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Sea Salt: Three

Summary: As a noblewoman from a small (and nefarious) kingdom in the Stepstones and quiet Lady-in-Waiting to Princess Elia Martell, she is accustomed to being looked through rather than looked at. The only exceptions to this rule are Prince Oberyn and Lord Willas Tyrell but they are often far from the dark shadows of the Red Keep or Dragonstone. She finds comfort in her quiet friendship with the princess and the delight of the darling royal children. But as Prince Rhaegar places a wreath of blue roses in the lap of Lady Lyanna Stark and rebellion starts to rage, she knows she will have to live up to her reputation. But luckily, she seems to have two allies lurking in the shadows.

Pairing(s): Willas Tyrell/F!Reader/Oberyn Martell/Ellaria Sand

Word Count: 27.7k (whatever)

Rating for this chapter: NC-17 for warfare, explicit and non-explicit smut, my love for happy endings and my hatred of the eighth season.

A/N: The battle plans I mention were inspired by youtube videos I found, quite a few of them are from user Invicta. Check them out! Thank you all for sticking with me.

(banner by my darling @starlight-starwrites)

Chapter Three: Salt of the Sea

Catch up on previous chapters here!

Or read on Ao3!

They had traveled to Braavos to solidify the city’s allegiance with the new Martell-Targaryen Empire—the city was not part of the new kingdom, the siblings knew that Braavos had had their share of dragons. But they were still a well-respected ally, one Aegon seemed to truly cultivate and treasure.

But it was time to set sail—to finally cross the Narrow Sea for the first time in over a decade.

The fleet of ships stretched across the horizon, filled with Dothraki and Unsullied and now under the shade of sails showing the colors of the Tyrell green and gold and the Martell orange and red—roses and suns intertwined with a silver dragon. And four, large dragons flew overhead, only dropping down to rest on the decks of a few designated ships for a moment or two before taking to the sky again. Tyrosh and Lys already had their navy patrolling the Stepstones, keeping the path toward Dragonstone clear for their arrival against any would-be enemies or combatants.

It was only a few days from Braavos to Dragonstone. Y/N was surprised that her four charges insisted that they stop at Skilliga before they reached their destination.

“We have time,” Rhaenys said as she tugged at the silver sun around Y/N’s neck. “It would be good to see a friendly face.”

And, just as always, she found it hard to tell them no.

Hammond welcomed them with open arms and a feast worthy of the kings and queens she had helped raise. “It is good to see you, dear one,” Hammond murmured as they sat near each other at the banquet table. The Great Hall of his palace was filled with faces she had not seen in years, filled with laughter and stories of battles long-since passed. Hammond looked out to see Aegon dancing with one of her young cousins while Jon was trading stories with some grizzled corsair. “You have done well with them. I am so proud.”

Y/N chuckled and shook her head. “They made it easy, truly.”

Hammond nodded and took another hearty gulp of his ale. “When will you have some of your own?”

She choked on her wine.

Hammond’s meaty hand clapped her shoulder. “With the way that lord of flowers keeps looking at you—and that Dornish prince and his lady—I only suspected that you would have a dozen more.”

Y/N smacked at his arm with a laugh, nearly spilling more wine. He went to say something more when his youngest daughter asked him for a dance and he happily scooped her up. Y/N smiled as she watched them dance, also catching sight of Ellaria and Willas learning the steps of the jig while Daenerys and Oberyn seemed to have already mastered it as they twirled around the carved stone floor.

It was good. An un-quiet peace before the next battle. Hammond had offered the kingdom’s ships and men for the war and Rhaenys had quickly accepted—but with stipulations. “Your kingdom is a wonderful ally—but we must be cautious. I would only ask of you and your kingdom to patrol, to guard the Stepstones from the Ironborn and the Lannister ships.” It was unspoken that she already had a foreign army at her back, adding another might only continue to make them seem more like invaders than rightful kings and queens. But Hammond did insist on giving them a bit of Skilligan armor as a gift and a wish of good fortune and calm seas.

It was good to see the familiar sights of her childhood kingdom again—but something was preventing her from feeling at home. She retired for the night after taking a turn around the floor with Aegon and then Oberyn and sharing her favorite, tart Skilligan wine with Willas whose entire face puckered at the taste before he swallowed. She laughed until her sides hurt but grasped the second sip he had poured for himself and drank it. “No need to torture yourself, Willas.”

“But I do enjoy the sound of your laughter,” he murmured.

It warmed her entire chest and but she shook her head before placing a hand against his warm, pink cheek. “But I would not have you in pain just to hear it. I am also very fond of terrible jokes.”

He left her for the night with a soft kiss at the edge of her lips and, just for a moment, she wished she knew what he truly tasted like. But she would not press him—perhaps what she had wanted, and what others had thought they had seen, was not reciprocated. Either way, she readied for bed and slipped under the familiar blankets on her old bed- -just as someone knocked at her door.

Y/N rose again as she bit back a sigh and opened the door to see Oberyn on the other side. His tunic and robe were both undone, leaving a stretch of tan skin exposed to the dim candlelight. He looked like he was glowing.

“You disappeared without saying goodnight, little shark.”

“You were dancing with your daughters, my prince. I would not interrupt that.” Oberyn’s familiar, roguish smile split his face and he leaned closer, she could smell his familiar scent of citrus and heat and she greedily pulled in a lungful of it, as she always did. “Is there something you need?”

“You know I am not a jealous man, but it does sting when you constantly steal my paramour from my bed.”

It was a tease without any malice, but she still felt a touch of embarrassment. Ellaria had been a companion Y/N frequently sought out. Finding euphoria in the woman’s hold, and making sure Ellaria found it too, was a pleasure Y/N unabashedly asked for whenever she found a moment alone. “I never meant to steal her. But you must know she is someone who will not take no for an answer. And I will never deny her.”

Oberyn leaned closer, his smirk growing ever broader. “I was right you know, I knew you would be dangerous friends.”

“And where is Ellaria now, hm?” She asked with a smile of her own.

“If you listen closely enough, you can hear our dear Willas whimpering her praises.”

Y/N chuckled—but then Oberyn was kissing her, warm, roughened hands framing her face as she gasped and he stole her breath. With a regal ease, he walked her back into her room and shut her chamber door without breaking away from her mouth. Everything was warm. Everything was Oberyn. Her hands reached up to tangle at the hair at the nape of his neck and tug him closer, earning a happy groan that she felt echo in her bones.

“Ellaria has told me how sweet you taste, little shark,” he murmured against her mouth. “Will you let me into your bed? Will you let me know you as she does?”

She could only nod and let him push her back against the rumpled blankets atop featherbed. Her hands slid down to shove the robe and tunic from his shoulders. And then she could not get enough of the warmth of his exposed skin, letting him tug her dressing robe from her body and then ruck up her silken nightgown and expose the crux of her thighs to his dark gaze.

“You’re beautiful.” The words were murmured, kissed along the column of her throat. Nimble fingers pushed at the thin straps at her shoulders and she hardly noticed how the cold air pebbled her breasts but Oberyn did, pinching her hardened nipples between his thumbs and forefingers and earning a whine against his mouth as he kissed her again.

His breeches were pushed down next and she shivered as she felt his cock against the soft skin of her thigh.

“Do you want me?” He asked, words ghosting across her panting mouth.

“Always.”

Then he was moving, filling her, and she was gasping against his mouth, hands sliding down his muscled back as he moved against her. She had never felt so full. The other lovers she had taken when she had stolen moments had left her wanting.

But Oberyn never would. She knew that within his first few thrusts. Oberyn licked at his fingers before they slid down to her clit and rubbed rough circles that had her crying and clinging to him, trying to match his thrusts with her own.

“You sing so sweet.”

The familiar coil was fraying quickly and she cried against his mouth as it snapped and Y/N shook in his hold as the pleasure was dragged on, continued by his quickening thrusts before he pulled out and spilled across her slick thighs.

Oberyn moved to the small table near the door and dipped a bit of fabric into the bowl of water her handmaiden had provided. He then walked back over and went to wipe up the mess he had made of her—but Y/N scooped a tiny bit up with her thumb and licked it clean with a hum.

“Careful, little shark. I would happily take you again.”

As they caught their breath and cleaned themselves of their sweat and slick and halfheartedly redressed, Y/N pulled Oberyn down onto the bed and covered them both with her blankets, letting the shadow almost provide an escape from the world but it did not muffle the sound of the sea crashing against the rock.

“I suppose I will have to invite you to my bed as well, you have argued your point quite well, my prince.”

Oberyn pinched her side with a laugh and stole another kiss. “Perhaps you will have Ellaria and I both soon enough.”

“I fear I would not survive that,” Y/N said with a chuckle. “You two are… very kind to me.”

“We are kind to our friends.” He said it so softly that she almost felt tears in her eyes.

“I do not know what I would have done without you, Ellaria, Willas.” She sighed and shook her head. “I know I call you friends, you have called me friend. But I…I feel am more than a ‘dangerous friend’ to Ellaria.”

“I know, little shark.”

“I…” she tried to find the words. “I feel for her as I feel for you. Something soft and warm and beautiful. Something I know is called love.”

Oberyn gently grasped her head and let his thumb trace against her cheek. “We love you too. I have told you once, I will tell you until this world turns grey. We love you. I love you.”

Y/N moved just enough under the blanket to steal a kiss and she felt him smile against her mouth. “Everything is changing. I cannot know how the coming war will end, but I am glad to have you all by my side.”

“We will not leave you, little shark.”

The sea proved fair and welcoming with mild winds to help push them toward their destination. A handful of Redwyne scouts had confirmed the castle was all but deserted but the small village on the other side of the island was still thriving, its inhabitants mostly untouched by the wars the mainland had seen.

The night before they made land, Y/N found herself onboard the ship Oberyn and Ellaria had claimed with a handful of Dornish knights, sailors, and Unsullied. She had swum from the boat she had been housed in and hauled herself up aboard their deck, like she used to do while out with her family in Skilliga when she was just a girl. She felt…almost unburdened when she twisted her tunic to wring it dry of salt water and watched both Ellaria and Oberyn happily drag their eyes over the sliver of skin they knew so well.

It was strange, she knew, to feel more at home with people than a place she had known for so long. But perhaps something like unimaginable loss and love and watching magic be brought back into the world had changed her perspective.

Oberyn and Ellaria had each taken her apart that night, with their talented tongues, exploring fingers, and everything else they had mastered. It had left them all sated and tired by the time the sun came up, and the room smelt of sweat and heat and citrus.

A knock at the door had them rousing from the first traces of sleep. “My prince, we have arrived.”

They could sleep later.

Dragonstone was a dark castle of black stone and visages of all sorts of dragons, wyverns, and legendary Valyrian creatures had been sculpted by dragonflame and lost Valyrian magic. Dragonmont, the volcano that had formed the island, was spitting grey smoke into the cloudy sky. The air smelled of sea salt and brimstone.

“It is a fearsome thing, no?” Ellaria said as she looked up at the castle.

Y/N jumped from the skiff and helped her off, both of their boots sinking into the dark, wet sand. “It is. A fine place to start this last conquest.”

Ellaria squeezed her hand and kissed her cheek as they watched Oberyn help their daughters from his own little boat and soon her little hatchlings were on the sand too, staring up at the castle their forebears had built before the Doom. As their army docked, Y/N waited for Willas and Grey Worm and Missandei to arrive.

“Do all Westerosi castles look like this?” Grey Worm asked Missandei who shook her head and they quietly spoke to one another as they walked up the winding stairs to the Stone Drum, the main holdfast of the castle. The four Dragons circled above, letting out trills and puffs of smoke, as if celebrating with their bonded on this next step, this strange sort of homecoming.

“A far cry from Highgarden?” Y/N inquired as Willas stepped to her side, his cane carefully holding him upright on the uneven terrain.

He looked up at the castle and a small smile pushed at his lips. “I suppose it might have its charms.”

They spoke of the strange castle and of Highgarden, of battle plans, and of the sea. The walk into the Stone Drum was long from their first stretch of beach, but she did not mind, not if it was with Willas. But soon the shadows of the castle engulfed them as they stepped through the angry maw of the castle’s barbican and its dark brown stone doors opened. The strange quiet of the unoccupied fortress greeted them, bellied only by the soft conversation she could just make out from around corners or down halls. When they reached the Great Hall, she saw her hatchlings and their advisors and the Martells quietly speaking with one another. Remnants of Stannis Baratheon’s time at the hold littered the stone, as if they had just been discarded. Daenerys reached up and ripped the last Baratheon banner from its holds, letting it fall to the dust-covered floor.

The large, black throne loomed at the back of the Hall, carved to look like a dragon circling around a high-backed seat. Both Aegon and Jon waved a hand toward it as they spoke quietly with one another before Y/N heard the unmistakable sound of their laughter.

“They certainly stuck to their sigil, did they not?” Rhaenys murmured as she spotted Y/N and Willas.

“Is it not to your tastes?” Y/N teased.

Rhaenys huffed a laugh. “It is too dark for me. You know I prefer the sun.” But then she straightened her shoulders as best she could with a sleeping Balerion still in her arms and turned to face everyone in the hall. “Shall we begin?”

Ravens had been sent and received. News of the coming Winter had come. Battle plans had been drawn.

And now, they waited.

Lords and Ladies, knights and warriors, were coming to Dragonstone, swearing their allegiance to the kings and queens. Allegiance that had been promised in secret missives, midnight meetings, and oaths that Oberyn and Willas had cultivated while Y/N was simply trying to keep her hatchlings alive across the Narrow Sea. But it was taking time. Time Rhaenys did not believe they had at their disposal.

Every house from Dorne were sending an envoy and a few knights to their shores—most others were starting to barricade the Prince’s Pass and the Boneway against any possible invasion attempts from forces loyal to the crown. Ashara had sent her cousin Gerold as an envoy for House Dayne, along with a few dozen knights, as the elder members of the house were helping barricade the Prince’s Pass and Ashara was currently with child (the letter she had also sent had Y/N near tears with giggles as she recounted how poorly they all danced so many years ago at Harrenhal). Olenna Tyrell, Willas’ grandmother had arrived under cover of darkness with a few more Redwyne ships and a small battalion of Reach knights at the end of the first fortnight on Dragonstone. She was a woman made of thorns and keen intelligence who made a valuable ally and another advisor to Rhaenys—but with the Tyrells came news that Cersei’s children were dead (all from strange poisonings) and Cersei had tried to throw Margaery Tyrell into the Black Cells while crowning herself Queen. Margaery had escaped and had faked her death with a barrel of wildfire and had been in hiding at Highgarden ever since.

It seemed she had not known the full truth of the chaos that had engulfed the Westeros, even with the information provided by Tyrion and Varys.

Eddard Stark had resigned his post as Hand of the King after an argument with the Usurper and moved his household back North. But by the time Winterfell welcomed them home, he learned that Tyrion Lannister had been taken hostage by Lady Catelyn, who had been convinced that he was the one who had tried to have Bran Stark murdered in his bed. (There was a story there, about falling out of a window of a tower where he had accidentally discovered Jamie Lannister and his twin, the Queen Cersei fucking. Charming.) After Tyrion had been ‘proven’ innocent by a trial by combat, Lady Stark’s company were besieged at the Trident by Gregor Clegane, his band of mountain’s men, and House Frey (whom always coveted the titles and prestige of House Tully) and slaughtered in retaliation for the youngest Lannister’s kidnapping.

The North wanted war for the death of their Lady of Winterfell.

But War had already been brewing.

Jon Arryn, on his deathbed before Eddard took over his post as Hand of the King, had apparently sent word to Stannis and Renly Baratheon that Robert’s children were not his at all—they were the progeny of Jaime Lannister. Battle lines were drawn and alliances altered. The brothers Baratheon each called themselves king, as did Joffrey, then Balon Greyjoy of the Iron Islands, and then, for a moment, Edmure Tully of the Riverlands. The North had closed their borders and swore to no one except House Stark who had refrained from calling themselves kings and put down a rebellion led by House Bolton who had somehow managed to ally with House Frey.

Jaime Lannister had been captured by Robb Stark while trying to cross The Neck with a host of Westerland knights who had marched through the Riverlands while House Tully was fending off Gregor Clegane and the Ironborn. No word had been received from him since. The Westerlands, before the death of Tywin Lannister at the hands of his youngest son, had raged to get him back.

