Chapter Text
Dany watches the raven that is perched out on the picket fence and thinks that Starfall is so much more different than Winterfell.
She sits on the porch swing of her childhood home, frowning at the bright red front door and the twilight-blue paint on the porch’s wooden columns. The iron chains creak quietly as she uses one foot to swing back and forth, her other foot tucked beneath her. She thinks of her tiny but spotless flat back in Winterfell, the one with all the sunlight and its stark white walls and maple paneling, the stainless steel appliances broken only by a single pop of color in her cherry-red tea kettle to remind her of home. Her childhood home, as simply elegant as it is, is almost garish by contrast—an odd comparison to the rest of Starfall.
The little town is quiet at this hour of the morning but it is far quieter than the wintry city of Winterfell even during the height of the day. It is still the grey-blue hour of dawn when the sun has not yet risen above the horizon yet the sky blooms with the promise of light. There is no morning traffic to hum in the background, only a symphony of southern chickadees and black sparrows and red mourning doves. She might hear the rhythmic thumping of sneakers on asphalt and the steady breathing from an early morning jogger but that’s it.
She sighs and leans forward on the porch swing, rocking herself a little harder as she lets this version of a homecoming embrace her. The morning humidity, cool as a kiss, rests against her skin as she pores over the documents laid out on her tablet, the work she brought with her to Starfall still pressing, still urgent. The town’s fundraiser has not at all helped matters and her head swims with upcoming deadlines.
A few days ago, Margaery had asked her if she was attending the gala. Dany had hemmed and hawed about it, reluctant to commit to such a social gathering so soon after her arrival. She likes being around people, she does. And it would be nice to meet up with old friends and neighbors whom she hasn’t seen in years. Yet word travels fast in a small town and she knows that people already know she has come back—to be surrounded by the gossipers and naysayers makes her want to shut herself up in her apartment and never come out.
Marry me. I love you. Be with me. Marry me.
I love you better and more, she remembers the woman saying as the man smiled shyly in a watercolor memory.
Yes.
And I love you best and most.
But she remembers the river too.
I can’t.
The raven suddenly lets out a warble, snapping her out of her thoughts. She sees it fix her with one obsidian eye before, with a rustle of feathers, it takes off to fly somewhere up and over the roof of the house.
Good morning to you too.
Dany rubs at the bridge of her nose. It makes sense that coming home would bring back all of these memories but that doesn’t mean she needs to appreciate them. She brings her tablet closer to peer at the design on the screen just as she hears the screen door swing open.
“You know we’re all in the same timezone, Danydoll.”
Dany does not try to hide her smile at the old nickname as Ashara Dayne slides onto the porch swing next to her, her adoptive mum’s hands wrapped around a steaming mug of lavender tea. Despite the early hour, Ashara is as glamorous as ever, wrapped in a silken dressing gown the color of cornflowers, the shimmering blues bringing out the laughing violet of her eyes. Her black hair, so different from Dany and Viserys’s silvery hues, is cut into a full bob that frames an angular face gently touched with age. She is tall and elegant and enviously beautiful and looks nothing like the sort of woman who’d graciously adopt a pair of children after their parents died in a car crash.
Appearances have always been deceiving, Dany thinks with an inward grimace, even as she smiles over at Ashara. She shifts slightly on the swing as it creaks pleasantly beneath the weight of two bodies, lifting her own mug of coffee in greeting. “Thank goodness, or else I’d have missed several deadlines by now. Vis still asleep?”
It’s a silly question to ask. She knows her brother will stay abed for as long as possible before finally making an appearance in the kitchen, haggard and in need of caffeine.
As if to drive the point home, Ashara doesn’t answer her anyway, sipping her tea. Mug still pressed to her lips, she notes, “You’ve barely looked up from that thing since you’ve been here. Are you that much in a hurry to get back to your life in Winterfell?” Dany wants to frown but somehow manages to keep her expression pleasantly neutral.
“I’m here for a while, Ashara. Are you trying to get rid of me? Vis will go through your pantry faster than I will.” Her brother at least had taken up Ashara’s offer to stay at the house. Dany, furiously independent to the last, has subleased an apartment for the duration of her six-month stay. The cats, at least, in all their fickle nature, preferred it.
Next to her, Ashara cocks one dark eyebrow. “Running from my cooking then?”
“I could just be in a hurry to get back to a place that believes in air conditioning,” Dany says in a lighthearted tone to alleviate the tension in her chest. She places her mug down on the arm of the swing in order to pull her hair away from her face. As she battles with her hair tie, Ashara hums thoughtfully.
“You could always just move back permanently, you know.”
“I’m not sure this is the conversation I want to have before breakfast.” The tension returns to her chest. She tries softening the razor edges around the warning as she pins her hair up into a sloppy bun, silvery tendrils escaping to frame her face and skim her collarbone. “You’d have better luck with Vis. At least the town doesn’t gossip about his past relationships as much as they do mine.”
