17 Deal with the Devil

It had taken five straining pairs of arms to dump the steer carcass onto the dirt floor of the abandoned barn, but from the way Rhaegal set upon it with gusto was worth it to Jon. It hadn't been a month since the green dragon had flown into his life at just the right moment, but he almost felt like a… son to Jon. Slowly running a hand along his neck, Rhaegal had etched himself right alongside Ghost in his gallery of loved ones, non human lest he was.

"I still can't fucking believe it." Jon turned to glare at Grenn, who quickly shut up. Only Jon, Ghost, Sam, and Tormund could approach the dragon without complete and utter caution - and Rhaegal only tolerated Sam and Tormund. The brother in black knew he couldn't take care of a dragon without more people than already knew, so in came Grenn, Pyp, and Finn. His brothers among the brotherhood, friends since the beginning, Jon knew he could trust them with his life. Along with them came a young boy, a northerner by the name of Ollie. His family was murdered by wildling bandits that had gotten over the wall - ones Jon had personally tracked down and killed upon his return. He was immediately loyal, and the only one among the group that watched the dragon with awe instead of suppressed terror.

Petting Rhaegal's snout, Jon made his way to the door. "I'll be back soon, Rhaegal." Another death glare was in due for Pyp, who looked at him as if he sprouted two heads. 'They looked at me like that when Ghost started to grow big, and this is much more bizarre.' Exiting the barn, Jon turned to all of them. "Alright, now you can talk."

"How in the fucking hell did you get a dragon?" Finn burst out. "I mean, of all the people that the long dead beasts of fire would go to…"

"Alright, alright… enough." Jon was humble, but that went too far.

Tormund laughed. "He's got a point, king crow." Despite Alliser Thorne being the acting commander - Jon finding out that Mormont had died in a mutiny - Tormund still saw Jon as the big man in the Night's Watch. Hiding out here as Rhaegal's personal guard instead of being a prisoner in Castle Black, most of Jon's cadre regarded him with suspicion, Ollie most of all. The redheaded warrior was an acquired taste, in Jon's experience. "You crows should head back before the asshole starts asking questions. I'll hold the fort here." Clasping Tormund on the back, Jon and his group mounted their horses and galloped in the direction of Castle Black.

"Umm… I thought about it Jon," Sam said, their horses slowing to a trot. "I looked at some books in the library…"

"Nothing shocking about that," murmured Grenn teasingly, only to clam up following another glare from Jon. Everyone still remembered what happened during training with Ghost - Thorne and his loyalists hated the 'pig,' while the current circle were all friends.

"Only those with Valyrian blood had bonds with dragons, and those were quite deep. A dragon and his rider would connect for life."

"Whooooo, Snow. Nothin's getting over da wall now," hooted Finn.

Jon rolled his eyes. "Shut up."

"I have to ask," Sam continued. "Do you have any Targaryen blood in you? Any Valyrian at all?"

He shook his head. "Nothing on the Stark side. My mother…" Perhaps she had Valyrian blood after all, but then his father had said she was of the north. 'Oh father, why didn't you just tell me?' Jon would never know who gave birth to him - only being apart from Daenerys hurt him more. "I don't know."

"Has to be it. There's no other explanation…"

"Enough Sam!" Jon cut him off. "Thorne doesn't care about what you and I discovered about the white walkers. He won't do anything to stop it, and is just going to battle with the wildling army till we're all walking corpses."

"They should all die," Ollie muttered, still bitter about his family."

"Ollie, it's better to have them alive and fighting our common enemy than amongst the dead. We took down the swine that attacked your village already." He quieted down, pondering Jon's arguments. The lad didn't know whether to believe Jon, but then again, Jon had a dragon. "Alliser hates me…"

"He hates all of us, Jon," remarked Grenn.

Jon shook his head. "No, me especially, and he's going to ignore any plan I come up with. We'll be dead by the time he gives in." He gripped the reins tight in his fist. "I'm going to have to run for Lord Commander." The soon to be known fact that none thought he could succeed wouldn't deter him.

A cloud of gloom had covered Highgarden since the Battle of Blackwater Bay. Their beloved Loras, heir to House Tyrell, was killed by King Joffrey according to the bards. The vast majority of the Tyrell Army perished on the city walls, or were crushed in the Battle of Bitterbridge. Held down by a holding force while Tywin Lannister moved to rescue the capitol, he marched back and defeated Mace Tyrell in a strategic envelopment that wiped out the other half of the combined army of the Reach. Only exhaustion and bankruptcy kept the Reach from falling right there with both its warden and heir dead, leaving the fair Rose of Highgarden and the Queen of Thorns to manage the battered domain following the disasters.

