Bran
There was nothing he could or wanted to do to fight the smile on his face. Watching Sansa and Arya finally be sisters to each other made Bran happiest today. So much excitement was going on in King's Landing. He wished he could be there in person, to interact with everything rather than just be a silent spectator on certain days. He would have loved to offer his insight of things to the court when Jon and Daenerys Targaryen had their proper introductions to each other. And then there was the night House Lannister was finally overthrown.
But just now, outside Sansa's room, he almost froze when Arya looked right at him. It was like she saw him in the corner of her eye, but couldn't when she looked directly at him. How peculiar.
All things considered, he knew he had to stay in Winterfell and accepted that he could bring himself anywhere at any time. Not all had the luxury and power he did so he wouldn't take such for granted.
Bran left King's Landing, following a pull in the sight and found himself in a forest near a lake. The trees were barren of leaves but there were buds all among the branches ready to open into green. It was the beginning of springtime.
Nearby next to a fallen tree was… a woman? She was in nothing but her smallclothes on her hands and knees digging a hole in the dirt. She was a dark haired lady, but Bran could not see her face as her hair had fallen in front, covering her features as she dug. From what it looked like, she was in a hurry. Was she digging for treasure?
The sound of a horse neighing from not too far off made the woman look up in the direction it came from.
Bran paused as he finally got to see the woman's face. It was his aunt Lyanna. She had Arya's look, if a bit older and with a sharper face. Taller too, but otherwise the resemblance was obvious. Lyanna was beautiful, but strong. Just from the determined look in her eyes, Bran could tell.
Scanning around her constantly, Lyanna dug the hole faster and clearly decided it was deep enough for whatever she needed it. To Bran's surprise, she dashed over to the stump of the fallen tree and pulled out a collection of armor pieces and threw them into the hole with them all just barely fitting.
The sounds of galloping hooves became clear and Lyanna was panicking as she filled the hole as fast as she could. She has just barely covered the armor with a mound of dirt before the hooves grew loud enough that Bran looked around and saw a black stallion riding through the tree in his direction.
Lyanna gasped and ran from the mound behind a large tree still standing. From within the forest came a knight in black armor upon his steed. He slowed his horse from a gallop to a trot and then a halt when he reached the base of the fallen tree's trunk.
Removing his helm, the knight revealed himself as Prince Rhaegar.
"I know you're there, my lady. I saw you running behind the tree."
"If you don't want a kick in the balls, you'll keep on your horse and piss off! I'm not decent and if you dare whip out your cock the only touch you'll get from me is my teeth tearing it off, you got that?"
Rhaegar began laughing as he dismounted his horse. "And they say Brandon Stark is wild. My lady, I am not here to harm you, I simply search at my father's behest for the Knight of the Laughing Tree. You haven't seen him ride through here have you… and I didn't get your name."
"I never gave it," Lyanna replied, "and I haven't seen any knight around either."
"Hm…" Rhaegar looked at the obvious spot of dirt that had been disturbed. "He must be hiding in the forest then. He's not too smart though. If he were, he'd find a good spot to get out of his armor and bury it so no one could find any evidence against him…" he smirked as he walked up to the roots of the tree and reached behind it. "But he'd be awfully foolish to forget to bury the shield as well." He lifted up a shield with a laughing weirwood painted on it.
Lyanna poked her head around the corner and saw Rhaegar holding the shield. Rhaegar's amused expression turned into surprise when he saw Lyanna's face.
"Lady Stark? You're the Knight of the Laughing Tree?"
Lyanna, whose mouth became agape and cheeks pink when she saw it was Prince Rhaegar, darted her head back behind the tree. "I don't know what you're talking about, your Grace."
Rhaegar seemed to collect himself. Lyanna's bright red blush was visible. Rhaegar's amusement returned regarding her, and he looked at the laughing face on the shield once more and smirked. "Very well."
There was a pregnant silence between them. "Very well? What are you on about, your grace?"
"I believe you. This is just a coincidence that I found the shield near you. Of course my father would never believe it. I assume to avoid any questions about your absence, you've a good excuse for those of your company and something better to wear than your skivvies?"
"... there's a dress near the part of the trunk where the shield was, under the leaves."
Rhaegar set the shield down and dug under the trunk, producing a bright blue dress decorated with stitching of silver flowers. "You wore this the First Night," Rhaegar walked over with the dress folded over his arm and turning his back so as to not peek when he held the dress out to Lyanna who snatched it. "You poured a glass of wine over your baby brother's head, and you cried after my song. Did you hate it that much?"
"I didn't hate it," Lyanna said hesitantly. "We don't have anyone who makes music like yours in Winterfell. It was beautiful."
Bran watched as the Silver Prince sighed, looking off into the distance. "I'm glad to hear that. My father thinks it's stupid. He says I enjoy having my head in songs too much."
"We all enjoy the things we're good at. Wear an open helm and he'll see how much you like fighting."
His head dropped as Lyanna stepped out from behind the tree. Her hair was a tad messy, but she was a sight.
"I don't." Rhaegar frowned. "I just have to be good at it."
Lyanna's tense mood softened a little, her scowl turning into a rest and her eyes became calm and open at the Silver Prince.
He hefted the shield. "This will be enough." Rhaegar turned to leave, only for Lyanna to catch his wrist with her hand.
"Your grace?" Lyanna stepped forward.
"It's a shame I could only find the shield and no witnesses. I'll probably get a scolding from the King, but he's never done anything different. Such is life I suppose. You best be on your way now. I'll head a little further in, but keep off the eastern road. My father's men are watching there."
