know who they are. But they are still your people.”

Jon chuckled sadly. “Aye,” he said. “I grew up in the North. I learned at the foot of Eddard Stark. I learned all about Northern honor. They chose me as King. Why? Because I’ve got Stark blood?”

“Because they knew you,” responded Daenerys gently.

“Aye. They did.” Bitterness was dripping from Jon’s tongue. “Like they should have known you.”

Dany smiled sadly and sat next to him on his bed. “Are you sure you want to find the answers you seek?” she asked.

“Don’t you?” asked Jon.

“Eddard Stark raised you well. He made you the man you are. I was not blessed with such. But now that I have a mother, I know how hard it is to question your parents. I would almost rather you live to the ideal of Eddard Stark, more than have him torn down in your mind.”

Jon sighed. “The thing is… I’m already assuming the worst. That his sister made him promise to protect her children, and he willfully threw one of them to the side because he was afraid of the consequences that would befall those children he sired.”

Dany stayed silent for a moment. “I don’t know,” she admitted.

“Neither do I. I never really felt… at home at Winterfell. I wonder if that was because, on a deeper level, I knew that there was someone missing. You and I would have been best friends, Dany. It would have been… better to have another ‘outsider’ there.”

“Probably,” said Daenerys.

“Instead… I feel selfish.” Jon put his head in his hands. “I remember so many times wishing father would look at me and say, ‘Jon, you are as true a son as Robb, I have asked the King to legitimize you as a Stark.’ All the while, you were growing up on the streets of the Free Cities, with only Viserys, starving…”

“Suffering is not relative,” consoled Daenerys. “You can’t measure it against each other. You knew nothing different.”

“Aye, but you should have.”

Dany put her hand on Jon’s back comfortingly. “I just want to make sure, Jon, you don’t change. Eddard Stark raised you, and you’re a good man. As I said, probably the best man I’ve ever met in my life. Don’t forget that, even if what we find at Winterfell… isn’t what you want to hear. If there is anything to find.”

“I don’t even know if my uncle Benjen-” Jon stopped himself before correcting- “OUR uncle Benjen knew about me. He certainly didn’t know about you, I’m sure.”

“I might have Stark blood, Jon,” said Daenerys, “but I’m not a Stark. Just as it was so hard for you to accept your Targaryen heritage seven years ago. We aren’t defined by our blood.”

“Aye. Every Stark you’ve ever met has mistreated you. By contrast, the two Targaryens I’ve met have both been some of the most amazing people.”

“Maester Aemon?” asked Daenerys, remembering Jon’s stories of the kind, but very elderly Targaryen that had served as maester for the Night’s Watch.

“He was a great man. He wanted so badly to meet you.”

“I wish he could have.”

“He gave me a wise saying. ‘A Targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing.’” Jon sighed. “And seven years ago, you were alone. You had experienced such losses… and everyone turned against you. Especially me.”

“You had just discovered something that threw your whole life off balance. You didn’t have time to process that before I was leading us into another war. Before we separated, you leading the soldiers from Winterfell, me… sailing to Dragonstone. It’s easier to recognize our mistakes after we’ve made them than before. And we all made many mistakes. Me most of all.”

Jon smiled sadly. “You’re not the one who murdered an innocent woman who is your sister.”

“But I trusted a spider who had already tried to kill me once before. And I knew he was trying to poison me, and that he had helpers.” She sighed and leaned onto her knees. “We can’t focus on our mistakes. Here we are again. We are who we are. You’re a good man. Regardless of what we discover at Winterfell. I just want you to remember that.”

“I will,” said Jon. “I won’t let another discovery change who I am. Just don’t let it change who you are. A good woman.”

Chapter Text

When the Amethyst Dawn came into sight of White Harbor, they could already see that the docks were held against them. The city’s walls had a few scorpions. Not nearly as many as King’s Landing seven years ago, but more than a few.

Ironborn ships had already pulled ashore outside of arrow and bolt range from the walls to establish beachheads, Imperial legionnaires fanning out to protect against any Northern attacks as their forces poured ashore.

“Landing troops on those docks right now would be suicide,” observed Jon. The Manderly forces were holding the docks to prevent a landing.

“Agreed,” said Arthur.

Jon looked over as Daenerys came up from below decks. She was wearing a heavy white coat now, rather than a dress. It was still cold, even though spring was here. If Jon didn’t recognize that its accents were purple instead of red, he’d have thought it was the same coat Daenerys had worn seven years ago, at the Battle for Winterfell. Over top was still her silver chain, her half-cape still flowing over her shoulder and down her back.

“Nice coat,” offered Jon.

Daenerys raised an eyebrow playfully. “If I knew you admired my wardrobe, I could have had similar ones made for you.”

“I’m a Northerner. I prefer to dress the part.”

Allyria joined them a moment later. She was wearing a heavy white coat of her own, with a Dayne sash. “So this is the North,” she said. “Colder than I expected.”

“Not half as cold as the people,” replied Daenerys. She glanced at the coast, where the Imperial Guard were swarming ashore, preparing for her to climb on a boat and make landfall. She rubbed her amethyst. Jon almost felt it was glowing slightly, but possibly it was the light.

Jon saw the Nymeria launching a boat. He could see the red hair of Sansa from here as she and Arya made for the shore.

Tyrion stepped next to them, along with Bu Dai. “Nervous?” he asked.

Jon scoffed. “They all think I’m dead. That Sansa killed me.”

“I don’t expect they will be throwing themselves at your feet to beg forgiveness,” observed Dai.

“Not when they see who we came with,” said Jon sadly.

“If they have not heard anything of how the Empire is nothing like what they feared she would be, then they are fools,” said Dai.

The members of the Imperial Guard on the Amethyst Dawn climbed into their boats, and Daenerys, Jon, Allyria, Ashara, Tyrion, and the other Elder Councilors aboard behind them. They were lowered gently into the waves, and sailors began rowing them ashore.

For Jon, this did not much feel like a homecoming. He smelled the crisp air of the north, and realized… he wanted nothing more than to have stayed beyond the Wall. To have reconnected with Daenerys, buried the hatchet as they had, and returned to the wildlings. Maybe found a woman to love.

But this was where duty had led him.

They made landfall and Arya joined them at once. Sansa trailed along at her own pace, her mixed emotions showing on her face. She was glad to be back in the North, yes… but not at all happy about the manner of her return.

Still, they all noted, she had the Stark sash on over her furs.

“We should send word to negotiate,” she said.

“Aye,” agreed Jon. A rider was sent to the gates of White Harbor, bearing a white flag.

“What happens if they say no?” asked Sansa.

They all looked at Daenerys.

“That depends on the manner of their no,” she said. “The smallfolk will not be harmed, you have my word.”

The rider returned an hour or so later. He was allowed straight through to the command tents, where he knelt before Daenerys and Jon.

“Your Majesty, Your Grace,” he said. “The enemy commander will agree to a parley. Limited to six guards each.”

“Can we trust it?” asked Dany to Sansa and Jon.

“They’re Northerners,” said Sansa. “Their word is their bond. They don’t break their oaths.”

Sansa did not miss the faces of Tyrion, Daenerys, Jon, and even Arya darkening. It confused her. Yes, she could see Daenerys having distaste for ‘Northern Honor’. Even Jon, given that father had never told him the truth. But Arya?

As the Imperial forces continued to build up their siege of White Harbor, Arthur led the Imperial parley forward. Jon, Sansa, Daenerys, Arya, Tyrion, Davos, Ashara, Allyria. Their guards besides Arthur were Brienne and Pod, and three additional guardsmen.

Before them, out of the gates, rode Lord Wylis Manderly, son of Lord Wyman, merman banners fluttering above, opposing the Stark, Targaryen, and Imperial banners of the Imperial forces.

“Lord Wylis,” greeted Sansa, before anyone else could speak.

Wylis was accompanied by his sister, Wylla, his maester Theomore, his commander and cousin Marlon Manderly, and five additional guards.

“Sansa Stark,” responded Lord Wylis, looking at the other side. His eyes narrowed dangerously when they landed on Daenerys, but he could not hide some shock when they next landed on Jon.

Arya watched the Northerners on the other side. Wylis, Wylla, Marlon, and Theomore all looked nervous, but composed. Some of the guards, though, were looking terrified, staring at Daenerys as if they were looking at an actual dragon.

One, though, the one on the furthest right, was fidgeting. Nervous. Sweating. Arya leaned into Arthur Dayne. “The one on the right,” she whispered. “He’s terrified. Desperate.”

Arthur gave her a glance, but as he studied the man, his eyes narrowed. “Well spotted,” he said.

“We ask you to stand down your city and remember your family’s allegiance to House Stark,” continued Sansa to Wylis. “As you can see, Bran framed me on false pretenses. I did not kill Jon.”

“Clearly,” said Wylis. “But my allegiance to House Stark cannot be questioned. Your allegiances, though… the Mad Queen, Sansa Stark?”

Daenerys did not look ashamed, though her eyes did narrow. “The truth-”

“I don’t give credence to the words of monsters!” snarled Wylis. “Shut your evil lips before I forget myself and avenge those you slaughtered, whore.” Daenerys’s face hardened.

“The truth of that day was not so simple,” said Jon forcefully. “The Empress was poisoned with a substance known as basilisk’s blood. It drove her to madness.”

Wylis gave a glance at Maester Theomore. “Is there such a poison?”

“It’s very rare,” answered Theomore.

“It’s true,” said Arya.

“It was given to her by the spider, Lord Varys,” said Tyrion. “She was supposed to ‘go mad’ at a time when she could be restrained. Lord Varys wanted Jon to take the Iron Throne. Jon did not want it. He thought it would be the only way to convince Jon to take the throne from her.”

“It was his birthright,” answered Wylis. “If she was truly poisoned, why did the King never speak on it? Bran Stark is the son of Eddard Stark. A good and honorable man.”

“That’s not Bran,” said Arya, giving a slight glare to Sansa. This really should be Sansa speaking, not her, but even if it got her back Winterfell, Sansa was still loathe to speak in support of Daenerys. “It’s something else in his body.”

“Convenient,” spat Wylis, glaring at Daenerys. “An explanation that boosts you, and damns Bran Stark.”

“It’s true,” said Sansa finally. “Bran knew I did not kill Jon, and yet still he told your father I had. He did everything he did in pursuit of power.”

“He told me my parentage knowing it would push me away from her,” said Jon. “But he never told us hers.” Dany, Ashara, and Arya all gave a glance at Jon. “She was never the Mad King’s daughter. She was the daughter of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen… my father. And this is her mother. Lady Ashara Dayne.”

Everyone looked over at Ashara, who sat there proudly. She gave a grateful glance to Jon, for holding to his oath.

Wylis furrowed his brows. It was clear this was not how he was expecting it to go. “And now you wish to place her as Queen in King’s Landing? Bran Stark is King in the South by choice. Not by inheritance. All the Great Lords of the Six Kingdoms agreed with that choice.”

“Only after he had used his sight and powers to remove all other choices,” said Tyrion. “And he is a terrible King.”

“But he is still the king,” retorted Wylis. “You say she was poisoned. Did he tell the spider to do it?”

Jon bit his lip. “No,” he said. “Not that we know, in any case.”

“Did he tell you to kill her?”

Jon scowled at that. “No.”

“I did,” said Arya. “Because before I left Winterfell for King’s Landing, the Raven told me Jon would be in danger. That she was going to go mad and kill all of House Stark.”

All of Arya’s companions looked at her in surprise. She had never mentioned that before. Arya held Wylis’s gaze proudly. “Go ahead,” she barbed. “You trust Bran Stark because he’s Eddard Stark’s son. I am his daughter, and I tell you this. Call me a liar.”

Wylis stared at her, trying to detect a lie, but Arya gave no indication of such. “Be that as it may,” he said, “I am not the head of my House. Yielding White Harbor to you is not in my power. To do such would be to betray my lord father, who has sworn an oath to King Bran. Who is Hand of the King.”

“Based on a lie,” responded Sansa.

“He is the eldest trueborn son of Eddard Stark… the only son left. By rights, he was Lord of Winterfell.”

“He abdicated in my favor. ‘I can’t be Lord of Winterfell,’ is what he said. ‘I can’t be Lord of anything.’”

“Didn’t stop him from accepting the kingship, though,” said Tyrion.

“You are the one who proposed him as such, Lord Tyrion,” responded Wylis.

“A horrific mistake that I regret immensely,” said Tyrion simply.

“Still, oaths are oaths. I will not betray my father, nor his King. I will not yield this city to you. Or shall you burn it to the ground if I don’t?”

Everyone on Dany’s delegation scowled. “Your people will be safe,” promised Daenerys.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Then believe me,” said Jon sternly. “Your father named me King once. I assure you, Lord Wylis, that that is not Bran Stark. It’s something else. Something evil. Something that manipulated everything to see himself on the throne. Just as he manipulated Lady Sansa’s desk, and placed false proof in there. There is no dishonor in yielding when your oaths are based on lies.” He shot a glance at Arya.

“And what oaths have you sworn, Jon Snow?” asked Wylis.

“Jon Targaryen. Aye, I’m the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. And I’ve accepted Her Majesty- my sister’s- offer. Bran is a terrible king. She will place me on the throne in King’s Landing, as King of the Seven Kingdoms. And we will be part of the Empire of the Dawn.”

Wylis spat on the ground. “You might have Northern blood, but you don’t have our honor. Claim what you will about Bran Stark, but he raised my father to Hand. He’s got Stark blood. He’s your kin. If you want this city, take it. King who Knelt. You and your foreign armies, and foreign whores .”

Jon held back Wylis’s gaze. “Aye, then,” he said. “We will.”

The parley groups broke apart. Arya kept her eyes on their delegation as they went off. The guard she had spotted was sweating profusely. None of the others gave him a glance as he lingered.

And then he reached down and lifted a knife.

“KNIFE!” shouted Arya. The man, realizing he was spotted, threw it as hard as he could at Daenerys. The man apparently was good at throwing knives- it flew straight and true, point straight at Daenerys.

For a single, horrifying moment, they all thought she was going to be stabbed.

Then with a loud PING! the knife bounced off her breast. The point had been facing in.

Arya gave a quick glance to the Manderlys. They looked horrified, but not at Daenerys’s survival. At that one of their men had tried to attack her, in a parley.

“Grab him!” shouted Wylis. The other guards grabbed him and threw him to his knees, taking his weapons from him. Marlon searched him for more knives.

“She’s going to kill my children,” said the man, weeping in terror. “She’s gonna burn the city down, and kill my wife and children.” He became incoherent in his terrified sobbing.

“I offer my most sincere apologies,” said Wylis quickly. “That was not by my order.”

“You should have selected your guards better,” said Arthur, stepping forward. The Imperial Guards grabbed the terrified man and dragged him over to their side. The Manderlys did not protest. The man shrieked in terror.

“Please don’t hurt my family,” he begged through his sobs.

Arthur drew Dawn and readied it.

“STOP!” ordered Daenerys. Her uncle gave her an incredulous glance. She approached the man. She knelt in front of him.

“I am not going to burn the city,” she said gently. The man wept in terror.

“He broke the traditions of parley,” said Arthur. “His life is forfeit. He is wrong to be terrified of such.”

Daenerys glanced up at her uncle. “You know that. We know that. But does he? Or does he have the words of his lords and history telling him such?”

Daenerys turned to face the Manderlys. “Release him,” she ordered her guards. Arthur bit back a scowl, but he did as ordered. The man stumbled over to his lines. “Deal with him as you please. I recommend mercy. I understand his terror. But I swear, it was poison that drove me to burn King’s Landing.”

Wylis looked at her with a new, interested gaze. It was obvious he had started to believe her. “I still cannot surrender the city to you,” he said. “I rule in my father’s name, and my father is Hand to King Bran.”

“I understand. But we will be taking this city. You cannot defend against us. Your own eyes should tell you such. There is no dishonor in yielding when you cannot win. Sparing the lives of your soldiers. Especially when what is coming is coming. The White Walkers are stirring beyond the Wall again.”

Wylis went completely pale. He had fought against the White Walkers before… he had survived the Battle of Winterfell.

“Aye,” said Jon, striding forward. “I know it to be true. They’re the ones who attacked Hardhome. Whatever’s in Bran’s body, it used that attack to frame Sansa for my death. A death he knew wasn’t true. You say he’s of House Stark, but Sansa is. She ruled as Queen, and she did well, didn’t she? Bran framed her. She’d have died if she’d fallen into his hands.”

Wylis bit his lip. It was obvious he was tormented by his decision. He knew he couldn’t win, but his father was Hand of the King in King’s Landing. He wanted to yield…

“I can’t,” he said. “My father… I can’t betray him.”

It had been worth a shot. “You’ll be treated with honor,” said Daenerys comfortingly, “when the city is in our hands.”

Again, the parley groups drew apart.

Jon found himself next to Arya. He looked at her, confused. “You never said Bran had warned you that Daenerys was going to go mad and endanger me,” he said.

“No, I didn’t,” said Arya.

“Why not?”

Arya bit her lip and glanced at Jon. “Because I was telling him what he needed to hear.”

Jon understood, though he sighed. “Lying isn’t the best way to earn their trust, Arya,” he said.

“We all know what the Raven did,” defended Arya. “He played us like pieces on a cyvasse board, turned us all against her. If they’re too dumb to see it themselves, there’s nothing wrong with helping them. If it can save their lives… get them to stand down. Side with us.”

Jon still didn’t much like it, but he had to nod. “Let’s just hope they don’t think their walls and scorpions give them a chance to defeat us. We attack soon.”

In the end, though, the math did not bear out for House Manderly.

Their numbers had recovered from the War of the Five Kings, the Bolton rule over the North, the Battle of Winterfell, and the winter. But even at their strongest, House Manderly could only boast 1,500 soldiers.

They were facing off against tens of thousands of soldiers of the Gemstone Legions.

“I should be there,” said Jon as their soldiers formed up to begin the attack. “Fighting with our men.”

“You are a king,” said Daenerys. “All it takes is one soldier with a crossbow and a death wish.”

They watched as Drogon swooped low along the walls, burning the scorpions. Most were unmanned, the soldiers fleeing for their lives rather than continue to hold their ground against the gigantic dragon. Only a few fired, but all missed.

Once the gates were clear of scorpions, the dragon then landed on the ground before them. Far larger than he was seven years ago, he did not use his fire to burn the gates to ash. Instead, he smashed it repeatedly with his huge tail, throwing his massive weight into the blows, until with a splintering of wood, they fell into the city. He roared at the soldiers who stood inside, his hot breath blowing over them in waves, even as he didn’t unleash his flames.

To a man, they threw down their swords and fled, leaving nobody to hold the gates against the advancing legions.

It was not long after that, with little combat, that the city surrendered.

“No bells?” asked Jon.

“I’ve never known bells to mean surrender,” said Davos. “I kind of forgot that seven years ago.”

The Manderly troops who surrendered were free to go. Imperial troops secured the docks and began assisting the ships still at sea in unloading their passengers- most specifically, the horses.

Wylis Manderly came before Daenerys, Jon, and Sansa, and though he did not kneel, he offered them his sword as a token of surrender.

The Empress and King decided to allow Sansa the latitude in this matter.

“You will continue your rule over the city under our oversight,” she said to Wylis. “Until such a time as the fate of your House can be determined.”

Wylis bowed and returned to the New Keep to keep things peaceful between his people and the Imperial forces. Maester Theomore was put to task sending ravens throughout the North, announcing that Sansa had returned, was innocent of the crime accused of, that Bran Stark was not truly himself anymore, and that all lords of the North were expected to renew their oaths of fealty and repent to her, the trueborn daughter of House Stark, and rightful Lady of Winterfell, Wardeness of the North in the name of King Jon Targaryen and the Amethyst Empress of the Dawn.

Any who defied them would be rooted out of their keeps and dealt with as oathbreakers.

“Punish not the child for the sins of the father,” said Jon once Wylis was gone.

“He made his own choice,” replied Sansa coldly.

“Aye, and what choice would you have made if it was your father’s life on the line?”

Sansa glanced at Aryam who was watching her closely. She remembered that Arya knew full well of the letter that she had written- at Cersei’s instructions- asking Robb to come to King’s Landing and bend the knee to Joffrey.

Sansa nodded, but she obviously wasn’t pleased.

“I’m sure most of the Lords have heard of her true identity by now,” said Sansa.

At Jon and Dany’s request, Edric Dayne went with a few riders from the Onyx Legions who had been native Northerners before their exile, to deliver a letter on his and Daenerys’s behalf to Greywater Watch.

Howland Reed.

Daenerys, at her uncle’s insistence, and her family did not take up lodgings in the New Keep.

“All it takes is one servant,” he said. After the incident with the guard at the parley, Daenerys did not protest her uncle.

She stayed in a tent, surrounded by the Imperial Guard, surrounded even further by her legions. Behind her tent was a field for the dragons to nest in. Drogon in particular stayed close to her. It was obvious that he was not pleased to find his mother here again. Jon avoided the dragons. He had avoided Drogon so far… he had a feeling the dragon would not be as forgiving as his mother had been.

