It had been a moonless night. A bad omen, especially in the superstitious North. He hadn't thought so of the night he made his great promise - quite the opposite actually. At the time, it seemed as if all the latent and buried dreams of his had come true.

But the gods had their final laugh. It had only taken some time for his great promise to come back to haunt him…

All propriety had left them. They had begun their coupling worried about decorum, about privacy, but halfway through it all such thoughts flew out of the porthole of the gently rocking ship. Pleasure too great, the woman pinned deliciously underneath him was becoming unglued in her ecstasy.

"Fuck… Jon… fuck me harder." Her moans echoed through the room - even the fishes surrounding the ship would have likely heard the Mother of Dragons' roar as Jon slammed into her. Rocked into her with the fury of a thousand battles. Jon could count on two fingers the number of lovers he had, but it was clear that whatever he was doing was close to shattering the mighty Daenerys Targaryen.

The bed creaked. The bed shook, her wild thrashings spurring him on to do his best to break apart the wood and dislodge the nails. Crashing their lips together, her insatiable lust for him only spurred Jon on - a side of him he never before knew. Even with Yigritte. Even with Val. They had stirred desire in him, but Daenerys was like no other. An overwhelming passion, shown in their fiery glances at each other during meetings. The heat in errant touches he left on her skin or she left on his. The manner in which she had pulled him into her chambers that night, immediately pushing her tongue down his throat and shimmying her delicate hands to pump his cock...

How she let go… giving into him and his released hunger for the petite, sinful dragon. Pinning her to the bed and using his strength and gravity to pound her. Defile her. Open her up to his cock as he slammed into her harder and harder. Her hands flailing about to dig into his back or rub her nub to crest over a climax - a nub already sore from when he feasted on her that morning. The Dragon Queen couldn't get enough of him, opened herself up to him, both in the small council chamber and in the bedchamber.

And the howling wolf within him desired it. Lusted for it. Needed it. "So good. Cum for me, my Queen," he urged, teeth sinking into the creamy column of her neck. Good thing her winter dresses had high necklines.

Her walls contracted around him. "Jon… Jon… Jon… my King… oh fuck!" Screaming, the pierced shriek lasting barely a second before Jon fused their mouths together, the two shared a delirious climax. Their joined pleasure burning like dragonfire within them. Drawing out whatever energy they had, leaving them nothing but two limp rags, sweaty and flush against the other.

Eventually, Jon managed to roll off Daenerys. He heard a wince as he pulled out, the Queen clearly already missing him.

"Gods," Daenerys breathed, hand resting on her chest as she caught her breath. "You're incredible."

Jon chuckled, blushing slightly. One side effect of his 'bastard armor,' praise was something that normally ran off his back like water off a duck - memories of Lady Catelyn scolding him with vile insults when he bested Robb on the training field came to mind. But with her… everything was different. "I'm glad I could please you, Dany."

The Queen arched an eyebrow at him. "Dany?" Her look was unreadable. "Only one has ever called me Dany, before. I hated it."

Now Jon's bashful nature came to a head. "Oh… I'm sorry." He turned away…

Only to be pulled back by a soft hand. "No, I… like it from you. Dany kissed him sweetly, nuzzling his chest afterwards. "And to think, I thought you nothing but a northern fool that day in Dragonstone."

"Any regrets?" Had they been two random persons, smallfolk nestled together after a roll in the hay, Jon wouldn't have felt the need to ask. Instead allow her actions to speak for her. But they were not smallfolk. He was the King in the North, or at least had been. She was the Dragon Queen. Their actions would have effects far beyond the walls around them.

A sigh left Dany's lips, but she left a small kiss against his neck. "I know there will be consequences. Complications with your subjects… with my subjects…" She cupped his cheek. "But no, I don't regret this."

He smiled wanly. "Even sleeping with a bastard?" Jon meant it as a joke, but it came out bitterly all the same.

Daenerys looked at him as if he spouted five heads. "No, that does not matter." A gentle kiss was pressed on his lips. "You're a good man. An honorable man." She smiled. "A true and just King."

"And you're a good and just Queen." Slowly, languidly, their lips melded together, pouring out affection and lust till they were sliding against each other's skin. But neither had recovered yet, and the kiss ended as suddenly as it had begun.