Bran laughed watching this. Oh how he wished Rhaegar had lived instead of Robert. The world would have been a much more pleasant place to live in.
"Why are you doing this?" Lyanna asked.
Rhaegar turned and shrugged with an unreadable expression. "Because it feels the right thing to do, my lady." He smiled softly and after a moment, Lyanna took off, only looking back once as though to make sure he wasn't following. The moment she disappeared out of sight, Rhaegar returned to his horse and mounted.
But then he looked back where Lyanna had run and smiled. "Lyanna Stark…"
The image faded away and Bran was pulled into another memory just as suddenly as he appeared in the last one.
As if the gods intended that he witness these events.
Crowds were cheering around him, Prince Rhaegar strutted atop his mighty warhorse. Sunlight glinted off his dark armor, gold swirls complimenting well with the red cloak billowing behind him. Helmet decorated with rearing dragon wings, Rhaegar peered into the crowd with his lance held forward, the end of it carrying the crown of winter roses, its petals glowing azure in the sunlight. He was searching for someone, a special someone.
He rode slowly in the direction of where the Martells were sitting, their banners swaying in the soft breeze. And in what had to be a split second decision, Rhaegar brought his lance up and passed his wife.
Rhaegar lowered the crown to the lap of Lyanna Stark. The crowd let out a collective gasp and fell silent. Every smile died and nothing but the wind made noise. When Rhaegar and Lyanna locked eyes.
Next to Lyanna, a man who Bran could only know was his namesake Uncle sputtered and stood from his seat, a young Ned Stark had gotten up too but only to hold back Uncle Brandon, and a young King Robert went red with fury… but Lyanna simply picked up the garland with shaking hands and pressed it on her head.
She looked beautiful.
In a blink of an eye the scene changed. A forest again, but Bran felt the harmony and stillness all around. A feeling he only had when near a Weirwood, and sure enough…
"Why?!" Wearing the same dress as at the joust, Lyanna hit Rhaegar's chest with her fists. It wasn't vicious or intended to hurt, but her face looked in distress. Half-enraged and half… "Why did you do that? My brother wants to bite your neck out!"
Of all ways to react, Rhaegar laughed at such news of violence towards him.
"By the Gods… you're thick." She looked away, running a hand through her dark hair. "This isn't something out of a storybook, your grace. You're bloody married and I'm betrothed, do you not understand how shameful this was?"
"You don't even like Robert," Rhaegar replied, still smiling, almost like he was amused but not with Lyanna.
She blinked. "Obviously I don't. He fucks anything with a twat and tits, but I also know my duty. What is required of me… and what is expected of you. So answer the question." Her voice wasn't angry anymore. It was pleading.
Rhaegar gazed at her, violet eyes deep. "Could be many reasons why. I heard what you did for your friend, or because Robert does fuck all with a twat and tits, or maybe it was because I respect you as a contender."
Her eyes glassed over. "So… which one is it?"
Bran didn't expect what Rhaegar said next. "None of them." She looked confused. "I had my eyes set on Elia and was going to crown her… but then I saw you out of the corner of my visor and… my body just moved on its own. And after I did it, I realized it's what I wanted to do."
Lyanna said nothing to that, merely gazing at him in the same manner that Bran saw Meera look at him. Doe eyes. Smitten eyes. He was sure they would kiss at the moment, but Bran watched as Lyanna merely broke their touch and rushed away. The crown of roses still about her head.
Whispers were everywhere. A mist surrounded Bran, obscuring all sight but the sounds hit his ears without break. Gossip, insults, curiosity… all discussing the sudden action at the joust, of how Princess Elia was slighted for the betrothed Lady Lyanna Stark. He heard Robert Baratheon's and his Uncle Brandon's rages to Bran's father. Heard the poisonous words of Cersei Lannister. The ribald japes from the Mad King about 'Dornish cunts'. Princess Elia's family tried to elicit some level of poison from her at her husband.
The forest faded away and the interior of the great castle formed into shape, a room nearly empty of anything except a few candles and a wall of melted stone. Rhaegar and Lyanna sat on the floor against a wall still intact next to all the candles. Next to them was a stack of books.
Bran noticed that as much as Lyanna tried to keep her distance, each part of her showed the closeness she was developing for her future husband.
"You've studied the history of the First Men?" Lyanna's tone was of surprise.
Rhaegar nodded. "My great uncle in Castle Black is the one who led me to them. You'd be surprised just how much the First Men impacted today's world." She laughed, and he smiled. "What particularly interests me is the legend of the Long Night, and King Brandon the Builder's role."
Lyanna eyed him curiously. "Why?"
There was a silence before Rhaegar spoke again. "I've had… dreams."
She blinked. "Dreams?"
He looked at her, and Bran saw what Lyanna saw. A haunted look in his eyes, one that looked so much like Jon's it was uncanny. "Snow. Ice. Darkness." Even away from beyond the Wall, Bran felt the chill through his veins. "I saw an army of corpses, hundreds of thousands of men, women, and children frozen in their rot, and leading them was this… thing. A creature of ice and eyes of death."
"The Night King," Lyanna stated with serious eyes, "you saw the Night King?"
Rhaegar didn't answer, he only looked at her. The name itself seemed to freeze him to his breath. "In another I saw my ancestor, Aegon the Conqueror, tell me to 'remember the prophecy.' I asked my mother the following day, and she told me. A secret my family has kept down the line for generations."