Edmure had been brought to heel and had been welcomed back into the ‘King’s Peace.’ Renly was dead, as was Balon—but his brother Euron took up the mantle of King of the Iron Isles. And Stannis had lost his men when he sacrificed his own daughter, little Shireen, to the flames. It was thought it would bring him victory at the Battle of Blackwater.

It did not.

It brought death.

The Seven Kingdoms were a mess.

“You might have oversimplified the War of the Five Kings, my prince,” Y/N said, rubbing at her temples as they, Willas, and Ellaria sat around the painted table, listening to the sea crash against the shore as the rest of the castle slept.

“It was not as if this was suitable topic for our first conversation in over a decade, little shark.” He reached out and grasped her hand, bringing their joined hands up to his mouth to press a kiss to her fingers. “And it did not matter. Most were dead. Dorne was safe. The North was safe. House Tyrell was playing its game. Dragons had come again. My priorities were where I needed them to be.”

“All three of her children. All dead.” Y/N shook her head. “I would pity the woman if I did not hate her so.”

Oberyn was quiet for a moment and sighed, looking to Ellaria who only nodded once, as if knowing what he wanted to say. She probably did, the two knew each other so innately. “Doran and I…all of Dorne believe the deaths of the children were the work of the Iron Bank.”

“What?”

“You told Doran of how indebted Robert Baratheon had become to the Iron Bank during his tenuous reign. And we all know how the Iron Bank will always have its due.”

“With my father installed as Master of Coin when Margaery married Joffrey, it was easy to make sure that the Iron Bank never received the payments they were promised,” Willas said. He paused before continuing. “Prince Doran thought that with the Iron Bank thinking the Lannisters and Baratheons were refusing to pay their debts, that it would be easier for Rhaenys and her brothers to gain their support.”

“But they sent Faceless Men,” Ellaria said.

The name of the elite and expensive band of assassins had her gasping. “We have the Iron Bank’s support,” Y/N sputtered. “We gave them Valyrian Steel, gold from the Bay before we left Braavos!” Aegon had made sure of it, he had brokered a deal with the formidable bank as if he had been born to negotiate.

“We did everything right, little shark,” Oberyn said with another squeeze to her hand. “But the greed of men knows no bounds.”

“Did…did I cause-?”

Oberyn quickly stood and grasped her face, halting the question on her tongue. “You did no such thing. I have told you once, I will tell you a thousand times: you have a gentle heart. I know you had no ill will toward the children. This was not you.” Oberyn leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead before stepping back. “I promise you.”

But she still did not feel right when Oberyn and Ellaria eventually excused themselves for the night after they spoke of the ravens from the Reach that had arrived that morn, detailing the movement of Westerland knights and armies toward the Crownlands.

With the moon high in the clouded sky, she was alone with Willas. Drogon and Vēzos flew past the large window, their scales glistening in the moonlight.

“What is weighing on your mind?” Willas asked.

Y/N sighed and turned to him, her finger dragging around the remnants of the Arbor wine at the bottom of her chalice. “I… I am not sure. Surely Cersei grabbing power for herself has given us an advantage, everything I have learned about her has told me she is cruel and unpredictable, unsuited for ruling.”

“But you still think of her children.”

“I do.”

And now Willas was the one to reach out to her, but his grip was less sure than Oberyn’s and it struck at her heart that he doubted himself, doubted that she wanted him so close. His hands were soft and warm as they cradled her face and his smile was still pushing at his lips, even if a little muted. “I cannot offer you sage words of wisdom or take your guilt as my own even though I wish I could. But I can tell you that it was not you. You did not pay the Faceless Men. You did not give them the targets. Your hands are clean in this, Y/N.”

Y/N nodded, trying to internalize his words.

“My grandmother has told me you are fond of taking tea with her when not at your hatchlings’ sides.”

She laughed at the sudden change of subject but nodded, reaching up to keep his hands on her face, liking how they felt. “She is a fierce woman; I can see that she is very fond of you, as you are of her.” Olenna had teased her, calling Y/N the pirate woman who had kept her from having “great-grandchildren because of this little adventure.” But it was said with a soft sort of smirk that let Y/N know she meant no real harm. They spoke of her worry over Margaery, of how their true allegiance to the Targaryens had lasted generations, of how Willas had always been her favorite. (“He is nothing like his father, thank the Seven. I will not need to haunt Highgarden when I know he rules it well.”)

Willas’ thumb traced across her cheekbone with a smile. “She hopes to have you visit Highgarden when this is over.”

“Only if you are beside me.”

His smile grew. “I would have it no other way.”

Rhaenys had not been sleeping well. Her nightmares of the coming cold and the dead it brought became more and more frequent. Only Y/N and her siblings (and her aunt) could cease her shaking when her visions became violent and made her sick. And they still waited for word from the North, for their armies to come.

It would not be a surprise to Y/N to find Rhaenys wandering the halls when everyone else was asleep, only acknowledging the guards who had taken up their post for the night. “I’ve walked these halls before,” Rhaenys said one night as Y/N found her in the desecrated sept of the castle. The effigies of The Seven had been scratched away and a stone carving of the god of R’hllor had once been built near the center of the room until Daenerys allowed the Dothraki to dispose of it. Now all that was left was black stone and colored glass in the windows. “I have memories of my mother singing to me in my chambers. I can hear her voice, smell her perfume—I almost swore I saw her shadow.” The young queen paused. “I remember her. But I can hardly remember this place. Balerion still seems to know all of its shadows and halls and yet I cannot.”

Y/N smiled and shook her head. “This place was simply a place to rest your head. Your mother was your home. She made this place home.” She paused. “I am sorry if coming here has brought you pain.”

Rhaenys sighed and reached out to grasp one of Y/N’s hands and squeezed three times. “If anything, it has only steeled my resolve to take it back.” Her mouth twisted to the side for a moment, and she looked like the young girl Y/N knew so well again. “Do you think she would be proud of me? Of what I’ve done?”

Y/N then squeezed her hand three times in return. “I know she is. She is here with you. You carry her with you, every day.” She stepped forward and kissed Rhaenys’ forehead. “But she would also tell you to sleep, sunshine.”

Oberyn and Ellaria both provided Rhaenys with sweet-smelling tonics to help her have a dreamless sleep but the effects rarely lasted the entire night. It broke Y/N’s heart to see her so drained. But Rhaenys always put on a brave face when she met with her advisors and the commanders of the armies.

“Queens need rest too, sunshine,” Y/N murmured again as she braided Rhaenys’ hair, making sure to fasten the Dothraki bells at the end after she woke from another poor night’s rest.

“I will rest when this is over, when I know we are safe from the cold.”

Y/N could only kiss her forehead and tightened the golden cuirass Rhaenys had taken to wearing—a sign of a queen ready for battle. It was made of Valyrian steel—Y/N knew it would keep her safe. She just wished she needn’t wear it. “Has House Stark returned our raven?”

“Not yet. I can have another sent.”

Rhaenys shook her head. “Uncle Oberyn and Jon both say that the North has been wary of returning any sort of missive from anyone calling themselves king or queen. I must just…give them time.”

Y/N nodded, knowing that Jon had been keen on learning anything and everything he could about his mother’s kingdom and trusted his and Oberyn’s advice. Truly, Y/N had not been surprised with Rhaenys’ delicate handling of the Starks and the northern kingdom. She knew it was the kingdom of Lyanna Stark, the mother of her second brother and her father’s second wife. Rhaenys had a steel core, true, and knew how to topple cities and burn her enemies to ash—but she was her mother’s daughter. She loved—fiercely. And she forgave those who she deemed worthy of it. And perhaps it was because Jon carried some wolfblood in him, and she did dote on her youngest brother, that she held no ill-will toward House Stark. And she even managed to soften Oberyn’s heart to them as well (Ellaria, another woman of great heart and forgiveness, also had a hand in assuaging his temper.)

But now was not the time. The Dornish forces Doran thought his kingdom could spare had arrived on Dragonstone’s shores and they had received word that the Reach knights and bannermen were readying to march North—whether they were welcomed or not.

Their plans were gaining speed.

And today was one of the happier days they had planned. At Oberyn and Olenna’s insistence, the four would be formally crowned. The Great Hall of Dragonstone was draped in swathes of red, orange, and gold and the doors and shutters had been pushed open to let in as much sunlight as the dark island allowed. All of the highborn and knights the hall could accommodate were seated on dark wooden benches and Y/N could just spot the four dragons outside, still growing more massive (and terrifying to those who did not know them) by the day. Even Balerion, who now spent most of the day sleeping in the sun in his old age, had come to the Hall to witness the festivities, happily sitting on Tyene’s lap, letting the woman stroke his black fur.

Music was played and Y/N stood near the raised dais with Oberyn, Ellaria, and Willas at her side.

Rhaenys walked in first, dressed in a black dress with an orange and red cape billowing behind her, with her golden cuirass still covering her heart. Aegon followed, with his Valyrian steel sword on his hip, then Jon, looking as dour and shy as ever but managed to smile when Y/N caught his eye, and then Daenerys, looking every bit the Targaryen princess she was born to be in red and black and silver. One by one, they sat down on the divided thrones until only Rhaenys was left standing and the maester from Sunspear announced the vows and rights Y/N had only read in books of Westerosi history. Y/N barely listened, if she was being honest. She was too busy watching her hatchlings smile or try to look as serious as they could as Rhaenys was proclaimed the rightful queen of the Seven Kingdoms and the other three were blessed for their own kingdoms, which they had all fought and burned for across the Narrow Sea.

When he was finished, Oberyn stepped forward and waved at Obella who came forward with four boxes. Rhaenys winked at her cousin as she hurried back to her seat, finally a moment of happiness for the young queen. One by one, the boxes were opened and shining, golden crowns were pulled from atop velvet cushions. They were simple, yes, but splendid. Rubies lined them, with diamonds between each red stone. Carefully, Oberyn placed the crown on each of their heads with a small smile. Ellaria was near tears by the time he set the last crown on Rhaenys’ carefully braided hair.

“This was the crown my mother had made for my sister, Elia, when she was married to Rhaegar. She called it a crown fit for a queen.” He paused and Y/N’s poor heart clenched. “Elia was never able to wear it—but you…you will. I had it remade into these four crowns. Long may you reign.”

“Long may you reign!” The crowd echoed. And then Rhaenys took her seat, the crown on her brow shining in the sunlight.

While their bolstered numbers were a balm to Rhaenys’ nerves, war still loomed across the rest of the continent. Rhaenys was preparing to march North with or without the North’s welcome. Y/N had caught sight of Willas pacing with his cane in the hall of the painted table, muttering to himself with a bit of parchment in his free hand before he sank into one of the chairs and ran a hand down his face. Willas was tired, anyone could see it.

Y/N reached out and ran her finger down the length of his nose, catching him unaware as he scribbled at the missive. His head snapped up and a familiar smile broke across his face as he realized who was standing beside him. “Y/N, you are up late.”

“I am up early, my Willas.” She reached down and gently pried the parchment from his hands and read it over. “You are sending battle plans to your brother?”

“The Ironborn have taken three of the Shield Islands. They are the Reach’s best defense against the Ironborn from traveling up the Mander to Highgarden. With our numbers fractured between pretending to be loyal to Cersei and marching North, only a skeleton garrison had been left to defend our home. My brother, Garlan, was furious when he was refused the chance to go to Winterfell.”

Y/N looked over the plans again and nodded, finding them quite brilliant, actually. “I am sure this battle will be just as glorious for his reputation.”

Willas smiled as he took the missive back from her and sealed it. “He’s demanded that he lead the Reach armies when this is finished and we truly take the Seven Kingdoms back from the Lannisters.”

Y/N hummed and let her fingers trail up his arm to scratch at the back of his neck, almost as if they had a mind of their own, catching the light brown curls under her nails. He leaned his head back, eyes closed at the touch. “House Tyrell is truly formidable. Geniuses, warriors, tacticians, and politicians, all in one family tree.”

Willas’ eyes opened and he smiled at her. “There’s always room for improvement.”

The door to the hall suddenly opened and Grey Worm entered, as stone-faced as ever. “A missive has arrived from the North.”

Missandei stepped into the room as well, her hand lightly resting on Grey Worm’s arm. “Not just a missive. We have received two envoys of House Stark.”

Y/N stood straight at that as Willas stood as well, hand curling around his cane.

“Their Graces request that you follow us to the Great Hall as they receive them.”

Y/N nodded and let Missandei lead the way.

“King Jon and King Aegon have not yet returned from their flight last night,” Missandei informed them before the doors swung open with an angry groan and the tap of Willas’ cane echoed in the stone chamber as they took their usual places on the right side of the dais where Daenerys and Rhaenys were already seated. They murmured quiet greetings to the two royals and Oberyn—all of them looking a little tired at the early hour.

Rhaenys righted the skirt of her gown before waving a hand at the Unsullied stationed at the door and murmured a ‘thank you,’ allowing them to let their visitors inside. The doors were hauled open and two men dressed in grey leathers and tunics stepped in, their eyes darting all around the hall. One was young with kind blue eyes and a nervous fidget to his fingers and the other was older with a greying beard and lines around his eyes that spoke of a life well lived.

“You stand in the presence of Rhaenys Martell Targaryen,” Missandei announced, breaking the silence, “First of her Name, Rightful Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Queen Regnant of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm, High Princess of the Dominion of the Rhoyne, breaker of chains, and mother of dragons.”

The man looked confused for a moment before bowing. “Your Grace, I am Ser Davos Seaworth.” The young boy at his side glanced at him and then at Rhaenys before ducking his head again. “And this is Gendry Waters.” His eyes moved to Daenerys who seemed to be fighting a smile. “And do you have a title as well?”

Daenerys looked at Missandei, still trying to hide a smile which the other woman reciprocated before she turned back to the knight. “This is Daenerys of House Targaryen, the Unburnt, Queen of Dragon’s Bay, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, breaker of chains, and mother of dragons.”

“It seems you share some titles.”

“My niece and I have shared many things, from fire to wake our dragons from stone to sandals. We have earned those titles, together. Just as my nephews share titles.” She waved a hand. “We have been told you bring word from the North and House Stark.”

“Please,” Rhaenys said with a welcoming smile of her own, “tell us.”

Davos looked to Gendry before clearing his throat. “Before I start, your grace…” again his eyes flickered to Daenerys, “and…your grace, I do ask that you let me finish my story before you banish me from your castle.”

Y/N watched Rhaenys and Daenerys share a look before nodding.

And then Davos began. And his story of creatures and cold and death had Y/N thinking of the dreams Rhaenys had been tormented with—why they had paused their conquest of the rest of the continent.

It was true. All of it.

“…and that is why we are here,” Davos said, clearing his throat, wringing his hands at his sides, the one sign he was nervous. “We know the caves of this island have plentiful dragon glass. A powerful weapon.” He paused.

And Gendry saw the opening. “But not as powerful as dragons and their fire.”

“Gendry!” Davos hissed.

But Rhaenys held up a hand. “Ser Davos, I know what you say is true.”

That seemed to catch the older man off guard as his mouth opened without having a word on his tongue. “Oh?” Was all he managed.

“We shall help you. And it seems the gods smile upon our meeting, Ser. The last of our armies will make land before nightfall.”

“What do you want in return?”

Rhaenys had to laugh at Gendry’s blunt question. “Bold words, Gendry. But I do appreciate the sentiment.” She glanced to Y/N and then Oberyn who both nodded in turn. “We can speak of the North’s allegiances after the true threat is dealt with. Would Lord Stark find that agreeable?”

Davos and Gendry were well-picked envoys, in Y/N’s opinion. They were quick to endear themselves to the court Rhaenys and her brothers and aunt had cultivated on the bleak island and were happy to help where they were needed but were content to simply mine the dragonglass in the caves off a desolate stretch of beach.

She learned Gendry was a bastard son of Robert Baratheon—perhaps the last child of the former Great House. She did not hold his parentage against him, as he seemed to be a gentle young man who had a soft heart but was slow to smile, as if he were unaccustomed to the expression.

“Tell me, Gendry,” Y/N said as she wiped her brow. They were mining the last bit of obsidian and Y/N had found her help in the caves gave Rhaenys a bit more comfort. “How did you come to the service of Lord Stark?”