Ashara chuckles, that deep throaty sound that had once made her the object of all young men’s desires in this town. “Oh, so moving back is a topic non grata but your engagement isn’t? He’s still here, you know. Still an absolute sweetheart, still an absolute rake, still absolutely pining over the girl who got away. Don’t give me that look, Danydoll—you probably knew he was still here before I said a word.”
Dany grimaces, sweeping her eyes back toward the promotional images she has been designing on her tablet. Ashara isn’t wrong. She knows he’s here and maybe if she is very, very, very lucky, she can avoid him for the duration of her visit. “I’m not here for him, Ashara.”
“Boyfriend in Winterfell?”
“Happily single in Winterfell.” Mildly true. A few unimpressive one-night stands and even less impressive second dates eventually petered out into the longest dry spell Dany has had in some time. “Didn’t you see the cats I brought with me? I am very confident in my ability to morph into a businesswoman with no love life and a questionable number of cats. I’d rather have that than—”
“A small life in a small town?” When Dany guiltily looks up, Ashara only shakes her head. “I don’t fault you for your choices, my dear. I doubt your parents would have wanted to keep you here either. You’ve always been meant for things bigger than Starfall. You and your brother.”
“Ashara—”
“But those are conversations best had over and after breakfast,” the older woman says, rising to her feet in an elegant sweep of her dressing gown. She smiles gently down at Dany. “I’ll start something. That should get your loaf of a brother up, at least. Anything in particular you want?”
She thinks this is an apology for broaching this topic of conversation, though Dany knows Ashara far too well to believe that it won’t be a recurring topic over the next several weeks. And at Dany’s “I’m fine with coffee,” Ashara only gives her an exasperated look. “I can cook, you know.”
“There’s a reason why you run a coffee bar instead of a restaurant, Ashara.” The woman’s cooking is mediocre at best. And she does not ask why she isn’t at work at this hour—despite opening up much later than the time most people would drink their coffee, Ashara has long since exploited the need for people to immediately need a sweeter caffeine boost within an hour or two of their workday. “I’ll take my chances with coffee.”
Ashara lets out a huff of air that, in anyone else, may have been a snort, and then she has swept back inside with a warning for Dany not to stay out here too much longer. The screen door shuts with a clatter, though the other woman leaves the front door open—ostensibly to let some fresh air filter through the house. After all, it is promising to be yet another sweltering day here in the south of Westeros.
Dany leans back in the porch swing, letting out a long sigh as she peers out at the neighborhood over the edge of her tablet. Hanging above the rooftops, still frighteningly bright in the pre-dawn sky, she sees a slash of red slicing through the grey-blue sky. Once the sun rises over the horizon, she knows the comet will all but disappear, brilliant but not as brilliant as the star. She watches the blood-red glow with a thoughtful frown. She is no astronomer but they’d spoken of this comet up in Winterfell, where it sat far closer to the horizon than it does here in Starfall.
What did they call it, Dany thinks absently. Something ostentatious, wasn’t it?
She debates looking it up on her phone but she’ll also see the dozens of unread texts from her friends back up north, the texts asking where in the world she’s disappeared to on such short notice. Doreah will be irritated. Ornela will be concerned. Ros will most likely have been nosy enough to track her down and will now be asking about the male populace of Starfall and their sexual preferences.
I just went home, Dany consoles herself. People go home all the time.
She is not sure why she has to keep telling herself that.
She starts to stand, thinking she should snag a few slices of peanut butter toast in the kitchen before Ashara gets it into her head to make something more complicated, when a different shade of red catches her attention out of the corner of her eye. She peers around the bushes that stand guard in front of the porch and she frowns, tucking her tablet beneath her arm.
“Good morning…?” she calls uncertainly. The willowy and very familiar-looking young woman who is making her way up the path toward the Daynes’ house does not even pause. Instead, a polite smile that does not reach her ice-blue eyes crosses her face as she climbs up the front steps.
“Good morning,” the strange girl from the bar replies amiably, tossing her paprika-red hair in a cascade of autumn over one shoulder. The jean jacket from that night at the bar is still draped languidly over her shoulders; beneath it, Dany sees a frothy sundress the color of peaches and cherry blossoms that bares long, pale legs and that Dany thinks would look absolutely ridiculous on anyone else at this hour. In the pale light of the morning, she also spots a glint of silver on her right hand. The girl nods her head in greeting. “It’s Dany, isn’t it? You met my brother at the bar the other night.”
“I remember.” Dany also remembers the cool, suspicious way this other young woman had been looking at her across from the bar. Even now, it is almost impossible to read her expression beyond that mild skepticism. It is unnerving. Pointedly, she asks, “I didn’t meet you though.”
Does something flicker in the girl’s eyes? It’s hard to say and Dany wants to grit her teeth in frustration. But the girl herself smiles nonetheless—that same polite but chill smile as before.
“My apologies,” the other young woman murmurs, in a low contralto that is rich with an accent noticeably different from her brother’s. “I’m Sansa. Robb’s my older brother, though I suppose he may have told you the sibling part of it. It’s always…nice to make acquaintances so quickly in a new town, though he’s quicker at it than I am. I’m afraid my family's been gone far too long for anyone to remember old ties.”