And now, a visitor from the capitol - an important one - was here. Someone that could change the course of the entire Realm.

"I understand how difficult it could be for you to trust me…"

Margaery, the Rose of Highgarden, scoffed. "That is an understatement. I know it was you that caused Renly's death."

"It had to be done," Melisandre conceded. "For the sake of justice. Besides, I know you prefer another." The statement caused Margaery to blink, the Red Woman turning to the iron matriarch of House Tyrell. "King Joffrey is ready to begin his project, but to do so he needs men and resources. Hand Tywin seeks to use the strengthened army to crush all Houses that opposed him, while Lord Baelish is planning to strip them of all riches to pay for their projects. Prince Doran of Dorne has formed an alliance despite the bad blood, his son Tristan betrothed to Princess Myrcella."

"Dorne would never side with the Lannisters. Even someone as weak and spineless as Doran."

A small smile curved on Melisandre's face. "Lady Tyrell, you could easily have me killed as soon as look at me. Why would I lie to you?"

Oleanna narrowed her eyes. "Why are you here, then?"

"Because the Lord of Light wills it," was the cryptic response.

Before either Tyrell could respond, a dispatch rider burst into the room. Much of the Tyrell Army had been destroyed, but there were still enough guards to man Highgarden. "My Lady, the Lannisters are moving!" he croaked in labored breaths. "Tywin Lannister is on the march. His advance guard has already entered the Reach." The Queen of Thorns stayed sone faced, while Margaery began to panic.

Oaken cane smacking against the stone, Oleanna chuckled. "Dear Margaery, you must always plan five moves ahead. Our army is but a shadow of its former self after your brother and Renly lost it all either on the walls of King's Landing or to Tywin Lannister's pincer following that debacle." She leaned her frame on a stone column flanking the window. "I have stashed fifteen of our grain transports in a small port north of Oldtown, just in case we needed to escape."

Margaery felt numb, the level of denial that had endured since Renly's death giving forth to glaring, chilling reality - and it petrified her. "We have nowhere to go, grandmother. Everyone we have is either allied with Joffrey or not a friend to us. Perhaps we should try to make peace, offer me to Joffrey in betrothal to keep him from coming after us…"

"Joffrey was always going to come after us! The Florents allied with him, and they need our resources for whatever gigantic project that madman thinks he needs to build." Oleanna gripped her granddaughter's shoulders, shaking her. "Use the mind I gave you! We will die, and with you the last of the Tyrell blood will die if we don't leave! You will go! If I have to beat you till near death I will!" Faced with the wrath of the Queen of Thorns, aged but not yet beaten, Margaery's protests collapsed. In time she would deploy her grandmother's will - just not today, and not to said grandmother.

Watching the familial interaction from afar, Melisandre waited for quiet to settle before speaking. "There is one safe place for you, somewhere that will not be threatened by the Lannisters, by the golden false prophet."

"And where is that?" Oleanna asked, sick of the riddles - she hated the prophetic claptrap.

Melisandre simply smiled. "The place I have foreseen, the place resided by who that was promised."

Viserys was a light sleeper. It wasn't by choice, but living on the run from Robert the Usurper's dogs and, after Daenerys tossed him out of the Khalasar, the collected scum and criminality of society. Now, confined to the dreary cell in Winterfell Castle - ironic considering his hatred for the Stark family - such a skill came in handy to prepare her for whatever threats came his way. In this place, booted feet clacking on the stone floors sent a shiver of dread through Viserys' body.

Door groaning as the key unlocked it and the hinges creaked, the presence of a hulking guard. He involuntarily cringed, spotting the truncheon hefted in his hands. "Get up!" The guard didn't wait for Viserys to comply, barreling in and yanking him upright.

"Unhand me!" he mustered, defiant to the end. "I am the dragon!"

"Shut up!" came the responding hiss, guard pulling him out roughly.

The sunlight was soon hitting Viserys' skin – trapped indoors for the last month, the shining orb in the sky was greatly welcome. Truncheon prodding onto his back, he stepped along freshly cut wood as he gazed at the teams of men repairing the partially burned castle. 'So the Starks suffered a disaster? Good.'

Essentially throwing him inside one particular room, the guards shut it with a bang. Viserys glanced around furtively. A roaring fire cracking in the fireplace, room dark and cozy but sparse of furniture. Only a single table and two chairs decorated the room - with one being occupied. And sitting on it was the same man that captured him, still with that same satisfied grin on his face. The one that made Viserys' blood freeze. "Welcome, Prince Viserys," announced the man, mouth full of well cooked beef. "Come sit. I won't kill you." Eyes hardened. "I may if you don't sit, though." Viserys sat. The same broken, hunched over man shuffled over, setting another plate of food. It smelled delicious. "Thank you, Reek."