“I…am a smith at Winterfell. I traveled North with Lord Stark after he learned of my parentage. He saved my life. Not a moon later, we learned that Cersei had all of Robert’s bastards put to the sword.”

Y/N hummed. “I have heard there was something like a dozen of them.”

Gendry only nodded and pulled a chunk of dragonglass from the cave wall before placing it in the cart behind them, already heavy with a load. “Lord Stark has been very kind to me. His family as well. I consider myself very lucky.” He started to pry at another sliver of obsidian. “Milady Arya…Lord Stark’s youngest daughter, she often escaped her father’s wheelhouse and ran around with the horses and her father’s men.” He huffed a laugh. “She was covered in mud when I first met her. Thought she was a boy.” He continued to speak of Arya with a gentle but unmistakable affection as they finished with their task.

If Y/N was fond of gambling with anything other than her own life, she would guess that Arya and Gendry had developed strong feelings for each other but were resisting acting upon them. Was now not the time to truly tell people how you felt? They were fighting creatures of legend for the fate of the world.

But that thought made Y/N pause and Willas’ face crossed her mind. Perhaps she had some own feelings to process. They walked out onto the beach and she felt the ground rumble as Rhaegal landed in front of them. He was still the smallest of the four but only those closest to them would even notice. When they set out, extending their great wings, the shadows could swallow castles. And she knew that dragons would not stop growing—they never did. They were still babes in their own right. And she loved them as such. She stepped forward with her hand raised and let Rhaegal press his large snout against her palm in welcome. “Did you get something to eat, hm?”

The dragon huffed and she reached out her other hand to pat against his neck. He let out a trill at the show of affection before a screech from above had them both looking up to see Drogon circling.

“Well, go then,” she said with a laugh. And then Rhaegal took to the skies again, chasing after his brother into the clouds.

“They do not frighten you?” Gendry asked, slipping to her side. He must have retreated when Rhaegal had landed.

“I have known them since they were simply petrified eggs, held them in my hands when they were no bigger than kittens. They are part of Rhaenys, Aegon, Jon, and Dany. I love them as they do. I cannot be frightened of them.”

Gendry craned his neck to see the pair rolling through the air. “Arya will love them, too.”

The boats were ready and the dragons had been fitted with saddles Gendry had fashioned for them at an alarmingly quick pace. They were readying to sail for White Harbor before the sun rose. But that was not what was keeping Y/N awake.

No. It was the raven that had arrived only a few hours prior.

-forfeit your titles and gold and I will allow you to live in peace under my rule, the rightful queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

To say Cersei Lannister was terrible at negotiating would be an understatement.

“What of the other one?”

Willas held up the letter her Uncle Hammond had intercepted as it left the Red Keep with a sigh. Y/N scanned the words, barely registering most of them after the first few had her nearly shredding the parchment. Rhaneys and her brothers and aunt had not been overly concerned with Cersei, it seemed Cersei was obsessed with them.

-I will not see my rule disputed by a handful of ill born whelps of a dead Martell and a third-born daughter.

Y/N crumpled the parchment and threw it into the hearth. “She’s a degenerate. Elia was twice the woman and mother that she ever hoped to be.”

Willas sighed and handed over another missive. “There is more.”

Y/N ignored the streak of blood on the parchment and unfurled it. Her eyes quickly scanned it and she bit back a snarl. The parchment crumpled in her grip until Willas laid his hand over hers. “If she means to drag my hatchlings through the streets of King’s Landing and use them as an example I will personally take her head from her shoulders with a dull kitchen knife.”

Willas patted her hand with an almost fond smile. “I know you would. But you and I also both know that she will never have the chance. She will be dealt with when the true threat is extinguished.”

“I-”

Willas stood and grasped at her shoulders. “I swear on my life. Cersei and her armies will not touch them. I will make sure of it—their dragons will make an unsatisfactory snack of her if I fail. And if the dragons fail-”

“They will never fail.”

Willas’ fond smile returned. “Then you will make sure of it.”

And he said it so sincerely, so sure, that Y/N felt herself deflating a bit, the anger washing away as she looked into his beautiful eyes. “You are too good to me. Far too kind.”

Willas carefully shuffled forward, the movement only slightly impeded by the loss of his cane. “I am good to you because you deserve it. You deserve kindness, too, Y/N. And I… I am happy to give that to you.”

They were quiet for a moment, simply gazing at each other and Y/N leaned into his touch, just the slightest bit, happy to have him so close. A quiet knock had them separating and a kitchen maid stepped in with bowls of warm oats and berries for both of them. “Her Grace said she wanted to make sure you were both well-fed before you depart.”

Y/N had to smile at Rhaenys’ worry over their stomach and they ate quietly, hearing the din from the beaches grow louder and louder as more and more people readied to leave Dragonstone. When they finished, Willas grasped her hand and squeezed. “I suppose it is time to start our next adventure.”

Y/N could only nod and walked with him down to the beach. The chests they had filled with their warmest clothes, and furs they had bought from Skilliga and Braavos before leaving their shores, had already been loaded onto the ship and she spotted a row of skiffs waiting to take people out. But what truly caught her eye was Oberyn and Ellaria and their daughters, a few paces away from the waiting group, looking a little forlorn.

“You are not a warrior, my heart,” she heard Oberyn say, his tone only filled with love.

“I do not want to leave your side.”

“And I do not want you in danger. The sun burns bright in Dorne, warm and safe. I need you safe.” Oberyn gently cradled Ellaria’s face and kissed her.

As they broke apart, Ellaria nodded but pressed her hand against Oberyn’s chest, thumb sliding against the golden chain he always wore. It had been a gift from Ellaria for the first of his namedays they had shared together. He had rarely taken it off.

It had been the plan all along for Ellaria to return to Sunspear with her and Oberyn’s daughters (except for Obara). And Ellaria had agreed to it, but Y/N knew it was still hard to say goodbye to someone you loved so dearly.

One by one, Oberyn kissed his daughters’ brows in farewell and wiped at their tear-stained cheeks with a gentle hand only a true father could possess before he kissed Ellaria again.

Little Dorea bounded up to Y/N and wordlessly demanded to be hugged which Y/N happily obliged and she quietly said goodbye to the other Sand Snakes with fond smiles and a ruffle to Elia’s hair which earned her a put-upon scowl. Out of the corner of her eye as she said goodbye to Tyene who had eagerly asked to care for Balerion until Rhaenys claimed her throne, Y/N noticed Willas and Ellaria sharing a few words, ending with a soft kiss and Ellaria straightening his green cape with a fond smile. But then Ellaria stepped toward her, tears already in her eyes and Y/N gladly pulled her into her embrace, holding her close just for a few moments, trying to press it into her mind how she felt against her while the sea crashed beside them.

Y/N kissed Ellaria, slow and soft, before she stepped back. “I wish you calm waters and clear skies.” She tugged at the end of Ellaria’s braid with a small smile. “And we shall see each other again soon. When this is over.”

Ellaria smiled, not quite reaching her eyes, and stole another kiss. “You three need to come back to me. Promise me.”

“I promise,” Y/N whispered. “I will steal a dragon and ride to Sunspear if I feel like it has been too long since I have seen your face.”

Sailing to White Harbor and then riding to Winterfell took almost a moon. Large chunks of ice had battered at the sides of their boat as they docked and Y/N had been tasked with making sure the armies were faring well in the change in weather. Only a few of the Dornish cavalry seemed to be in need of a few more wools and furs and she quickly made sure they were given. The Unsullied and Dothraki had all been outfitted with extra furs and thick leathers and heavier boots before they left Dragonstone and seemed to be acclimating well as they continued on.

But soon the high walls of Winterfell and the cobbled streets of Winter town loomed in the distance. And apparently word of their arrival had garnered quite the crowd. People lined the streets leading up to the large fortress and Y/N noticed that some cheered as they rode by and others whispered behind their hands. But her hatchlings paid them no mind—they had larger goals.

The gates were opened and they rode through. Another large group had been waiting for them inside—probably made up of the noble families of the North. Y/N pulled her horse to a stop beside Rhaenys and dismounted. The crowd gasped and some screamed as Viserion landed, shaking the ground, erupting the snow beneath his feet. It had been centuries since a dragon had come to Winterfell. Y/N turned and handed off the reins to one of the stable hands as she surveyed the bustling group of nobles who were staring at the dragon who quickly found the group uninteresting and took to the skies again, circling the castle with his brothers and sister. She looked and saw as Aegon, Jon, and Daenerys entered through the gates with Willas and Oberyn beside them and Missandei and Grey Worm bringing up the end of their small battalion. They all dismounted and the courtyard held its collective breath.

And then a man was moving through the crowd, people stepping out of his way or being all but shoved from his path. The sudden movement had Y/N reaching for one of her swords but Oberyn placed a hand over hers and shook his head.

“Lord Stark.”

The man’s light, sad eyes flickered to the Dornish prince at her side for a moment but quickly turned back to who had rightly captured his attention. Jon.

“May I present, King Jon Stark Targaryen,” Oberyn said, waving a hand toward the young man who was frozen in the snow. “But I have a reason to believe you might have already known who he was.”

Y/N nudged his side.

“King Jon, this is Lord Eddard Stark. Your Uncle.”

Y/N felt the air rush out her lungs in one breath. Eddard looked so different—so different from the quiet wolf she had watched dance with Ashara Dayne in the halls of Harrenhal, before the world tilted.

It took a moment for Eddard to gather himself before he shook his head. “Welcome, Dragon Queens and Kings, to Winterfell.”

Eddard had been able to tamp down any sort of impulses he might have had toward Jon as they were shown to their chambers and then invited to Eddard’s personal solar to discuss what had brought them all North.

“They are called the Others—White Walkers. Thousands of years ago, it is said they marched on this land and sought to enslave and all creatures. The cold and dark lasted a generation.”

“The Long Night,” Rhaenys said.

Eddard nodded. “They were only pushed back by the first Night’s Watch and the children of the forest, an alliance brought together by a man known as the last hero.”

“Azor Ahai.”

“The Prince who was Promised.”

Eddard’s gaze moved from person to person, lips still set in a line. “I suppose he could have been called by many names.” He cleared his throat. “But it all comes down to the fact that they have been beaten, pushed back. And we have to do it again.”

“We will not be able hold them back—even with four dragons and all our armies at our backs.”

“Are you saying there is no hope?”

Aegon shook his head. “I am saying, we must have a plan. It will not be enough to simply have a moat and a few trebuchets. We must be able to hold them until dawn.”

“Even then,” Rhaenys said as she scratched at her chin, “they will only be weaker—not defeated—if we have not killed the band of Others who control the wights.”

“The goal, my lord, is to keep them at bay until the sun is able to aid.” She paused. “Minimize casualties to avoid giving the Others more weapons to use. This is a battle for the dawn. We must be the last ones standing.”

Eddard pulled out a rough-made map of the castle and they started to plan where each battalion would be stationed. Oberyn gave them ideas from the ways the Dornish held back the Targaryens during the conquest while they altered them to work with the cold terrain of the North. They planned to construct perimeter fences nearly five hundred meters away from Winterfell’s outer curtain. And then a moat filled with kindling and sharpened wood two hundred and fifty meters further back, followed by rows and rows of dragon glass chevals set into triangles only one hundred meters away from the outer curtain. They also hauled a few of the dragon glass chevals up onto the walls with rope, ready to be cut and thrown down onto anything that would try to scale the wall. Pitch and fire would be thrown down on any wights too, knowing fire was one of their greatest weaknesses.

The Dothraki, Unsullied, and half of the Reach forces and Northern cavalry would be stationed between each of the perimeters to pick off the wights that pushed through the bottlenecks and would have easily removed gangplanks over the moat if a retreat needed to be called. The idea was to slow the onslaught of the wights and Others as they moved toward Winterfell. It would, hopefully, make the enemy harder to kill and keep the living’s casualties to a minimum.

The Dornish would man the walls alongside the Reach archers while the fortress courtyards would be defended by the any and all who could lift a dragonglass blade. Walls were fortified. Gates were strengthened and lined with more broken shards of obsidian.

Trebuchets, abattis made of sharpened wood and topped with shards of dragonglass, Cheval de fries made entirely of dragonglass lined the castle curtain. Y/N would be stationed up on the battlements, manning the trebuchets and pouring pitch down through the machicolations on anything and anyone trying to climb the walls after the chevals were deployed. She was good with her blades, true. But she was no soldier. She was no Unsullied or knight or Dothraki bloodrider. She had been taught how to kill in close quarters and fight unfairly. While her skills would hopefully keep her alive if the walls of Winterfell were breached, they would do precious little out on the fields.

Each and every person who was able to fight would be given dragon glass or had dragonglass melded to their weapons. The smiths were hurrying to fill that heavy request. It seemed the Valyrian steel Y/N and her hatchlings owned was even rarer this far North. Lord Eddard himself had a weapon made of the prized metal—a longsword named Ice—and a man of the Night’s Watch, Lord Commander Jeor Mormont, had the greatsword Longclaw.

Hopefully it would be enough. Anyone unable to hold a sword would be kept in the Great Hall of the castle.

The Wildlings from north of The Wall and the Unsullied and the Dothraki had camped outside in the courtyard or had been given rooms in Winter town. The Reach forces they could spare had arrived only three nights ago with carts filled with food for the castle stores and had been cheered by the smallfolk and highborn alike. It was true that while most were cautious about the Dragons, their riders, and the armies who came with them, it seemed that there was a begrudging sort of thankfulness for their presence.

Y/N watched Willas command the Reach forces atop his pale charger, its braided mane catching the wind, as they arrived. This was Lord Willas Tyrell—heir to Highgarden, tactician, commandant. The man who had retaken the Shield Islands from the Ironborn when he was still half a world away.

She smiled as she caught his eye and he dipped his head in greeting, a familiar pink on his cheeks, but his speech did not falter. His voice did not break. Yes, this was Lord Willas. But her Willas still made her smile, even if he could not stand at her side for the moment. And it was only a moment she could spare. The menace loomed and grew as Willas told his knights and cavalry what awaited them.

The North knew of the threat they were facing.

House Umber had been nearly decimated when the Others had first appeared in a small number, as if testing the resistance they would find south of the Wall. The house’s small remaining numbers had retreated to Winterfell. As did so many others when legends had come to life.

Y/N learned the names of a few of them—of course there were the Stark children; Robb, Sansa, Arya, Bran and Rickon. Then, Alys Karstark and her betrothed Daryn Hornwood. Dacey Mormont and her gaggle of little sisters and her bear of a mother Maege (she had been told not to hold Jorah’s relation against them). Wylla and Wynafryd Manderly of White Harbor and the Reed siblings, Meera and Jojen, from Greywater Watch. And then Lady Barbrey Ryswell Dustin and her only child, a daughter named Myranda. And Jeyne Poole was a constant companion to Sansa.

Rhaenys and Daenerys were quick to make at least friendly acquaintances with all of them. And, true to their word, there was no talk of allegiances or bending the knee. Rhaenys had quickly shut down an angry question about her intentions posed by Lord Glover a week after they had arrived. “I am not here to force anyone’s hand. We are here to fight for the living. The only thing I have asked for is lodgings for our armies. Thousands of fighters have come with us. How many have you brought, Lord Glover? Twenty?” It had been the first and the last.

But the North was full of surprises.

Perhaps the largest shock being that Jaime Lannister was still alive. It had been years since his capture and the haughty, self-important knight had changed. His hand was missing, replaced by a steel glove. He had lost it in the battle of Winterfell where the Freys and the Boltons had tried to oust the Starks. Ramsey Snow had hacked it off while trying to take little Sansa hostage and Jaime had interfered.

The once-revered knight almost seemed nervous to have an audience with the Targaryens but all of them had said no ill-will had been brought with them. “Lord Stark has not held us responsible for the deaths of his kin at the hands of our father and grandfather. We know the Mad King earned his name, Ser Jaime. You have nothing to fear from us.”

And that was the first time she saw the Lannister smile when Tyrion or the large lady-knight, Ser Brienne of Tarth, were not at his side. Y/N was sure there was a story there, between Brienne and Jaime, but she did not ask.

The Others were drawing closer. She knew it. And it felt like the cold, dry air of the North was pressing down on her with each passing moment. Willas’ smile gave her a little reprieve, as did Oberyn and his soft lips whenever they saw each other (which was infrequently) in the dark halls of Winterfell, and seeing her hatchlings slowly gain the untrusting Northerners’ trust did, too. But her days were filled with building weapons and defenses for the castle, advising her hatchlings, and at night she found it hard to sleep. She was so far from the sea. She was about take part in a war against ice creatures.

