#and her daenerys will forever remain queens in my heart

[themotherofhorses]

- last of her house no more: prologue

Series Summary: She was born to Daenerys Stormborn and Khal Drogo on the Dothraki Sea, the youngest of their dragon brood. Known as the Seven Kingdom’s Delight, she trains with swords and arakhs, studies philosophy and history, and takes immense pride in the woman she is becoming.

But her life is forever changed when she comes face-to-face with her long-deceased Green ancestors, including the man the maesters refer to as the one-eyed kinslayer. Now, this princess faces a future not even her mother could foresee in her dreams

pairing: aemond targaryen x targaryen!reader

chapter warnings: none. aegon and otto, maybe.

main masterlist | series masterlist | series playlist

Prologue:

Greens

The Red Priestess was an unexpected sight for the family.

Aegon Targaryen, second of his name, had recently been crowned King by the High Septon within the dragonpit, followed by his queen consort Helaena, only several hours back. Spirits were still high, and the Greens hailed this small victory through cups of fresh wine, a feast, and dancing. They toasted to the health and reign of the new king and the memory of the old. And although they knew that the Princess Rhaenys would bring her word of the crowning to Dragonstone, all thoughts of the war and retaliation would wait till dawning.  

Something doesn’t feel right. . . . Alicent Hightower thought to herself, her stomach in a roil. She was nursing a cup of honeyed wine while eating in silence, listening to her family’s bustling talk and the jests they threw about amongst each other.

“Are you happy, dear daughter?” came the voice of Otto Hightower. Alicent’s lips curled into a tight smile as she turned to her father, who placed a heavy hand atop her shoulder with a smile of his own. “Aegon is King now, as the gods’ will always meant. Helaena, his Queen. And through Aemond and his betrothal, House Baratheon will remain strong allies. Have no worry- things are now how they should be.”

As they should be. . .

In all truth, it did not feel that way, but she simply nodded. “Yes, father,” she murmured before excusing herself from the dinner table, needing to clear her mind. She caught Helaena’s attention as she left, but the young girl soon lost interest and glanced back to her plate.

The realm is going to rise in madness.

Alicent recalled the Princess Rhaenys before the coronation. You are wiser than I believe you to be, Alicent Hightower. She did not feel any wiser nor better about her earlier decisions. “Aegon is King,” she told herself as she made her way through the dimmed corridor, empty of the servant folk. “He is King, as Viserys wanted. . . As the gods permitted. . .”

And it was Alicent Hightower, Queen Dowager, that came across a Red Priestess standing alone in the Keep’s Great Hall, a silent and still statue shrouded in an elegant blood-red gown that pooled around her feet. Around her slim neck was a thick necklace with a large, blackened jewel that rested across her collarbone. The queen sucked in a deep breath at the sight. Both her late husband and father spoke of the Red Priests and Priestess, the sacred clergy in the faith of the R’hllor. The Lord of Light. Their presence was both rare and only for a reason.

The hall remained quiet, with both women just staring at each other. Then the Priestess unclasped her hands apart. “You were awarded a fine victory today, Alicent Hightower,” she spoke in the common tongue, “How might you feel?”

The queen did not know what to say to that. “Good,” Alicent answered, unsure. She could feel her heart quickening within her breast, and her father calling out for her outside the room, asking where she had gone. “You are a Red Priestess,” she then said, swallowing thickly, “-mind my tongue, for I have never had the pleasure of meeting one before; I have been told you appear for reasons only you know of. . . Dare I ask why you grace my family with your presence, especially on a night like this?”

The Red Priestess took a short step towards her. “I am as old as the waves of the sea, and the midnight stars you gaze upon in the sky.” She tilted her head to the side and smiled, pale eyes sparkling. “I have lived so many lives. . . seen many things. I witnessed the reign of Aegon the Dragon and that of his successors- both good and bad, kind and evil. . . And from your borne children shall come new kings. . . but you seem to know that already.”

“Do I?” Alicent prompted, her tone weak and soft.

She simply strode closer to the queen, who hid her trembling hands behind her back. The Priestess’s accent was thick and strange, unlike any voice she had ever heard before. “You would sacrifice everything you have to ensure the lineage is of your blood. It is an admirable thing until it isn’t.”

ALICENT! Otto Hightower shouted from outside. But Alicent could not answer his calls. She could also hear her sons asking for her as well, their footsteps growing louder, closer. Had she been gone for that long? It felt like it had only been several minutes. . .

 Do not come, she wanted to scream. Please. . ! Stay over there. . .

“Admirable, one might say. Or perhaps even foolish. I cannot help but wonder what might happen if you were granted a chance to see the future,” the Priestess paused shortly, her lips quirking, “Do you believe in it, the future? Many men do not, but alas, did they not say the same about the dragons?” Alicent opened her mouth, but the words fell stuck in her words. Suddenly she felt as if she was back in Rhaenys Targaryen’s bedchamber.

Alicent!

Mother?

Soon the hall’s massive doors slammed open. “WHAT IS GOING ON?” Otto yelled, entering the throne room. He was followed by his three grandchildren, two of whom were clutching longswords and daggers in their hands. “Alicent, my daughter, I have been calling for you to rejoin us-” his voice fell as he soon took notice of the Priestess standing but a few feet away, his hand dropping to the hilt of his own sword. He then turned to his two grandsons, bidding them to sheath their own.

“What has happened?” Otto caught her arm. “Are you troubled?”

Alicent shook her head, draping a hand over his. “No, father,” she told him gently, “but we have a guest.”

“Yes, I can see that. Red Priestess,” Otto nodded through a slight bow. “With that do we owe this honor? Are you here to bless the new king, perhaps?” he asked.

The Priestess shifted her shoulders towards the newcomers, breathing deeply. “I’ve come to spread the word.” Along the stone hall walls, the draperies swayed back and forth in a wash of ebony and crimson silk.

“The word?”

“Yes. A new king has been crowned today, it seems. . . and because of that, the future shall pay the price.”

Her eyes met Alicent’s and Otto’s, who stared her way in sheer disbelief. “The world is the way it because of Dragons. Dragons are gifts from the Lord of Light, sent to purify the non-believers and sinners. And the Lord of Light fashioned the Targaryens to control such. This world has known only the Targaryens. The smallfolk and the high lords, they have all bowed to the Targaryens and their dragons. To the fire made flesh. . .” she paused, frowning, a tiny crease appearing between her eyes, “-what would happen if there were no more to submit to?”

“Dragons?”

“No. Targaryens.”

The Priestess eyed the Hand and the Queen Dowager first, then drifted her sharp gaze to the newly crowned King, and his Queen Consort, and their future Kinslayer brother. Three of them, Targaryen blooded. Silver crowns and soft violet eyes. Dragon riders. Highborn and beautiful.

All will be dead soon, a pity. Their deaths will speak poetry to the lives they lived. Her features grew sympathetic, and her tone softened with kindness and mercy when she said, “While I come to spread the word, I am here to show it to you as well. Your family is doomed, and this is your one chance to save it.”

Targaryens

Her queen mother, above many things, is a dreamer.

The young princess cherished hearing stories belonging to the long days before her birth on the Dothraki Sea. According to the maesters, who already began writing the histories down in their scrolls and books, Daenerys Stormborn, in her early months of being a Khaleesi, dreamt of dragons every night in her tent. All her dreams played out the same- that if she braved the fire, her eggs would hatch. Such sounded nonsensical, of course, until it finally happened beneath the black midnight sky.

Her mother did say the Targaryens possessed the strange ability to do things normal men could not.

Sometimes, in the later morning hours, she would join her mother underneath the shade of their lemon trees and ask if she had dreamt any new dreams. Daenys Targaryen saw the doom of Old Valyria in her sleep, and the ill-fated Helaena prophesied her kid brother, Aemond One-Eye, losing his eye in the claiming of his mount, Vhagar. History remembered all of them; she often wondered if her mother would continue to foresee the future like them, and if she did, would anything change in their house’s fate.

Alas, to her dismay, nothing has changed. Her beloved mother has dreams, but none of the kind she pines to hear.

As of right now, she is her mother’s sole heir to the throne, the proclaimed future queen of the realm, born to Daenerys Stormborn and her Khal Drogo. The youngest in their dragon brood. Her shoulders ache a terrible lot, bruised and swore from the heavy burden she carries, knowing the dragon dynasty perishes with her death. But she refuses to sink beneath it.

Like her ancestor, the Black Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, she is this Seven Kingdoms' Delight. She trains with Valyrian-steel blades and arakhs, studies her history and philosophy, and flies across the bright-blue seas on the backs of the largest dragons in the world.

If her history is to include the fall of her House Targaryen- the true and goldenblood dragonlords of Old Valyria, she vows to make it the greatest royal reign the maesters shall ever record.

notes: yeah yeah, this is short but listen, I promise I'll feed ya plenty. this is the calm before the storm (at least this storm won't include granny vhagar committing more war crimes).

tag list: @dothrckis @dudfahsn @xcharlottemikaelsonx @animusxy @nsainmoonchild @rosaryos @xceafh @winxschester @trshngyn @aemcndtargaryen @hightidelowmood

(if you would like to be added or removed from the tag list, please let me know. reposts and comments are greatly appreciated <3)

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ADWD: Daenerys I (Chapter 2)

The circus is back in town.

She could hear the dead man coming up the steps. 

What an opening line.

+.+.+

"Khaleesi," whispered Irri, "you must not touch the dead man. It is bad luck to touch the dead."

"Unless you killed them yourself." Jhiqui was bigger-boned than Irri, with wide hips and heavy breasts. "That is known."

If that's the case, Arya's screwed.

Jhiqui was bigger-boned than Irri, with wide hips and heavy breasts.

What am I supposed to do with this information, George?

+.+.+

Dothraki were wise where horses were concerned, but could be utter fools about much else. They are only girls, besides. Her handmaids were of an age with her—women grown to look at them, with their black hair, copper skin, and almond-shaped eyes, but girls all the same. 

Out of stock: self-awareness.

+.+.+

"What could a eunuch hope to find in a brothel?"

"Even those who lack a man's parts may still have a man's heart, Your Grace," said Grey Worm. "This one has been told that your servant Stalwart Shield sometimes gave coin to the women of the brothels to lie with him and hold him."

The blood of the dragon does not weep.

:(

+.+.+

I am still at war, Dany realized, only now I am fighting shadows. 

+.+.+

Daenerys pushed her hair back. "Find these cowards for me. Find them, so that I might teach the Harpy's Sons what it means to wake the dragon."

Hehe.

+.+.+

Selmy was training knights for her, teaching the sons of slaves to fight with lance and longsword in the Westerosi fashion … but what good would lances do against cowards who killed from the shadows?

+.+.+

Viserion sensed her disquiet. The white dragon lay coiled around a pear tree, his head resting on his tail.

[...]

"You should be hunting with your brothers. Have you and Drogon been fighting again?"

Are the dragons not getting along? That's so unlike them!

+.+.+

Her dragons were growing wild of late. Rhaegal had snapped at Irri, and Viserion had set Reznak's tokar ablaze the last time the seneschal had called. I have left them too much to themselves, but where am I to find the time for them?

That might be foreshadowing unpleasant things for Reznak and Irri.

+.+.+

They are all three growing. Soon they will be large enough to bear my weight. Then she would fly as Aegon the Conqueror had flown, up and up, until Meereen was so small that she could blot it out with her thumb.

If only I could skip ahead to Daenerys blotting out Meereen and moving on.

+.+.+

Only then did Dany go back inside the pyramid, where Irri and Jhiqui were waiting to brush the tangles from her hair and garb her as befit the Queen of Meereen, in a Ghiscari tokar.

The garment was a clumsy thing, a long loose shapeless sheet that had to be wound around her hips and under an arm and over a shoulder, its dangling fringes carefully layered and displayed. Wound too loose, it was like to fall off; wound too tight, it would tangle, trip, and bind. Even wound properly, the tokar required its wearer to hold it in place with the left hand. Walking in a tokar demanded small, mincing steps and exquisite balance, lest one tread upon those heavy trailing fringes.

🌺 metaphors 🌺

+.+.+

Dany had wanted to ban the tokar when she took Meereen, but her advisors had convinced her otherwise. "The Mother of Dragons must don the tokar or be forever hated," warned the Green Grace, Galazza Galare. "In the wools of Westeros or a gown of Myrish lace, Your Radiance shall forever remain a stranger amongst us, a grotesque outlander, a barbarian conqueror. Meereen's queen must be a lady of Old Ghis." Brown Ben Plumm, the captain of the Second Sons, had put it more succinctly. "Man wants to be the king o' the rabbits, he best wear a pair o' floppy ears."

Why? Why would you do that?

Many have theorized that Galazza Galare is the Harpy, so we'll keep an eye on that.

+.+.+

Irri fetched her crown, wrought in the shape of the three-headed dragon of her House. Its coils were gold, its wings silver, its three heads ivory, onyx, and jade. Dany's neck and shoulders would be stiff and sore from the weight of it before the day was done. A crown should not sit easy on the head. One of her royal forebears had said that, once. Some Aegon, but which one? 

I'm only now noticing those match the colours of her dragons.

Who else was it that struggled with a heavy crown? Oh right, Robb.

+.+.+

Five Aegons had ruled the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. There would have been a sixth, but the Usurper's dogs had murdered her brother's son when he was still a babe at the breast. If he had lived, I might have married him. Aegon would have been closer to my age than Viserys. 

Marry him or kill him.

And I believe marriage is no longer an option.

+.+.+

They will kill me too if I allow it. The knives that slew my Stalwart Shield were meant for me.

+.+.+

She had not forgotten the slave children the Great Masters had nailed up along the road from Yunkai. They had numbered one hundred sixty-three, a child every mile, nailed to mileposts with one arm outstretched to point her way. After Meereen had fallen, Dany had nailed up a like number of Great Masters. Swarms of flies had attended their slow dying, and the stench had lingered long in the plaza. Yet some days she feared that she had not gone far enough.

Oh my god.

+.+.+

They had freed their slaves, yes … only to hire them back as servants at wages so meagre that most could scarce afford to eat. 

While I'm sure she keeps them well fed, I do want to point out it's not clear whether Daenerys pays the Unsullied.

Visiting brothels after two cities have been plundered is not evidence.

+.+.+

Those too old or young to be of use had been cast into the streets, along with the infirm and the crippled. And still the Great Masters gathered atop their lofty pyramids to complain of how the dragon queen had filled their noble city with hordes of unwashed beggars, thieves, and whores.

The raggle-taggle host of freedmen dwarfed her own, but they were more burden than benefit. Perhaps one in a hundred had a donkey, a camel, or an ox; most carried weapons looted from some slaver's armory, but only one in ten was strong enough to fight, and none was trained. They ate the land bare as they passed, like locusts in sandals. Yet Dany could not bring herself to abandon them as Ser Jorah and her bloodriders urged. I told them they were free. I cannot tell them now they are not free to join me. She gazed at the smoke rising from their cookfires and swallowed a sigh. She might have the best footsoldiers in the world, but she also had the worst. - Daenerys IV, ASOS

+.+.+

To rule Meereen I must win the Meereenese, however much I may despise them. 

Gosh, I wonder why this won't work out.

+.+.+

Reznak and Skahaz waited atop the marble steps. "Great queen," declared Reznak mo Reznak, "you are so radiant today I fear to look on you." The seneschal wore a tokar of maroon silk with a golden fringe. A small, damp man, he smelled as if he had bathed in perfume and spoke a bastard form of High Valyrian, much corrupted and flavored with a thick Ghiscari growl.

A little too obvious for my taste.

+.+.+

"How can I punish them when I do not know who they are?" Dany demanded of him. "Tell me that, bold Skahaz."

"You have no lack of enemies, Your Grace. You can see their pyramids from your terrace. Zhak, Hazkar, Ghazeen, Merreq, Loraq, all the old slaving families. Pahl. Pahl, most of all. A house of women now. Bitter old women with a taste for blood. Women do not forget. Women do not forgive."

Kind of like Arya, Lady Stoneheart, and the Sand Snakes. That might be Galazza Galare evidence.

Also, poison is a woman's weapon, so let's try to remember House of Pahl when the locusts arrive.

+.+.+

Women do not forget. Women do not forgive."

No, Dany thought, and the Usurper's dogs will learn that, when I return to Westeros.

Tywin and Ned are dead, who is going to learn this lesson exactly?

+.+.+

"Your Grace has not asked for my counsel," said Skahaz Shavepate, "but I say that blood must pay for blood. Take one man from each of the families I have named and kill him. The next time one of yours is slain, take two from each great House and kill them both. There will not be a third murder."

Reznak squealed in distress. "Noooo … gentle queen, such savagery would bring down the ire of the gods. We will find the murderers, I promise you, and when we do they will prove to be baseborn filth, you shall see."

Reznak is either a sensible counselor, or he's trying to protect nobles that oppose Daenerys.

I'll eat a shoe if Reznak is the perfumed seneschal, but I'll try to stay unbiased.

+.+.+

The seneschal was as bald as Skahaz, though in his case the gods were responsible. "Should any hair be so insolent as to appear, my barber stands with razor ready," he had assured her when she raised him up. There were times when Dany wondered if that razor might not be better saved for Reznak's throat. He was a useful man, but she liked him little and trusted him less. The Undying of Qarth had told her she would be thrice betrayed. Mirri Maz Duur had been the first, Ser Jorah the second. Would Reznak be the third? The Shavepate? Daario? Or will it be someone I would never suspect, Ser Barristan or Grey Worm or Missandei?

Cersei, is that you?

Remember, she hasn't been warned by Quaithe yet. At no point in this chapter are we given a reason why Daenerys doesn't like Reznak. He only gives her sound advice.

I'm trying to spot a pattern with the names she listed, but I can't see anything. Love the Missandei appearance though!

+.+.+

Lord Ghael had a mouth of brown and rotten teeth and the pointed yellow face of a weasel. He also had a gift. "Cleon the Great sends these slippers as a token of his love for Daenerys Stormborn, the Mother of Dragons."

Irri slid the slippers onto Dany's feet. They were gilded leather, decorated with green freshwater pearls. Does the butcher king believe a pair of pretty slippers will win my hand? "King Cleon is most generous. You may thank him for his lovely gift." Lovely, but made for a child. Dany had small feet, yet the pointed slippers mashed her toes together.

Aw, the slippers don't fit. Too bad, Drizella.

They brought her new shoes as well, slippers of soft grey doeskin that hugged her feet like lovers. "You are very beautiful, my lady," the seamstress said when she was dressed. - Sansa III, ASOS

x

There was snow in her hair and her right shoe was missing. It must have fallen. - Sansa VII, ASOS

+.+.+

It was not that Dany harbored any love for Yunkai. She was coming to regret leaving the Yellow City untaken after defeating its army in the field. The Wise Masters had returned to slaving as soon as she moved on, and were busy raising levies, hiring sellswords, and making alliances against her.

Shocking developments in Slaver's Bay.

+.+.+

Cleon the self-styled Great was no better, however. The Butcher King had restored slavery to Astapor, the only change being that the former slaves were now the masters and the former masters were now the slaves.

If I had to summarize her arc in one sentence. . .

+.+.+

"I have. Five times. Have you brought new arguments?"

"Old arguments," Hizdahr admitted, "new words. Lovely words, and courteous, more apt to move a queen."

"It is your cause I find wanting, not your courtesies. I have heard your arguments so often I could plead your case myself. Shall I?" Dany leaned forward. "The fighting pits have been a part of Meereen since the city was founded. The combats are profoundly religious in nature, a blood sacrifice to the gods of Ghis. The mortal art of Ghis is not mere butchery but a display of courage, skill, and strength most pleasing to your gods. Victorious fighters are pampered and acclaimed, and the slain are honored and remembered. By reopening the pits I would show the people of Meereen that I respect their ways and customs. The pits are far-famed across the world. They draw trade to Meereen, and fill the city's coffers with coin from the ends of the earth. All men share a taste for blood, a taste the pits help slake. In that way they make Meereen more tranquil. For criminals condemned to die upon the sands, the pits represent a judgment by battle, a last chance for a man to prove his innocence." She leaned back again, with a toss of her head. "There. How have I done?"

I don't know, that all seems pretty logical to me?

+.+.+

He might be handsome, but for that silly hair. Reznak and the Green Grace had been urging Dany to take a Meereenese noble for her husband, to reconcile the city to her rule. Hizdahr zo Loraq might be worth a careful look. Sooner him than Skahaz. The Shavepate had offered to set aside his wife for her, but the notion made her shudder. Hizdahr at least knew how to smile.

I'm not presenting a new theory here or anything, but this entire chapter is one Daenerys hypocrisy after another, so just to be safe I'll highlight that, in case Daenerys suggests something like that to a male character in the future.

He might be handsome, but for that silly hair.

You're in love with Daario Naharis.

+.+.+

Grazdan, she had been forewarned, was a cousin of the Green Grace, whose support she had found invaluable. The priestess was a voice for peace, acceptance, and obedience to lawful authority. I can give her cousin a respectful hearing, whatever he desires.

What he desired turned out to be gold. Dany had refused to compensate any of the Great Masters for the value of their slaves, but the Meereenese kept devising other ways to squeeze coin from her. The noble Grazdan had once owned a slave woman who was a very fine weaver, it seemed; the fruits of her loom were greatly valued, not only in Meereen, but in New Ghis and Astapor and Qarth. When this woman had grown old, Grazdan had purchased half a dozen young girls and commanded the crone to instruct them in the secrets of her craft. The old woman was dead now. The young ones, freed, had opened a shop by the harbor wall to sell their weavings. Grazdan zo Galare asked that he be granted a portion of their earnings. "They owe their skill to me," he insisted. "I plucked them from the auction bloc and gave them to the loom."

Dany listened quietly, her face still. When he was done, she said, "What was the name of the old weaver?"

"The slave?" Grazdan shifted his weight, frowning. "She was … Elza, it might have been. Or Ella. It was six years ago she died. I have owned so many slaves, Your Grace."

"Let us say Elza. Here is our ruling. From the girls, you shall have nothing. It was Elza who taught them weaving, not you. From you, the girls shall have a new loom, the finest coin can buy. That is for forgetting the name of the old woman."

I better not catch you forgetting anyone's name in the future.

She just pissed off Galazza Galare's cousin.

+.+.+

A rich woman came, whose husband and sons had died defending the city walls. During the sack she had fled to her brother in fear. When she returned, she found her house had been turned into a brothel. The whores had bedecked themselves in her jewels and clothes. She wanted her house back, and her jewels. "They can keep the clothes," she allowed. Dany granted her the jewels but ruled the house was lost when she abandoned it.

Ahem.

+.+.+

A former slave came, to accuse a certain noble of the Zhak. The man had recently taken to wife a freedwoman who had been the noble's bedwarmer before the city fell. The noble had taken her maidenhood, used her for his pleasure, and gotten her with child. Her new husband wanted the noble gelded for the crime of rape, and he wanted a purse of gold as well, to pay him for raising the noble's bastard as his own. Dany granted him the gold, but not the gelding. "When he lay with her, your wife was his property, to do with as he would. By law, there was no rape." Her decision did not please him, she could see, but if she gelded every man who ever forced a bedslave, she would soon rule a city of eunuchs.

The Ned, Lyanna, and Rhaegar is strong on this one.

+.+.+

A boy came, younger than Dany, slight and scarred, dressed up in a frayed grey tokar trailing silver fringe. His voice broke when he told of how two of his father's household slaves had risen up the night the gate broke. One had slain his father, the other his elder brother. Both had raped his mother before killing her as well. The boy had escaped with no more than the scar upon his face, but one of the murderers was still living in his father's house, and the other had joined the queen's soldiers as one of the Mother's Men. He wanted them both hanged.

I am queen over a city built on dust and death. Dany had no choice but to deny him. She had declared a blanket pardon for all crimes committed during the sack. Nor would she punish slaves for rising up against their masters.

The Aegon is strong on this one. What a shit show this is.

Nor would she punish slaves for rising up against their masters.

I forget a lot of things, but I won't forget that.

Edit: I should be put in jail for not bringing up Mirri Maz Duur. Thank you, @aegor-bamfsteel and @agentrouka-blog!

+.+.+

When she told him, the boy rushed at her, but his feet tangled in his tokar and he went sprawling headlong on the purple marble. Strong Belwas was on him at once. The huge brown eunuch yanked him up one-handed and shook him like a mastiff with a rat.

+.+.+

"I am only a young girl and know little of the ways of war," she told Lord Ghael

x

It might … though if we were to reopen the pits, we should take our tenth before expenses. I am only a young girl and know little of such matters, but I dwelt with Xaro Xhoan Daxos long enough to learn that much. 

x

A coppersmith had fashioned her a suit of burnished rings to wear to war. She accepted it with fulsome thanks; it was lovely to behold, and all that burnished copper would flash prettily in the sun, though if actual battle threatened, she would sooner be clad in steel. Even a young girl who knew nothing of the ways of war knew that.

This is irritating the shit out of me.

If you're a young girl who knows little of the ways of war, stop what you're doing.

+.+.+

Irri slid the slippers onto Dany's feet. They were gilded leather, decorated with green freshwater pearls. Does the butcher king believe a pair of pretty slippers will win my hand? "King Cleon is most generous. You may thank him for his lovely gift." Lovely, but made for a child. Dany had small feet, yet the pointed slippers mashed her toes together.

↓

"It would be my pleasure," said Dany, admiring the glimmer of the gold and the sheen of the green pearls on Cleon's slippers while doing her best to ignore the pinching in her toes. 

↓

The slippers the Butcher King had sent her had grown too uncomfortable. Dany kicked them off and sat with one foot tucked beneath her and the other swinging back and forth. It was not a very regal pose, but she was tired of being regal. The crown had given her a headache, and her buttocks had gone to sleep. 

Ah shoot, despite her best efforts, she just couldn't see it through.

+.+.+

"It shall be done." Reznak turned to the petitioners. "Her Magnificence the Queen has consented to compensate each of you for the animals you have lost," he told them in the Ghiscari tongue. "Present yourselves to my factors on the morrow, and you shall be paid in coin or kind, as you prefer."

The pronouncement was received in sullen silence. You would think they might be happier, Dany thought. They have what they came for. Is there no way to please these people?

Is this really her first chapter?

Where will we be by the end of this book? Lol.

+.+.+

"What is it?" Dany asked. "Do you have some grievance to lay before us, some petition? What would you have of us?"

His tongue flicked nervously over chapped, cracked lips. "I … I brought …"

"Bones?" she said, impatiently. "Burnt bones?"

He lifted the sack, and spilled its contents on the marble.

Bones they were, broken bones and blackened. The longer ones had been cracked open for their marrow.

"It were the black one," the man said, in a Ghiscari growl, "the winged shadow. He come down from the sky and … and …"

No. Dany shivered. No, no, oh no.

"Are you deaf, fool?" Reznak mo Reznak demanded of the man. "Did you not hear my pronouncement? See my factors on the morrow, and you shall be paid for your sheep."

"Reznak," Ser Barristan said quietly, "hold your tongue and open your eyes. Those are no sheep bones."

No, Dany thought, those are the bones of a child.

Hazzea. The child's name was Hazzea.

Final thoughts:

I don't know about you guys, but I think it would have made more sense if a council of Meereenese were helping make these decisions.

At the very least can we get her a Maester Luwin?

-> return to menu <-

[lerelene]

I hope to live long enough to see an Emilia Clarke biopic documenting the colossal amount of emotional heavylifting she performed acting through S8 of you-know-what starring a young actress who is probably going to kindergarden right now

[aboveallarescuer]

All mentions of Dany in other POVs

This is a list with all mentions of Dany and/or her dragons and/or events involving Dany in other POVs.

A Dance with Dragons

ADWD Epilogue

“We have these tales coming from the east as well. A second Targaryen, and one whose blood no man can question. Daenerys Stormborn.”

“As mad as her father,” declared Lord Mace Tyrell.

That would be the same father that Highgarden and House Tyrell supported to the bitter end and well beyond. “Mad she may be,” Ser Kevan said, “but with so much smoke drifting west, surely there must be some fire burning in the east.”

Grand Maester Pycelle bobbed his head. “Dragons. These same stories have reached Oldtown. Too many to discount. A silver-haired queen with three dragons.”

“At the far end of the world,” said Mace Tyrell. “Queen of Slaver’s Bay, aye. She is welcome to it.”

“On that we can agree,” Ser Kevan said, “but the girl is of the blood of Aegon the Conqueror, and I do not think she will be content to remain in Meereen forever. If she should reach these shores and join her strength to Lord Connington and this prince of his, feigned or no … we must destroy Connington and his pretender now, before Daenerys Stormborn can come west.”

ADWD The Queen's Hand

He stood beside the parapets of the highest step of the Great Pyramid, searching the sky as he did every morning, knowing that the dawn must come and hoping that his queen would come with it. She will not have abandoned us, she would never leave her people, he was telling himself, when he heard the prince’s death rattle coming from the queen’s apartments.

~

At his command, Quentyn Martell had been laid out in the queen’s own bed. He had been a knight, and a prince of Dorne besides. It seemed only kind to let him die in the bed he had crossed half a world to reach. The bedding was ruined—sheets, covers, pillows, mattress, all reeked of blood and smoke, but Ser Barristan thought Daenerys would forgive him.

~

He should have stayed in Dorne. He should have stayed a frog. Not all men are meant to dance with dragons. As he covered the boy once more, he found himself wondering whether there would be anyone to cover his queen, or whether her own corpse would lie un-mourned amongst the tall grasses of the Dothraki sea, staring blindly at the sky until her flesh fell from her bones.

“No,” he said aloud. “Daenerys is not dead. She was riding that dragon. I saw it with mine own two eyes.” He had said the same a hundred times before … but every day that passed made it harder to believe. Her hair was afire. I saw that too. She was burning … and if I did not see her fall, hundreds swear they did.

~

“They await the Hand’s pleasure below.”

I am no Hand, a part of him wanted to cry out. I am only a simple knight, the queen’s protector. I never wanted this. But with the queen gone and the king in chains, someone had to rule, and Ser Barristan did not trust the Shavepate.

~

“The fighting pits will remain closed,” said Selmy. “Blood and noise would only serve to call the dragons.”

“All three, perhaps,” suggested Marselen. “The black beast came once, why not again? This time with our queen.”

Or without her. Should Drogon return to Meereen without Daenerys mounted on his back, the city would erupt in blood and flame, of that Ser Barristan had no doubt. The very men sitting at this table would soon be at dagger points with one another. A young girl she might be, but Daenerys Targaryen was the only thing that held them all together.

“Her Grace will return when she returns,” said Ser Barristan.

~

The hostages again. He would kill them every one if I allowed it. “I heard you the first hundred times. No.”

“Queen’s Hand,” Skahaz grumbled with disgust. “An old woman’s hand, I am thinking, wrinkled and feeble. I pray Daenerys returns to us soon.” He pulled his brazen wolf’s mask down over his face. “Your council will be growing restless.”

“They are the queen’s council, not mine.”

~

Though he had assumed the title of Hand, Ser Barristan would not presume to hold court in the queen’s absence, nor would he permit Skahaz mo Kandaq to do such. Hizdahr’s grotesque dragon thrones had been removed at Ser Barristan’s command, but he had not brought back the simple pillowed bench the queen had favored. Instead a large round table had been set up in the center of the hall, with tall chairs all around it where men might sit and talk as peers.

~

“You had best guard that tongue, ser.” Ser Barristan did not like this Gerris Drinkwater, nor would he allow him to vilify Daenerys. “Prince Quentyn’s death was his own doing, and yours.”

~

“He offered her his heart,” Ser Gerris said again. “She needed swords, not hearts.”

“He would have given her the spears of Dorne as well.”

“Would that he had.” No one had wanted Daenerys to look with favor on the Dornish prince more than Barristan Selmy.

~

“What he did he did for love of Queen Daenerys,” Gerris Drinkwater insisted. “To prove himself worthy of her hand.”

The old knight had heard enough. “What Prince Quentyn did he did for Dorne. Do you take me for some doting grandfather? I have spent my life around kings and queens and princes. Sunspear means to take up arms against the Iron Throne. No, do not trouble to deny it. Doran Mar-tell is not a man to call his spears without hope of victory. Duty brought Prince Quentyn here. Duty, honor, thirst for glory … never love. Quentyn was here for dragons, not Daenerys.”

~

The Dornishmen, Hizdahr, Reznak, the attack … was he doing the right things? Was he doing what Daenerys would have wanted? I was not made for this. Other Kingsguard had served as Hand before him. Not many, but a few. He had read of them in the White Book. Now he found himself wondering whether they had felt as lost and confused as he did.

~

Galazza Galare was attended by four Pink Graces. An aura of wisdom and dignity seemed to surround her that Ser Barristan could not help but admire. This is a strong woman, and she has been a faithful friend to Daenerys.

~

“Have there been any further tidings of our sweet queen?”

“None as yet.”

“I shall pray for her. And what of King Hizdahr, if I may be so bold? Might I be permitted to see His Radiance?”

“Soon, I hope. He is unharmed, I promise you.”

“I am pleased to hear that. The Wise Masters of Yunkai asked after him. You will not be surprised to hear that they wish the noble Hizdahr to be restored at once to his rightful place.”