"You don't have to…"
Rhaegar continued. "Aegon, had a dream. Of a world wreathed in darkness. That only one born of my House could bring the world out of that, bring back light. She was told by her grandfather, who was told by his brother, who was told by Brynden Rivers… all the way back to Aegon the First." He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "It's when I discovered this in the library of Dragonstone."
A book, an ancient text that Rhaegar treated with reverence. Lyanna gazed at it, eyeing the images more than the words. It wasn't a surprise that she didn't know High Valyrian, there was hardly a Northerner who did.
The book faded along with everything else around and the world reorganized itself into a forest. No, not a forest, a godswood. He was still at Harrenhal and stood next to the looming weirwood. This godswood was like Winterfell's, filled with many trees and bushes, except the only other trees besides the weirwood were all aspens.
Hushed voices drew his attention, but they weren't surreptitious. Not plotting, but rather just seeking seclusion. Bran stepped through the brambled paths to find his aunt and the Prince, laughing together. A moment of pleasant solitude underneath the moon, two young highborns enjoying each other's company in the only way able to the both of them. "I cannot believe it."
"It's true, my Lady."
Lyanna gave Rhaegar an incredulous look, one even Bran had to admit that combined with the moonlight made her look gorgeous. "You're telling me that the Godswood of King's Landing has no Weirwood tree?"
Rhaegar shrugged. "We used to, but the Greens burned it as a slight to the Starks allying with the Blacks. Now we have a heart tree, but it's an oak. No carving in it, but the smokeberry and dragon's breath give it some beauty."
"Horseshit." Her crude speech might turn off most, but Rhaegar only smirked at it. "In what manner can one communicate with the gods that way?"
"If my understanding is correct about the Old Gods, they are gods of all things, rock, river, and tree, not just the Weirwoods."
A swat to his arm, an intimate gesture without even knowing it. "Shut up, I know my own Gods, my Prince."
He gave a sardonic look, rubbing his stricken arm. "I could have you tossed in the dungeons for disrespecting the Crown Prince."
She rolled her eyes. "But you won't. You enjoy my company too much." Lyanna stretched her arms up, eyes closed as she sighed in complete relaxation. Bran noticed that Rhaegar's eyes didn't leave Lyanna's chest, a gulp down his throat. Did the young Stark blame him? Not truly. Lyanna didn't notice though. "I have half a mind to bring a weirwood sapling from Greywater Watch and plant one in King's Landing to correct this injustice."
Rhaegar's eyes widened. "You would do that?"
"Why not?" she answered without guile. "Howland has them. Only places with saplings that I've found unless you go to Sea Dragon Point." But then Lyanna winced. "Very few followers of the Old Gods would be there, though."
They passed under the weirwood at that moment, and the moonlight shone brightly between the red leaves, almost giving them a glow. An ethereal full moon without any cloud cover, brighter than anything but the sun. Rhaegar's silver-hair almost gleamed, indigo eyes shining. Lyanna's pale skin and dark hair were a maze of contrasts. She was a wild beauty not appreciated by many, but in this she put all the maidens of the south to shame.
Rhaegar noticed her first, and looked captivated. "If I had met you before, you'd be one," he murmured. "And that's all that matters to me." he took her hands and held them softly.
Now this, Lyanna noticed. Her eyes were wide as she turned her head. A gasp leaving her lips in taking Rhaegar's appearance. Gazes locking, only seeing each other. "Are… you…"
He slowly took her hands, the moment not lost on either of them. "Yes."
Even if Bran had truly been there, screaming and waving his hands at them, he wouldn't have been noticed as the two brought their lips together in a gentle kiss. One quickly deepened, arms wrapping about each other.
They looked like they had been in love for years, simply… fitting together seamlessly.
One scene that shined truthful light upon the dark lies of the Rebellion.
Lyanna had fallen back against the weirwood as they kissed… and there was resonance coming from her now, the same feeling of magic when he and Bearded Bran touched Lightbringer together. What memories did she have to show?
Bran walked over and, as awkward as it was while they kissed, touched Lyanna on her forehead. But instead of seeing visions of memories, something else happened. Lyanna stilled and her eyes shot open, revealing the cloud white eyes of a warg or a greenseer.
"Lyanna?" Rhaegar broke apart their kiss and was shocked, afraid. "Lyanna!"
Lyanna's hand drifted to the bark of the weirwood like someone was pulling it. When her fingers made contact, her palm slipped over and finally visions began appearing before Bran.
Far in the north among the ravines of ice was the Army of the Dead, marching south. Men, giants, and beasts numbering as far as could be seen looked forward with their glowing pale eyes. Upon a rise, overlooking them was him, the Night King. His head shot to the side as if he were looking directly at them.
The memory tore itself apart and in the shadows was a single image, a person standing alone… it was Jon. He was dressed in armor decorated in the dragon of House Targaryen and carried his sword with the pommel of Ghost at his side.
"His name… is Aegon Targaryen…"
Bran broke apart from Lyanna and she collapsed.
"Lyanna!" Rhaegar caught her in his arms and held her. "Wake up! Please!"
Lyanna gasped and held onto Rhaegar tightly.
"Your skin's ice cold… you need a maester-"
Lyanna breathed. "You were right. I saw… I saw him!" Her words were that of a child who was frightened beyond belief.
Rhaegar was speechless.