She just needed a moment to herself.

The crypts of Winterfell were strangely comforting. Away from the bustle of war stratagem and political maneuvering—it was just her and the dead. It was easy to see that great care had been taken to form the stone statues over the bones of the deceased. And it was quiet, so quiet. Only the crackling of the torches that lined the walls provided noise. She looked at each of the statues of the Starks long since passed but paused at Lyanna’s statue. Whomever had carved it had known Lyanna’s face innately. Y/N reached up and touched the statue’s hand. “I hope you know how good of a man Jon has become.”

A sudden noise around one of the many corners had Y/N scurrying into the abundant shadows the crypts provided—probably her hyper vigilance and lack of deep sleep rearing its head. But she needn’t worry. The two men who entered the crypt meant her no harm.

Y/N watched Jon and Ned speak. She could not hear the words exchanged but her heart felt lighter as she watched the nephew and uncle embrace, both of them holding back tears. The Starks truly loved their own.

The next day, Y/N broke her fast with Eddard and laughed as Arya burst into the room and demanded that she be given a spear to rival Oberyn’s and Eddard had to explain that Oberyn’s spearhead was made of Valyrian steel but he would happily arm her with dragonglass. Satisfied, Arya excused herself after telling Y/N that she wanted to ask her about Skilliga later.

But then Y/N knew she had to ask Eddard the question she had felt brewing since they had docked at White Harbor. “I have been told that the only reason you did not stay at Robert’s side was because of an argument. If you would not mind my prying, may I ask what drove you from his service?”

Eddard sighed and he paused, as if trying to pick the best words. “Robert learned of Princess Daenerys’ pregnancy—and then of the survival of Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys. He wanted them all slaughtered.”

“And you refused?”

The quiet man took a breath. “Robert did not know of Jon—but I did. My sister’s babe. Ser Arthur promised me, promised Lyanna, that her child would live. We all knew that Robert would kill him if given the chance.” Eddard paused and rubbed at his chin. “I did not know where Jon was, only that he lived. Lady Ashara, she risked ruin to tell me of your flight to Essos with the babes. It gave me hope, just as the birth of each of my children did. A little light in the world—a light that needed guarding. The only way I knew of at least postponing Robert’s bloody revenge was to leave. He would have no help from me tracking them across another continent.” For a moment, his face turned to a near snarl. “He had enough help in that regard.”

“You mean Ser Jorah.”

“Ser Jorah, Lord Varys, Peytr Baelish. The lot of them. All of them whispering into Robert’s ear about the little dragons across the sea.”

That gave Y/N pause. “Varys?” The former Lord of Whispers had stayed back on Dragonstone to ‘help’ hold the castle against any possible invasions from Cersei—but mostly to learn what he could about the movement of Westerland and Stormland armies from his position on Dragonstone. He did seem fairly talented in that regard and Aegon had allowed Varys to call himself their Master of Whispers. “Interesting.” She cleared her throat. That would need to be addressed later. “But you seem a forgiving man. Jaime Lannister has kept his head.”

Eddard nodded. “But it was only after he saved my daughter’s life. I know now Jon Arryn discovered was true; Ser Jaime has offered valuable information against his sister. I believe the man has changed.”

Y/N hummed and dabbed at her mouth as she finished her tea. “I will take you word for it, my lord.”

They spoke for a little longer, the topic veering toward the history of the castle and how legend stated that it was Bran the Builder, Eddard’s ancestor who had built the Wall with the help of the Children of the Forest to repel the Others nearly a millennia ago. They eventually left his solar and walked toward the godswood—a place sacred to those who kept the old gods. Y/N had tried to learn as much as she could when her hatchlings were still babes and she only had the histories of Westeros to keep her company at night but the maesters seemed to care very little for the old gods. This was a fact that disappointed Jon, too, when he started to embrace his Northern heritage. She smiled as she spotted Jon on a large stone, speaking with a beautiful wildling woman and little Lord Robb who both seemed to be telling him about the true history of the North if Jon’s awestruck face was anything to consider.

But the godswood was beautiful—truly. Even covered in snow. The small stream in front of what she guessed was the Heart Tree trickled by slowly, almost as if it were unaware of the cold weather. A sudden howl nearly shook the branches and Y/N turned abruptly, unaccustomed to the noise. But Eddard only hummed.

A massive white wolf trotted forward, nearly as large as a horse. Its eyes were red and Y/N could see the large teeth the animal bore as it turned and playfully nipped at…yet another giant wolf. This one had smoke-colored fur with yellow eyes. Two more followed, one black as night, and the other was a mottled grey. Each just as big as the next.

Y/N looked to Eddard at her side to see him almost serenely looking over the animals. Unafraid. They were direwolves. They were his House’s sigil. Mayhaps they were almost akin to the Starks as the Dragons were to her hatchlings.

Eddard looked like he wanted to take a step forward, to stop them or not she was not sure. But Jon leaned down and let the white wolf sniff at his hand before the large animal licked his fingers and ducked his massive head to quietly demand to be pet. Which Jon happily did as the Wildling beside him smiled and also gave her fair share of skritches. Robb reached out to the grey one with a familiar deference and let the large animal nudge his chin with the top of his large head.

“His name is Ghost,” Eddard said, just loud enough for Jon to hear. The Direwolf looked at the lord for a moment, hearing his name, but quickly turned back to Jon. “He was the runt of the litter, if you can believe that.”

Y/N huffed a laugh. “So was Rhaegal. It seems Jon has an affinity for little things with big teeth.”

It earned her a chuckle from Eddard. But the rest of the morning was spent with Eddard, learning of Lyanna and how Eddard had helped Arthur fight against the rest of the kingsguard stationed at the Tower of Joy to have Jon spirited away.

“Ser Arthur only told me he knew of a safe harbor for him. I trusted him even as I could see the blood dripping from his armor.”

Y/N reached out and squeezed Eddard’s arm with a small smile. “I am glad you did. Jon’s siblings adore him, as does his aunt. It has been one of my life’s great joys to see them all grow.”

Eddard once again grew quiet at that. “I wish I had been able to sail across the Narrow Sea.”

“Your fight was here. You kept him safe.”

Eddard nodded but his grey eyes stayed on his son and nephew. “I do hope you are right.”

The Wall had fallen.

The last few remaining members of the Night’s Watch had sent a raven to Winterfell, telling them of the danger that was coming. Y/N surmised that they were probably killed shortly after. The battle was coming. While they could not move in the daylight, they still moved at an inhuman pace. And Winterfell had fallen into a tense quiet. It was only interrupted with the heavy clang from the smiths or the grunts and groans from the training fields.

Y/N stood at the edge of the castle’s grounds and slid a hand down Rhaegal’s side as he finished eating his meal of three boar he must have plucked from the wolfswood. The other three had been eating a little less as of late, they did not care for the cold. But Rhaegal did not seem to mind the snow and ice. The sun was rising steadily on the horizon, making the snow shine and the small tents surrounding Winterfell look like nothing more than toys. This was a strange start to a war.

The ground shook as Viserion landed and his large head nudged at her hip in greeting. His next breath warmed her even through the layers of armor and leather and fur she had piled on.

“Uncle Oberyn is looking for you.”

Y/N craned her head to see Aegon atop his dragon. “Has he eaten?” She asked, trailing a finger down the bridge of Viserion’s snout.

Aegon sighed. “He flew to the coast last night. I am hoping he caught a meal there.”

She nodded and smiled as Viserion huffed when her hand retreated, always needing affection. “I will be back in a moment.” The walk back to Winterfell took a few long moments and she asked where the Dornish Prince was as she entered the gate and was pointed to the rookery by Gendry with a tight smile. The poor boy had been working tirelessly.

She walked through the castle and made her way across the bridge from the Bell Tower to the Maester’s Turret. She pushed the door open and caught sight of a raven flying past the window. Y/N watched the raven fly, higher and higher until it disappeared into the grey clouds. It was heading south. To Dorne. She knew it.

“It will be good to look upon my daughters’ and Ellaria’s faces again.”

Y/N stepped up behind Oberyn and wound her arms around his waist as she pressed her forehead against his back. “We will soon, Oberyn. I promise you that.” Oberyn reached down and squeezed at her hands with a sigh, his eyes not moving from the horizon. “The road is long from Winterfell to Sunspear and I am an impatient man, little shark.”

“Then we must kill them quickly,” she replied with another squeeze. “I would not keep you from them if I could help it.”

Oberyn turned in her grasp and kissed her slowly, warm hands framing her face with his familiar, gentle hold. It was not a hard kiss, but it stole her breath just the same. Her hands curled into the thick tunic he had wrapped around himself that morning, lined with shadowcat fur to keep him warm.

“We don’t have much time, my prince,” she murmured against his beautiful mouth. “But I’d be happy and honored to distract you, if only for a few moments.”

Oberyn’s answering smile was small but genuine and he kissed her forehead before nodding and taking her hand, letting Y/N lead him down to her chambers and her small bed and familiar warmth. She held him close as they both shook with their releases, their skin both shining with sweat and slick. As she caught her breath, she pressed a slow kiss to his forehead. “You will see your girls again, Oberyn. I promise.”

It was not an unfamiliar sight to see Oberyn in his hammered copper and bronze armor. He had worn it plenty of times across the Narrow Sea when they waged war against the slavers. But it always made her heart skip a beat.

The army of the dead was inching closer by the hour and it had everyone on edge. It was nearing nightfall and Oberyn was still sparring with Obara, both of them wielding their spears with a practiced ferocity that garnered a bit of attention from passing northerners. She knew that their time together in her chambers apparently did very little to his energy levels and she had found a lone flower on the table beside her bed when she woke and Oberyn was gone.

But she had a surprise for him, too.

She waited until Oberyn and Obara’s match was finished and then called him over, hiding the gift behind her back as she kissed his cheek in greeting. The helmet was fashioned after the Unsullied style but made with the hammered copper to match his armor. She pressed the helmet into his hands with an arched eyebrow. “Do not argue with me, my prince. Do this for me, Ellaria. Even Willas has asked where your helmet is. Don’t make me disappoint Willas and Ellaria. You know I am unable to tell either of them no or withstand them when they look so sad.”

With a put upon sigh, Oberyn pressed the helmet over his dark hair before leaning forward to steal another kiss.

“I told you that you needed a helmet, father!” Obara said with a smirk.

Oberyn only grumbled.

The night fell only a few moments later and the last meal of the day was distributed throughout the castle and camps and Y/N sat beside Daenerys and Missandei and they all spoke of how they were hopeful to see the shores of Dragon’s Bay again, soon. It was a light conversation, purposefully evading any sort of talk about the battle they knew was coming. But it was good to see them both smile—and Missandei’s smile widened as she caught Grey Worm’s gentle eyes from across the Great Hall. But they eventually excused themselves as they finished their meal and they stepped to Rhaenys’ side as she spoke with Jon and Robb. It was good to see the heir of Winterfell warming to all of them.

But Y/N pushed her uneaten mutton onto the plate of the little northern boy who sat beside her with a wink, having listened to him murmur about how he was still hungry and how he didn’t understand why the food needed to be rationed. She wandered out into the cold night air and craned her head up to see the stars.

For a moment, she wondered if this would be the last night she could enjoy a view like this. Cold, simple, beautiful. She had fought in wars and battles before. Dozens of them. She’d killed men in the streets without regard because they had threatened her hatchlings. But this was different—she knew it would be different the moment she took Rhaenys’ dreams as a harbinger of things to come.

She only hoped that those she loved would live through this and that she did not die so far from the sea.

A hand grabbing at her wrist had her pulling one of her daggers from its scabbard at her back but she quickly put it away when she realized who had touched her. It was Willas, her dear sweet Willas.

“Come with me,” he said, unperturbed about how quickly she had pulled a blade on him.

“Willas, I need-”

“Come with me, you’re right. You do need to come with me!”

She sighed but did not pull away from him as he led her through Winterfell and to one of the few quiet areas of the fortress. It was the castle’s glass gardens. It was filled with practical fruits and vegetables…and the entire back wall was filled with winter roses. Oberyn was sitting at one of the stone benches with his back to them as he held something in his lap. “What are you two planning?” She hummed the question with a smile and let Willas guide her toward the stone bench with a secretive smile. His cane sunk into the mound of soil beside the bench but he did not seem to care, his smile still growing. The air was warm and thick in the gardens, having been warmed by the underground hot springs over which the fortress was built and Y/N quickly pulled off her cloak and draped it over a rock before sitting.

“What is-”

A clumsily made crown of blue roses was set over her head, the few remaining thorns nearly catching on her ears. Her heart stuttered.

“A crown,” Oberyn murmured. “We thought you should have one, too.”

Y/N reached up and felt the buttery soft petals. The same kind that had once been sat in Lyanna Stark’s lap, proclaiming her the Queen of Love and Beauty for all the world to see. It had been ages ago. It had been the start of all of this. Such pretty blooms. Such unpretty memories.

Willas settled beside her on the bench, sandwiching her between the two men. “We thought…hoped…that we could all have a reason to smile now when we saw these flowers. A silly little thing.”

Y/N reached out and grasped one of each of their hands and brought them to her lap and squeezed. “Not silly. I am thankful for it. Thankful for you both in this strange time. I will wear this crown with pride.” And she meant it. This little moment, this stolen reprieve, helped her resolve remain firm. She would fight. For now, she would live. For her Willas, her prince, Ellaria, and her hatchlings.

Almost shyly, Willas leaned in and kissed her cheek. Oberyn was much less reserved and pressed a kiss of his own against the corner of her mouth as he smiled.

The three spoke for a little longer, of the strangeness of the north, of the hatchlings, their dragons, and battle plans, before Oberyn excused himself as he remembered that he had promised Obara he would help her spar one last time today—she was still getting used to the bulkier clothing she wore under her armor and how it made her move a little differently—and Oberyn was never one to deny his daughters anything.

And that left her alone with Willas.

Their conversation was quiet, as if they were afraid to disturb the peaceful air the glass gardens provided, both of them losing a few of their outer layers to enjoy the warm air. Soon they were both left in only their breeches and loosened, silk tunics. Her fingers absentmindedly traced the golden rose on the sleeve of Willas’ tunic. It was fine stitching.

“I would want to stand beside you—but I know I would only hinder your sword arm,” Willas murmured.

Y/N smiled and shook her head. “You never hinder me, my Willas. But I know you will be the only one with a clear mind inside the great hall. They will look to you for guidance, for reassurance. And you will give it to them; you will usher them to the dawn.”

“You have so much faith in me.”

“Yes. I do. And so do your men, who followed you up here without knowing which enemy they would face. Your grandmother has faith in you.” Y/N sighed and stood only to pivot so she could stand in front of him. “Only you, it seems, do not have faith in yourself.”

Willas huffed a laugh and looked up at her, eyes soft in the dim light. He was so beautiful. So kind and smart. And, it seemed that he wanted her affection as much as she yearned for his, in their own convoluted way. Y/N reached out and let her fingers curl in the soft curls at the nape of Willas’ neck and watched as his eyes fluttered closed. He was so warm and so gentle as he reached out to grasp at her hips, pulling her closer. She was always late, wasn’t she? Could she have always held him close like this? Be held like this?

With a sudden surge of courage, she took a breath and moved to place her legs at his waist, kneeling over him on the bench. His stuttered breath pushed out against her neck as she settled in his grip. “Is this okay?” She whispered.

His eyes opened and she felt her own heart skip behind the confines of her ribs. Willas was beautiful.

He nodded, answering her question. His warm hand reached up and softly touched her cheek before taking ahold of her chin and lowering her face down to press his lips to hers.

She felt like she could weep against his lips. In a single touch, she had never felt more beautiful.

Her arms wound around his shoulders, pulling him closer as his hand moved to the back of her neck, growing bolder by the moment, warm tongue sweeping into her mouth as she sighed. Willas was easily able to coax a quiet moan from her mouth as his grip tightened.

As she pulled away from his wondrous mouth to catch her breath, she felt Willas trail his lips down her neck, nipping at her pulse, before he settled on her chest, her loosened tunic barely containing her breasts. He kissed one and then the other, slowly, carefully, as if savoring the taste of her skin and the race of her breath. Gentle. So gentle.