“He shall be, if it can be proved that he did not try to kill our queen. Until such time, Meereen will be ruled by a council of the loyal and just. There is a place for you on that council. I know that you have much to teach us all, Your Benevolence. We need your wisdom.”

“I fear you flatter me with empty courtesies, Lord Hand,” the Green Grace said. “If you truly think me wise, heed me now. Release the noble Hizdahr and restore him to his throne.”

“Only the queen can do that.”

~

“I know these were not the words you wished to hear,” said Galazza Galare. “Yet for myself, I understand. These dragons are fell beasts. Yunkai fears them … and with good cause, you cannot deny. Our histories speak of the dragonlords of dread Valyria and the devastation that they wrought upon the peoples of Old Ghis. Even your own young queen, fair Daenerys who called herself the Mother of Dragons … we saw her burning, that day in the pit … even she was not safe from the dragon’s wroth.”

“Her Grace is not … she …”

“… is dead. May the gods grant her sweet sleep.” Tears glistened behind her veils. “Let her dragons die as well.”

ADWD The Dragontamer

“Is that rain? Your whores will be gone.”

“Not all of them. There are little snuggeries in the pleasure gardens, and they wait there every night until a man chooses them. Those who are not chosen must remain until the sun comes up, feeling lonely and neglected. We could console them.”

“They could console me, is what you mean.”

“That too.”

“That is not the sort of consolation I require.”

“I disagree. Daenerys Targaryen is not the only woman in the world. Do you want to die a man-maid?”

Quentyn did not want to die at all. I want to go back to Yronwood and kiss both of your sisters, marry Gwyneth Yronwood, watch her flower into beauty, have a child by her. I want to ride in tourneys, hawk and hunt, visit with my mother in Norvos, read some of those books my father sends me. I want Cletus and Will and Maester Kedry to be alive again. “Do you think Daenerys would be pleased to hear that I had bedded some whore?”

“She might be. Men may be fond of maidens, but women like a man who knows what he’s about in the bedchamber. It’s another sort of sword-play. Takes training to be good at it.”

The gibe stung. Quentyn had never felt so much a boy as when he’d stood before Daenerys Targaryen, pleading for her hand. The thought of bedding her terrified him almost as much as her dragons had. What if he could not please her? “Daenerys has a paramour,” he said defensively. “My father did not send me here to amuse the queen in the bedchamber. You know why we have come.”

“You cannot marry her. She has a husband.”

“She does not love Hizdahr zo Loraq.”

“What has love to do with marriage? A prince should know better. Your father married for love, it’s said. How much joy has he had of that?”

~

“Dorne remembers Aegon and his sisters. Dragons are not so easily forgotten. They will remember Daenerys as well.”

“Not if she’s died.”

“She lives.” She must. “She is lost, but I can find her.” And when I do, she will look at me the way she looks at her sellsword. Once I have proven myself worthy of her.

~

“What’s that for?” Arch asked.

“Daenerys used a whip to cow the black beast.” Quentyn coiled the whip and hung it from his belt. “Arch, bring your hammer as well. We may have need of it.”

~

Warrior, grant me courage, he prayed. He did not want to do this, but he saw no other way. Why else would Daenerys have shown me the dragons? She wants me to prove myself to her. Gerris handed him a torch. He stepped through the doors.

The green one is Rhaegal, the white Viserion, he reminded himself. Use their names, command them, speak to them calmly but sternly. Master them, as Daenerys mastered Drogon in the pit. The girl had been alone, clad in wisps of silk, but fearless. I must not be afraid. She did it, so can I. The main thing was to show no fear. Animals can smell fear, and dragons … What did he know of dragons? What does any man know of dragons? They have been gone from the world for more than a century.

~

Last and longest the beast stared at Pretty Meris, sniffing. The woman, Quentyn realized. He knows that she is female. He is looking for Daenerys. He wants his mother and does not understand why she’s not here.

Quentyn wrenched free of Gerris’s grip. “Viserion,” he called. The white one is Viserion. For half a heartbeat he was afraid he’d gotten it wrong. “Viserion,” he called again, fumbling for the whip hanging from his belt. She cowed the black one with a whip. I need to do the same.

ADWD The Kingbreaker

“One guardsman amongst forty. All waiting for the empty tabard on the throne to speak the command so we might cut down Bloodbeard and the rest. Do you think the Yunkai’i would ever have dared present Daenerys with the head of her hostage?”

No, thought Selmy. “Hizdahr seemed distraught.”

“Sham. His own kin of Loraq were returned unharmed. You saw. The Yunkai’i played us a mummer’s farce, with noble Hizdahr as chief mummer. The issue was never Yurkhaz zo Yunzak. The other slavers would gladly have trampled that old fool themselves. This was to give Hizdahr a pretext to kill the dragons.”

Ser Barristan chewed on that. “Would he dare?”

“He dared to kill his queen. Why not her pets? If we do not act, Hizdahr will hesitate for a time, to give proof of his reluctance and allow the Wise Masters the chance to rid him of the Stormcrow and the bloodrider. Then he will act. They want the dragons dead before the Volantene fleet arrives.”

Aye, they would. It all fit. That did not mean Barristan Selmy liked it any better. “That will not happen.” His queen was the Mother of Dragons; he would not allow her children to come to harm.    

~

“Daario might piss on us if we were burning. Elsewise do not look to him for help. Let the Stormcrows choose another captain, one who knows his place. If the queen does not return, the world will be one sellsword short. Who will grieve?”

“And when she does return?”

“She will weep and tear her hair and curse the Yunkai’i. Not us. No blood on our hands. You can comfort her. Tell her some tale of the old days, she likes those. Poor Daario, her brave captain … she will never forget him, no … but better for all of us if he is dead, yes? Better for Daenerys too.”

Better for Daenerys, and for Westeros. Daenerys Targaryen loved her captain, but that was the girl in her, not the queen. Prince Rhaegar loved his Lady Lyanna, and thousands died for it. Daemon Blackfyre loved the first Daenerys, and rose in rebellion when denied her. Bittersteel and Bloodraven both loved Shiera Seastar, and the Seven Kingdoms bled. The Prince of Dragonflies loved Jenny of Oldstones so much he cast aside a crown, and Westeros paid the bride price in corpses. All three of the sons of the fifth Aegon had wed for love, in defiance of their father’s wishes. And because that unlikely monarch had himself followed his heart when he chose his queen, he allowed his sons to have their way, making bitter enemies where he might have had fast friends. Treason and turmoil followed, as night follows day, ending at Summerhall in sorcery, fire, and grief.

Her love for Daario is poison. A slower poison than the locusts, but in the end as deadly. “There is still Jhogo,” Ser Barristan said. “Him, and Hero. Both precious to Her Grace.”

“We have hostages as well,” Skahaz Shavepate reminded him. “If the slavers kill one of ours, we kill one of theirs.”

For a moment Ser Barristan did not know whom he meant. Then it came to him. “The queen’s cupbearers?”

“Hostages,” insisted Skahaz mo Kandaq. “Grazdar and Qezza are the blood of the Green Grace. Mezzara is of Merreq, Kezmya is Pahl, Azzak Ghazeen. Bhakaz is Loraq, Hizdahr’s own kin. All are sons and daughters of the pyramids. Zhak, Quazzar, Uhlez, Hazkar, Dhazak, Yherizan, all children of Great Masters.”

“Innocent girls and sweet-faced boys.” Ser Barristan had come to know them all during the time they served the queen, Grazhar with his dreams of glory, shy Mezzara, lazy Miklaz, vain, pretty Kezmya, Qezza with her big soft eyes and angel’s voice, Dhazzar the dancer, and the rest. “Children.”

“Children of the Harpy. Only blood can pay for blood.”

“So said the Yunkishman who brought us Groleo’s head.”

“He was not wrong.”

“I will not permit it.”

“What use are hostages if they may not be touched?”

“Mayhaps we might offer three of the children for Daario, Hero, and Jhogo,” Ser Barristan allowed. “Her Grace—”

“—is not here. It is for you and me to do what must be done. You know that I am right.”

“Prince Rhaegar had two children,” Ser Barristan told him. “Rhaenys was a little girl, Aegon a babe in arms. When Tywin Lannister took King’s Landing, his men killed both of them. He served the bloody bodies up in crimson cloaks, a gift for the new king.” And what did Robert say when he saw them? Did he smile? Barristan Selmy had been badly wounded on the Trident, so he had been spared the sight of Lord Tywin’s gift, but oft he wondered. If I had seen him smile over the red ruins of Rhaegar’s children, no army on this earth could have stopped me from killing him. “I will not suffer the murder of children. Accept that, or I’ll have no part of this.”

~

That is what I fear. If King Hizdahr was innocent, what they did this day would be treason. But how could he be innocent? Selmy had heard him urging Daenerys to taste the poisoned locusts, shouting at his men to slay the dragon. If we do not act, Hizdahr will kill the dragons and open the gates to the queen’s enemies. We have no choice in this. Yet no matter how he turned and twisted this, the old knight could find no honor in it.

~

Some of them had been training for the fighting pits when Daenerys Targaryen took Meereen and freed them from their chains. Those had had a good acquaintance with sword and spear and battle-axe even before Ser Barristan got hold of them. A few might well be ready. The boy from the Basilisk Isles, for a start. Tumco Lho.

~

Rhaegar had chosen Lyanna Stark of Winterfell. Barristan Selmy would have made a different choice. Not the queen, who was not present. Nor Elia of Dorne, though she was good and gentle; had she been chosen, much war and woe might have been avoided. His choice would have been a young maiden not long at court, one of Elia’s companions … though compared to Ashara Dayne, the Dornish princess was a kitchen drab.

Even after all these years, Ser Barristan could still recall Ashara’s smile, the sound of her laughter. He had only to close his eyes to see her, with her long dark hair tumbling about her shoulders and those haunting purple eyes. Daenerys has the same eyes. Sometimes when the queen looked at him, he felt as if he were looking at Ashara’s daughter …

~

The boy went running off, and the king turned back to Selmy. “I dreamed you found Daenerys.”

“Dreams can lie, Your Grace.”

~

“It was your pit, your box, your seats. Sweet wine and soft cushions, figs and melons and honeyed locusts. You provided all. You urged Her Grace to try the locusts but never tasted one yourself.”

“I … hot spices do not agree with me. She was my wife. My queen. Why would I want to poison her?”

Was, he says. He believes her dead. “Only you can answer that, Magnificence. It might be that you wished to put another woman in her place.” Ser Barristan nodded at the girl peering timidly from the bed-chamber. “That one, perhaps?”

The king looked around wildly. “Her? She’s nothing. A bedslave.” He raised his hands. “I misspoke. Not a slave. A free woman. Trained in pleasure. Even a king has needs, she … she is none of your concern, ser. I would never harm Daenerys. Never.”

“You urged the queen to try the locusts. I heard you.”

“I thought she might enjoy them.” Hizdahr retreated another step. “Hot and sweet at once.”

“Hot and sweet and poisoned. With mine own ears I heard you commanding the men in the pit to kill Drogon. Shouting at them.”

Hizdahr licked his lips. “The beast devoured Barsena’s flesh. Dragons prey on men. It was killing, burning …”

“… burning men who meant harm to your queen. Harpy’s Sons, as like as not. Your friends.”

“Not my friends.”

“You say that, yet when you told them to stop killing they obeyed. Why would they do that if you were not one of them?”

Hizdahr shook his head. This time he did not answer. “Tell me true,” Ser Barristan said, “did you ever love her, even a little? Or was it just the crown you lusted for?”

“Lust? You dare speak to me of lust?” The king’s mouth twisted in anger. “I lusted for the crown, aye … but not half so much as she lusted for her sellsword. Perhaps it was her precious captain who tried to poison her, for putting him aside. And if I had eaten of his locusts too, well, so much the better.”

~

“You will be kept a prisoner until the queen returns. If nothing can be proved against you, you will not come to harm. You have my word as a knight.”

ADWD Victarion I

The war for Meereen was won, the captain claimed; the dragon queen was dead, and a Ghiscari by the name of Hizdak ruled the city now.

Victarion had his tongue torn out for lying. Daenerys Targaryen was not dead, Moqorro assured him; his red god R’hllor had shown him the queen’s face in his sacred fires. The captain could not abide lies, so he had the Ghiscari captain bound hand and foot and thrown overboard, a sacrifice to the Drowned God.

~

Sailing out of Myr, the Dove brought them no fresh news of Meereen or Daenerys, only stale reports of Dothraki horsemen along the Rhoyne, the Golden Company upon the march, and others things Victarion already knew.

~

They had been running empty, Victarion learned, making for New Ghis to load supplies and weapons for the Ghiscari legions encamped before Meereen … and to bring fresh legionaries to the war, to replace all the men who’d died. “Men slain in battle?” asked Victarion. The crews of the galleys denied it; the deaths were from a bloody flux. The pale mare, they called it. And like the captain of the Ghiscari Dawn, the captains of the galleys repeated the lie that Daenerys Targaryen was dead.

“Give her a kiss for me in whatever hell you find her,” Victarion said. He called for his axe and took their heads off there and then. Afterward he put their crews to death as well, saving only the slaves chained to the oars. He broke their chains himself and told them they were now free men and would have the privilege of rowing for the Iron Fleet, an honor that every boy in the Iron Islands dreamed of growing up. “The dragon queen frees slaves and so do I,” he proclaimed.

~

“The silver queen is gone,” the ketch’s master told him. “She flew away upon her dragon, beyond the Dothraki sea.”

“Where is this Dothraki sea?” he demanded. “I will sail the Iron Fleet across it and find the queen wherever she may be.”

The fisherman laughed aloud. “That would be a sight worth seeing. The Dothraki sea is made of grass, fool.”

~

“He bearded the lion in his den and tied the direwolf’s tail in knots, but even Dagon could not defeat the dragons. But I shall make the dragon queen mine own. She will share my bed and bear me many mighty sons.”

~

His dusky woman was enough to satisfy his appetites until he could reach Meereen and claim his queen.

~

A great wind came up then, a wind that filled their sails and swept them north and east and north again, toward Meereen and its pyramids of many-colored bricks. On wings of song I fly to you, Daenerys, the iron captain thought.

ADWD The Griffin Reborn

“Prince Doran’s younger son has been betrothed to Myrcella Baratheon, which would suggest that the Dornishmen have thrown in with House Lannister, but they have an army in the Boneway and another in the Prince’s Pass, just waiting …”

“Waiting.” He frowned. “For what?” Without Daenerys and her dragons, Dorne was central to their hopes. “Write Sunspear. Doran Martell must know that his sister’s son is still alive and has come home to claim his father’s throne.”

~

“My lord does have one prize to offer,” Haldon Halfmaester pointed out. “Prince Aegon’s hand. A marriage alliance, to bring some great House to our banners.”

A bride for our bright prince. Jon Connington remembered Prince Rhaegar’s wedding all too well. Elia was never worthy of him. She was frail and sickly from the first, and childbirth only left her weaker. After the birth of Princess Rhaenys, her mother had been bedridden for half a year, and Prince Aegon’s birth had almost been the death of her. She would bear no more children, the maesters told Prince Rhaegar afterward.

“Daenerys Targaryen may yet come home one day,” Connington told the Halfmaester. “Aegon must be free to marry her.”

ADWD The Spurned Suitor

“Even if the queen returns, she’ll still be married.”

“Not if I give King Harzoo a little smack with my hammer,” suggested the big man.

“Hizdahr,” said Quentyn. “His name is Hizdahr.”

“One kiss from my hammer and no one will care what his name was,” said Arch.

They do not see. His friends had lost sight of his true purpose here. The road leads through her, not to her. Daenerys is the means to the prize, not the prize itself. “ ‘The dragon has three heads,’ she said to me. ‘My marriage need not be the end of all your hopes,’ she said. ‘I know why you are here. For fire and blood.’ I have Targaryen blood in me, you know that. I can trace my lineage back—”

“Fuck your lineage,” said Gerris. “The dragons won’t care about your blood, except maybe how it tastes. You cannot tame a dragon with a history lesson. They’re monsters, not maesters. Quent, is this truly what you want to do?”

“This is what I have to do. For Dorne. For my father. For Cletus and Will and Maester Kedry.”

“They’re dead,” said Gerris. “They won’t care.”

“All dead,” Quentyn agreed. “For what? To bring me here, so I might wed the dragon queen. A grand adventure, Cletus called it. Demon roads and stormy seas, and at the end of it the most beautiful woman in the world. A tale to tell our grandchildren. But Cletus will never father a child, unless he left a bastard in the belly of that tavern wench he liked. Will will never have his wedding. Their deaths should have some meaning.”

~

“Denzo, I thought you told me that the dragon queen had married some Ghiscari.”

“A Meereenese nobleman. Rich.”

The Tattered Prince turned back to Quentyn. “Could that be true? Surely not. What of your marriage pact?”

“She laughed at him,” said Pretty Meris.

Daenerys never laughed. The rest of Meereen might see him as an amusing curiosity, like the exiled Summer Islander King Robert used to keep at King’s Landing, but the queen had always spoken to him gently. “We came too late,” said Quentyn.

~

“How long do you think the Yunkishmen will want to continue paying wages to four free companies?”

The Tattered Prince took a sip of wine and said, “A vexing question. But this is the way of life for we men of the free companies. One war ends, another begins. Fortunately there is always someone fighting someone somewhere. Perhaps here. Even as we sit here drinking Bloodbeard is urging our Yunkish friends to present King Hizdahr with another head. Freedmen and slavers eye each other’s necks and sharpen their knives, the Sons of the Harpy plot in their pyramids, the pale mare rides down slave and lord alike, our friends from the Yellow City gaze out to sea, and somewhere in the grasslands a dragon nibbles the tender flesh of Daenerys Targaryen. Who rules Meereen tonight? Who will rule it on the morrow?” The Pentoshi gave a shrug. “One thing I am certain of. Someone will have need of our swords.”

~

“So. Let me see if I understand. A proven liar and oathbreaker wishes to contract with us and pay in promises. And for what services? I wonder. Are my Windblown to smash the Yunkai’i and sack the Yellow City? Defeat a Dothraki khalasar in the field? Escort you home to your father? Or will you be content if we deliver Queen Daenerys to your bed wet and willing? Tell me true, Prince Frog. What would you have of me and mine?”

“I need you to help me steal a dragon.”

ADWD The Discarded Knight

Daenerys Targaryen had preferred to hold court from a bench of polished ebony, smooth and simple, covered with the cushions that Ser Barristan had found to make her more comfortable. King Hizdahr had replaced the bench with two imposing thrones of gilded wood, their tall backs carved into the shape of dragons. The king seated himself in the right-hand throne with a golden crown upon his head and a jeweled sceptre in one pale hand. The second throne remained vacant.

The important throne, thought Ser Barristan. No dragon chair can replace a dragon no matter how elaborately it’s carved.

~

“Is it true?” a freedwoman shouted. “Is our mother dead?”

“No, no, no,” Reznak screeched. “Queen Daenerys will return to Meereen in her own time in all her might and majesty. Until such time, His Worship King Hizdahr shall—”

“He is no king of mine,” a freedman yelled.

Men began to shove at one another. “The queen is not dead,” the seneschal proclaimed. “Her bloodriders have been dispatched across the Skahazadhan to find Her Grace and return her to her loving lord and loyal subjects. Each has ten picked riders, and each man has three swift horses, so they may travel fast and far. Queen Daenerys shall be found.”

A tall Ghiscari in a brocade robe spoke next, in a voice as sonorous as it was cold. King Hizdahr shifted on his dragon throne, his face stony as he did his best to appear concerned but unperturbed. Once again his seneschal gave answer.

Ser Barristan let Reznak’s oily words wash over him. His years in the Kingsguard had taught him the trick of listening without hearing, especially useful when the speaker was intent on proving that words were truly wind. Back at the rear of the hall, he spied the Dornish princeling and his two companions. They should not have come. Martell does not realize his danger. Daenerys was his only friend at this court, and she is gone. He wondered how much they understood of what was being said. Even he could not always make sense of the mongrel Ghiscari tongue the slavers spoke, especially when they were speaking fast.

Prince Quentyn was listening intently, at least. That one is his father’s son. Short and stocky, plain-faced, he seemed a decent lad, sober, sensible, dutiful … but not the sort to make a young girl’s heart beat faster. And Daenerys Targaryen, whatever else she might be, was still a young girl, as she herself would claim when it pleased her to play the innocent. Like all good queens she put her people first—else she would never have wed Hizdahr zo Loraq—but the girl in her still yearned for poetry, passion, and laughter. She wants fire, and Dorne sent her mud.

~

Martell was dancing in a vipers’ nest, and he did not even see the snakes. His continued presence, even after Daenerys had given herself to another before the eyes of gods and men, would provoke any husband, and Quentyn no longer had the queen to shield him from Hizdahr’s wroth. Although …

The thought hit him like a slap across the face. Quentyn had grown up amongst the courts of Dorne. Plots and poisons were no strangers to him. Nor was Prince Lewyn his only uncle. He is kin to the Red Viper. Daenerys had taken another for her consort, but if Hizdahr died, she would be free to wed again. Could the Shavepate have been wrong? Who can say that the locusts were meant for Daenerys? It was the king’s own box. What if he was meant to be the victim all along? Hizdahr’s death would have smashed the fragile peace. The Sons of the Harpy would have resumed their murders, the Yunkishmen their war. Daenerys might have had no better choice than Quentyn and his marriage pact.

~

Reznak mo Reznak cleared his throat noisily. “Meaning no offense, yet it seems to me that Her Worship Queen Daenerys gave you … ah … seven hostages. The other three …”

“The others shall remain our guests,” announced the Yunkish lord in the breastplate, “until the dragons have been destroyed.”

A hush fell across the hall. Then came the murmurs and the mutters, whispered curses, whispered prayers, the hornets stirring in their hive. “The dragons …” said King Hizdahr.

“… are monsters, as all men saw in Daznak’s Pit. No true peace is possible whilst they live.”

Reznak replied. “Her Magnificence Queen Daenerys is Mother of Dragons. Only she can—”

Bloodbeard’s scorn cut him off. “She is gone. Burned and devoured. Weeds grow through her broken skull.”

~

Ser Barristan watched them, thoughtful. What would Daenerys want? he asked himself. He thought he knew.

~

“Leave the city. Return to Dorne.”

The Dornishmen exchanged a look. “Our arms and armor are back in our apartments,” said Gerris Drinkwater. “Not to mention most of the coin that we have left.”

“Swords can be replaced,” said Ser Barristan. “I can provide you with coin enough for passage back to Dorne. Prince Quentyn, the king made note of you today. He frowned.”

Gerris Drinkwater laughed. “Should we be frightened of Hizdahr zo Loraq? You saw him just now. He quailed before the Yunkishmen. They sent him a head, and he did nothing.”

Quentyn Martell nodded in agreement. “A prince does well to think before he acts. This king … I do not know what to think of him. The queen warned me against him as well, true, but …”

“She warned you?” Selmy frowned. “Why are you still here?”

Prince Quentyn flushed. “The marriage pact—”

“—was made by two dead men and contained not a word about the queen or you. It promised your sister’s hand to the queen’s brother, another dead man. It has no force. Until you turned up here, Her Grace was ignorant of its existence. Your father keeps his secrets well, Prince Quentyn. Too well, I fear. If the queen had known of this pact in Qarth, she might never have turned aside for Slaver’s Bay, but you came too late. I have no wish to salt your wounds, but Her Grace has a new husband and an old paramour, and seems to prefer the both of them to you.”

“This Ghiscari lordling is no fit consort for the queen of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“That is not for you to judge.” Ser Barristan paused, wondering if he had said too much already. No. Tell him the rest of it. “That day at Daznak’s Pit, some of the food in the royal box was poisoned. It was only chance that Strong Belwas ate it all. The Blue Graces say that only his size and freakish strength have saved him, but it was a near thing. He may yet die.”

The shock was plain on Prince Quentyn’s face. “Poison … meant for Daenerys?”

“Her or Hizdahr. Perhaps both. The box was his, though. His Grace made all the arrangements. If the poison was his doing … well, he will need a scapegoat. Who better than a rival from a distant land who has no friends at this court? Who better than a suitor the queen spurned?”

Quentyn Martell went pale. “Me? I would never … you cannot think I had any part in any …”

That was the truth, or he is a master mummer. “Others might,” said Ser Barristan. “The Red Viper was your uncle. And you have good reason to want King Hizdahr dead.”

“So do others,” suggested Gerris Drinkwater. “Naharis, for one. The queen’s …”

“… paramour,” Ser Barristan finished, before the Dornish knight could say anything that might besmirch the queen’s honor.

ADWD Tyrion XI

“The silver queen—”

“—is dead,” insisted Sweets. “Forget her! The dragon took her across the river. She’s drowned in that Dothraki sea.”

“You can’t drown in grass,” the goat boy said. “If we were free,” said Penny, “we could find the queen. Or go search for her, at least.”

You on your dog and me on my sow, chasing a dragon across the Dothraki sea. Tyrion scratched his scar to keep from laughing. “This particular dragon has already evinced a fondness for roast pork. And roast dwarf is twice as tasty.”

~

The fact that there were any good wells at all within a day’s march of the city only went to prove that Daenerys Targaryen was still an innocent where siegecraft was concerned. She should have poisoned every well. Then all the Yunkishmen would be drinking from the river. See how long their siege lasts then. That was what his lord father would have done, Tyrion did not doubt.

~

There was no better place to hear the latest news and rumors than around the well. “I know what I saw,” an old slave in a rusted iron collar was saying, as Tyrion and Penny shuffled along in the queue, “and I saw that dragon ripping off arms and legs, tearing men in half, burning them down to ash and bones. People started running, trying to get out of that pit, but I come to see a show, and by all the gods of Ghis, I saw one. I was up in the purple, so I didn’t think the dragon was like to trouble me.”

“The queen climbed onto the dragon’s back and flew away,” insisted a tall brown woman.

“She tried,” said the old man, “but she couldn’t hold on. The cross-bows wounded the dragon, and the queen was struck right between her sweet pink teats, I hear. That was when she fell. She died in the gutter, crushed beneath a wagon’s wheels. I know a girl who knows a man who saw her die.”

In this company, silence was the better part of wisdom, but Tyrion could not help himself. “No corpse was found,” he said.

The old man frowned. “What would you know about it?”

“They were there,” said the brown woman. “It’s them, the jousting dwarfs, the ones who tilted for the queen.”

The old man squinted down as if seeing him and Penny for the first time. “You’re the ones who rode the pigs.”

Our notoriety precedes us. Tyrion sketched a courtly bow, and refrained from pointing out that one of the pigs was really a dog. “The sow I ride is actually my sister. We have the same nose, could you tell? A wizard cast a spell on her, but if you give her a big wet kiss, she will turn into a beautiful woman. The pity is, once you get to know her, you’ll want to kiss her again to turn her back.”

Laughter erupted all around them. Even the old man joined in. “You saw her, then,” said the redheaded boy behind them. “You saw the queen. Is she as beautiful as they say?”

I saw a slender girl with silvery hair wrapped in a tokar, he might have told them. Her face was veiled, and I never got close enough for a good look. I was riding on a pig. Daenerys Targaryen had been seated in the owner’s box beside her Ghiscari king, but Tyrion’s eyes had been drawn to the knight in the white-and-gold armor behind her. Though his features were concealed, the dwarf would have known Barristan Selmy anywhere. Illyrio was right about that much, at least, he remembered thinking. Will Selmy know me, though? And what will he do if he does?

~

“The queen watched us tilt,” Penny was telling the other slaves in line, “but that was the only time we saw her.”

“You must have seen the dragon,” said the old man.

Would that we had. The gods had not even vouchsafed him that much. As Daenerys Targaryen was taking wing, Nurse had been clapping irons round their ankles to make certain they would not attempt escape on their way back to their master. If the overseer had only taken his leave after delivering them to the abbatoir, or fled with the rest of the slavers when the dragon descended from the sky, the two dwarfs might have strolled away free. Or run away, more like, our little bells a-jingle.

“Was there a dragon?” Tyrion said with a shrug. “All I know is that no dead queens were found.”

~

“...Might be they did but decided to say elsewise, to keep you slaves quiet.”

“Us slaves?” said the brown woman. “You wear a collar too.”

“Ghazdor’s collar,” the old man boasted. “Known him since we was born. I’m almost like a brother to him. Slaves like you, sweepings out of Astapor and Yunkai, you whine about being free, but I wouldn’t give the dragon queen my collar if she offered to suck my cock for it. Man has the right master, that’s better.”

 ADWD The Iron Suitor

And I must needs reach the dragon queen before the Volantenes.

In Volantis he had seen the galleys taking on provisions. The whole city had seemed drunk. Sailors and soldiers and tinkers had been observed dancing in the streets with nobles and fat merchants, and in every inn and winesink cups were being raised to the new triarchs. All the talk had been of the gold and gems and slaves that would flood into Volantis once the dragon queen was dead.

~

“Is it still to be Meereen?”

“Where else? The dragon queen awaits me in Meereen.” The fairest woman in the world if my brother could be believed. Her hair is silver-gold, her eyes are amethysts.

Was it too much to hope that for once Euron had told it true? Perhaps. Like as not, the girl would prove to be some pock-faced slattern with teats slapping against her knees, her “dragons” no more than tattooed lizards from the swamps of Sothoryos. If she is all that Euron claims, though … They had heard talk of the beauty of Daenerys Targaryen from the lips of pirates in the Stepstones and fat merchants in Old Volantis. It might be true. And Euron had not made Victarion a gift of her; the Crow’s Eye meant to take her for himself. He sends me like a serving man to fetch her. How he will howl when I claim her for myself. Let the men mutter. They had sailed too far and lost too much for Victarion to turn west without his prize.

 ADWD The Queensguard

You were the queen’s man,” said Reznak mo Reznak. “The king desires his own men about him when he holds court.”

I am the queen’s man still. Today, tomorrow, always, until my last breath, or hers. Barristan Selmy refused to believe that Daenerys Targaryen was dead.

Perhaps that was why he was being put aside. One by one, Hizdahr removes us all.

~

Despite all the queen had done, the sickness had spread, both within the city walls and without. Meereen’s markets were closed, its streets empty. King Hizdahr had allowed the fighting pits to remain open, but the crowds were sparse. The Meereenese had even begun to shun the Temple of the Graces, reportedly.

The slavers will find some way to blame Daenerys for that as well, Ser Barristan thought bitterly. He could almost hear them whispering—Great Masters, Sons of the Harpy, Yunkai’i, all telling one another that his queen was dead. Half of the city believed it, though as yet they did not have the courage to say such words aloud. But soon, I think.

~

Not for the first time, Selmy wondered at the strange fates that had brought him here. He was a knight of Westeros, a man of the stormlands and the Dornish marches; his place was in the Seven Kingdoms, not here upon the sweltering shores of Slaver’s Bay. I came to bring Daenerys home. Yet he had lost her, just as he had lost her father and her brother. Even Robert. I failed him too.

Perhaps Hizdahr was wiser than he knew. Ten years ago I would have sensed what Daenerys meant to do. Ten years ago I would have been quick enough to stop her. Instead he had stood befuddled as she leapt into the pit, shouting her name, then running uselessly after her across the scarlet sands. I am become old and slow. Small wonder Naharis mocked him as Ser Grandfather. Would Daario have moved more quickly if he had been beside the queen that day? Selmy thought he knew the answer to that, though it was not one he liked.

He had dreamed of it again last night: Belwas on his knees retching up bile and blood, Hizdahr urging on the dragonslayers, men and women fleeing in terror, fighting on the steps, climbing over one another, screaming and shouting. And Daenerys …

Her hair was aflame. She had the whip in her hand and she was shouting, then she was on the dragon’s back, flying. The sand that Drogon stirred as he took wing had stung Ser Barristan’s eyes, but through a veil of tears he had watched the beast fly from the pit, his great black wings slapping at the shoulders of the bronze warriors at the gates.

The rest he learned later. Beyond the gates had been a solid press of people. Maddened by the smell of dragon, horses below reared in terror, lashing out with iron-shod hooves. Food stalls and palanquins alike were overturned, men knocked down and trampled. Spears were thrown, cross-bows were fired. Some struck home. The dragon twisted violently in the air, wounds smoking, the girl clinging to his back. Then he loosed the fire.

It had taken the rest of the day and most of the night for the Brazen Beasts to gather up the corpses. The final count was two hundred fourteen slain, three times as many burned or wounded. Drogon was gone from the city by then, last seen high over the Skahazadhan, flying north. Of Daenerys Targaryen, no trace had been found. Some swore they saw her fall. Others insisted that the dragon had carried her off to devour her. They are wrong.

Ser Barristan knew no more of dragons than the tales every child hears, but he knew Targaryens. Daenerys had been riding that dragon, as Aegon had once ridden Balerion of old.

“She might be flying home,” he told himself, aloud. “No,” murmured a soft voice behind him. “She would not do that, ser. She would not go home without us.”

Ser Barristan turned. “Missandei. Child. How long have you been standing there?”

“Not long. This one is sorry if she has disturbed you.”