He still remembered Drogon poking Daenerys’s body with his nose, and then his roar of grief. If he had dreams anymore, he was sure it would haunt his nightmares.

Sansa was not too proud to take up the offer of hospitality, even if it wasn’t like Daenerys and her family weren’t living in luxury- she had a full bed, braziers to keep her tent warm, handmaids and servants.

Reports from the city were that there had been the absolute bare minimum of innocent deaths when the Legions had taken the city. Even most of the defenders had thrown down their blades rather than face the Gemstone Legions in battle.

Most of the innocent deaths, Arya reported- for Sansa still rather resented the entire idea of having to report to Daenerys at all- were actually suicides, terrified of what awaited them when the ‘Mad Queen’ controlled their lives.

Daenerys wished she knew how to calm their fears. The city still stood, completely intact, other than the gates- and her legions were already busy at work repairing them.

Jon, Tyrion, and Davos spoke with community leaders, all of whom- despite the assurances- remained utterly skeptical of her intentions. She had invaded; she had seized the city, and despite their pronouncements that Jon Targaryen, the man known to them as Jon Snow, the former King in the North, was taking the throne, they remained suspicious.

“This is what I expected,” said Daenerys sadly to Jon as they walked through the city. They were surrounded on all sides by Imperial Guard, and Dany’s amethyst was glowing slightly. Given what Arya had said about her amethyst being magic, Jon had a suspicion about what was going on, and sure enough, when he put his hand on Dany’s shoulder, he felt something rigid beneath her coat. Armor. She was hiding it with a glamour.

They had gone to speak with the powerful of the city, where Daenerys had assured them that she was not the woman they feared, that she had been poisoned with basilisk’s blood, that Bran Stark was not a good King, that he had framed his own sister for a murder she did not commit.

It had only been marginally effective.

“I’d say they’ll learn,” said Jon, “but I promised that before, and they didn’t.”

Lord Wylis was supportive, but still neutral. He had yielded the city, but that didn’t matter much.

“We’ll need to leave a garrison,” said Dany. “At least to keep our supply lines to Essos open.”

They were only to stay at White Harbor for a few days. Once the legions had finished coming ashore, and were ready, they would march on Winterfell.

“I fucking hate this cold,” said Allyria to Daenerys, as they stood outside her tent, looking over the North that they could see, despite the vast military camps surrounding them. “Give me the sun of Dorne.”

“Winterfell is better,” assured Daenerys to her sister. “Jon told me when we were travelling there, the castle has hot springs beneath it. They pipe water up through the walls, keeping the castle very warm.”

“Warm enough for you?” teased Allyria.

“I usually still had a fire in my chambers. But when I was there last, it was winter. This is spring.”

“I can’t imagine how much colder it was then,” groaned Allyria. Daenerys smiled.

They stood in silence for a few moments. “What do you think?” asked Daenerys.

“That these people don’t deserve you,” said Allyria simply. “When we go to Dorne, you will find love, on this damned continent.”

“Princess Martell knows the truth,” said Daenerys. “The whole truth.”

“That doesn’t make you any less our mother’s daughter,” assured Allyria.

“They hate me,” said Daenerys, looking over at White Harbor. “They fear me. That guard tried to kill me just because he thought I might burn the city.”

“You’re safe. Uncle Arthur and mother are keeping an eye for anyone who might hurt you.”

“I know. I’m just… seven years ago, they were furious with Jon for him bending the knee. What if we’re wrong? What if they’ll never accept him as their King? What if I’m putting him in danger?”

Allyria put her arm around Daenerys comfortingly. “All we need to do is prove to Westeros that the Raven is the enemy,” she said. “You’ve worked up a legal fiction that will appease the Dornish… the Reachmen hate the Raven and his sellsword… prove that that isn’t truly Bran Stark and you win over the Riverlands and the Vale. And our cousin can convince Gendry Baratheon.”

The command tents, and their surrounding area, were consecrated by Kinvara and a few more Red Priests that had sailed with the fleet. The Raven could not see within. Despite the security, it was another reason why Daenerys preferred to conduct her business inside the city. She figured she would have enough problems getting the Westerosi on-side as it was. Add on foriegn priests of a foreign god, that would just make things even more difficult.

There was a clearing of a throat behind them. Dany glanced as Tyrion stepped beside them.

“You still have quite a bit of support,” he said. “Every time I wrote to a lord or lady, it seemed like the gods flipped a coin-”

“Careful with the coin flips analogies,” warned Daenerys.

Tyrion grimaced. “True. Well, then it’s like the gods… hmm. Let’s just cut to the chase and say that around half the time, the lords hated me for daring to side with you. Around another half the time, the lords wrote… how dare I ever betray you. You were the trueborn heir of House Targaryen, the rightful Queen. To many lords, you still are.”

Allyria and Daenerys each raised an eyebrow. “I wonder where those lords wrote to you from,” responded Daenerys tartly.

“Mostly the Reach and Dorne. Some from the Crownlands. Some from the Stormlands. Even some from the Riverlands.”

“The North?”

Tyrion shook his head, confirming what Daenerys suspected. “I was not Hand of the King of the Seven Kingdoms, though. Whenever I needed something from the North, I wrote to Sansa directly.”

“Did she help?” asked Allyria.

“When she could. I remember, a few years ago, we received reports from the Neck and the Riverlands that a gigantic wolf pack was devouring livestock by the farm. Sansa said she’d send hunters to deal with the wolves.”

“She didn’t kill them, did she?” asked another voice. Arya stepped forward, seemingly out of the shadows.

“I don’t believe so,” said Tyrion. “Why?”

“That was Nymeria’s pack.”

“Nymeria?” asked Daenerys. “Like your ship?”

“Like the direwolf the ship was named for,” said Arya. “Each of us got a direwolf from the same mother. Bran, Robb, Jon, and father found them trying to nurse from her dead body. They brought them back and gave them to each of us.”

“Like Ghost,” said Daenerys.

Arya nodded, smiling. “Ghost had crawled off by himself, Jon said. It was luck Jon found him.”

Daenerys nodded, but darkness fell on her face. “It was lucky. We all know what happens to lone wolves.”

Arya sighed sadly, but she did not speak. She gave a glance at Tyrion.

“He knows,” said Daenerys.

“You told him but you haven’t told Sansa yet?” asked Arya, slightly indignant. “She is your cousin.”

“By her own actions, she is nothing of the sort,” responded Daenerys sternly. “She barely is Jon’s sister anymore.”

“She’s still Jon’s sister. She just needs to remember that.” Arya approached Allyria. “I don’t think we really had a chance to speak in Volantis,” she said. “I’m Arya Stark. Your cousin.”

“Allyria Dayne,” responded Allyria.

“I know. I also know why you bear that name, and not the name of the man who…” Arya sighed. “I’m sorry. It can’t be easy to…”

“I’ve made my peace with it. I am not my father’s daughter. My mother taught me the good of my Stark blood, and that all families have had bad members. A father doing something evil does not mean their children shall.”

Arya nodded. “On behalf of House Stark, though, I’d like to say, you are our kin, and we will stand by you.” She extended her arm.

Allyria took it and held Arya’s wrist. The two nodded at each other. Allyria smiled. Arya grinned back.

A few responses trickled into White Harbor from some of the closer lords.

It appeared that the North had certainly noticed that 77,000 soldiers were now encamped around their largest- and only- city.

And that the woman they had thrown to Bran Stark had returned, once a Queen, now Wardeness of the North to the man they thought she had killed… and the woman that that man had killed.

Lord Kegan Flint sent back a defiant message. That Sansa Stark had abandoned her honor, and the Lords of the North had chosen to serve Bran Stark, the trueborn son of Eddard Stark, the rightful Lord of Winterfell.

Sansa put him in her own little mental list as an oathbreaker.

The few other responses that came in were all agreements to report to Winterfell in a few weeks. Sansa intended them to renew their oaths of fealty to her. She was sure there would be some discussion on the matter. But in the end, there was only one choice. Bend the knee to her again.

That they would also be bending the knee to Jon was something Sansa wasn’t thrilled about, but she could live with.

It was that they would also be bending the knee to the Amethyst Empress that she found intolerable, despite the fact that she had no choice but to tolerate it.

Arya had made her opinion on the matter very clear. Surely it was that Jon had sided with Daenerys so firmly. Jon always had been Arya’s favorite. Arya had sided with Jon and his chosen Empress- his precious half-sister.

Surely Jon only had sided with her because he felt he owed her. Jon, and Tyrion, and even Davos had found out about her ‘innocence’ and thrown themselves beneath her, kissing her feet and begging her forgiveness. All the while forgetting that their doubts in her had started to grow even before she had destroyed King’s Landing. Tyrion had been visibly terrified of her. Jon had already pushed her away and it was only his oaths and lingering love that he clung to. Davos… Sansa truthfully didn’t know Davos’s opinion.

Sansa had seen a change in Jon from the moment they had last seen each other on the docks at King’s Landing, to the day they met again in Volantis, to now. In King’s Landing, he had been a shattered, broken man, moving more on instinct than he was on will. In Volantis, he had begun the process of mending, but Daenerys had turned all his anger towards Sansa.

Now… he was Jon again. He was at peace with his past.

Sansa wasn’t fool enough to think that was because he was back with the woman he’d loved, his precious queen - she had eyes, after all, and her eyes told her Jon and Daenerys were not fucking each other- but because he had found forgiveness for the unforgivable.

But in the end he had spat on Robb’s memory. Robb had died so the North could be free. Jon had knelt and handed it to Daenerys- and she’d never even been the rightful Queen. Sansa did not give a damn for what legal fiction Daenerys and the Elder Council- including Tyrion, the little traitor- had cooked up. She was a bastard. Jon had always been the rightful King.

She had only found power in a land where people didn’t understand who bastards really were. Covetous and low, greedy.

And she had forced Sansa to make the impossible choice. Bend the knee to her, or never go home to Winterfell.

And she’d turned her family against her. Not only Jon, but Arya, too. Arya, who walked alongside Daenerys and smiled now. Arya, who had shown Sansa her improved sword, excited about getting a chance to use it.

If Sansa betrayed Daenerys, Arya would step aside and let the Empress execute her.

But there would always be a way to escape. Sansa would never suffer the North to fall under the rule of someone without Stark blood. Jon was one thing. His Empress was another.

Sansa would just have to find the way to protect the North. To ensure Stark blood ruled over it… always.

She heard some commotion from the outer edges of the Imperial camp as riders approached. They bore the banners of the Empire, House Dayne, the Onyx Legions, and House Targaryen.

And one more.

A black lizard lion on a green field.

Sansa had to search her memory for that sigil. It had not been seen in Winterfell in her memory.

House Reed.

Chapter Text

King Jon met the riders at the gates of the fortified camp.

“Lord Reed,” greeted Jon to the new guests. Lord Reed had brought a few soldiers along with them of their own, just a guard. Jon had a few Onyx Legionnaires at his back, but they stayed a distance away to keep the Reeds at ease.

“King Jon,” replied Howland. Next to him, a young woman with brown hair was glaring at Jon, as if offended they had been called to come.

“Thank you for coming,” said Jon sincerely. “We’re sure it was not an easy trip.”

Howland nodded, then cast a skeptical glance around. The camp of the legions completely surrounded the city- one currently had to pass through a gate entering the Legion camp, and then one exiting it before reaching White Harbor itself-  but given that the gates were open and people were freely coming in and out, it was obvious that the siege was over and the Empire had won. The Imperial flags flying from the towers on the walls drew a particular narrowing of the eyes from Lord Reed.

“Why are we here?” asked Howland’s companion suspiciously.

Jon hesitated. There were people around, so he couldn’t speak as freely as he wished. “We need to speak with you,” he said. “Regarding what you may have known about… certain events.”

“Events such as?” asked the woman, her eyes full of suspicion. They were not at all reduced when she saw a red-haired woman come down through the gates to join Jon, the Stark direwolf glinting on her sash.

Given her reaction, Jon was sure this was Meera Reed, Howland’s daughter and Bran’s companion from when they’d escaped Winterfell, until they’d returned.

“My birth,” replied Jon simply to Lord Reed.

That drew Howland’s attention. “Your riders’ message told me that you finally know the truth,” said the Lord of Greywater Watch. “And yet… here you are. With the Mad King’s daughter once more. Your aunt.”

Jon felt a surge of annoyance at the way Lord Reed dismissively referred to Daenerys as the Mad King’s daughter. That they had the same parents, only different adoptive parents, and yet Dany had done so much for so many and they still lauded him and derided her.

“He was pledged to her another way seven years ago,” said Meera skeptically. “Are you still pledged that way?”

“No,” said Jon firmly. “We’re not lovers anymore.” He was stunned that Howland Reed didn’t at least know that Daenerys wasn’t the Mad King’s daughter. Knowing she was Lyanna’s daughter was one thing, but her claiming Ashara Dayne as her mother should have spread far and wide by now.

Jon knew Howland had been one of the men with Eddard Stark when he found Lyanna. Ashara had mentioned she had sped Daenerys from the Tower of Joy to Starfall, as they had feared Daenerys would not live. Rightly… it had taken Ashara Dayne’s sacrifice to save Daenerys’s life. But he wondered if Howland knew that Jon had not been the babe Lyanna had just borne. Because he remembered Rickon, and how small he had been, and how much bigger he had been after… after...

Seven hells, Jon wasn’t even sure how much older he was than Dany. All Ashara had said was that she had been born early.

“Lord Reed,” said Sansa, taking advantage of Jon’s lapse in speaking. “On behalf of House Stark, we thank you for your long and loyal service to our family.”

Howland nodded and gave a slight bow. “Lady Stark. Your father was a good man and a dear friend.”

“He was a man of unimpeachable honor, and I try to live up to his example.”

Jon barely held back a snort. He was feeling less angry with Sansa nowadays… but he still knew he would never entirely forgive her for what she had done. It would lay between them, always.

Sansa glared at Jon slightly. Howland had not noticed his skepticism, but she had.

Howland turned to introduce the other. “My daughter, Meera.”

“Lady Stark,” said Meera, her tone very clipped. She turned to Jon. “King Jon.” She was much warmer to him.

“Lady Meera,” said Jon. “You were very helpful to our brother Bran beyond the Wall, we understand.”

At Bran’s name, Meera’s face darkened. “Did he tell you that?” she asked.

“You were with him when he returned to Winterfell,” said Sansa. “I remember.”

“Oh?” asked Meera, a hint mockingly. “Do you remember that after my brother died for him… after Hodor died for him… when I traveled with him for years, beyond the Wall, when I got him home, back to Winterfell, all he had to say was ‘I don’t need you anymore. Goodbye?’”

Sansa’s face shifted, and she started to scowl at Meera daring to speak to her in that tone. Jon leapt in. “On behalf of House Stark, allow me to offer you our apologies,” he said. Sansa closed her mouth, and Jon could tell that she resented that he still spoke for House Stark when he had acknowledged he was a Targaryen. “Bran’s conduct is not something any of us are happy with, both then and now.”

“Indeed,” said Sansa, diplomatically getting in line with Jon. “Bran accused me of murdering Jon. He both knew I had not even attempted it, and that Jon lived. He did it to give himself an opportunity to usurp my throne.”

“And you bent the knee to Daenerys Targaryen in response?” asked Meera, her eyes narrowed.

“Lady Sansa bent the knee to me,” said Jon. “With the Amethyst Empress’s support, I will be pressing my claim for the Kingship of Westeros. I will rule the Seven Kingdoms in her name.”

“As her bannerman?” asked Howland, confused.

“Aye,” confirmed Jon.

Howland was visibly shocked by the fact that Jon had bent the knee to Daenerys. “The woman who burnt King’s Landing?”

Jon opened his mouth to respond, but they were interrupted by a page arriving, a few Imperial Guards marching behind. “Lord Reed,” said the page, bowing to him. “The Amethyst Empress sends her greetings and welcome. She wishes to speak with you.”

Howland did not at all look pleased, but with Sansa and Jon both pledged to her- even indirectly- he knew his hands were tied. “Lord Reed,” said Jon, looking at him pleadingly. “Trust me.”

Howland looked in his eyes, and that seemed to reassure him. “I am at the Empress’s service,” he said. They turned to enter the camp. Sansa padded along behind them, but she clearly had no interest in being in Daenerys’s presence. Once they reached the innermost camp, that of the Imperial Guard, she stalked off to Arya’s tent- Jon knew to wait to speak with Howland before she headed back to her allocated quarters in the New Keep.

Jon and the Reeds followed the page, Imperial Guards at their back, as they were led to Daenerys’s tent. Inside, they found the Amethyst Empress waiting with her uncle Arthur, who was looking at Howland suspiciously.

Giving a wary glance to the Empress, Howland turned to look at Arthur. “I hadn’t heard you survived,” he said.

“Not survived,” responded Arthur. “Resurrected. As you know well.” He pulled down his shirt at the neck, exposing a horrid scar. “You were the one who put a dagger through my throat.”

The legend had always been that Eddard Stark had defeated Arthur Dayne in single combat, Jon remembered.

Just another lie, he wondered.

“There was no reason for us to have fought,” responded Howland. “We were there to save Lady Lyanna. You’re a fool if you ever think the honorable Eddard Stark would hurt his sister, or her babe.”

“He had just come from King’s Landing,” responded Arthur. “Where two innocent children were violently murdered. You’ll forgive us if we considered the idea that Eddard Stark would choose his duty to his new king over his duty to his blood. After all, he did choose Robert in the end, didn’t he? He never once told the boy who he really was. How much grief and tragedy would have been avoided if he had?”

Jon would have known he had a sister. As would Sansa and Arya.

He knew now that his younger self, that no matter Eddard Stark’s reasons, would have never forgiven him. He would have run from Winterfell to find his sister and protect her, tell her everything. Jon would never have accepted even the perfect excuse. He would have gone and rescued his sister and brought her home to Winterfell.

To know she had been left in foreign lands… even now, with the maturity and wisdom that his life, and once death, had given him… he knew it had to be a damn good reason for him to ever call Eddard Stark ‘father’ again.

Howland sighed. “I never agreed with that decision. But he was a good man.”

Daenerys raised an eyebrow. “Was he?” she asked.

Jon wondered the same. He needed an answer. He needed to know it like he needed air to breathe.

Howland nodded confidently. “He was.”

“Then answer me this. You’re a father, Lord Reed. When Eddard Stark took the babe we know as Jon Snow from the Tower of Joy... was that the babe Lyanna Stark had given her life birthing?”

Howland considered his answer, glancing at Jon, who moved to stand at Daenerys’s side, slightly behind her. “I get the feeling you already know the answer.”

“I do, but I’d like confirmation from the only man left alive who was there with Eddard Stark.”

Howland shook his head. “No,” he admitted. He looked at Jon. “You were closer to a year of age than you were to newly born. Ned helped us tear down the tower, then rode off to Starfall, with you and Dawn. I asked him later about the second babe. He said she was born sick and weak, and would stay at Starfall, so her few days would be comfortable. The maester had told him the girl would not live more than a few moons.”

“Did he ever tell you anything else?” asked Daenerys. “Did the girl die?”

Howland shook his head. “He told me Lady Ashara had killed herself in her grief. I presume that was the loss of the babe.” He looked at Daenerys and a hint of interest entered his gaze. “Why? Are you saying the girl lived?”

“She may have,” answered Daenerys evasively.

“Are you searching for more threats to your throne? You’ve already got Lyanna’s boy on a leash. Are you looking for her girl so you can bring her to heel, too? I’ve no clue where she is.”

Daenerys reached up for her amethyst and the light shone from it. Howland gasped as Daenerys’s hair appeared brown and her eyes grey.

“Tell me where she is, Lord Reed,” answered Daenerys.

Howland stared at Daenerys, utterly shocked. Daenerys stared right back, unwavering, her similarity to Lyanna Stark made abundantly clear by stripping away her Valyrian colorings and replacing them with those of the woman who had birthed her.

Even Jon was staring at her, stunned by her magically altered appearance. He had visited his mother’s statue in Volantis every day, since he had learned it was there. Her face was burned into his memory. And when Daenerys shared her hair and eye color… she looked like Lyanna Stark reborn. Arya had told him as much, but Jon hadn’t really realized it.

“Who else knows?” asked Howland finally.

“My uncle,” said Daenerys, nodding at Arthur. “My mother, Ashara Dayne, and yes, she lives as well. My brother Jon and my sister Allyria. Arya Stark. Tyrion Lannister figured it out. I should probably tell Davos Seaworth, as I trust him. Sansa Stark has also not been told, as she and I care not for each other. Nor does the rest of the North, who judged me unfairly for who they believed my father, and I would not have them judge me unfairly for who they know bore me.”

Howland’s eyes shifted slightly, seeming to stare past Daenerys. “I’m a greenseer,” he said. “And I see it in you. Your blood. The blood of the First Men, aye, Lady Lyanna’s blood. And the blood of Valyria, the fire of House Targaryen, though it burns not as brightly as it once did.”