At this point Bran didn't even try to stop whatever force was tossing him through the sight. Choosing what was important to see and what wasn't, for even now nearly all of this was shrouded in mystery. No one knew what truly happened, and Robert's spin was the victor that marked the pages of history. Bran wanted to know, wanted to see it all, but still didn't understand where he should look.
Whether it was the power of the Three-Eyed Raven, Bearded Bran, or the Old Gods themselves, the choice was made for him, transported to a chamber within Harrenhal. Where in the great keep he knew not, but only two figures resided within. One was Lyanna, strangely formal and quiet from all he had seen of her. The other, a slender Dornishwoman. Dress bright, hair pulled up and adorned with rubies, swarthy skin and small nose revealing a haunted beauty.
Bran required a moment to realize that this was Princess Elia Martell. A cup of tea rested by her side, and her hand trembled a bit as she reached over to pick it up.
"I'm frail, but not ignorant, Lady Lyanna."
Skin coloring pale, Lyanna sputtered. For once devoid of words. "Your Grace… I am sorry…" Bran watched with interest, as this was one of the final mysteries in existence. If Rhaegar and Lyanna fell in love, married, then what of Elia? Was she set aside? Did Rhaegar abandon her? "Your husband…"
She suddenly stopped as Elia reached out and took Lyanna's hands in hers. "I am not angry about this, Lyanna."
Lyanna watched in shock. "You're not?" She gulped. "I mean, he is your husband."
Elia nodded. "He is, and I love him." She sighed again, and suddenly coughed. "I know we were an arranged marriage and a spite against Tywin Lannister." a hint of a proud smile ghost Elia's lips. Lyanna was silent throughout, waiting for Elia to continue. "I grew to love him, to care for him. He's the father of my two children. And no sane woman would let her husband seek another without issue. But… I'm dying, Lyanna."
Finally Lyanna spoke. "Dying…" She shook her head. "I'm so sorry."
"Aegon's birth nearly killed me, but my maester from home was the one who discovered my illness. I can't say it's easier but… I've come to terms with it." She smiled again, as if to put Lyanna to ease. "You've fallen in love with Rhaegar."
"Love? I…"
"No, I can see it. And he's fallen for you too. Regardless of his prophecies and duty… I haven't seen him this enchanted since he held our children in his arms." Her eyes fluttered shut, peace over her features. "I wish that I could live with Rhaegar forever, but the gods intended something different. I want him to be happy after I'm gone, for my sake and our children. And you are no snake weaving her way into his life."
"Your grace-"
"I'm not finished," Elia said sharply. "But I can't say that I think warmly of you either… I prayed every morning and every night that the day would come when Rhaegar would fall in love with me. Seeing another woman do it when I have failed… I hate it."
Lyanna swallowed and her gaze fell. "I didn't mean for it to happen, your grace."
"No," Elia said, "we never do. But things will be done properly. I want to return home. To live my remaining years in the Water Gardens with my children by my side."
"That… I would think many would wish that fate for themselves in their final moments."
"The good ones at least." Elia looked at Lyanna, expression gentle. "When the time comes, I will petition the High Septon to release us from our vows. And I will give you my blessing."
"Blessing?" Her tone was hopeful.
A nod. "To marry him, to love him. To be his Queen." And in an instant, it seemed as if a weight was lifted off of Lyanna's shoulders…
"Bran… Bran!"
Shaken violently, his eyes drew back and then returned to their normal bluish hue. "Meera?" he asked, squinting. Sure enough it was her, her pretty face contorted in worry.
A damp cloth wiped at the sheen of sweat on his forehead, bringing instant relief. "Seven Hells, Bran," he heard Meera chide, her voice more a relief to his storm of emotion than anything else. "That's the longest you've been out, yet."
Hand clasped to his chest, Bran began to take even breaths, desperate to calm himself. "Water… water…"
Sighing, Meera nodded and handed him her waterskin. The snowmelt inside was refreshingly cold and he downed half of it in an uninterrupted series of gulps. Gasping yet again but feeling better. "Please, lay down," she urged.
He did not disobey, but did let her guide him onto the furs of his cloak. "How long was I out?"
"The Children said all through the night."
"Truly?" He entered in the middle of the afternoon yesterday, when he came back he thought it was the evening, not the morning. At her nod, he chuckled. "Felt like barely any time passed." Her glare only hardened, and he felt sheepish. "I truly didn't realize…"
"Don't disappear in the past like that. The Three Eyed Raven warned you about that. He might be gone but you're still here with people waiting for you." Meera poked him in the chest, and when he bit his lip her tone softened. "You should get some rest. Real rest. No going into the sight again, alright?"
Bran nodded. "Alright." As Meera drew up the furs for him, he noticed her yawn. "You're tired too."
"Didn't sleep much. Too worried over you."
He suddenly felt a need not to be alone. A need for companionship. "You…" he gulped. "You can stay here and sleep. I mean, we'll stay warm side by side." Bran was ready for her to refuse, but only felt Meera readjust the furs. Her body sliding in next to his. It felt warm, pleasant.
With her next to him, Bran fell asleep as soon as he closed his eyes.
Jon
Why was it that the things never paid any heed to move by so fast, much like the day when there's nothing but fun. But on days that people begged for the night to come fast, it felt the sun would linger an extra hour or two.
This sunset was no different. Jon had been watching it from the balcony of his tower solar for nearly an hour before the last orange light of the sun in the sky sank beyond the horizon.
He sighed and took another drink of his ale, finishing the horn off. His troubles weren't many today, which he felt they should be, and so far everything was going steady. In a way, he was bored and it angered him. He wasn't allowed to be feeling this. If there was something to do, he should do it and not waste the time. And yet that had been all he had been doing for weeks. He finally earned a moment to do nothing.