~

It was his failures that haunted him at night, though. Jaehaerys, Aerys, Robert. Three dead kings. Rhaegar, who would have been a finer king than any of them. Princess Elia and the children. Aegon just a babe, Rhaenys with her kitten. Dead, every one, yet he still lived, who had sworn to protect them. And now Daenerys, his bright shining child queen. She is not dead. I will not believe it.

Afternoon brought Ser Barristan a brief respite from his doubts. He spent it in the training hall on the pyramid’s third level, working with his boys, teaching them the art of sword and shield, horse and lance … and chivalry, the code that made a knight more than any pit fighter. Daenerys would need protectors her own age about her after he was gone, and Ser Barristan was determined to give her such.

The lads he was instructing ranged in age from eight to twenty. He had started with more than sixty of them, but the training had proved too rigorous for many. Less than half that number now remained, but some showed great promise. With no king to guard, I will have more time to train them now, he realized as he walked from pair to pair, watching them go at one another with blunted swords and spears with rounded heads. Brave boys. Baseborn, aye, but some will make good knights, and they love the queen. If not for her, all of them would have ended in the pits. King Hizdahr has his pit fighters, but Daenerys will have knights.

~

If the queen had commanded me to protect Hizdahr, I would have had no choice but to obey. But Daenerys Targaryen had never established a proper Queensguard even for herself nor issued any commands in respect to her consort. The world was simpler when I had a lord commander to decide such matters, Selmy reflected. Now I am the lord commander, and it is hard to know which path is right.

~

“I have the poisoner.”

“Who?”

“Hizdahr’s confectioner. His name would mean nothing to you. The man was just a cats paw. The Sons of the Harpy took his daughter and swore she would be returned unharmed once the queen was dead. Belwas and the dragon saved Daenerys. No one saved the girl. She was returned to her father in the black of night, in nine pieces. One for every year she lived.”

“Why?” Doubts gnawed at him. “The Sons had stopped their killing. Hizdahr’s peace—”

“—is a sham. Not at first, no. The Yunkai’i were afraid of our queen, of her Unsullied, of her dragons. This land has known dragons before. Yurkhaz zo Yunzak had read his histories, he knew. Hizdahr as well. Why not a peace? Daenerys wanted it, they could see that. Wanted it too much. She should have marched to Astapor.” Skahaz moved closer. “That was before. The pit changed all. Daenerys gone, Yurkhaz dead. In place of one old lion, a pack of jackals. Bloodbeard … that one has no taste for peace. And there is more. Worse. Volantis has launched its fleet against us.”

“Volantis.” Selmy’s sword hand tingled. We made a peace with Yunkai. Not with Volantis. “You are certain?”

“Certain. The Wise Masters know. So do their friends. The Harpy, Reznak, Hizdahr. This king will open the city gates to the Volantenes when they arrive. All those Daenerys freed will be enslaved again. Even some who were never slaves will be fitted for chains. You may end your days in a fighting pit, old man. Khrazz will eat your heart.”

His head was pounding. “Daenerys must be told.”

“Find her first.” Skahaz grasped his forearm. His fingers felt like iron. “We cannot wait for her.

~

“Daenerys signed that peace,” Ser Barristan said. “It is not for us to break it without her leave.”

“And if she is dead?” demanded Skahaz. “What then, ser? I say she would want us to protect her city. Her children.”

Her children were the freedmen. Mhysa, they called her, all those whose chains she broke. “Mother.” The Shavepate was not wrong. Daenerys would want her children protected. “What of Hizdahr? He is still her consort. Her king. Her husband.”

“Her poisoner.”

Is he? “Where is your proof?”

“The crown he wears is proof enough. The throne he sits. Open your eyes, old man. That is all he needed from Daenerys, all he ever wanted. Once he had it, why share the rule?”

Why indeed? It had been so hot down in the pit. He could still see the air shimmering above the scarlet sands, smell the blood spilling from the men who’d died for their amusement. And he could still hear Hizdahr, urging his queen to try the honeyed locusts.

ADWD Tyrion X

The next piece of chattel was already being led up to take their place. A girl, fifteen or sixteen, not off the Selaesori Qhoran this time. Tyrion did not know her. The same age as Daenerys Targaryen, or near enough. The slaver soon had her naked. At least we were spared that humiliation.

~

Mormont paid no mind to the mongrel crowd; his eyes were fixed beyond the siege lines, on the distant city with its ancient walls of many-colored brick. Tyrion could read that look as easy as a book: so near and yet so distant. The poor wretch had returned too late. Daenerys Targaryen was wed, the guards on the pens had told them, laughing. She had taken a Meereenese slaver as her king, as wealthy as he was noble, and when the peace was signed and sealed the fighting pits of Meereen would open once again. Other slaves insisted that the guards were lying, that Daenerys Targaryen would never make peace with slavers. Mhysa, they called her. Someone told him that meant Mother. Soon the silver queen would come forth from her city, smash the Yunkai’i, and break their chains, they whispered to one another.

And then she’ll bake us all a lemon pie and kiss our widdle wounds and make them better, the dwarf thought. He had no faith in royal rescues. If need be, he would see to their deliverance himself.

ADWD Jon IX

“Let us hope so. The narrow sea is perilous this time of year, and of late there have been troubling reports of strange ships seen amongst the Step-stones.”

“Salladhor Saan?”

“The Lysene pirate? Some say he has returned to his old haunts, this is so. And Lord Redwyne’s war fleet creeps through the Broken Arm as well.

On its way home, no doubt. But these men and their ships are well-known to us. No, these other sails … from farther east, perhaps … one hears queer talk of dragons.”

“Would that we had one here. A dragon might warm things up a bit.”

“My lord jests. You will forgive me if I do not laugh. We Braavosi are descended from those who fled Valyria and the wroth of its dragonlords. We do not jape of dragons.”

ADWD Tyrion IX

“We failed at that as well. No one threw coins.” Not a penny, not a groat.

“They will when we get better.” Penny pulled off her helm. Mouse-brown hair spilled down to her ears. Her eyes were brown too, beneath a heavy shelf of brow, her cheeks smooth and flushed. She pulled some acorns from a leather bag for Pretty Pig. The sow ate them from her hand, squealing happily. “When we perform for Queen Daenerys the silver will rain down, you’ll see.”

~

At Joffrey’s wedding feast, he recalled, one rider had displayed the direwolf of Robb Stark, the other the arms and colors of Stannis Baratheon. “We will need both animals if we’re to tilt for Queen Daenerys,” he said. If the sailors took it in their heads to butcher Pretty Pig, neither he nor Penny could hope to stop them … but Ser Jorah’s longsword might give them pause, at least.

“Is that how you hope to keep your head, Imp?”

“Ser Imp, if you please. And yes. Once Her Grace knows my true worth, she’ll cherish me. I am a lovable little fellow, after all, and I know many useful things about my kin. But until such time I had best keep her amused.”

“Caper as you like, it won’t wash out your crimes. Daenerys Targaryen is no silly child to be diverted by japes and tumbles. She will deal with you justly.”

Oh, I hope not. Tyrion studied Mormont with his mismatched eyes. “And how will she welcome you, this just queen? A warm embrace, a girlish titter, a headsman’s axe?” He grinned at the knight’s obvious discomfit. “Did you truly expect me to believe you were about the queen’s business in that whorehouse? Defending her from half a world away? Or could it be that you were running, that your dragon queen sent you from her side? But why would she … oh, wait, you were spying on her.” Tyrion made a clucking sound. “You hope to buy your way back into her favor by presenting her with me. An ill-considered scheme, I’d say. One might even say an act of drunken desperation. Perhaps if I were Jaime … but Jaime killed her father, I only killed my own. You think Daenerys will execute me and pardon you, but the reverse is just as likely. Maybe you should hop up on that pig, Ser Jorah. Put on a suit of iron motley, like Florian the—”

The blow the big knight gave him cracked his head around and knocked him sideways, so hard that his head bounced off the deck.

~

“The widow said this ship would never reach her destination. I took that to mean that once we were out to sea beyond the reach of triarchs, the captain would change course for Meereen. Or perhaps that you would seize the ship with your Fiery Hand and take us to Daenerys. But that isn’t what your high priest saw at all, is it?”

“No.” Moqorro’s deep voice tolled as solemnly as a funeral bell. “This is what he saw.”

ADWD Tyrion VIII

“Have you come to pray with me?”

“Someone told me that the night is dark and full of terrors. What do you see in those flames?”

“Dragons,” Moqorro said in the Common Tongue of Westeros. He spoke it very well, with hardly a trace of accent. No doubt that was one reason the high priest Benerro had chosen him to bring the faith of R’hllor to Daenerys Targaryen. “Dragons old and young, true and false, bright and dark. And you. A small man with a big shadow, snarling in the midst of all.”

~

Twice exiled, and small wonder, Tyrion thought. I’d exile him too if I could. The man is cold, brooding, sullen, deaf to humor. And those are his good points. Ser Jorah spent most of his waking hours pacing the forecastle or leaning on the rail, gazing out to sea. Looking for his silver queen. Looking for Daenerys, willing the ship to sail faster. Well, I might do the same if Tysha waited in Meereen.

~

“Daenerys has a kind heart and a generous nature.” It was what she needed to hear. “She will find a place for you at her court, I don’t doubt. A safe place, beyond my sister’s reach.”

Penny turned back to him. “And you will be there too.”

Unless Daenerys decides she needs some Lannister blood, to pay for the Targaryen blood my brother shed. “I will.”

~

“Does our captain mean to test the curse?”

“Our captain would prefer to be fifty leagues farther out to sea, well away from that accursed shore, but I have commanded him to steer the shortest course. Others seek Daenerys too.”

Griff, with his young prince. Could all that talk of the Golden Company sailing west have been a feint? Tyrion considered saying something, then thought better. It seemed to him that the prophecy that drove the red priests had room for just one hero. A second Targaryen would only serve to confuse them. “Have you seen these others in your fires?” he asked, warily.

“Only their shadows,” Moqorro said. “One most of all. A tall and twisted thing with one black eye and ten long arms, sailing on a sea of blood.”

  ADWD Tyrion VII

“What is he saying?” Tyrion asked the knight.

“That Daenerys stands in peril. The dark eye has fallen upon her, and the minions of night are plotting her destruction, praying to their false gods in temples of deceit … conspiring at betrayal with godless outlanders …”

The hairs on the back of Tyrion’s neck began to prickle. Prince Aegon will find no friend here. The red priest spoke of ancient prophecy, a prophecy that foretold the coming of a hero to deliver the world from darkness. One hero. Not two. Daenerys has dragons, Aegon does not. The dwarf did not need to be a prophet himself to foresee how Benerro and his followers might react to a second Targaryen. Griff will see that too, surely, he thought, surprised to find how much he cared.

~

Tyrion had just swallowed another locust. He almost choked on it. Is he mocking me? How much could he know of Griff and Aegon? “Bugger,” he said. “I meant to hire the Golden Company myself, to win me Casterly Rock.” Could this be some ploy of Griff’s, false reports deliberately spread? Unless … Could the pretty princeling have swallowed the bait? Turned them west instead of east, abandoning his hopes of wedding Queen Daenerys? Abandoning the dragons … would Griff allow that?

~

“We need swift passage to Meereen.”

One word. Tyrion Lannister’s world turned upside down.

One word. Meereen. Or had he misheard?

One word. Meereen, he said Meereen, he’s taking me to Meereen. Meereen meant life. Or hope for life, at least.

“Why come to me?” the widow said. “I own no ships.”

“You have many captains in your debt.”

Deliver me to the queen, he says. Aye, but which queen? He isn’t selling me to Cersei. He’s giving me to Daenerys Targaryen. That’s why he hasn’t hacked my head off. We’re going east, and Griff and his prince are going west, the bloody fools.

Oh, it was all too much. Plots within plots, but all roads lead down the dragon’s gullet. A guffaw burst from his lips, and suddenly Tyrion could not stop laughing.

“Your dwarf is having a fit,” the widow observed. “My dwarf will be quiet, or I’ll see him gagged.”

Tyrion covered his mouth with his hands. Meereen!

~

“...Have you heard Benerro preach?”

“Last night.”

“Benerro can see the morrow in his flames,” the widow said. “Triarch Malaquo tried to hire the Golden Company, did you know? He meant to clean out the red temple and put Benerro to the sword. He dare not use tiger cloaks. Half of them worship the Lord of Light as well. Oh, these are dire days in Old Volantis, even for wrinkled old widows. But not half so dire as in Meereen, I think. So tell me, ser … why do you seek the silver queen?”

~

“Keep your silver. I have gold. And spare me your black looks, ser. I am too old to be frightened of a scowl. You are a hard man, I see, and no doubt skilled with that long sword at your side, but this is my realm. Let me crook a finger and you may find yourself traveling to Meereen chained to an oar in the belly of a galley.” She lifted her jade fan and opened it. There was a rustle of leaves, and a man slid from the overgrown archway to her left. His face was a mass of scars, and in one hand he held a sword, short and heavy as a cleaver. “Seek the widow of the waterfront, someone told you, but they should have also warned you, beware the widow’s sons. It is such a sweet morning, though, I shall ask again. Why would you seek Daenerys Targaryen, whom half the world wants dead?”

Jorah Mormont’s face was dark with anger, but he answered. “To serve her. Defend her. Die for her, if need be.”

That made the widow laugh. “You want to rescue her, is that the way of it? From more enemies than I can name, with swords beyond count … this is what you’d have the poor widow believe? That you are a true and chivalrous Westerosi knight crossing half the world to come to the aid of this … well, she is no maiden, though she may still be fair.” She laughed again. “Do you think your dwarf will please her? Will she bathe in his blood, do you think, or content herself with striking off his head?”

Ser Jorah hesitated. “The dwarf is—”

“—I know who the dwarf is, and what he is.” Her black eyes turned to Tyrion, hard as stone. “Kinslayer, kingslayer, murderer, turncloak. Lannister.” She made the last a curse. “What do you plan to offer the dragon queen, little man?”

My hate, Tyrion wanted to say. Instead he spread his hands as far as the fetters would allow. “Whatever she would have of me. Sage counsel, savage wit, a bit of tumbling. My cock, if she desires it. My tongue, if she does not. I will lead her armies or rub her feet, as she desires. And the only reward I ask is I might be allowed to rape and kill my sister.”

~

“If I were Volantene, and free, and had the blood, you’d have my vote for triarch, my lady.”

“I am no lady,” the widow replied, “just Vogarro’s whore. You want to be gone from here before the tigers come. Should you reach your queen, give her a message from the slaves of Old Volantis.” She touched the faded scar upon her wrinkled cheek, where her tears had been cut away. “Tell her we are waiting. Tell her to come soon.”

ADWD The Windblown

The word passed through the camp like a hot wind. She is coming. Her host is on the march. She is racing south to Yunkai, to put the city to the torch and its people to the sword, and we are going north to meet her.

~

“We’ll get provisions in Yunkai, maybe fresh horses, then it will be on to Meereen to dance with the dragon queen. So hop quick, Frog, and put a nice edge on your master’s sword. Might be he’ll need it soon.”

~

“Arch is the best fighter of the three of us,” Drinkwater had pointed out, “but only you can hope to wed the dragon queen.”

Wed her or fight her; either way, I will face her soon. The more Quentyn heard of Daenerys Targaryen, the more he feared that meeting. The Yunkai’i claimed that she fed her dragons on human flesh and bathed in the blood of virgins to keep her skin smooth and supple. Beans laughed at that but relished the tales of the silver queen’s promiscuity. “One of her captains comes of a line where the men have foot-long members,” he told them, “but even he’s not big enough for her. She rode with the Dothraki and grew accustomed to being fucked by stallions, so now no man can fill her.” And Books, the clever Volantene swordsman who always seemed to have his nose poked in some crumbly scroll, thought the dragon queen both murderous and mad. “Her khal killed her brother to make her queen. Then she killed her khal to make herself khaleesi. She practices blood sacrifice, lies as easily as she breathes, turns against her own on a whim. She’s broken truces, tortured envoys … her father was mad too. It runs in the blood.”

It runs in the blood. King Aerys II had been mad, all of Westeros knew that. He had exiled two of his Hands and burned a third. If Daenerys is as murdeous as her father, must I still marry her? Prince Doran had never spoken of that possibility.

~

Their mistress could not have been more than sixteen and fancied herself Yunkai’s own Daenerys Targaryen.

~

“Daenerys may be halfway to Yunkai by now, with an army at her back,” Quentyn said as they walked amongst the horses.

“She may be,” Gerris said, “but she’s not. We’ve heard such talk before. The Astapori were convinced Daenerys was coming south with her dragons to break the siege. She didn’t come then, and she’s not coming now.”

“We can’t know that, not for certain. We need to steal away before we end up fighting the woman I was sent to woo.”

“Wait till Yunkai.” Gerris gestured at the hills. “These lands belong to the Yunkai’i. No one is like to want to feed or shelter three deserters. North of Yunkai, that’s no-man’s-land.”

He was not wrong. Even so, Quentyn felt uneasy. “The big man’s made too many friends. He knows the plan was always to steal off and make our way to Daenerys, but he’s not going to feel good about abandoning men he’s fought with. If we wait too long, it’s going to feel as if we’re deserting them on the eve of battle. He will never do that. You know him as well as I do.”

~

“You’d have us turn our cloaks?”

“I would,” said the Tattered Prince.

Quentyn Martell almost laughed aloud. The gods are mad.

The Westerosi shifted uneasily. Some stared into their wine cups, as if they hoped to find some wisdom there. Hugh Hungerford frowned. “You think Queen Daenerys will take us in …”

“I do.”

~

“Meris will command you,” said the Tattered Prince. “She knows my mind in this … and Daenerys Targaryen may be more accepting of another woman.”

~

“The best ruses always have some seed of truth,” said the Tattered Prince. “Every one of you has ample reason for wanting to abandon me. And Daenerys Targaryen knows that sellswords are a fickle lot. Her own Second Sons and Stormcrows took Yunkish gold but did not hesitate to join her when the tide of battle began to flow her way.”

 ADWD The Lost Lord

A ferocious southern sun beat down upon the crowded riverfront of Volon Therys, but heat was the last and least of Griff’s concerns. The Golden Company was encamped three miles south of town, well north of where he had expected them, and Triarch Malaquo had come north with five thousand foot and a thousand horse to cut them off from the delta road. Daenerys Targaryen remained a world away, and Tyrion Lannister … well, he could be most anywhere.

~

“The plan was to reveal Prince Aegon only when we reached Queen Daenerys,” Lemore was saying.

“That was when we believed the girl was coming west. Our dragon queen has burned that plan to ash, and thanks to that fat fool in Pentos, we have grasped the she-dragon by the tail and burned our fingers to the bone.”

“Illyrio could not have been expected to know that the girl would choose to remain at Slaver’s Bay.”

“No more than he knew that the Beggar King would die young, or that Khal Drogo would follow him into the grave. Very little of what the fat man has anticipated has come to pass.”

~

“I assume you know that the Targaryen girl has not started for the west?”

“We heard that tale in Selhorys.”

“No tale. Simple truth. The why of it is harder to grasp. Sack Meereen, aye, why not? I would have done the same in her place. The slaver cities reek of gold, and conquest requires coin. But why linger? Fear? Madness? Sloth?”

“The why of it does not matter.” Harry Strickland unrolled a pair of striped woolen stockings. “She is in Meereen and we are here, where the Volantenes grow daily more unhappy with our presence. We came to raise up a king and queen who would lead us home to Westeros, but this Targaryen girl seems more intent on planting olive trees than in reclaiming her father’s throne. Meanwhile, her foes gather. Yunkai, New Ghis, Tolos. Bloodbeard and the Tattered Prince will both be in the field against her … and soon enough the fleets of Old Volantis will descend on her as well. What does she have? Bedslaves with sticks?”

“Unsullied,” said Griff. “And dragons.”

“Dragons, aye,” the captain-general said, “but young ones, hardly more than hatchlings.” Strickland eased his sock over his blisters and up his ankle. “How much will they avail her when all these armies close about her city like a fist?”

Tristan Rivers drummed his fingers on his knee. “All the more reason that we must reach her quickly, I say. If Daenerys will not come to us, we must go to Daenerys.”

“Can we walk across the waves, ser?” asked Lysono Maar. “I tell you again, we cannot reach the silver queen by sea. I slipped into Volantis myself, posing as a trader, to learn how many ships might be available to us. The harbor teems with galleys, cogs, and carracks of every sort and size, yet even so I soon found myself consorting with smugglers and pirates. We have ten thousand men in the company, as I am sure Lord Connington remembers from his years of service with us. Five hundred knights, each with three horses. Five hundred squires, with one mount apiece. And elephants, we must not forget the elephants. A pirate ship will not suffice. We would need a pirate fleet … and even if we found one, the word has come back from Slaver’s Bay that Meereen has been closed off by blockade.”

~

And then Prince Aegon spoke. “Then put your hopes on me,” he said. “Daenerys is Prince Rhaegar’s sister, but I am Rhaegar’s son. I am the only dragon that you need.”

Griff put a black-gloved hand upon Prince Aegon’s shoulder. “Spoken boldly,” he said, “but think what you are saying.”

“I have,” the lad insisted. “Why should I go running to my aunt as if I were a beggar? My claim is better than her own. Let her come to me … in Westeros.”

Franklyn Flowers laughed. “I like it. Sail west, not east. Leave the little queen to her olives and seat Prince Aegon upon the Iron Throne. The boy has stones, give him that.”

The captain-general looked as if someone had slapped his face. “Has the sun curdled your brains, Flowers? We need the girl. We need the marriage. If Daenerys accepts our princeling and takes him for her consort, the Seven Kingdoms will do the same. Without her, the lords will only mock his claim and brand him a fraud and a pretender. And how do you propose to get to Westeros? You heard Lysono. There are no ships to be had.”

~

“By now the lion surely has the dragon’s scent,” said one of the Coles, “but Cersei’s attentions will be fixed upon Meereen and this other queen. She knows nothing of our prince. Once we land and raise our banners, many and more will flock to join us.”

“Some,” allowed Homeless Harry, “not many. Rhaegar’s sister has dragons. Rhaegar’s son does not. We do not have the strength to take the realm without Daenerys and her army. Her Unsullied.”

“The first Aegon took Westeros without eunuchs,” said Lysono Maar. “Why shouldn’t the sixth Aegon do the same?”

“The plan—”

“Which plan?” said Tristan Rivers. “The fat man’s plan? The one that changes every time the moon turns? First Viserys Targaryen was to join us with fifty thousand Dothraki screamers at his back. Then the Beggar King was dead, and it was to be the sister, a pliable young child queen who was on her way to Pentos with three new-hatched dragons. Instead the girl turns up on Slaver’s Bay and leaves a string of burning cities in her wake, and the fat man decides we should meet her by Volantis. Now that plan is in ruins as well.

“I have had enough of Illyrio’s plans. Robert Baratheon won the Iron Throne without the benefit of dragons. We can do the same. And if I am wrong and the realm does not rise for us, we can always retreat back across the narrow sea, as Bittersteel once did, and others after him.”

Strickland shook his head stubbornly. “The risk—”

“—is not what it was, now that Tywin Lannister is dead. The Seven Kingdoms will never be more ripe for conquest. Another boy king sits the Iron Throne, this one even younger than the last, and rebels are thick upon the ground as autumn leaves.”

ADWD Tyrion VI

“And when the pisswater prince was safely dead, the eunuch smuggled you across the narrow sea to his fat friend the cheesemonger, who hid you on a poleboat and found an exile lord willing to call himself your father. It does make for a splendid story, and the singers will make much of your escape once you take the Iron Throne … assuming that our fair Daenerys takes you for her consort.”

“She will. She must.”

“Must?” Tyrion made a tsking sound. “That is not a word queens like to hear. You are her perfect prince, agreed, bright and bold and comely as any maid could wish. Daenerys Targaryen is no maid, however. She is the widow of a Dothraki khal, a mother of dragons and sacker of cities, Aegon the Conqueror with teats. She may not prove as willing as you wish.”

“She’ll be willing.” Prince Aegon sounded shocked. It was plain that he had never before considered the possibility that his bride-to-be might refuse him. “You don’t know her.” He picked up his heavy horse and put it down with a thump.

The dwarf shrugged. “I know that she spent her childhood in exile, impoverished, living on dreams and schemes, running from one city to the next, always fearful, never safe, friendless but for a brother who was by all accounts half-mad … a brother who sold her maidenhood to the Dothraki for the promise of an army. I know that somewhere out upon the grass her dragons hatched, and so did she. I know she is proud. How not? What else was left her but pride? I know she is strong. How not? The Dothraki despise weakness. If Daenerys had been weak, she would have perished with Viserys. I know she is fierce. Astapor, Yunkai, and Meereen are proof enough of that. She has crossed the grasslands and the red waste, survived assassins and conspiracies and fell sorceries, grieved for a brother and a husband and a son, trod the cities of the slavers to dust beneath her dainty sandaled feet. Now, how do you suppose this queen will react when you turn up with your begging bowl in hand and say, ‘Good morrow to you, Auntie. I am your nephew, Aegon, returned from the dead. I’ve been hiding on a poleboat all my life, but now I’ve washed the blue dye from my hair and I’d like a dragon, please … and oh, did I mention, my claim to the Iron Throne is stronger than your own?’ ”

Aegon’s mouth twisted in fury. “I will not come to my aunt a beggar. I will come to her a kinsman, with an army.”

“A small army.” There, that’s made him good and angry. The dwarf could not help but think of Joffrey. I have a gift for angering princes. “Queen Daenerys has a large one, and no thanks to you.” Tyrion moved his crossbows.

“Say what you want. She will be my bride, Lord Connington will see to it. I trust him as much as if he were my own blood.”

~

“But,” Prince Aegon said, “without Daenerys and her dragons, how could we hope to win?”

“You do not need to win,” Tyrion told him. “All you need to do is raise your banners, rally your supporters, and hold, until Daenerys arrives to join her strength to yours.”

“You said she might not have me.”

“Perhaps I overstated. She may take pity on you when you come begging for her hand.” The dwarf shrugged. “Do you want to wager your throne upon a woman’s whim? Go to Westeros, though … ah, then you are a rebel, not a beggar. Bold, reckless, a true scion of House Targaryen, walking in the footsteps of Aegon the Conqueror. A dragon.

“I told you, I know our little queen. Let her hear that her brother Rhaegar’s murdered son is still alive, that this brave boy has raised the dragon standard of her forebears in Westeros once more, that he is fighting a desperate war to avenge his father and reclaim the Iron Throne for House Targaryen, hard-pressed on every side … and she will fly to your side as fast as wind and water can carry her. You are the last of her line, and this Mother of Dragons, this Breaker of Chains, is above all a rescuer. The girl who drowned the slaver cities in blood rather than leave strangers to their chains can scarcely abandon her own brother’s son in his hour of peril. And when she reaches Westeros, and meets you for the first time, you will meet as equals, man and woman, not queen and supplicant. How can she help but love you then, I ask you?”

~

“Then rouse him. We have tidings he’d best hear. The queen’s name is on every tongue in Selhorys. They say she still sits in Meereen, sore beset. If the talk in the markets can be believed, Old Volantis will soon join the war against her.”

Haldon pursed his lips. “The gossip of fishmongers is not to be relied on. Still, I suppose Griff will want to hear. You know how he is.” The Halfmaester went below.

The girl never started for the west. No doubt she had good reasons. Between Meereen and Volantis lay five hundred leagues of deserts, mountains, swamps, and ruins, plus Mantarys with its sinister repute. A city of monsters, they say, but if she marches overland, where else is she to turn for food and water? The sea would be swifter, but if she does not have the ships …

~

“That was another age. Come, we’d best hear what that priest is going on about. I swear I heard the name Daenerys.”

Across the square they joined the growing throng outside the red temple. With the locals towering above him on every hand, the little man found it hard to see much beyond their arses. He could hear most every word the priest was saying, but that was not to say he understood them. “Do you understand what he is saying?” he asked Haldon in the Common Tongue.

“I would if I did not have a dwarf piping in my ear.”

“I do not pipe.” Tyrion crossed his arms and looked behind him, studying the faces of the men and women who had stopped to listen. Everywhere he turned, he saw tattoos. Slaves. Four of every five of them are slaves.

“The priest is calling on the Volantenes to go to war,” the Halfmaester told him, “but on the side of right, as soldiers of the Lord of Light, R’hllor who made the sun and stars and fights eternally against the darkness. Nyessos and Malaquo have turned away from the light, he says, their hearts darkened by the yellow harpies from the east. He says …”

“Dragons. I understood that word. He said dragons.”

“Aye. The dragons have come to carry her to glory.”

“Her. Daenerys?”

Haldon nodded. “Benerro has sent forth the word from Volantis. Her coming is the fulfillment of an ancient prophecy. From smoke and salt was she born to make the world anew. She is Azor Ahai returned … and her triumph over darkness will bring a summer that will never end … death itself will bend its knee, and all those who die fighting in her cause shall be reborn …”

“Do I have to be reborn in this same body?” asked Tyrion. The crowd was growing thicker. He could feel them pressing in around them. “Who is Benerro?”

Haldon raised an eyebrow. “High Priest of the red temple in Volantis. Flame of Truth, Light of Wisdom, First Servant of the Lord of Light, Slave of R’hllor.”

The only red priest Tyrion had ever known was Thoros of Myr, the portly, genial, wine-stained roisterer who had loitered about Robert’s court swilling the king’s finest vintages and setting his sword on fire for mêlées. “Give me priests who are fat and corrupt and cynical,” he told Haldon, “the sort who like to sit on soft satin cushions, nibble sweetmeats, and diddle little boys. It’s the ones who believe in gods who make the trouble.”

~

“What news from downriver? Will it be war?”

Qavo shrugged. “The Yunkai’i would have it so. They style themselves the Wise Masters. Of their wisdom I cannot speak, but they do not lack for cunning. Their envoy came to us with chests of gold and gems and two hundred slaves, nubile girls and smooth-skinned boys trained in the way of the seven sighs. I am told his feasts are memorable and his bribes lavish.”

“The Yunkishmen have bought your triarchs?”

“Only Nyessos.” Qavo removed the screen and studied the placement of Tyrion’s army. “Malaquo may be old and toothless, but he is a tiger still, and Doniphos will not be returned as triarch. The city thirsts for war.”

“Why?” wondered Tyrion. “Meereen is long leagues across the sea. How has this sweet child queen offended Old Volantis?”

“Sweet?” Qavo laughed. “If even half the stories coming back from Slaver’s Bay are true, this child is a monster. They say that she is blood-thirsty, that those who speak against her are impaled on spikes to die lingering deaths. They say she is a sorceress who feeds her dragons on the flesh of newborn babes, an oathbreaker who mocks the gods, breaks truces, threatens envoys, and turns on those who have served her loyally. They say her lust cannot be sated, that she mates with men, women, eunuchs, even dogs and children, and woe betide the lover who fails to satisfy her. She gives her body to men to take their souls in thrall.”

Oh, good, thought Tyrion. If she gives her body to me, she is welcome to my soul, small and stunted though it is.

“They say,” said Haldon. “By they, you mean the slavers, the exiles she drove from Astapor and Meereen. Mere calumnies.”

“The best calumnies are spiced with truth,” suggested Qavo, “but the girl’s true sin cannot be denied. This arrogant child has taken it upon herself to smash the slave trade, but that traffic was never confined to Slaver’s Bay. It was part of the sea of trade that spanned the world, and the dragon queen has clouded the water. Behind the Black Wall, lords of ancient blood sleep poorly, listening as their kitchen slaves sharpen their long knives. Slaves grow our food, clean our streets, teach our young. They guard our walls, row our galleys, fight our battles. And now when they look east, they see this young queen shining from afar, this breaker of chains. The Old Blood cannot suffer that. Poor men hate her too. Even the vilest beggar stands higher than a slave. This dragon queen would rob him of that consolation.”

Tyrion advanced his spearmen. Qavo replied with his light horse. Tyrion moved his crossbowmen up a square and said, “The red priest outside seemed to think Volantis should fight for this silver queen, not against her.”

“The red priests would be wise to hold their tongues,” said Qavo Nogarys. “Already there has been fighting between their followers and those who worship other gods. Benerro’s rantings will only serve to bring a savage wrath down upon his head.”

“What rantings?” the dwarf asked, toying with his rabble.

The Volantene waved a hand. “In Volantis, thousands of slaves and freedmen crowd the temple plaza every night to hear Benerro shriek of bleeding stars and a sword of fire that will cleanse the world. He has been preaching that Volantis will surely burn if the triarchs take up arms against the silver queen.”

“That’s a prophecy even I could make. Ah, supper.”

Supper was a plate of roasted goat served on a bed of sliced onions. The meat was spiced and fragrant, charred outside and red and juicy within. Tyrion plucked at a piece. It was so hot it burned his fingers, but so good he could not help but reach for another chunk. He washed it down with the pale green Volantene liquor, the closest thing he’d had to wine for ages. “Very good,” he said, plucking up his dragon. “The most powerful piece in the game,” he announced, as he removed one of Qavo’s elephants. “And Daenerys Targaryen has three, it’s said.”

“Three,” Qavo allowed, “against thrice three thousand enemies. Grazdan mo Eraz was not the only envoy sent out from the Yellow City. When the Wise Masters move against Meereen, the legions of New Ghis will fight beside them. Tolosi. Elyrians. Even the Dothraki.”