His eyes shined in the dim light of the gardens as he looked up at her, cheek settling against her raising heart. “We have waited a long time.”

“Too long.” She sighed and pulled him a little closer. “I’m sorry for keeping you waiting.”

“I would wait a thousand years to feel you in my arms again.” And then he kissed her. Mouth moving against hers with an unpracticed grace that still had her gasping against his lips. He was soft—strong, too. Warm hands slowly pulled up her tunic and pushed it up and over her head and it fell, catching on the rose bush behind them. They both giggled, light and airy, as they looked at it and then made sure to right the crown of blue roses on her head. His tunic soon followed.

“Are you sure, my love?” He asked as his warm hands grasped at the flesh of her hips.

Her heart leapt into her throat at the name he’d given her. “I am.” Deft, scarred fingers tugged at the lacings of his breeches and pulled them down as they came loose. He was gorgeous. A bit of muscle on his stomach, lithe arms, and a bit of hair to scratch at her thighs. Beautiful. With a single glance, she could see the fairly impressive length standing between his legs. Willas nearly whined against her mouth before she stood and shucked her boots and trousers off quickly. He was quick to pull her back onto his lap. His cock was near scalding against the flesh of her thigh and made her shiver.

“You’re so beautiful.”

Y/N could only smile against his mouth again but it quickly faded as she choked on a moan—Willas’ long fingers had trailed down her hip to cup her folds, teasing her with gentle movements before his lips, once again, found purchase on her breasts.

Her slick nearly coated his hands as he continued to caress her folds, building a pleasant, quietly consuming warmth in her stomach. Her fingers once again curled around the back of his neck as she started to ride his hand, feeling the pads of his fingers dip inside. “Oh please,” she nearly whined, not sure what she was begging for just yet. Just more.

More Willas.

She was nearly shaking in his grip, on the precipice of an orgasm when his fingers stopped and Y/N watched through hazy eyes as he raised his hand to his mouth to lick his fingers clean. “As fine as honey.”

“Sweet words,” Y/N murmured, only slightly reeling from her paused release. But then her hand reached down and wrapped a hand around his cock and squeezed—it earned a choked groan.

“Let me feel you, my love. Please.”

And who was she to deny him? Slowly, carefully, she moved up and forward just a bit, making sure to squeeze him as she positioned him below and then sunk down. They both felt their next breaths stutter in their lungs.

Fullness. Warmth. He was so snug inside and she already felt the buzz of pleasure starting to grow again. But she wanted more. And she wanted to give the same to Willas. His pupils were blown wide, nearly eating the blue, as he looked at her, mouth open and panting as his hands gripped her hips.

She moved, raising up just enough to feel him suck in a breath before pushing back down. Willas let out another groan, and another and another as Y/N continued to ride him, chasing her own high while feeling his grip tighten.

She was so full, so warm. He felt so good.

She leant down to clumsily kiss him with shining lips and he eagerly reciprocated as she undulated above him, his hands starting to guide her hips into shorter, faster movements. His thighs flexed beneath her.

“So good, so good for me,” he breathed out, his cheeks filled with heat.

But she barely heard it over the roaring in her ears as the coil started to snap and she shook in his hold with a barely contained scream. More warmth soon followed, blooming inside, and his sweat-slick forehead leaned forward to press against her chest again—apparently it was a favorite spot of his. She did not mind. It was good to have him so close.

They caught their breath slowly, still not pulling away or separating, and traded soft, open-mouthed kisses as their hearts stopped trying to leap from behind their ribs. Willas chuckled as he looked up at her again and he reached up to once again make sure the silly crown of winter roses was positioned properly on her head. “You are so beautiful, my love.”

“As are you, my Willas.” But, eventually, she did have to pull away but she missed the feeling of him immediately and bit her lip at the sensation of something trickling down her thigh as she searched pulled on her tunic again. Y/N bent down to her discarded boots and pulled one of the obsidian daggers she had stashed there and handed it to him with a small smile. “Just in case.”

Y/N was going to sleep well that night, she knew it. Willas had thoroughly exhausted her. But just as her eyes closed, Rhaenys came and slipped under the blankets of her bed, curling into her side like she used to do when she was just a babe and Y/N was still trying to find her footing as her guardian. The time had gone, slipped through her fingers like water. And all traces of her exhaustion vanished.

“I’m scared,” Rhaenys whispered. “I need to be brave but I…”

Y/N leaned up on her elbow to look down at the girl she knew as close as a sister, a daughter. “The only time a person can be brave is when they are afraid. You have led armies across Essos. You have hatched your dragon from stone. You have lifted the fog from centuries past on your mother’s ancestors’ homeland. You are a conqueror, a liberator. You are a queen.”

“But is that enough? We are fighting death itself.”

Y/N gently took Rhaenys’ chin between her thumb and forefinger and didn’t comment on how she felt it tremble. “You are enough. More than enough—more than this kingdom deserves.”

Rhaenys’ beautiful brown eyes filled with tears and she shook her head, pulling free of Y/N’s grip only to burrow a little closer to her, fingers once again finding the sun pendant around her neck. “I want to save them. I need to save them all.”

The time had come. Only a few hours after she had fallen asleep with Rhaenys in her arms, they had heard the horns, signaling to everyone that the dead were coming. She helped Rhaenys dress in the Valyrian armor she had brought and kissed her brow before urging her toward her dragon and doing the same to Daenerys. Jon and Aegon kissed her cheeks in unison before they disappeared as well. She pulled on her own armor, a mix of Skilligan and Valyrian steel, and made sure her small plethora of blades were ready and easily accessible even with her bulky gloves and leathers. Before she walked to the courtyard, in the tense bustle of other knights and warriors, she was pulled into a quiet corner by a wonderfully familiar face.

Willas seemed to be forcing the small smile to his face. “I had to see you one more time…before…”

Y/N reached up and cursed her thick leather gloves that kept her from feeling the warmth of his cheek. “We will see each other again soon. In this life or the next. I promise you.”

Willas nodded and turned just enough to press a kiss to her palm. “But, if we both survive this, will you finally allow me the honor of courting you? Properly?”

Y/N chuckled, feeling the smallest bit of tension leech from her shoulders. “My Willas, we are far beyond the need to be courting, no?”

“I love you,” he blurted without a trace of embarrassment in his tone. “I have loved you for nearly two decades and I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Tears pricked at her eyes and she felt herself nodding before she leaned forward to press her lips to his, soft and gentle. “I am going to make a terrible Lady of Highgarden.”

Willas shook his head. “No. You will be fit for songs.”

“To your stations!” Davos yelled.

Y/N kissed Willas again and bit back the tears she felt forming and then turned and walked away. If she looked back, she would never leave.

But she stepped outside and followed a few others up onto the battlements. Even in the dark, she spotted both Oberyn and Obara toward the back of the Unsullied ranks. Obara noticed her first and lifted a hand in greeting, her face set in a firm line. Oberyn turned then, too, and he offered a small smile from beneath his helmet and pressed two fingers to his lips and raised them toward her; she returned the gesture before he turned back to face forward, readying for the fight.

Y/N watched her breath turn to ice in front of her nose. She had never felt such cold before, it seemed to bite at her bones. She looked out to the horizon and watched the fog roll in, like some terrible, white wave. Her grip tightened on the blade at her back and she glanced to the left, watching the barrels of pitch be brought up to the battlements and set over a few hot coals to keep them warm.

The fortress was quiet except for the crackling of fires and the uneven whispers from somewhere else along the battlements. She heard no dragon. The Dothraki horses were quiet, too. They knew, intrinsically.

Someone behind her was murmuring a prayer to the Seven but she paid it little mind when it felt like the entire world had frozen over. But the fog continued to roll, closer and closer to the fortress. She knew what it was bringing.

And then the terrible groaning of the wights started to sound, thousands of voices calling out in agony. In hunger. It had begun.

Even when the fog covered the first fence, she could hear the wood cracking and breaking. And then came the first Dothraki scream. Her grip tightened on her blade. The sound of hooves came through the dense fog and the scrape of metal as swords were drawn followed. It grew louder and louder and she felt her heart climb higher into her throat.

And then-

“Light the trench! Light the trench!”

Almost everyone’s heads snapped up to the sky as they heard a dragon roar and Drogon flew above the castle, breathing fire down onto the moat and lighting up the dark ground. And what Y/N saw had her blood freezing. Thousands upon thousands of wights were pushing their way through the bottlenecks, uncaring of how many of their fellows died a second death on the dragon glass or by the livings’ swords.

But their plans were working, at least nominally: the onslaught was slower than what it would have been without them. The Dothraki and Westerosi knights and cavalry were picking off all they could as they dove over the lit trenches and pulled the gangplanks away. Only a handful had fallen, it seemed. Hopefully her eyes were not tricking her.

Another screech from above had her looking up to see Vēzos joining Drogon in breathing fire down onto the wights that crept closer and closer to the fortress. The fire had stopped them—momentarily. Long enough for the retreat to be successful and for the Dothraki and the knights to join the ranks gathered behind the trench. The trebuchets were thrown, hurling flaming projectiles into the hordes of wights while archers let loose a volley of dragonglass arrows. It was working! The plan was still working but-

Y/N watched in terrible shock as the wights froze and then…one by one, they fell atop the fire-filled moat, using their bodies to create a bridge of their own. They would not be stopped.

“Pull back!” Someone screamed. “Pull back! To the castle!”

A sudden, animal growling and snarling filled the air. From the wolfswood, a flurry of fur caught her eye. It was the Direwolves—now there were five of them, followed by dozens of wolves. The animals tore through the wights with an ease she had only seen with hungry sharks. But soon even they were pushed back.

An inhuman creature pushed through the messy ranks of the wights and Y/N knew instantly it was an Other—the thing that had brought the wights to their front door. And then another, and another, and another, and another came until there were dozens of the Others standing sentinel in front of the fire moat.

Another bout of dragon fire pushed some back—one of the Others quite literally melted into the snow after being engulfed in dragonflame.

But it was not enough.

The gates were opened to let the riders and Dothraki inside and the order was called to start the wall defenses. As soon as the gates were opened, they were closed, the remnants of the living pouring inside. Y/N turned and grabbed the side of one of the barrels of pitch and pulled it closer to the machicolation in front of her with the help of a Dornish woman, covered in thin armor and grey leathers. They both turned in unison and cut the ropes holding the chevals, letting the dragonglass mow down a few dozen wights. And another was cut loose and then another. But the wights continued to crawl closer, starting to use each other as mere stepping stones, clawing their way up toward the living.

“On three?” Y/N’s partner asked.

She could only nod as she glanced down the hole to see the wights growing higher and closer. The unnatural blue of their eyes were shining in the black night, their blackened, rotten mouths opened in a groan.

The countdown was quick and then the barrel was tipped, pouring the black pitch down onto the wights and then hurriedly grasping at one of the torches on the stone and throwing it down, too. The wall of wights screamed and Y/N could have sworn she felt the stone beneath her boots quake as the flames consumed them.

All four dragons had come. Again and again, they were pushing through the thick fog to rain down fire on the invaders. But they did not stop.

And then came a noise she hoped would never hear.

It was an earth-shattering crack and groan. The gate had fallen. And the fire did little to stop the wights from scaling the walls and Y/N had to grab her daggers, of Valyrian steel and dragonglass to drive into the necks of a few wights who had managed to top the battlements. She felt herself being pushed back as more and more of the cold corpses clawed their way to the top, her boot catching on the back wall of the thin battlements. But she would not stop.

She could not.

Her hatchlings were still fighting.

Oberyn.

Willas.

They were still alive.

Y/N pivoted and sunk one of her dragonglass daggers into the ear of a corpse struggling to bite at the Dornish woman at her side. The corpse gurgled and then collapsed, dying again with the blue leaching from its eyes. A cold, bloated hand grasped at Y/N’s throat. The corpse’s grip was tight enough to rob her of her breath almost instantly and nearly it took her from her feet but she kicked out and pushed out an unused barrel of pitch and the last remaining torch they had stored. The wights screamed and dropped, dead again.

But more still came. And the rotted remains of a wildling wrapped her arms around Y/N’s waist and they fell-

-just over the back wall of the battlement.

The reinforcements on the wall, mounds of snow and dirt and brick, broke her fall—and possibly her leg as she tumbled down, down, down, to the snow-covered courtyard. She didn’t even have time or the thought to scream. Her head bounced against the ground and, just as her world started to go black, she watched Oberyn drive his Valyrian steel spear into the eye of an Other and the creature shattered, as if made of glass. Or ice. Perhaps it was.

But it didn’t matter. She was gone.

“Little shark.”

“Little shark, open your eyes.”

“Open your eyes, little shark. The sun is here.”

“Little shark, you cannot leave me here. Willas is waiting for you. Ellaria cannot bear the loss of you. Your hatchlings are calling for you.”

“Little shark?”

It felt herculean to open her eyes and she immediately shut them again when the sunlight hit her eyes. Sunlight.

“Oberyn?” She asked, voice cracking. It felt like blood and earth had coated her teeth.

His answering huff of a laugh was quiet. “You gave us quite a scare, Y/N.” Gently, ever so carefully, Oberyn pulled her up just enough to rest her head and shoulders across his lap. She barely felt the cold bite of his armor on her back over the thudding of her head. His fingers, he must have discarded his gloves, lightly brushed down her nose, across her cheeks, always pausing whenever they trailed down to her neck, checking her pulse. But Oberyn was patient, waiting for Y/N to open her eyes again on her own accord.

The courtyard was filled with corpses, mostly from wights, if her sight did not deceive her. “What happened?” Y/N asked as she looked up at him. Oberyn had lost his helmet and his chest plate was dented and smeared with black blood and dirt. His beautiful bottom lip was oozing a slow trickle of crimson but the shining behind him, giving him a yellow-gold halo. It suited him.

“We won, little shark. We won.” He smiled, uncaring of his injured lip and leant down to brush a kiss to her forehead which she happily accepted. He let her rest for a few moments longer before asking if she thought she could stand and she tried, finding herself on unsteady feet. Her leg was sore but she was not sure if it was actually broken but Oberyn still slung one of her arms over his shoulders and helped her walk toward the Great Hall.

All around them was death and destruction. One part of the outer curtain was nothing but rubble alongside the remnants of the great gate and barbican. The air smelt of blood and death and fresh snow. But it was filled with the sounds of relieved laughter, of shouts of joy, of cries of relief. Of dragon screams and wolf howls.

It sounded of victory.

Oberyn told her what had happened after she had fallen. Of the dragon fire wiping out most of the wights, of Valyrian steel wielded by Jon, Oberyn, Aegon, and Eddard killing the others, of the great battle that spilled out into the castle’s inner walls and pushed into the Great Hall where the most vulnerable had been sheltering. “You missed the bit with the ice dragon, little shark. It was bigger than Drogon and Viserion put together.” But Jon, her little Jon, had killed the last Other and the wights had fallen. Still, again with death.

“Everyone fought bravely. Even Willas. I’ve been told he saved nearly two dozen children on his own when the wights broke into the hall.”

“Willas? My Willas?”

Oberyn chuckled. “He has a steel core, little shark. Same as you. I know you are not as surprised as you sound. You know him just as I do. You must be very proud of your husband-to-be.” He said the title with a wink. “You two have surely waited long enough.”

Y/N could only sigh in return, her head keeping her from having any sort of coherent retort.

The remnants of the doors to the Great Hall had her wincing as she hobbled over them. It was still humming with life, of people tending to the wounded and starting to clean the wreckage. Almost instantly, she found Willas’ brown curls through the crowd. A broken obsidian dagger sat in his lap, beside the remnants of his cane. He had fought bravely. And Oberyn was right; she knew Willas always could and would.

Oberyn made sure she was steady on her feet as he spotted Obara on the other end of the hall. “Go. I know you have much to speak of.” He left her with a kiss to her dirty cheek and wink.

With painful, small steps, she walked to Willas’ side and Y/N reached up and gently wiped away the bit of blood staining his eyebrow. He startled at the contact but a soft smile spread across his face as he recognized the woman in front of her.

“Y-you’re alive.”

“As are you, my Willas.”