Shifting in his arms, snuggling against him, Jon felt Dany's hot breath against his bare chest. "Jon?" It was barely a whisper. Only the quiet of the cabin allowed him to hear her.

"Yes… Dany?" He came to rather like using that name for her. She was always the strong, decisive Mother of Dragons - but with him… she was a different person. As if he was lucky enough to see this side of her. It was an honor. "What's troubling my Queen?" A hand trailed along the skin of her spine.

A sigh left her lips, wonderfully content despite her thoughts. "Did you mean it?"

He furrowed his brows. "Mean what? I need specifics, beautiful." Jon's chuckle died when he saw tear-lined eyes. "Dany? Don't cry."

"In the dragonpit. When we talked about the succession, and my…" He noticed a hand drift to cup her womb. "About the witch." His eyes widened in understanding. "Did you mean what you said to me? That you believe it is a lie?"

Jon's expression darkened, thinking of what she had told him. Of the look of resignation on her face as she announced her barrenness, accepting it but pain in her voice as clear as day. Oh how he hated the witch. Never having even met her, or learning of her till a week before, but hating her with a white hot passion that startled even him. "Yes, I meant what I said," Jon finally ground out, his hold tightening on her.

A hot tear fell upon his bare chest. "Why?"

"People like that… those that practice magic…" An image of a young girl set aflame, of the anger and agony that he could see in Ser Davos every now and again, flashed through his mind. Of the pain that he felt, an emptiness dwelling inside of him since his resurrection. One without end - until now. "They have their own agendas. I don't trust them, and they've never done anything to prove me wrong."

There was a silence. Interrupted only by the gentle crashing of waves against the hull of the ship. Jon looked down at his lover. His Queen. Catching only a glimpse of her forehead, the shimmer of her silver hair in the moonlight. He had never seen someone so beautiful before, a woman that had wormed her way through his defenses. His 'bastard armor' as Tyrion put it so long before. He would do anything for her.

'Even Bend the knee.'

"I never had any reason not to assume she was right," Daenerys finally said. "All the times…" She trailed off.

There was little doubt as to what she meant, and she was a beautiful, powerful queen. Few would not take advantage to have lovers, and she had been married twice - even still, Jon felt a low simmer of jealousy course through him. Holding her ever tighter. 'She's mine.' Their affair was young - months building - but young. And yet his protectiveness over her threatened to overpower him. "Perhaps he was the problem."

Tilting her head up, slightly surprised at his statement, mirth filled Daenerys' eyes. "Perhaps he was." Just as fast as it had come, the mirth disappeared. Replaced by a hesitence… an uncertainty. One that Jon could never associate with the Mother of Dragons - but with Dany? The woman beneath all of it? "You really do believe in me." It was as if she finally heard all he was saying, allowing it into her guarded heart.

"Aye, I do. You make miracles happen, Daenerys Targaryen." He leaned down to gently cup her abdomen. The place where her womb was nestled.

At the contact, Dany's look changed. It was as if she looked upon him with new eyes. With a sense of rapture - amazement that someone like Jon Snow even existed. "I… don't deserve you, my King." Her hand drifted up to lay flat over his heart, but suddenly stopped. Fingers tracing the scar over his heart. Despite himself, he flinched. At the movement, her sadness returned. "Oh, Jon." The tears were held back no longer.

Acting quickly, Jon pulled her flush against him, her tears blazing on his skin and hands stroking her back. "I'm here, Daenerys."

"They killed you." The sight of those scars, ones as gaping and ugly as they had been while he was still a corpse upon the table at Castle Black, left her just as affected as she was at Eastwatch. "I almost lost you."

"You didn't." He tried not to think about it, how his death had been such a close run thing. But since Daenerys, especially since they had first fallen into bed together, Jon couldn't help it. That only a quirk of fate allowed this beautiful creature to come into his life. "I am here. With you."

The cries turned into wry chuckles, as if she was willing herself to laugh. "The gods are kind to me then, if they exist."