~

“You’re mine, Hugor.”

Tyrion could no more outrun him than outfight him. Drunk as he was, he could not even hope to outwit him. He spread his hands. “And what do you mean to do with me?”

“Deliver you,” the knight said, “to the queen.”

ADWD Davos II

The old fellow made a face. “Prince Viserys weren’t the only dragon, were he? Are we sure they killed Prince Rhaegar’s son? A babe, he was.”

“Wasn’t there some princess too?” asked a whore. She was the same one who’d said the meat was grey.

“Two,” said the old fellow. “One was Rhaegar’s daughter, t’other was his sister.”

“Daena,” said the riverman. “That was the sister. Daena of Dragon-stone. Or was it Daera?”

“Daena was old King Baelor’s wife,” said the oarsman. “I rowed on a ship named for her once. The Princess Daena.”

“If she was a king’s wife, she’d be a queen.”

“Baelor never had a queen. He was holy.”

“Don’t mean he never wed his sister,” said the whore. “He just never bedded her, is all. When they made him king, he locked her up in a tower. His other sisters too. There was three.”

“Daenela,” the proprietor said loudly. “That was her name. The Mad King’s daughter, I mean, not Baelor’s bloody wife.”

“Daenerys,” Davos said. “She was named for the Daenerys who wed the Prince of Dorne during the reign of Daeron the Second. I don’t know what became of her.”

"I do," said the man who'd started all the talk of dragons, a Braavosi oarsman in a somber woolen jack. "When we were down to Pentos we moored beside a trader called the Sloe-Eyed Maid, and I got to drinking with her captain's steward. He told me a pretty tale about some slip of a girl who come aboard in Qarth, to try and book passage back to Westeros for her and three dragons. Silver hair she had, and purple eyes. 'I took her to the captain my own self,' this steward swore to me, 'but he wasn't having none of that. There's more profit in cloves and saffron, he tells me, and spices won't set fire to your sails.' "

ADWD Tyrion III

Griff ignored the request. Instead he touched the letter to the candle flame and watched the parchment blacken, curl, and flare up. “There is blood between Targaryen and Lannister. Why would you support the cause of Queen Daenerys?”

“For gold and glory,” the dwarf said cheerfully. “Oh, and hate. If you had ever met my sister, you would understand.”

ADWD The Merchant's Man

That was before Prince Doran had summoned him to the Water Gardens. And now the most beautiful woman in the world was waiting in Meereen, and he meant to do his duty and claim her for his bride. She will not refuse me. She will honor the agreement. Daenerys Targaryen would need Dorne to win the Seven Kingdoms, and that meant that she would need him. It does not mean that she will love me, though. She may not even like me.

~

“Perhaps your silver queen would like a monkey,” said Gerris.

Quentyn had no idea what Daenerys Targaryen might like. He had promised his father that he would bring her back to Dorne, but more and more he wondered if he was equal to the task.

~

“And if Daenerys is dead before we reach her?” Quentyn said. “We must have a ship. Even if it is Adventure.”

Gerris laughed. “You must be more desperate for Daenerys than I knew if you’d endure that stench for months on end. After three days, I’d be begging them to murder me. No, my prince, I pray you, not Adventure.”

ADWD Tyrion II

“How many days until we reach the river?” he asked Illyrio that evening. “At this pace, your queen’s dragons will be larger than Aegon’s three before I can lay eyes upon them.”

“Would it were so. A large dragon is more fearsome than a small one.” The magister shrugged. “Much as it would please me to welcome Queen Daenerys to Volantis, I must rely on you and Griff for that. I can serve her best in Pentos, smoothing the way for her return. So long as I am with you, though … well, an old fat man must have his comforts, yes? Come, drink a cup of wine.”

“Tell me,” Tyrion said as he drank, “why should a magister of Pentos give three figs who wears the crown in Westeros? Where is the gain for you in this venture, my lord?”

The fat man dabbed grease from his lips. “I am an old man, grown weary of this world and its treacheries. Is it so strange that I should wish to do some good before my days are done, to help a sweet young girl regain her birthright?”

Next you will be offering me a suit of magic armor and a palace in Valyria. “If Daenerys is no more than a sweet young girl, the Iron Throne will cut her into sweet young pieces.”

“Fear not, my little friend. The blood of Aegon the Dragon flows in her veins.”

Along with the blood of Aegon the Unworthy, Maegor the Cruel, and Baelor the Befuddled. “Tell me more of her.”

The fat man grew pensive. “Daenerys was half a child when she came to me, yet fairer even than my second wife, so lovely I was tempted to claim her for myself. Such a fearful, furtive thing, however, I knew I should get no joy from coupling with her. Instead I summoned a bed-warmer and fucked her vigorously until the madness passed. If truth be told, I did not think Daenerys would survive for long amongst the horselords.”

“That did not stop you selling her to Khal Drogo …”

“Dothraki neither buy nor sell. Say rather that her brother Viserys gave her to Drogo to win the khal’s friendship. A vain young man, and greedy. Viserys lusted for his father’s throne, but he lusted for Daenerys too, and was loath to give her up. The night before the princess wed he tried to steal into her bed, insisting that if he could not have her hand, he would claim her maidenhead. Had I not taken the precaution of posting guards upon her door, Viserys might have undone years of planning.”

“He sounds an utter fool.”

“Viserys was Mad Aerys’s son, just so. Daenerys … Daenerys is quite different.” He popped a roasted lark into his mouth and crunched it noisily, bones and all. “The frightened child who sheltered in my manse died on the Dothraki sea, and was reborn in blood and fire. This dragon queen who wears her name is a true Targaryen. When I sent ships to bring her home, she turned toward Slaver’s Bay. In a short span of days she conquered Astapor, made Yunkai bend the knee, and sacked Meereen. Mantarys will be next, if she marches west along the old Valyrian roads. If she comes by sea, well … her fleet must take on food and water at Volantis.”

~

“For that matter, why would you? Slavery may be forbidden by the laws of Pentos, yet you have a finger in that trade as well, and maybe a whole hand. And yet you conspire for the dragon queen, and not against her. Why? What do you hope to gain from Queen Daenerys?”

“Are we back to that again? You are a persistent little man.” Illyrio gave a laugh and slapped his belly. “As you will. The Beggar King swore that I should be his master of coin, and a lordly lord as well. Once he wore his golden crown, I should have my choice of castles … even Casterly Rock, if I desired.”

Tyrion snorted wine back up the scarred stump that had been his nose. “My father would have loved to hear that.”

“Your lord father had no cause for concern. Why would I want a rock? My manse is large enough for any man, and more comfortable than your drafty Westerosi castles. Master of coin, though …” The fat man peeled another egg. “I am fond of coins. Is there any sound as sweet as the clink of gold on gold?”

A sister’s screams. “Are you quite certain that Daenerys will make good her brother’s promises?”

“She will, or she will not.” Illyrio bit the egg in half. “I told you, my little friend, not all that a man does is done for gain. Believe as you wish, but even fat old fools like me have friends, and debts of affection to repay.”

Liar, thought Tyrion. There is something in this venture worth more to you than coin or castles.

~

“I dreamed about the queen,” he said. “I was on my knees before her, swearing my allegiance, but she mistook me for my brother, Jaime, and fed me to her dragons.”

“Let us hope this dream was not prophetic. You are a clever imp, just as Varys said, and Daenerys will have need of clever men about her. Ser Barristan is a valiant knight and true; but none, I think, has ever called him cunning.”

“Knights know only one way to solve a problem. They couch their lances and charge. A dwarf has a different way of looking at the world. What of you, though? You are a clever man yourself.”

“You flatter me.” Illyrio waggled his hand. “Alas, I am not made for travel, so I will send you to Daenerys in my stead. You did Her Grace a great service when you slew your father, and it is my hope that you will do her many more. Daenerys is not the fool her brother was. She will make good use of you.”

~

“Our last news of Queen Daenerys is old and stale, I fear. By now she will have left Meereen, we must assume. She has her host at last, a ragged host of sellswords, Dothraki horselords, and Unsullied infantry, and she will no doubt lead them west, to take back her father’s throne.” Magister Illyrio twisted open a pot of garlic snails, sniffed at them, and smiled. “At Volantis, you will have fresh tidings of Daenerys, we must hope,” he said, as he sucked one from its shell. “Dragons and young girls are both capricious, and it may be that you will need to adjust your plans. Griff will know what to do. Will you have a snail? The garlic is from my own gardens.”

I could ride a snail and make a better pace than this litter of yours. Tyrion waved the dish away. “You place a deal of trust in this man Griff. Another friend of your childhood?”

“No. A sellsword, you would call him, but Westerosi born. Daenerys needs men worthy of her cause.”

~

“Black or red, a dragon is still a dragon. When Maelys the Monstrous died upon the Stepstones, it was the end of the male line of House Blackfyre.” The cheesemonger smiled through his forked beard. “And Daenerys will give the exiles what Bittersteel and the Blackfyres never could. She will take them home.”

A Feast for Crows

AFFC Samwell V

He held back only the secrets that he was sworn to keep, about Bran Stark and his companions and the babes Jon Snow had swapped. “Daenerys is the only hope,” he concluded. “Aemon said the Citadel must send her a maester at once, to bring her home to Westeros before it is too late.”

~

“Maester Aemon believed that Daenerys Targaryen was the fulfillment of a prophecy ... her, not Stannis, nor Prince Rhaegar, nor the princeling whose head was dashed against the wall.”

“Born amidst salt and smoke, beneath a bleeding star. I know the prophecy.” Marwyn turned his head and spat a gob of red phlegm onto the floor. “Not that I would trust it. Gorghan of Old Ghis once wrote that a prophecy is like a treacherous woman. She takes your member in her mouth, and you moan with the pleasure of it and think, how sweet, how fine, how good this is ... and then her teeth snap shut and your moans turn to screams. That is the nature of prophecy, said Gorghan. Prophecy will bite your prick off every time.” He chewed a bit. “Still ...”

Alleras stepped up next to Sam. “Aemon would have gone to her if he had the strength. He wanted us to send a maester to her, to counsel her and protect her and fetch her safely home.”

AFFC The Princess in the Tower

“...He has gone to bring us back our heart’s desire.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What is our heart’s desire?”

“Vengeance.” His voice was soft, as if he were afraid that someone might be listening. “Justice.” Prince Doran pressed the onyx dragon into her palm with his swollen, gouty fingers, and whispered, “Fire and blood.”

AFFC Samwell IV

“No one ever looked for a girl,” he said. “It was a prince that was promised, not a princess. Rhaegar, I thought ... the smoke was from the fire that devoured Summerhall on the day of his birth, the salt from the tears shed for those who died. He shared my belief when he was young, but later he became persuaded that it was his own son who fulfilled the prophecy, for a comet had been seen above King’s Landing on the night Aegon was conceived, and Rhaegar was certain the bleeding star had to be a comet. What fools we were, who thought ourselves so wise! The error crept in from the translation. Dragons are neither male nor female, Barth saw the truth of that, but now one and now the other, as changeable as flame. The language misled us all for a thousand years. Daenerys is the one, born amidst salt and smoke. The dragons prove it.” Just talking of her seemed to make him stronger. “I must go to her. I must. Would that I was even ten years younger.”

~

“I will add my voice to yours, maester. We will both tell them, the two of us together.”

“No,” the old man said. “It must be you. Tell them. The prophecy ... my brother’s dream ... Lady Melisandre has misread the signs. Stannis ... Stannis has some of the dragon blood in him, yes. His brothers did as well. Rhaelle, Egg’s little girl, she was how they came by it ... their father’s mother ... she used to call me Uncle Maester when she was a little girl. I remembered that, so I allowed myself to hope ... perhaps I wanted to ... we all deceive ourselves, when we want to believe. Melisandre most of all, I think. The sword is wrong, she has to know that . . . light without heat ... an empty glamor ... the sword is wrong, and the false light can only lead us deeper into darkness, Sam. Daenerys is our hope. Tell them that, at the Citadel. Make them listen. They must send her a maester. Daenerys must be counseled, taught, protected. For all these years I’ve lingered, waiting, watching, and now that the day has dawned I am too old. I am dying, Sam.”

AFFC Cat of the Canals

Sometimes she brought back sailor’s tales, of strange and wondrous happenings from the wide wet world beyond the isles of Braavos, wars and rains of toads and dragons hatching.

AFFC The Reaver

“It was not the god who spoke. Euron is known to keep wizards and foul sorcerers on that red ship of his. They sent some spell among us, so we could not hear the sea. The captains and the kings were drunk with all this talk of dragons.”

“Drunk, and fearful of that horn. You heard the sound it made. It makes no matter. Euron is our king.”

~

“It is daring to sail out of sight of land, so no word of our coming could reach these islands before us,” he growled, “but crossing half the world to hunt for dragons, that is something else.”

~

“A king must have a wife, to give him heirs. Brother, I have need of you. Will you go to Slaver’s Bay and bring my love to me?”

~

“No, to make an heir that’s worthy of him, I need a different woman. When the kraken weds the dragon, brother, let all the world beware.”

“What dragon?” said Victarion, frowning.

“The last of her line. They say she is the fairest woman in the world. Her hair is silver-gold, and her eyes are amethysts ... but you need not take my word for it, brother. Go to Slaver’s Bay, behold her beauty, and bring her back to me.”

“Why should I?” Victarion demanded.

“For love. For duty. Because your king commands it.” Euron chuckled. “And for the Seastone Chair. It is yours, once I claim the Iron Throne. You shall follow me as I followed Balon ... and your own trueborn sons shall one day follow you.”

My own sons. But to have a trueborn son a man must first have a wife. Victarion had no luck with wives. Euron’s gifts are poisoned, he reminded himself, but still ...

“The choice is yours, brother. Live a thrall or die a king. Do you dare to fly? Unless you take the leap, you’ll never know.”

Euron’s smiling eye was bright with mockery. “Or do I ask too much of you? It is a fearsome thing to sail beyond Valyria.”

“I could sail the Iron Fleet to hell if need be.” When Victarion opened his hand, his palm was red with blood. “I’ll go to Slaver’s Bay, aye. I’ll find this dragon woman, and I’ll bring her back.” But not for you. You stole my wife and despoiled her, so I’ll have yours. The fairest woman in the world, for me.

AFFC The Drowned Man

“Aegon Targaryen conquered Westeros with dragons.”

“And so shall we,” Euron Greyjoy promised. “That horn you heard I found amongst the smoking ruins that were Valyria, where no man has dared to walk but me. You heard its call, and felt its power. It is a dragon horn, bound with bands of red gold and Valyrian steel graven with enchantments. The dragonlords of old sounded such horns, before the Doom devoured them. With this horn, ironmen, I can bind dragons to my will.”

Asha laughed aloud. “A horn to bind goats to your will would be of more use, Crow’s Eye. There are no more dragons.”

“Again, girl, you are wrong. There are three, and I know where to find them. Surely that is worth a driftwood crown.”

 AFFC Cersei V

“Do you have any news of more import?”

“The slave revolt in Astapor has spread to Meereen, it would seem. Sailors off a dozen ships speak of dragons ...”

“Harpies. It is harpies in Meereen.” She remembered that from somewhere. Meereen was at the far end of the world, out east beyond Valyria. “Let the slaves revolt. Why should I care? We keep no slaves in Westeros. Is that all you have for me?”

AFFC The Queenmaker

If the sailors could be believed, the east was seething with wonders and terrors: a slave revolt in Astapor, dragons in Qarth, grey plague in Yi Ti. A new corsair king had risen in the Basilisk Isles and raided Tall Trees Town, and in Qohor followers of the red priests had rioted and tried to burn down the Black Goat.

AFFC Cersei IV

I hesitate to take up the council’s time with trifles, but there has been some queer talk heard along the docks of late. Sailors from the east. They speak of dragons ...”

“... and manticores, no doubt, and bearded snarks?” Cersei chuckled. “Come back to me when you hear talk of dwarfs, my lord.”

AFFC Prologue

“The dragon has three heads,” he announced in his soft Dornish drawl.

“Is this a riddle?” Roone wanted to know. “Sphinxes always speak in riddles in the tales.”

“No riddle.” [...]

“No dragon has ever had three heads except on shields and banners,” Armen the Acolyte said firmly. “That was a heraldic charge, no more. Furthermore, the Targaryens are all dead.”

“Not all,” said Alleras. “The Beggar King had a sister.”

“I thought her head was smashed against a wall,” said Roone.

“No,” said Alleras. “It was Prince Rhaegar’s young son Aegon whose head was dashed against the wall by the Lion of Lannister’s brave men. We speak of Rhaegar’s sister, born on Dragonstone before its fall. The one they called Daenerys.”

“The Stormborn. I recall her now.” Mollander lifted his tankard high, sloshing the cider that remained. “Here’s to her!” He gulped, slammed his empty tankard down, belched, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Where’s Rosey? Our rightful queen deserves another round of cider, wouldn’t you say?”

A Storm of Swords

ASOS Tyrion III

The eunuch drew a parchment from his sleeve. “A kraken has been seen off the Fingers.” He giggled. “Not a Greyjoy, mind you, a true kraken. It attacked an Ibbenese whaler and pulled it under. There is fighting on the Stepstones, and a new war between Tyrosh and Lys seems likely. Both hope to win Myr as ally. Sailors back from the Jade Sea report that a three-headed dragon has hatched in Qarth, and is the wonder of that city—”

“Dragons and krakens do not interest me, regardless of the number of their heads,” said Lord Tywin. “Have your whisperers perchance found some trace of my brother’s son?”

“Alas, our beloved Tyrek has quite vanished, the poor brave lad.” Varys sounded close to tears.

“Tywin,” Ser Kevan said, before Lord Tywin could vent his obvious displeasure, “some of the gold cloaks who deserted during the battle have drifted back to barracks, thinking to take up duty once again. Ser Addam wishes to know what to do with them.”

“They might have endangered Joff with their cowardice,” Cersei said at once. “I want them put to death.”

Varys sighed. “They have surely earned death, Your Grace, none can deny it. And yet, perhaps we might be wiser to send them to the Night’s Watch. We have had disturbing messages from the Wall of late. Of wildlings astir ...”

“Wildlings, krakens, and dragons.” Mace Tyrell chuckled. “Why, is there anyone not stirring?”

A Clash of Kings

ACOK Bran I

“Wolves often howl at the moon. These are howling at the comet. See how bright it is, Bran? Perchance they think it is the moon.”

 When Bran repeated that to Osha, she laughed aloud. “Your wolves have more wit than your maester,” the wildling woman said. “They know truths the grey man has forgotten.” The way she said it made him shiver, and when he asked what the comet meant, she answered, “Blood and fire, boy, and nothing sweet.”

 Bran asked Septon Chayle about the comet while they were sorting through some scrolls snatched from the library fire. “It is the sword that slays the season,” he replied, and soon after the white raven came from Oldtown bringing word of autumn, so doubtless he was right.

 Though Old Nan did not think so, and she’d lived longer than any of them. “Dragons,” she said, lifting her head and sniffing. She was near blind and could not see the comet, yet she claimed she could smell it. “It be dragons, boy,” she insisted. 

A Game of Thrones

AGOT Eddard XIII

“The girl. Daenerys. Only a child, you were right … that’s why, the girl … the gods sent the boar … sent to punish me …” The king coughed, bringing up blood. “Wrong, it was wrong, I … only a girl … Varys, Littlefinger, even my brother … worthless … no one to tell me no but you, Ned … only you …” He lifted his hand, the gesture pained and feeble. “Paper and ink. There, on the table. Write what I tell you.”

~

“The girl,” the king said. “Daenerys. Let her live. If you can, if it … not too late … talk to them … Varys, Littlefinger … don’t let them kill her. And help my son, Ned. Make him be … better than me.”

~

Certainly Varys had once been young. Ned doubted that he had ever been innocent. “You mention children. Robert had a change of heart concerning Daenerys Targaryen. Whatever arrangements you made, I want unmade. At once.”

“Alas,” said Varys. “At once may be too late. I fear those birds have flown. But I shall do what I can, my lord. With your leave.”

AGOT Eddard X

“The Targaryen girl—”

The king groaned. “Seven hells, don’t start with her again. That’s done, I’ll hear no more of it.”

“Why would you want me as your Hand, if you refuse to listen to my counsel?”

“Why?” Robert laughed. “Why not? Someone has to rule this damnable kingdom.”

AGOT Eddard VIII

“Robert, I beg of you,” Ned pleaded, “hear what you are saying. You are talking of murdering a child.”

“The whore is pregnant!” The king’s fist slammed down on the council table loud as a thunderclap. “I warned you this would happen, Ned. Back in the barrowlands, I warned you, but you did not care to hear it. Well, you’ll hear it now. I want them dead, mother and child both, and that fool Viserys as well. Is that plain enough for you? I want them dead.”

The other councillors were all doing their best to pretend that they were somewhere else. No doubt they were wiser than he was. Eddard Stark had seldom felt quite so alone. “You will dishonor yourself forever if you do this.”

“Then let it be on my head, so long as it is done. I am not so blind that I cannot see the shadow of the axe when it is hanging over my own neck.”

“There is no axe,” Ned told his king. “Only the shadow of a shadow, twenty years removed … if it exists at all.”

“If?” Varys asked softly, wringing powdered hands together. “My lord, you wrong me. Would I bring lies to king and council?”

Ned looked at the eunuch coldly. “You would bring us the whisperings of a traitor half a world away, my lord. Perhaps Mormont is wrong. Perhaps he is lying.”

“Ser Jorah would not dare deceive me,” Varys said with a sly smile. “Rely on it, my lord. The princess is with child.”

“So you say. If you are wrong, we need not fear. If the girl miscarries, we need not fear. If she births a daughter in place of a son, we need not fear. If the babe dies in infancy, we need not fear.”

“But if it is a boy?” Robert insisted. “If he lives?”

“The narrow sea would still lie between us. I shall fear the Dothraki the day they teach their horses to run on water.”

The king took a swallow of wine and glowered at Ned across the council table. “So you would counsel me to do nothing until the dragonspawn has landed his army on my shores, is that it?”

“This ‘dragonspawn’ is in his mother’s belly,” Ned said. “Even Aegon did no conquering until after he was weaned.”

“Gods! You are stubborn as an aurochs, Stark.” The king looked around the council table. “Have the rest of you mislaid your tongues? Will no one talk sense to this frozen-faced fool?”

Varys gave the king an unctuous smile and laid a soft hand on Ned’s sleeve. “I understand your qualms, Lord Eddard, truly I do. It gave me no joy to bring this grievous news to council. It is a terrible thing we contemplate, a vile thing. Yet we who presume to rule must do vile things for the good of the realm, howevermuch it pains us.”

Lord Renly shrugged. “The matter seems simple enough to me. We ought to have had Viserys and his sister killed years ago, but His Grace my brother made the mistake of listening to Jon Arryn.”

“Mercy is never a mistake, Lord Renly,” Ned replied. “On the Trident, Ser Barristan here cut down a dozen good men, Robert’s friends and mine. When they brought him to us, grievously wounded and near death, Roose Bolton urged us to cut his throat, but your brother said, ‘I will not kill a man for loyalty, nor for fighting well,’ and sent his own maester to tend Ser Barristan’s wounds.” He gave the king a long cool look. “Would that man were here today.”

Robert had shame enough to blush. “It was not the same,” he complained. “Ser Barristan was a knight of the Kingsguard.”

“Whereas Daenerys is a fourteen-year-old girl.” Ned knew he was pushing this well past the point of wisdom, yet he could not keep silent. “Robert, I ask you, what did we rise against Aerys Targaryen for, if not to put an end to the murder of children?”

“To put an end to Targaryens!” the king growled.

“Your Grace, I never knew you to fear Rhaegar.” Ned fought to keep the scorn out of his voice, and failed. “Have the years so unmanned you that you tremble at the shadow of an unborn child?”

Robert purpled. “No more, Ned,” he warned, pointing. “Not another word. Have you forgotten who is king here?”

“No, Your Grace,” Ned replied. “Have you?”

“Enough!” the king bellowed. “I am sick of talk. I’ll be done with this, or be damned. What say you all?”

“She must be killed,” Lord Renly declared.

“We have no choice,” murmured Varys. “Sadly, sadly …”

Ser Barristan Selmy raised his pale blue eyes from the table and said, “Your Grace, there is honor in facing an enemy on the battlefield, but none in killing him in his mother’s womb. Forgive me, but I must stand with Lord Eddard.”

Grand Maester Pycelle cleared his throat, a process that seemed to take some minutes. “My order serves the realm, not the ruler. Once I counseled King Aerys as loyally as I counsel King Robert now, so I bear this girl child of his no ill will. Yet I ask you this—should war come again, how many soldiers will die? How many towns will burn? How many children will be ripped from their mothers to perish on the end of a spear?” He stroked his luxuriant white beard, infinitely sad, infinitely weary. “Is it not wiser, even kinder, that Daenerys Targaryen should die now so that tens of thousands might live?”

“Kinder,” Varys said. “Oh, well and truly spoken, Grand Maester. It is so true. Should the gods in their caprice grant Daenerys Targaryen a son, the realm must bleed.”

Littlefinger was the last. As Ned looked to him, Lord Petyr stifled a yawn. “When you find yourself in bed with an ugly woman, the best thing to do is close your eyes and get on with it,” he declared. “Waiting won’t make the maid any prettier. Kiss her and be done with it.”

“Kiss her?” Ser Barristan repeated, aghast.

“A steel kiss,” said Littlefinger.

Robert turned to face his Hand. “Well, there it is, Ned. You and Selmy stand alone on this matter. The only question that remains is, who can we find to kill her?”

“Mormont craves a royal pardon,” Lord Renly reminded them.

“Desperately,” Varys said, “yet he craves life even more. By now, the princess nears Vaes Dothrak, where it is death to draw a blade. If I told you what the Dothraki would do to the poor man who used one on a khaleesi, none of you would sleep tonight.” He stroked a powdered cheek. “Now, poison … the tears of Lys, let us say. Khal Drogo need never know it was not a natural death.”

Grand Maester Pycelle’s sleepy eyes flicked open. He squinted suspiciously at the eunuch.

“Poison is a coward’s weapon,” the king complained.

Ned had heard enough. “You send hired knives to kill a fourteen-year-old girl and still quibble about honor?” He pushed back his chair and stood. “Do it yourself, Robert. The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. Look her in the eyes before you kill her. See her tears, hear her last words. You owe her that much at least.”

“Gods,” the king swore, the word exploding out of him as if he could barely contain his fury. “You mean it, damn you.” He reached for the flagon of wine at his elbow, found it empty, and flung it away to shatter against the wall. “I am out of wine and out of patience. Enough of this. Just have it done.”

“I will not be part of murder, Robert. Do as you will, but do not ask me to fix my seal to it.”

~

“After you stormed out, it was left to me to convince them not to hire the Faceless Men,” he continued blithely. “Instead Varys will quietly let it be known that we’ll make a lord of whoever does in the Targaryen girl.”

Ned was disgusted. “So now we grant titles to assassins.”

Littlefinger shrugged. “Titles are cheap. The Faceless Men are expensive. If truth be told, I did the Targaryen girl more good than you with all your talk of honor. Let some sellsword drunk on visions of lordship try to kill her. Likely he’ll make a botch of it, and afterward the Dothraki will be on their guard. If we’d sent a Faceless Man after her, she’d be as good as buried.”

AGOT Eddard IV

“Why should Tyrion Lannister want Bran dead? The boy has never done him harm.”

“Do you Starks have nought but snow between your ears?” Littlefinger asked. “The Imp would never have acted alone.”

Ned rose and paced the length of the room. “If the queen had a role in this or, gods forbid, the king himself … no, I will not believe that.” Yet even as he said the words, he remembered that chill morning on the barrowlands, and Robert’s talk of sending hired knives after the Targaryen princess. He remembered Rhaegar’s infant son, the red ruin of his skull, and the way the king had turned away, as he had turned away in Darry’s audience hall not so long ago. He could still hear Sansa pleading, as Lyanna had pleaded once.

AGOT Eddard II

“Do you remember Ser Jorah Mormont?”

“Would that I might forget him,” Ned said bluntly. The Mormonts of Bear Island were an old house, proud and honorable, but their lands were cold and distant and poor. Ser Jorah had tried to swell the family coffers by selling some poachers to a Tyroshi slaver. As the Mormonts were bannermen to the Starks, his crime had dishonored the north. Ned had made the long journey west to Bear Island, only to find when he arrived that Jorah had taken ship beyond the reach of Ice and the king’s justice. Five years had passed since then.

“Ser Jorah is now in Pentos, anxious to earn a royal pardon that would allow him to return from exile,” Robert explained. “Lord Varys makes good use of him.”

“So the slaver has become a spy,” Ned said with distaste. He handed the letter back. “I would rather he become a corpse.”

“Varys tells me that spies are more useful than corpses,” Robert said. “Jorah aside, what do you make of his report?”

“Daenerys Targaryen has wed some Dothraki horselord. What of it? Shall we send her a wedding gift?”

The king frowned. “A knife, perhaps. A good sharp one, and a bold man to wield it.”

Ned did not feign surprise; Robert’s hatred of the Targaryens was a madness in him. He remembered the angry words they had exchanged when Tywin Lannister had presented Robert with the corpses of Rhaegar’s wife and children as a token of fealty. Ned had named that murder; Robert called it war. When he had protested that the young prince and princess were no more than babes, his new-made king had replied, “I see no babes. Only dragonspawn.” Not even Jon Arryn had been able to calm that storm. Eddard Stark had ridden out that very day in a cold rage, to fight the last battles of the war alone in the south. It had taken another death to reconcile them; Lyanna’s death, and the grief they had shared over her passing.

This time, Ned resolved to keep his temper. “Your Grace, the girl is scarcely more than a child. You are no Tywin Lannister, to slaughter innocents.” It was said that Rhaegar’s little girl had cried as they dragged her from beneath her bed to face the swords. The boy had been no more than a babe in arms, yet Lord Tywin’s soldiers had torn him from his mother’s breast and dashed his head against a wall.

“And how long will this one remain an innocent?” Robert’s mouth grew hard. “This child will soon enough spread her legs and start breeding more dragonspawn to plague me.”

“Nonetheless,” Ned said, “the murder of children … it would be vile … unspeakable …”

“Unspeakable?” the king roared. “What Aerys did to your brother Brandon was unspeakable. The way your lord father died, that was unspeakable. And Rhaegar … how many times do you think he raped your sister? How many hundreds of times?” His voice had grown so loud that his horse whinnied nervously beneath him. The king jerked the reins hard, quieting the animal, and pointed an angry finger at Ned. “I will kill every Targaryen I can get my hands on, until they are as dead as their dragons, and then I will piss on their graves.”

Ned knew better than to defy him when the wrath was on him. If the years had not quenched Robert’s thirst for revenge, no words of his would help. “You can’t get your hands on this one, can you?” he said quietly.

The king’s mouth twisted in a bitter grimace. “No, gods be cursed. Some pox-ridden Pentoshi cheesemonger had her brother and her walled up on his estate with pointy-hatted eunuchs all around them, and now he’s handed them over to the Dothraki. I should have had them both killed years ago, when it was easy to get at them, but Jon was as bad as you. More fool I, I listened to him.”

“Jon Arryn was a wise man and a good Hand.”

Robert snorted. The anger was leaving him as suddenly as it had come. “This Khal Drogo is said to have a hundred thousand men in his horde. What would Jon say to that?”

“He would say that even a million Dothraki are no threat to the realm, so long as they remain on the other side of the narrow sea,” Ned replied calmly. “The barbarians have no ships. They hate and fear the open sea.”

The king shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. “Perhaps. There are ships to be had in the Free Cities, though. I tell you, Ned, I do not like this marriage. There are still those in the Seven Kingdoms who call me Usurper. Do you forget how many houses fought for Targaryen in the war? They bide their time for now, but give them half a chance, they will murder me in my bed, and my sons with me. If the beggar king crosses with a Dothraki horde at his back, the traitors will join him.”

“He will not cross,” Ned promised. “And if by some mischance he does, we will throw him back into the sea. Once you choose a new Warden of the East—”

“He will not cross,” Ned promised. “And if by some mischance he does, we will throw him back into the sea. Once you choose a new Warden of the East—”

The king groaned. “For the last time, I will not name the Arryn boy Warden. I know the boy is your nephew, but with Targaryens climbing in bed with Dothraki, I would be mad to rest one quarter of the realm on the shoulders of a sickly child.”

AGOT Bran III

He lifted his eyes and saw clear across the narrow sea, to the Free Cities and the green Dothraki sea and beyond, to Vaes Dothrak under its mountain, to the fabled lands of the Jade Sea, to Asshai by the Shadow, where dragons stirred beneath the sunrise.

[dany-is-my-queen]

Born To Be Yours | Part IV

Sansa Stark x Fem! Baratheon! Reader (Daenerys Targaryen x Fem! Baratheon! Reader)

Season 1-8

Word Count: 1,696

Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.5 Pt.6 Pt.7 Pt.8 Pt.9

“Has he done this before?” Ned asked, referring to Cersei’s wounded cheek.