Still, what should he do? Everyone was busy… except for the guard outside his door.
"Ser Jaime," Jon called and the door opened with Ser Jaime Lannister poking his head in.
"Yes, your grace?" he stared blankly at Jon, he did that most of the time ever since gaining his white cloak again. The only times he showed hints of expression were when he was either angry or was reading one of the missives from Casterly Rock.
Jon extended his hand with the horn in it out to Jaime, gesturing him to enter. "Wine or ale?" He stood up and walked over to the silver pitchers on the end table.
"I've lost the taste for drink, your grace," Jaime replied.
"Ale then,"Jon poured a glass, walked over to Jaime and offered it to him. "Have you received the latest news from the Rock?"
Jaime took the glass but did not drink. He slowly trailed behind Jon returning to the table. "Tommen's doing well."
"And that's all?" Jon inquired before taking a drink. "How is his training with your cousin fairing? Does he have his father's potential?"
Jaime cocked his head to the side as though it were a shrug. "He has the makings of a knight. In a few years, perhaps a decent tourney competitor." he looked at his cup and finally gave in, taking a drink for himself. His brow rose up in pleasant surprise when he drank. "Mm, what blend is this?"
"It's from the Last Hearth. Smalljon Umber's private brew." Jon took another drink when there came a knock on the door. "Come in," Jon called and Ser Beric stepped in. "Forgive my interruption, your grace."
"There's nothing to forgive," Jon gestured to another chair, "sit before I order you to."
Beric complied, pulling up a seat and taking a chalice for himself. "I came to let you know that the work in the forges has been completed. Every project to pay off the Crown's debt is ready to be sent off."
"Good," Jon poured some ale for his Lord Commander, "now the fun projects can begin." Now he could start arming his company with the finest weapons in the entire world. Dragonglass worked against the dead, but it was still glass. A dagger or axe would only last so long before breaking.
If they had years, he could arm every man in his army, but the finest of warriors would need them first. "Jaime, I understand that a friend of yours is acting as Tommen's guide into Lordship and the Westerlands, from House Marbrand?"
"Addam," Jaime said, "He's a good man who I would trust with my life ten times over."
Jon cocked his head. "Feels like everyone's falling short of friends like that these days." He took another drink. "Is he a good fighter-"
"What do you want, Aegon?" Jaime asked.
The men sat in silence as Jon felt his words caught up.
"A conversation with friends isn't something ill to desire," Beric commented.
"We're not friends," Jaime reminded, "I'm your hostage and not the best company for most and I don't want to play niceties with you. If you want someone to speak to about the weather, my brother would be a better choice."
"Except he's not like you and me."
"How in the Seven Hells are we alike?"
Jon drank some more. "Neither of us enjoy our place in the world. We wish we could, but we can't. We're simply where we need to be."
Jaime's eyes narrowed at Jon like he was surprised how far off the mark he could have been. But then Jaime closed his eyes and sighed, returning to his seat and downing the rest of his cup.
"What do you feel?" Beric asked. "Almost every man noble or common would dream to sit upon the throne with its power at their fingertips."
Jon shook his head. "I don't want power… I want peace. But ever since the day I stepped foot in Castle Black, I haven't been able to find it. It's like the day I died, any part of me that could have desired what we gave up died too. It's like I'm still trapped in that room."
"Like a part of you goes missing," Beric added while Jaime listened intently. "I used to be betrothed to Allyria Dayne. But after my second time being brought back, I couldn't even remember what she looked like. By the fifth time, the last grasp I had for my family let go. All that's left is my task for the Lord of Light. And when it's done, maybe I'll finally know peace."
Jon's fist tightened on the handle of his horn. Would the Lord of Light really grant him such a gift if they won? There were times in his first life that he could forget the cage, and they were all when he was with Daenerys after they finally loved each other. But now, when he was with her, it was like the cage shrunk around him, choking him.
Finishing off his ale before pouring a little more, Jon looked at Jaime for want of a different subject, one that he never inquired ever until now. He finally has someone who could answer properly.
"How well did you know my father?"
Jaime's jaw clenched and his head fell but then popped back up suddenly. "Not as well as Arthur Dayne, your grace, but long enough to know what the courts and common folk wouldn't care about."
Instead of refilling the cup with ale, Jon used the small wooden keg filled with Umber's brew.
"I first met him when I was ten, and just like all the other boys who saw the silver prince, I was smitten and admired him. I saw him fight as beautifully as he played his harp. When I joined the Kingsguard, he was the man who made serving the Mad King worth it. When he wasn't a prince at court, he was as good a friend as an ally in battle. I joined him in disguise once through the streets of Flea Bottom so he could play his harp and sing to the common folk. I always thought it was a game of his, a way to amuse himself by divulging a fantasy as a musical rogue for the people. But the more I saw him, the more I saw he genuinely did it because it's just what he loved doing. And when the Tourney at Harrenhal came…"
Jon's attention spiked, making him twitch in his fingers.
"I saw him start to change. It was something subtle I can't describe, but you know it's there. Arthur would have been able to tell you, maybe even Princess Elia. I had the gall to ask him what he was thinking when he crowned your mother his queen of love and beauty. All he said to me was, "trust in me, Jaime, because I need it more than ever.""
Jaime paused to drink some of his ale, looking remorseful.
"Do you know why he ran away with my mother? Why all the secrecy?"