Dany frowns. Before moving away a few years ago, she had lived her entire life here in Starfall. Considering how close in age the two siblings are to her, she should know them even if they’d moved away when they were all children. But she can’t recall anyone who quite fits the physical description of either Robb or Sansa. She may be getting older but her memory surely isn’t that bad. She shakes her head.
“I’m sorry but have we met before? How did you know where I live?”
Sansa laughs.
“It’s a very small town. Everyone knows everyone. I just had to ask around.” Without answering the first question, the taller girl reaches into her purse and pulls out an envelope. “My family would be remiss if we didn’t donate to the fundraising ball coming up. I used to think the world of these sorts of things when I was little and I told Robb it wouldn’t ingratiate us with anyone here if we didn’t even bring a welcome present.”
“It’s not mandatory,” Dany explains, though she reaches to take the envelope anyway. There is nothing written on the exterior, though the envelope itself is sealed with a smudge of silver wax, imprinted with what looks like a howling wolf. Charming. She is not sure why Sansa would give this to her though. Is it because she's the only one the siblings know in Starfall? “You shouldn’t feel obligated to donate.”
Tywin Lannister might have some thoughts about that but Tywin Lannister has always been the very least of Dany’s worries. Maybe Robb and Sansa know anyway, considering the pretentious way of sealing a letter is so reminiscent of the Lannister patriarch’s. Either way, Sansa waves her objection aside.
“It’s no obligation. My family used to donate all the time. I’m sure the Tyrells have it buried somewhere in the town records.”
“Your family…?”
“Stark.” Sansa’s smile turns a shade more brittle and expectant at the edges. “We’re not terribly popular around here anymore.”
An understatement, Dany thinks. There is something vaguely familiar about the surname but she’ll be damned if she can figure out why something is nagging at her memory. Had Robb mentioned something of their family that night at the bar? No, she doesn’t think so—but her memory of that night is frustratingly foggy. She cannot recall much of what she and Robb discussed, though she had felt strangely at ease and open with him.
She frowns down at the envelope. Stark. A howling wolf motif. The silvery grey wax.
It hits her a moment later.
“Oh!” She glances up at Sansa, who is watching her curiously. “Stark. I’ve seen that name on the town charter. You’re part of the families of Founders.”
But…there haven’t been any Starks in Starfall in decades, at the very least. She remembers Missandei telling her that once. As far as Dany knows, the last record of any Starks residing in the old manor that once belonged to their family was…damn, was Olenna Tyrell even born at the time? Had she barely been more than a child? The more she thinks of it, the more she is sure that must be the case. Families come and go from Starfall all the time—the Daynes are an example—but there is always at least one or two remaining connections to the town. The Starks had all but vanished one day. It is not a historical mystery so much as a historical blip.
Dany studies Sansa for a moment. She thought that her sudden return to the town was going to be awkward. She can’t imagine the churning the gossip mill must be doing at the return of a wayward family of Founders. Abruptly, despite the girl’s lukewarm nature, a sting of sympathy washes through her and she wonders if Sansa’s glacial treatment of her has anything to do with being a newcomer in a strange new town.
“Is it just you and your brother then?” Dany ventures. At least she can attempt to show some warmth towards the statuesque redhead. Sansa tilts her head to the side, an almost birdlike gesture. A smile briefly flickers over her face.
“For a time,” she answers vaguely. “We’ll see how things go. The manor’s going to take some time to air out. And it would be nice to dig up a bit of the past in the meanwhile.”
“My friend works at Town Hall. If you need any records about your family…”
To her surprise, Sansa laughs again quietly, shaking her head.
“No need. I’m sure we’ll find everything we need buried in the manor’s attic or something.”
Somewhere behind her in the house, Dany hears Ashara calling her name, a signal that breakfast is ready. She hesitates for a moment, glancing from the open red door to the young woman still perched politely on the top steps of the porch.
To hell with it, Dany thinks. Ashara would murder her for being less than hospitable, thinking she had forgotten all of her southern manners while living in Winterfell. “Do you want to come in?”
She watches with some vague amusement and confusion as a spasm of surprise flickers across Sansa’s face, a fine crack in her icy veneer. The first rays of dawn beaming over the rooftops catch in her hair and turn it into a halo of fire. “You’re inviting me in?”
“I mean, you shouldn’t expect anything gourmet from my mum,” Dany warns, “but she does own the local coffee bar and can make a mean cup of coffee if you’d like. She also hears more gossip than most people in town so you might find out some information about your family that you won’t be able to find at the manor.”
The expression on Sansa’s face doesn’t quite reset to its previous aloof mask. The shock—and why should she be shocked at a merely polite gesture, did she and Robb just move from King’s Landing, for god’s sake?—fades. It is replaced by a strange disquiet and wariness…and no little uncertainty. Dany sees that she seems to be clutching the strap of her purse a bit tighter, and the glimmer from before, the ring that sits on her right hand, flickers in Dany’s eyes.