“My brother would have killed him.” She answered.

”Your brother or your lover?”

“Jaime and I shared a womb. We came into this world together, we belong together. Do you love your children?”

“With all my heart.”

“No more than I love mine.” She confidently said.

“And they are all Jaime’s, except for Y/N.”

“The hair gives her away. I used to have resentment against her. Being the only creation that we brought to the world. Y/N was the only time we really gave it a try. A man who didn’t give a fuck for me. He never loved me but he loves her.” The Lannister woman held a neutral tone.

“When the King returns I will tell him the truth. You must be gone by then. Take the rest of your children and go.”

“You should have climbed those steps. When you play the game of thrones you win or you die. There is no middle ground.” Lord Eddard Stark discovered the secret Lord Arryn died for. It wasn’t his territory anymore.

“I should have spent more time with you. Show you how to be a man. You can learn a big deal from Y/N. I was never meant to be a father. Everyone out!” Cersei looked suspiciously at Ned, Joffrey left the room retaining the tears, not processing what was happening.

“Except you, thanks the gods for blessing me with a daughter like you.” You held his hand tightening the grip. “The girl, Daenerys. You and Ned were right. Varys, Littlefinger, my brother. worthless. No one would tell me no but the two of you. You are much alike. So honorable. She changed my mind. Let her live. Stop it if it’s not too late.”

“We will.”

“And my son, help him. Make him better than me. Help your brother. He’s not ready. Give him your council to make wise choices.” You nodded sobbing.

“I shall always remember this strength you gave.”

“It comes from yourself. Now give me a moment with this fool. And Y/N, don’t be scared even in the face of danger.”

“His grace has had a change of heart concerning Daenerys Targaryen. Princess Y/N convinced him. Whatever arrangements you made, unmade them. At once.” Your father’s best friend declared.

“I’m afraid those birds have flown. The girl is likely dead by now.” You scowled.

“But if it’s not the case stop sending sell swords or assassins to do the job. Also if it’s possible send other birds to abort the mission. That’s a command, Lord Varys.”

“Yes, my princess.” This Targaryen girl will survive.

You once more found little Arya with his dancing teacher, you approached while she was off guard earning a slight hit on your arm.

“I didn’t see you there.” The small one exclaimed.

“We don’t need eyes to see what’s around us, boy.” Syrio reminded her.

“I’m sorry about your father, Y/N.” You sat on the stairs. “I miss Robb, Bran, Rickon and Jon so much. Unlike Sansa, I prefer the North.”

“I met Jon. He seemed to be a good brother, better than Joffrey that’s for sure.”

“He gave me a sword. I named it Needle. I don’t have it here, I’ll show it to you tomorrow.”

“I can’t wait.” You smiled.

“Do you have any bastard siblings?”

“Plenty of them. But it is highly unlikely we’ll ever meet.” You squinted, thinking about the possibility.

“Wish I had a sister like you, mine hates me.”

“I don’t think you hate each other. You just have different opinions, different preferences. You share more than blood. I see a lot of potencial in you. You cannot use someone else’s fire. You can only use your own. And in order to do that, you must first be willing to believe that you have it.” She closed her eyes and proceeded with her classes.

This was crazy. Your mother locked you in your room. The King was dead. Everything was out of place.

“What‘s going on? Why you locked me up?” You shouted to Cersei. She frantically sighed.

“It was a precaution. We don’t know where your loyalty stands, Y/N. Your brother is the King now. Your friend’s father conspired to dethrone him and seize it from himself.”

“That’s insanity...-“

“The little bird was on her room. I haven’t seen the other.” Sandor entered with the redhead.

“Where’s Lady Arya?”

“We have guards looking for her. She won’t be able to hide forever.”

“Princess, what’s happening?” She anxiously asked. After your mother explained what her lord father allegedly did, she made her write a message to his older brother Robb, asking him to come to King’s Landing and swear fealty to Joffrey. You also learned from Lord Baelish that Renly and Loras flee the city before they took the Lord of Winterfell as a prisoner.

“My father would never do that! He is not a traitor” She spat once you two were alone.

“I know, my lady. It must be a misunderstanding.” You said trying to calm her nerves.

“Where do they took him?”

“To the dungeons, I suppose. Things are going to clarify.” The pretty little dove was completely bewildered, same as you.

That very night you went undercover to see the alleged offender.

“Lord Eddard. I brought you some water. Are you okay?” Holding a torchlight, you removed your hood kneeling to give him the canteen.

“Thanks for visiting me. I’m worried about my daughters. You know where they are?”

“We haven’t found Arya, we‘re still on the search. Sansa is alright, she’s under custody. I will protect her.”

“Thank you, Y/N.”

“Treason, my lord? I don’t think that makes sense. Why would you say my brother is not the rightful heir?” You raised an eyebrow.

“You are a clever young princess, I’m surprised you haven’t noticed yet.”

“About what?”

“I didn't know if it was appropriate to tell you.” He took another big gulp. “You are the only highborn child Robert had. Joffrey, Tommen and Myrcella are your uncle Jaime’s bastards. Your mother confessed it to me the other day. They tried to kill Bran cause he saw them. Don’t say a word, not even mention it or you might face the same fate. Though you are the princess is better to be careful with your family.” He was speaking the truth. Deep down you’ve always suspected it, however it was hard to assimilate.

“Y-yes, I won’t say anything to anyone.” You promised. “If you bend the knee and say he is the one true heir to the crown, you might live.”

“Nothing haunts us like the things we don’t say. You have a gentle heart, don’t let the wrong people take advantage of it.” The late hand cautioned.

You were in the Thorne Room. Your mother called Ser Barristan, he stepped forward facing the new King. A huge crowd was there. You stood beside the Stark girl.

“You served the Realm good and faithfully. Every man and woman in the seven kingdoms owns you thanks. But it is time to put aside your armor and your sword. It is time to rest and look with pride at your many years of service.” The lioness said.

“Your Grace, the king's guards is a sworn brotherhood. Only death realizes us for our sacred trust.” He replied.

“You let my father died. You are too old to protect anybody.” The boy on the throne yelled.

“The council has determined Ser Jaime Lannister as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.” Jaime wasn’t even here, that was stupid.

“A man who profane his blade against the king he swore to defend.”

“Careful, Ser.”

“I am a knight. I shall die a knight! Here boy, melted it out and add it to the others.” He threw his sword and left the room.

“If anyone else has other matters to set before his grace, let him speak now or go ford and told his silence.” The northerner squeezed your hand before speaking.

“Your grace.”

“Lady Sansa of the House Stark.”

“Do you have some business with the king and the council, Sansa?”

“I do. As it pleases your grace I ask mercy for my father. Lord Eddard Stark who was hand of the King.”

“Treason is...-“ Pycelle interrupted her.

“Let her speak. I want to hear what she says.” Joffrey declared.

“Thank you, your grace.” You didn’t peel away your glance off her.

“Do you deny your father’s crime?” Baelish inquired.

“No, my lords, I know he must be punished. All I ask is mercy. I know my lord father must regret what he did. He was king Robert's friend and he loved him. You all know he loved him. He never wanted to be hand until the king asked him. They must have lied to him. Lord Renly or Lord Stannis or somebody. They must have lied!” He was clearly nervous, how could she not be? You wanted to intervene and help but you remained silence, it wasn’t the place.

“He said I wasn’t the king. Why would he say that?”

“He was badly hurt. Maester Pycelle was giving him milk of the poppy. He wasn’t himself otherwise he never would have said it.”

“A child’s faith... such sweet innocence. And yet they say wisdom often comes from the mouths of babes.” Lord Varys commented.

“Treason is treason!” The old maester repeated.

“Anything else?”

“If you still have any affection in your heart for me, please do me this kindness your grace.” She pleaded.

“Your sweet words have moved me. But your father needs to confess and say that I am the king or there will be no mercy for him.”

“He will.” You hope so too.

“Mother, please.” She walked passed ignoring you.

“There’s nothing I can do.”

“You are Queen Regent. You know the consequences.”

“Joffrey, have mercy. If you order to have his head you’ll bring war here. The North will fight you. Thousands and thousands of innocent people will die. You can prevent it.”

“You won’t tell me what to do, little sister.” He immediately dismissed you.

[fuckallthegood0nesweretaken]

The Dove and Her Hound - CH. TwentyNine

Title: A New King

Words: 2,040

Warnings: Slight language

A/N: It’s almost over! Just one more chapter and the series is done, I can’t believe it! Also, if you’d like to request something, send me an ask. I’d love to write something for you! 

Taglist:  @tonbluemchen @affection-rabbit @art-flirt @10morgan10 @thatting @iwontdance-dontaskme @simsvetements