"I think I was always destined to come to you." Gods, when had he become so sappy? The brooding, sullen Jon Snow - committed to never marrying. Committed to never siring a bastard named Snow. Here he was, wishing, praying to whatever deities would hear him that he could prove this witch was a liar. That he could make this woman lying in his arms could have a child. "I love you, Dany."

'I love her?' Could he have fallen in love with the Dragon Queen, only months after she practically held him prisoner when he arrived for dragonglass…

Yes. 'Seven Hells, I love her.' And he had no second thoughts about it.

She stared at him, warmth in her gaze, tears in her eyes - this time of joy. A wide smile stretched across her face. One he felt… no knew was one that few had seen. Meant only for him. "I love you too, Jon Snow." Their lips met in a searing kiss, sealing their declarations of love for each other. "I know it's selfish," she said between kisses, showering them on his face as if unable to break the connection they had. "But I can't lose you, Jon. I… I…"

He silenced her with another kiss. "You won't, Dany. I promise."

The tears that fell were filled with a resigned grief. "You don't know what the future will bring."

"I don't care." Jon flipped them, grey locked in on violet. "You will never not have me. Whatever the future brings, I'll always be there." The rings of purple sparkled with tears of pure happiness as their lips crashed together...

"THE KING IN THE NORTH!"

Hoots from the Knights of the Vale snapped Jon out of his thoughts. Dissipated the daydream images - the memories - from in front of his eyes. Shaking his head, growing alert once more, he waved at the mounted column as they raised swords in a coordinated cheer for their King. The King they had chosen. The King who had proven himself worthy of their loyalty and love.

And yet he would give it all up for the love of only one.

Tall enough to reach Jon's hip if craning his head up, Ghost nudged his master. Knocking him out of his contemplation. Looking down, Jon smiled at his oldest companion. Oldest friend - Arya was more family to him, anyway. "Hey boy." He leaned down, ruffling the soft white fur. Ghost only licked the hand once, following with a cock of his head, whimpering. Jon sighed. He could read his direwolf better than anyone else. Remembering the bond she had forced with Ghost - with him. "I miss her too."

The memories of her. Of their times together, times of great pleasure and joy only brought pain to him now.

"You will never not have me." The words wrapped around Jon like a noose.

"Whatever the future brings, I'll always be there."

You lied, Jon. He hung his head in shame. You broke your promise to her. Broke many promises. But it was that one that Jon couldn't back away from. The one that caused him true agony.

"Dragon Crow!" Perfect. Just what Jon needed, Tormund Giantsbane. The aforementioned ginger brute galloped beside him, eyes sparkling with a manic energy that seemed to exude from his very being. "Can ya believe it, Dragon Crow?" he announced in a pompous flourish that would make a young boy jealous - with his new nickname for the former Night's Watchman he had long known. It stuck deeper than the knives of the mutineers, not that Tormund realized. Beyond them, the disorganized line of Free Folk warriors marched, fierce snarls proclaiming their loyalty to Jon as the cheers of the Vale Knights did. "Further south than any fuckin' Free Folk since… well since fuckin' forever!"

A suggestion of what anatomically impossible action Tormund could perform on himself formed in Jon's throat, but died on his tongue. The Wildling leader - largely by acclamation, since the Free Folk did not kneel or hold titles - didn't deserve it, much as Jon wished to be left alone. He had suffered greatly, his people most of all.

No, not most of all.

"I'm still surprised that all of you joined us on the march south." Most had honestly figured that Tormund would lead his people to the True North, or at least the Gift.

Tormund shrugged. "Our bond is our bond, and would we truly be safe if the Queen that fucks her brother wins? I know your sorry ass will flee to us if you lose, and she'll come after us. Better make sure ya' win." He thumped Jon on the back, laughing. "Besides, gotta show these southern ladies - what with their sighs and whimpers and faintin' - what real men look like, Dragon Crow."

Dragon crow.

Dragon.

Blood of the dragon.

Aegon of House Targaryen. Son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark.

The truth bit at Jon worse than the jaws of an undead bear. Worse than the pain of Alliser Thorne's steel.

Heir to the Iron Throne. Rightful heir.

Jon had endured having his life ripped out of him, his identity destroyed. 'I am not the son of Ned Stark.' It had defined him for so long, but it was all a lie. A lie he had endured to his shame and pain for decades. A lie that had nearly crushed him upon its collapse. Leaving him with nothing. A family wary of him, whispers of plots all around him, pain and suspicion from the very woman that he loved...