“And Dayne blood?” asked Dany expectantly.

Howland was caught off guard by her question. Jon glanced at his sister, as her eyes narrowed slightly with confusion. “Third blood?” he asked. “How?”

“Blood magic. Only death can pay for life. Lady Ashara paid her life for mine. Rhaegar’s seed, Lyanna’s body, and Ashara’s soul. Child of three. Daughter of death.”

Howland’s eyes returned to normal. “Yet you speak the truth. You are Lyanna Stark’s daughter. I wish I had come to fight alongside you at Winterfell. Perhaps I would have seen it. Perhaps... calamity could have been avoided.”

Daenerys removed her hand from the brooch and her appearance returned to normal. Howland saw that despite the light, now that he knew what to look for, he could still see Lyanna’s features in her daughter, hidden beneath her silver hair and violet eyes. “You are not curious as to what happened that day, in King’s Landing?”

Howland tilted his head. “In truth? Now that I know who you are... I assumed it was the Raven.”

“Perhaps he had a part in it. But no, it was no raven, but a spider. Lord Varys. In an attempt to prove to others I had gone mad, he tried to have me poisoned with basilisk’s blood. Are you familiar with it?”

“I can’t say I am,” admitted Howland.

“A specialty of the Faceless Men in Braavos. It causes violent insanity. He was attempting to make my allies believe I had gone mad. His intent was that I would be given it when I was able to be restrained. I knew there was poison in my breakfast- not what it would do- so did not eat. Not until I had executed him. But his helper did not stop… and I ate breakfast that morning.”

Howland sighed and shook his head. “And Lyanna’s son…”

“Aye,” said Jon. “I’ve regretted nothing more. I didn’t know about the poison.”

“Nor did I,” said Daenerys, as much to reassure Jon as anything else.

“If I’d known,” said Howland, “I’d… Ned Stark swore me to secrecy. I thought there was nothing to be gained by bringing up the ghosts of the past…”

Daenerys and Jon exchanged a curious glance. “If I may ask, why didn’t you come?” asked Daenerys. “Sansa and Jon called the banners of the North to Winterfell, but House Reed didn’t come.”

Howland gave a glance to Meera, who had a slight scowl on her face. “Eddard Stark was a good man, despite some… mistakes,” he said. “Our loyalty was to him. Lyanna was a good woman as well.”

“As I said to Lady Sansa,” said Meera, “when I got Bran Stark home, alive… it was a nightmare beyond the Wall. My brother died. Hodor died. His direwolf Summer died. And I got him back to Winterfell, and he just… dismissed me. As if I was nothing. After all we’d been through…”

“When my daughter returned to me,” said Howland, “and told me such… when we heard that Lyanna’s son had yielded the North to the Mad King’s daughter… I didn’t know if it was worth sending my men to defend them was worth it.”

“I understand,” said Daenerys. “I brought over a hundred thousand men to defend Winterfell. I brought two dragons. And still they looked at me with hatred and suspicion.”

“Aye,” said Jon. “And my… Samwell Tary, and the Three-Eyed Raven told me that my parents were Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. But not hers. They told me other things, too. Things designed to start turning me against her. Daenerys begged me to keep it silent, that her enemies would spread it far and wide, to put me against her for the Iron Throne… which I didn’t want. I still don’t.

“I thought my sisters were owed the truth. I swore them to a sacred vow before a Heart Tree to keep it silent. Instead, Sansa told the truth within a few hours, and it led to Varys- the spider- deciding he’d rather see me on the throne than Daenerys… and hatching his scheme to turn the last of her allies against her. I can’t blame you for doubting House Stark.”

“I’m not surprised,” said Meera. “Bran Stark forgot his honor.”

“Yes, well,” said Jon. “That’s something we mean to speak with you about.”

“To make amends?” Meera raised her eyebrow. “To beg my forgiveness? For how your brother treated me?”

“That’s the thing,” said Jon. “We don’t think that was Bran.”

Meera opened her mouth, confused, then closed it. “What are you saying?”

“That we think something took over Brandon Stark and placed itself in his body,” said Daenerys. “Something evil. Something very powerful, and very ambitious. That manipulated you, me, Jon, Arya, and maybe even Sansa, to put himself as King of Westeros. A stranger wearing a familiar face, taking advantage of House Stark’s reputation for honor.”

Jon nodded. “You were with Bran beyond the Wall, when he encountered this creature. We need you to tell us everything you can about the Three-Eyed Raven.”

Meera looked at them, gobsmacked. “Why? So you can kill Bran?”

“Only if there’s no way to save him,” responded Daenerys simply.

Having Howland Reed on their side greatly aided the Imperial efforts to keep White Harbor at peace. With Sansa still seemingly content to let Daenerys sink or swim by her own efforts- which infuriated Jon, but right now the image of unity was more important than actual unity- having a respected Northern Lord around to speak on Dany’s behalf had smoothed efforts to work with the people of White Harbor.

Howland and Meera had been given tents in the innermost camp, not far from Daenerys and Jon.

And another woman.

Howland was watching Daenerys walk next to Allyria, smiling happily as her sister told her a story. He sensed someone step up next to him. He looked over and smiled.

“Lady Ashara,” he said.

“Lord Reed,” she responded. To any who were around, there was definitely warmth in her normally icy tone. “It’s good to see you.”

“And you. I grieved for you, when Lord Eddard wrote and said you’d taken your own life. But now I see… it was all worth it.”

“It was,” agreed Ashara fervently.

Howland looked over at the sisters, interestedly. “Her name is Allyria?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“She’s of your body, isn’t she? Unlike… Lyanna’s girl?”

“My girl as well,” corrected Ashara determinedly. “But yes, I bore Allyria.”

“Is Lord Eddard her father?” asked Howland.

Ashara’s face darkened. “No,” she said. “His brother.”

Howland saw her expression and a frown formed on his own face. “I’m sorry,” he said, guessing at the truth. “Lord Eddard never knew.”

“I never told him. I only told Lyanna.”

“How did she take it?” asked Howland.

Ashara smiled. “As Lyanna did.”

Howland grinned fondly. “Ah, castration.”

“And shoving the parts down his throat.”

Howland sighed. “Things all seemed so much simpler at that tournament,” he said. “They were happy days.”

“They were,” agreed Ashara. “But things were never simple. The tournament was an excuse for Rhaegar to gather the great lords and speak to them about dethroning his father. The spider ruined that plan. It angered Rhaegar so… but when he saw Lyanna…”

“She was a special woman,” said Howland sadly.

“I wish so much she had lived,” said Ashara.

“We all do.” Howland smiled. “How did she take it when she found you at the tower?”

“Poorly, at first. Very well later.”

Howland smiled. “The dragon must have three heads,” he said.

They watched as Daenerys and Allyria were led horses by a few stablehands. Daenerys, from her long experience riding with the Dothraki, of being the Great Khaleesi of the Grass Sea, climbed into her Dothraki-style saddle with zero issues. Allyria mounted her horse slightly more slowly, but Daenerys waited, and the two rode out of the camp, Imperial Guards forming up around them.

“Lyanna would be proud,” said Howland quietly, watching her daughter have a masterful command of her steed.

“She would be,” agreed Ashara. “She and Rhaegar loved to ride. She did things on a horse that even Arthur had never seen before. Daenerys learned with the Dothraki. Her husband was a brute of a man, but he knew horses. He gave her a silver mare that was so fine… Daenerys told me, it was like the horse was teaching her to ride.”

Howland smiled. “Of course, she was a natural. She’s Lyanna’s daughter.”

“In more ways than horses,” said Ashara. “I still remember watching a spirited young girl run at three squires beating up a man, demanding they stop. I remember watching Daenerys… her husband’s people were forcing themselves on women. She demanded they stop, claimed all the women as her slaves to protect them, and didn’t let them be touched. Then she saw slavery, and overthrew three cities to do her best to end it.”

“Lyanna could never tolerate injustice either,” said Howland, his smile growing even wider. He leaned in. “It’d make things a lot easier for her if the North knew who she really was.”

“I know,” confirmed Ashara. “But after she came to save the North and they repaid her with distrust and hate… she doesn’t care to think of her Northern blood.”

“I understand,” said Howland sadly. “I wish I’d come seven years ago. I like to think I’d have seen it… I could at least have poked holes in the Three-Eyed Raven’s plot. I knew the boy wasn’t Lyanna’s only babe, that he was far older. But I’d thought she was dead. You saved her.”

“Of course I did,” said Ashara, some defensiveness coming into her voice. “She was my daughter. Not by blood, but still mine . What parent would not die for their child?”

“I would,” said Howland firmly. “If I could bring Jojen back…”

“And if she could bring Rhaego back,” said Ashara, watching as the Empress, Allyria, and their guards left the outermost gates of the legion camp.

Howland sighed. “Did any of us know what we were setting in motion that day, at Harrenhal?”

“No,” said Ashara. “And as painful as it was… I’d not change a thing, unless I could bring my loves back.”

They stood there in silence for a moment. Then Howland looked at Ashara. “You don’t agree with her keeping her Stark heritage secret, do you?”

Ashara chuckled. “Is that your greenseeing at work?”

“No,” admitted Howland. “Just long insight. Or can’t your shadowbinding tell you that?”

Ashara smiled, but sighed. “I respect my daughter’s choices,” she said. “But she is a daughter of three. The North hurt her badly. She, before, would sooner deny it to herself more than deny it to them. But that is changing… the faceless one, Arya, she and Daenerys are bonding. I would have all the world know that she is not only my daughter, not only Rhaegar’s daughter, but Lyanna’s as well.”

“And Ned’s other girl?” asked Howland.

Ashara scowled. “Ned would be disgusted with her,” she said. “Not as she ruled- even I admit she did well before. But when Jon Snow told her the secret of his birth, she used it as a weapon against my daughter, despite her vow. A sacred vow beneath a Heart Tree.”

“Something we followers of the Old Gods call sacred,” said Howland. “Jon? The boy?”

Ashara thought it over for a moment. “He’s more like Rhaegar than he is Lyanna. Daenerys is Lyanna reborn as a dragon, but Jon is Rhaegar in wolf form. He made a mistake. A grave one. But never once have I looked in his eyes- and I have used shadowbinding to judge his intentions- and seen anything but the sincere, utter desire to repent. If I had not…”

“I understand,” said Howland sadly. “Nobody is perfect.”

That evening, Jon called on Howland in his tent, as he was dining with Meera. Howland moved to leap to his feet as soon as Jon entered, but Jon waved him down.

“You need to start acting the part if you’re to be King,” joked Howland.

“Aye, maybe,” agreed Jon. He smiled.

Howland stood and gestured to Jon to take a seat. “How are you? Your mother was a dear friend, as was your foster father.”

Jon gave as wide a smile as he could muster. “I’m well,” he said, hoping he was convincing.

Evidently, he was not. “Your mother was a terrible liar as well,” said Howland.

Jon’s smile became true, but sad. “It’s been… difficult,” he admitted.

“I’m sorry,” said Howland sincerely. “I can’t imagine how hard it was to discover that she was your sister.”

Jon nodded. “Aye. It was a lot of things to discover in a few moons. I had already known Rhaegar was her father… Lady Ashara sent me dreams. To torment me, probably. I thought she was Daenerys’s birth mother. Then I saw a statue they have in Volantis… what I suspect is a perfect statue of Lyanna Stark. It’s since been painted, but wasn’t then, and when I looked at it… I saw Dany.”

“Of course,” said Howland. “Beneath her Targaryen hair and eyes, there’s Lyanna Stark’s daughter. I’m admittedly surprised nobody caught onto it before.”

“Nobody had reason to question who she was,” said Jon sadly. “All of Westeros knew she was the Mad King’s daughter. Her hatching her dragons only underlined that connection, like Ghost did to me.”

“Ghost was your direwolf?” asked Meera.

“ Is my direwolf,” corrected Jon. “He still lives.”

Meera seemed surprised. “Summer was a great help to us beyond the Wall,” she said. “But I thought the rest of the Stark family’s direwolves were dead, same as him.”

“Ghost lives, and so does Nymeria, that was Arya’s. Last I heard she was leading a gigantic wolf pack in the Neck.”

Howland’s eyes narrowed, but it was obvious he was amused. “Naturally,” he said. “We’ve had encounters with that pack.”

“I’m sure, if their matron is anything like Arya, they’re fierce and determined, untamed,” said Jon.

“That they are.” Howland poured Jon some ale, which Jon took gratefully. “What did you need?”

“I thought I might speak to you about my mother,” said Jon.

Howland smiled. “You’ve been at Lady Ashara’s side for some time. Of all the people alive, she knew Lady Lyanna better than anyone.”

“Aye, I know,” said Jon. “Quite a shock to me when I found out how close she and my mother were. But honestly… she still terrifies me. Because I killed her daughter.”

“I think if Lady Ashara were meaning to hurt you, she would have done so,” said Howland simply.

“Probably. But you knew my mother even before Lady Ashara did.”

Howland nodded. “Not long before, but I did. It was at the Tournament at Harrenhal. Three squires were attacking me. Your mother rushed in, screaming at them to get off me, I was her father’s man. They scampered, more for fear of harming a High Lord’s daughter than her. She wasn’t the largest woman, and Lord Rickard- your grandfather- never let her carry a sword. Lyanna took me back to the Stark’s tent herself and tended my wounds. I remember looking over and spotting Rhaegar Targaryen watching in interest. Next to him on either side were Elia Martell, and Lady Ashara. Elia looked impressed. Ashara was nervous.”

“I imagine why,” said Jon. “Did you know she was Rhaegar’s second wife?”

Howland tilted his head thoughtfully. “Know? Not truly. Suspected? Aye, I did. There was an ease between her and Rhaegar that seemed too natural for a servant of his wife.”

“She had trouble conceiving, and she was afraid she’d be set aside. In the end, Rhaegar set aside Elia, and kept Ashara. By Elia’s consent.”

“She did not seem to love Rhaegar,” confirmed Howland. “Probably one of the few women in the Seven Kingdoms who wouldn’t have loved him. And she was his wife. Well, one of his wives. He looked at Lyanna as if seeing something.

“The next day, we were watching the tournament. I don’t know if you’ve ever been to a tournament-” Jon shook his head no. Such things weren’t done in the North. “A pity. Harrenhal was the grandest of them all.”

“Lady Ashara said that it was supposed to be an excuse for Prince Rhaegar to gather the great Lords of the Realm and discuss dethroning his father,” said Jon. “But Varys found out and tipped off Aerys.” Aerys, his grandfather, Jon realized.

Nobody had ever accused Jon of going “mad.”

“She said that to me earlier as well,” confirmed Howland. “I think your mother fell in love with Rhaegar the moment he played his harp. His song was so beautiful she wept. When your Uncle Benjen teased her, she poured her wine over his head. She had insisted I come to the dance. There, Lady Ashara danced with Lord Eddard, but I think she was sizing up Lyanna as much as anything else.”

“Lord Eddard took her back to his tent,” said Jon darkly, “because she was very drunk. He didn’t touch her, but-”

Howland waved his hand sadly. “You don’t need to say it. Never thought Lord Brandon was capable of that, but… he did have lusts. Lady Ashara was gone from the tent before the rest of us got back- it was a very late drinking night. Rest of the tournament, she avoided us.

“One day a knight entered. A knight nobody knew who was. The Knight of the Laughing Tree, he was called. His armor was mismatched, he was short of stature, but he called forth the three knights whos squires had attacked me, and defeated and unhorsed all three. As ransom for their armor and horses, the knight demanded they teach their squires respect, and then vanished.”

“Who was it?” asked Jon, interested.

“It was Lyanna,” said Howland. “She was an excellent rider- your sister is perhaps even better- and she was practiced at rings. Jousting is more a matter of skill than strength.

“But Aerys looked upon this mystery knight and thought for sure it was an enemy. He was mad, of course, and he dispatched his son Rhaegar to find and bring the knight to him. Rhaegar returned only with the knight’s shield, a painting of a weirwood tree, and said the knight had vanished. But from then on, his eyes were on Lyanna. The two entered Harrenhal as strangers, but left smitten with one another.”

Jon smiled. He was glad to know his mother was a good woman.

Daenerys stood in her tent, staring at the three braziers, Stark, Targaryen, and Dayne, all three of which were lit with flame, Dany holding a cloth to her hand to staunch the bleeding.

“... and then a ghost leapt out of the coffin,” Arya was saying to Allyria behind her. “Sansa screamed and ran, and Bran clutched to Robb’s leg in terror, but I punched the ghost- because I could see it was Jon. I yelled at him for scaring the baby, but Jon and Robb just laughed and laughed.”

“Edric was always scared of ghost stories when he was young,” said Allyria fondly. “We told many tales of the Others- we didn’t know they were real then, of course. He always wanted to be a great hero, cutting them down with Dawn.”

“I hope swords like that can work on White Walkers,” said Arya, glancing at Daenerys’s table, where Light Sister was sitting. “Only dragonglass or Valyrian steel worked before.”

“It will work,” assured Allyria. “Uncle Arthur took Dawn with him when he and Ser Davos went to rescue your brother. He said it cut through wights like they were nothing.”

“Wights were one thing. The Walkers themselves were another.”

The tent fell silent. Arya glanced at Daenerys, who was still staring at the braziers, thinking. She stood and approached. “Are those the braziers Jon told me about?”

Daenerys did not turn to face her. “Yes,” she said. “The ones Kinvara made for me.”

“Jon said he could only light two- the Stark and Targaryen ones- but that you could light all three. I don’t understand blood magic, but I’m glad to know you have a blood tie to your Dayne family, too.”

“I thought I understood blood magic,” said Daenerys quietly. “As best as anyone who isn’t a practitioner could, of course. But…”

Arya raised an eyebrow. “But?” she asked.

Daenerys waved her hand and the braziers went out. She glanced at Arya. “Try them, will you?” she asked.

Arya did not hesitate. A little bleeding did not scare her one bit. She took her own knife and gently pricked her finger. She dripped blood into the Targaryen brazier first, which did not re-ignite. Next, she tried the Dayne one, with the same result. When she dribbled her blood into the Stark one, the flames roared from the metal surface.

“No Dayne or Targaryen blood for me,” said Arya.

Daenerys extinguished them again, then looked at Allyria. “Sister,” she said. “Could you try for me?”

Allyria raised an eyebrow. “I think we both know the results,” she said.

“That’s what I thought, too, but Lord Reed…” said Daenerys hesitantly.

Allyria could see this was bothering her sister. She took a clean knife of her own and got a few drops of blood. The Targaryen brazier remained unlit, but when Allyria dripped into the Stark brazier, it lit with flame.

But when she added it to the Dayne one, the flames did not return.

Allyria and Arya’s eyes narrowed in confusion. Daenerys’s lips thinned and her face lit with anger. She turned to the tent entrance, finding a page.

“Fetch Kinvara,” she said. The page rushed off.

“What does that mean?” asked Arya. “I thought if you have the blood-”

“I have been made a fool of,” said Daenerys, quietly but dangerously.

Nobody spoke for a few minutes, until Kinvara glided into the tent. “My Empress,” she said reverently. “I am at your service.”

She looked at the braziers, and then looked back at Daenerys without fear.

“Explain to me why I can light all three,” said Daenerys, “but my sister- who was born of our mother- can only light the Stark flame.”

Kinvara inclined her chin. “Because that brazier only lights for you,” she said.

“Why?” asked Daenerys, livid. “When I was brought back- when I was… coping with this, with what I learned in my death, you told me that when my mother sacrificed herself for me, it altered my blood. That I had three bloodlines flowing through me- Targaryen, Dayne, and Stark. That I was bound to my mother by blood.”

“Because it was what you needed to hear at the time,” said Kinvara without shame.

“You lied to me,” snarled Daenerys.

“I comforted you,” retorted Kinvara.

“Through falsities!” howled Daenerys. “Through lies!”

Kinvara did not flinch. “She is your mother,” she said. “You merely needed the assurances that that was true. At that time, you were cursing your blood. You knew she was your mother but you needed the assurances that my magic provided. You wanted to have Dayne blood, so I-”

“Lied to me,” said Daenerys, getting a hold of her temper.

“You are no less her daughter because you do not share her blood,” stated Kinvara. “But you did not see it that way at the time. The braziers showed you of your ties to your three parents, the three who gave their lives for you. Rhaegar Targaryen, Lyanna Stark, and Ashara Dayne.”

“But you said when she paid her life for mine, it altered me,” said Daenerys.

“A matter of perspective,” said Kinvara. “She paid her life for you, as surely as your father and other mother did. She was your mother. A small lie to calm you, to bond you with your mother, was no price to pay.”

“But it was a lie, ” responded Daenerys.

Arya spoke up then. “Does blood really matter so much?” she asked. “Jon is, and will always be, my brother. If at the time, you needed to believe it was blood… is that really so wrong?”