Willas stood on his own unsteady legs and grasped at her shoulders before his hands, bloodied and bruised and dirty but she did not care, slid up to frame her face. Without a word, he kissed her. Y/N savored the gentle pressure of his lips on hers for a moment. There was nothing carnal in it—simply love.

“Oberyn has told me you have saved two dozen children by yourself,” she said as she broke away, just far enough to pull in a lungful of air.

Willas huffed—almost a laugh. “I do doubt it was that many. Three, at most.”

“A child saved is a life saved twice over. Be proud, Willas. I am.”

His smile grew as he looked at her, tears only starting to gather in the corners of his eyes when he glanced down at her legs and his smile vanished. “You’re hurt.” He turned and shouted for a healer.

The castle was still thrumming with life even as the next night greeted them with a starr-filled sky. The grounds still needed to be cleaned, the dead burned and prayed for, castle walls and defenses rebuilt. But for now, Eddard Stark told everyone to enjoy the night, to rest.

“You have earned it!”

The healer Willas had all but hauled to her side had revealed that her leg had a deep bruise, down to the bone, but she would heal quickly if she was careful. Milk of the Poppy had dulled the pain and she was scrubbed down in a large, hot bath, before she had excused herself from the celebratory feast the Starks had cobbled together in the First Keep and had hobbled back to her chambers to rest. But she saw her hatchlings, her former charges, scream in victory with goblets filled with ale and wine raised into the air in celebration.

They were alive. They could smile again. But after she screamed herself hoarse beside them she had to admit that she did need the rest the healer had prescribed. And rest she did—for a moment.

She was not surprised to feel someone slip into her bed that night. They had their lives, breath in their lungs, warmth in their blood.

They were alive.

A gentle kiss was pressed to her shoulder.

“I thought you would still be celebrating, Willas.” She turned in his grip and pressed a kiss of her own to his brow.

The door opened and Oberyn stood in the doorway, his form surrounded by the glowing golden light of the hall’s torches. He looked like some sort of dark deity. Y/N held out a hand toward him and Oberyn slipped inside, closing the door with a muted ‘thud.’ The prince moved with his natural grace across the cold room and easily slid into the mess of furs and blankets on her small bed.

“These Northerners and their small beds. No wonder they are so cold.”

Y/N snorted and lightly smacked at his arm, earning a chuckle and a kiss pressed to the side of her mouth as he leaned over Willas—Oberyn quickly gifted Willas as kiss, too.

And it was Oberyn who managed to gently finagle all of them to be comfortable on the bed, taking extra care to not jostle their legs too much, before managing to squeeze himself between Y/N and Willas with a happy sigh.

It made them laugh.

It started quiet and then grew louder and louder until they were all shaking on her small featherbed, tears starting to sting at their eyes. If asked, none of them would be able to discern why it was so funny—but it was. And they were alive.

When Willas leaned over and pressed his smiling mouth to Oberyn’s grin, it was easy. When Y/N then pulled Willas in to kiss him and turned to taste Oberyn’s lips, too? It felt right. And when hands started to wander and kisses lingered, they found warmth in more than just the furs that night.

It had been a challenge to rebuild Winterfell. And Oberyn and Willas both had pressed her hatchlings to set off toward King’s Landing, all four of them refused, stating that the North needed to be cared for before they could even think to take the rest of the Seven Kingdoms.

Y/N knew she had missed quite a large conversation when she had started to realize the lords of the North were referring to her hatchlings as queens and kings. “Your grace,” they called them. It seemed they had gained the alliance and the fealty of the North all on their own. Y/N did not stop smiling for the rest of the day when she had realized. It did not falter even when Rhaenys and Aegon learned of her betrothal to Willas and quite loudly proclaimed, “it is about time!” Daenerys and Jon quickly joined in on the teasing and the triumphant laughter that only grew louder when Willas walked into the room, bolstered by the shining cane Oberyn had crafted for him. It should have been no surprise to Y/N that Oberyn also knew how to work a forge—after all, there were few things the prince could not do—but the cane was a piece of fine work. Blackened steel with intricately carved roses toward the handle, long thorny stems twisting into a half dozen suns. Below the suns was a snoozing dragon, and even lower on the cane was a simple ocean wave and a tiny shark, swimming in the depths. It truly was a thing of beauty. Willas had blushed so prettily when Oberyn had gifted it to him, proclaiming it a betrothal gift with a loaded wink.

But Willas’ cheeks bloomed with their usual pretty pink when her hatchlings teased him but he took it in stride, even when their playful comments grew louder when Willas smiled at Y/N. “You two are so in love! It is disgusting!”

Y/N could only laugh.

But the laughter, and many of their smiles, were pushed down as they dealt with the dead in the way of the old gods and the new and the Essosi. And then more news came from the south. They had received word that Euron had joined forces with Cersei Lannister.

“I thought he had been calling himself the King of the Iron Islands?” Daenerys grumbled.

“Why stop at one kingdom when he thinks he can have seven?”

“He will have none,” Aegon said. “And Cersei will not either.”

“When will the armies be ready?” Rhaenys asked as she turned to her commanders.

“The Unsullied are ready to march south at a moment’s notice, your grace,” Grey Worm said. “Dothraki, too.”

“The Reach forces have been resting aside from the rebuilding and funeral arrangements. Our numbers are still strong.”

“You know the Dornish are hopeful for a bit more warmth, sunshine,” Oberyn teased, earning a snort from his niece and an elbow to the side from Obara. “We will depart at your command.”

And then Ned Stark spoke, “the North will march at your side, your grace.”

Rhaenys smiled and reached out to cover his hand in hers. “Your kingdom is still healing from the great battle of our time, my lord. I will not ask that of you or your men.”

Eddard smiled and Y/N thought he almost looked like the shy boy from Harrenhal, all those years ago. “The North is being rebuilt, true. But our storehouses are full from your and House Tyrell’s generosity and our borders are secure. We have rested. It has been too long since we have seen a worthy person upon the Iron Throne. It is our duty to help you claim what is yours.”

Rhaenys was quick to gain the trust and affection of the smallfolk and highborn alike. On her wartime procession down the King’s Road, she met with whomever stepped into their path as the dragons circled overhead. She consoled widows of the War of the Five Kings and smiled at babies who almost instinctively reached out toward the young queen. Gold was given freely and food was pressed into everyone’s hands.

“She is a provider.”

“She is a queen,” Y/N mused in return to Oberyn’s observation as she watched Rhaenys kiss another baby. “And she will need the love of all for the future she wants to bring to this continent.”

Oberyn nodded. “And she will have it.”

They had travelled through The Neck and into the Riverlands for a few leagues before turning toward the Vale, knowing that the knights that kingdom were formidable but if one house bent the knee, the others would follow without bloodshed. That had been Rhaenys’ goal—until they reached King’s Landing. But most of their army had to wait at the borders, the mountainous terrain too difficult and arduous to ask everyone to march across or ride through. Only Y/N and Rhaenys went forward—Y/N knew her presence was more for Rhaenys’ entertainment and company than for the young queen’s safety. Y/N did not mind—she was always happy to spend time with her sunshine.

Ravens had been sent before they reached the Bloody Gate and they had been quick to respond. They were even quicker to the bend the knee to Rhaenys. She had offered them a choice: bend the knee and have a regent of their choice help rule over Robyn Arryn until he reaches age of majority or they could languish under Petyr Baelish and his schemes and war would come.

They chose the easier option.

When Rhaenys landed her dragon atop the Eyrie and Petyr called for the knights to shield him, none of them moved.

Y/N held her horse’s reins a little tighter, knowing the large creature was still skittish—and she stayed in her saddle as he bucked when Vēzos landed in front of them, sending snow back up into the air in a flurry. A bit of leather was hanging from the dragon’s mouth and Y/N laughed.

Rhaenys slid off her back with a smile of her own, patting the shining yellow scales. “A strange way to gain an ally and kingdom, but much more cost efficient.”

“Yes, it seems Vēzos enjoyed herself, too.” The dragon huffed in return, smoke billowing from her nostrils. “The Lords of the Vale, they have all sworn fealty?”

Rhaenys nodded. “It was strangely serendipitous, each of the houses was represented in the hall when we landed.”

Y/N chuckled. “I wonder if Baelish knew how detested he was.”

Rhaenys turned to Y/N then, dark eyes searching her friend and caregiver’s face. “You will tell me, won’t you? If I am so detested that my kingdoms unite to see me killed—you will tell me.”

Y/N slid from her horse’s saddle and ignored how the snow went up to her ankles and bit through the thick leather and fur. Her gloved hands gently grasped Rhaenys’ face as she smiled. “You have your mother’s heart, sunshine. It is impossible to hate you.”

“But, I-”

“But you have my word, if I hear a whisper of doubt in you, I will tell you. I will help you make it right. But you are strong—stronger than I could have ever dreamed. Smarter, too. You were born for this, sunshine.” She leaned forward and pressed her lips to Rhaenys’ forehead. “You are a queen, Rhaenys. There will be disagreements and subterfuge. But you will be loved. I know it.”

And then they marched on, further down the Kings Road, meeting with smaller houses and smallfolk alike, letting them see the dragons from above and the might of their armies as Rhaenys smiled and gained their affection and fealty. The Riverlands had bent the knee after the dragons had shown their might against a few remnants of House Frey and Westerland knights who had been sheltering in Harrenhal. And like Aegon before her, Rhaenys had lit the once-grand fortress alight. But she and her brothers and aunt did what Aegon could not. They returned the cursed castle to the dirt from whence it came. And ended three houses’ lines before the sun set.

But the fight was far from over.

The conquest of the Stormlands took less time than Y/N had anticipated. But she knew that the divided loyalties between the Baratheons had created a divided kingdom. After their calls to bend the knee had been denied by all the houses of the Stormlands except for Houses Selmy and Tarth, they knew Storm’s End would be their first and largest target. As the sun started to set, she could hear the yells of the men in the castle, trying to ready, trying to brace.

But they would be too late.

You could not outrun a dragon.

The shouts from the behind the castle curtain grew louder. Storm’s End was surrounded. And then came a scream from the sky and Y/N looked up with a smile and saw Rhaenys appear from the blinding sun like some vengeful deity atop Vēzos.

She was so proud.

Storm’s End might have withstood the wrath of the gods but it would burn with dragon fire if they did not kneel. Centuries had passed since the first burning of Harrenhal but the memory had remained—and now whispers of it destruction only brought more awe and terror. High towers may protect a person from armies, but fire can come from above and cook a man in his bed.

And when Vēzos landed atop the single tower and roared, throwing fire into the air, she listened. She waited. And she saw a white flag raise.

Bronzegate, Greenstone, Griffin’s Roost, on and on the castles fell soon after, either by sword or dragon or diplomacy. But the Stormlands was theirs within two moons. Rhaenys installed Barristan Selmy of Harvest Hall, and a former knight of the Kingsguard who had been a Targaryen loyalist and resented the Baratheons and Lannisters, as the regent of the Stormlands as they continued on.

“I might legitimize Gendry. He seems a fine fellow and is a Baratheon by birth,” Rhaenys mused.

“Might?” Willas asked. “If you legitimize him, he would owe you fealty.”

“That is true, Lord Willas, but I would not saddle him with a duty he may not want. I chose this crown, he did not. I will speak with him after I sit on the Iron Throne.”

And soon they were marching toward the gates of King’s Landing.

Y/N stared up at the familiar barbican and gates of the terrible city and her nose wrinkled. It seemed that the city grew twice as putrid in the years she had spent in Essos. For weeks, as they had taken castles and keeps and grew their numbers, they had plotted. They had planned. They had learned of the weaknesses of the Red Keep and its surrounding city.

Cersei had pulled almost all of the smallfolk behind the walls, acting as a human shield. It was pathetic, truly.

Arya Stark, who had been discovered by a disappointed but not surprised Eddard masquerading as a boy by the time they reached the Riverlands, had told her hatchlings of the secret tunnels beneath the city.

“An underhanded route,” Eddard said, lips pulled tight across his teeth.

“But one that will keep the death toll to a minimum, my lord,” Rhaenys said. “Your daughter has a tactician’s mind. I value her information.”

Arya sat straighter in her saddle at the compliment as Eddard also seemed to bite back a smile.

“Would you be able to guide a select few through these tunnels, Lady Arya?”

Discovering caches of wildfire under the Red Keep and throughout the tunnels weaving beneath the bulk of King’s Landing was not exactly what Y/N had been anticipating when she followed Arya into the dark.

“She means to have the city be naught but ash,” Oberyn muttered. Obara looked disgusted at his side as she looked into one of the barrels shoved against a retaining wall.

“If the dragons had come in, the entire city would be gone in a blaze of fire.”

“And we would be blamed for it.”

A shiver ran down Y/N’s spine and she felt Oberyn reach out to grasp her hand and squeeze, providing a bit of comfort in the strange moment. “Let us finish this.”

Little Arya was quiet as a hunting cat as she led them through the tunnels, past the skulls of dragons long since dead, and up toward the shadowed halls of the castle. There were whispers—whispers coming from dark corners, from behind broken stone walls, from just out of sight.

“The Red Keep has fallen before…”

“The Dragons are at our gates…”

“They are coming…”

“…they are coming…”

But Y/N turned when she heard the three knocks echo, coming from the mouth of the tunnel they had just come from.

She knew that signal. And so did Rhaenys. The young queen turned at the sound, her hand still curled around her bow and nodded once—“go.”

Y/N nodded at her orders and turned on her heel. She was being called to the water.

The Ironborn under Euron’s command had been pinned against the sharp cliffs of the city by the host of Redwyne ships. But it had been Y/N who had commanded them to show no mercy from her spot behind one of the ship’s helms. It had been good to feel the might of the sea beneath her in this way again—she had missed the brutality of water-based warfare. And when Euron had refused to surrender, she had quickly run from the city and taken command from one of the captain’s under Rhaenys’ blessing.

“Deal with it quickly. I have much to do.”

And when Y/N watched the last Ironborn ship sink to the muck-filled waters, splintered and smoldering wood eaten by the uneven waves, she could only smile.

She was still a shark. And now she was much more.

But it was not her victory, not truly. Even if the men and women at her back cheered her name and called her the Sea Dragon, Y/N only wanted to see her hatchlings again. So, she quickly turned her boat and set off toward the remnants of the docks. She pushed through the crowds, listening to the familiar, echoing voice as it rang out in the warm air. But she also heard murmurs of what she had missed. Of Oberyn slaying Ser Robert Strong—an alias of Gregor Clegane. Of Arya killing Cersei’s hand, Qyburn. And of Rhaenys herself killing Cersei with a Valyrian steel arrow into her heart.

The whole of the city cheered as Rhaenys stood on the steps of the Red Keep, Cersei’s head sat at her feet. All four dragons had landed on the towers of the Red Keep and Rhaenys’ brothers and aunt stood behind her.

And Y/N started to wonder just how long Rhaenys had been planning this speech. It was quite good.

“…the time of tyranny has been ended! Dragons have come again. But this time not to usurp your crowns and demand fealty in exchange for your lives.” The dragons roared behind her and the crowd gasped and shrieked. And while Daenerys, Aegon, and even little Jon smiled, amused at their dragons’ actions, Rhaenys had schooled her features into the immovable regality of a queen.

“Queen Rhaenys!” Someone in the crowd cheered. Others soon followed until almost the whole of King’s Landing was shouting her name as Rhaenys made promises—promises that only a queen could make and keep. To bring peace. To bring balance. To provide. To protect.

“Queen Rhaenys!” Y/N shouted alongside the men and women beside her. “Queen Rhaenys!”

Rhaenys made her official chambers within the Maidenvault instead of Maegor’s Holdfast. The rooms where her mother had been murdered were swiftly gutted and turned into a garden instead. But Rhaenys, it seemed, was still adjusting to her seat of power. “I have no memories of this place,” she murmured beside Y/N, eyes sliding from column to hall to stone. “Has it changed?”

“Not enough, sunshine. But it will. You have only been sitting on your throne for a fortnight.” And it had been quite eventful. Varys had been summoned from Dragonstone and had been turned to naught but ash and bone, no longer a quiet threat lurking in the shadows. Y/N ordered the caches of wildfire to be ferried away from the city, and Rhaenys suggested throwing them into the maw of the Dragonmont. “Let it burn there, eaten by the volcano.”