“That would be…nice, I suppose,” Sansa murmurs, though it sounds mostly like an afterthought. “This is your family’s house, isn’t it?”
No, a part of Dany thinks, even after all these years. Outwardly, she nods. “It’s where I grew up. Really, it’s the only house that I’d actually call home.”
Again, there is that moment of hesitation. She sees Sansa’s eyes dart towards the door, her lips pressed into a thin, thoughtful line. It looks as though she is having a strangely tumultuous inner battle with herself over accepting the invite inside and Dany is tempted to just roll her eyes and drag the young woman inside when a voice down by the sidewalk calls her name.
“Daenerys Dayne, what are you doing awake so early this morning?”
Sansa goes rigid at the shout, her eyes narrowing imperceptibly at Dany. But Dany herself is too distracted by the voice to pay the look much attention, peering past Sansa’s shoulder to see two young women stepping away from a tiny red hatchback. One of them is Margaery, looking as casual and posh as always, and the other is a bespectacled young woman with honey-brown skin and a cloud of deep brown curls, an illuminating grin on her face. Dany feels her own mouth widen with a smile.
“Missy!”
“No hello for me this morning?” Margaery asks as Missandei envelops Dany in a crushing hug. She gives a curious smile to Sansa. “Hello again.”
“When did you get back into town?” Dany asks, her words slightly muffled by Missandei’s tight grip. The taller girl pulls away, straightening her glasses that have been knocked slightly askew by the force of the hug. When Dany had arrived in town two weeks ago, it was to discover her best friend since nursery school was off visiting family in Naath, with a questionable date of return. Missandei beams at her.
“Just this morning. I sent you several texts.” There is a prick of guilt within her at that, as she remembers purposely not looking at her ever-growing backlog of texts on her phone. It must show on her face because Missandei only laughs gently. “Don’t worry about it. Fortunately, political scandal in a small town never sleeps and Margaery was able to pick me up from the train station.”
A knot of tension that has been sitting in Dany’s chest that she hadn’t even realized she had gotten used to over these past couple of weeks slowly warms and begins to unravel. Missandei has always had that effect on her—she is the calm one of the two, the gentle wave in comparison to Dany’s tumultuous temper. Leaving her behind in Starfall, she thinks, had been so much harder than leaving him.
I never wanted that. Not really. I was always lying to myself.
Unbidden, a voice in the back of her head washes through her memories, warm and comforting and strange.
I want you to get everything you’re looking for.
She pauses, her hands stuttering around Missandei’s arms. The words are familiar, as though woven through a memory, but they are only words—she cannot imagine who said them, or when. She wonders briefly if she read them in a book some time ago, and her mind is helpfully trying to assure her that every decision she has made in the past several years has been the right one.
“I should go,” Sansa says quietly, breaking Dany out of her thoughts. She takes a step away from the three friends, nodding at Dany, that austere expression back on her face. “It was lovely to officially meet you, Dany. You should drop by the manor once we’ve gotten things straightened up over there.”
“I’d love to.” It falls out of her mouth before she can stop herself. She sees Margaery smirk out of the corner of her eye, the other young woman playfully jostling her in the arm at the odd eagerness in her voice. But Dany also notices then that Missandei is watching Sansa with a peculiar look in her eyes, an uncharacteristic frown on the taller girl’s pretty features. If Sansa notices though, she doesn’t let on. Dany gives Missandei a quizzical look before smiling at Sansa. “I’ll see you around then?”
Sansa’s response is only another one of those strange little smiles and then she turns on her heel and is swiftly gone.
“So the sister is already visiting you,” Margaery laughs, ignoring Dany’s unimpressed look. “You must have really made an impression on Tall, Ginger, and Handsome. He must think you’re enchanting.”
No one has ever called her enchanting before. Not even him. Dany makes a face at Margaery before thrusting the envelope at her. “No, she came to drop off a donation for the fundraiser. Apparently, she and her brother are from a family of Founders.”
“Oh?” Margaery slides a thumb beneath the wax seal, ignoring propriety and decorum. “I feel like I would have known…”
“Stark, she said.”
For some reason, Missandei’s frown only deepens but Dany is distracted by the pleased if surprised hum from Margaery as she glances at the cheque nestled within the envelope. “Well. That is quite a few zeroes. It seems as though the Tyrells and Lannisters might have some competition, which I’m sure my grandmother will love to hear. Maybe I need to leave Starfall for a few decades and invest my money elsewhere too.”
So, not only are the mysterious newcomers the descendants of a vanished family of Founders but they are wealthy at that? Perhaps Dany will go to this fundraising ball after all. Her own broken engagement made be worthy of salacious gossip but she knows the denizens of Starfall cannot abide an unsolved mystery—and the unmarried bachelors and bachelorettes of the town will certainly be eager to make the acquaintance of these Starks. Her own personal drama pales in comparison.