“I wouldn’t lie about it,” retorted Daenerys.

“You wanted Jon to,” parried Arya. “You wanted him to lie to Sansa and I.”

Daenerys sputtered. “That was different, I knew Sansa would use it against me, and I was proven correct.”

“You were… but that doesn’t make it any less of a lie.”

Daenerys sighed, but she conceded the point to Arya. She turned back to Kinvara. “So I have no blood tie to Ashara Dayne?” she asked.

Kinvara held Daenerys’s eyes. “‘She would be my mother in my heart,’” she intoned, “‘as surely as Arya is your sister no matter who sired you, and that would be blood enough for me.’”

Daenerys scowled. “Fine then,” she said. “You’re dismissed.”

Kinvara bowed her head slightly and then made her way out.

“Fucking red priestesses using my own words against me,” muttered Daenerys. “How do they do it?”

“Mother can do the exact same thing,” responded Allyria. “And she is your mother. You are no less her daughter because of no blood.”

Daenerys hugged Allyria. “I know,” she said, “but thank you for the reminder.”

After Allyria had retired for the evening and Arya had left to check up on Sansa- Daenerys knew she was keeping an eye out for any plots Sansa might be hatching so Arya could put a stop to them before she put herself in danger, which Daenerys appreciated- Jon found her sitting in her tent.

“Did you know,” she said, nursing a glass of wine- a habit Jon noticed she had definitely increased, though given his own newfound fondness for mead, not one he felt he could criticize- “that when I awoke from death, my entire life had been upended, everything I thought I knew was wrong… and still I didn’t understand how it was for you to have had the exact same thing happen to you.”

Jon smiled and sat down across from her. “It’s nothing,” he said.

“No, it’s not nothing, Jon,” said Daenerys insistently.

Jon looked at her. “When I was brought back,” he said, “I… didn’t want to do anything. At all. I just wanted to go as far south as I could to get away from the Wall, the Night’s Watch, all of it. It wasn’t until Sansa showed up and asked me to help take back Winterfell that I felt I’d found a new calling.

“What I’m saying is, I understand what it is to wake up from death. How could you have understood when you came back and knew then that you weren’t who you thought you were? To have the experience of being brought back from the darkness, paired with everything you thought you knew being wrong?”

Daenerys nodded. “It’s happened again.”

Jon lifted his eyebrows. “Again?” he asked.

Dany sighed. “When I was brought back… once I’d realized what had happened, I was so angry. At everything. Myself most of all. Varys was the one I hated most, apart from me. Sansa. Arya. You. My family.

“In my mind then, to know I had Stark blood, that not only was I your kin, I was your sister, but that the North and the Starks had hated me for ‘not being one of them’... I was so angry. My first instinct was to burn. Burn it all. Fly back here and burn Winterfell, burn the legacy of House Stark to the ground for betraying me. Find Bran, wherever he ruled from, and burn him. Samwell Tarly. Tyrion. Sansa. Arya. Just… burn.”

“But you didn’t,” said Jon.

“No, I didn’t.” Daenerys smiled. “I couldn’t have. My mother restrained me, and if that wasn’t the case, I could never have mounted Drogon. She heard me rage, and then held me as I collapsed to the ground and cried. I cried for days. I raged, but without the desire to burn.

“I wanted to die again,” admitted Daenerys. Jon shuddered. “I knew Lady Ashara was my mother, what she had done for me, but in my mind, House Stark had proven themselves ungrateful, evil, vile… to know I shared their blood, it disgusted me.” She chuckled. “Just as it disgusted you to know you shared my blood.”

Jon frowned. “You know why that was.”

“Yes. Because we were fucking.” Dany giggled at the look on Jon’s face. “Relax. It’s over, and nothing came out of it. Or me, rather.”

Jon frowned. “How much wine have you drunk?”

“A little too much, probably,” admitted Daenerys. She sighed, and looked over at her table. “I was lied to. I don’t have Dayne blood.”

Jon looked at her in confusion. “But the flames, they said-”

“That brazier is a lie. Only I can light the Dayne brazier. You can light the other two, Arya can light the Stark brazier, Allyria can light the Stark brazier, but she can’t light the Dayne one.”

Jon felt a spike of anger in him at who had deceived Daenerys. “Why?” he asked. “Why would they do that?”

“Kinvara,” said Daenerys. “She brought me back from the dead. She made the braziers. When I came back Jon… I was not well. My mind was nearly shattered. I wept and wanted nothing more than to be Lady Ashara’s daughter in blood. Kinvara… she said she did it to comfort me. To remind me that I am Ashara Dayne’s daughter.”

“You are,” assured Jon. “Fuck blood. She is your mother. And you might hate your Stark blood, but you’re more than a Stark, you’re more than a Targaryen. It’s as you said in Essos. Look at Westeros. Look how much importance they put on family names and lineages. None of that matters for you. You are who you are because you are who you are.”

Daenerys chuckled sadly. “I’m not a Stark,” she said.

“Aye,” agreed Jon. “You’re better.”

A handmaid poked her head in. “Councilor Davos is here to speak with you, Your Majesty,” she said.

Daenerys nodded and the maid left. A moment later, Davos entered. He gave the two a smile.

“Lord Reed has convinced the White Harbor merchants to sell to our forces,” he said. “We can march to Winterfell within a few days, the generals say.”

“Good,” said Daenerys. “I didn’t think Lord Reed would be as helpful as he has been, but I’m immensely grateful.”

Jon nodded, and opened his mouth to speak, then looked at Davos, remembering he didn’t know the truth yet. Daenerys noted that and smiled.

“Ser Davos,” said the Empress, “if I tell you a secret, will you keep it?”

Davos looked at her curiously, but nodded. “I think I can,” he said.

“It’s nothing so horrible… to most.” Daenerys nodded at a chair next to Jon and Davos sat, looking at her expectantly. “Jon and Arya know, as does Tyrion, who figured it out. But the truth is… Ashara Dayne is my mother, but she is not the mother who bore me.”

Davos blank a few times in his surprise. “Then who-” he began, before, his eyes went wide and he looked at Jon.

“Aye,” confirmed Jon. “Lyanna Stark.”

“Nine or so moons after Jon,” said Daenerys, “Lyanna Stark, from the stress of knowing her husband was dead, that his other two children and their mother was dead, that the Targaryens had lost and men were coming to the Tower of Joy… her babe- me- came from her too early. I was given to Ashara Dayne, her wife, to try and save my life at Starfall.”

“They had no maester?” asked Davos.

“No,” said Daenerys. “They didn’t know who they could trust. When Eddard Stark arrived at Starfall, Ashara Dayne claimed me as her daughter, and he didn’t challenge her, for the maester had told him I would not live more than a few moons. He would have been right, if my mother had not sacrificed herself for me. Blood magic.”

Davos was visibly stunned. “How are you dealing with this?” he asked.

Daenerys gave him a very warm, appreciative smile. “I’ve known this since I was brought back from death,” she said. “I’ve had a lot of time to come to terms with this.”

Davos nodded. “I’m glad, of sorts. I know it can’t have been easy- the North… and your cousins, I suppose, didn’t much welcome you seven years ago. I’m glad to see you and Lady Arya are getting closer. And I understand why you don’t want Lady Sansa to know.”

“I want to be judged for my actions, not my blood,” confirmed Daenerys. “Politically, I know, it would help… but in this, I don’t base my decision on politics.”

“Your parentage is your business,” said Davos. “But you’ve always been a good woman, even before.”

Daenerys smiled, and looked at Jon. “I should have stolen him from you, and made him my Hand instead of Tyrion.”

“Oh gods no,” said Davos. “Being Hand to Stannis was not enjoyable. Can’t imagine it would have gotten any easier if he’d taken the Iron Throne. Or you.”

Daenerys smiled. “Probably not.”

Chapter Text

As Davos had said, it took a few days for the legions to prepare to relocate to Winterfell.

The North was not secure. Jon had hoped to send four legions west to find the Kingsroad, to march south to prepare for the war against the Raven. One more legion would head north, along with the Northern army, to the Wall to hold it against the White Walkers until they were victorious, at which point Jon and Daenerys would call the banners of the south and head north.

But it was evident that the North was not yet pacified. Kegan Flint’s defiance had been reported, and when the legions headed south, they would deal with him at Flint’s Fingers. So far no other responses had come in protesting the summoning of the Northern Lords to Winterfell.

Jon felt a wave of familiarity on the day they marched from White Harbor. He remembered this exact moment, seven years ago. It had been the Unsullied then- they had met the Dothraki on the Kingsroad and moved together to encamp around the Stark ancestral home.

Now, it was the Gemstone Legions, Imperial flags and Legion standards flying high.

Along with some freefolk.

“Should have let us hit the city,” said Tormund. “Been itching for some action.”

“Wasn’t much action to be found,” said Jon truthfully. And there hadn’t been. Intimidated by the overwhelming odds and the roaring dragons overhead- though there had been zero dragonfire used, Drogon had just served as a battering ram- only a few of the Manderly’s men had dared oppose her.

Jon didn’t want the freefolk dying for a war that wasn’t theirs. Their war was the war against the White Walkers. This war was Jon and Daenerys’s war.

Also the legions had been well trained in the standing orders of no rape, looting, or murders, and the freefolk hadn’t.

Still, Jon felt a lot more at peace this time, apart from his discontent with what he now knew. It didn’t feel much like a homecoming. His happy memories of Winterfell as his home had unfortunately had a shadow cast over them, by his guilt that he had been protected and his sister hadn’t been.

Jon knew his guilt was completely undeserved. It wasn’t exactly his fault, after all. He had no idea he had a sister in the first place. If he had ever even heard of Daenerys, it was in passing, or perhaps an off-handed note by Maester Luwin in his lessons, that the last two Targaryens were in exile across the Narrow Sea.

But now whenever Jon had a memory and pictured Eddard Stark, he felt a surge of… he wasn’t sure what. Anger, definitely, that was part of it. But the only word Jon could think of to describe how he felt about the man he’d grown up thinking of as ‘father’ was the question he longed to ask him, even if he feared the answer would not have been to his satisfaction:

“Why?”

Jon wasn’t alone in that. Arya shared at least a part of his sentiments, even if she didn’t seem to let them affect her as badly as Jon was. She rode alongside Jon and Daenerys and Allyria quite often, happily jabbering away with them. The fast friendship Jon had thought Daenerys and Arya would establish seven years ago had finally developed.

The armies marched up the White Knife, heading straight for Winterfell. Jon knew this land very well, and he found himself falling back into a natural role as a leader. Dany’s legions didn’t know the North, so even Arthur Dayne deferred to Jon’s knowledge of good sites to camp, locations where an ambush might be expected.

“How are you?” asked Jon to Daenerys after a few days. He knew it couldn’t be easy to be back in the North for her. Not after how it had all gone poorly the last time.

She chuckled. “Don’t worry about me,” she said. “If I could survive returning to the Bay of Dragons and seeing what the masters had done to my people in my absence, I can survive this.”

Howland Reed and Meera were given places of honor in their train as well, and Jon was surprised to see that he was someone that Ashara Dayne was friendly with him. Especially given that what Arthur had said, Howland was the man who had killed him.

“My own fault, really,” said Arthur of it. “It wasn’t one on one, and I’d forgotten that. It was seven on three.”

“We should have at least spoken,” regretted Howland.

“We were young men. Young men are idiots about things sometimes.”

Jon made his way to where Sansa rode, Brienne and Pod with her, but he could tell she was uncomfortable with the Onyx Legionnaires he had tasked to her protection. She wanted Northern soldiers. Some of the Onyx Legion had been members of a sellsword band called the Wolf Pack. Exiles from Westeros, similar to the Golden Company had been, but from the North. Jon had tasked some of them with being Sansa’s guard.

Sansa looked at their armor and heard their foreign accents and dismissed them.

“What’s the last word from the Northern Lords?” asked Jon.

Sansa glanced at him before answering. “Most will be at Winterfell,” she said. “Flint is the only refusal. But nearly all of them requested the ability to debate this. They’re going to decide between being loyal to Bran, or loyal to me.”

Apart from the Manderlys and Starks, the most powerful Northern house left, after the fall of the Umbers and Karstarks, was the Glovers. Jon still burned on the inside a bit when he thought of Robbet Glover, for cowering behind his walls and not coming to assist the living at the Battle of Winterfell, but he knew to execute the man for oathbreaking as he wanted to would be hypocritical when they could say the same of Lord Reed.

“We can count on Lord Glover,” said Sansa. “He was my strongest supporter.”

“He abandoned us last time,” responded Jon coldly.

Sansa raised an eyebrow. “Because you abandoned your crown. You knew going in this time the Northern Lords would not be happy about this, when you still forced me to bend the knee.”

“Aye,” agreed Jon. “To be honest, I agree with Daenerys on this. The Northern lords can get fucked. Get in line, or lose their lands. It’ll be a good world for the people.”

“You’d strip them of their ancestral homes and lands just for not bending the knee to your-” Jon shot her a glare and Sansa internally screamed but corrected herself- “OUR Empress?”

“You wanted to strip the Umbers and Karstarks of their lands for not siding with us against the Boltons,” retorted Jon.

“Because they sided with our enemies. Because they gave Rickon to Ramsay. Because we called the banners and they betrayed us. Lord Flint has already done such; nobody else has.”

“Not so far,” agreed Jon. “But if they refuse to bend the knee back to you, they will be stripped of their lands.”

“And then who will be granted their lands?”

“I quite admire what Dany’s done with her Elder Council, but I’m not stupid enough to think that the Northern lords will accept anyone who doesn’t share their blood. So we’ll find Northerners with open minds and ennoble them.”

Northerners loyal to her, thought Sansa bitterly. “And what if the Lords as a whole decide not to bend the knee?”

Jon looked at her and raised an eyebrow. “What would you do, as Wardenness of the North? It’s you they’d be refusing to bend to.”

Sansa frowned and didn’t answer.

It irritated her that it had been arranged so that her lords, in order to bend the knee to her, would thusly also be submitting to the Empire.

Jon was surprised, and then surprised that he was surprised, that even though she was far, far from Volantis, Dany continued doing her best to rule her Empire.

There were only a handful of Elder Councilors present with the invasion force, but they still met fairly regularly, even on the march. They kept in communication as best they could with the remaining council in Essos, who did their best to run things in the meantime, only communicating with the Empress when absolutely needed.

It was quite a sight seeing Bu Dai in ornate furs, styled to resemble her Yi Tish wardrobe. Tyrion and Davos were, at least, somewhat in their element.

“How do you think the meeting with the Northern Lords is going to go?” asked Tyrion to Jon one day as they made camp. The legions were very efficient at setting up fortified camps every night. Normally, Arthur told him, each Bykazantyr set up their own camp, but with three to each legion, and seven legions, they built them in a circle surrounding a central camp, the camp of the Imperial Guard and the Empress.

They had been marching for a few days now, but it still amazed Jon to see each time the march halted, an hour or so later, a veritable city of tents, flags flying overhead, take shape. Complete with walls.

“Hopefully they’re clever enough to take one look at this and say, ‘we’ve got no hope,’” said Jon. “I swear Arthur Dayne must be the most brilliant commander to have ever existed.”

“Train ten men,” said Tyrion, but Jon knew he admired the legions’ efficiency as much as he did. “Each man trains ten men, who train ten men… create a military machine.”

“Dany said the first legions were waiting for her in the Shadow,” said Jon. “Arthur was preparing them for her even before King’s Landing.”

“That was where rumors said the legions came from,” said Tyrion. “The Shadow above Asshai. The legions marched from them and hit Yi Ti.”

“Aye, that’s what Dany said,” confirmed Jon. “Where do you think they recruited them from?”

“They came from Yi Ti,” said Bu Dai nearby. “Our people’s oldest tales are from the first Great Empire of the Dawn. When it fell in the first Long Night, Yi Ti was what was left. It styled itself the Golden Empire, but we never again regained the might of the Great Empire.”

It was then that Jon heard a disturbance from the gates of one of the legion camps. This one belonged to one of the Onyx Legions- Third Onyx, from their flags. Jon hurried down, Tyrion trailing as best he could in his wake.

He found a group of Northmen taken captive, along with a few dead bodies being cleaned up. Mostly Northerners, but a few dead legionnaires as well.

“Group of them tried to rush the camp,” said William Rivers.

“Why would they rush a camp where they’re so outnumbered?” asked Jon, confused. Tyrion arrived then, panting heavily.

“Said they were local scouts paid for by the Empire, Your Grace,” said an officer, one of the men who had been in charge of the gates. “We told them the Legions do our own scouting.” Which was true, supplemented as it was by Jon, Arya, and the Reeds’ knowledge of the North. The legions sent out cavalry every morning to scout the area around within miles for an army, as their fellows packed up camp and loaded up their fortifications to the pack mules and horses. “They drew blades and tried to cut their way into the camp, to blend in.”

Jon sighed in exasperation. “Didn’t expect the Legions to be able to spot infiltrators, I expect,” said Jon. He approached the men, looking at them. “You here to kill the Empress?”

“Fuck you,” snarled one of them, clearly their leader.

“Stupid,” said Tyrion. “Even if you had managed to get through this camp, you’d have needed to infiltrate another one, one that even regular legionnaires aren’t allowed into.”

“Who sent you?” asked Jon. The men wore no markings of any Northern houses.

“The rightful King,” responded the leader. “Bran Stark, First of his Name, King of the Six Kingdoms, King in the North.”

Jon glanced over as Ashara Dayne swooped in, her blue robes fluttering behind her. She approached the leader and placed her hand on his head.

The man cried out as his eyes rolled back in pain, as Lady Ashara probed his mind with her powers. “MERCY!” he screamed.

“There is no lie,” said Ashara, taking her hand back. The man gasped for air, and looked at her in horrified terror. “The Raven offered him great wealth to attempt assassinating the Empress.”

“Aye then,” said Jon. He looked to his officers. “Lock them up.”

The men were shackled and restrained and hauled off to an area set aside for prisoners.

“I will discover ANYTHING I can from them,” said Ashara menacingly. It didn’t look like she took delight in this. But they had- poorly, to be sure- attempted to kill her daughter. There was but one fate for them now.

There was not another hostile encounter on the rest of the march. The legions found the Kingsroad and began making excellent speed- the roads from White Harbor were decent, but the Kingsroad was the backbone of not just the North, but every kingdom it went through, from its beginnings in the south at Storm’s End, all the way to Castle Black at the Wall.

The scouts reported that some Northern lords had beaten them to Winterfell… and they had brought as many men as they could muster.

“How many men can the North call on?” asked Dany in a council session when this news was relayed to her and Jon.

Everyone in the tent looked to Sansa. In her full ‘Lady of Winterfell’ mode, Jon and Arya barely saw the signs of frustration in her that she had to answer. “Twenty-five thousand men,” she replied.

“We have seventy-two thousand,” said Jon, discounting the five thousand who had been left to garrison White Harbor. He did not particularly want this to become a war, and he hoped the North was clear to see: to challenge the Empire in the field was to fight a war they could not win.

Even Sansa, disdainful as she was, was smart enough to know that Northern peasant levies were no match for the trained professional soldiers of the Gemstone Legions. Even if the numbers were even, the Legions would almost certainly carry the field. But the numbers weren’t even. The legions had, even if the North was here in its full strength, nearly fifty thousand more.

And in addition to that, she heard the roar of one of the Imperial dragons as it swooped overhead, heading for its nest nearby.

“How many soldiers so far are there?” asked Daenerys to her scouts.

“A quick count said around ten thousand, Your Majesty,” replied their leader. “They are encamping around the castle.”

“Banners?” asked Arthur Dayne.

As the man listed them, Howland Reed called them out. Glover. Cerwyn. Tallhart. Hornwood. Dustin. And more and more. As best as Jon and Sansa could tell, most of the North was there. The scouts reported more were still on the way.

The Legions set about drawing up battle plans for the event the Northern Lords decided they wished to fight.

News from Yara came in from a swift rider from White Harbor early the next morning. The Raven’s battle fleet that had been protecting King’s Landing had moved up to attempt to intercept the Imperial armada. The Empire had engaged them, and though they had done well, it was inconclusive. Supply trains to Essos remained open, but Yara moving her fleet to attempt to ferry over the Emerald Legions who were marching to the mainland near Braavos, would leave them out of contact- for now.

“Defeat the Raven,” said Jon simply, “and we win control of the Seven Kingdoms, and won’t have any issues getting reinforcements if we need them.”

Jon started to ride near the head of the columns. The Onyx Legions had the head of the long, long tail, and Jon kept an eye out with them. They passed through a few villages. Many of them had fewer smallfolk around; Jon asked around and learned that many of them had fled for fear of the invading army. News of White Harbor’s fall had spread far and wide throughout the North.

“Why do you think the Raven told Dorne of your true heritage?” asked Jon to Daenerys one night, a few days before they were expected to reach Winterfell. They were sitting around in her tent, along with Arya, Allyria, and Edric, enjoying a fire. Jon was sipping some tea. He did not want to be drunk in the event there was an attack.