Jaime huffed a laugh. "It doesn't take a maester's chain to aim a guess that is the Mad King. If Aerys knew about it, he'd set the North alight with wildfire, then probably the same to Dorne since Elia couldn't keep Rhaegar in her bed…" he sighed and shook his head.
"Jaime," Jon set his horn down and looked at the eyes of the man sworn to him. "I want you to promise me something." Jaime's brow narrowed at him. "If I turn out like Aerys and you see the chance to end it again, do it. That's a command."
Jaime's face was withdrawn when Jon said that. His jaw had clenched and he set down the ale. "As you command, your grace." he said blankly. It was clear he was still trying to comprehend what Jon had just asked of him. "Will that be all?"
Jon nodded and sat back in his seat as Jaime and Beric got up and made for the door.
"Oh, one more thing," Jon said and Jaime turned to face him. "Both of you go to the forges tomorrow and meet with the smiths for a new blade each."
"My sword is sharp enough, your grace." said Jaime.
"Not for you, Jaime, not yet, but for Tommen. I think House Lannister deserves a new Valyrian Steel sword."
A smile almost came on Jaime, but he nodded and left without another word.
Daenerys
"I think I'll wear the new dress."
"Of course, your Grace."
Daenerys blinked, noticing the disagreement in Missandei's tone as her friend and handmaiden grabbed it from the closet. She was still clad in her severe black dress and trousers, while Daenerys had stripped to her smallclothes in order to dress. "Is there a problem?"
"No, your Grace. I am well."
Brow rising, Daenerys crossed her arms as Missandei again approached with the dress in hand. "Is that a fact?" Missandei was taller than Daenerys, a slender beauty. However small she was, the Dragon Queen still possessed the fire of her mount. "Do not conceal anything from me. Speak."
Sighing, Missandei let the dress rest on the bed, careful not to wrinkle it. "I think it sends the wrong message."
"Excuse me?" The dress was a beautiful one, made upon suggestion by Tyrion when they landed on Dragonstone. It was a dark red, like blood and thus half the colors of House Targaryen. But it was resembling the Northern style. Wool and modest, a high neckline and sleeves down the arms to her wrists. It hugged her chest and waist but billowed out at the hips. "I am dining with Lady Sansa tonight. Tyrion said dressing like from the North would help bond with the Starks."
"I'm not sure you should bond with them." Missandei looked at her earnestly. "The… King is supposedly your nephew, but his cousins are still supposed to be your bannermen. Sworn to you. They should be worrying about what to wear before you, not yourself."
"I believe they are." She clicked her tongue. "I want peace, Missandei, not to antagonize. But more than that I need to be able to find a way to connect with my nephew." He is a tough nut to crack. Let alone his behavior at their first meeting and after their flight. "Lady Sansa has given me plenty of openings, and it would be foolish if I didn't follow it."
Nodding, Missandei motioned for Daenerys to prepare for the dress. "All I will say is that you are a dragon, your Grace. Be a dragon."
She smiled as the dress fell about her shoulders. "Always."
There was another reason she was glad for the dress. With winter closing in from the north, there was a bit of a chill in the air that she was not in any manner used to, having lived all her life in the great warmth of Essos. Escorted by two of her Dothraki guards tonight, she rubbed her arms, warming herself.
Sansa's guard, the Hound, bowed his head shallowly and opened the door to the solar of the King's sister. "Your Grace," he said.
"Ser Sandor," Daenerys replied.
"I'm not a bloody knight." He growled with an annoyed look away from her.
"My apologies," she nodded before entering, leaving her guard outside with the Hound. "Lady Stark."
Sansa Stark was a vision, there was no denying it. Her outfit was a more formal northern style, with a shallower neckline and a dark blue, and silver Direwolves stitched throughout the chest, but otherwise… "Queen Daenerys, we seem to match." A small smile formed on her lips.
Daenerys couldn't help but chuckle softly. "So it seems. And you wear the dress well. Exceptionally beautiful." The blue of her dress and the red of her hair contrasted well. She was easily one of the most beautiful women in the Seven Kingdoms.
While her smile widened, Daenerys could tell there was a… caution in Sansa's gaze. "As are you, your Grace, although the Valyrian features would be beautiful on anyone." Flattery complete, Sansa motioned for a table set for them, two sets of the finest silverware. "Please, have a seat." Daenerys nodded and did so, the two across from each other. "I have a proper meal prepared for us in the kitchens. Should be but a moment…"
The doors then opened again and revealed a half-dozen servants entering with trays. Daenerys grinned. "Seems I timed it perfectly, Lady Sansa."
Sansa laughed. "I should never underestimate your punctuality." Daenerys hoped that would break the ice, for she did not wish this to be a tense dinner.
Good food would go a long way to easing the still palpable… tension. In front of each of them, the servants set down a bowl of soup and a small mini-loaf of black bread. "First course?" It smelled wonderfully.
Sansa nodded. "An old recipe from Winterfell. Pea and onion soup. A mix of rabbit and chicken for the meat, some mushrooms and carrots, and some barley to thicken it all up." She took a sniff, and then spooned a healthy portion into her mouth. Groaning in pleasure. "Reminds me of home, before all of this."
Daenerys followed Sansa, her stomach rumbling and suddenly quite ravenous. A large spoonful packed with chunks of meat, onion, carrot, and one mushroom… gods, it did taste heavenly. Meaty and warm, thick with the texture of the barley flour mixed in with the peas, onions, and mushrooms all jumbled together. "Very good."