As they start to make their way inside, prompted by Ashara calling for her yet again, Dany nudges Missandei in the arm. “Are you okay?”
“Hmm?” Missandei blinks. “Yes, I’m fine. Why?”
“You looked a little spooked by Sansa.” She gives her friend a good-natured smile. “Did you think I was scouting for people to replace you as my best friend?”
Missandei’s returning smile is abashed—but Dany notices that it seems strangely strained.
“Of course not. I just think the jet lag is starting to catch up with me.” Dany laughs.
“Alright. Well, let’s get you some of Ashara’s coffee and pray that she hasn’t decided to serve up raw bacon.”
She is sitting alone at a booth at the Starfall Bar & Grill, having exasperated Gendry by continually ordering water after water with her long-since devoured plate of fries. She has her laptop set up at the edge of the table, but it has long since gone to sleep—she has been sketching and erasing and resketching new typography designs on her tablet for the past hour. She is running up against a deadline for this project for her company and she had hoped a change in scenery beyond the walls of her apartment might help spur her creativity. It had not.
So engrossed with the swirling letters on her screen, she does not realize someone is hovering by her table until they take a seat on the bench opposite from her.
“Mind if I join you?” Her head shoots up at the sound of the familiar voice. Robb Stark sits across from her, giving her a crooked, apologetic smile. He has forgone his jacket, opting instead for a far more weather-appropriate deep blue tee. “If you’re busy, I’ll leave you alone.”
“You wouldn’t have sat down if you didn’t want to interrupt,” Dany points out archly, though she softens her words with a smile of her own, placing the tablet down on the tabletop. “All of my work is starting to look the same so I probably need a break anyway. And Gendry might actually kick me out of this bar if I don’t order more food or actual alcohol soon.” Robb glances at the perspiring glass of water.
“You know what you like. No shame in that.”
“Not everyone usually agrees so thank you for that.”
“It’s the least I can do, I think.” Before she can ask what he means, Robb waves down one of the servers and orders another plate of fries, a refill of water for Dany, and a glass of whiskey for himself. When Dany only gives him a perplexed look, Robb rubs the back of his neck in an affected nervous gesture. “Sorry. But consider this an apology for running out on you here a few days ago. I got an urgent call and didn’t want to bother you with it.”
Is that why he left? Dany frowns. Honestly, she can’t remember. So much of their conversation is a strange blur of half-remembered words and gauzy memories. When the server arrives with Robb’s whiskey and a refill of water for Dany, Robb splays his hands out onto the table with a smile.
“So I heard my sister paid you a visit this morning.”
“She did.” In the intervening hours, Dany is still not sure how she feels about Sansa Stark. The other young woman is polite, sure. But there is something about her that unsettles her. “Is she usually that…?” She fails to come up with a word to describe the tall redhead that wouldn’t seem rude. But Robb seems to understand what she’s struggling for because he laughs, taking a swig of the whiskey.
“Sorry, you’ll have to forgive her,” he says as he rubs at the scruff on his face. “She can be the most devoted person you’ll ever meet but it just takes a while to get her to open up. Did she drop off our donation? I was hoping that we didn’t miss a deadline. I always forget that small towns run on their own schedules that you usually have to be in the know to be aware of.”
“It’s in safe hands,” Dany reassures him, though she knows Margaery is probably neck-deep in gossip from her grandmother because of the amount written on the cheque. She tilts her head to the side, curiosity getting the better of her. “Sansa said your last name was Stark. I really did think the Daynes were the only family here in Starfall that barely had a presence in town anymore but I think you all have us beat there.”
“Every family has a black sheep.” It isn’t an explanation or answer. For some reason, it only makes Dany even more curious. She asks him about what prompted their return to their family’s town and Robb’s smile becomes a little more reserved. He sits back in his booth and studies her thoughtfully. “Why not? Everyone wants to get back to their roots sometimes. Maybe after living abroad for so long, we wanted to see what small-town life is really like.”
She can’t help it—she laughs. “Here I am trying to get away from a small-town life and you two are out searching for it.”
“I think you mentioned that the other night.” Robb’s smile fades a little more as the server returns with a plate of fries. “Doesn’t it make you feel unmoored?”
Unmoored. Is that what she feels? She had never questioned it while she was in Winterfell. She simply lived her life, a life that would have been impossible within the confines of Starfall. She shrugs, absently reaching for a fry just to do something with her hands. “I don’t often have conversations about existentialism with strangers.”
“Am I a stranger?”
“I feel like you know more about me than I know about you,” Dany points out, aiming a fry at him. “Though I was very serious when I said I wasn’t on the market the other day. Telling me more about yourself and buying me fries isn’t going to change my mind.”
Robb crosses his arms, one brow playfully cocked. “My sister says I’m too much like our father to pursue a woman who does not want to be chased.”
“And when should I expect to see Mr. Stark wandering around these parts? Is he already at the manor while his son roams about town, buying unavailable women fries?”