“To seed them against me. Dorne is one of our natural allies on the continent,” said Daenerys simply. “They’ve never much cared for the entire concept of bastardy. Sands are not frowned upon like Snows are.”

“I’ll never forget how Lady Catelyn looked at me,” said Jon.

“I imagine it’s something akin to how Sansa looks at me,” replied Daenerys tartly. Jon chuckled. He, admittedly, had to agree.

“I still don’t know why she hates you so much,” said Jon easily.

“I do,” said Daenerys. “I still remember how terrifying it was to have no power over my own life. To be told by Viserys, that he would let all forty thousand of Drogo’s men, and their horses too, fuck me, if it got him his throne.”

“He sounds like a cunt,” said Arya. “How did he die?”

Daenerys sipped her own tea. “I was pregnant then,” she said. “Viserys got drunk and drew his blade in Vaes Dothrak, a sacred city of the Dothraki where blood is not allowed to be spilled.”

“I’m surprised they had that,” said Arya, remembering the Dothraki from when they had been encamped around Winterfell. “They seemed… barbaric.”

“They are. The rule was no blood could be spilled. Not that there could be no death. You just couldn’t cause blood to hit the ground. Viserys stormed into the tent to demand my husband return me to him, if he wasn’t going to help get his golden crown. To emphasize his point, he placed his blade on my womb and said he’d cut Rhaego from me and leave him with the Khal.”

Arya scowled. “And?”

“Drogo gave him his golden crown. He gathered up all the gold he could, placed it into a pot, and let it melt. He then poured it on Viserys’s head.”

“You let your brother die?” asked Arya.

“He was never my brother,” said Daenerys simply, glancing pointedly at Jon. “I thought him such, I’ll admit, but from the moment I felt the cold steel on my belly, he had stopped being my brother. He had been cruel and weak for years.”

“I’m not blaming you,” said Arya. “Sounds like he had it coming. Like Joffrey. I remember a story once that when he was a child, he wanted to see the kittens in a pregnant cat. He was impatient, so he cut the cat open to pull the kittens out.”

“We never heard that,” said Edric, looking at Arya in surprise. “You’d think we’d have heard of how… mad he was.”

“The Lannisters would never have let it spread,” said Arya. “Cersei especially. Joffrey was her perfect boy. But he was a monster. He always had been. I just wish I’d have been able to kill him myself.”

“And Sansa still wanted to marry him once he got her direwolf killed,” said Daenerys.

“She lived in songs and stories,” said Arya. “To her, a prince could never be anything less than perfect. Joffrey treated her like all her fantasies, even if at all other times… he was a vile little fuck.”

“Having met his mother, I can imagine why,” snarked Daenerys.

They sat in silence for a moment, the ghost of King’s Landing hovering over them. “So what’s the plan once we reach Winterfell?” asked Arya. “The Northern army is assembling outside.”

“Which is convenient, if we can secure their loyalty,” said Jon. “We mean to have the Northern army and one of the Legions head to man the Wall, to keep the White Walkers away while the rest of the Legions deal with the Raven in the south.”

“I know you don’t want to,” said Arya to Daenerys, “but the North will come to your side easier if they know you’ve got Stark blood.”

Daenerys’s face darkened, but she could not contest the point. “We’ll see,” is all she said.

“And what if the Northern lords decide they’d rather fight than kneel?” asked Arya.

“That would be their own choice,” said Jon sternly. “They named me King in the North. They named Sansa Queen. We’ve both bent the knee. If they can’t accept that the Raven deceived them, is a tyrant, that’s their problem.”

Arya was hesitant, but she nodded. She might not like the idea of the North going to war with the Empire, but she knew that Jon was right.

“Sansa will not be pleased, I’m sure, about what we do have planned for when we get there,” said Daenerys quietly.

They took an extra day, once they reached the wide open spaces around Winterfell, for the legions to form up and prepare for the possibility of a battle the next day, when they reached Winterfell.

Rather than advancing in a column, they advanced in ranks, from left to right, the Onyx legions, and then the Ruby legions, in order of their numbers. The Imperial Guard held in the center behind one of the Onyx bykazantyrs , as the legions, stretching nearly as far as the eye could see, came within sight of the Stark ancestral home.

They could see the Northern army, formed up for battle, nervous. They were encamped around the castle, their tents pressed against the wall behind them.

Clearly outnumbered.

Edric Dayne rode forward with some of the knights of House Dayne and Howland Reed to request a parley. Nobody wanted a battle, but with the two armies both prepared to fight, it needed to be agreed to mutually stand down. Daenerys and Jon would not suffer the legions to suffer a sneak attack; they expected the Northern lords felt the same.

The parley was accepted. Sansa, Jon, Arya, Daenerys, Arthur, Ashara, Edric, Howland, Meera, Allyria, Tyrion, Davos, Bu Dai, and Tormund rode forward to meet with the Northern Lords’ chosen representative.

To little surprise, with Wyman Manderly in King’s Landing, the North’s natural leader right now was Robbet Glover. He was accompanied by a few other lords.

They stopped a dozen or so feet away from each other. Each side stared across, suspicious. The Northern lords, to Arya’s practiced eyes, were visibly terrified, but they looked at Daenerys with hatred. They looked at Jon in disgust. They looked at Sansa in confusion. They looked at Arya in surprise.

“Lord Glover,” greeted Sansa.

Glover seemed unsure how to address Sansa. “Lady Stark,” he settled on. It was technically true now, even if Arya could see frustration in Sansa’s eyes. She had bent the knee. She had laid down her crown, and was here as Wardenness of the North to Jon and Daenerys. “We were under the impression you wanted a meeting, not a battle.”

“That is why we are here,” affirmed Sansa.

“But we were not going to give an opportunity for an ambush,” said Jon. He looked at Glover and burned a little on the inside. House Reed was one thing- Howland had never proclaimed Jon his King, and Bran’s treatment of Meera had definitely given Howland cause to consider if the Starks had broken faith.

Glover had refused to help the Starks retake Winterfell from the Boltons, pledged to stand behind Jon for the rest of his days, but the moment Jon had done what he still knew was the right thing- in fact he’d only grown more certain of it in his days since arriving in Volantis- and they had been facing down an army of literal death, Glover had removed his support and gone back to Deepwood Motte, content to let the rest of the North fight and die.

Glover looked at Jon and a slight sneer formed on his face. “Jon Snow,” he said.

“That’s Jon Targaryen,” corrected Davos. “King of the Andals and the First Men, First of his Name, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros in the name of Her Imperial Majesty, the Amethyst Empress of the Dawn.”

“Whose name is Daenerys of House Targaryen,” took up Allyria, “First of Her Name, Amethyst Empress of the Great Empire of the Dawn, Queen of Valyria. The Mother of Dragons and the Breaker of Chains. The Unburnt and the Reborn. The Princess Who Was Promised, The Bringer Of Dawn.”

“The Bane of King’s Landing, the tyrant, last daughter of a failed house, vile dragonspawn, the incest-born,” retorted Glover.

“Impressive,” said Arya coolly, just as disinclined as Jon to accept Glover. “Wrong on literally every count.”

“Aye,” said Jon. “Varys the spider poisoned her, which caused her madness that day, rendering her innocent. She’s never been a tyrant, she’s not the last Targaryen, there’s nothing vile about being a dragonspawn, and she’s no more incest-born than I or you.”

“My father was Rhaegar Targaryen,” said Daenerys coolly.

“And she is my daughter,” said Ashara. “Child of three, daughter of death.”

Jon suddenly came to the realization that their insistence about ‘child of three’ was their subtle way of honoring Lyanna Stark. Dany’s birth mother.

Glover looked at Ashara. “And who are you?”

“Ashara of House Dayne.”

Glover smirked. “So she’s a bastard,” he said simply.

“No,” said Tyrion. “Under Targaryen law, Viserys Targaryen was the rightful King. He legitimized her. She, in turn, has legitimized Jon. Who is claiming his birthright as King of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Aye,” confirmed Jon. “Or did you not know my father was Rhaegar Targaryen, as well?”

Glover scowled. “We’d heard rumors.” Varys had only managed to send a few ravens before Daenerys had executed him. To most of Westeros, it was a dark whisper, usually accompanied by ‘kinslayer’, when they spoke of Jon’s true birth.

“More than rumors. Truth. I am the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark.”

Glover looked at Jon skeptically.

“Lord Glover,” said Sansa, “I am here again. Clearly, Jon is alive. He will confirm I made no attempts on his life, that the attack on Hardhome that Bran blamed on me was committed by-” She paused.

“The White Walkers are back,” said Jon. “Maybe this time you’ll be man enough to fight them and won’t cower behind your walls.”

Many of the Northerners paled, and looked at Jon, terrified. To the rest of Westeros, the White Walkers were considered a Northern flight of fancy at worst, or a threat that they had dramatically overstated, at best. But the North remembered the battle, how hopeless it had been, until the Night King had exposed himself and Arya had killed him.

Glover scowled, and looked back to Sansa. “What is it you ask of us?” he asked.

“I have bent the knee to Jon Targaryen,” said Sansa, though she was unable to keep a bit of sadness out of her voice. “And he, in turn, has bent the knee to the Amethyst Empress.” Much more obvious scorn there, and Glover picked up on it. “I was your Queen, and I was framed by Bran for a crime he knew I did not commit, for a crime that nobody actually committed. I demand the North renew their oaths of fealty to me as rightful Lady of Winterfell and Wardenness of the North under King Jon.”

Glover stared at Sansa as if she had grown a second head. Behind him, some of the other Northern lords muttered darkly. The words ‘mad queen’ and ‘dragonspawn’ carried to the Imperial ears.

“Lord Glover,” said Howland, looking across the lines. “It’s the right decision. Trust me on this. From what my daughter tells me, that is not Bran Stark. Something evil has taken residence in his body.”

“What do we get out of this?” asked Glover.

“My help against the White Walkers,” replied Daenerys simply. “Your rightful Wardenness, your rightful King…”

“And you?” Glover could not hide his disdain for it.

“And you’ll get to keep your head, Lord Glover,” said Jon, mockery in his voice. “You turned your back on House Stark when we asked your aid against the Boltons. You turned your back on us when I- your chosen king- did what I felt was best for the North, and bent the knee to Daenerys Targaryen. My sister. You will not turn your back on us again.”

“Us, still, is it, Jon Targaryen? ” replied Glover coldly.

“I was raised a Stark. I’ll always be a Stark, even if that’s not my true House. And I stand by my blood. All of my blood. What you think you’re dealing with is not Brandon Stark. All of House Stark stands before you. More of it than you even know. We are united on this.”

Glover gave a glance at Sansa, seeking her opinion on their ‘unity.’ Sansa was obviously still not thrilled, but she could offer no assurances.

“Allow the North to debate this,” begged one of the Northern lords. “Let us come to a decision.”

“We will,” agreed Daenerys. “You have a week. But your chosen- rightful- Queen has made her decision. You owe her your fealty. Choose otherwise, and we will consider it oathbreaking.”

The Northmen could not hide their scowls at that. “And your army?” asked Glover, looking across the field at the Legions drawn up still for battle.

“We will stand down and make camp if the Northern army does as well,” said Jon simply.

Glover hesitated, but after a look at his fellows, all of whom nodded- some more reluctantly than others. “We will stand down for now,” said Glover.

“Your forces will also exit Winterfell,” said Daenerys. Sansa looked at her in surprise, outraged. “Imperial forces will be responsible for the security of the castle.”

“You can’t do that,” said Sansa, furious. “Winterfell belongs to House Stark. We are of the North.”

“I intend to stay in Winterfell,” said Daenerys simply. Sansa blank. She had assumed Daenerys would stay in a tent outside the walls, as she had at White Harbor. “I do not much intend to look over my shoulder for a Northern soldier deciding to end my life.”

Sansa looked to Arya and Jon for support.

“I agree with the Empress,” said Jon simply.

Arya shrugged. She trusted Daenerys. Hells, Arya realized she was starting to love her as family, and she considered her a friend. “She’s the Empress,” she said simply.

“Will you be demanding the Lords’ chambers as well?” asked Sansa snidely.

Daenerys didn’t answer for a moment, allowing her answer to hover over Sansa. “No,” she said. “The quarters I used seven years ago shall suffice, so long as my family can be close to me.”

“Relax, Lady Sansa,” said Arthur. “The Imperial Guard shall see to your safety, and the safety of everyone in that castle, personally. It shall be as fine protection as you experienced in Volantis.”

Glover and the Northern lords watched this with trepidation. “I don’t trust foreigners for my protection,” said Glover.

“I am no foreigner,” replied Arthur cooly. “I am Lord Commander of the Imperial Guard… Arthur of House Dayne.”

Every single Northern lord recognized that name. They all looked at Howland Reed, who nodded his confirmation.

“Very well then,” replied Glover, sensing they had lost this battle.

Arya could tell, though, he did not intend to lose the war.

Chapter Text

When the two sides returned to their armies, it took a moment for them each to begin standing down. Jon ordered the Onyx Legions to be the first to begin the process of making camp. They broke slowly, setting up their fortified camps.

Glover held to his word and the Northern troops that had been garrisoning Winterfell left. The Imperial Guard, supplemented by some Onyx Legionnaires, moved in to hold the walls, patrol the hallways, and keep vigilant eyes on the castle’s servants.

Wolkan was pleased to see Sansa again. Sansa didn’t hold anything against him; all he had done was confirm that it was Sansa’s handwriting, which Bran expertly had had forged.

Sansa walked the familiar walls of her home freely, Brienne and Pod guarding her again, but only felt disgust when she saw the Imperial Guard stationed throughout the castle, instead of honest, loyal, Northern soldiers.

It also only increased her fury that, though they had hung Stark banners, they had also hung Imperial flags from the walls.

She stood on the walls, looking out at the Northern camp. A good distance separated Legion camps from the Northerners, vigilant sentries always watching across the no man’d land. The Northern soldiers had, by virtue of their earlier arrival, placed themselves closer to Winterfell, but the Legions were surrounding them in turn.

Sansa had chosen this spot because, though the entire castle’s walls was under the vigilant eyes of the Imperial Guard, this one was far enough away from any guard posts that she at least felt somewhat alone.

Until she heard footsteps nearby.

“Your Grace,” greeted Glover quietly, glancing around for Imperial guards within earshot.

“Lord Glover,” responded Sansa.

“I am glad to see you again. Once Lord Manderly said that Bran would be named King in the North, I realized his game, but I was powerless to save you.”

“Ser Brienne and Ser Podrick rescued me from Bran’s soldiers,” said Sansa. “We fled across the Narrow Sea. Had I known who was waiting for me over there, I’d never have gone.”

Glover bit his lip. “May I speak freely, Your Grace?” he asked.

“Of course,” said Sansa. She could tell Glover was as dissatisfied with this arrangement as she was.

“Why did you bend the knee? Why did you not bring Jon Snow back and show us that you were innocent? You’d have been able to rally support.”

Sansa snorted. “I would have tried, but Jon had thrown himself to her feet, and she’d turned him against me. He calls her sister now; and no, they aren’t fucking again.”

Glover paused. “Is any of it true?”

Sansa considered her answer. In truth, she was fairly certain that the basilisk’s blood reason was real. Arya spoke of it. Arya was very good at telling when one was lying.

“Unfortunately I think the poison was real,” said Sansa, deciding to be honest. “Though I don’t doubt she would have done something similar eventually. As for her parentage… I’m not as certain. She almost certainly believes she’s Ashara Dayne’s daughter, but when one looks at the two… the eyes are similar, yes, but that’s about it.”

“I thought much the same,” said Glover. “As far as I’m concerned, she can lie, perhaps even to herself. She’s the Mad King’s daughter. The whole realm knows it. As for Jon Snow… he, at least, has Northern blood. I hear seven years ago, he rode a dragon. We should have realized it then.”

“We should have,” agreed Sansa. Jon riding a dragon was a tell-tale sign.

“And we should have done something to ensure that the dragons never ruled over us again,” whispered Glover.

Sansa shook her head. “Jon is my brother,” she said simply. “I’d never have harmed him.”

“Is he still your brother? Or has he turned against you?”

Sansa didn’t answer. Glover leaned in. “Is this the way of things?” he asked. “Your brother framed you; that is clear. He broke his honor, stole our true Queen from us. But must we bend the knee to Jon Snow and his foreign whore?”

“If there is a way out of it, I haven’t seen one,” said Sansa regretfully. “Arya has taken her side as well; I tried to convince her council to side with Jon, who if she speaks the truth is her elder half-brother and no bastard, but they mocked me. Not one listened to me. She has them twisted to her side.”

“Could we get your sister to… maybe…” suggested Glover.

“As I said, she’s taken the whore’s side. Even before that, she tried to get close. Daenerys knew what she was up to. We can’t have her killed. We can’t turn her allies against her.”

“The North will never bow to one who is not one of us.”

“And she has an answer for that as well. She calls Allyria Dayne her half-sister; her father was Brandon Stark.”

Glover scowled. “So we must solve this ourselves…”

“If you find an answer, let me know,” said Sansa.

“The North remembers, truly: we know no King but the King in the North, whose name is STARK.”

Sansa, at last, was able to find true solitude as took a deep breath in her solar. It had been her father’s solar before her. There were still a great many chests around with records. Wolkan, and Luwin before him, had helped Sansa, and Lord Eddard before her keep meticulous records. It had aided her more than a few times in her time as Queen, when someone had tried to argue ‘no, I distinctly remember the contract saying something different,’ to be able to say to Wolkan, ‘let us check, we have a copy.’

She sat at her desk and felt a twinge of pleasure at being home, but even here, in her private chambers, from the window, she heard calls in Valyrian, as the Imperial Guard manned the walls, keeping vigilant eyes on the Northern army encamped nearby, and even eyes on their own legions, just in case. Arthur Dayne was nothing if not a little overprotective.

And her chambers apparently weren’t as private as she thought, as with a knock, the door opened even before Sansa gave permission to enter.

Jon stepped in. He looked around the walls at the chests, thoughtfully. Wolkan was behind him.

“My lady,” said Wolkan respectfully.

“What are you doing here?” asked Sansa to Jon.

“We have need of father’s records,” said Jon.

Father, still, is it, is what Sansa thought, looking at the ruby three-headed dragon on Jon’s sash, even as she knew over her breast was a Stark direwolf in pearl.

“What for?” asked Sansa. She had no clue what Jon wanted.

Jon didn’t answer. “We’ll know it when we find it,” he said.

“We?” What business did Jon’s precious Empress have in the business of Eddard Stark?

“Aye, Arya and I.”

That only confused Sansa even more. Why would Arya want something in their father’s documents? Why would Jon want it?

“What are you looking for?” asked Sansa, more curious now than anything.

Jon didn’t answer. Gods, he was tempted to. But he’d never tell anything that Dany had made him pledge to keep secret. Not again, and especially not to Sansa.

But he knew full well Sansa probably knew these records like the back of her hand.

“We’ll start with anything father has that dated to the few years after Robert’s Rebellion,” he said simply.

Sansa shook her head. “That’s… not very helpful. What, specifically, are you seeking?”

“Anything father might have known about Daenerys,” is all Jon told her.

Sansa narrowed her eyes slightly. She stood, picked out a chest, and handed it to Jon.

“Thanks,” was all Jon said, and then he led Wolkan from the room, heading off to find a private place to search.

Sansa sat in her chair, thinking. Now, this was intriguing. What would father have known about Daenerys? Her true parentage? That as Sansa had noted, she shared eye colors with Ashara Dayne, but not much- if anything- else?

Was Jon maybe in doubt that what Daenerys had said was true? No, Sansa knew Jon believed fully in Daenerys now.

He must be looking for proof. Anything father knew of her true parentage, so he could use it to prove to the Northern Lords.

Sansa didn’t think he’d find anything. What would father have known of Rhaegar Targaryen’s bastard with Ashara Dayne? She had had little reason to go into records from that long ago.

Was Jon just clinging to the hope that father knew something?

Arya made her way to Daenerys’s chambers. Sansa had had the servants- at Daenerys’s request- set up her, Jon, Allyria, Ashara, and Arthur in a small wing. It was heavily guarded by the Imperial Guard. Arya kept an eye out for any vulnerabilities- to patch them, not to take advantage of them- but they had done their work well.

It took a moment for Arya to realize that Daenerys likely still had Faceless Men with her, working with her guards to keep the Empress safe and secure.

Daenerys didn’t get food from Winterfell’s kitchens that hadn’t been overseen by her own staff. Though she was immune to poisons, thanks to her mother’s intervention and teachings, it was more to keep those around her safe.

Arya had taken the time to ensure to the Northern staff that the Empress and her people were their guests, and if anyone broke guest right, they would be executed.

She gently knocked and was bidden to enter. Daenerys and her servants were arranging her belongings in a way similar to how they had been set up at the Palace in Volantis.

“You need to watch Glover,” said Arya.