"Not something you'd eat in Essos, I'm sure."
"Spices and rich flavor are what the people desire in those lands. I remember when I was a little girl, the food in Myr was more so than anywhere else. They enjoy spices that scorch the tongue.."
"I can't imagine, but a dragon can handle it?"
She grinned. "Oh yes." Daenerys took another spoonful, wondering how a Westerosi 'foreigner' would handle the experience. "Is this a common meal for the North or just within Winterfell?"
"The recipe was a secret of Winterfell made by my late caretaker. We called her Old Nan, and she was the oldest of our servants when Jon and I were growing up. She was probably the same to my father and aunt when they were children." Sansa broke off a chunk of bread and dipped it in the soup. Daenerys copied it, and the results were wonderful. "She helped care for me and my brothers and sisters. Always told us stories before bed."
Like Ser Willam did. Daenerys felt her heart twinge at the bittersweet innocence of her childhood. "What sorts of stories?"
Sansa grew serious. "Stories of the Long Night, the stories of all that lurked Beyond the Wall." She shuddered. "After seeing what we have, memories of her stories frighten me now that I know they're real."
"My former caretaker used to tell me that many other monsters lurked in the Lands of Always Winter. Ice spiders and Ice dragons. Seeing that creature, it makes one wonder what other myths and legends out of our comprehension are real."
"Many would think three dragons being hatched from stone is beyond comprehension, Queen Daenerys." She and Sansa locked eyes. "Wouldn't you say?"
They stared at each other before Daenerys clicked her tongue. "A fair point, Lady Sansa." She reached for a cup which contained watered wine and drank a gulp.
Daenerys stared at the plates. The following meal was substantial. Racks of what seemed like pork ribs, but bigger, dashed with what seemed like a honeyed glaze and some spices about it. On the side was a large pottery bowl filled with roasted potatoes and onions.
Immediately cutting a bit of it with her knife, she speared a potato and piece of boar with her fork and ate it together. "This is delicious." She ate another piece with gusto and savored the boar.
"So," Sansa started after a minute of digging in. "What is it like, riding a dragon?"
Daenerys beamed brightly. "Radiant, both humbling and invigorating. Being able to see the earth as the gods do, feeling the fire beneath me…" It was the hardest thing to describe to someone that couldn't experience it. "The greatest moment of my life. The greatest triumph."
"All the power in the world at your command."
Daenerys contemplated the sentence. "My ancestors let the realm burn and rip with their wars. I plan to use it properly. To better the world." Fire and Blood. But her actions in Meereen proved differently. "But you misunderstand the nature of my children. A dragon is not a slave. I am bonded to Drogon… with something spiritual that I can't fully grasp. He understands me, and I understand him."
Sansa's eyes glossed over. "I understand, Daenerys. I was the same way with my direwolf."
So she had a direwolf too, like Aegon. "You have a wolf too?"
"Had," Sansa corrected. "Lady, a beautiful creature. Was prim and proper and sweet, and protective." Her lips curled in anger. "Cersei had her killed because Arya's direwolf attacked Joffrey… I defended him at the time, I was such a stupid little girl. She was the first of my loved ones that I lost."
Daenerys reached out and placed a hand on Sansa's feeling an inexplicable warmth there. From how Sansa tensed then relaxed, she felt it too. "We've all lost much, Sansa. I believe it's why we must unite together." As Aegon said, however distant he was.
While a small smile curled on Sansa's lips, in an instant it was replaced by something pensive. Something determined. "If we don't we die. But even then, there are the whispers from the North and the Wall. Even uniting might not be enough. The War of the Five Kings weakened the realms so much. And none has lost more than the North."
"All because of a spoiled child with a crown."
Sansa sat up straight, wiping her hands with a napkin before her half-eaten meal was temporarily forgotten. "My father died at the whims of Joffrey and my people fought to avenge him. They made my brother King in the North and swore to never kneel to a southern ruler again. They fought, and they lost, but our resolve remains."
"Yet the North swore itself to Aegon when he took the crown. And your little brother refused the prospect of King in the North." Varys had done well acquiring the whispers from the court of Winterfell.
"If he understood why then he wouldn't be so quick to cast it away. I could say the same about you. A Targaryen has reclaimed the Iron Throne and found new honor in your name, but you do not end your pursuit?"
Daenerys couldn't find the words to respond immediately. "A fair point."
Sansa sighed. "The Northmen value the Old ways, Daenerys. I lived in King's Landing long enough before the war to hear just how much my people are viewed. Barbarians, southern Wildlings, cave dwellers. To them, we're just people of winter in stone huts we call castles. We rule our own and take care of our own, and we like it that way. We do suffer now and have been suffering nearly a decade. How can we rebuild what we lost when we must first answer the call of a southern ruler?" She sighed.
Daenerys crossed her arms. "I came to rule Seven Kingdoms, not six. I've endured just as much as you have, Sansa. All that kept me going was faith in myself, in the restoration of my family to its rightful place. And now that I am not the last Targaryen, now that my house has a future through Aegon, I am not going to give it up."
Sansa's eyes narrowed. "The North won't take it kindly, even if Jon were to surrender the throne to you under compromise."
"Tell me, can they feed themselves?"
"You'd threaten us with starvation?"