The Small Council was still being formed and Oberyn, Willas, Y/N, and Olenna were largely filling in where they were needed. Eddard had also been a quiet member of their temporary council and a stalwart supporter even as most of his loyal cavalry started to march home with a few dozen more carts of food for their homes and people.

“It will be fine,” Y/N whispered. “I promise you, sunshine.”

Rhaenys nodded and righted her shoulders as Y/N made sure her golden crown was straight across her brow before she climbed the uneven steps to the seat of Iron Throne. But the jagged, storied throne was now topped with a golden sun, pierced with a spear. Y/N watched her adjust her skirts, smoothing invisible wrinkles. “Send in the first petitioner.”

The doors opened and Y/N felt her heart leap into her throat.

It was not a petitioner at all.

It was Ellaria.

Despite the small group of courtiers she did not know, Y/N dashed to Ellaria and threw her arms around the woman’s shoulders with a broken sort of cry. And then she turned pressed her lips to hers with unrestrained abandon. Ellaria was soft and warm and she tasted of blood oranges and tears—had she been crying? Y/N pulled back just enough to see the tears tracking down Ellaria’s warm cheeks and she gently thumbed them away with a sad smile. “Do not cry. We are safe. We are in your arms again.”

Ellaria took another kiss from Y/N’s pliant mouth before she wiped at Y/N’s cheeks—had she started to cry too??—and they turned to look at Rhaenys on her throne.

Rhaenys’ knowing smile made Y/N instantly aware that the young queen had been entirely aware of Ellaria’s presence in the city.

“Sneaky.”

Rhaenys’ smile grew. “Go! We shall break bread together tonight. Go!” She said again with a laugh. “I know you have much to talk about.”

They did not need to be told twice and quickly fled the great hall, hand in hand and laughter on their tongues.

Y/N knew it was coming—knew that her hatchlings would soon separate and go on to rule their own kingdoms. But she had somehow deluded herself into thinking the day would come later. Much later.

“I won’t be far,” Daenerys said with a teasing smile and a bit of parchment with a broken seal of Dragon’s Bay in her hand. Y/N knew it contained a plea for her to come back. The Regents they had installed were ready to return to their homes and families with fewer responsibilities. “What is a few thousand miles to a dragon? Nothing.”

Y/N huffed a laugh. “You would use my own words against me, Daenerys.”

Aegon had received a raven that was much the same only a day ago. And Jon was starting to become anxious to leave the capital city—the urge had only grown by the day after most of the northmen had returned home, satisfied and proud to see Rhaenys on the throne.

“The Bay and the Great Grass Sea are yours, I know it. And they will flourish with your guidance. But I will always miss you.” Y/N leaned forward and kissed Daenerys’ brow and tugged at the end of her silver braid and listened to the Dothraki bells sing.

Daenerys’ small hands reached out and tugged Y/N into a firm hug. The pair was quiet for a moment and Y/N blinked back a few tears and heard Daenerys sniffle before the young dragon pulled back. “There is one more thing I must do before I leave.”

“Oh?”

“You must be married.”

Y/N choked on her next breath.

Willas chuckled when she told him what Daenerys had said. “You have accepted my request for your hand, my love. Why postpone it?”

And Aegon, Rhaenys, and Jon also urged her to truly take her place as the next Lady of Highgarden. Oberyn and Ellaria also asked when the wedding would take place. “We have peace, little shark. You have done our duty—we can rest now. Celebrate. You should kiss our dear, sweet Willas for all the world to see. I know he will make a handsome husband.”

And then there was Olenna. “My dear girl. You are not getting any younger. I do expect Willas to have several heirs—and he loves you. You love him, Seven help you.” Olenna chuckled, not a trace of malice in her tone. “Your uncle Hammond has already sent over a chest filled with gold—some of those kingdoms stamped on a handful of coins haven’t existed in centuries, I would have you know—and has told me that you are to be the finest dressed bride the Seven Kingdoms has ever seen. It will be quite a feat, as my Margaery has been a bride twice over, but I did promise him that I would fulfill his wish. Now, my dear, do you prefer gold or green?” There was no arguing with the Queen of Thorns.

But it was not solely up to her and so Y/N slipped into the fine chambers Rhaenys had gifted Willas within the Red Keep’s Holdfast as the moon was rising in the sky and slipped beneath the soft linen blankets to press against his side.

Without opening his eyes, Willas raised his arm just enough to invite her closer and wrapped it around her shoulders, a finger trailing up and down her arm. “This is a wonderful surprise,” he murmured, blue eyes only slightly hazy with his interrupted sleep.

“Do you want to get married?”

That woke him up. Willas froze and then moved, pushing up to look at her as he set his weight on a bent arm. “Second thoughts?”

She shook her head. “Not when it comes to you, my Willas.”

Willas sighed, but he managed to smile. “I love you. I have loved you. I will always love you. And I want to make sure the Seven Kingdoms, the world, knows that I am the luckiest man to be able to call you my wife.”

Her next breath stuttered in her throat and she smiled, a little shaky. “Rhaenys has told me the Sept and Great Hall are ours whenever we want it.”

“And if I wanted to marry you tomorrow?”

“Then I would call you husband by sundown.”

Willas collapsed back onto his pillow and reached up to trace a finger across her cheek, a large smile pushing at his lips. “I will talk with our dear queen in the morning. But I think a fortnight would be sufficient time, no?”

Y/N smiled in return, feeling a weight she didn’t truly understand lift from around her heart. “Plenty.”

The planning had gone smoothly. Margaery, who had come to the capital with her grandmother, had all but taken it upon herself to plan everything. Y/N was thankful for it. It gave her time to know her future good-sister and she needn’t fret about accidentally offending someone or other because she skipped a custom or two. Margaery was also quick to endear herself to Rhaenys.

(“You make a much better queen than I ever did, your grace. Truthfully, I found myself longing for the roses of Highgarden as soon as its gates closed behind me. The Realm is better with you on the throne.” The tut Olenna gave after Margaery’s confession let Y/N know it was not just flattery. It gave Y/N a little comfort to know Rhaenys was still so open to friendship despite everything her sunshine had endured.)

The wedding was going to be much larger than she had anticipated. But perhaps she should have known that the heir of Highgarden would need a bit of fanfare during his nuptials—Olenna had actually insisted on it. And then her hatchlings also wanted to make sure that the woman who had kept them alive and stood at their sides to help them earn their crowns was properly pampered for at least a day before each of their new lives started.

What she had not been expecting was the small argument that had erupted from her hatchlings over who would walk her down the aisle. Hammond had quietly refused to participate in the squabble and had simply asked for a good seat in the Great Hall so he could see his ‘favorite niece’ be wed.

“I am your only niece, uncle.”

“Then you should know that you are my favorite!”

But Aegon, Jon, Daenerys, Rhaenys each tried to argue that they should be the person to stand at Y/N’s side. And Y/N did find the arguments a touch entertaining to watch, but eventually called it off when the clash started to impede on the dinner they had promised her.

“I will have each of you beside me. All of you.”

And that quickly dried the words on their tongues.

But the day inched closer and closer and she found herself spending time in the sun with Oberyn, Ellaria, and Willas, taking a reprieve from courtly life in the blessedly better-smelling gardens that surrounded the Red Keep. Both Ellaria and Y/N were gifted daily flower crowns, blooms pilfered from the royal gardens. It was a beautiful reprieve. There was no stress in that stretch of quiet greenery. Only soft kisses and whispered conversation.

“Doran will arrive next morn.”

“I thought he could not travel so far from Sunspear?” Y/N asked as she pushed a ripe berry between Ellaria’s smiling lips.

“It is not every day that his niece sits as the rightful queen of the Seven Kingdoms. And I thought it would be a way to show that the Reach and Dorne have settled their ‘petty differences.’”

Y/N hummed at Oberyn explanation, knowing that the reigning Prince of Dorne was likely more concerned about how he had missed Rhaenys’ coronation on Dragonstone than the strained relationship with the houses of the Reach. Ellaria had hinted at that herself only the night prior. But Oberyn’s explanation would charm most who listened to it. He was a deft political mover, even if he found no fun in it.

“Enough talk of that!” Ellaria said, licking the berry juice from Y/N’s fingers with a smile. “Our loves are getting married in only three days. Now is the time to talk of love and poems and silk sheets.”

Willas hummed and leaned forward from his perch on a stone bench. “Silk sheets. Loras,” the name of his younger brother was huffed out with a laugh. “Loras has given me a gift of fine silk sheets as a wedding gift—early. They have yet to be christened.”

“The sun is still high in the sky,” Oberyn said, smirk growing with each passing syllable. “It is not like you to suggest such carnality when the moon is not ruling the heavens.”

Willas’ cheeks bloomed a pretty and familiar shade of pink but he pressed forward. “I am in love. I am getting married. I have seen the great wonders of Essos. I have seen the rightful queen seated on the Iron Throne. If I…” he cleared his throat, the blush growing darker. “I have seen dragons and fought the Others. And now I want to feel my loves’ skin on silken sheets when the sun is high enough in the sky to see how I can make them feel.”

Oberyn chuckled. “Well, I suppose I could be persuaded.”

Ellaria scoffed and pinched her paramour’s side, earning a growl and a nip at her neck in return. “You will never turn down the taste of any of us, my love.”

Y/N was the one to stand first and she held out a hand to them with a growing smile on her lips and a pleasant warmth growing in the depths of her stomach. Only these three could make her feel like that. “Let’s go. I want to see the sun with you all.”

The gown was a beautiful silver-white lace and samite and embroidered golden roses, sharks, suns, and dragons decorated the train that trailed behind her for several feet. It was a gown fit for a queen, truly. Or the queenmaker. It seemed the silly moniker had not been lost from across the Narrow Sea. But it did not matter. The sun was shining and Rhaenys had filled the entirety of the Red Keep with flowers, mostly roses much to the delight of Margaery, and Y/N could hear some of the bards starting to sing already, their fine voices echoing through the halls. She was nearly drowning in fine silver jewelry and emeralds and Rhaenys gifted her a rose pendant to wear beside the sun on her necklace. “It is made from Valyrian steel. I thought it would be fitting—and I am so tired of gifting people miniature dragons.”

It just made Y/N chuckle.

The door to her chambers opened and the other three hatchlings shoved their way inside her chambers.

“Is it time already?”

Jon had a large smile on his face as he smiled. “It is.”

Daenerys was all but playing the part of handmaiden as she fussed with the train of the gown and made sure that the band of delicate silver roses was set perfectly over Y/N’s head before she linked arms with Rhaenys. Jon and Aegon were at Y/N’s left, her girls on her right as they neared the Great Hall.

“Are you ready?” Rhaenys whispered, a smile in her tone.

A large smile split Y/N’s face as the doors opened. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

The Hall was filled with nobility from across the Seven Kingdoms and beyond and smallfolk who Rhaenys was happy to invite. They were all dressed in their finery but Y/N’s eyes could only focus on a select few. There were the Sand Snakes, seated beside Doran and their cousins, all draped in sunshine yellow silk and linen. Hammond was seated near them with a white shark carefully stitched over his chest. Oberyn and Ellaria were standing in a place of honor near the front, closest to the altar, near a handful of Tyrells. Oberyn was dressed in a fine red tunic that was decorated with fine, golden suns that made his tan skin seem to glow—and Ellaria matched him in a gossamer gown of the same color. Golden sun pins at her shoulders held the dress together. They were ethereal. Both of them smiled as they caught her eye and Ellaria leans onto Oberyn’s shoulder with a happy sigh Y/N has heard thousands of times, and it makes her heart squeeze happily as she watches Oberyn moves to lace their fingers together at his side. He offered a wink, too.

But then her eyes turned to Willas. He was standing beside the Septon, weight leaning against his fine cane with a smile on his face and a shine in his light eyes that could rival the stars. He was dressed in dark green tunic with gold roses crawling up his arms. A matching cloak was settled over his arm, ready to be draped over her shoulders, proclaiming her a Tyrell for all the world to see—his wife.

As their little group slowed to a stop before the altar, one by one, her hatchlings kissed her cheek and wished her all the happiness the world had to offer.

“Now go,” Rhaenys whispered, “be married. Be happy.”

Willas reached out for her and his soft, warm hand encased hers as she stepped to his side. The ceremony was a blur, mostly. She repeated the words when told, claiming Willas as hers and letting him do the same followed by Willas carefully draping her in his cloak and then he kissed her—he kissed her, the first time as his wife. The first time as her husband. The crowd cheered and clapped—but she heard Oberyn and Ellaria over the din of it all. They were the loudest, the happiest within the crowd.

As the bells of the city rang in celebration, she heard the roars of the four dragons she had once held in her own hands drown them out. They were happy too, she knew it.

The week following the wedding, Willas and Y/N had sequestered themselves away at a manse on a cliff side a few hours outside King’s Landing—Oberyn and Ellaria had come, too. Y/N and Willas had been prepared to beg for them to come, but had been overjoyed to find the pair already in the shadows of their carriage.

And it had been a beautiful week—filled with sweet wine and sweeter touches that left them all sated and slick. While Oberyn continued to call her ‘little Shark’ and Willas was still fond of ‘my love,’ Ellaria now took to calling Y/N her ‘Rose Petal.’ She loved each and every one of them. She was in paradise. In rumpled silk sheets and linen blankets, surrounded by three people she loved. Paradise.

But even that had its end. They all dragged their feet back to King’s Landing, ready (almost) to attend to any duties Rhaenys might dole out but it was Doran who called Oberyn to his side only a handful hours after they entered the city gates. Ellaria was soon at his side, too.

Y/N watched Oberyn grit his teeth as he spoke to his elder brother. She could not hear what they were saying but she knew if it upset Oberyn, it would break her heart. Her eyes shifted to Ellaria who looked resigned but she was twisting a bit of silk between her fingers, too, a sign of her own agitation.

“It will be all right, my love,” Willas whispered, stepping to her side with a quiet only he could produce. He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, exposed by the fine gown Tyene had gifted her as a wedding present. “Breathe. All will be well.”

But he wasn’t right—not really. Sure, they had fought armies, toppled cities and kingdoms, helped raise dragons. But this felt different.

“You’re leaving,” Y/N said as Oberyn and Ellaria slipped into her and Willas’ guest apartments later that day.

Oberyn’s shoulders fell. “We are. Doran needs us in Sunspear.”

“For how long?” Willas asked. “When will we see you again?”

Oberyn shook his head as Ellaria stepped to his side, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “I do not know.”

Y/N, for the first time in decades, let herself cry that night. They were selfish tears, she knew. But she wanted to keep them close. To know, always, that she could reach out and feel their warmth, hear their laughter, kiss their beautiful mouths (and more) whenever she wanted. They had spent so much at each other’s sides. And now it was over? She wept. Y/N wept even as Ellaria and Oberyn wrench pleasure from her and Willas throughout the night, leaving them a mess of shaking limbs. She wept as she kissed them goodbye at the docks. Little Dorea patted her cheeks as they said goodbye, trying to stem her tears, and it only made it worse.

“We will see each other again, little shark. I promise you.”

“You have not rid yourselves of our company just yet, Willas,” Ellaria cooed, a few tears sticking to her lower lashes as she kissed the corner of his mouth. “Be patient.”

But it did not ease the ache in her heart.

And it only grew when she said farewell to Daenerys and then Aegon. She watched them load each a handful of ships with their belongings, and then a few dozen more with Unsullied and Dothraki, before mounting Viserion and Drogon.

Jon flew North only three days later.

And then Rhaenys invited Y/N to her private chambers the next day under the guise of a friendly tea. They spoke of fonder memories and how beautiful the wedding had been and how happy Y/N had looked. “But you knew this day was coming. That does not make it any easier, I know,” Rhaenys said, holding her dear friend’s hands in her own as the tea cooled beside them. ��But you have done so much. Raised us, taught us, protected us. I have told you once, I will tell you a thousand more times; it is okay and good for you to live your life beyond us, your hatchlings. We will always love you, as I know you will always love us.”

Y/N sniffled and looked away as Rhaenys pulled in a steadying breath.

“It is time for you to go to Highgarden. To know the kingdom you will someday rule beside Willas.”

“But I don’t-”

Rhaenys reached out and grasped her hands, halting the words on her tongue. “You have given all you have to make sure we flourish. It is time for you to do the same. Go. Be with the man you love. Rest. Let him make you flower crowns. Let yourself breathe.”

There were a million things Y/N wanted to say but her throat tightened and nothing came.