“He’s being watched,” assured the Empress. “He had a conversation with your sister, of his discontent regarding this situation, but he didn’t really do anything yet that we could punish. And more to the point, I want to see what allies he has.”

Arya nodded, satisfied. “Just be careful.”

Tyrion knocked on the door and stepped in a moment later. “The Northern Lords are assembled,” he said. “Mostly. A few more arrived late last night. They’ve joined the Northern camp.”

“How many thousands do they have?” asked Daenerys.

“I’d say seventeen. A poor match for even one legion. And you brought seven, plus the Imperial Guard. And Drogon and his friends.”

“I won’t let them stand against you,” vowed Arya.

Daenerys found herself moved by Arya’s sentiments. She stood, approached the assassin, and enveloped her in a firm hug. Arya, with no hesitation, squeezed Daenerys back.

“We’re family,” said Arya resolutely.

“We are,” said Daenerys, feeling tears start to pool in her eyes, but holding them back lest she go face off against a room of hostile lords with red eyes. When she thought back on it, where she had been a year ago, ready to have nothing to ever do with House Stark ever again, even if she knew she must… to now, feeling genuine affection for Arya. “We really are, aren’t we?”

“They’re going to say bad things about you. They’re idiots. Just remember, we know who you are.”

“It is time,” said Tyrion gently, but he was moved by the scene before him.

“It is,” said Daenerys. Her face hardened into a mask, but her eyes burnt with fire.

“When last I sat in this hall,” said Daenerys lightly, though there was iron behind her words, “it was after our great victory at the Battle of Winterfell. The Long Night had ended, we thought. My armies had taken the battlefield alongside you and yours, and after grievous loss by all of us, we had triumphed against impossible odds. Thanks to Arya of House Stark. Hero of Winterfell.”

She was sitting at the center of the high table, looking over the Northern lords, who were assembled in the Great Hall of Winterfell. On her right sat Jon, who was staring at the lords, proud to be sitting next to his sister, determined to do as he should have done seven years ago and defend her honor. On his other side sat Sansa, who had her most diplomatic mask on, doing her best to hide her feelings. Next to her was Arya.

On Daenerys’s left sat Allyria, and on her other side was Ashara. Arthur stood behind the Empress, Dawn resting point-down in the floor. He was not alone in protecting his niece. The entirety of the walls on the left and right sides were lined by fully armed and armored Imperial Guards. Their blades were sheathed, but they hovered over the lords like a sword from a horse hair.

The only Northern lord who seemed even somewhat at ease was Howland Reed. Most of the rest were doing their best to hide their terror, of Daenerys, of her soldiers, of Jon, sitting there with his black sash studded with rubies and Blackfyre on his waist. Glover held himself together, acting as he was as their de facto leader.

“King Jon and Arya tell me that one of Lord Eddard’s sayings was, ‘we find our true friends on the battlefield,” continued Daenerys. Her face shifted to show her disdain for the Northern lords. “I tried very hard to prove myself your friend... and yet you still hated me. For the actions of a man I despise as much of any of you, who had died over a moon before my birth. The Mad King was an evil man. But you all blamed the daughter- or, who you thought was the daughter- for the sins of the father. I tried very hard to be a good queen, to defend my people. I took the battlefield alongside you from my son’s back, and when I was thrown saving King Jon’s life, I picked up a sword as I never had before in my life, and fought on.

“And then at the victory feast, you praised King Jon, and ignored me. I had sacrificed more than any other to save your lives. I had put my very children, my very own life, at risk for you. And all I wanted was your support against a woman every single one of you knew was evil. All because I wasn’t one of you. You looked at my followers, at my army, and my friends, who were there to defend your homes and your lives and you thought ‘foreigner’ and spat at their feet and whispered behind their back.

“I am no longer Daenerys Stormborn, the Dragon Queen. I am Daenerys Lightbringer, the Amethyst Empress. I claim no throne but the one I have forged for my own. A throne that holds the fealty and loyalty of all of Essos, and if any of you doubt it, you may ask the councilors I have brought.” Bu Dai and Doniphos Paenymion looked proudly over the lords. Dai in particular seemed to be enjoying watching their terror. “I hold the loyalty of the rightful King of Westeros, Jon Targaryen, the man formerly known as Jon Snow, who the North proclaimed King in the North. He holds the fealty of Sansa Stark, the wrongfully accused, who you all cast out on the words of a man who all should have known was evil, from his own actions in ruling the south.”

The lords glanced at Sansa, who could not fully conceal her feelings of the matter of being part of the Empire.

“Was their fealty given willingly?” asked a lord. A Tallhart, judging by his sigils.

Daenerys looked to Jon. “Aye,” he said. “I bent the knee to her fully willingly. I bent the knee to her as such seven years go. I’ve only become more certain that it was the right act these last few moons. Since she saved my life, and the lives of the freefolk. Since I’ve seen how she rules Essos, how her people love her, how just and righteous it is.

“And as for House Stark… you all turned on Sansa. As the Empress says, you’ve all heard the whispers from the south. Tyrion Lannister and Davos Seaworth, good men both, can tell you it’s true- who we believed to be Bran Stark is not a good or just king. He’s a tyrant, the tyrant you all feared seven years ago, but wearing a familiar face. Claiming to be your blood. You all turned on your chosen Queen, and she came to the Empire, seeking aid to reclaim Winterfell, which had been unjustly stolen from her. You all know what terms are usually demanded in such a situation.”

“Our freedom and independence,” said Glover. The Northern Lords muttered agreeably, but they cast anxious glances at the Imperial Guard, who were watching them vigilantly.

Arya snorted. “If you all think the Empress will make you less free or independent than the evil thing wearing our brother’s skin,” she said, “you all are fucking idiots. I’ve seen how she rules. I went to Volantis, thinking she was a mad monster going to kill my family, and the North too. Instead I found it was as Jon said. A good just ruler, whose people call her ‘mother’, who has struck the chains off every slave in all of Essos.”

“How good and true she is doesn’t matter,” said Glover dismissively. “She’s not one of us. We should rule our own.”

Daenerys raised an eyebrow. “Really?” she asked. “I’m surprised you speak for the North…” She paused, seemingly in thought. “Lord Glover, is it? I don’t recall you seven years ago. I came to fight and defend the North- whose chosen king had bent the knee, as he’s said, of his own free will… and you chose to retreat to your castle and let your own countrymen fight against death itself without your aid.”

Glover snarled. “I don’t bow to the dragons,” he retorted.

“No, you bent the knee to Jon Snow. You called him King, and when he made the decision to give me fealty- as was his right as King in the North- you broke your oaths. It wasn’t the first time, was it? House Stark came to you to ask aid to reclaim Winterfell from Ramsay Bolton. For House Stark being your chosen rulers, you certainly didn’t do much to help them then.”

A vein started pulsing in Glover’s temple, he was getting furious, his face growing red. “That was different. The Boltons had House Lannister backing them. I had to do what was best for my people and my house. Leading them into a losing war was not what was best for them.”

“And Bolton rule was? How many men did they flay and leave to die?” Daenerys cast a glance around. “Lord Cerwyn, I believe, I hear your family suffered quite directly at their hands. How many of you saw the Boltons unjustly flaying Northern Lords, with Lannister backing- the House that had conspired with the Freys to see many of your countrymen, friends, and family dead at the Red Wedding?”

“Do you know what they did?” asked Arya to the lords in question. “They chopped Robb’s head off, shoved a spike down his neck, and put Grey Wind’s head on top of it. They rode around calling out, ‘The King in the North.’ The Boltons helped . And you were all too cowardly to do the right thing and help House Stark throw them out.”

Hearing Arya criticize them, the Northern Lords glanced at each other, in shame. Sansa leaned in to her sister. “You need to be more diplomatic,” she whispered. “Let me speak.”

“I’ll let you speak when you start speaking,” hissed back Arya, frustrated with her sister, with ALL of the Northern Lords.

Sansa flinched as if she’d been slapped and glared at Arya.

Daenerys glanced around. “The point is moot,” she said. “After speaking with Lady Meera of House Reed, about what happened beyond the Wall when she accompanied Bran Stark, after speaking with Tyrion Lannister and Davos Seaworth, it’s clear that whoever that is, it is not Bran Stark. That would, by my guess, make Lady Sansa the heir of House Stark. You all owe your allegiance to House Stark, and Lady Sansa has pledged for Jon as the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“We bent no knee to no Targaryens,” replied Glover. “We pledge to no monsters who burn cities. Claim whatever parentage you wish. You and Lady Ashara- if that truly be her, when all the realm knows her dead- share eye color, but you have the Targaryen look otherwise.”

Jon barely managed to restrain from laughing in Glover’s face, knowing full well what he didn’t know.

Lord Reed stood. “Watch yourself, Lord Glover,” he said. “I can vouch for the Amethyst Empress. She is not the Mad King’s daughter, she is the daughter of Prince Rhaegar.”

“Aye,” said Jon, standing and glaring at Glover. “And she did not burn King’s Landing. Not of her will. Lord Varys- the spider eunuch- wanted to rule me as a puppet, as he knew he could never rule Daenerys. To turn me against her, he attempted to poison her with the substance basilisk’s blood. It’s a poison that drives people mad. She had him executed, but didn’t stop all his helpers. Aye, I killed her. I killed her and I regret it every moment of every day. I slew my sister, even if neither of us knew it at the time. Because Eddard Stark never told me who I was… and he knew who she was. We know it.”

“I don’t believe you,” responded Glover. “You’ve never been anything but a dragonspawn. I regret ever naming you my King. I spit at your feet-” and he proceeded to do so- “and call on all Northmen to stand against you. You share our blood, but you’re a traitor to it, and bend the knee to one who has no ties to this land, no right to rule over us.”

The room fell silent. Daenerys and Jon stared down Glover, who was defiant. The Imperial Guard at the walls shifted, their eyes narrowing, watching the scene, their hands moving to their hilts.

Jon glanced at Arthur. “Take him,” he requested. Arthur glanced at his niece, who nodded.

Arthur gestured to two Imperial Guards, who made their way forward. “Lord Robbet Glover,” began Jon, and all who had known him were reminded vividly of Eddard Stark. “I, Jon of House Targaryen and House Stark, First of my Name, Rightful King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord Protector of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros in the name of Her Imperial Majesty, the Amethyst Empress of the Dawn, do declare you an oathbreaker. The penalty for which is death.”

“You have no right to charge me,” replied Glover. “You are no king of mine. But if this is the farce, cross blades with me, in the name of your foreign whore. I claim the right of trial by combat.”

Jon stood. “I accept.”

“No,” said Daenerys next to him. “You claim justice in my name. I am the Amethyst Empress, overlord of this land. I stand by your sentence, and I accept his right of trial by combat. You tell me Lord Eddard taught you that the man- or woman- who passes the sentence should swing the sword. I will stand as my own champion.”

Jon and Arya exchanged a shocked glance as the room erupted. Jon leaned down. “What are you doing?” he hissed to Daenerys.

She held his gaze confidently. “What I must to earn their respect,” she said. “I must fight this battle myself.”

“Don’t worry,” said the last person Jon ever expected to support this plan- Arthur Dayne. Glover was a trained warrior, seasoned and strong. “She knows what she’s doing.”

“We will meet outside the walls in one hour’s time,” said Daenerys. “May the gods, old or new or red, make sure justice is clear.”

Outside the walls of Winterfell, the Imperial Guard formed a perimeter, a large square around 30 feet wide. Two lines of Guards stood along it, one facing out to keep the spectators out... another facing in. Waiting in the circle was the Lord Commander. Jon and Arya took up a place outside the circle, escorted by a few Onyx legionnaires. Around them were the Northern lords. Some looked eager. Some looked wary. They were, after all, surrounded by tens of thousands of soldiers loyal to their Empress.

Robbet Glover, wearing Northern chain mail, waited, his sword in his hand. He was glancing nervously around at the Imperial Guards.

“Don’t worry, Lord Glover,” said Arthur Dayne. “We won’t interfere. We won’t need to.”

Glover stared at Arthur and his nervousness seemed to evaporate. “You’ll let me kill your precious Empress?” he asked.

Arthur smirked as the sounds of marching came. The Imperial Guard split as Daenerys entered the circle.

Glover’s jaw dropped. Jon and Arya exchanged a stunned glance.

Daenerys was completely armored in solid plate, but it had the ripples and whorls of Valyrian steel. A heavy cape of tiny ringlets painted purple hung from her back. Clasped to her breastplate was her amethyst brooch. At her side hung Light Sister. Walking with her was Allyria, carrying a heavy helm, crested with dragon wings.

“Where the fuck did she get that?” asked Arya.

“She said they knew how to make Valyrian steel,” said Jon.

As Glover shifted nervously, he looked at the tiny woman opposing him, and some of his confidence seemed to return. “Fancy armor,” he said. “It won’t help you.”

Maester Wolkan stepped forward. “In the sights of gods and men,” he called, bringing silence to the crowd, “we gather to ascertain the guilt or innocence of this man. May the will of the Old Gods be made clear through the skill and arms of our combatants.” He stepped out of the circle.

“Foolish, but brave,” said Glover. “But at least you’re better than your mad father. Fire was his champion.”

Daenerys took her helmet from Allyria and settled it on, her silver braids flowing from its back. Then she drew Light Sister. Holding it in her right hand, she placed her armored left palm on the blade, just above the hilt.

“Oh, fuck,” said Arya as she and Jon recognized what she was doing.

Daenerys ran her hand along the blade and as it travelled up, Light Sister ignited.

The Lords murmured in shock as Daenerys held her blade. She then spun it around in her hand, and it was at that moment that all Jon’s nervousness left.

Dany knew how to fight, and between her sword and her armor, Glover didn’t have a chance.

That either didn’t register to the rebel lord, or he didn’t let it stop him. He charged at the Empress, hefting his sword, expecting his superior strength to break through any attempt she made to parry. Daenerys danced out of the way of his swing, the valyrian steel of her armor meaning that despite its excellent protection, it was also light enough for her to easily move in.

Daenerys swung her sword and placed a cut on Glover’s arm. It didn’t get through the mail, but he yelped in pain from the heat of the flaming blade as it sliced through his outer clothing, igniting it. With his free hand, he patted out the fire, then turned and again swang at Daenerys. This time, he made contact on her shoulder, but the castle-forged steel blade could not break through the valyrian steel armor. Daenerys rolled her shoulder with the blade to spread the impact damage, and then raised her blade again. Glover lifted his sword to parry.

Jon somehow knew a split second before it happened what would be next.

Daenerys’s flaming sword clove clean through Glover’s steel blade and put a cut into his chest. Shallow, but flaming.

Glover screamed in pain and backed away, his adrenaline dulling his agony. He looked at the useless hilt in his hand, and in desperation, threw it at the Empress. Dany merely turned her head so it made contact with the solid metal of her cheek guard, rather than allow it anywhere close to the slit for her eyes.

“Sword!” said Glover, looking around at the crowd. He stumbled up to an Imperial Guard, begging for a blade.

Arthur Dayne stepped forward. “Dīnagon aōha korzoti,” he ordered. Immediately, the inner line of guards put their swords back into their sheaths. Arthur turned to Glover. “No interference,” he said. “For her, or for you. Those were the terms.”

“SWORD!” shouted Glover desperately, looking around at the Northmen. Perhaps fearing the consequences of providing aid, or perhaps knowing it was useless, not one of them dared risk giving him a blade.

Glover, sensing his defeat, turned. He spat at the feet of Daenerys.

“If you have any final words, my lord,” said Daenerys, “now is the time.”

“The North will never yield to a foreign whore such as you!” snarled Glover.

Daenerys sliced his leg, causing him to fall to his knees. He stayed up. She then reached up and rubbed her amethyst.

“Look at me, my lord,” she whispered, raising her faceplate, “and tell me how foreign I actually am.”

Glover looked up. He looked, and he saw. He saw grey eyes staring back at him.

“Lady Lyanna?” he breathed. None but the Empress and perhaps the Imperial Guard heard him.

“Robbet Glover,” she intoned loudly, her features fading back to normal. “I, Daenerys of House Targaryen... daughter of Ashara Dayne...” She leaned in close and whispered. “Daughter of Lyanna Stark...” Then returned her voice to near-shouting. “Sentence you to die.”

Glover fell to all fours, gasping for air, but unable to save himself.

Daenerys brought Light Sister down on his neck. The cut was clean, the blade sharp. His head fell away from his body. With the fire of the sword, it even burnt the wound so that only a little blood escaped.

The Empress put her hand back on the blade and the fire went out. She slid it back into it sheathe, then turned to her uncle. “See to it that his body is returned to Deepwood Motte,” she said. “I’ll not have it said I do not give honor to the dead.” Arthur Dayne nodded. Daenerys turned and made her way back to the castle.

Daenerys stood near her window looking out over Winterfell when she heard a knock on her door. Smiling, she called out for whoever it was to enter.

“You need to spar with me,” said a voice. Daenerys was surprised. She was expecting Jon, not Arya. “I can teach you how to fight.”

“I think I’ve proven I know how to fight,” said Daenerys, a little offended.

“You’ve proven you can beat a superior opponent by having better armor and a better sword,” said Arya baldly. “In an even fight, Glover would have beaten you. He was bigger. Stronger. Been fighting longer. You only won because you had Valyrian steel armor- and I want a set, by the way- and a flaming sword that broke his blade.”

“If you want a set, come with us to Old Valyria,” said Daenerys. “That’s where I found mine. I’m sure we can find something for you. As for the training… how can you help me?”

“I can teach you water dancing. You’re small, like me. Not terribly strong. Like me. Water dancing is a style of fighting I learned. My father arranged to have me taught, when I was in King’s Landing. I think we can skip some of the steps. Probably wouldn’t do to have the Amethyst Empress running around chasing cats.”

“You chased cats around the Red Keep?” asked Daenerys, an eyebrow raised.

“Yes. Looked like an idiot, but came in handy when I needed to catch dumb things like pigeons to eat, after Cersei imprisoned our father. I escaped. Sansa didn’t.”

Daenerys held her tongue. Like her mother, she knew full well that Sansa was partially culpable for what had befallen Eddard Stark. That she had gone to Cersei to warn her that Ned was going to send his daughters away from King’s Landing, to protect them.

She had to wonder, without his daughters’ safety to worry about, would Varys have been able to convince Eddard Stark to flee the city? Would he have done for the ‘honorable’ man what he had later done for Tyrion, and spirited him across the Narrow Sea? To Daenerys, to advise her?

To tell her the truth?

Would she have embraced Eddard Stark as her kin? Would she have asked why he had protected her brother but left her alone?

Would she even have believed him?

Varys had known her true parentage, or at least her true father. Of that she was becoming increasingly convinced. As the Raven had wielded truth as a weapon, Varys had used lies.

“Show my uncle what you wish to teach me,” said Daenerys simply. “He is my tutor. If he thinks it’s worth it, I will learn. Assuming you don’t force me to humiliate myself before the North. I have a hard time having their respect now.”

Jon stepped in then, as Daenerys had expected him to. “You wouldn’t have won without the armor and the sword,” he said simply.

“So I’ve been told,” said Daenerys dryly. “Arya is offering to teach me how she fights, as we are of similar stature and builds.”

Jon nodded. “That’d be good.”

“Even better is what I have in mind. Come with me. Both of you, if you wish, Arya. We’re going to visit the dragons.”

Jon paled. So far he had avoided Drogon. The only thing more terrifying to him than Daenrys’s mother was Daenerys’s dragon son.

The Imperial Guard escorted them out of the castle and into the Legion camps, where they visibly relaxed. The Legions hailed their Empress for her victory. Daenerys’s defeat of Glover had cheered her soldiers and disheartened the Northern army.

“How are the Northern lords taking my victory?” asked Daenerys to Arya as they walked.

“As you’d expect,” said Arya, disappointed in her countrymen. “They saw you win, cleanly and fairly, but they still don’t care for you. They’re trying to figure out how to beat your sword and armor. So far, I’ve heard some suggesting using maces.”

“A hard blow from a mace,” said Jon, frowning, “even Valyrian steel plate won’t do much against that.”

“I’ve fought my battle,” said Daenerys as they reached the edge of the clearing, in which the dragons camped.

“If any are stupid enough to call for trial by combat again, I’ll fight them,” swore Jon. “It was a good attempt to win them over. They just think you cheated, I’m betting.”

“The flaming sword was awesome,” said Arya. “Like Beric Dondarrion and Thoros of Myr.”

They reached the center of the dragon clearing. “Arya suggested something,” said Daenerys as Jon looked around uneasily. “I may not be able to ride a dragon due to my… memories, but Jon, you may be able to.”

Jon was taken aback. “You’d really trust me with a dragon again?”

“Rhaegal wasn’t killed when you were on his back,” said Daenerys. “Perhaps if you’d been there, you’d have been able to save him… but it matters not now. Drogon remains bonded to me, but you may be able to ride another dragon.”

“You do have Targaryen blood,” said Arya to Jon confidently.