Daenerys opened her mouth to continue, but realized this was not how she wished for the night to go. Sansa… She was friendly. She invited Daenerys when she didn't have to. If Daenerys would have any chance at bonding with her, bonding with Aegon… even ruling Westeros, she couldn't do this. "No, I do not." She leaned forward. "I want to help all of Westeros, to give them prosperity and liberty. I do not seek the Seven Kingdoms to serve me, I seek to unite them just as Aegon has."
"That already puts you leaps and bounds above Joffrey." Sansa folded her hands together. "I hold no ill will to you, for you are not your father and everything I've learned about you tells me that you are genuine."
Daenerys smiled tentatively.
"But Aegon's northern subjects are not so easy to loosen their hold over their pride. Any southerner that didn't fight for Robb is suspect, and a Targaryen even more so."
"As I once thought of anyone in Westeros who fought for Robert." She picked up her goblet, but didn't drink. "My brother was once told that in Westeros there were many that drank secret toasts to his health. He was stupid enough to believe it, while I realized only those who would make actual gestures of support could even be considered for trust… I did not know about your father's protection of my nephew."
"None of us did," Sansa acknowledged. "You said you gave the slaves of the Unsullied a choice to follow you. If they had chosen not to, would you have let them go?"
She blinked, surprised that Sansa recalled this, even though she shouldn't have. "I would've let them go." Out of all the ways she could react to this standstill, Daenerys laughed. "How curious is this?" She asked while Sansa looked confused. "I don't think this has ever happened before in the history of the world."
"What would that be?" asked Sansa.
"We each stand on two different sides of a line drawn, both trying to say theirs is the right side, and yet we completely understand the reasons the other has."
Sansa found it to smile, agreeing with her. "Then perhaps we need an accord. Yes, an accord between us. Until the threat of the White Walkers is taken care of, our qualms of monarchy will only remain inside the Red Keep. When we are out here, we are just another pair of ladies."
Daenerys smiled back. "That's a wonderful idea, Sansa."
Margaery
Of all the lessons her grandmother had taught, patience had been the most pressing. Patience to wait for the right moment because at times there was only one, and at others like now, it was recurring such as the guard shift change over the wing of the Red Keep where guests under watch stayed. She had no skill of stealth or slight of footwork to move in plain sight without being seen, but the guard currently watching over the corridor was part of her family's that joined the Starks in protecting the Red Keep. As soon as he saw her, he kept on his business as though she were not even there.
She found the room she was looking for and knocked thrice upon the heavy oak door. It wasn't half a minute later than it opened slowly with a man of questioning looks poking his head out from the other side. "And just who might you be?" Qyburn asked.
"Former Queen Margaery," she responded and stepped inside, pushing the door open past the weak man. The door closed but was not locked, though it didn't have one to begin with.
"And what can I assist you with that you would seek to hide from the King? I know the guard outside is one of yours so I expect he will not say a word of your trespass on the forbidden grounds of the castle."
"You're going to do what you can to fix what you caused." She lifted her veil from her face, revealing the scarred deformity she was. "I have enough connections left to know who it was that set up that trap underneath the Sept. Cersei would never do it herself, she never has and never will do anything herself. She always gets some willing fool to do her work for her."
"I did as I was bid, to serve who I swore my allegiance to. As you may have heard, there are dozens of other wildfire caches throughout the city, most of them emptied by the King's order, but Cersei had told me to look into these rumored things and ordered one to be made use of. Shall you find me guilty of following orders?"
"No, that's what men like you do when your benefactor is in danger. Even still, your type is the kind that values survival. It doesn't matter if you're living as the richest King or a beggar eating his own shit to sate his hunger, you're still alive. In your case, you might have a tumble down the stairs and break your neck should you say no."
Qyburn narrowed his eyes and stepped closer to her, cupping her face with a hand and inspected the scarred skin. "Is this all there is? If not, I need to see how much of your body was burned."
Margaery didn't even blink, she only glowered at him. She knew people enough to see lust behind men's gazes no matter how hard they tried to hide it, but this man had none, it was almost offending, proof that she was damaged and ruined. She removed her veil completely from her head and began to undo the laces of her dress. Her style of choice, while completely covering her body, was made in the same fashion as her old ones that gave more exposure and was quick to remove. Without his help, she got it off and stood bare before the man responsible for orchestrating the device that did this harm to her and murdered so many of her family.
There wasn't a single lecherous look in Qyburn's eyes as he inspected her body. "Heavy on the right thigh and backside up to the left shoulder and your neck. Both hands are almost mirroring and the left arm completely covered. Facial scarring is heavy. You might just be the luckiest person who has been touched by so much wildfire and lived. You may dress, my lady."
Margaery had no shame in her bare form before this man, but nevertheless she still hurried in redressing herself.
"I have a method that can remove the scars, but they will not completely go away. Shadows of them shall remain forever. Anything more is impossible, I have tried extensively. However, with how much you have, it will be quite painful."
"Not as much as what put these on me was."
He pursed his lips. "Perhaps not. You will be induced into sleep for the surgery, but after it's over is when the pain shall be with you every waking moment until it chooses to fade. And then there is another issue that must be addressed. I can not operate with my current restrictions. The King has his ways of keeping eyes on us even when we know we are alone. He probably knows of this very meeting."
"I will take care of everything. You will have a place where no one will interrupt us and neither will they hear me scream."
"Well then, my lady," Qyburn stepped over to his door and opened it for her, "I await your return for when such preparations are made. I will have some things needed specific for this task."
"Leave a list with one of my family's guards. They will take it to me."
Margaery left the old man without uttering another word. Cersei took so much from her. Before that bitch dies, Cersei will see her restored to what she despised so much.