"Brooding as ever, your Grace?"

Jon turned to see Ser Davos, eyes squinting in the sun but otherwise cheery. 'Damn it, how do I let people keep sneaking up on me?' Nothing like the great warrior that braved the icy cold of the True North. Seven Hells, his thoughts were jumbled. "I'm no king. Not anymore."

Davos offered a grin. "No, but you will be soon. I doubt that beautiful lass will let you go, not the way both of you look at each other." He chuckled. "Frankly, we'd finally have a King and Queen we'd want to follow…" the Onion Knight trailed off as he saw the agony badly hidden on Jon's face. "Your Grace?"

A wolf could hide their emotions well, but Jon wasn't fully a wolf. Blood of the dragon, son of Rhaegar Targaryen. If anyone could know about it, Davos could, but Jon already broke his promise to Dany once… three times rather. He couldn't do it again. "I betrayed her, Davos."

"Betrayed her?" Davos furrowed his brows. "How, for gods' sake? Did ya' plunder a wildling lass, cause I did warn you about that?" The glare from his sworn Lord quieted him. "Alright, I won't joke. Go on, your Grace."

"I promised I'd be with her, always. And I'm not." Among other things.

"Tis' that all? You're leading her army south, and well if I might add. We're about to take on the forces of the Riverlands, the boy Lord from the Vale is coming with reinforcements. If Dorne and the Reach get off their pampered, perfumed asses, I think we'll outnumber Cersei by the time we reach the capitol…"

Everything changed in an instant. Davos, Jon, and Tormund's hands flew to cover their ears as the earth-shattering shriek boomed over the plains and woodlands. Pain filled Jon, unsettling agony unlike anything he had experienced before… no, he had felt this. When Rhaegal slammed into the snow at Winterfell, the pain that filled him was not just his own - as if he had warged into the dragon, feeling the same wind knocked out of him as the dragon did.

The dragon.

Rhaegal.

"Take Cover!" he barked.

The lines of men stilled, from green recruits to hardened veterans of decades of war… Those that faced the hordes of dead men at Winterfell, even they trembled at the sound that had only just returned to Westeros after centuries.

"DRAGON!"

Over the tops of the trees, Jon's eyes widened as Rhaegal appeared, wings flapping like mad as he slammed into the creek in a hard landing. One that didn't faze the great beast. Roars and bellows pierced the air, water fountaining around him as he thrashed and leapt - looking for solid ground… and something… someone specific.

Looking for him.

Then Jon felt it. Felt the onrushing pain into his mind, feeling exactly what Rhaegal felt down to his very blood. Pain. Terrible pain. Agony of the greatest kind. "Arrggh!" he grunted, doubling over atop the horse. Everyone too preoccupied finding cover and shelter to hide from the massive, out of control beast, only Davos and Tormund noticed. Both moving to go to Jon, to calm him, but warned away by Ghost - direwolf growling at them before nudging Jon firmly. Head cocked and jerking towards the dragon. Jon, head pounding, hesitated no longer. Scrambling off his mount, he slid down the embankment despite the fearful calls of Davos and Tormund.

Jaws snapping, legs and tail tearing up whatever was in reach, Rhaegal suddenly stilled as Jon approached. Roars turning into a loud whine as his amber eyes bored on the man who had ridden him. It was as if Jon knew exactly what the dragon needed, moving directly to his giant head. "Rhaegal. Rhaegal!" Jon threw his arms around his snout, the warmth almost scorching - he didn't care, not letting go. Hand stroking the warm scales. "Shhhh, shhhhh." A relief coursed through his system as the dragon's anguish began to subside, replaced with an aching whimper… well, it came as more of a growl, but Jon could tell the difference.

"Fuck me blind," Tormund breathed, watching the whole thing. Jon had ridden the beast during the battle, but none had seen him up close… treating it as one would a pet. Men began to poke their heads from the trees or rocks from which they hid behind, staring slack jawed in wonder.