“In truth, I wonder if that matters,” confessed Daenerys. “These are not the descendants of the Valyrian dragons, that were bound through blood magic and sorcery to the blood of Old Valyria. These dragons are of a far older lineage, those of the original Great Empire of the Dawn. The first nation of dragon riders.”

It was then that Jon had to face what he had feared most since his reunion with Daenerys.

The sky darkened as the last of Daenerys’s children swooped overhead. And Drogon was obviously not happy. He landed before them and stared at Jon, furious and hateful.

He opened his mouth and they saw flames pooling at the back as he roared at Jon, clearly intending to scare him half to death.

He succeeded as Jon stepped backwards as quickly as he could, stumbling to the ground.

“Drogon,” said Daenerys warningly, but Drogon did not listen to her. He screamed at Jon, and though no fire came out of his mouth, the heat of his breath made Jon think for a moment he was being burnt alive. Or that Drogon would pierce him with teeth as large as greatswords.

Daenerys stepped forward and placed her hand on Drogon’s nose, which froze his fury. “If mother needs to take vengeance,” she said quietly, “mother will do it herself. Grandmother is keeping an eye on him. He will never harm me again.”

Drogon was not at all satisfied, but he looked at Daenerys, and restrained himself for her. He gave Jon a glare of pure hatred and seeing Jon trying to climb to his feet, blew his wings at him, forcing him back to the ground. His foot then came over Jon and stepped on him, holding him down to the ground, as Drogon moved to stare at Jon in the face.

“I’m… sorry…” choked out Jon. “I wish you’d… burnt me… not the throne…”

Drogon clearly wished the same, but with a glance at Daenerys, he put his nose inches from Jon’s face, blew a little smoke, and then lifted his foot. Spreading his wings, he took flight, flying away.

“He’s not happy,” observed Daenerys sadly.

“You could say that,” said Arya, who had been terrified she was about to watch her brother die. She stepped forward and helped Jon climb to his feet. Jon was breathing heavily, calming his terror.

“Did we really need to do that?” asked Arya.

“Yes,” said Daenerys firmly. “Otherwise Drogon would have spotted Jon when I wasn’t around, and even I have no clue what he would have done. It’s frankly nothing short of a miracle that he didn’t take it upon himself to blast Jon’s wall down when he was staying in the Palace.”

“Aye,” said Jon in a high voice, “I was doing my best to avoid him. A bit easy when he and the other dragons had a pit I could stay away from.”

“Now, come,” said Daenerys, “let’s see if one of the other dragons will consent to taking you as a rider.”

“Not right now,” said Jon sternly. “I need to go back and get drunk. Really, really drunk.”

Leaving no room for argument, he turned on his heel and strode straight back toward the legion camps. Daenerys, rolling her eyes, followed him.

Jon was eager to change the subject, it seemed. “Have you gone to see her yet?” he asked.

“I haven’t,” said Daenerys.

“You should.”

“I visited her statue every day in Volantis,” responded Daenerys simply.

“Aye, but this is different.” Jon choked a little bit. “It’s where she’s buried.”

Daenerys paled a little bit, but she saw Jon’s point. Silently, she nodded. When they got back to the castle, she led the Imperial Guard towards the crypts as Jon went off to drown himself in mead. Nodding to them, they took positions outside, allowing their Empress to enter alone.

Daenerys knew the way. She remembered it from when she’d found Jon here, seven years ago, on that black night. The night a man he thought his brother, and one he thought his friend, had told him the truth- but not the whole truth. Just enough to begin the process of destroying her.

There were candles already lit. Someone had been down here very recently, but Daenerys cared not. She strode to the end of the long hall, where there were three statues closer together. She glanced around, at the candles lit on the tomb of Lyanna, of Eddard, of even Brandon Stark, who Daenerys gave a disdainful glance towards. She looked into the corners, but saw nobody. Perhaps Jon or Arya had been down here after her trial by combat, but before they had come to see her. She turned to the tomb she had sought. Her heart was hammering for some reason. She could feel breathing becoming more difficult, as it always had been, since the day she had gasped for breath again in Volantis, her lungs affected by the scar in her chest.

And then she turned to look into the stone face. A poor recreation, she knew. Even without the statue in Volantis, Ashara had shown her Lyanna’s face, with her glass candles.

Daenerys knew under the signs of her Targaryen lineage, she shared her birth mother's face. This was not the face of Lyanna Stark…

But her bones, as Jon had said, rested here.

Lyanna Stark had died giving birth to her. Daenerys knew she was the reason she was dead.

But she had spent long enough hearing Viserys blame her for killing who they had thought was their mother to know she was blameless in this matter. It was a fact of life.

Valar morghulis. All men must die. All women, too.

Even if some lingered longer than others.

Daenerys did not dwell on that. She stepped towards her birth mother’s tomb and began to speak.

“We have a statue of you in Volantis,” she said. “It’s much better than this one. Perhaps in a year or so, we can have a new one made for you here.

“Mother- Lady Ashara- she misses you. You and father, very much. I know what it is to lose the one you love. She is cursed to have lost two. I hope you and father are together, if there is anything beyond this world. I didn’t see anything when I was... gone. The last thing I saw was Jon…  he had just… well, I’m sure you know. Be at peace. Drogon may still hate him, but as for me… I think I forgave him the moment he did it.

“I wish you’d lived. Father as well, of course. To be raised in the Red Keep, with three loving parents. Knowing who I was. Never the Mad King’s daughter. Child of three. Rhaegar Targaryen, Ashara Dayne, and you. I know without what happened, I’d only be bound to two of you by blood, but I think I’d have loved Lady Ashara as my mother. You and father would have taught Jon and I to. Lady Ashara tells me you kissed me before you handed me over. Told me you loved me. And despite all the wrongs I have suffered at the hands of House Stark... I do love you. I do miss you. I call Lady Ashara mother, but ever since I awoke after I was brought back, I’ve never forgotten that I have two mothers who both gave their life for me. Lady Ashara saving me... you birthing me.

“If there is a life after this one that I didn’t see, I hope I get to meet you. Jon and Arya tell me that you were an excellent rider of horses. I prefer dragons, even though I haven’t been able to mount Drogon for seven years now. But I still remember the first time, after leaving the house with the red door, that I ever felt free of fear. It was when Drogo gave me his wedding present. The most splendid silver mare I’ve ever seen. I hadn’t ridden much before, but the moment I mounted her, I bonded with her. She did whatever I asked. If there had been a fire, I’d have leapt her over it. I hadn’t ridden much before, but when I was upon her back, I felt that she was teaching me, more than Irri, my handmaiden. That mare was so precious to me. She died in the red wastes, unfortunately. I feel in another life, perhaps she’d still be with me. I was never blessed with a wolf. No symbolic link to my Stark blood, as Jon has with Ghost. Instead I wonder if my silver was my connection. Not to the Stark family who cast me out of their pack. But to you.

“And if you can watch, and see us... I hope you’re proud of me. I know you’d be proud of Jon. Even in his darkest moment, he’s always done what he felt was right. I can’t even blame basilisk’s blood for all my failures before that one. If there’s anyone I can blame...” and Daenerys paused, and turned. “It’s you .”

She was speaking to the statue of Eddard Stark now.

“You knew,” she said accusingly. “You knew who I was. You knew I was your kin. I don’t blame you for leaving me with mother. But you heard she had passed, that she had paid her life. That I had lived, as you didn’t think I would. And even as I suffered at the hands of Viserys, you sat here. In Winterfell. You had children of your own off your bitch of a wife.

“Did your sister not make you promise to protect me? If she did not, I cannot blame her. I remember when Rhaego came from me, even though he did not live, I was not in my right mind. Lyanna was dying. There was only one babe before her. Jon. Only one to focus on. But still, for all your supposed honor, you let me be sent into foreign lands. Did you know what Viserys did to me? Beat me. Screamed at me. Threatened me with ‘waking the dragon.’ Sold me, to a brute of a man. It took me time to love Drogo, and yet he did not wait before he forced himself on me. Tyrion tells me you resigned rather than see me assassinated, but I wonder. Did you resign to try and save me from the assassin’s blade? Or did you resign because your dear friend, the man you chose over your own blood, ordered you to be the one to give the order? Did you only resign to save yourself from being a kinslayer ?

“Did you ever even love Jon, the one you raised? He wanted nothing more than to know who his mother was. You didn’t even have to tell him of his father! But instead, you kept silent. Your wife made Jon feel unwelcome, but your lips were sealed. Jon determined to join the Night’s Watch, to unknowingly swear away his claim, and still you told him nothing. Not of his mother, or his father. Or of even that his fantasies of the Night’s Watch being a noble order were false. A refuse pile for the unwanted and criminals of the Seven Kingdoms. You let Jon throw away his life, throw away love, fatherhood... for loyalty to a pig of a man. You cared not if I died. And because you did not dissuade Jon from joining the Night’s Watch, Jon died. You failed your promise.

“I hope the mother who bore me and my father turned away, but I hope you were forced to watch every moment of Jon and I on that boat, knowing it was your cowardice that led to it. Incest bothers you Starks, yes? It doesn’t particularly bother me, but it certainly does Jon. Because of your silence Lyanna’s son fell in love with Lyanna’s daughter. Because of your silence your children plotted against their own kin. Because of your silence, my advisors judged me unfairly, believing me the daughter of an evil man. Because of you, Lyanna’s son murdered Lyanna’s daughter. From what I know, your wife was probably thrilled. She always hated Jon. And I think now you never loved him. You merely did the minimum of keeping your promise to your sister.

“Jon tells me you always said Arya is quite like your sister... mother Lyanna. I hope that’s true, because if it is, and there is a life after this one, she has made it your own personal hell, I’m sure. You’re lucky Arya is becoming dear to me. Because if she wasn’t? I’d send ravens to every corner of this land, naming you for what you are, what your own actions led you to be. Traitor to your own blood. Breaker of your own promises. Kinslayer .”

Daenerys stepped closer to the statue and rubbed the stone face. “But I have my vengeance over you,” she said quietly. “Arya knows what you did. She’s helping Jon search for writings where you try and justify it. She thought so highly of you... but she can’t explain this. Sansa doesn’t, but I will not harm her. I have returned her home. I have done for my blood what you failed to do for yours. Jon will rule in King’s Landing, and your daughter- vile though I may find her- shall rule in Winterfell so long as she remains loyal to her King and her Empress. And if she betrays me? Allyria will take her place. Stark blood will endure. It will endure because of me. It will endure in spite of you.”

Dany chuckled as she stepped back. “I just realized... I will be loyal to my blood, even if I will never be proud to have it. Because of you, and Sansa, and your brother. Do you know what he was? I imagine so. Yet in this, you are the one who had two parents named Stark, while I only had one of three. And yet maybe this is my final revenge: I have done more for House Stark than you ever could.”

Daenerys turned on her heel. Kissing the tips of her fingers, she then placed them on Lyanna’s stone lips, then strode as quickly as she could out of the crypts.

Unknowingly leaving behind a stunned Sansa Stark, hidden in a corner, her skin pitch white.

Chapter Text

Sansa stood in the dark long after she’d heard the heavy wooden doors of the crypts close behind the Empress as she left.

Eventually, as the candles she had lit when she had come down here to pay respects to her father began to flicker, she made her way out of the crypts. She made her way straight to her solar.

“My lady,” said Maester Wolkan, who had been waiting for her, “some of the Northern Lords-”

“Later,” snapped Sansa, less out of irritation and more out of… stunned shock. Wolkan flinched at the harshness of her voice, but bowed and excused himself. The door closed behind Sansa, and she collapsed into her desk, her trembling hands pouring herself a full goblet of wine. She took a heavy swig and then set the goblet down on the desk, her mind reeling with what she had just learned.

Sansa had sworn the North would never bow to one without Stark blood ever again.

Daenerys Targaryen had Stark blood.

She was Jon’s younger sister, in full, not in half.

She was Sansa’s cousin.

Jon and Arya knew. Daenerys had told them. She had told no one else. Why? It would have won her the North. It would have pacified the lords. Why hadn’t she told them?

Because she hated the North so much that she never would claim her Stark blood. Because the North had hated her, despite the fact... she had come to defend them. And she hadn’t even wanted them to bend the knee, if she and Jon spoke the truth. She had pledged to help them without fealty. Jon had bent the knee to her in belief.

Suddenly Arya’s insistence on why Sansa must bend the knee made perfect sense. It must have been right after she’d been told. Arya had practically forced Sansa to stop her schemes. Because she felt House Stark had betrayed Daenerys her entire life.

Because they had.

“You and your sister may be as different as the sun and the moon,” Sansa heard in her head, something her father had once said about her and Arya, “but the same blood flows through both your veins.” Jon and Daenerys were complete opposites in appearance... but they had the exact same blood. Well, Sansa had no clue what Daenerys meant by that ‘three parents’ business, but she must have meant fostering. With the Daynes.

Was it a lie? Sansa thought it over. As far as she could see, it was something that strictly benefited the Empress. Claiming Stark blood had won her Arya. It would maybe not win her the North, but it would have helped to smooth over relations. The North hated nothing more than kinslayers- a fact Bran had taken advantage of when he had tricked them into turning on her.

But Sansa knew in her heart this was true.

Because it did do nothing but benefit Daenerys, and yet still she kept it secret. Still she sat there and endured the scorn and hatred of the Northern lords, and hated them right back, when all the while she was sitting on a truth that would have made most of it- not all of it- go away.

There was no point in making up a lie, and then never telling that lie.

Sansa herself, as she and Glover had discussed, had doubted Ashara Dayne was Daenerys’s true mother. Well, Sansa admitted, she was Daenerys’s mother- Eddard Stark was Jon’s father, after all, even if he hadn’t been the one who sired him. But as Sansa thought of it, she thought of Arya. Arya, who alone of Eddard Stark’s children, bore the Stark look.

And Sansa realized beneath the silver hair and violet eyes of House Targaryen were hidden many Stark features. If one knew what to look for… if one looked beneath the hair, beyond the eyes, there was the look of House Stark.

Jon, Sansa thought over, drinking what was left of her wine in her cup and pouring another. Jon knew. Arya knew. Had Jon told Arya but not told Sansa? Why hadn’t Arya told her?

Daenerys had sworn them to secrecy. She must have.

Arya had begun bonding with Daenerys even before she must have been told. Sansa realized that, a few days before Arya had stormed into her office and demanded she bend the knee to Daenerys immediately, Arya had still harbored doubts. There had been a flicker of annoyance in even her eyes when she spoke of Sansa bending the knee to the Empire, but Arya had clearly decided that bending the knee was not the worst of the options presented.

And then on that day, Arya had barged in, told Sansa to bend the knee. Her doubts had vanished.

Because she had discovered Daenerys had Stark blood.

When had Jon been told? Surely before Arya. There had been a day all Jon’s demons had seemed to leave him. A day when he had walked in the morning as if bearing a weight on his back, and then that evening, as if he had been relieved of his burden. And then a few days later, Arya had been told.

It all made sense.

Except for the parts that didn’t, which was all of it.

Sansa couldn’t comprehend why Daenerys refused to tell it. Hatred was one thing, but this was the game of thrones, and Daenerys was holding a powerful piece in reserve.

Sansa thought back of the game cyvasse, which she had seen- but never learned- played in King’s Landing. Players placed their pieces behind a screen, so their opponent couldn’t see how they had set their field.

Sansa had finally seen beyond the screen to see Daenerys’s board, and had realized now that Daenerys had beaten her at this game LONG before it had ever truly begun.

Every move Sansa could ever have made, Daenerys had already prepared for, and had checked even before the game had begun.

Lost her claim to her family’s ancestral throne? She’d forged herself a new one, a new realm, stronger than any in history.

Feared assassination by Arya, wielding the skills of the Faceless Men? Recruit Arya’s masters to her cause, and place them in Arya’s way.

Disloyal vassals waiting for an opportunity to reclaim their independence and homes? Build vast, skilled, and loyal armies, loyal specifically to her. Befriend those she could and keep them in power. Destroy any who opposed her. And even Sansa knew that Daenerys had only truly gone out of her way to destroy monsters in her conquest of Essos. She had heard during her time in Volantis of the masters of Slaver’s Bay, and their mass executions by dragonfire. Of the nobles of the city of Qohor, who had sent their slave soldiers into the streets to round up a thousand children, who were ritually sacrificed to their god, the Black Goat, in the hopes that he would smite Daenerys and her armies for them.

Instead Daenerys had brought her own burning justice upon them.

And last of all… she had checked Sansa, too. She had known full well what Sansa would attempt when she arrived in Volantis. She had allowed Sansa to attempt it, knowing beyond any doubt that it would fail. Sansa could almost hear her mocking laughter as she took delight in each and every time the Elder Council or Legions threw her from their chambers, knowing she had failed.

When Arya had mentioned that Allyria Dayne was Brandon Stark’s daughter, Sansa had thought she had seen Daenerys’s final piece, her answer to Northern loyalty.

But even then she had been mistaken, for Daenerys’s ultimate answer to Northern loyalty had been herself, and the secret blood she carried.

Stark blood.

Sansa had thought herself a master of the game, but she had never once had a chance. Daenerys had seen to that. She had forced Sansa into but a single option, and then left her no escape.

From the moment Sansa’s knee had hit the purple marble floor of the Elder Council chambers, she had been looking for a way to turn the game back on Daenerys, looking for the next play she could make to win back her throne, her crown.

This had been Daenerys’s final, uttermost vengeance.

There never had been a play. There never would be a play. Sansa had never found one. Glover and the Northern lords begged her, wanted her, find a way out of this. A way to maintain their independence, a way to ensure Northern blood ruled over them.

They had all thought the great threat hovering over them was the threat of defeat in the fields at the hands of the Gemstone Legions, and then the threat of annihilation by dragonfire.

They had never once realized that Daenerys had been holding back her strongest card.

The Northern blood they desired. In her very own veins.

There was no victory over Daenerys possible. Her victory and rule over the North, Sansa knew now, was complete.

Except for one last fact.

Daenerys had willfully handicapped herself. She had in her hand victory, maybe not complete Northern loyalty, but enough of it to win her the North for all time.

And she hated the North so much that she would rather suffer Northern disloyalty than claim herself to be one of them.

Sansa was one of the few who knew the truth. She was sure Daenerys’s family knew. Ashara certainly did. Arthur probably as well. Allyria- she was Daenerys’s kin by blood, in any case. Just not Dayne blood. Stark blood. First cousins. Just as she- just as they - were Sansa’s.

Arya and Jon. Howland Reed, Sansa guessed, knew. Probably his daughter as well.

The secret would come out. Sansa knew that.

It was just a matter of how fiercely the North would oppose the Empress until they learned it. How many lords would call on Sansa to raise her banners in rebellion, reclaim the North.

Something Sansa now realized she would never do.

Because blood mattered to her. It mattered to her a great deal. It mattered to Jon, who Sansa knew now would never betray Daenerys. Ever again. Not only did they share the same father, they shared the same mother.

For Jon now, to turn against Daenerys would not just be to turn against his Targaryen blood, it would be to betray his Stark blood as well. And Daenerys would never again give him reason to betray her.

Assuming they won this war, Sansa knew that Jon would hold the loyalty of the other six kingdoms. Maybe she could count on support from her uncle Edmure and cousin Robin, but Jon would hold the loyalty of the Reach, Stormlands, Westerlands, Crownlands, and Dorne- and now, Sansa had to admit, Daenerys and her council had masterfully worked her way around the obstacle of Rhaegar’s second marriage and secret annulment.

She had held it against Daenerys, that she had to be a bastard, as Rhaegar had annulled his marriage to Elia Martell and wed Lyanna Stark, not Ashara Dayne. She was sure there was still more to the story then, but it was the simple truth now- if Jon was legitimate, Daenerys was as well. They had the same parents.

And still the North was running headlong into a confrontation that they could not win. Jon would not betray his sister for them. If they raised in rebellion, Jon would oppose them. He would lead the Onyx Legions and all the forces of the south against the North and whatever allies they mustered.

Sansa had seen behind the screen to know that there was no chance for the North to claim victory.

That the North not only could not win… they should not go against Daenerys in the first place. She was their kin.

Sansa would not allow the North to rebel. She was sure there were plots already in motion. She was a daughter of the North, proud to call this her home. But she would not allow her people to waste their lives on a hopeless war.

That night Sansa dreamed that she was a wolf, that she was Lady, and she felt her heart pining for her lost wolf, her dead companion, so loyal, so true, so proper.

She was running with her pack, Nymeria to her left, Grey Wind on her right, and she could smell Summer, and Shaggydog, as they ran, and ran, so happy, so free, together again as they hadn't been since the day Sansa and Arya had left with their father to go to King's Landing, since Jon had left for the Wall to join the Night's Watch.

They came upon a clearing. Ghost was waiting inside, staring at them with his red eyes, and Sansa, Lady, suddenly realized Grey Wind, and Shaggydog, and Summer, all were gone, vanished, as they were gone in the waking world as well, dead, as Robb was gone, as Rickon was gone, as Bran was... no longer Bran, not truly.