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Sandor Masterlist

Game of Thrones Masterlist

Masterlist

~~~~~~~

It had been a week since your son had been born and many things had happened. You learned that one of Daenerys’ dragons had been killed, most of the fleet destroyed, and Missandei captured. Brienne had come to visit you and the child as well. She apologized for the way she handled things when she encountered your trio years ago. She did not know the significance Sandor had in your life and never knew how to approach you about it. You accepted her apology immediately and you apologized to her as well for your naïve attitude and your hate towards her.

The same night Brienne apologized to you, Jaime Lannister fled Winterfell to go back to Cersei. You had known that Brienne and Jaime were together and when you found out he left, you went to console her.

 “He doesn’t deserve you,” you said. “If he leaves you for another woman when he had you then he’s not worth your tears.”

 You wiped away the tears running down her cheeks and looked her in the eyes.

 “You are strong. You are beautiful. You deserve better. Don’t let one man ruin things for you forever. It’s okay to still love him, but don’t let that take over everything.”

 Brienne gave you a watery smile and sat up a little straighter.

 “Thank you, Lady [y/n],” Brienne said. You stood up and kissed her forehead.

 “You should get some rest. I have a feeling that we’re going to do some traveling soon.”

 ---

 Turns out that you were right. A raven arrived from King’s Landing a week later and before you knew it, you were traveling down the Kingsroad. Brienne and Sansa hadn’t wanted you go with them because of the baby, but you went anyways. It took little less than a month to get to the Capital and it looked nothing like you remembered.

 Buildings and houses were charred and crumbling. Ash was still on the streets, swept away into corners. The Red Keep was almost all burnt down. The people of King’s Landing were trying their best to rebuild their homes and lives but it would take years to get things back to the way they were.

 The raven had told you where to go and once more, you found yourself in the Dragonpit. You were seated between Sansa and Brienne, your babe on your lap. Bran and Arya were next to Sansa. You were the first ones there. Ser Davos and Gendry were the next ones to arrive, with Yara, Robin, Yhon Royce, and the rest to follow. Another person showed up with the last group and you couldn’t breathe. It was Sandor, alive and well. The two of you locked eyes and your chest hurt. He looked like he was going to approach you when Greyworm brought out Tyrion before you in chains. Jon was nowhere to be seen.

 “Where’s Jon?” Sansa asked Greyworm.

 “He is our prisoner.”

 “So is Lord Tyrion,” you said. “They were both supposed to be here.”

 “We will decide the fate of our prisoners. This is our city now.”

 “If you look outside the walls of your city, you’ll find thousands of Northmen who will explain to you why harming Jon Snow is not in your interest.”

 “And you will find thousands of Unsullied who believe that it is.”

 “Some of you are quick to forgive. The Ironborn are not. I swore to follow Daenerys Targaryen and Jon Snow put a knife through her heart. Let them give him what he deserves,” Yara said, venom spewing from her words.

 “Say one more word about killing my brother and I’ll slit your throat.” Arya’s face was ruthless and cold. Yara made to stand up but Ser Davos beat her to it.

 “Friends, please. We’ve been killing each other for too long.” He turned to face Greyworm. “Torgo Nudho. Am I saying that properly? If it weren’t for you and your men, we would have lost the fight with the dead. This country owes you a debt that can never be repaid. But let us try. There is land in the Reach. Good land. The people that used to live there are gone. Make it your own, start your own house with the Unsullied as your bannermen.”

 “I agree. We’ve had enough war. Thousands of you, thousands of us. You know how it ends. There has to be another way,” you said.

 “We do not need payment. We need justice,” Greyworm spat. “Jon Snow cannot go free.”

 Ser Davos sat back down and Tyrion let out a small breath.

 “It’s not for you to decide,” Tyrion said.

 “You are not here to speak!” Greyworm shouted. “Everyone has heard enough words from you.”

 “You’re right. And no one’s any better for it. But it’s not for you to decide.” Tyrion looked up at everyone. “Jon Snow committed his crime here. It is for our King to decide. Or our Queen.”

 “But we don’t have a King or Queen,” Royce said.

 “You’re the most powerful people in Westeros. Choose one.”

 “Make your choice. Quickly.”

 Everyone was silent for once and was looking around at the other people. Nobody spoke until your uncle stood up. He started a little speech talking about him being one of the senior lords in the country and that he knew a little bit about statecraft. It was then that Sansa intervened.

 “Uncle. Please sit,” she said. He kind of spluttered a bit and only sat down when Sansa gestured to his seat with her head. He backed into a pole and it took all your willpower not to laugh.

 “Well, we have to choose someone,” Royce said. That’s when Sam got up and suggested that the people help pick a monarch. Everyone did laugh at that and Sam sat back down, more than slightly embarrassed. It was a funny notion, but you didn’t laugh at your friend.

 “I suppose you want the crown,” your uncle said to Tyrion.

 “Me? No. Half the people hate me for serving Daenerys and the other half hate me for betraying her. Can’t think of a worse choice.”

 “Who then?” You asked.

 “What unites people? Armies? Gold? Flags?” Tyrion shook his head. “Stories. There’s nothing in the world more powerful than a good story. Nothing can stop it. No enemy can defeat it. And who has a better story than Bran the Broken?”

 You sat up a little straighter and looked at your siblings in confusion. When you looked back at Tyrion, he kept speaking.

 “The boy who fell from a high tower and lived. He knew he would never walk again, so he learned how to fly. He went beyond the wall. A crippled boy. And he became the Three-Eyed-Raven. He is our memory, our history. All the wars, weddings, births, massacres, and famines. Our triumphs and our defeats. Our past. Who better to lead us into the future?”

 “Bran has no interest in ruling and he can’t father children,” Sansa said.

 “Good. Sons of Kings can be cruel and stupid, as you well know. His will never torment us,” Tyrion said to Sansa. To Greyworm he said, “That is the wheel our Queen wanted to break.”

 “From now on rulers will not be born. They will be chosen on this spot by the Lords and Ladies of Westeros to serve the realm.” He turned to Bran. “I know you don’t want it. I know you don’t care about power. But I ask you now, if we choose you, would you wear the crown?”

 “Why do you think I came all this way?” Bran said after a moment. Tyrion looked a little shocked that Bran had actually said yes and you knew that the other people in this meeting were feeling the same way.

 “To Brandon of House Stark, I say aye,” Tyrion said. Everyone was quiet until you and Sam said ‘aye’ at the same time. Tyrion sent the both of you a grateful look. Your uncle was next followed by the men from the Vale. Yara and the new Prince of Dorne agreed as well along with Gendry and Ser Davos. Brienne agreed as well, but you saw that Sansa was trying to pick out words again.

 “You know I love you, little brother. I always will. You’ll be a good King. But tens of thousands of Northmen fell defending Westeros. And those who survived have fought too hard and too much to ever kneel again,” Sansa said. “The North will remain an independent country, as it was for thousands of years.”

 Bran nodded in consent and you could see the relief flood through Sansa’s body.

 “All hail Bran the Broken,” Tyrion said. Everyone stood up and repeated those words. When everyone sat back down, Tyrion bowed to the new King and started to make his way out of the Pit.

 “Tyrion,” Bran called. “You will be my hand.”

 “N-No, your grace. I don’t want it.”

 “I know. And I don’t want to be King.” Tyrion shook his head.

 “I don’t deserve it. I thought I was wise but it turns out I’m not. I thought that I knew what was right, but I did not. Choose Ser Davos. Choose anyone else.”

 “I choose you.”

 “You cannot,” Greyworm said angrily.

 “Yes I can. I’m King.”

 “This man is a criminal. He deserves justice.”

 “He just got it. He’s made a lot of terrible mistakes. He’s going to spend the rest of his days fixing them.”

 Greyworm was angry and he spat out, “That’s not enough!”

 ---

 After about an hour of talking, a decision was made. Jon would go back to Castle Black as a member of the Night’s Watch. You and your sisters wanted him freed completely, but you recognized that this was the only way for your brother to keep his head. You would miss seeing him every day, but you’d lived with this before so it shouldn’t be too hard. Jon was to leave that evening and you had a few hours before you had to say goodbye. Everyone was slowly trickling out of the Dragonpit when Sandor came up to you.

 “Dove,” Sandor said quietly. You froze and slowly turned around.

 “I thought I told you not to call me that.”

 “You did.”

 “Why are you here, Sandor?” Your voice sounded tired and Sandor could see it in your eyes.

 “I heard you were here and I wanted to talk to you.”

 “Talk about what? How you left me for some petty revenge? How I gave birth with you not by my side? How I have been raising our son without you?”

 “I-I have a son?” Sandor’s heart skipped a beat and your chest tightened at the sound of his voice breaking.

 “Yes.”

 “What’s his name?”

 “Eddard. Eddard Stark.”

 “Are you going by Stark too?”

 “Ever since you left me.” Sandor was silent for a moment. He stepped closer to you tentatively.

 “Would you ever take me back?” You sucked in a breath, eyes wide.

 “I know I fucked up and I know it will take a lot to fix it. If you’ll even take me back, that is. But even if you decide not to, I want you to know that I still love you. I always have. I’ll always love our babe and I will do anything for the two of you.”

 His voice was so quiet you could barely hear it, but it was also so loud that it was ringing in your ears. Your eyes filled with tears and you gestured to Sansa to take Eddard from your arms. When your arms were free, you wrapped them around Sandor tightly. It took him a few seconds to respond, but soon you were being spun around. You let out a giggle that was cut short by Sandor kissing you. It was a sweet kiss that you broke shortly after it began.

 “While I love kissing you, I think you’d like to officially meet your son, yes?”

 Sandor’s eyes lit up and Sansa brought over your son. You took him from her and gently placed him in his father’s arms. You showed Sandor how to hold him properly and the sight made you melt. Finally, your family was complete.

[princeaemontargaryen]

~Roses of the Dawn~

«In this alternative story, Margaery Tyrell is a noblewoman who, from the age of seven, was sent to serve Princess Daenerys Targaryen as her lady-in-waiting and become her playmate. But they became more than that, going as far as becoming the sisters they never had within their own families. 

That way, Margaery grows close to Daenerys and remains in her retinue of ladies, especially after she married Prince Rhaegar. However, with Robert Baratheon's rebellion and the uncertaintity of Rhaegar's death, Daenerys is forced to flee to the Free Cities, specifically to Essos, and Margaery with no second thoughts decides to accompany her mistress and friend to the forced exile in spite of herself. 

There also comes with them Rhaegar's closest friend who also happened to become a King's Guard. Ser Arthur Dayne thus makes sure that the depart of the apparently last Targaryen princess is successful, for his friend and lord who was supposed to be the rightful king of the Seven Kingdoms told him that he should first and foremost protect the princess, his wife.» 

--

Essos, the Green House.

It's been a long year for the loyalists, Margaery knew it well. She remembers bitterly of the long days spent at a glorious court where she was the center of every poet's ballad and every courtier's eyes. She remembers how richly she used to dress, how fancied she used to be. The endless flirtatious, the dances until late of night, the strolls in beautiful gardens…All of which seems to be part of a world that is now ruined by the war-axe of Robert Baratheon. Her grandmother tried to persuade her to go back and marry him, becoming queen herself, but alas! Would it be worthy to so easily swift loyalties? 

One should always do whatever it takes to survive, even if it must to play these games of thrones, would say the Queen of Thorns. But Margaery would not become Queen at the cust of Daenerys Targaryen, who needed her the most at such a perilous time. Thus she declined to make it true the dreams of building a family of her own. A regret that she would not carry to her conscience, however, seeing whom Robert Baratheon managed to become as the new usurping king of Westeros: a whoring and drunkeous lad with a crown over his head. Rumour has it that he loved Lyanna Stark, the reason why he waged a war against the Targaryens. Margaery wondered if Dany was aware of it, but she decided this was a matter where she should not speak of it.

She sighs in thought. That day, she was spending her leisure moment in the gardens of the house of one of the Braavosi men who was living for his own reasons in Essos. He had been an ally to the Targaryens and was formerly contacted by Rhaegar when he sensed the Rebellion was more deadly than it appeared to be.

The man, named Asouri, was kind enough but Margaery could tell he was uncomfortable for receiving such persons in his household. Robert Baratheon likely knew it too, and it was only a matter of time before he sent someone out there to kill them all… A risk that Asouri reasonably feared. But it was thanks to the gold of Margaery's family that was paying his silence and granting his loyalty. Discreetly, and in concord to the Martells of Dorne, that was how she was surviving… She and the Princess who was more than a mistress to whom she owes obedience, but a reliable friend.

In such thoughts was Margaery, who decided to let her auburn curls fall loose for an instance. Essos was very warm, so that day she was dressing a green gown with no sleeves and very loose from her belly down to her legs. She decided to have some time for herself whilst Daenerys had her own business to attend. In contemplative mood, she did not see Arthur Dayne coming.

The bearer of the Sword of the Morning and the most skilled Knight of the whole Seven Kingdoms, Ser Arthur of the House Dayne was accepted into the King's Guard when in earlier days Elia Martell was betrothed to Prince Rhaegar. There were festivities and when the Dornish were received in the capital, one of the greatest honours was bestowed to such a man who, ever since from Starfall, had been keeping up with his chivalrous reputation. However, from the days of exile, Ser Arthur had been more discreet and certainly doing what he can to help the princess.

On that particular morning, however, he was making the usual round of the household to make sure there would be no enemies found sneaking at the backyard as it sadly happened in the first months of their arrival… or when Daenerys was close to be poisoned at the local market. It was when then Arthur noticed Margaery. He was well acquainted with the Princess's favourite lady-in-waiting, whose friend remained loyal to the Targaryens and kept sending gold, cloth and food whenever it was possible. He also knew her merry, talkative moods. Admittedly, though, he's been observing her more than he would care to admit.

These moods had been swifting, however, and that brought a concern to himself. But because he does not know how to approach her when she is not speaking to him, he usually prefers to be in his own place. Aye, they were both highborns, but an oath prevented Arthur for taking further steps.

Yet, on that particular morning, there was Margaery, beautiful in her green gown and contemplative. Starting at the sea, certainly missing her home. Arthur was observing the auburn curls that dropped loose against her porcelain skin, wondering how soft must it be to touch her… And whilst such unprogrammed thought crosses his mind, a blush runs out of nowhere over his features, which by misfortune is perceived by the aforementioned damsel, who, noticing his presence, exclaimed somewhat amused:

"Ser Arthur! What is it that could be making you blush?" She waves gleefully, a warm smile lightening her features. Such scene gives Arthur's unexplainable chills.

He approached and bows his head as costume dictates.

"My lady, I fear you might have confused it with a tun. How could it be otherwise when I've been daily exposed to this sun?" He laughs at himself. "Has it not occurred you how hotter this is than our homeland?"

Margaery is not convinced, but she is not in the mood to persuade him otherwise. 

"Is it hotter than Dorne, though?" She inquires, her head tilting to the right side, her chocolate eyes filled with curiosity.

Arthur steps forward again, but not daring to take a seat next to her side.

"It is, I think. A different kind of heat. Although Starfall is not any like Sunspear", he laughs.

Margaery smiles. She likes the sound of his laughter, and appreciates his undying chivalric loyalty to the Targaryens. She also happens to notice how introspective is the sound of the words of Arthur. How shy his gaze can be when running out of her decisive eyes. To perceive this makes her blush, but she turns her look away briefly, so he does not notice it.

"Do you miss it?" She inquires gently, her thoughts going back to High Garden.

Arthur looks deep into her eyes, for a moment they share a long gaze, a very significant one because they share the same sentiments. Sentiments that were stolen by the Baratheon who unjustly rules Seven Kingdoms who are not his by right.

"Aye. Every now and then. But duty comes first above all", says he, resignated. Margaery, to her own surprise, finds herself saddned by these words.

"I agree", and before she holds her tongue, word roll out. "Some might even say that duty is the death of love."

Arthur is stunned at her words, and wishes he could counter-say that, but before he could say anything, comes Ser Jorah Mormont inquiring after them both.

*                                   *                            *

Margaery knows her mistress has been melancholic as of late, although good news--as both ignored--are on the way (which will be most propriatedly exposed in another story), she decides to cheer her up. In order to sweep away the thoughts that more than lately have been carrying herself to Arthur Dayne, she occupies herself with a small festivity.

"Marg, I don't think it's a good Idea" said Dany. "We rely too much on your family to cover the custs of this stay, but…"

"That's not the point", Margaery gently cut her off. "You have been too sad these days, reasonably so, but people cannot forget that a Targaryens remains alive."

Dany, despite the good heart of her dearest Margaery, is hesitant to agree.

"That is how we become a target, Marg."

"Did you not attract one in the market? We cannot hid forever, Dany. There is good cause to celebrate, is there not?"

Dany is six months pregnant of Rhaegar, but she barely had time to share the news joyfully due the circumnstances that forced her to go to Essos. Despite the lack of news on the part of Conningham about Rhaegar’s state, she knows life cannot hold for long. Looking right into her friend’s eyes, Dany finds in Margaery the hope that she had thought long abandoned her own. In them, she is reminded of life and hopes. So there is going to be a feast, after all. 

It does not escape Arthur’s own eyes the swift in Margaery’s mood and it makes him smile to himself. For it’s long been gone ever since the royal household held some festivity of the sort and it’s good to see the ladies warming their hopes, in spite of all. He, for once, finds himself very captivated by the lady’s spirits and every now and then he is encouraged by Margaery’s own gaze never to run off from her own.

The day of the feast finally arrives, though, and the once captain of the King’s Guard and close friend to Prince Rhaegar is found looking for the princess’s confidante and lady-in-waiting. But there is not too much for the waiting, however, and soon a sweet voice reaches his ear:

“Looking for someone, my lord?”

It’s a new sensation to feel it within, and Arthur is not quite sure how to react. He turns his head slowly, his heart pounding against his chest, only to find Margaery Tyrell and her auburn locks before him in a beautiful dark-blue silk gown. On her part, she cannot help herself admiring the tall, elegant and tanned-skin Dornish male, whose chivalric ideals reminds her of the stories she spent her childhood reading. Although advised by Dany of her involvement with a man as Arthur, who was linked with his vows through the fact he’s now the Captain of the Princess’s Guard, Margaery’s heart has long decided which road to follow. 

“Not entirely, my lady”, he lies, rather unsure how to behave before her forwardness. Even so, a smile gives in amidst the shade of pride that conceals his true feelings. “I was merely around.”

“Oh.” Margaery could not hold back the disappointment. Once used to be very admired by all men, she feels her heart pounding... and not in a very happy tune. But she is quick in hidding it, though not enough to go unnoticed by the Dornish male. “I see. Is the feast of your liking?”

Trying to amend things, although quite awkwardly, he says:

“I am not one of feasts, I’m afraid, but it’s very enjoyable to see a smile set on the princess’s face. Hope is returning and all of this scenario reassures it.”

“I could not agree more. She has to have her moods lift up, so the baby can come properly”, says Margaery, sensing there’s no particularly way to flirt, but nonetheless wishing to remain in his company. “If a boy comes, do you think he’ll take the grandfather’s name?”

Before he could hold back his tongue, so says Arthur:

“By the Seven, I hope not. I mean...”

Margaery chuckles and leans almost unconsciously against his arm, her soft hand patting his shoulder gently. Arthur, in turn, breathes the smell of roses that, should not surprise him, is so typical of a Tyrell as herself. It also gives another warm sentiment that a man like him is not used to feel. He shifts uncomfortably.

“I understand what you mean, there is no need to concern yourself, Arthur. We are friends, are we not? Loyalists, as some would call.” She says confidently, but only to mask the hurt she noticed when he took a slight away from her. 

“Aye.” He smiles, but very timidly. And the moment ends when the door opens only to announce the arrival... of the prince himself. Rhaegar Targaryen /is/ alive, after all.

*                                                                 *                                                         *

There is preparation to move out of Essos, maybe going to Braavos. The destination is uncertain, but Daenerys, as Margaery observes, regains confidence with the return of Prince Rhaegar, who now styles himself King Rhaegar. Daenerys is now Queen.

But in the midst of such gleeful moment, a tragedy occurs. Mercenaries sent on the orders of King Robert attempted to assassinate the princess... ignoring the fate of Rhaegar. In the midst of the chaos that comes from it, there is the prince and his men (or some of them anyway) prompted to defend themselves and the princess. However, as a result, a violent fire rises. 

Margaery is in the princess’s chambers, who is refusing to leave because of the eggs of the dragons, trying to convince her to leave when the next moments happen too fast. Arthur comes to her rescue and so comes Rhaegar after Daenerys. For some reason, though, Daenerys remains behind. Margaery does not remember quite well, for she had lost her conscience due by inhaling smoke. 

*                                                               *                                                     *

There is a new scenario that is rising hopes. Margaery, to her joy, is glad to be there to see in first hand. However, as promised to Dany, no word of the dragons that came out of the fire would reach even the allies that await in Westeros. Despite the miscarriage, the legend of the Targaryen ancestors seems to relive. Daenerys, even Rhaegar could tell, is no longer the young princess whom he married three years ago. She is now a woman, a queen, his equal, his partner. His lover. 

In the meantime, Margaery is saddened by the new distance between herself and Arthur. She wonders whether she should question him about it, but decides otherwise and shield her heart. Yet, by the time she is Braavos with the small court, when Dany and Rhaegar are sleeping, she escapes to the outdoors for a brief time only to play the lute. Thinking to be alone, she sings:

“No merriment in the world

Can warm the cold

Brought upon the damsel’s heart with a sword

By a knight who left with no word.

Could every smile conceal the pain,

Then shall my eyes tell no longer the same

Of the soul this knight took joy as he came

Yet to the mundane 

Is where he might remain.

For duty, it is known, 

When set the love upon

Causes immediate death

Of what may have been sown...”

“I wonder who might be the terrible knight who broke the damsel’s heart”, says Arthur, who, ever since the fire day, despite the distance he took from her for the sake of himself, remained attentive to her ways. But when the lullaby reached him, something... changed.

Unused to be caught off guard, Margaery’s cheeks bright in red as a result. She, however, does not look away and says:

“Oh well, must we speak of it?” She laughs, trying to dismiss the subject and recollecting the lute. “It is late and I should be off to my chambers, but...”

“...she is occupied with her wifely duties”, he smiles weakly. “I came here to talk to you about how unfair I have been to you. I should have not been so rude, but there is a reason for it.”

In other days, Margaery would have aquiesced and listened eagerly for the words to be spoken of his part, but she, by now, is not prompted to it. Not anymore. 

“You are forgiven for whatever you have done, my lord. I should go to bed”, she insists, now looking down as she tries to make her way.

But he does not let her. Not anymore. So Arthur very gently turns her at him and says:

“I love you.”

Margaery, far from expecting to hear what she heard, could not keep the mask at her face anymore. She places the instrument somewhere aside and stares at Arthur in complete astonishment.

“Arthur, what are you saying?”

“I... I’ve never loved a woman as much as I love you”, he professes such words with a passion that to him would one day sound absurd, but he cannot wait for more time to pass and colect any more regrets. “I’ve taken the vow seriously for all my life, and yet, your smile, your manners, your eyes... Make me down on my knees and pledge to make another vow to you.”

Margaery’s eyes begin to tear, her eyes barely blinking when encountering the purple eyes of Arthur. Her heart amends, she can tell, but even so...

“You cannot be serious. I would not wish you to break your oath.”

“I’ve been released from it. Even if I were not, for you I’d do it myself.” He speaks so intensely his chest seems burning inside. “Be mine, lady Margaery. For you I give ardently my love and devotion.”

He would not have to ask any longer. Margaery could not refuse him, her love for him is too high to pay the price for a foolish pride. She leans towards him, then, and presses her full lips against him. As if breathing relieved, Arthur places his arms around her and kisses her in turn passionately so. 

*                                                             *                                                             *

Posface: years later.

Margaery Dayne, lady of the Reach and of Starfall, was greatly rewarded for her services by Queen Daenerys and King Rhaegar after years of loyalty, which she continuously displayed throughout her life by the side of the man she loved. She and Arthur had ten children, of whom only one did not reach adulthood. These were their names: Arthur, Loras, Daella, Ashara, Rhaegal, Leo, Luthor, Maya, Jeyne and John. 

[sailorshadzter]

i would go anywhere with you.

a random drabble.

set just before the battle with the night king. 

sometimes you just gotta give your otp some soft, romantic moments. 

enjoy :) 

She's so close, and yet... She's so very far away.

Jon keeps his distance, he knows how she must feel. Instead, he makes his way through the days, catering to the whims of his dragon queen and hoping that somehow, someway, things work out they way he wants.

It's day five, not that he's counting.

She's there in the great hall, her back to him as she speaks in earnest to Lord Royce and another of the lords. He creeps closer, just so he can listen to her honey-like voice not strained with pain nor anger. "The gates are to remain open," she's reminding them, ever concerned about the innocent people of the North. "Until the very last moment," the lord's are nodding, of course they are, they hang on her every command. She's more the queen than he ever could have been king. "And the storages... I know they were prepared not for the additional soldiers," her lip catches between her teeth, a nervous gesture he's seen dozens of times. "But speak with Agatha, she will know well on making what we have last as long as possible."

The two men nod and bow to their lady, leaving her alone. She turns and for the first time, her eyes find his. "You're good at this," he says, an echo of words she once spoke to him. The mask he's been wearing slips away and he's Jon again. She smiles, softly, faintly. "Better than me." This time she laughs and Jon is warmed by the sound. "Sansa..." He sobers, taking a single step closer to where she stands. "I must speak with you," he lowers his voice as other's begin to filter in, the evening meal only minutes away from being served. "Tonight. Please...." He can't help but to reach for her hand, the softness of her palm in his reminding him of why he's doing what he is. When she finally nods, Jon steps back from her, turning away as Daenerys enters the room, her silver hair a sharp contrast to the darkness of the room.

Once again, his mask is on.

[ x x x ]

When the knock sounds on his doors, Jon is standing at the window, listening to the soft screaming of the wind as the winter storm rages on. He turns, calling out to her, knowing it's Sansa before she's even there in the doorway. Despite the late hour, she's fully dressed in her gray wool gown, her hair partially twisted back in a knot of elaborate braids. He longs to pull the pins from it and run his hands through the long, soft length of red. "Thank you, for coming..." He says softly, as he comes to stand before her in the center of the room.

She offers him the truest smile he's seen in days. "We're family, of course I'd come." He doesn't deserve her softness, he deserves nothing but her contempt. "I'll always be on your side, Jon," she goes on, taking a step closer to where he stands, blue eyes seeking out his dark.

Jon reaches for her, he can't help it.

The moment she's in his arms, Jon knows it's what's right. She yields to his embrace, sinking into him, her face burying into the crook of his shoulder. It's as if this was where she's always meant to be. It was where she belonged. "Sansa..." Her name is soft on his lips and it draws her back up, though for a moment he can't draw his eyes from the curve of her rosy lips as she smiles for him. But when his eyes raise to meet hers, he's reaching out, fingertips tracing the outline of her jaw, leaving warmth in their wake. "I'm sorry," is all he can say before he closes his eyes, emotion threatening to overpower his resolve.

"For what?" Her voice comes, soft and slow, just a moment later. Jon opens his eyes and looks up, surprised by her single question. "I trust in you, Jon," she says, lifting her shoulders in a shrug. "No one can shake my faith in you. No one." He blinks, as if he cannot truly believe what she says, and so Sansa reaches out to take his hand into hers. "I know you're doing what you think is right." Of course, she was upset at first, him bringing that beautiful Targaryen queen back to their home, riding into Winterfell at her side like a king consort. Of course, she was jealous of the silver-haired queen's soft beauty, all round edges where Sansa feels sharp. But behind that softness was a red hot anger, a violent nature like that of the monsters Sansa has known all of her life. Once she learned the truth of the queen, she knew that her trust in Jon was right as it always was. Jon would never betray her nor the North for this woman.

She's only sorry she's waited so long to tell him.

Hearing her speak, saying the words he's always longed to hear... Jon sucks in a breath, calming the racing of his heart, knowing that in all his life... The only thing he's ever done that matters was making her smile. Making her happy. He wonders how it's taken him this long to realize it. It's always been there, that feeling for her, even if he's tried to hide from it, to let it go. "Everything I've done, it's all been for you." He whispers, emboldened to speak the truth that's been safe inside of his heart all this time. "I swear it, Sansa. Since the moment you came to me at Castle Black... Every choice I've made has been because of you." It's her turn to close her eyes, reopening them a moment later, tears gathering upon her lashes. Despite the tears, she's smiling. I love you, he's thinking, over and over again, though his lips refuse to form the words. Instead, he does the only other thing he can think of.

He kisses her.

It's long and soft, it's slow and yet so steady it takes the breath from her lungs. She grips the front of his jerkin, the worn leather soft beneath her fingertips. He's kissed her before- once, the night before he left for Dragonstone- but it had not felt this way. This was a kiss of lovers, a kiss that says every unspoken thing, a kiss that is more telling than any phrase ever could be. When he breaks the kiss, it's hesitantly, as if breaking from her is the last thing he wants to do.

It is.

"Sansa, after the battle..." He trails off, for the dream he has for the two of them, how could it ever come true? But even now, it's the only thing he has to hold onto, the only thing that gives him hope. "After the battle and this is all over..." He grins, sliding a hand to the back of her head, feeling the pins holding her braids together. "We could runaway." The first pin falls free, then a second. "To somewhere where no one knows us." She's giggling, shaking out her hair as it falls free from the pins that once secured it. Jon can't help but run his hands through it, relishing in the soft feel of every strange between his fingers.

"I would go anywhere, if it's with you." She whispers a moment before his lips find hers again.

[ x x x ]

Later, he rises up from the furs, leaving her asleep in his bed.

He dresses quietly in the darkness of the room, the fire in the hearth nothing but embers now. For a moment, he stands at the side of the bed, peering down at her sleeping form- she sleeps so peacefully, a hand tucked beneath her cheek, red hair spread out across the white pillow she sleeps upon. Just the thought of her naked beneath his furs is enough to stir his loins, but he knows he must go. And so he leans over her, pressing a soft kiss against her temple. "I love you," he whispers the words he could not bring himself to say the night before, his hand gently brushing back a stray lock of her hair.

Though he longs to remain there forever, Jon finally pulls himself from the room, knowing that without a doubt, he would find himself in this very same place again.

But next time, he would not have to untangle himself from her.

[ashleyfanfic]

Do you have any Jonerys nsfw fic recs? I need some smut in my life any kind extra points if it starts with Jon masturbating and turns into a hot session with his queen. 😏

Oh, Anon - this could take a while. Buckle up, this is gonna be a bumpy, but pleasurable, ride! I’ve divided this up from Modern AU and Canon/Canon Divergent. I know there are more than one entry for most of these authors, but what can I say? When I find an author I like, I usually consume everything they write.  CANON/CANON DIVERGENT Up Against the Wall - by @meisiesmut   A shameless love story told with a backdrop of war, politics, past trauma, heroes and villains, dragons and duty. Goes from Dragonstone, to Kings Landing, to the North, and eventually back again. Falling in love amidst the War for the Dawn, as told by Daenerys Targaryen. The explicit rating is no lie. Damsel In Distress by @meisiesmut   There is very little that is weak and defenseless about the Mother of Dragons, but sometimes it’s fun to pretend. In which Daenerys blows off some steam from the pressures of ruling, and her husband grudgingly indulges her, until the wolf comes out to play. Roleplay smut, trigger warning for dubious consent. Ozymandian - by @frostbitepandaaaaa​  She should have been more prudent, instead of falling into him like a spell. She should have handled this thing like the fatal tangle of thorns it was, instead of drinking the air from his lungs like the sweetest Arbor gold. She should have picked it up about the edges, holding it at arm’s length until she could find a safe enough place to rest it upon the earth and walk away forever. On Fire’s Gentle Shore - by @justwandering-neverlost​   This one shot is post season 8. Dany and Jon are ruling Westeros and escort Missandei back to her home in Naath. How We Heal - by @justwandering-neverlost​  What was intended to be some love-filled Jonerys drabbles, but has turned into a full-blown S8 canon adventure complete with romance, dragons, drama, angst, politics, prophecies, and the Battle for the Dawn. Fluff, smut, and all the feels still included. Go South, Get Warm - by @lawonderlandwriter​  An alternate route to Winterfell! After being resurrected, Jon Snow leaves for Oldtown to stay with the only person he can trust - Samwell Tarly. But after he receives a raven from his sister Sansa requesting help to take back their family home from the Boltons, Jon goes on a mission collecting allies in the South - the Tyrells of Highgarden, the Sand Snakes of Dorne, the portion of the ironborn fleet commanded by Yara Greyjoy...and of course, the queen across the sea, Daenerys Targaryen. Jon and Daenerys build a quick rapport and she soon makes him the Lord Commander of her armies. Together they face the Lannister, the Boltons, Euron Greyjoy...and finally, the Night King. Note: Main relationship of this fic is Jonerys and Dany comes into the story at chapter 8. A Wolf In The Sand - by @notpmahlem​  I did what I thought was right. And I got murdered for it. He died. He was resurrected. Coping with that betrayal, additional information upends him again and sends him to the last place anyone would expect him to go. In search of Dragons. The Burnt World - by @xxthewolvenstormxx​ Its been over two decades since the Mad King burnt the world.Now Daenerys has finally returned home to right the wrongs of her father. But once again a mad ruler threatens to burn the world anew.Up North, Jon Snow is racing against time to defeat a swarm of undead that threatens to kill all that remains. The Painted Table - by @muttpeeta​  Daenerys summons Jon to the Chamber of the Painted Table the night before his journey beyond the Wall to give him a proper farewell. Slight canon divergence. Held Captive - by @fierypen37​ - Upon landing in Westeros, Daenerys makes a pact with the King in the North, with interesting results. Or, in which Robb lives as King in the North and Jon is given to Daenerys as a hostage of war. Can I Be Your Prisoner? - by @tomakeitbeautifultolive​  Following their first tense meeting on Dragonstone, Jon is left stimulated in more ways than one when he asks the dragon queen whether or not he's her prisoner. After Daenerys clarifies by answering "Not yet", three dreaded words slip from his lips, to his horror—"Can I be?"

MODERN AU/AU You Heard Me. Take. It. Off. - by @meisiesmut  Jon and Daenerys are young professors at a spooky gothic pile of a university with a unique relationship. BDSM episodes in a modern setting, a somewhat dark and twisted little romance. Likely the only Modern AU I will ever attempt, enjoy the kink. The Pirate Queen - by @meisiesmut   In which Lord Commander Snow meets The Pirate Queen and her crew of cutthroats, much to his annoyance and later delight. AU, 18th Century Caribbean setting, pirates, scenery, bad jokes, canon winks, Jon in a pretty uniform (and eventually a dashing pirate outfit), and shameless smut. I got nothing else, enjoy. Lord Snow and the Madam - by @meisiesmut   Madam Daenerys runs the finest gentleman’s establishment in Mayfair, and knowing men and all their ways, has little time for the pleasures and distractions of an alluring stranger. But a persistent, mysterious visitor to her brothel may just change her mind. Alternative universe, Edwardian London setting, luscious smut, splendidly handsome mustache bean. Quality Assurance - by @muttpeeta​   AU where Dany and Jon are CEOs of competing sex toy companies and meet at a convention. Love In Leather - by @muttpeeta​  Before they dock at White Harbor and leave the safety of their ship, Daenerys wants to make Jon's wildest fantasies come true. Thumbprint Scar - by @frostbitepandaaaaa​   For so long, she had only dreamed about getting away, never of what that place might be. It wasn't until it had started to become a reality, to solidify under her hands, that she started to paint details into the visions of her sanctuary in earnest. Between the Raindrops - by @notpmahlem​   In modern Westeros, Daenerys Targaryen and her foreign army are joined by Jon Snow and the North to unseat Cersei Lannister. Written In the Scars of His Heart - by @notpmahlem​ and @jalenmara​  Daenerys Targaryen, supermodel and face of House Targaryen, a rising star in the world of Fashion, is commonly known as the most beautiful woman in the world. And someone wants her dead. Jon Snow, running from the ghosts of his own past, lands the job any man would kill for— protecting her. But can he protect his own heart from her? Mustache Rides - by @xxthewolvenstormxx​  Jon's sporting a new look and there's really only one thing Dany can do. A PROUD Contribution to the #RideJonsFace2019 and #Twenty69teen campaigns. Let's have Dany rub that mustache off. Vim and Vigor - by @xxthewolvenstormxx​  Seven smutty scenes to ring in the New Year. Jon and Daenerys are a Young Couple living their best life. The Oasis - by @fierypen37​  With uptight and stressed CEO Daenerys Targaryen's regular masseur on leave, she has to make do with the replacement Jon Snow. Relaxation is not something she can find with his hands on her. Too bad he doesn't feel the same. Except unbeknownst to her, he definitely does. When a threat on her life pushes them together, they must both learn to deal with their growing feelings. Sinfully Yours - by @adecila​   Jon Snow finds himself being summoned by a beautiful but dangerous woman. Daenerys Targaryen is a demon hunter looking for a precious treasure. He is a demon with a particular set of principles. However, he also has a dick; and he hasn't used it since way before he died. Instinct by @lawonderlandwriter​   "She heard a twig snap behind her and spun around, heart beating quick as a hummingbird’s wings inside her chest. A lone figure emerged from behind a tree, watching her; she should have known. HIM. The dark-featured male that had wandered into the area a few days ago. She sighed, somewhat in relief that it wasn't something else, but eyed him warily all the same. Sometimes newcomers were harmless. Other times they were not..." Can I Keep You - by @lawonderlandwriter​  "...She patted at her chest over her heart, pointed off in the distance, touched her hair yet again, and then pointed to a nearby dandelion with its wispy white seeds swaying gently in the breeze. Suddenly he thought he understood, at least the last part of it. Hair. White hair." Sequel to Instinct! Begins a little bit before Jon and Dany meet. Now You See Me - by @daenerys1417​  Dany has just moved into a new apartment which happens to have a crack in the shared wall between her and her next-door neighbor, Jon Snow. One night, she gets more than she bargained for when she decides to take a peek.

[ladyalice101]

@abi117 shared this article with me the other day, and I immediately thought of the leaked set photos where jon knelt to Cersei .. and then I thought of the kidnap plot .. and then .... my fingers slipped. 

read on ao3. 

don’t blame me, love made me crazy

Jon is very sure that, if she’s still alive, Sansa will be furious with him.

There is very little that is more important to Sansa than Northern Independence – as she has made abundantly clear over the past few moons – including her own life.

But to Jon, nothing is more important than Sansa.

As the ash and smoke had cleared after the Battle for Winterfell, as the bodies were collected and moved and burnt in pyres, as Jon had searched everywhere for his beautiful sister-cousin, it had slowly become clear that she wasn’t to be found.

The castle had been thrown into a frenzy when they’d realised that Sansa was neither in Winterfell nor amongst the dead, and it wasn’t for three days that they’d learnt what had become of her.

The scroll Cersei had sent had also held a lock of Sansa’s fiery hair, and as the meeting of the Lords raged around him as they all debated on what to do, Jon had been unable to speak or listen as he’d stared at the etches in the wooden table and imagined all of the terrible things Cersei would be doing to her.

All it took was one foolish Lord to suggest that they leave the Lady Sansa in King’s Landing, because after all they still have their King and no Dragon Queen to worry about – “so why bother sending our exhausted men across the country to retrieve one woman who’s probably dead anyway?” – for Jon to stand from his chair. It had scraped across the floor and sent every single man silent, including that who had dared to suggest they leave Sansa in Cersei’s clutches. Jon didn’t know who he was, still doesn’t, but his face is memorised so that when Jon gets back he’ll have his head.

Jon knows – gods, he knows – that he is playing right into Cersei’s hands, probably even better than she’d imagined. He knows that he’s in no state of mind for this, because he’ll likely pay any price Cersei demands of him if she lets Sansa go free.  