Jon noticed none of this, lost in a trance. Gently stroking, whispering the same calming words as he had when Ghost as a pup was scared of the summer rainstorms that came before Robert Baratheon's visit. And as it had with Ghost, the great green dragon calmed. Almost purring in Jon's embrace. Nudging him with his snout. Jon felt a sudden protectiveness well deep inside him. A sudden possessive feeling as well.

And then he saw it. Sticking out of Rhaegal's neck, trickle of blood frothing around the wound. A bolt, the same scorpion bolts he remembered Daenerys telling him had nearly taken down Drogon. Anger surged through him, anger and fear.

"A dragon bonds with only one," he remembered Daenerys telling him, at the waterfall in Winterfell, one of the last happy memories he had. "Will only let one ride him or her, and once that bond is formed, it is for life. It seems Rhaegal has bonded with you." He had scoffed inwardly at the time, thinking himself a mere bastard unworthy of a dragon's love - any dragon's love. But now, deep down he knew it to be true. Even if he didn't admit it to himself.

Frantic, unthinking of who was watching - or rather, uncaring of who was watching - Jon wrapped his fingers around the shaft of the massive bolt and pulled. Yanking with all his might. Rhaegal screamed, hissing out the pain as the sharp tip poked and prodded the flesh and bone it was wedged between. A gentle hand upon the scales calmed him. "Easy, boy. Easy. It'll be alright."

Ear-shattering shrieks turned into low growls, the green beast still pained but calming under his touch.

"Gorgeous beasts."

"They are not beasts, they are my children."

My children.

Gorgeous. Not beasts, but gorgeous. He had not raised the dragon from birth as Daenerys had, but in that moment Jon truly felt him his child. Exactly like Ghost, but bigger. Now calm, Rhaegal only let out a hiss as Jon yanked out the bolt with one heave. The hard oak clattering on the stones below.

Rhaegal hooted, sleek body jostling on the ground as he was finally rid of the intense pain that so plagued him for days. Violent roars filled the air, sending the few soldiers that came out of their hiding places to watch their King scrambling back. Worried that the fate of the Lannisters at the Goldroad would be theirs. A worry well placed as Rhaegal slammed his tail into the ground, ripping trees out by the trunks to ease from the last tendrils of pain from his wound - and the growing pain of his heart at the knowledge of his mother.

But Jon stood unmoving, still as a stone wall. Those still watching were amazed - as if the fact he had ridden dragonback and killed the Night King wasn't amazing enough to characterize the great White Wolf. The great Lightbringer. It wasn't as if Jon wasn't scared. He was, greatly so, yet scared not for himself but for the great beast in front of him. As soon as he could, he dashed towards Rhaegal's growling head and began to stroke his snout.

"Please, Rhaegal. Calm down." He spoke as if he would for Ghost, the direwolf agitated for any number of reasons. The dragon did not improve, head still but tail still thrashing, orange-gold eyes still frantically flickering about as if in mortal terror. Fear poked through Jon, fear that Rhaegal would resort to burning all about him to calm the raging torment that ate away at his soul.

A loud howl caught the attention of both man and dragon. There was Ghost, perched on a rock with his head tilted back. Howling to the skies above with a cry almost as beautiful as it was mournful. A sound that would bring tears to the eyes of any that heard it. To Jon's surprise, Rhaegal answered with a long hoot, a sound Jon hadn't heard since the Night King felled Viserion north of the wall. The dragon's own form of mourning.

"It's alright boy, I'm here," Jon stated, his hand rubbing the green dragon's snout. Thanks to Ghost, the dragon had finally stilled, allowing the man that had ridden him into the Dawn to comfort him as only his mother had ever done. Anger and sadness transformed into a contented growl, scales warming under Jon's touch. He did not pull away. He and Ghost have a connection now. Was it animal instinct?

Perhaps it is you that bridges them?

Suddenly, it all clicked in Jon's mind. Mourning. "What's wrong?" he asked hesitantly, hoping against all hope that it wasn't as he feared.

The dragon whined, high pitched noise bringing dread to Jon. There was no reason he could understand Rhaegal, but Jon did nonetheless.