There was a stirring from the brush, and Sansa turned. Ghost howled in greeting, and a howling came back, as out from the ferns and long grass came another direwolf, a she-wolf, with jet black fur. She strode up to Ghost and as one the two turned. And suddenly, Nymeria left Lady's side, and strode forward to join the two, as they turned to look at Sansa, with her golden eyes, Ghost with his red eyes, and the unnamed wolf, the long-lost member of the pack, with eyes like amethysts. The nameless wolf howled, a howl that was more like a roar, a challenge to Lady. Lady stood alone, her litter-mates going to the new wolf, their new pack.

Lady looked between the other wolves and the wind came up, and on it Sansa heard a voice. "The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives."

She awoke sweaty and gasping for air. She splashed water on her face. The sun was streaming in. Sansa had tossed and turned long before her troubled dreams had taken her. It was near time for her to go to the Great Hall, to meet with the others.

When she entered Daenerys’s solar, she glanced at the Empress, who was speaking with Tyrion and Jon.

“I’d recommend against any further trials by combat,” Tyrion was saying. “From my understanding, the general agreement amongst the lords is, if they demand it, they’re going to demand the terms of you fighting without your personal armor or personal sword.”

“Aye,” said Jon, “it’s as Arya and I saw. You’re a decent fighter, Dany, but they’re bigger, stronger, and have been at it longer. Let Arya teach you water dancing, her way of fighting, and you’ll be fine.”

Arthur grunted. “It’s not entirely without merit,” he admitted.

Sansa could not stop looking at Daenerys’s face, seeing it, seeing it so clearly now that she knew what to look for.

Beneath her Valyrian features, there was hidden a daughter of House Stark.

Daenerys made eye contact with Sansa, and her expression hardened, her distaste showing.

Sansa remembered Daenerys’s hatred for her father. In the past, it had confused her, but now… it made more sense.

Sansa still wasn’t sure her father did the wrong thing by not sheltering a child who was obviously of Targaryen blood, given the consequences that would have brought upon him and his own children, but no longer could she dismiss Daenerys’s hatred as being unjustified.

Jon had been sheltered. She had not been.

They went to the next meeting. Sansa sat at the high table in her usual spot, next to Jon and Arya. Daenerys took her spot in the center.

Sansa did her best to keep her mask in place, but Arya next to her kept glancing at her, confused.

“Are you alright?” whispered Arya.

“I’m fine,” responded Sansa coldly.

How could Arya not have told her this?

Arya continued to side-eye Sansa, suspicious, but their attention was taken as Jon began to speak.

“After yesterday,” said Jon, “I think we make our opinion clear on who your allegiance is owed to. Lady Sansa was your rightful Queen. She has bent the knee to me as the King of the Seven Kingdoms, and I have bent the knee to the Amethyst Empress of the Dawn as my overlord. We are part of the Empire of the Dawn.”

“We swore to Lady Sansa as Queen in the North,” said Lord Slate of Blackpool. “Not to Jon Targaryen.”

“By my account you swore to Bran Stark- or who you believed to be Bran Stark,” snapped Jon. “Who framed your first queen for a crime she didn’t commit. A crime that hadn’t even been committed- though I begin to suspect he tried.”

Daenerys remembered what Jon had said about suspecting the White Walkers and the Three-Eyed Raven were linked. She determined to look into it. Howland might have some knowledge. There was also an ‘Old Nan’ that Jon had mentioned that knew all sorts of old stories.

Daenerys didn’t usually put much in stories, but the Great Empire of the Dawn had once been a story. Sometimes in old stories, knowledge could be found.

“As King Jon says,” took up Daenerys, “House Stark has given us their allegiance. You are all sworn to House Stark.”

“Perhaps we should be rethinking that allegiance!” shouted a woman, wearing the Dustin coat of arms. She stood. “My husband died in a war that a member of House Stark started!”

“Your name, my lady?” asked Jon, not recognizing her.

“Barbery Dustin, your grace, ” she said mockingly. “My husband rode off with Lord Eddard Stark-” and she spat on the ground- “to Dorne, seeking his sister. Your whore mother, bastard. Now you come here, at the side of another bastard, when my husband never came home. All because as we now discover, the whore Lyanna Stark ran off with a married man, to have you. ”

Daenerys looked over her shoulder at her uncle. “Your husband was William Dustin,” said Arthur. “He fought well.”

“He died,” snarled Lady Barbery.

Howland stood. “Lady Lyanna and Prince Rhaegar did not start the rebellion,” he said. “The Mad King did that, when he burnt Lord Rickard and forced Lord Brandon to watch. Had he been less mad, the situation could have been made more clear. But instead, he broke faith.”

“Aye, he broke faith with House Stark, and we threw him and his dragonspawn out. King Robert struck your rapist father down in the Trident, Jaime Lannister murdered your mad grandfather, and Tywin Lannister saw dead-”

“Say Aegon and Rhaenys deserved to die,” said Daenerys, in her most dangerous but quiet tone, “say two innocent children- our brother and sister - deserved to die, and I will have you executed at once.”

“I don’t fear death. I fear to see the North bend the knee to a fool and his bitch.”

None of the other lords raised in support of Lady Dustin, but they all saw that they approved of her words.

Lord Slate nodded. “The North knows no King but the King in the North,” he said, “whose name is STARK.”

“My House name is not Targaryen,” said Jon, “but I am of House Stark. I have been all my life.”

“You are one thing. Your Empress is another.”

Sansa sat there. Surely, this was the moment that Daenerys would speak her secret. That she would reveal that she did carry the blood of House Stark. That her birth mother had been of that house.

But Daenerys didn’t. “I ask you call me Empress,” she said, “not King.”

“Semantics,” barked a Northern lord.

As they sat there, again and again, the Northern Lords expressed discontent at the idea of being part of Daenerys Targaryen’s Empire, and veiled criticism at Jon for bending the knee to her, for not standing by his Northern blood.

And every time they spoke, Daenerys refused to claim kinship.

It was then that Sansa realized how deeply Daenerys hated the idea that she had Northern blood.

Allyria had Stark blood, and she called her sister.

Arya, it was clear even to Sansa, was getting very close with their cousin.

Jon was her brother.

But the rest of the North, Daenerys rejected. She rejected them utterly.

Howland rose from time to time to extol the Northern lords to bend the knee, accept this, but it didn’t work. The Northern lords were merely turning on him.

Yes, a few seemed to believe Daenerys. White Harbor still stood, after all. Reports were the city was peaceful, if tense.

But it was clear the North would never fully accept having the Mad Queen- for that was how many still whispered of her, for they had hated her even before she had been poisoned and destroyed King’s Landing- as their Empress. Even if Sansa would remain their overlord, and Jon their King in King’s Landing, that they would be expected to have fealty to an Empress who ruled from Volantis, who didn’t share their blood, was something they could never live with.

Except she did share their blood.

But she refused to tell them that.

She would rather suffer their hate and rebellion than admit to them that she was their kin.

If it had only been the Northern lords, Sansa could understand. She could accept that.

But it wasn’t. The North was still weak after the disaster of the past fifteen years. The War of the Five Kings. The Boltons. The Battle of Winterfell, and even the Burning of King’s Landing.

They had a larger army, but Sansa knew that many of their soldiers were conscripts. Peasants told by their lords, to fight, to defend their homes, the Mad Queen had returned, all men must fight.

Daenerys was not just playing with the lives of the Northern lords.

If they fought, the smallfolk would suffer.

Did she even know? Did she realize? All her life, Sansa realized, she had had, fighting for her, trained warriors. Killers. Her Unsullied. Her Dothraki. And now, her Legions. Volunteers.

“This is not a negotiation,” said Jon. “We’re giving you a chance to give us your opinions, your concerns, so we can address them. But Her Imperial Majesty is the Empress. I am the King. And House Stark has yielded to us.”

“Against the will of the Northern Lords,” snapped Dustin. The lords were getting more riotous. More willing to challenge this new order.

“I believe we have made our opinion on this rather clear,” said Daenerys coldly. Next to her, Jon was getting uncomfortable. Sansa wondered if he hated this disrespect, or if this was because he knew the truth, and was wondering why Daenerys didn’t speak of it.

“You don’t know this land!” called out Lord Slate. “You don’t share our blood!”

But she did, Sansa thought.

“The King will share your blood,” said Daenerys.

“Aye, but he’ll be licking your feet!” called out a different lord.

“If any of you knew anything about the Empire, you’d know she’s a good ruler!” snapped Arya, but Sansa could see she was getting aggravated. Tyrion and Davos exchanged a glance as well, Tyrion’s brows furrowed, both of them looking at Daenerys in concern.

Gods above, Sansa thought. Was she the last to find out? Tyrion and Davos knew as well.

“She’s a tyrant! She wants to rule us, but she’d be a ruler with no ties to this land!” shouted Slate, and he actually drew a few cheers. The Imperial Guard shifted, sensing the mood turning.

“She’s a Targaryen true!” cried out another. “She’s got her brother obsessed with fucking her!”

“The dragons lost this land, we took it back!” called out a final.

Sansa grimaced. This was it. This was the moment. The North was about to refuse to bend, and they would all die, all of them who stood against Jon and Daenerys, and they would lead their armies into a sure defeat.

Sansa could not allow that. No matter the consequences.

 “Just tell them!” she screamed, standing and looking at Daenerys. “Tell them, already!”

The room fell silent, seeing Sansa have her outburst. Daenerys looked at Sansa, and something fell across her face, looking at Sansa, accusingly. She glanced between them all.

“Tell them what, Lady Sansa?” asked Daenerys, in a quiet voice, that nonetheless drew everyone’s attention, so deadly was its tone.

Sansa realized then that she was playing with her life by doing this… but it was worth it. It was worth it to keep the Northern lords from rebelling.

If it cost her her life, so be it. The North would be safe.

“You’re not the daughter of Rhaegar Targaryen and Ashara Dayne,” said Sansa, committing to it. Daenerys’s face filled with fury. Sansa heard Arya gasp behind her. Tyrion and Davos exchanged stunned glances.

The Northern lords were looking at Sansa with bated breath. Some started to grin sinisterly, thinking Sansa was revealing that it was a lie all along, that Daenerys was the Mad King’s daughter, that she HAD burnt King’s Landing of her own free will.

“You’re the daughter of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark!” finished Sansa.

Any smirks that had formed immediately fell off the faces of the Northern lords, as the jaws dropped on every single one of them as they registered what Sansa had said.

Daenerys Targaryen was the daughter of Lyanna Stark .

The room sat there, the Northern lords gaping at Sansa. And then they exploded in shock.

Jon gave a horrified glance at Sansa, and looked back to Daenerys, whose face was made of stone, her fury going cold.

“Take her to her solar,” said Daenerys to Jon. “We will deal with this.”

“Dany,” said Jon pleadingly. “She did-”

“Now, King Jon,” breathed Daenerys, furious.

Jon took a deep breath, nodding. Fear was on his face as he stood, made his way to Sansa, and took her elbow.

“Come on,” he said, “come on, now.”

“I did the right thing,” said Sansa. “I know I did.”

Jon didn’t speak as he led Sansa from the room. A rapid fire glance between Arya, Tyrion, and Davos happened, before they all stood and followed them.

Daenerys sat there, then with a glance to her mother and sister, stood and led them from the hall, even as the Northern lords stared at her.

“Fetch me Light Sister,” said Daenerys, looking to a page.

“No,” said Ashara. Daenerys turned her livid gaze to her mother. “I do not know how she discovered this secret… but she is your blood. You must hear her reasons for this before you decide to execute her.”

“She is no blood of mine,” hissed Daenerys. “She betrayed me.”

“Did she?” asked Ashara. “Or did she help you?”

Daenerys stared at her mother, scowling, then turned to make her way to Sansa’s solar.

Sansa waited in her solar, Jon and Arya both staring at her in stunned, fearful shock, waiting for the hammer to fall. Tyrion sat in a chair. Davos was glancing between them all nervously.

When the door opened and the apoplectic Empress entered, followed by her mother and sister, Sansa held her gaze proudly.

“How dare you,” snarled Daenerys. “Dare I ask how you discovered this secret?” She turned her furious gaze on Jon and Arya and Tyrion and Davos. “Who told her?”

“None did,” responded Sansa. “I was in the crypts, paying respect to my father, when you came in. I thought you were Jon or Arya, so I retreated into the shadows, not seeking a confrontation. I intended to sneak out. When I saw it was you, I was about to demand you leave, since only family are supposed to enter the crypts... then you started speaking to the statues, and I heard everything.”

“You eavesdropped on me?” asked Daenerys. “I have afforded you so many opportunities... but this betrayal...”

“Betrayal?” asked Sansa, scowling. “Do not accuse me of betrayal. I swore no vows to keep this secret.”

“So you sought to undermine me?”

Sansa laughed cruelly. “Undermine? Do you not realize what I have done? They know who you are now. They know you have Stark blood. There were plots in motion to betray you already. Now, those plots will end. They will be loyal to you. Because you share their blood.”

“I don’t want to share their fucking blood!” shouted Daenerys. “Their bigoted, hateful, judgemental blood!”

“But you do!” retorted Sansa. “You told me once that despite your hatred of me, you thought me as Wardenness of the North was the best choice, so long as I was loyal to Jon, and loyal to you. That I would do what was right for my people. That is what I did today. I protected my people. They were going to rebel. I prevented that.”

“Let the lords raise their armies and attack me,” replied Daenerys. “If the lords are too stupid to realize they cannot win, why should I care?”

Sansa barred her teeth. “I know you have little time in Westeros,” she responded as if speaking to a child, “but things do not work the way here you understand. Who do you think their armies are made of? You had your Unsullied, you had your Dothraki, you have your legions now. Armies of volunteering, professional soldiers. In Westeros, most of our armies are peasant levies, supplemented by knights. They are plucked from their fields and homes, handed a weapon, and pointed at the enemy. In the best times, they’re all volunteers. In the worst, they’re conscripts . The armies you’d be putting down with legions and dragons are my people, that you have entrusted me with. I will not allow your pride and disdain for the North, earned though it may be, to put my people at risk. Not when I can prevent it. Dismiss me, exile me, kill me if you care. I saved my people from challenging you. I preserved their lives.”

Dany stared at Sansa in disbelief, but they could all see Sansa’s argument had landed. “It wasn’t your decision to tell,” she finally responded.

“If you could prevent a war, save your peoples’ lives, with but a few words,” said Sansa, “would you not? Every one of us in this room knows that their rebellion would have been doomed. Your legions would beat them in the field without question. You outnumber us. Your troops are better trained than ours. And even if that was not true, you have dragons.”

Daenerys’s face shifted in emotions. “You are Wardenness of the North, and yet you told this secret. You could have brought your concerns and your solution to me. Told me of their plotted rebellion. But you went behind my back to tell something I was keeping secret. How can I trust you?”

“Trust me?” asked Sansa, taking a few proud steps. It was only then that Sansa realized how tiny Daenerys was. Such a small woman to hold half the world in her hands. “Trust that I will not betray you. I will never raise banners and take arms against you or Jon. If you do not trust that blood means something to me- because it does, very much- trust that I know full well that I cannot win. But also trust that I will always do what I feel is best for the North. For the people under my charge.”

“Is that why you broke your vow seven years ago? For the betterment of the North?”

Sansa hesitated. “No,” she admitted. “Not entirely. I trusted Jon much more than I trusted you. I asked you what your plan for the North was, but you didn’t answer me, you just got angry I questioned your intentions. You were determined to send Northern troops into battle again after they had just finished fighting for their lives against the Army of the Dead. Tyrion was terrified of you. You viewed the North as yours and you were going to use it for what was best for you, not what was best for it.

“But I also trusted Jon would let me take the throne in the North and become independent. Because every time someone who was not family has ever had power over me, they’ve treated me most cruelly. I felt the best way to ensure my own protection was power. To answer only to myself.”

“And your own brother’s happiness, his desires, all paled in comparison to your desire for protection, for power,” retorted Daenerys.

Sansa blank. “When you’ve suffered as I’ve suffered,” she said quietly, “your protection becomes all you can think of. You came to fight for us but you also expected we throw ourselves at your feet and thank you, thank you for not letting us all die horribly. In you, I saw nothing more than another seeking power over me, one that I could not trust. Even your own advisors were losing trust in you. Jon had pushed you away, even if we didn’t know why.”

“Then you should’ve trusted me,” said Jon.

“Maybe I should have,” agreed Sansa. “But the moment you told us that secret, all I saw, all I could think of, was that I had a way to protect myself. I... I thought you and Daenerys would be together again. I knew she loved you and you loved her- everyone in Winterfell could see it. I thought if I forced the issue, she’d choose you over being queen. She’d be your consort, and you’d be King, and you’d give me the protection I wanted. But you kept pushing her away.”

“Aye, I did,” said Jon. “Knowing what I know now... I don’t regret cutting things off.”

“Bad Targaryen,” whispered Arya, teasingly. The corners of Daenerys’s lips hinted at a smile, despite her anger with Sansa.

“But I do regret what happened. And you, Sansa, you told my secret. I swore you, beneath a heart tree, and still you told it. And we all know what happened after that. And then, when we met again in Volantis, I told you your actions led to my life being ruined... and you said you didn’t regret it.”

“I do regret it,” said Sansa. “At that time... I didn’t know how bad it had been for you. I knew you’d run off to join the wildlings. I thought you’d be happy. You said you’d loved a wildling girl. I knew it might hurt, for a time, but I thought you’d find another.”

“I nearly killed myself!” said Jon fiercely. “Days where I didn’t leave bed for longer than it took to shit and piss, just because I didn’t care anymore! Especially once the dreams happened and I realized she was my sister! Everyone had hated her for being something she wasn’t, she had never been! And even if she was the Mad King’s daughter, that gave us no right to hate her for that! Father always said the child is not guilty of the sins of the parent, but the whole damn North hated her anyways.”

“And now they’ll love me and claim me as one of them,” said Dany bitterly. “Against my wishes.”

“They’re more stubborn than you think,” said Jon. “Their shame will keep them from embracing you... at first.”

They stood there in silence for a moment. “I’ll leave you to discuss my fate, then,” said Sansa. She stepped out of the room and closed the door behind her.

“She shouldn’t have told your secret without asking you,” said Jon quickly. “But...”

“But?” asked Daenerys, an eyebrow raised.

“She wasn’t wrong in her reasoning.”

“I know she wasn’t,” said Daenerys. “But that wasn’t the way to go about it. Now, they’ll try and rip my family from me. They’ll try and claim me as one of them.”

“Don’t let them,” said Arya simply. “They can only take your family from you if you let them. And you’ll never be one of them. Because you don’t want to be.”

“I’m sorry,” said Daenerys to Ashara. “I’m sorry, mother. They’ll tell us that you’re not truly my mother. They won’t understand.”

“Daenerys,” said Ashara calmingly. She stepped forward and wrapped her daughter in a hug. Daenerys returned it, tears running down her face. “You’re right, they won’t understand. But you are my daughter. The Lord of Light himself could step from the flames and tell you you are not, and be wrong.

“But there is one thing you know: you are a child of three. I loved Lyanna so much... I miss her every day, like a knife in my chest. She loved you as much as I do, though she had less time with you than she deserved. I am your mother... and so is she. And it does not hurt me at all for that to be known. I’m proud of you, and she would be too.”

Dany put her head into her mother’s shoulder and cried. “We won’t let them sunder us,” she said.

“Fostering is not a foreign concept to Westeros,” said Jon. “They will understand somewhat.”

Daenerys squeezed Ashara tighter one last time before breaking the hug. “And Sansa?” she asked. “What fate should she suffer for this breach of trust?”

“She broke no sacred vow. She might have told a secret, but she did it to prevent a war this time, not to start one. She won you the loyalty of the North. She might have gone against your wishes... but she did it for good reasons.”

Arya shrugged. “She ruled Winterfell for six years,” she said. “She knows father’s records better than anyone. As punishment, make her help us try and find proof of why father did what he did.”

Daenerys hesitated. She glanced at Ashara.

“Lyanna deserves the world knowing you are her daughter,” said Ashara quietly.

“And this is going to be fun,” said Tyrion.

“Do the thing with the amethyst,” said Arya, a devious glint in her eyes.

Arya went to tell Sansa what had been decided. When she knocked on Sansa’s bedchamber door, she barely waited for Sansa to call her to enter before stepping in.

Sansa was sitting on her bed, waiting. Arya’s first thought was, Sansa was scared, but assured. She felt she had done the right thing.

“Why did you do it?” asked Arya.

Sansa looked at Arya. “As I said. They were going to rebel against her. I prevented that.”

Arya looked between each of Sansa’s eyes, looking for any trace of a lie. She found none. Arya sighed in relief.

“You’re not going to be executed,” said Arya. “You’re not even going to be stripped of lands or titles, or anything. You have one punishment. And that’s to help Jon and I go through father’s records.”