The young man shakes his head and though his smile is still on his face, it is sobered by the sad sheen that sweeps through his blue eyes. “Not quite. My father—and my mother—died a very long time ago. It’s just me and my siblings now.”
There it is again—that pang of sympathy that she had felt for Sansa this morning when she realized how lonely moving to a new town must be for someone clearly uncomfortable with making new friends. The humor drops from her tone and she feels a brief flush of embarrassment rise up her neck at her teasing. “Oh. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—” Siblings? Is there more than just him and Sansa? Do they live here too? “I’m sorry for your loss. Losing your parents…it’s not an easy thing.”
“Don’t worry about it. It was such a long time ago. And me and my brothers and sisters…we’ve taken good care of each other.”
His words make Dany think of Viserys and Ashara. Viserys has always done his best to care for Dany, even as strange and bossy and eccentric as he is. And Ashara, of course, has always shown nothing but kindness, even though she is in no way related to them. She had stepped up in lieu of next of kin, as she had always been close friends with Dany’s biological mum.
But something about Robb’s words makes her briefly chew on her inner cheek thoughtfully before she says, “That sounds like something the oldest sibling would say. So I’m assuming you’re the oldest?” Robb laughs, an abashed sound, and he scrapes his fingers through his hair.
“Sort of.”
“How can you sort of be the oldest sibling?”
There is something wistful in Robb’s eyes now, something that Dany, for all of her ability to read people’s expressions, cannot understand. She watches as he swallows another mouthful of whiskey before he shrugs ruefully, letting a slow, unaffected smile start to spread across his face.
“I split the duty with a cousin." Before she can ask him to expound on that, Robb is already brushing past that topic. "Anyway, at the risk of this conversation becoming more disheartening, I need to ask: are you going to the fundraising ball?”
The sudden switch in topics almost makes Dany’s head spin. She chews on the end of a fry in order to give herself enough time to compose an answer that isn’t an outright no. Hadn’t she thought about reconsidering once she learned just a little more about the mysterious circumstances around the Stark family? Has that really determined whether she is going to go or not? It’s a masked ball, for god’s sake—something rarely done outside of holidays in Winterfell.
As Robb watches her expectantly, Dany takes another slow bite of her fry. “I’m not sure, to be honest. I have a lot of work I need to get done and it doesn’t really seem to be my thing.”
“If you want to go, I would like to take you.”
“She would love to,” a new voice purrs over Dany’s shoulder, and then Margaery Tyrell is sliding into the booth next to her in a wave of perfume and lipgloss. Dany gapes at her friend, though it quickly becomes a glower as Margaery sets vodka soda on the table, her catlike smile turning alarmingly bright in Robb’s direction. “So kind of you to ask.”
“Ah.” Robb frowns. “I’m not sure if—”
“Marg…” Dany hisses, pinching the other young woman’s thigh. Margaery, of course, ignores her.
“My grandmother wanted me to thank you for your donation. She was quite surprised by it since she was sure that the Starks wanted to wipe their slate clean when they left Starfall all those years ago. She thought it was nice to see that at least some folks in the family have some town pride.” She winks at Dany. “I drove by the old Stark manor today too. You should see what they’ve already done with the place. It’s nice to know that all those years are rebuffing Tywin Lannister’s demands to bulldoze the place to the ground actually paid off.”
Robb’s smile is tight as he explains to Dany, “Sansa adores flowers. It's starting to look more like a botanical garden than a house.”
“Well, you should be able to renovate the place with no issue. I’m sure if I asked Missy, she might even be able to find photos of the original interior design from a century ago. You’ll certainly have to have a party to celebrate once it’s been refurbished.”
From the glint in Margaery’s eye, she wonders what her friend will do if Robb refuses. She sighs, picking her tablet up and reopening her abandoned design. “You don’t have to. Margaery is just being pushy. If there’s anything this town likes more than gossip, it’s dressing up in tuxedos and gowns and trying to convince one another that their family contributed the most to the history of this place.”
“People are just proud of their legacies, Dany,” Margaery chides magnanimously and Dany only snorts as she reaches for her water.
“There’s nothing wrong with being proud of where you came from,” she replies, in a tone that clearly marks how often they’ve had this argument, “but people are so busy looking back, they rarely look forward.”
“You’ve just never been a fan of history.”
“I’m not a fan of living in the past.”
Robb has been looking back and forth between them as though he has been watching a tennis match, and Dany feels a bit annoyed that Margaery had to bring this topic up around him so soon after she found out about his parents. She gives him an apologetic look. “Sorry. Ignore us. Plan a party if you’d like. I’m sure a lot of people would like to see what the inside of the old Stark manor looks like once it’s finally been cleaned up properly.”
“What you said,” Robb begins, “about people looking to the past…is that a thing for you?” Dany shrugs.