Blood of the dragon…

But such meant nothing to him. Jon now knew what was wrong, and it was as if he was being stabbed all over again. "Daenerys." Rhaegal hooted again in affirmation, lowering his shoulder for Jon as if half-instinct, half-urging. Without further hesitation, Jon raced for the dragon's side, grabbing his spines and hauling himself up.

"Your Grace!" Davos called out, disbelieving what he was seeing. Riding one in the Battle for the Dawn was one thing, rationalized as the Queen begging her second dragon to be mounted by someone she trusted. For Jon to mount the green beast by himself… for the dragon to seek Jon out?! It was beyond the old smuggler's comprehension. "The army…"

"Leave him, Onion man," Tormund laughed - watching Jon mount the dragon with an amused smirk. None of the Free Folk carried the surprise of the other Westerosi when they saw their savior ride a dragon. After coming back from the dead, Jon Snow was practically a god in their eyes anyway, and such devotion earned a hundred times over."Nothin' can stop a man from goin' to his Lady Love. Not even King Crow."

As if in a daze, Jon saw nothing. Heard nothing. Cared for nothing. Not for battleplans. Not the army, not his name. Not the Starks, Lannisters, Targaryens, or the damned throne of cold steel. Only one thought pierced the instinct, driving him forward like an irresistible impulse. Daenerys. The pain within the dragon, fear and agony, Jon felt it too. Felt all of it.

I'll always be there.

He would keep his promise. "Rhaegal, fly!" With a roar that shuddered the entire army, that echoed across the entire Riverlands, Rhaegal spread his wings and leapt into the air.

The landscape passed by him in a blurr. Perhaps it was beautiful, perhaps a desolate winter's wasteland as the North had been. Jaime Lannister cared not, nor could be bothered. The first time through the fair lands of the River Trident, young Myrcella had made him care, pointing out the wide rivers and gushing about the beautiful flowers and birds. On the second and third, trudging through the slow pondering of foot or at the head of an army, sheer boredom had made him care.

No, this was more like the fourth. The land before the Kingslayer something his mind couldn't afford to comprehend. That there was no space to consider. Before, it had been the torment of his thoughts. The maelstrom of betrayal, of the strings of emotional bonds built over decades snapping like twigs. A lonely life.

Now, he was on a mission. Nothing but the beating of his heart and the tired pants of his horse registering to him. All Jaime could care about was what laid ahead.

His mount had been his third, stolen from a farmhouse close to Seagard. The first two had been blown. Driven to near death by the determination of their rider. He valued the life of his beasts as any proper knight, but couldn't afford to not be callous at the moment.

Despite himself, despite the wall of separation Jaime had put between his emotions and his mission, his mind betrayed him. By thinking of her.

Brienne.

Why had he ever started with her…? he knew why. He could admit it to himself, but chose not to. It's better this way. Better without her. Better that she not involve himself in what he had to do.

It was going to destroy him, but he'd die happy if she wasn't destroyed along with him.

As the serene beauty of the Riverlands passed by like an icy wind, Jaime felt that such a fact alone made the lies worth it.

Fingers drumming on the twisted form of a sword's hilt, Cersei felt decidedly uncomfortable. When gazing at the Iron Throne, lusting for the power it seemed to radiate from the ancient blades forged in the fire of Balerion the Dread, the golden haired lioness hadn't thought of how damned uncomfortable it would end up being. And now, with the babe growing and kicking inside her, her handmaidens were required to bring the softest cushions for their Queen to sit upon.

She could almost hear her late husband laughing at her, quipping at how much of a weak woman she was. Cersei smiled quietly to herself. 'I am here, and you are dead with a boar's tusk in your belly. I win, you fat asshole.'

Mind shifting, her scowl soon returned. "Where is he?"

Standing beside her, the loyal form of Hand of the Queen Qyburn bowed gently. "He shall be here momentarily, your Grace."

As if a greenseer, Qyburn proved accurate. Seconds later, the doors threw open and in walked Euron Greyjoy. The pirate king looked in his element, grinning and putting on a magnificent, self-aggrandizing show. "You're gonna love me, my Queen," he bragged, miming frantic fornication in the middle of the great throne room built by Maegor the Cruel. Cersei rolled her eyes, while Qyburn remained more circumspect. There was more to this pirate that met his eye underneath the grandiose exterior. "Destroyed nearly all of their fuckin' ships."