Any political savvy Jon had had within him had died with Daenerys.

He is too exhausted now to do much other than climb atop the only dragon that remained in the world and fly south.

He’d intended to ride a horse, but the thought of Sansa in King’s Landing for longer than the two days it will take him to fly down . . . he would have killed three horses and near on himself, if he’d had to, but he has a dragon now and so he goes as quick as he can.

By the time he arrives in King’s Landing, he’s slept only for a minute or two here and there in the two days it took him to fly, and perhaps even less than that in the days before, when he had no idea where she was and every time he’d closed his eyes to sleep all he could see was the variety of ways she might be being tortured.

Jon had hoped that he was stronger than this, but – when he stumbles into the Throne Room of the Red Keep, sleep deprived and sick to his stomach with guilt and worry and fear, he catches sight of Sansa gagged and bound by Cersei’s side, her red hair sheared to her jaw and a bruise blooming across her cheek, and he immediately falls to his knees.

Cersei doesn’t even need to smile her cruel, vicious smile for Jon to know that he has already lost.

Sansa may hate him for this, for how quickly and easily he has revealed his desperation, but he can’t care. Not when he wants her to leave with her life. Above all else, that’s what matters to him: that she’s alive, and home.

Because despite it all, despite the whispers that have followed him since he came back to life that claim him a god, or the praise that he is the greatest swordsman to ever live, or the stories he knows are shared that always, always glorify his battles and make them seem easier than they were, make it out like he brought victory when really it was sheer luck; despite it all, he is just a man, who is in love with a woman, and who couldn’t bear to see her die.

“Please,” he croaks, eyes downcast in that way that he has learnt so well since becoming acquainted with Daenerys, “please, let her go. I’ll give you anything.”

He hears Cersei stand, but he daren’t look up at her. Her feet come into his line of vision, her black dress swirling around her shoes, and still he stays prostrated before her.

Pathetic, perhaps, and certainly not the man he was raised to be but - . . . he doesn’t know what else to do, and he’s far past gambling with Sansa’s life. He has known nothing but keeping her safe and protected since he emerged into this cursed second life, and has committed each act he has with only one goal in mind.

I’ll protect you, I promise.

“Your miserable grovelling has made this much less satisfying than I’d hoped it would, bastard.”

Jon stays quiet.

He doesn’t care, he doesn’t care, all he wants is Sansa in his arms, and then back in Winterfell (for surely Cersei will not let them both leave, and Jon made his peace with dying in the South the moment he stepped foot on Dragonstone and Daenerys had his boat taken away).

“You’re just like your father,” Cersei says, a haughty tone to her voice. “You have a dragon to bargain with, to threaten me with, and yet you’ve still come here with the hope that your desperate words will convince me to set her free?”

Jon wonders how this might have ended, if he’d come to Cersei with the determination of fire and blood rather than the melancholy of his true House, and he knows that he could never have condemned a whole city to burn just because he is in love.

Cersei bends down and grasps his chin in her fingers, and when she brushes her lips over his temple Jon gets a strong whiff of wine on her breath.

“You’re pretty like Rhaegar, though, aren’t you?”

For a moment, fear grips his heart as he realises Cersei has learnt the truth of his parentage. It releases a moment later when he remembers that he doesn’t have to worry about the secret spreading now Daenerys is gone.

Cersei pulls away from him, her green eyes piercing his soul, and as she turns her back to him and walks back to her Throne, she calls over her shoulder, “You’re in love with her, then?”

“More than you know.”

The frown that mars Cersei’s face after his confession is unexpected, but he stays focussed on it. He doesn’t dare turn to Sansa and see her reaction to the truth.

“I know a thing or two about Targaryen men in love with Stark women,” Cersei says, then lets a contemplative silence fall over the hall.

Jon doesn’t move from where he’s knelt, even though his entire body aches and begs to be released into sleep. You don’t need her! He wants to scream. Not now you have me. I’m the Targaryen, a threat to your reign.

“I’d planned to take you, and kill your dearest Sansa of course,” Cersei says, after they’ve sat in silence for so long Jon becomes unsure whether his knees will ever unbend, “but I think that if I did, you might just throw yourself from a window, and I have much more important uses for you than that.”

Jon dares to cast his eyes over to Sansa at that. She’s staring back at him, an unreadable if fairly passive expression on her face. She’s still wearing the dress he saw her in last: the black one, with the leather armour laid over the torso, a look so fierce that the first time he saw her in it hr almost fell to his knees to grasp the hem of it and beg for her forgiveness (or to fuck him, maybe, he still isn’t sure which request would have spilt from his lips).

Aside from the bruise, and the way her hair has been hacked at, she looks relatively unharmed. It’s likely untrue, but Jon will gain nothing by trying to pull apart the aloof expression she’s adopted. He would know; he’s tried many times before.

“I’ll let her go,” Cersei agrees finally. “Back North, where she belongs. As part of my Kingdom, but I suspect you already knew that. In return, you’re to stay here, bastard.”

Both of these demands Jon had expected. It makes it no easier to witness Sansa’s frown, and to feel his heart break over the thought that the last time he’ll ever see her she is displeased with him.

But they are things he can live with if it means her freedom and her life.

The gag is pulled from Sansa’s mouth, and then she’s thrust onto her feet. The harsh shove of the guard makes her stumble, and it’s enough to make Jon attempt to rise to his feet, but then hands are clamped down on his shoulders and he can’t move.

“Your Grace,” Sansa says, coy and clipped as she curtsey’s. “Thank you for your kindness. If you would permit me just one more thing, I would like to say goodbye to Jon.”

Cersei quirks an amused brow, then waves her hand in permittance and takes the final gulp from her goblet.

Sansa’s steps are sure and true as she comes towards him, and she wastes no time in kneeling down for him. In a move that mimics Cersei, she grasps his chin; she is much more tender than Cersei was, much more loving. Her fingers caress his jaw, and then she leans in and kisses him.

Jon feels like his brain and heart stop, and while the kiss lasts only a second at most, he still chases after her lips, desperately wanting more.

Cersei’s amused laugh cuts through the air, but Jon’s eyes are still closed as he wishes that the moment never had to end; that he could live forever in that second in which his lips were pressed against Sansa’s, where they belonged.

“Oh, if only Ned Stark could see you now!” Cersei says with delight, clapping her hands together once. “How I would relish watching his face turn down in that infuriating frown of his.”

Sansa nuzzles her nose against his, a wolf-like gesture of care, but her fingers dip into his jaw just a little bit tighter, giving way to the possessiveness underneath.

“Don’t worry,” she whispers, “I won’t let her marry you.”

Jon hadn’t been worried about that, but as soon as Sansa says it he realises that this must be what Cersei meant when she said more important uses for you.

Sansa stays hovered over him, and he wishes she would kiss him again, but she doesn’t. She just stays with her face pressed against his, and Jon thinks that if this is the last time he ever see’s her, then at least they had this. It is so comforting, in fact, that Jon is sure he falls asleep against her cheek, because one moment he is basking in the peace of her, and the next a terrible, wet cough permeates the air.

He opens his eyes and goes to pull away from Sansa, but she cups his face with her hands and hushes him, brushing the curls by his temple in a such a soothing way that he relaxes into her again.

Another cough, louder this time, and then a gasp. Jon has seen enough death in his life to know the sound of it intimately.

Footsteps echo, desperate and hurried, and then Cersei’s rasping voice hisses, “What have you done?”

Jon doesn’t let Sansa distract him this time. He pulls away from her to watch as Cersei falls to her knees, grasping desperately at her throat, her face an ugly shade of red and purple, with blood dripping from her mouth.

Sansa doesn’t move away from Jon as guards rush over to their queen, and Jon can’t tear his eyes away from Cersei.

“An ugly death,” Sansa admits to him, her voice a whisper in his ear. “But now she gets to be with her son. And she can die like him, too.”

“You did this?” Jon asks.

“In her wine goblet.”

Sansa doesn’t elaborate further, but he doesn’t need any more detail. He likely should feel disgusted that Sansa could bestow what is obviously a slow and painful death upon another person, but - . . . his first life changed him, and his death changed him even more. He feels nothing for Cersei, despite the way she’s died, like he felt nothing for Ramsey, or Daenerys.

They are just deaths, necessary deaths, because Jon and Sansa have been put in a position in which they’re forced to choose: us or them.

It is not his fault that they have come out victorious on all counts.

“Go on, then,” Sansa encourages him, kissing the arc of his cheekbone, “get your sword. Kill the guards.”

Jon rises to his feet immediately, and gets his sword from where it lays, abandoned by a guard that had rushed over to his dying queen. Jon makes his way through the handful of them easily and quickly, and soon enough they are left alone in the Throne Room that stinks of death and blood.

Jon turns back to Sansa, blood splattered across his clothes. She smiles at him, a small thing, but his heart swells nonetheless.

Sansa moves over to where Cersei lies, empty eyes staring at the sky. She bends down to Cersei’s prone body and picks the golden circlet from the dead woman’s head.

When she places it atop her own head, the gold of it swimming in the beauty of her now-short hair, Jon’s breath is blown from his lungs.

The bruise that is flowered on her cheek doesn’t dim her beauty in the slightest, and the blue of her eyes sparkle as her gaze falls back on him.

Sansa doesn’t remove the Queen’s crown as she makes her way over to him, and the diamond encrusted points of it dig into the skin of his cheek when she pulls him close.

“Oh, Jon,” Sansa sighs, and he can’t quite make out her tone, can’t figure out the intricacies of the way his name sounds on her tongue, the way each letter dances as if she’s tasting them in her mouth. She backs him up, so that his knee’s hit the Iron Throne and he falls into it. “Thank you for coming. My silly, brave Northman.”

Sansa sinks down on top of him, her fingers spearing through the curls at the nape of his neck, and she brushes her lips over his. Even such a gentle, brief kiss is better than he could have imagined, and the noise that escapes his throat sounds like the whimper of a dog.

It pleases Sansa, however, as she smiles against him and then captures his mouth in a much harder kiss. She fills his hands and his mouth and his mind with her body, and then he fills her, too, right there on the Iron Throne, the dead bodies of their enemies still littering the floor.

She bites his ear when she peaks, and he pants between her breasts when he spills, and afterwards, she straightens herself from his lap and lets her dress fall back down around her ankles like she didn’t just fuck him atop the Iron Throne, while he stays sitting there, a confused yet satiated mess.

With Cersei’s crown still perched delicately on her head, Jon knows that Sansa, despite having been kidnapped, has outmanoeuvred them all; including him.

But Jon doesn’t mind. This is a battle he is happy to lose.

[jae-writes-fanfiction]

Hunger

Prompt: “no, I want you” 

Notes: Felt like the women of GoT needed some more love and got inspired between finishing longer drabbles. Let me know what you think! Enjoy! 😘❤ 

Arya Stark

You tried to look happy while Arya prepared for her journey. You’d been her partner for many years, often going ages without seeing this woman who you loved, and now it seemed that parting might be forever. You’d persuaded her to stay for Sansa’s coronation but you’d seen the maps piled in her room and knew time had run out between the two of you.

You leaned against the wall, a bittersweet smile stretching across your face while Arya rolled up those same maps. “I suppose you’ll be off then,” you said trying to sound happy for her, “time for another one of your great adventures.”

“Our,” she corrected tossing a lopsided grin your way before returning to her task, “the only great part of my adventures was you.”

You knew your face had broken out in a heated blush, and your smile forgot it’s trepidation. You knew her ‘adventures’ were never started as such and that each one held some great pain in it’s duration or origin- you just hadn’t known how dearly she treasured the times when you were there with her.

“Arya I don’t know what to say,” you stuttered unsure of her concession, “wouldn’t you rather someone else accompany you?” She paused for a moment and left her packing to turn and face you.

“No, I want you. As I said you’re the best part, my own good luck charm.” Arya sighed, unable to control her wolfish smile seeing your face change in delighted shock.

“Wouldn’t want to jinx that now would I love?” She looked at you pointedly waiting to make sure you were smiling before turning to finish clearing off her table. You were more excited than ever to be starting this new adventure with Arya, the prince(ss) who was promised, and somehow your closest companion and dearest love.

- - -

Yara Greyjoy

Yara had requested your presence early that morning. You’d been her advisor for months now, and the late nights spent together had evolved from talks of strategy into illicit trysts. She was your queen yet every glance, every word drove you absolutely mad. Rumors of marriage always spread about the Iron Islands, the people still unused to a queen alone and those rumors laid heavily on your heart that morning. You knew Yara wasn’t the marrying type. In all honesty you were surprised you still caught her eye, her lovers never lasted more than a week and it seemed every man or woman was prettier than the next.

In the recent week’s you’d been careful to distance yourself from her, unable to deny the ferocious thoughts in the back of your mind that demanded she was your’s. The room was empty except for your queen, who stalked about with her shoulders squared harshly, and her mouth set in a firm line. You wondered if that pretty little dornish man and his wife had finally proven frustrating enough for her to send them away. “We’re sparring today,” she commanded, interrupting your thoughts.

You nodded and soon fell into the steps of the same violent dance full of flashing swords, gnashing teeth and fiery stares. She struck at you mercilessly, each swing of her sword landing as intended, slowly forcing you into a corner. Instead of relenting to start again Yara pressed you further back, and leveled her blade against your throat.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” she stated, pressing the words out between clenched teeth, “I provide you with everything. A place in my court, a place in my keep, a place in my bed. Yet you insult me with silence.” Her eyes danced with all the fury of a tumultuous sea, dark with storms, and flooded with disappointment.”What do you want- a castle, gold?” she demanded pressing the edge into the softness of your skin, tempting forwards little pricks of agitation.  The blade against your throat was dizzying, and you could feel the heat of her breath with each word, and couldn't ignore how close her body was to yours.

“No, I want you, my queen.” Your clenched jaw kept you from roaring that it had always been her, the only thing you’d ever wanted in its entirety as your own, was her and her affection. It wasn’t about the castle, or the security of being a queen’s lover- only her and how her sharp gaze melted your heart.

Your boldfaced answer rendered her unaware for a delicious moment, long enough for you to twist from the position and knock her back. In another second she’d pulled you to the floor as well, pinning you underneath her. For a moment you stayed there underneath Yara, her legs straddling your hips completely enamoured until she slowly pressed her lips onto yours, reassuring you the only way she knew how.

- - -

Brienne of Tarth

You’d been helping Brienne train the women and girls of the north to safeguard them against the coming long night. Her strength was astounding and drew you to her immediately. She didn’t like you at first, insisting that she had enough help from Podrick. She relented when Sansa insisted you help, you were from one of the outlying villages, you were one of the people and together they’d be more likely to learn alongside a familiar face.

You developed a crush almost instantly on your co-instructor. You were petite and stronger than expected, but there was something about how tall Brienne was, how strong her arms and legs were. You knew she could pick you up at will as if you were nothing more than a feather pillow and it made you swoon. Through working together you’d discovered her almost perfect loyalty to the Starks, and her commanding senses of justice and honor that guided her as a person, and these things made your feelings deepen from a fleeting attraction to a blossoming respect and desire for her.

You were no blushing maiden, having grown up outside the Lord’s keep meant you weren’t held to such rules as acting coy and complacent. All the men and women you’d romanced before were treated to your bold flirtations, and they responded. Brienne always acted like she didn’t hear the tone of your voice, or the smile in your eyes. So you’d progressively gotten bolder, opting for blunt flattery and intense attention that had gone unnoticed until now. And now, she was angrier than you’d ever seen her. You couldn’t even remember what you’d said at this point. 

Brienne held you forcibly at arms length, her grip tight on your shoulders and all you could think about how she looked exactly like she did before she killed someone. 

“You’re jokes aren’t funny,” she said through a clenched jaw, “What in the seven hells do you want from me? If this is a game I won't play it.”

You realized she wasn’t angry, she was hurt. For a moment your heart almost broke understanding someone had joked at loving her and you knew she’d never understand what you were saying this way.

“It’s no joke, or game. I want you, just you.” You kept your voice soft and small, and as you spoke Brienne’s gaze softened and for the first time since she caught your eye, she really heard you.

- - -

Daenerys Targaryen

“My Queen, the rumors of your beauty don’t do you justice,” you said strolling into the pyramid’s audience chamber. Daenerys Targaryen First of her Name, was every bit a beauty that she was a queen. You’d expected someone less awe inspiring, someone less perfect. But there you were standing in front of the Breaker of Chains, the Mother of Dragons, the Unburnt in all of her glory and gods did it make you weak.

“And? What could my beauty have done to warrant such a long journey? I’ve heard you’d rather spend your time among men and women than fighting wars. ” Daenerys had heard of you too, not to some awe inspiring extent, but enough to know your former days as a pirate left you rich, half-across the world, and with a fleet of ships. 

You weren’t sure what to say, caught off guard every time she looked at you with her violet eyes causing a delicious chill to set over your skin. “I’ve also heard you  rumors that you’ve taken no suitors. Not even Xaro Xhoan Daxos with his riches and ships -” 

“Is that what you’ve brought me then, a proposal?” she interrupted dryly, bitter at the reminder of such a recent betrayal.

“No my Queen, I’ve brought you ships,” you said hurrying to refocus your conversation.

“Ships... and what is it you and your Lords want in return? Do they want their own kingdom? One of my dragons,” Daenerys paused remembering Doreah and Xaro, “Everything has its price.” 

“I’ve no lords behind me. I want you-,” you froze for a second and felt your face turn red over how forward you’d been to the Queen, “I’m sorry I meant to say I want you on the throne.” No one really believed your quick cover, but before you could keep talking and make it worse, The Queen spoke up.

“My men will inspect your ships. Until then you’re welcome in Meereen as my honored guest.” Daenerys flushed prettily while giving consent to your place in her court, and the fiery look in her eyes told you she didn’t believe your quick cover-up, and that first part of your request would be revisited later when you could be alone.

- - -

Sansa Stark

Since the Starks returned to Winterfell you’d served as Sansa’s handmaid. For weeks you were too nervous to remain in her presence, and ensured you ducked in and out of her chambers when she wasn’t there. Lady Sansa was a formidable leader, strong and wise but her long red hair and soft smile sent shivers down your spine, and caused your face to flush as if you’d been drinking. You tried to dismiss it as a mistake, a silly crush but couldn’t as the weeks passed.

Of course Sansa noticed, you weren’t nearly as subtle as intended. She soon started adjusting to your schedule, making sure encounters lasted longer until you relaxed. She’d noticed your bright eyes, and hypnotic smile instantly and wanted nothing more than to kiss you and discover what kind of woman sat behind your reserved exterior. When she started flirting with you, you thought it had to be a mistake. Some sort of willful interpretation of human kindness rather than personal affection. But each exchange lasted longer until you couldn’t deny her advances, and when she looked at you, you were looking at her and when she flirted with you, you flirted back. But you weren’t a lord or lady of a great house, just a regular servant and your once fervent flirtations wilted, and you begged for the overseer to give you some other job around the castle.

How could she love you, so lowly and insignificant? You’d heard stories of highborn women fooling around with lowborn women for fun, to see how gullible the common folk were and those stories scared you more than anything else, because you’d started to love her. She confronted you of course, somehow always knowing where you were and what was happening in every inch of the castle. She cornered you in a hallway, and pulled you into her room,

“Have I done something wrong?” She asked crossing her arms, and closing her self off a little more.

“No My Lady,” you said fidgeting under her gaze, “I just couldn’t be here.”

“that’s ridiculous this is as much your home as mine”

“No My Lady I mean with you,” you sighed and tried to look anywhere other than her face, “wouldn’t you rather some highborn lord or lady to keep you company?”

“Wouldn’t I rather a highborn lord? No! I want you- you’re clever and beautiful and kind and you don’t get to decide who I love.” Sansa spoke with a conviction that equally scared and thrilled you. She loved you, and for a moment nothing else mattered: not your status or her parentage, just the spark between two people as they melted into a kiss.

[nooowestayandgetcaught]

I have my 2016 version and my 2017 version and my 2018 version!

Tagging @ everybody who sees this post and wants to do this! <3

AO3 Stats!

(How to find your stats: go to your Dashboard, click on “Statistics,” then click on the year you’re answering for!)

Total 2019 Word Count: 474461 Total 2019 Hits: 476491 Total Kudos: 33356 Total Bookmarks: 4892 Total Comment (threads): 2719 User Subscriptions: 558

Links and Titles to 2019 Works:

JANUARY

Never Let This Go (T, Wolfgang Bogdanow/Kala Dandekar/Rajan Rasal, 1004 words)

The Kissing Booth (T, Ash Lynx/Okumura Eiji, 1951 words)

Take Care (M, Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang, 1199 words)

We’re Gonna Be Alright (No Rating, Keith/Shiro, 1340 words)

Come Home (T,  Ash Lynx/Okumura Eiji, 1431 words)

Meant To Be (No Rating, Allura/Lotor, 100 words)

Palpitations (T, Keith/Hunk, 1730 words)

For All To Witness (No Rating, Ash Lynx/Okumyra Eiji, 1017 words)

Out Of Rhythm (G, Lance/Pidge, 1459 words)

Cozy Up (E, Keith/Lance, 870 words)

Better Than You (M, Shorter Wong/Lee Yut-Lung, 431 words)

The Truth Of It (T, Cheryl Blossom/Toni Topaz, 880 words)

Staying, Not Vanishing (T, Ash Lynx/Okumura Eiji, 732 words)

Devotion (T, Callum/Soren, Claudia & Soren, Callum & Ezran, 1402 words)

Free To Be You And Me (E, Lance/Shiro, 635 words)

So Stay Awake And I’ll Stay (G, Narumiya Minato/Takigawa Masaki, 775 words)

Stay Here Forever (M, Nanase Haruka/Tachibana Makoto, 537 words)

FEBRUARY

comes and goes in waves (M, Starfire/Raven, 298 words)

never need a reason (E, Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan, 483 words)

all wrapped up in you (No Rating, Clarke Griffin/Lexa, Clarke Griffin & Madi, 563 words)

brown-eyed girl (G, Kara Danvers/Nia Nal, 525 words)

with your hand in mine (T, Claudia/Rayla, 904 words)

like a sky full of darkness (T, Karolina Dean/Nico Minoru, 398 words)

bedlam and broken things (M, Cheryl Blossom/Toni Topaz, 298 words)

hold our breath forever (G, Michelle Jones/Shuri, 749 words)

that needful kind of burn (E, Kawakami Tomie/Chie, 300 words)

upon a threshold’s whim (M, Maddie Bishop/Ryn, Ben Pownall/Ryn/Maddie Bishop, 695 words)

no more longing than right here (T, Tabitha Galavan/Barbara Kean, 652 words)

feel good, feel great (T, Kali Prasad/Nancy Wheeler, 100 words)

every day beautiful (G, Matsuoka Gou/Mikoshiba Isuzu, 340 words)

Wisps of a Bright, Sweet Dream (M, Ash Lynx/Okumura Eiji, 1842 words)

perfectly you for me (M, Mila Babicheva/Sara Crispino, 719 words)

clear a crowded mind (T, Fujioka Haruhi/Kasugazaki Kanako, 571 words)

tension and thrill (No Rating, Earth-2 Laurel Lance/Caitlin Snow, 475 words)

that in which we trust (G, Queen Annika/Queen Neha, 464 words)

Love Never Fails Us (T, Allura/Romelle, Allura/Pidge | Katie Holt, Allura/Pidge | Katie Holt/Romelle, 2288 words)

pulled away from shore (T, Freya/Sophia, 120 words)

words cannot express (M, Ash Lynx/Okumura Eiji, 14-year-old Ash Lynx's Female Crush/Ash Lynx, 502 words)

to let yourself be seen, even deeply known (No Rating, Myrcella Baratheon/Arya Stark, 336 words)

vigilant heart in the dark (G, Sakura | Tsubasa/Princess Tomoyo | Tsubasa, 100 words)

promises unbroken (M, Pamela Isley/Harleen Quinzel, 413 words)

Let Your Guard Down (T, Jeremiah Valeska/Bruce Wayne, 511 words)

a million charming words (T, "Hyde" Evil Queen/"Jekyll" Regina Mills, 200 words)

the complexity of our love (No Rating, Princess Bubblegum/Marceline, 484 words)

i see you when i reach (E, Misty Day/Cordelia Foxx | Cordelia Goode, 369 words)

weaving like a thread within each other, faithfully (T, Korra/Asami Sato, 863 words)

contagiously bright (G, Cho Chang/Luna Lovegood, 567 words)

we rise and fall (M, Aurora/Belle, 610 words)

MARCH

It's Better When Equal (No Rating, Ben Pownall/Ryn/Maddie Bishop, 754 words)

Catastrophe (No Rating, Jeremiah Valeska/Bruce Wayne, 1238 words)

Anew (T, Ben Hargreeves/Klaus Hargreeves, 200 words)

Life (G, Aaravos, 100 words)

Against All Odds (No Rating, Clarke Griffin/Lexa, 757 words)

Colourful (E, Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer, 300 words)

Invigorating (G, Fred Andrews & Jughead Jones, Archie Andrews/Jughead Jones, Fred Andrews/FP Jones II, 200 words)

Shower (G, Luka & Romelle, Luka & Romelle & Allura, 100 words)

Floral (T, Ecco/Ivy Pepper, 200 words)

Hatching (G, Peggy Carter/Angie Martinelli, 200 words)

Pastel (M, Burt Chund/Stu Maxsome, 300 words)

Wouldn't You Love To Love Her (T, Allison Hargreeves/Vanya Hargreeves, 959 words)

Lamb (G, Eleanor "Nell" Crain & Luke Crain, 100 words)

Blossoming (T, Mike Hanlon/Eddie Kaspbrak, 300 words)

Not So Terrible (No Rating, Ben Hargreeves/Klaus Hargreeves, 1501 words)

Teeming (G, Jaime Lannister & Bran Stark, 300 words)

Sunlit (No Rating, Captain Flint, 100 words)

The Room (E, Hunk/Lance/Pidge | Katie Holt, Keith/Shiro, 2410 words)

Sleep It Off, Darling (M, Klaus Hargreeves & Everyone, 1454 words)

Rejuvenation (M, Shadow Moon/Mr. Wednesday, 200 words)

Nest (T, Lucy Westenra, Lucy Westenra's Mother, Arthur Holmwood, 100 words)

Remember To Forget (No Rating, Klaus Hargreeves/Original Male Character(s), Klaus Hargreeves & Everyone, Reginald Hargreeves & The Hargreeves, Klaus Hargreeves & Reginald Hargreeves, 1536 words)

Sparkling (T, Carol Danvers/Maria Rambeau, 300 words)

Chirping (G, Baelfire | Neal Cassidy/Captain Hook | Killian Jones, 100 words)

On Your Lips (T, Number Five | The Boy/Vanya Hargreeves, 1107 words)

Energetic (M, Hernando Fuentes/Lito Rodriguez/Daniela Velasquez, 200 words)

Sunshine (No Rating, The Crossroads Pretty Boy/Ryuusuke, 100 words)

Closer To The Edge (E, Ben Hargreeves/Klaus Hargreeves, 863 words)

Budding (T, Sara Crispino/Muramoto Satsuki, 300 words)

Vibrant (T, John Winchester/Mary Winchester, 200 words)

Alive In This Moment (No Rating, Diego Hargreeves & Grace Hargreeves, 793 words)

Growth (G, Padmé Amidala & Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, 100 words)

Verdant (G, Marnie/Sasaki Anna, 200 words)

Meet You There (M, Allison Hargreeves/Vanya Hargreeves/Diego Hargreeves, 829 words)

Crisp (G, Maxine "Max" Mayfield/Lucas Sinclair, 100 words)

With Eyes Wide Open (T, Number Five | The Boy & Klaus Hargreeves, 521 words)

Inspire (E, Will Graham/Margot Verger, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Alana Bloom/Margot Verger, 300 words)

Prosperity (T, Barbara Gordon, 100 words)

Birds (G, Jack Sparrow/Elizabeth Swann/Will Turner, 200 words)

Deep Down Inside (T, Vanya Hargreeves & Everyone, Number Five | The Boy/Allison/Ben/Diego/Klaus/Luther/Vanya, 2043 words)

Sprouting (M, Connor MacManus/Murphy MacManus, 100 words)

Do Not Disturb (T, Number Five | The Boy/Vanya Hargreeves/Dolores, Dolores/Number Five | The Boy, Number Five | The Boy/Vanya Hargreeves, Vanya Hargreeves/Dolores, 899 words)

Warmth (G, Billy Cranston/Kimberly Hart/Tommy Oliver/Jason Lee Scott/Zack Taylor/Trini, 200 words)

Unpredictable (T, Jane Lane/Daria Morgendorffer, 100 words)

Every Time You Come Around (E, Ben Hargreeves/Klaus Hargreeves, 1285 words)

Nature (No Rating, Stefan Butler/Colin Ritman, 200 words)

APRIL

Prom Night (G, Allison Hargreeves/Vanya Hargreeves, 100 words)

Enchanted (No Rating, A Yoga Ball that is One of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse in Disguise, 100 words)

Sympathy (T, Number Five | The Boy & Allison Hargreeves, Number Five | The Boy & Klaus Hargreeves, Number Five | The Boy & Everyone, 772 words)

By The Skin Of Your Teeth (M, Klaus Hargreeves/Other(s), 1089 words)

Can't Sleep (E, Number Five | The Boy/Allison/Ben/Diego/Klaus/Luther/Vanya, Diego Hargreeves/Klaus Hargreeves, Diego Hargreeves/Vanya Hargreeves, 1141 words)

Let My Demons Take The Wheel (E, Allison Hargreeves/Luther Hargreeves, Ben Hargreeves/Klaus Hargreeves, 892 words)

Easing The Frustration (E, Number Five | The Boy/Klaus Hargreeves, 966 words)

Sweeter Than Sugar (T, Allison Hargreeves/Vanya Hargreeves, 912 words)

Lonely With You (No Rating, Jojen Reed/Bran Stark, 356 words)

It's Gonna Be A Good Life (G, Luther Hargreeves & Everyone, Number Five | The Boy & Allison & Ben & Diego & Klaus & Luther & Vanya, 359 words)

it's been a while (T, Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, 200 words)

never say never (G, Tormund Giantsbane/Brienne of Tarth, 200 words)

Erotic Distraction (E, Klaus Hargreeves/Original Female Character(s), 546 words)

rapture (T, Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, 100 words)

hold your head up high (No Rating, Jon Snow & Arya Stark, 300 words)

cold as the unforgiving sea (M, Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, 500 words)

Nothing Of The Heart Remains (T, Ben Hargreeves/Klaus Hargreeves, 1025 words)

their coats of white all turned to red (T, Sansa Stark/Daenerys Targaryen, 200 words)

training hours (No Rating, Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, 500 words)

suddenly (E, Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, 100 words)

no pretty flowers for me (E, Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, 300 words)

entertainment (M, Tormund Giantsbane/Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, 500 words)

never let us go (T, Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, 500 words)

look after you (T, Arya Stark & Sansa Stark, Podrick Payne/Sansa Stark, 300 words)

hanging on (T, Jojen Reed/Bran Stark, Jon Snow & Bran Stark, Bran Stark & Daenerys Targaryen, 400 words)

the mother's mercy (M, Ashara Dayne/Original Female Character(s), 500 words)

never ever again (G, Meera Reed/Bran Stark, 100 words)

nightslayer (No Rating, Arya Stark & Bran Stark, 200 words)

fire in our hearts (T, Melisandre of Asshai/Daenerys Targaryen, 300 words)

all we have together (T, Tyrion Lannister/Sansa Stark, 400 words)

MAY

alive and well (No Rating, Jon Snow & Sansa Stark & Daenerys Targaryen & Arya Stark & Bran Stark, 400 words)

such a pretty thing (M, Yara Greyjoy/Daenerys Targaryen, 500 words)

the place where we began (G, Talisa Maegyr/Robb Stark, Bran Stark & Arya Stark & Jon Snow & Sansa Stark, 400 words)

unexpectedly (No Rating, Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark, Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, 400 words)

mended heart (No Rating, Jon Snow & Sansa Stark & Theon Greyjoy, Theon Greyjoy & Sansa Stark, Theon Greyjoy/Sansa Stark, 200 words)

congratulations (M, Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Arya Stark & Bran Stark, Sansa Stark & Gendry Waters, 1700 words)

fire and blood (No Rating, Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, 500 words)

well met (T, Theon Greyjoy/Robb Stark, Theon Greyjoy & Robb Stark, 300 words)

redemption (T, Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Nymeria (ASoIaF) & Arya Stark, Nymeria (ASoIaF) & Gendry Waters, 500 words)

without a thought (E, Tormund Giantsbane/Jon Snow, 500 words)

don't leave (T, Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, 300 words)

easy as possible (G, Grey Worm/Missandei, 200 words)

everglow (E, Jorah Mormont/Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, 300 words)

we belong together (G, Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, 200 words)

this too shall last (No Rating, Jon Snow & Lyanna Stark, Lyanna Stark & Ned Stark, Jon Snow & Ned Stark, 200 words)

yesterdays to forget (M, Podrick Payne/Gendry Waters, 500 words)

listen to your instincts (M, Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, 500 words)

never stopped loving you (No Rating, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, 200 words)

black irises & wine (T, Arya Stark & Daenerys Targaryen, 400 words)

one day (M, Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, 100 words)

unmade (G, Yara Greyjoy/Daenerys Targaryen, 200 words)

every step i ran to you (M, Theon Greyjoy/Sansa Stark, 100 words)

heaven sent (G, Gilly (ASoIaF)/Samwell Tarly, 300 words)

strong enough to hold (No Rating, Podrick Payne/Sansa Stark, 500 words)

and i am still breathing (T, Tormund Giantsbane/Jon Snow, Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Jon Snow & Arya Stark, 300 words)

holy ground (E, Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark, 200 words)

connected (T, Jon Snow & Bran Stark, 300 words)

our hearts buried deep (T, Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, 500 words)

appreciate every moment (No Rating, Tormund Giantsbane/Jon Snow, 400 words)

the old ways (No Rating, Daenerys Targaryen & Drogon (ASoIaF) & People of Asshai (ASoIaF), 300 words)

a lifetime ago (G, Podrick Payne/Sansa Stark, 200 words)

one, two, three (G, Jon Snow & Arya Stark & Bran Stark & Rickon Stark & Robb Stark & Sansa Stark, 500 words)

mesmerizing, hypnotizing (M, Quentyn Martell/Robin Arryn, 500 words)

in between (T, Jon Snow & Bran Stark, 400 words)

softly it goes (G, Jorah Mormont/Daenerys Targaryen, Drogon & Daenerys Targaryen, Drogon & Jorah Mormont, 100 words)

right where you want me (M, Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, 400 words)

midnight, somewhere (No Rating, Tyrion Lannister & Bran Stark, Jojen Reed/Bran Stark, 500 words)

small matters (M, Yara Greyjoy/Daenerys Targaryen, 300 words)

that's my girl (T, Sandor Clegane & Arya Stark, 300 words)

wistful (T, Ros/Shae, 300 words)

dwaal (No Rating, Davos Seaworth & Lyanna Mormont, 100 words)

our beginning (G, Missandei/Daenerys Targaryen, 200 words)

carry yourself forward (E, Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Arya Stark/Other(s), 500 words)

fortune be (M, Jaime Lannister/Sansa Stark, 300 words)

be as steady as she needs (G, Meera Reed/Bran Stark, 100 words)

time heals all (G, Catelyn Stark/Ned Stark, 400 words)

arrival (T, Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, 500 words)

it will be better soon (No Rating, Tyrion Lannister & Sansa Stark, 200 words)

JUNE

all that is left of us (G, Lyanna Mormont & Maege Mormont & House Mormont Character(s) & Northerner(s), 200 words)

Cusp (E, Captain Flint | James McGraw/Thomas Hamilton, 411 words)

dissonance and innocent surrender (M, Podrick Payne/Sansa Stark, 500 words)

Everyone Should (M, Anne Lister/Ann Walker, 367 words)

be brave (T, Rhaegal & Jon Snow, 300 words)

only with careful hands (E, Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, 500 words)

Summer's Bounty (No Rating, Korra/Asami Sato, 557 words)

never to be, never to grow (E, Theon Greyjoy/Yara Greyjoy, 400 words)

Unveil (M, Bill Denbrough/Beverly Marsh, Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, 354 words)

let me down slowly (T, Jon Snow & Arya Stark, Jon Snow & Daenerys Targaryen, 500 words)

Escaping This (M, Capheus/Kala/Lito/Nomi/Riley/Sun/Will/Wolfgang, 294 words)

The Good Dirt (No Rating, Aziraphale/Crowley, 747 words)

laid bare in euphoria (T, Podrick Payne/Gendry Waters, 400 words)

Powerless (No Rating, Archie Andrews/Betty Cooper/Veronica Lodge/Jughead Jones, 656 words)

where it may lead (M, Joanna Lannister/Rhaella Targaryen, 300 words)

Soul Full (E, Castiel/Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, 853 words)

healing hands (G, Jon Snow & Catelyn Stark, Catelyn Stark & Robb Stark, Jon Snow & Robb Stark, 200 words)

Sweet Breezes (E, Katsuki Yuuri/Lee Seung Gil/Sara Crispino, 853 words)

goes on and on (M, Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, 300 words)

Dappled Light (No Rating, Eddie Brock/Venom Symbiote, 548 words)

time needed (T, Myrcella Baratheon/Margaery Tyrell, 500 words)

Collect (M, Maddie Bishop/Ben Pownall/Ryn, 620 words)

Tight-Knit (E, Keith/Shiro, 630 words)

Seven (No Rating, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, 751 words)

A List (M, Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor, 1000 words)

Relations (E, Teddy Lupin/James Sirius Potter, 874 words)

Fortitude (No Rating, Mulan/Shang, 550 words)

Past | Present (M, Fujioka Haruhi/Houshakuji Renge, Fujioka Haruhi & Suoh Tamaki, Fujioka Haruhi & The Ouran High School Host Club, Fujioka Haruhi & Fujioka Ryouji | Ranka, 652 words)

Twisted (E, Sebastian/Ciel, 908 words)

Bright (E, C.C./Suzaku/Lelouch, 420 words)

Do What You Want (M, Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan, 992 words)

Essence of Summer (No Rating, Elizabeth/Darcy, 373 words)

Reflect (M, Jessica Jones/Patricia Walker, 974 words)

Clarity (E, Kaiou Michiru/Tenoh Haruka, Tenoh Haruka/Undisclosed, 231 words)

Know Joy (Clarke/Lexa, Clarke/Bellamy, No Rating, 680 words)

Come Together (M, Klaus Hargreeves/Dave, 100 words)

Cleanse (No Rating, Jonathan Byers/Steve Harrington/Kali Prasad/Nancy Wheeler, 600 words)

On The Line (E, Matsuoka Rin/Yamazaki Sousuke, 462 words)

Old School (No Rating, Rue Bennett/Jules Vaughn, 399 words)

Hope for Adventure (E, Pamela Isley/Other(s), 557 words)

JULY

My Cup... (M, Merlin/Arthur Pendragon, 402 words)

bright, so bright for you (G, Eleven | Jane Hopper/Mike Wheeler, 351 words)

slowdown (T, Will Byers & Eleven | Jane Hopper, Joyce Byers & Eleven | Jane Hopper, Jonathan Byers & Joyce Byers & Will Byers, Eleven | Jane Hopper & Jim "Chief" Hopper, 511 words)

homesick (G, Eleven | Jane Hopper/Maxine "Max" Mayfield, 417 words)

maxed out (No Rating, Maxine "Max" Mayfield/Lucas Sinclair, 462 words)

late night thoughts (M, Steve Harrington & RobinJonathan Byers/Steve Harrington/Nancy Wheeler, 535 words)

patience (G, Eleven | Jane Hopper/Mike Wheeler, 483 words)

hold on (No Rating, Will Byers & Eleven | Jane Hopper, Joyce Byers & Will Byers, 562 words)

days belonging to us (T, Will Byers/Mike Wheeler, 479 words)

wild eyes (G, Steve Harrington & Robin, Kali Prasad/Robin, 519 words)

back to the start (No Rating, Eleven | Jane Hopper/Mike Wheeler, 497 words)

i'm here (T, Will Byers/Mike Wheeler, 446 words)

little big things (G, Joyce Byers & Eleven | Jane Hopper, 415 words)

hallowed path (No Rating, Eleven | Jane Hopper & Kali Prasad, 538 words)

vibin' out (T, Dustin Henderson & Steve Harrington & Robin Buckley, Steve Harrington & Dustin Henderson, Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley & Dustin Henderson, Jonathan Byers/Steve Harrington/Nancy Wheeler, Robin Buckley/Kali Prasad, 586 words)

elsewhere (T, Will Byers & Eleven | Jane Hopper & Maxine "Max" Mayfield, 578 words)

weekend dreaming (G, Maxine "Max" Mayfield/Lucas Sinclair, 259 words)

moments (T, Kali Prasad & Kali Prasad's Family, Martin Brenner & Kali Prasad, 205 words)

sleepless lights (M, Steve Harrington/Nancy Wheeler, 478 words)

ambrosia (No Rating, Robin Buckley/Kali Prasad, 444 words)

no goodbyes (T, Eleven | Jane Hopper/Mike Wheeler, 547 words)

nowhere else beside you (E, Jonathan Byers/Steve Harrington/Nancy Wheeler, 522 words)

Blue and Black (E, Spider Dominatrix/Temptingly Tasty Client, Original Female Character/Original Male Character, Original Female Character/Original Female Character, 750 words)

distant (T, Will Byers & Eleven | Jane Hopper, 597 words)

till there was you (G, Eleven | Jane Hopper/Maxine "Max" Mayfield, 368 words)

stay here with me (No Rating, Will Byers/Mike Wheeler, 599 words)

the steps only club (G, Robin Buckley & Will Byers, 567 words)

Abyssinia (E, 1930s Male Pansy Club Performer/Male Mobster Who Protects the Joint, Original Male Character/Original Male Character, 743 words)

[she-wolf-of-highgarden]

Every time Dany mentions home

*Buckle in kids, this is a long one*

“At first the magisters and archons and merchant princes were pleased to welcome the last Targaryens to their homes and tables, but as the years passed and the Usurper continued to sit upon the Iron Throne, doors closed and their lives grew meaner. Years past they had been forced to sell their last few treasures, and now even the coin they had gotten from Mother's crown had gone. In the alleys and wine sinks of Pentos, they called her brother "the beggar king." Dany did not want to know what they called her.” - Dany I, GoT

“Dany looked at Khal Drogo. His face was hard and cruel, his eyes as cold and dark as onyx. Her brother hurt her sometimes, when she woke the dragon, but he did not frighten her the way this man frightened her. "I don't want to be his queen," she heard herself say in a small, thin voice. "Please, please, Viserys, I don't want to, I want to go home." "Home!" He kept his voice low, but she could hear the fury in his tone. "How are we to go home, sweet sister? They took our home from us!" He drew her into the shadows, out of sight, his fingers digging into her skin. "How are we to go home?" he repeated, meaning King's Landing, and Dragonstone, and all the realm they had lost.” - Dany I, GoT

“Dany had only meant their rooms in Illyrio's estate, no true home surely, though all they had, but her brother did not want to hear that. There was no homethere for him. Even the big house with the red door had not been home for him. His fingers dug hard into her arm, demanding an answer. "I don't know …" she said at last, her voice breaking. Tears welled in her eyes."I do," he said sharply. "We go home with an army, sweet sister. With Khal Drogo's army, that is how we go home. And if you must wed him and bed him for that, you will." He smiled at her. "I'd let his whole khalasar fuck you if need be, sweet sister, all forty thousand men, and their horses too if that was what it took to get my army. Be grateful it is only Drogo. In time you may even learn to like him. Now dry your eyes. Illyrio is bringing him over, and he will not see you crying.” - Dany I, GoT

“Home," he said. His voice was thick with longing. "I pray for home too," she told him, believing it.” - Dany III, GoT

“He could not lead an army even if my lord husband gave him one," Dany said. "He has no coin and the only knight who follows him reviles him as less than a snake. The Dothraki make mock of his weakness. He will never take us home.” - Dany III, GoT

“She was lying there, holding the egg, when she felt the child move within her … as if he were reaching out, brother to brother, blood to blood. "You are the dragon," Dany whispered to him, "the true dragon. I know it. I know it." And she smiled, and went to sleep dreaming of home.” - Dany IV, GoT

“The Dothraki do things in their own time, for their own reasons," the knight answered. "Have patience, Princess. Do not make your brother's mistake. We will go home, I promise you."Home? The word made her feel sad. Ser Jorah had his Bear Island, but what was home to her? A few tales, names recited as solemnly as the words of a prayer, the fading memory of a red door … was Vaes Dothrak to be her home forever? When she looked at the crones of the dosh khaleen, was she looking at her future?” - Dany VI, GoT

“If I were not the blood of the dragon, she thought wistfully, this could be my home. She was khaleesi, she had a strong man and a swift horse, handmaids to serve her, warriors to keep her safe, an honored place in the dosh khaleen awaiting her when she grew old … and in her womb grew a son who would one day bestride the world. That should be enough for any woman … but not for the dragon. With Viserys gone, Daenerys was the last, the very last. She was the seed of kings and conquerors, and so too the child inside her. She must not forget.” - Dany VI, GoT