“If I look back, I’m lost,” she explains—and Robb is looking at her so intently now that she is abruptly reminded of the way he had looked at her the night they met, eyes as blue as the heart of the fire, an almost ravenous need to understand her in his gaze. She pulls away slightly. “My mum used to say something like that. Not Ashara. My, ah…”
She almost says “real” mum. But something like shame trips up her tongue at the last minute. And now Margaery is giving her a look that is equal parts sympathy and confusion and Robb is staring at her as though she is a complete fucking enigma and suddenly she wants to be out of this booth and back in the peace and quiet of her home where she doesn’t have to think of the past or any of the horrible, strange things that have garnered her these looks.
And Dany is about to tell him that no, Robb doesn’t want to take her to the ball and yes, he is very nice and friendly but she has told him that she is not interested in dating anyone. But before she can say anything and even as Margaery opens her mouth to change the subject to something more lighthearted, the front doors to the bar swing open and Jaime Lannister and his partner Brienne enter, their faces masks of emotionlessness. Dany absently notices them talking with the hostess, who glances around the restaurant before meeting her gaze and pointing their way.
“Afternoon,” Jaime greets with false cheer as they approach the table. Dany sees the thin lines of stress around his eyes and the grim set of Brienne’s mouth. Something settles into her stomach like a stone, especially as Jaime turns to her and gently says, “Is there anywhere we could speak in private?”
Dany feels the first dredges of panic claw up her chest. Nothing that ever begins with that question is ever good. “Is…is it Ashara? Vis? Are they okay? Did something happen?” Jaime and Brienne share looks but it is Brienne who shakes her head.
“No, Miss Dayne. But we would like to ask you some questions.”
“Well, what is going on?” Margaery demands, her eyes narrowing. Her voice has delved into those soft low tones that threateningly promise to become louder if one person says something that rankles her. “Is she under arrest for something?”
“No,” Jaime assures Margaery, only looking mildly exasperated. But his green gaze still softens with what Dany can only assume is sympathy when he looks back at her. “We’d just like to ask you a few questions in private.”
Dany rises unsteadily. “I’m…what is this about? Am I in trouble?”
“Yes, what is this about?” Margaery demands again. Robb says nothing, though he glances between the people gathered at the table with a concerned knot forming between his brows. Clearly, for as much as everyone knows everyone and everything in this town, Jaime and Brienne don’t want to reveal the need for this visit in front of someone who is still a new resident.
Now he’ll think I’m a convict and won’t need to ask me to a gala, Dany thinks numbly as she follows Jaime and Brienne through the winding tables and chairs of the grill. Jaime stops briefly to ask Gendry a question and the black-haired bartender nods before pointing them around the corner. They walk down a short hallway designated for staff only before Brienne quietly pushes open a door to a breakroom. Margaery is right on their heels.
“I want to make sure you’re respecting her rights,” Margaery says flatly when Jaime tries to dissuade her from entering.
“It’s fine.” Dany’s tongue feels awkward in her mouth. Why all of this secrecy? Beyond the swinging doors of the room, she is sure she can still see Robb sitting in the booth. What a greeting to this new town, to have the girl you may have been interested in whisked away by the sheriff. She does not sit, feeling as though her nerves are about to rattle out of her bones. “Marg can stay if it’s not…it’s not bad, is it?”
Again, that grim look settles over Jaime’s face. He and Brienne share another set of looks. Margaery crosses her arms. Finally, Jaime says, “A few days ago, the department received a call about a badly decomposed body found off the old high road that leads up to the Red Mountains. We received a call back from the medical examiner this morning positively identifying the body.”
Margaery makes a confused noise. “What does this have to do with Dany? She hasn’t even been back in town for two weeks yet.”
But suddenly Dany knows. She knows exactly why Jaime and Brienne are giving her those pitying looks, those looks that she remembers. She knows why they would ask to speak to her in private, why she of all people would be so closely tied to this. She knows, she knows, she knows.
The world tilts.
“I’m sorry, Dany,” Jaime is saying but all she can hear is a young man’s words from so many years ago, a man she hadn’t loved, not really, but who had been such a big chunk of her old life and the catalyst of her new one.
Marry me. I love you. Be with me. Marry me.
Daario.
The castle’s granite walls rise out of the mists and the snow like a dream.
Beneath the immense walls, men have left off work on repairing shattered and shorn brick, the ground black and thick with mud and snowmelt and horse shit. The outer courtyard that sits between the outer walls and the inner keep has been cleaned up as much as possible, though the soot of war and battle still clings stubbornly to the walls. The clean, sharp scent of winter has blown away the chaff and ash that may have lingered but a moment, a pause, a hesitation can bring the salty tang of blood onto anyone’s tongue.
The wordless roar of dozens of conversations that may have filled the air has petered off into soft, uncertain murmurs as the party arrives through the gates of the castle, a retinue of knights and guards, soldiers and sellswords. These are the unfamiliar faces of foreigners—strangely garbed and with peculiar weapons, the newly-arrived forces cause the citizens within the outer courtyard to share uneasy looks.
Riding through the gates too, sitting proudly atop a white mare, is a young woman dressed all in white. Her hair is the same color as the snowdrifts that have risen in waves around the castle. Her expression is unreadable as she gazes about at the pale-faced citizens who have lined up to watch her approach.