Rhaenys squeezed her hands once before dropping them to reach out to grasp at the familiar necklace around Y/N’s throat, the sun now clinking against the rose and making the metal sing. “You have raised us. Taught us. Protected us. And now we have crowns and kingdoms of our own. And you have yours waiting for you.” Y/N let out a stuttered breath as Rhaenys leaned forward to press a kiss to her forehead. The roles had been reversed, if only for a few moments. “I could be at Highgarden before the sun sets if you ever send for me. I am never far.”

Highgarden was beautiful—far more beautiful than she ever could have anticipated. White stone towers and walls, perfectly kept gardens, and verdant fields stretching around and beyond the grand castle. She could see the swathes of golden roses swaying in the breeze. It was a fairytale—truly.

“Do you like it?” Willas asked.

She could not stop the smile she felt growing on her lips. “It is beautiful, Willas. I have never seen such a splendid castle this side of the Narrow Sea.”

He was quick to shepherd her around the grand hall, pointing out this hall and that tower and always made her laugh and smile with an anecdote from his childhood. He knew her heart was grieving, his was, too. So, Y/N tried to give him a bit of reprieve when she curled around him at night and engulfed him in her tight heat, peppering his face with kisses as they finished until he smiled between heavy breaths.

But she knew her husband—and it was still so lovely to be able to call him that—had something planned when he kept smiling at her as they broke their fast.

“What is it?” She asked as she caught his eye.

Willas smiled and wiped at his face with his linen napkin and stood, holding out a hand for her to take, which she readily did. “I have a surprise for you, my love.” He led her through the rose maze, which she was still learning, and out to one of the many verdant fields around the castle. A white-stone building was nestled between the trunks of centuries-old trees and Willas whispered for her to stay back a few feet as he continued on. He opened the door and let himself inside. She could hear little of what was happening inside but soon Willas emerged with something held delicately in his grip as his cane sunk into the still-dew-damp grass.

It did not take long for her to realize it was a hound—one of the prized line the Tyrells had forged over the decades. The little pup was all nose, long-legged, and awkward on his large paws. And Y/N loved him instantly. The pup wiggled like a little beast in her arms as she scooped him up and held him to her chest and a bright pink tongue lapped at her chin in greeting. “What is his name?”

Willas smiled and reached out to scratch behind the pup’s floppy ears. “That is for you to decide, my love. He is yours.” He reached out and scratched behind the pup’s floppy ears. “It is tradition for a new bride of the Tyrells to receive a pup or a hawk. I hope you do not mind my choice.”

Y/N cooed as she looked down at pup, his big brown eyes already so full of love. “You know me, my Willas. You have chosen well.”

“He will be big enough to stand tall beside you within a year—not as large as Stark’s direwolves, but still an impressive hound.”

Y/N did not care about how big he would be—and Willas knew that but he still took pride in his house’s prized hounds. She leaned down and pressed a kiss to the pup’s white fur. “He is my Little Thorn.”

Y/N settled into being the next Lady of Highgarden with only a few missteps—Olenna always corrected her in her own terse-yet-helpful way and made sure Y/N was ready for her duties. And she was being saddled with more every new moon as Alerie stepped further and further back to spend more time with Margaery who was currently embarking on a kingdom-wide search for her third husband. And Mace was just as much an oaf as Olenna had warned but at least he was kind, as were Garlan and his wife, Leonette, and Loras.

And she had grown, quite quickly, to love her new home. She was sure it was mostly Willas and her Little Thorn, but everyone else was kind, too. The food was delicious and lush. The roses were always fragrant and she could hear the lapping of the river Mander against the lush soil as it meandered by the castle. It was good. But she was still missing a large piece of her heart. Sometimes she would go stretches of time without truly feeling it, but sometimes it would sneak up her like a Faceless Man in the dark and she would feel something clench in her chest. Willas, instinctively it seemed, would know when she was thinking of it and would always make her a flower crown and kiss her slowly until she smiled again.

It was good. He was good. It was a good life, even if she was still getting accustomed to being called Lady Tyrell.

But it was good.

On the night before her and Willas’ first anniversary, and the moon still had hold of the skies, she felt a trail of kisses leading up from her fingers to just behind her ear.

“It is early, my Willas,” Y/N said, moving her head just a bit to snuggle more into her soft pillow.

“It is. But I have a promise to keep,” Willas whispered. He pulled back just enough and coaxed her to sit and smiled at her sleepy features.

“Your promise cannot wait until the sun is up?”

Willas chuckled and shook his head. Without much prodding, she slipped from the bed and dressed in a gown Willas had pulled from a trunk she did not recognize. It was a gossamer thing, a light purple with trailing, silver ivy across the waist and up to her shoulders. The slits in the thighs were scandalous outside the bedchamber, ending at her hip bone, but were largely disguised when she walked. She felt near ethereal and pressed a kiss to the side of Willas’ smiling mouth in thanks before following him out into the hall and then out onto the fields. She heard the early-morning noises coming from the locked aviary but continued to follow Willas down a snaking, well-trodden path to the river where one of the Tyrells’ many pleasure barges waited. Tears sprang to her eyes as she recognized two of the figures standing on the deck.

It was Ellaria and Oberyn, dressed in soft greens and bright yellows and looked at ease as they lounged on velvet cushions, a bowl of berries tucked between them. The purple juice on their lips as they smiled at her as she neared let her know that they had been enjoying them for some time.

“Good morning, little shark!” Oberyn called out into the misty morning air. He held out a hand to help them both aboard and they settled onto a mound of velvet cushions and fed each other sweet apples and lush cheeses and ripened berries as they pushed away from the edge of the river. They spoke of their lives, of what they had missed, of everything.

Y/N played with Ellaria’s hair, braiding it and unbraiding it as Ellaria rested her head in Y/N’s lap. Willas was in a similar situation with Oberyn, letting the prince scratch at his scalp with a regal ease.

It felt like the missing part of her heart had slotted back into place. Everything felt better. It felt even more holy when Ellaria reached up to gently urge Y/N down to her level, and pressed her gorgeous lips to hers.

The handful of men pushing the boat down the river made themselves scarce as Ellaria reached out to pull at the lacings of Y/N’s gown. And both Willas and Oberyn moved to kiss up her bare thighs, pushing aside the soft fabric to taste he warm skin—this was paradise.

And when she was catching her breath, her ear pressed over Ellaria’s breast and the sun still rising over the horizon, the river gave way to the ocean. Willas was holding Oberyn against his chest, brushing his lips against his prince’s temple as he slipped between wakefulness and slumber. But then her Willas turned to her and smiled. “Welcome to the Sunset Sea, my love.”

Y/N looked out to the water, tasting the salt of the sea and hearing its music as it beat against the sides of the barge. She reached out and grasped her husband’s wrist and squeezed. “You have given me the world, my Willas.”

Rhaenys reformed the Seven Kingdoms.

She created laws to care for the smallfolk and raised up a council to speak on their behalf so she would always know their needs and wants. She abolished the law stating that male children inherit before their sisters.

The cities of her kingdom were cleaned and she spearheaded the need for sanitation and cleanliness for all. Establishing caring and educational orphanages was also one of her greatest goals she accomplished before the end of her fifth year on the throne.

It would not be a surprise to learn that she was taking another progress through each of the Seven Kingdoms on the back of her sun-colored dragon. The young queen made it a point to know her subjects, and for them to know her as well.

She and Jon used their dragons to create Dragon Roads of strong, black stone between the kingdoms, allowing and ensuring safer and quicker travel.

Lady Arya was a valued member of Rhaenys’ small council and, even in Highgarden, Y/N had learned of how Arya’s husband, Lord Gendry Baratheon, always content to accompany her in anything she may need. Gendry, it seemed, was still finding his footing as Lord of Storm’s End but was a quick learner and had installed Ser Davos as castellan when he and Arya were called to King’s Landing. Tyrion was given Casterly Rock and he took his place as head of the Great House and lord of the Westerlands. There, of course, had been some murmurs about it—after all, Jaime was still alive and the elder. But the Kingslayer had renounced his claim on his family’s ancestral seat and was now known as Jaime Tarth, Lord of Evenstar Hall, beside his wife, Ser Brienne.

Jon was given the lands of Summerhall from Rhaenys and Eddard gave him the Dreadfort as well. But he rarely stayed long at either place, even after he had taken pains to have Summerhall rebuilt to its former glory and had the Dreadfort reconfigured to something less harsh and brutal and renamed to the Wolf-fort (she truly needed to start helping her boys pick names).

Instead, he had become known as the King Beyond the Wall by both high and lowborn for his love of the wildlings—and of Val, the fair-haired wildling woman who had been a near-storm with her dragonglass dagger when the walls had fallen during the battle for dawn.

Aegon was happy to be known as the King of the Free Cities. He cared little for ruling—but was good at it. He settled disputes between the cities, continued to keep the peace, and handled the few uprisings that they knew would arise. But it came as a small surprise to learn that Aegon had married the famed Bellegere Otherys, the Black Pearl of Braavos, in a small yet lavish ceremony.

I do hate to take this step without you all at my side but I cannot wait a day longer, he had written. I love her. And she, somehow, loves me too, despite the warning signs. I have found my queen. She is my sun and stars.

And well, with words like that hastily written on his parchment, Y/N could not stay mad and sent a few barrels of Arbor Gold wine to Aegon’s palace in Pentos.

The Orphans of the Greenblood, the Rhoynish people who had refused to acclimate to Westerosi practices, in Dorne sailed across the Narrow Sea and settled back in the rebuilt kingdom of the Rhoyne. They taught the other settlers the Rhoynish tongue and her customs and the rich history largely lost to time.

And even from half a world away, Y/N knew that the kingdom was thriving.

Much had changed.

“Here comes your first wave,” Y/N murmured as she held her son’s chubby little hands. His feet had sunk into the wet sand and he had laughed as it tickled his toes. And his first wave, filled with foam and sea salt, swept over his legs and the small boy let out a shriek of laughter and stomped his feet into the sand, as if demanding another. His demand was quickly met and he once against let out a happy shout.

It was good.

She turned her head just a fraction to see her two eldest, Daeron and Olene, happily building sandcastles a little further up the shore. The careful eye of Loreza was watching them. She took her duties as ‘cousin’ very seriously. Most of the other Sand Snakes were swimming alongside Oberyn in the Sunset Sea or basking in the warm sun beside Ellaria on linen towels to keep the sand from their skin. Little Thorn was curled contentedly at Ellaria’s side, snoozing in the sun. This was their life. Filled with the laughter of children and family trips on the barge down to the sea side when not preoccupied with courtly mandates or lessons for the children. It was…idyllic. So far from the heartache and war she had become accustomed to when this adventure first started.

“Mama?”

Y/N looked down at her son, Alester, and smiled. It was the only word he could say at present but it still made her happy every time she heard it. “Do you want another wave, my little one? Hm? Maybe a swim with your mother?”

Alester giggled and Y/N hoisted him up and used strips of linen to fasten him to her chest as she waded a few feet farther into the ocean, just until his legs were covered by the cool water. She breathed in the salty air as she felt her youngest child hum contentedly against her—he was his mother’s son. She didn’t open her eyes as she felt the familiar arms of her husband wrap around her waist, just under Alester’s weight. He was content to simply stand with her, the waves soaking their fine clothes and scenting their hair and skin. Willas had grown fonder of the sea with each passing visit—perhaps it was because he saw how happy it made her, or how his children loved it, too. But she adored the smile that would always grace his beautiful face whenever they arrived on the familiar shore.

Daeron had been born only a few moons after their reunion with Oberyn and Ellaria. Their daughter, Olen was born a year later. There had been whispers about the third-born, of course. Alester was the spitting image of his mother. While his siblings might have had the Tyrell cheekbones or the pronounced cupid’s bow, Alester was all Y/N.

Except for his eyes. Even when they matched hers in shade and shape… “He has viper eyes, does he not?” No one smart enough would answer one way or another.

And Oberyn and Ellaria were not without another blessing. Little Rowan Sand had been born only a day after Alester. Ellaria had named her after the blossoming berry tree she had grown fond of sitting under when she and Y/N would read poetry to one another while Willas and Oberyn were occupied with their duties or each other. And Y/N doted on the young girl as she did with all the children and young adults who now called Highgarden home. And she always smiled as she saw the Tyrell likeness the girl possessed grow stronger and stronger with each passing moon. But it did not matter. They were happy. They were family. All of them. Even when Tyene and Nymeria left to join Daenerys' court across the sea and Sarella and Obara went to Rhaenys' side in King's Landing. They all knew they had a home in Sunspear and at Highgarden whenever they chose to visit.

The day drew to a close and they set back toward Highgarden. Almost all of the children under twelve were sleeping by the time they arrived, snoozing in their parents’ arms and curling into their featherbeds and blankets after being carried inside.

“My lady,” a servant whispered as Y/N tucked Olene into her bed. “A raven has arrived from the capital.”

Y/N readily took it with a murmured thanks and set off toward her solar to read it. Y/N smiled as she read the letter’s contents, and touched her lips as if trying to hide it. But she couldn’t—especially not from Willas. He leaned down over the back of her chair to press a kiss to her temple in greeting. “What has you smiling, my love?”

“Rhaenys has fallen in love.”

Willas snatched the parchment from Y/N’s hands, making her laugh. “With who? Who has managed to catch her eye?”

Y/N yanked the letter back and laughed at his put-upon pout. “A young lord from Dorne.”

“Who?” Willas asked again, even as he leaned over her chair to read Rhaenys’ curling handwriting. “A Manwoody?” Willas chuckled. “They are a strong house. Loyal.”

Y/N blew a raspberry and carefully folded the letter again, wanting to keep it to read again when Willas was not a (pleasant) distraction. “Strong. Fearsome. It matters not. What does matter is that Rhaenys is happy. That is truly all I want. My sunshine deserves it.”

Another raven came a few days later from Meereen. In its talons was a gilded bit of parchment. It was an invitation; another royal wedding was on the horizon. There was the surprise of learning that Drogon had discovered a clutch of eggs but that was a different matter. Dany was getting married.

It took almost a moon for their traveling party to arrive at King’s Landing where they were given a splendid welcome and even Vēzos roared as the great dragon recognized their faces. The plan was to set sail to Dragon’s Bay in three days’ time, allowing them a leisurely pace to the other side of the world. They feasted that night beside their queen and they quickly fell into old habits of secret jokes and murmured conversations the other courtiers could only wish to achieve with their monarch. But Rhaenys did surprise Y/N by slipping into her chambers that night as Willas tucked the children into bed.

“They’ve told me that they have built a statue of my mother in the center of the Palace of Love,” she said, the words blurting out in a rush.

“Oh?”

Rhaenys smiled, but it did not quite reach her eyes. “Mother would tell me stories that she had learned from the Orphans—she had played with them when they were children, when her health allowed it. They knew her face, just as I did. They knew her heart.” She sighed. “One of the few who remember her as I do.”

“And now she will be remembered by all who see that statue, who come to either of your kingdoms. They will know her because they know you.” Y/N reached out and gently placed her hand against Rhaenys’ cheek. “She is so proud of everything you have done, sunshine. I know she is.”

The young queen leaned into Y/N’s hand and sniffled even as Balerion, now more grey than black and a little less limber, meowed in worry at her feet. He loved his princess, too. “You truly believe so?”

“I know it.” She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the young queen’s brow. “I am proud of you, too, sunshine.”

Rhaenys sniffled and nodded before throwing her arms around Y/N in a tight squeeze. “We will have to see it after Dany’s wedding.”

Y/N held her tight in return with a smile. “Of course, sunshine. Anything you want.”

That night, when she fell asleep, once again surrounded by Willas, Oberyn, and Ellaria, Y/N knew everything would be well. There was a fierce love that held them all together. And the future was growing brighter by the day. They were a family. Odd, to be sure. More than a little scandalous. But filled with love. And that was all she could ask for—that…and the sea.

(another banner by the lovely @thesadvampire)

Beautiful people who asked to be tagged: @pettyprocrastination @evyiione @elinedjarin @xsadderdazeforeverx @revolution-starter

A/N: And that’s all she wrote, folks! I hope you liked it!

#Oberyn Martell x Reader #willas tyrell x reader #oberyn martell imagine #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones #asoiaf #oberyn martell #ellaria sand #willas tyrell

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