“But the Western Market smelled of home.” - Dany VI, GoT

“Under the hollow hummock of earth that was her home in Vaes Dothrak, Dany ordered them to leave her—all but Ser Jorah. "Tell me," she commanded as she lowered herself onto her cushions. "Was it the Usurper?" - Dany VI, GoT

“Her words were a knife through Dany's breast. What had she ever done to make the gods so cruel? She had finally found a safe place, had finally tasted love and hope. She was finally going home. And now to lose it all … "No," she pleaded. "Save him, and I will free you, I swear it. You must know a way … some magic, some …" - Dany VIII, GoT

“She saw sunlight on the Dothraki sea, the living plain, rich with the smells of earth and death. Wind stirred the grasses, and they rippled like water. Drogo held her in strong arms, and his hand stroked her sex and opened her and woke that sweet wetness that was his alone, and the stars smiled down on them, stars in a daylight sky. "Home," she whispered as he entered her and filled her with his seed, but suddenly the stars were gone, and across the blue sky swept the great wings, and the world took flame.” - Dany IX, GoT

“The door loomed before her, the red door, so close, so close, the hall was a blur around her, the cold receding behind. And now the stone was gone and she flew across the Dothraki sea, high and higher, the green rippling beneath, and all that lived and breathed fled in terror from the shadow of her wings. She could smell home, she could see it, there, just beyond that door, green fields and great stone houses and arms to keep her warm, there. She threw open the door.”  - Dany IX, GoT

“Saved me?" The Lhazareen woman spat. "Three riders had taken me, not as a man takes a woman but from behind, as a dog takes a bitch. The fourth was in me when you rode past. How then did you save me? I saw my god's house burn, where I had healed good men beyond counting. My home they burned as well, and in the street I saw piles of heads. I saw the head of a baker who made my bread. I saw the head of a boy I had saved from deadeye fever, only three moons past. I heard children crying as the riders drove them off with their whips. Tell me again what you saved.” - Dany IX, GoT

“As my queen commands." Ser Jorah frowned. "My home . . . you must understand that to understand the rest. Bear Island is beautiful, but remote. Imagine old gnarled oaks and tall pines, flowering thornbushes, grey stones bearded with moss, little creeks running icy down steep hillsides. The hall of the Mormonts is built of huge logs and surrounded by an earthen palisade. Aside from a few crofters, my people live along the coasts and fish the seas. The island lies far to the north, and our winters are more terrible than you can imagine, Khaleesi.” - Dany I, ACoK

“A fortnight was how long it took us to sail from Lannisport back to Bear Island. My home was a great disappointment to Lynesse. It was too cold, too damp, too far away, my castle no more than a wooden longhall. We had no masques, no mummer shows, no balls or fairs. Seasons might pass without a singer ever coming to play for us, and there's not a goldsmith on the island. Even meals became a trial. My cook knew little beyond his roasts and stews, and Lynesse soon lost her taste for fish and venison.” - Dany I, ACoK

“She had heard the longing in Ser Jorah's voice when he spoke of his Bear Island. He can never have me, but one day I can give him back his home and honor. That much I can do for him.” - Dany I, ACoK

“Pyrat Pree conducted her little khalasar down the center of a great arcade where the city's ancient heroes stood thrice life-size on columns of white and green marble. They passed through a bazaar in a cavernous building whose latticework ceiling was home to a thousand gaily colored birds. Trees and flowers bloomed on the terraced walls above the stalls, while below it seemed as if everything the gods had put into the world was for sale.” - Dany II, ACoK

“Xaro Xhoan Daxos had offered Dany the hospitality of his home while she was in the city. She had expected something grand. She had not expected a palace larger than many a market town. It makes Magister Illyrio's manse in Pentos look like a swineherd's hovel, she thought. Xaro swore that his home could comfortably house all of her people and their horses besides; indeed, it swallowed them. An entire wing was given over to her. She would have her own gardens, a marble bathing pool, a scrying tower and warlock's maze. Slaves would tend her every need. In her private chambers, the floors were green marble, the walls draped with colorful silk hangings that shimmered with every breath of air. "You are too generous," she told Xaro Xhoan Daxos.”  - Dany II, ACoK

“Ser Jorah, find the docks and see what manner of ships lay at anchor. It has been half a year since I last heard tidings from the Seven Kingdoms. Perhaps the gods will have blown some good captain here from Westeros with a ship to carry us home.” - Dany II, ACoK

“The thought of home disquieted her. If her sun-and-stars had lived, he would have led his khalasar across the poison water and swept away her enemies, but his strength had left the world. Her bloodriders remained, sworn to her for life and skilled in slaughter, but only in the ways of the horselords. The Dothraki sacked cities and plundered kingdoms, they did not rule them. Dany had no wish to reduce King's Landing to a blackened ruin full of unquiet ghosts. She had supped enough on tears. I want to make my kingdom beautiful, to fill it with fat men and pretty maids and laughing children. I want my people to smile when they see me ride by, the way Viserys said they smiled for my father.”  - Dany II, ACoK

“I have given you my home and heart, do they mean nothing to you? I have given you perfume and pomegranates, tumbling monkeys and spitting snakes, scrolls from lost Valyria, an idol's head and a serpent's foot. I have given you this palanquin of ebony and gold, and a matched set of bullocks to bear it, one white as ivory and one black as jet, with horns inlaid with jewels.” - Dany III, ACoK

“I am half a world away from my kingdom even here. If I go any farther east I may never find my way home to Westeros.” - Dany III, ACoK

“She fled from him, but only as far as the next open door. I know this room, she thought. She remembered those great wooden beams and the carved animal faces that adorned them. And there outside the window, a lemon tree! The sight of it made her heart ache with longing. It is the house with the red door, the house in Braavos. No sooner had she thought it than old Ser Willem came into the room, leaning heavily on his stick. "Little princess, there you are," he said in his gruff kind voice. "Come," he said, "come to me, my lady, you're home now, you're safe now." His big wrinkled hand reached for her, soft as old leather, and Dany wanted to take it and hold it and kiss it, she wanted that as much as she had ever wanted anything. Her foot edged forward, and then she thought, He's dead, he's dead, the sweet old bear, he died a long time ago. She backed away and ran.” - Dany IV, ACoK

“All the brass in this booth is not worth twenty honors," Dany told him as she studied the reflections. The old man had the look of Westeros about him, and the brown-skinned one must weigh twenty stone. The Usurper offered a lordship to the man who kills me, and these two are far from home. Or could they be creatures of the warlocks, meant to take me unawares?” - Dany V, ACoK

“Three heads has the dragon, Dany thought, wondering. "I shall tell my people to make ready to depart at once. But the ships that bring me home must bear different names." - Dany V, ACoK

“But that time was not yet come. Rhaegal and Viserion were the size of small dogs, Drogon only a little larger, and any dog would have out-weighed them; they were all wings and neck and tail, lighter than they looked. And so Daenerys Targaryen must rely on wood and wind and canvas to bear her home.” - Dany  I, ASoS

“Mero tossed down his wine straightaway, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and leered at Dany. "I believe I fucked your twin sister in a pleasure house back home. Or was it you?” - Dany IV, ASoS

“Varys said . . . I might go home." He bowed his head.I was going to take you home! Her dragons sensed her fury. Viserion roared, and smoke rose grey from his snout. Drogon beat the air with black wings, and Rhaegal twisted his head back and belched flame. I should say the word and burn the two of them. Was there no one she could trust, no one to keep her safe? "Are all the knights of Westeros so false as you two? Get out, before my dragons roast you both. What does roast liar smell like? As foul as Brown Ben's sewers? Go!” - Dany V, ASoS

“No. I must hold court soon." Dany had grown very fond of Missandei. The little scribe with the big golden eyes was wise beyond her years. She is brave as well. She had to be, to survive the life she's lived. One day she hoped to see this fabled isle of Naath. Missandei said the Peaceful People made music instead of war. They did not kill, not even animals; they ate only fruit and never flesh. The butterfly spirits sacred to their Lord of Harmony protected their isle against those who would do them harm. Many conquerors had sailed on Naath to blood their swords, only to sicken and die. The butterflies do not help them when the slave ships come raiding, though. "I am going to take you home one day, Missandei," Dany promised. If I had made the same promise to Jorah, would he still have sold me? "I swear it.” - Dany VI, ASoS

“Leave him be. The scales are balanced now. Let him go home." Dany pictured Jorah moving amongst old gnarled oaks and tall pines, past flowering thornbushes, grey stones bearded with moss, and little creeks running icy down steep hillsides. She saw him entering a hall built of huge logs, where dogs slept by the hearth and the smell of meat and mead hung thick in the smoky air. "We are done for now," she told her captains.” - Dany VI, ASoS

“They could not feed him his own genitals. The Astapori left him neither root nor stem. "The Sons grow bolder," Dany observed. Until now, they had limited their attacks to unarmed freedmen, cutting them down in the streets or breaking into their homes under the cover of darkness to murder them in their beds. "This is the first of my soldiers they have slain.” - Dany I, ADwD

“Mossador. Dany made a fist. Missandei and her brothers had been taken from their home on Naath by raiders from the Basilisk Isles and sold into slavery in Astapor. Young as she was, Missandei had shown such a gift for tongues that the Good Masters had made a scribe of her. Mossador and Marselen had not been so fortunate. They had been gelded and made into Unsullied. "Have any of the murderers been captured?” - Dany II, ADwD

“Three freedmen, murdered in their homes," the Shavepate said. "A moneylender, a cobbler, and the harpist Rylona Rhee. They cut her fingers off before they killed her." - Dany II, ADwD

“As he loved you." Dany stroked the girl's hair. "Say the word, my sweet, and I will send you from this awful place. I will find a ship somehow and send you home. To Naath.” - Dany II, ADwD

“Kisses came easier than sleep, however. Dany shut her eyes and tried to think of home, of Dragonstone and King's Landing and all the other places that Viserys had told her of, in a kinder land than this … but her thoughts kept turning back to Slaver's Bay, like ships caught in some bitter wind. When Missandei was sound asleep, Dany slipped from her arms and stepped out into the predawn air to lean upon the cool brick parapet and gaze out across the city. A thousand roofs stretched out below her, painted in shades of ivory and silver by the moon.” - Dany II, ADwD

“The truth … but truth was never welcome at that court. I walked from the throne room with my head high, though I did not know where I was going. I had no home but White Sword Tower. My cousins would find a place for me at Harvest Hall, I knew, but I had no wish to bring Joffrey's displeasure down upon them. I was gathering my things when it came to me that I had brought this on myself by taking Robert's pardon. He was a good knight but a bad king, for he had no right to the throne he sat. That was when I knew that to redeem myself I must find the true king, and serve him loyally with all the strength that still remained me." - Dany II, ADwD

“The gift you begged of me in Qarth. Ships. There are thirteen galleys in the bay. Yours, if you will have them. I have brought you a fleet, to carry you home to Westeros.” - Dany III, ADwD

“Of him, little and less. These ships, though … Your Grace, with these ships we might be home before year's end."Dany had never known a home. In Braavos, there had been a house with a red door, but that was all. "Beware of Qartheen bearing gifts, especially merchants of the Thirteen. There is some trap here. Perhaps these ships are rotten, or …” - Dany III, ADwD

“It was good counsel. "Yes, make it so." Westeros. Home. But if she left, what would happen to her city? Meereen was never your city, her brother's voice seemed to whisper. Your cities are across the sea. Your Seven Kingdoms, where your enemies await you. You were born to serve them blood and fire.” - Dany III, ADwD

“Enough." Dany slapped the table. "No one will be left to die. You are all my people." Her dreams of home and love had blinded her. "I will not abandon Meereen to the fate of Astapor. It grieves me to say so, but Westeros must wait.” - Dany III, ADwD

“Ser Barristan went to one knee before her. "My queen, your realm has need of you. You are not wanted here, but in Westeros men will flock to your banners by the thousands, great lords and noble knights. 'She is come,' they will shout to one another, in glad voices. 'Prince Rhaegar's sister has come home at last.” - Dany III, ADwD

“I am a sailor, not a shipwright. I was sent to fetch Your Grace back to Pentos. Instead you brought us here and tore my Saduleon to pieces for some nails and scraps of wood. I will never see her like again. I may never see my home again, nor my old wife. It was not me who refused the ships this Daxos offered. I cannot fight the Qartheen with fishing boats.” His bitterness dismayed her, so much so that Dany found herself wondering if the grizzled Pentoshi could be one of her three betrayers. No, he is only an old man, far from home and sick at heart. "There must be something we can do.” - Dany V, ADwD

“Ser Barristan will show you out." Dany hurried off, calling for her handmaids. She would not welcome her captain home in a tokar. In the end she tried a dozen gowns before she found one she liked, but she refused the crown that Jhiqui offered her.” - Dany VI, ADwD

“This?" Daario touched his temple. "A crossbowman tried to put a quarrel through my eye, but I outrode it. I was hurrying home to my queen, to bask in the warmth of her smile." He shook his sleeve, spattering red droplets. "This blood is not mine. One of my serjeants said we should go over to the Yunkai'i, so I reached down his throat and pulled his heart out. I meant to bring it to you as a gift for my silver queen, but four of the Cats cut me off and came snarling and spitting after me. One almost caught me, so I threw the heart into his face.” - Dany VI, ADwD

“Instead she slipped into a hooded robe and stepped out onto her terrace. She went to the parapet and stood there gazing down upon the city as she had done a hundred times before. It will never be my city. It will never be my home.” - Dany VII, ADwD

“He will give us these castrati, Dany thought, and then he will march home and make some more. The world is full of boys.” - Dany VIII, ADwD

“No." Dany knew enough of Westerosi history to know that. Nymeria had landed ten thousand ships upon Dorne's sandy shores, but when she wed her Dornish prince she had burned them all and turned her back upon the sea forever. "Dorne is too far away. To please this prince, I would need to abandon all my people. You should send him home." - Dany VIII, ADwD

“Home," said Dany. "Naath. Butterflies and brothers. Tell me of the things that make you happy, the things that make you giggle, all your sweetest memories. Remind me that there is still good in the world.” - Dany VIII, ADwD

“The hill loomed larger down here. Dany had taken to calling it Dragonstone, after the ancient citadel where she'd been born. She had no memories of that Dragonstone, but she would not soon forget this one. Scrub grass and thorny bushes covered its lower slopes; higher up a jagged tangle of bare rock thrust steep and sudden into the sky. There, amidst broken boulders, razor-sharp ridges, and needle spires, Drogon made his lair inside a shallow cave. He had dwelt there for some time, Dany had realized when she first saw the hill. The air smelled of ash, every rock and tree in sight was scorched and blackened, the ground strewn with burned and broken bones, yet it had been home to him. Dany knew the lure of home.” - Dany X, ADwD

“And no matter how far the dragon flew each day, come nightfall some instinct drew him home to Dragonstone. His home, not mine. Her home was back in Meereen, with her husband and her lover. That was where she belonged, surely.” - Dany X, ADwD  

“North they flew, beyond the river, Drogon gliding on torn and tattered wings through clouds that whipped by like the banners of some ghostly army. Dany glimpsed the shores of Slaver's Bay and the old Valyrian road that ran beside it through sand and desolation until it vanished in the west. The road home. Then there was nothing beneath them but grass rippling in the wind.” - Dany X, ADwD

“He boasts of bedding me, you mean. But Daario would not have been so foolish as to make such a boast amongst her enemies. It makes no matter. By now the Yunkai'i will be marching home. That was why she had done all that she had done. For peace.” - Dany X, ADwD

“Once she was certain which way was south, she counted off her paces. The stream appeared at eight. Dany cupped her hands to drink. The water made her belly cramp, but cramps were easier to bear than thirst. She had no other drink but the morning dew that glistened on the tall grass, and no food at all unless she cared to eat the grass. I could try eating ants. The little yellow ones were too small to provide much in the way of nourishment, but there were red ants in the grass, and those were bigger. "I am lost at sea," she said as she limped along beside her meandering rivulet, "so perhaps I'll find some crabs, or a nice fat fish." Her whip slapped softly against her thigh, wap wap wap. One step at a time, and the stream would see her home.” - Dany X, ADwD

“The day grew warmer, and the sun beat down upon her head and the burnt remnants of her hair. Water splashed against the soles of her feet. She was walking in the stream. How long had she been doing that? The soft brown mud felt good between her toes and helped to soothe her blisters. In the stream or out of it, I must keep walking. Water flows downhill. The stream will take me to the river, and the river will take me home.Except it wouldn't, not truly. Meereen was not her home, and never would be. It was a city of strange men with strange gods and stranger hair, of slavers wrapped in fringed tokars, where grace was earned through whoring, butchery was art, and dog was a delicacy. Meereen would always be the Harpy's city, and Daenerys could not be a harpy.” - Dany X, ADwD

“For home. Home was all I ever wanted.” - Dany X, ADwD

[152glasslippers]

i went looking for knives and i was looking for you

Summary: She’d heard nothing of his fate—alive or dead—after the news of Cersei’s death, but it had hardly mattered. She’d already known he was lost to her forever.

His hair was a little shorter, his beard the same. He wore no armor, no Lannister colors, just plain brown leather, his garments clearly designed for labor, not court.

He still looked every part the knight.

Canon divergent post-8x04. After everything, Brienne returns to Tarth, where she finds the last person she ever expected to see again. *cough* IT’S JAIME *cough*

*shows up three months late with fix-it fic* I’m a soft bitch filled with rage over how things ended, so here’s 10,000 words of ladies supporting ladies, Jaime alive on Tarth, and happy endings for everyone. Cheers, clowns. You the real MVPs.

(A/N: I don’t have strong feelings about Daenerys, but I made Dany, Sansa, and Yara all queens for no other reason than FUCK YOU D&D.)

She had never been dismissed from duty before. Not once, not ever.

“I don’t understand.”

Sansa gazed up at her kindly, the newly forged direwolf crown gleaming black in the dim winter sunlight.

“I am releasing you from the promise sworn to my mother, to protect the daughters of Winterfell. Consider your oath fulfilled.”

Brienne couldn’t find words. She’d assumed, perhaps selfishly, that after Queen Daenerys had granted the North and the Iron Islands their independence—dividing Westeros into three realms, ruled separately but allied together by their strong and capable queens—that she would lead Sansa’s Queensguard and spend the rest of her life in service to the Starks.

It seemed that was not to be.

“Have I done something wrong, your grace? Have I neglected some part of my duties? Caused you some offense? I assure you—”

“Nothing of the sort, Ser,” Sansa interrupted her. “You have fought tirelessly, bravely. Surely you have earned the right to return home to Tarth, to choose how to live out the rest of your days.”

Brienne blinked at her queen—who would not remain her queen if she returned home—a sickness growing in the pit of her stomach, tears beginning to burn her eyes.

“You would have me leave you, your grace?”

Sansa stood, coming around her writing desk to stand before her. She took Brienne’s calloused hands in her elegant ones.

“I would have you be happy,” she said earnestly, looking her in the eye. “And I fear there are too many memories here for you to be so.”

Brienne’s heart fell. She was right, of course. He was everywhere.

“Who will protect you?” she whispered, clutching Sansa’s hands harder as she felt a tear roll down her cheek.

“I’ve chosen the one man who came closest to besting you in combat.”

The Hound. Of course.

“I suppose he’ll do,” she said stiffly.

The corners of Sansa’s mouth quirked ever so slightly.

“Yes, I thought so.”

They stood together for another minute, gripping each other’s hands, sadness and appreciation passing between them.

Finally, Sansa spoke.

“This is not goodbye. You will always be welcome here at Winterfell, and we will see each other again. In fact, I insist upon it.”

Brienne closed her eyes against the rest of her tears but returned Sansa’s smile.

“Yes, your grace.”

***

Sandor Clegane was already stationed outside Sansa’s door when she left. He raised an eyebrow at her and nodded, his “ser” only half-mocking.

Brienne continued a few paces and then turned back.

“If anything happens to her—”

“If anything happens to her,” Clegane growled, “it’ll be because I’m already dead.”

He stared at her, his meaning plain.

Brienne inhaled deeply, nodded her head.

“Good.”

She turned away again, but over the sound of her footsteps echoing down the hall, she could have sworn she heard him laugh.

***

Brienne left for Tarth a week later. Podrick went with her.

She shouldn’t have been surprised. After following her into battle against an army of the dead, of what consequence was Tarth?

But she found that she was.

“You are under no obligation to come with me,” she’d told him. She’d barely given any thought to what she would do to occupy herself in Tarth. Learn how to oversee her people from her father? She’d hardly need a squire for that. It was only fair that she gave him the same choice Queen Sansa had given her. “You are free to choose your own path now.”

He’d looked a little nervous when he answered, and for a second, she saw the boy he’d been when they’d first met. She was glad he hadn’t lost that part of himself, not completely.

“I think I’ll stay with you, Ser. If it’s all the same.”

She’d instructed herself to be unaffected by his decision. He was a man who’d outgrown her service, and she had to accept that. One more goodbye wouldn’t kill her, not when she’d survived the most painful one.

But relief rushed through her at his words, and her heart swelled, overwhelmed by affection for him.

“Yes, Pod” was all she could manage, but he seemed to understand. He beamed back at her.

***

Home was home. It seemed little changed during the long years of her absence, but perhaps that was merely a reflection of how long she’d been away. The distance she’d traveled, the people she’d met, the places she’d seen. How profoundly it had all changed her.

Change on any other scale seemed insignificant in comparison.

Her father’s men were waiting at the port to receive them, to oversee the safe handling of their belongings, not that either of them had many.

They rode for Evenfall, just the two of them, Brienne occasionally pointing out landmarks. The salt in the air soothed the nerves she couldn’t explain, and she closed her eyes briefly, trusting her horse to know the way as she tilted her face toward the sun. It wasn’t as warm as the heat of the summer, but it burned brighter here than it did in Winterfell.

***

Pod saw him first.

They’d only just arrived. She was passing her horse’s reins to a stablehand when Pod grabbed her by the forearm, his fingers tightening almost painfully, even through her armor.

“My lady,” he said in a strangled voice, and she looked to him in alarm. He only used her old title when shock or fear made him forget her new one. He wasn’t looking at her, and she followed his eyeline across the courtyard to the stables, and the man standing just inside.

Jaime.

Brienne’s heart started beating so rapidly she felt dizzy. The noise of the courtyard faded to nothing, her blood pounding in her ears.

She’d heard nothing of his fate—alive or dead—after the news of Cersei’s death, but it had hardly mattered. She’d already known he was lost to her forever.

His hair was a little shorter, his beard the same. He wore no armor, no Lannister colors, just plain brown leather, his garments clearly designed for labor, not court.

He still looked every part the knight.

She turned on her heel and fled before he could see her.

read the rest on AO3

[ldelreyna]

CHAPTER II

“Eyes at the heights of my baby Let's hope at the fight of my baby The lights were as bright as my baby But your love was unmoved ...”

- As It Was, Hozier

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That night, after Sansa's announcement to the Night’s Watch, she dined with Jon on his camera. There was much to be talked about, but none of them could utter a word. She, on the other hand, couldn’t understand why he hadn’t reacted positively at once to the possibility of returning home. But Jon was afraid. Afraid of all the implications it might bring to the North – and to Sansa. Many nobles in the Six Kingdoms, followers of Daenerys, hated him and he didn’t blame them.

What the fuck! He really wanted to go home ...

"One hour you'll have to say something." Sansa fired the words as she set her plate aside after being satisfied with her soup.

Jon shook his head, eyes distant and thoughtful as he always was.

"To be honest, I'm scared. I am afraid this will bring political trouble for you and for our home."

"I've talked to Bran, he agrees, you have to go home!" She exclaimed showing anger at her words and it startled him at little.

"Why do you want me to come back? You seem fine on your own." There was no malice in Jon's words, he really admired the work Sansa was doing.

Arya was right, she really was the smartest person he ever met.

"We are a family. Me, you, Arya and Bran. And more than that, we spent a lot of time being the only support and comfort of the other. You and me."

Jon was silent, this time letting Sansa finish what she had to say:

"I need you, Jon. Our home needs you. The North needs you."

He took a deep breath, thoughtful. Jon pondered too much and that was something that bothered Sansa, almost ever. He put his hand over hers and squeezed in comfort, smiling for a moment and then stood up from the table and walked around the room as a thousand things went through his head.

Sansa left his chambers. It was the best, if she had stayed, they would engage in a fight and she needed him to have more reasons to go home and not stay away from her.

“You seem troubled, my Queen…”

Sansa sighed and turn her head to the sound of Brienne’s voice.

“I am not your Queen, Brienne, I am your friend.”

“I consider myself half north, half south.”

“And I consider myself full north but something feels empty inside of me.”

Sansa was sewing a cloak for Jon. She had brought several of them – made it by herself – to him but that one needed its final adjustments.

“Is it something about Jon? About him going back home?”

The needle at her hands was heavier than ever. She should have yelled with him earlier that night. Things was stocked inside of her, millions questions.

“He didn’t react quite as I was expecting…”

“If he’s happy here…”

“He’s not. And that’s the problem. Neither I am.” Sansa replied not allowing Brienne to finish her sentence.

“Why do you want him to go back home so much?”

That was a golden question. And Sansa didn’t have that answer in her hands. Why? Things changed, Arya found her calling and so has Bran. She was Queen and Jon was back to where he was before. She tried to think the place he belonged but those words were fucking wrong for her to swallow.

At the other day, Sansa and Jon went Beyond the Wall. It was a place she had never put her feet so she was a little bit curious about and asked Jon if he could take her for a short view and he was happy to do it.

"The cold gave in a lot, but there is still a lot to recover after the Long Night. Many plants are unfruitful, reclusive animals ... "

"How the free folk are feeding themselves?"

"They are exploring lands closer to the Wall. Further west was also not so affected, for some reason the cold wasn’t so strong there. "

"If they want and if you find it appropriate, we can allow them to hunt in the North. At least until all this situation is restored."

Jon stopped his horse for a second and stared at Sansa with a discreet smile on his face. "That's very generous of you, Sansa."

"Many of them gave their lives for us. And they had more losses than us. And if there’s one thing I learned from all this is that we should take care of everyone around us because we are interdependent. "

"And how it was your post war?" He asked.

“How it was your post war? Your post all the shits it came out from your life…”

Jon laughed but the smile couldn’t reach his eyes.

“Besides everything?” It was rhetorical question Jon did trying to joke with the subject.

“What you mean by everything?”

He could visibly see that something had bothered her in his words.

“I don’t know, Sansa. I preferred not to think about. There’s not much I can do so the best for me is not to really think…”

That was so Jon, scared of facing feelings and his psychological shit.

“You can’t run forever, Jon. Someday all of the implications of this you came to you, you know it will.”

“It changed something for you, my true parenthood?”

“It does.” She was fast in her answer. “But not my love to you. You know it won’t.”

“That hasn’t changed for me either.”

“Good.” She said receiving a squeeze at her shoulders from him.

They rode through lands far beyond North. Jon showed Sansa how the forest and the woods changed drastically just by crossing the Wall. Some rivers were thawing, and fish could already be seen in abundance. Jon taught her how to fish only with a stick and they laughed when she already managed to catch a big one on her first try.

They decided to visit Tormund, taking all the food they had hunted in the lake. Of course, the redhead big man made a party when he saw Jon and the young Queen, especially after Sansa communicated her decision to him.

"If your people are finding it difficult here, we have fertile lands and we need people to look after them in the North." She paused, both walking together both walking together through the village of his clan, to the tent where she would sleep with Jon so that both could ride back to the Wall tomorrow morning. "Even if the desire in your heart is to stay here, spread the word. We are friendly lands now and the Wall is just a symbol that from there you have your own leadership. "

“It’s very kind of you, Your Grace. I’ll let my people know.”

Sansa sighed when they both was already at the tent where Jon was tidying blankets so that the cold couldn’t bother them at night, which already gave indications that it would be very cold.

“Is not much but it’s the best we have.” Tormund said, now speaking about the place she was going to sleep.

Sansa smiled not really caring about the lack of luxury of the place. Those people were happy, always smiling and everything was such a big celebration for them that she was loved being around the free folk.

“It’s perfect.” She was honest at her words and he noticed.

Tormund left and Sansa joined Jon inside de small place. It’s incredible how the leather they used to cover the tent already allowed the place to be so much hotter than outside.

“I believe that will hold us for the night.” Jon affirmed taking a final look in what he arranged.

His sword and cloak were left by the side of what it may seems to be a big bed made it by several of blankets covering a big amount of straw. After Sansa got rid of her dress and loosened the tightness of her corset, she tasted the softness of the bed and over-approved the work Jon had done there.

“Tired?” He asked throwing a last blanket over her.

“So much…”

Jon sighed and got rid of the parts of his clothes that would bother him that night. Until they both were under cover, both tired but not able to sleep.

“What I am to you Jon?”

“Forgive-me?” He said feeling confused with sudden question.

“You said everything changed.”

“Should I re-classify us?” He was being ironic.

“I just… need to know.”

Outside the lack o light indicated that many had already gone sleep while they both were talking staring into nowhere.

“What you want to know?”

“I am still your sister? Have I ever been your sister? I mean… we never had what you have with Arya.”

Jon felt something awkward inside of him, he was sudden concerned if he ever did something that hurt Sansa enough to make her question those things.

“Have I said something that hurt you?”

“No. Never.” She paused and then turned her eyes to him. “You could never hurt me.”

“And I won’t.”

The spark was thrown. After that, everything would be like an explosion. Inside them, of course. Jon took Sansa's hand in his and they both remained silent while their minds were in a deafening racketing.

He loved his sister – or cousin –, he was absolutely sure of that. His feelings of protecting and caring never changed either. But something was different. And what it was? What could possibly change if the rest was almost the same? And why?

Has it ever changed really?

Sansa’s chest was beating faster than ever. The sort of silence Jon gave to her question got her and she wasn’t comfortable with that situation – the reactions in her body. And as Jon was caressing her hand slowly, she felt the emptiness leaving her chest.

And Sansa saw herself wanting more of that. She always wanted – she just couldn’t admit – but now things were becoming a little bit clear in her head.

“I won’t pressure you to go home but … I need you, Jon. I really do. And that’s one of the things it will never change.”

.

NOTES:

1. I am sorry again for spelling mistakes. I try my best but I am not such a pro in English. Not even in my main language. 

2. I am very happy with all the reach me and littlegirlinvisible is having after the first chapter. It may not be much for some but for me it's a lot.

3. Reblog, like and comment if you're enjoying. 

4. You're all free to give me prompts and ideas. I am also open to request for another works.

Follow the tag # swan song jonsa fanfic to see the posts and the gifsets whenever you want..

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I sincerely hope that everyone is enjoying it.

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CHAPTER INDEX:

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

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[danyllura]

Be cautious child, the Queens are at war.

Word Count: 1791

Chapters: 1/1

Relationship: Sansa Stark/Daenerys Targaryen

Fandoms: Game of Thrones

Notes: Implied death/sexual content

They are deranged, sick, twisted; they are out to destroy the world. They fight, fuck, then forgive; they are out to ruin one another.

Read on Ao3

Together they are unstoppable. A marriage between darkness and devastation that sways together in a unified dance. Weaving across the floor in a flurry of steps and twirls, uncaring of the blood and bone that lingers behind them.

They are a storm of chaos, an immovable object and an unstoppable force. Wreaking havoc with not a lick of consideration for those unfortunate enough to land themselves beneath their feet.

The Mad Queen and her Cruel Lady. The Dragon and the Wolf. Fire and Ice. They had many names and even more tales of their endeavours- all sealed within history, a future story to frighten daughters into obedience for fear of becoming heartless creatures.

Both of them had once been good people, kind, just, honourable; women that had been beloved. But they were beaten down- again and again- disrespected and undermined until that virtue that had once had the strength to brighten a room, flickered into darkness.

All that pain, and cruelty, and misery- it couldn't have been expected for their innocence to have endured, for their kindness to remain unfailing.

They took the seven kingdoms with fire and blood- they took it with the wrath of a never-ending winter storm.

A lover-turned-kin burned, a burst of flames under the eye of a sister-turned-cousin; was all it took. A simple command to an attentive beast and their only threat died encompassed by fire and calling for their mercy.

They were Queens of the ashes, the monsters who had won.

The Mad Queen and her Cruel Lady. The Dragon and the Wolf. Fire and Ice. Targaryen and Stark. Daenerys and Sansa.

A girl with a heart shrivelled and burnt from the blaze of betrayal. The other with a heart hard and frozen from the cold of loneliness. Kissed by ice and fire.

It is Daenerys violet eyes filled with venom like that of a serpent and her burning touch that makes Sansa weak. She’s suffocated in those eyes and melted at that touch more times then she can count. Those moments she is weak, she will beg and whine like a spoiled little lady, and then mewl and smile when she gets her way. After she always resents it, behaving like a fool too desperate to restrain herself, but the thought of never experiencing the sensation of pleasure at Daenerys call is a thought far more repulsing to her.

It is Sansa's auburn hair that trails down her head like a river of blood and her chilled touch that can bring Daenerys to her knees. She’s drowned in the red of the blood and has trembled at her touch in the darkness of their chambers more than once. Sometimes she wonders if it’s killing her, for nothing good as ever come to her without consequence. The risk is one she is prepared to take, for death is a price worth every penny, if not just for another taste of Sansa.

Lips crashing together bites dirtying their body’s and scratches marking their backs. They are out to destroy one another to consume the others mind body and soul. But it is a losing battle.

The muffled screams and whimpers are not cries of victory.

They are destroying one another all the while losing themselves in the process.

Rebellion is futile- you cannot kill chaos. Destruction cannot be slain. They rule without question- on their own grounds, it would take a madman or just an idiot to challenge that.

They test each other though. Quarrels that sizzle with tension and leave the court clutching those closest to them in despair, as they pray to the old gods and the new that they live to see another day. Their battles send the keep into silence as the people wait with bated breath for an eruption to rip them from their beds or for the Keep to once again be engulfed by flames.

The clashes between them never end in an explosion, never result in their palace crumbling. It brings them to their chambers- in a flurry of ripped clothes and loosened braids.

They are toxic, a lethal poison that is slowly killing them both. Sansa may have once referred to the toxin as love but she is no longer the stupid little girl that believed in songs. They continue this way for what seems like forever; executions, disputes, tangled sheets. It becomes a cycle that they cannot break- a routine as reliable as the rising of the sun.

Some days Sansa wonders if this will kill her- if Daenerys will ruin her- and most days she doesn’t have an answer. This doesn’t change anything- for she is destroying Daenerys in turn, and they are destined to share their deathbed.

Occasionally their fights linger- even after they’d lost themselves to the sensation of the other's skin- the piercing words from earlier can still be felt profoundly cut into the skin.

Daenerys is like wildfire after those fights. Irritable, uncontrollable and utterly crazed. Anything has the potential to set the Mad Queen off and the palace knows to stifle their coughs and not to shuffle in the halls.

A squire, no older than eight, had once stumbled during a court session and a coin had escaped his pocket- it hit the floor with a soft ting no harsher than a whisper- but deafening throughout the throne room.

He hadn’t even managed to sputter out an apology and beg for forgiveness before a guard had been ordered to silence him for good.

The Dragon Queen was easy to anger and wore her wrath like a fine string of pearls- displayed proudly on her breast for all to see. In comparison her beloved she-wolf kept her fury tucked neatly within her pocket like a handkerchief, hidden from view.

Her demeanour was as cold as the land she hailed from and her mask of indifference rested on her face securely- as steady and unbreakable as the wall had once been.

The thing about the she-wolf was she was just as quickly angered- just as likely to be consumed by rage at the wrong move, no matter how minor. Where Daenerys would call the guards and end it before it barely began- Sansa would wait.

A smile, sweet and sickly that did not reach her eyes. A tilt of the head and the thrumming of her claws against her seat. Those were the warning signs and when she spoke light and melodic almost lyrical- your fate was sealed.

“You are excused, sir.” Or an “I must retire my lady”

And they would be dead by morning. Often it was poison, seldom a proper execution. Many tried to escape, or to plea- but it always ended the same. The sun rising to the shuffle of guards removing a body. It was unclear if she too were mad like her lover, but her calculating gaze and controlled actions were too logical to call her entirely unhinged.

Dragons and wolves were not creatures to trifle with.

The tenth body in a sennight was carried through the servants quarters as the Kingswood was scorched with dragon fire. The Dragon and the Wolf had been at each other’s throats once again- neither willing to yield as the screams from their chambers ceased as Lady Stark refused to warm her Queens bed.

It had been a battle of words and tongue lashings at every meeting. Shouts of rage and spiteful silence that came to its climax when their hands wrapped around each other's throats within the throne room. Amongst the nobility and the members of the court, they strived to finally consume one another. For a fleeting moment, it had seemed as though they would kill each other- hold the other tightly until breath escaped them both and sent them tumbling down the steps of the throne and landing at the feet of the Lords and Ladies who fearfully watched the spectacle.

They growl and hiss, nails breaking the skin and leaving bruises. The air had crackled with electricity, the tension was suffocating. For a moment it seems another mad ruler is to turn purple and suffocate- this time accompanied by her cunning bride.

As quickly as it began it is over. Releasing one another they gasp for breath, easing the stiffness of their hands with the cracking of their knuckles. The court is dismissed and the Dragon and the Wolf are left to finish their battle.

It was a dance of sort, they circle one another- eyes locked with the promise of destruction. Teeth bared- they really do resemble monsters- like dragons and dire wolves. They howl and roar in turn and future tales would recount how the Queen and her Lady morphed into monstrous renditions of their houses sigils.

It’s a whirlwind of skirts and skin as they collide on the battlefield.

Like any battle, blood is shed and cries are let out. The blood comes from scratches and bites, and the screams- almost animalistic- come from pleasure. On the very floor of the throne room where they’d slaughtered so many- they destroy each other with the movements of their skin against one another and the collision of their lips. It’s violent and determined. They are out to consume one another.

They belong to one another and are doomed to die together. It’s a sweet poison- but it is not love.

The Red Keep burns and the court is left a pile of ash by the time the sun rises the next day. The common people rush for shelter and seek refuge in their homes- for the Queens are at war. And whether that war shall rage beyond the Red Keep has yet to be decided- but the burn marks that litter Kingslanding from flea bottom to the burning castle had not faded, and the people know to hide.

They watch the fires from the Blackwater, savouring the breeze. The wind is chilly and is refreshing against the heat radiating off the blazing keep. They stand together on one of the few ships left in the Targaryen fleet, a modest vessel that once carried less influential nobles who did not have the ranking to spend the journey on the Queen's voyager. The sea is the only noise above the loud crackles emitted from the burning castle. They say nothing as their hands intertwine, an apology, for they come to forgive each other once again. A new court will need to be created and the keep will need heavy repairs once again- but those are trivial matters. The Mad Queen and her Cruel Lady have reconciled and blood on their hands will not be what keeps them up at night. Ash rains down and like a Phoenix they are reborn, returning to routine- awaiting their next battle.