As they pass through to the inner courtyard, a larger majority of the party that had not been made of the foot and infantry left beyond the outer walls comes to a halt. The young woman and a dozen others continue into the inner courtyard where weather-beaten banners hang heavy and faded over the walls.
In the inner courtyard, the ground is steadier. The young woman looks around and then finds that the man who had been riding at her side has already dismounted and is offering her an assisting hand. She gladly takes it.
“Don’t be nervous,” he murmurs as she regains her footing on solid ground. “You are the queen.”
Her hand briefly tightens around his before she drops it. Tilting her chin high, she allows the man to lead her toward the household of cloaked and wary-looking people who stand in respectful rows before her. It feels as though the eyes of the world are on her.
Her dark-haired companion steps between her and the cautiously smiling man with his auburn curls. At the young man’s side stands a young woman with hair the same autumnal hue as his. Her expression is far less welcoming.
“Cousin,” her companion begins, “may I introduce to you Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm?”
“You have done us a great honor, Your Grace,” the young man says with a courteous bow. The young woman’s eyes flicker but then she nods, saying nothing. Her companion seems to note that with a spasm of a grim smile but when he turns back to her, she can see warmth in his eyes. There is strength to be had in that, perhaps.
“Your Grace,” he says, and only he can say such a heavy, weighted title with such fond compassion. “These are my cousins, Lord Robb Stark, and his sister, Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell.”
“Thank you for inviting us into your home, my lord, my lady,” she says with a regal nod of her head. “The North is as beautiful as your cousin has claimed.”
The young woman watches her for a moment more before her features soften. She sweeps into an elegant curtsy, her head bowed in deference.
“Winterfell is yours, Your Grace.”
Something cold alights on her brow.
It has begun to snow.
There is a knock on the front door a little before midnight.
When he opens the door, he finds a stranger with very familiar eyes standing out on the porch. She is tucking her glasses into the collar of her shirt with one hand and holding her umbrella with the other, her dark eyes narrowing as they land on him.
“Can I help you?” he asks.
“I know who you are,” the young woman says flatly and without preamble, her expression serious. “And you know what I am.”
He pauses. After a moment, he nods warily. “What do you want?”
There is a presence at his back then, and he knows his sister is standing behind him. The young woman at the door glances over his shoulder, her frown deepening, before she meets his gaze again. She does not need to glower at him in intimidation. She does not need to threaten. They know the sum of the other’s strengths and weaknesses.
“I heard what happened with Daario,” the dark-haired woman on the porch replies. She shifts the umbrella slightly so that raindrops scatter across her cloud of coils. “I don’t know why you’ve come back to Starfall, but Dany isn’t her. Leave my friend out of whatever you’re scheming.”
“What makes you think we’re scheming anything?” he asks, unable to keep the thread of irritation out of his voice. The young woman lifts one dark brow in challenge.
“The spirits and stars don’t lie, Robb Stark. And neither does that comet.” She takes a step away from the door. “This is the only warning you’ll get. Dany has suffered enough with this town for you all to drag her into something worse. So maybe it’s best if the Stark family leaves Starfall again and this time for good.”
She gives them both one last warning look before she steps back, her booted heels crunching in the gravelly walkway, and vanishes into the rainy night.
A doorbell rings elsewhere in the town too.
The front door of the Tyrell mansion swings open some moments later, revealing Margaery Tyrell, bathed in the golden light of the mansion’s front foyer. She looks stressed and despondent and annoyed, a blistering reproach already on the tip of her tongue, but she stops. She blinks in recognition at the shadow standing just beyond the light of the foyer before a sad but exasperated smile glides onto her face.
“It’s past midnight. Couldn’t sleep?”
For a brief moment, there is no answer. Then, “May I come in?”
“Of course. You could have called. This whole thing with Daario is just…god, it’s awful. What are you—”
The words trail off into nothingness. The figure in the shadows has stepped into the light. And only then does Margaery see their eyes.
Red. Red. Red.
“Saying hello, of course.”
Margaery inhales sharply, taking an alarmed step backward but it is not fast enough—the figure has already grabbed her arm and, with barely more than a casual toss of their arm, has flung Margaery out into the rain and the grass. Turning with an almost careless nonchalance, they raise a wrist to their mouth, and Margaery, struggling to regain her bearings on the damp grass and in the darkness of a storm, hears the sickeningly wet sound of flesh being punctured, of skin tearing. When they lower their arm, she sees that their mouth is dripping crimson with blood.
Margaery opens her mouth to scream and the shadow’s smile grows wider.
“Oh, dear heart. Don’t do that. It’s impolite.”
Then, with their fangs still bared and slick with red saliva, they lunge.
The silence of the night is broken only by a furious, muffled gag, a pop of sharp, splintering cracks, and then the dull thud of a body hitting the ground.
Moments later, there is nothing but the rain and the thunder and a night as silent as the grave.