"And did you get the dragons?" Cersei could care less of what ships they destroyed. Without the dragons, the Targaryen whore could have as many ships or men as she wanted - fat lot of good it could do her against the Lannister forces and crack sellswords of the Golden Company. She narrowed her eyes. "Well, Greyjoy?"

Euron flashed her a disarming grin. "I wounded em', both of the motherfuckers. Probably sent one out of the fight entirely. But both are still alive, I believe."

Qyburn sighed, looking to his Queen. She was turning purple with rage, so he cut in. "Why are both still alive, Lord Greyjoy?"

A shrug from the pirate turned lord. "Dumb cunts I got couldn't aim at a moving target. Dragons move in every which way, and the Dragon Whore wasn't about to make it easy and get within point blank range. She's not that fuckin' stupid."

Annoyance seemed to fill Qyburn's expression. "I made sure your reavers were given the proper instruction in the use of my ballistae and scorpions. You assured me, Lord Greyjoy, that your men could hit… if I recall correctly, 'A sparrow atop the Gate of the Gods from the Red Keep.'"

"That's King Euron, to you. You little fucking shit…"

Cersei slammed her fist on the side of the Iron Throne. "You are not a King unless I say you are!" Her body shook with anger. "Frankly I should have you flogged and beheaded for failing me!"

A flash of something crossed Euron's eyes. Something dark - but as quickly as it came, it vanished into the bombastic half-grin, half-leer that had been his trademark. "Do not fret, my Queen, for Euron Greyjoy does not disappoint." Two fingers to his mouth, his lips pursed as he let out a high-pitched whistle. One that rang in Cersei's ears for seconds beyond the duration of the shriek itself. Beyond her, the vast bronze-lined, oaken doors swung open.

Four monstrous reavers - almost as tall as the Mountain himself - marched inside the throne room. Leather armor still soaked in a wet sheen, the smell of salt noxious as they gazed ahead. Not able to speak even if they wished it. "Dead men tell no tales," Cersei had remembered him telling her after their nightly trysts. "Tongueless men the same, but they can follow orders as well." Much like Ser Gregor, but he was chemically bound to obey.

'Better than fear.'

But such thoughts lasted but a moment. The silent reavers drew stares wherever they went, but upon the glimpse of the being chained in the center of their square, no one in the Throne Room paid them any heed from that point forth. Cersei's jaw dropped despite herself. Harry Strickland blinked. Ser Bronn whistled, hiding a foreboding shiver. Roland Crakehall's eyes widened in pure shock. Qyburn… it was as if a sparkle glinted in his eyes. "My word," he breathed, half stunned, half… excited.

Euron laughed, slapping his thigh in amusement at finally leaving the Mad Lioness speechless. Even nabbing her daughter's murderers hadn't secured that. "Fuck the dragons, your Grace. I am a man of my word, and my word is as golden as Lannister shit."

Slowly, almost reverently, the Lannister Queen lifted herself off of the Iron Throne, struggling from the babe growing within her womb. Proceeding down each of the steps with a graceful flourish - normally such was intentional. Used to blind those before her to her beauty, or display her regal power to onlookers. Intimidate the reluctant penitent to her ruthless steel. But not now. Here, her gait stemmed from her awe, her surprise that even Euron Greyjoy could have secured such a coup. Such a victory as the tiny woman standing defiantly in the cast iron chains that seemed even bigger than she.

In short, Cersei just took it all in. Savoring the sight.

Her hair was wet, sparkling in the light of the sun. White riding coat, the stitch of the vile north, torn and only hanging on her form by a thread. Her body shivered, whether from the cold, the drenching of the ocean, or an overpowering fear Cersei did not know, nor did she care.

"Is this your gift to me, King Euron?"

He nodded. "The finest in the Seven Kingdoms for my Queen."

Cersei smiled, the lioness' lips gradually curling into a grin rather consistent with that of a satisfied hyena. Lilac eyes blazed back at her, full of fury - but behind the dragonfire was something else. A tiny speck of something…

Fear.

It only made Cersei's smile widen. "Daenerys Targaryen," she said, voice dripping with an unctuous amity. "Welcome to King's Landing."