Viserys took a bite, using whatever self control he had to not gobble it all down. "Who is that?"

"No one important. Used to be the heir to the Iron Islands, but not anymore." Meeting Viserys' eyes, he chuckled. "Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Ramsay of House Bolton, heir to the Bolton title and future Warden of the North."

Violet eyes inspected him warily. He didn't have the noble air of a great aristocrat - even for the barren wasteland of the north. "I thought the Starks held Winterfell."

"They did, but my father and I took it from them." Ramsay laughed cheerily. "Nedd, Arya, Bran, Rickon, and Robb Stark are dead. Sansa and Catelyn are trapped in King's Landing, and Jon Snow is stuck in Castle Black where he can't bother anyone."

"Good." Anger boiled within Viserys. "You should have that Snow bastard killed."

Ramsay's eyebrow rose. "Oh? I'll talk to my father about that." Inside his mind was racing. 'And why would you want that to happen?' Whatever reason, he knew he could manipulate it.

"Forgive me, Bolton, but why am I here? Why haven't you killed me, besides the fact that you couldn't have the balls to kill the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms."

Ramsay's lips curled into the rather wolfish grin that Viserys had seen before. "You see, we are both in a bit of a quandary when it comes to our goals of power and victory. You have the legitimacy but not the resources. I have the resources but not the legitimacy." There was a pregnant pause before he continued. "I am proposing an alliance. A bartering of sorts."

"And what would we barter?" Viserys was starting to warm up to this place.

"Simple." The grin widened into something approaching a sneer. "I'll get you your throne. Afterwards, you give me your sister."

Windows left open, the cool breeze wafted into the enormous bedchamber atop the Pyramid. The dank, stuffy heat was vented well and made the desert tropical landscape bearable. And even in such comfort, Daenerys' body refused to drift off to sleep. Resting below the covers, staring at the ceiling, no change of position could ease her discomfort with the situation. Even as her hold on the city was becoming more and more secure by the day… her heart clenched in anguish - hidden anguish, but anguish nonetheless.

Twisting onto her side with a huff, her hair splayed out like a halo over the plush pillow. A hand reached out to ghost over the empty space to her left. So alone - the size of the bed only magnified how lonely and empty her life was. All the power in the world, all the glory of reclaiming for her House what rightfully belonged to it had no meaning if she was forced to enjoy the spoils alone and unloved. Daenerys closed her eyes, imagining that instead of an empty sheet her hand was running over the muscular shoulders of her love. 'Oh Jon, I miss you so.' Nearly four years since they last held each other and she still remembered everything about him. Dany forced herself to, not wanting him to be just another forgotten memory, one she knew of but couldn't really discern anymore. 'I wish you were here with your family, ruling with me. Being this Queen's King.'

A gentle creaking of the door caused her to bolt upright in the bed. A hand involuntarily went for Saracen resting on the nightstand next to her. No assassin would take her down without a fight. "Show yourself." Her voice was cold and even.

What responded was a soft, unmistakable voice. "Issa?"

Dany immediately melted, putting her sword back and softening her own voice. "Arya, sweetling? What are you doing, come here." Even with the darkness, she extended her arms in a welcoming gesture. Whispering scuffles of bare feet - nearly inaudible - brought not only her precious daughter, but her handsome son as well. "My darlings, is something wrong?"

"Bad dream, Issa," Rhaegar replied, his lip quivering. Arya nodded, indicating the same. Even the scions of two mighty families, of wolf and dragon, got scared.

Their childlike fear broke their mother's heart. "Come here with Issa on the bed, sweetlings." She couldn't resist them at all, being nearly the perfect blend of their father and her - of Stark and Targaryen. "Oomph," Dany grunted as Arya scrambled over her, settling into her left side as Rhaegar settled into her right. She chuckled softly at the coziness of it all, wrapping hands around both of them and embracing them tightly.

"Your Grace." The door opened wider and a worried looking Grey Worm stuck his head in. Short sword out, he looked ready to do battle. "The twins are missing."

Dany wanted to laugh. "Look at the bed, Grey Worm." The knowing widening of his eyes was priceless.

"Oh. Well, good then," he finally managed to say in heavily accented common tongue. "I will be nearby if you need anything, your grace." With that, he closed the door to her chambers.

Settling into a comfortable collective position, Dany kissed each of her three-year old twins on the head. "Want to tell me what happened?" They shook their heads, tightening against her. "Alright, what would you want me to talk about."

"Tell us about daddy," Arya said.

"Was he really a great warrior like Uncle Jorah says?" Rhaegar asked.

Deep down, Dany knew that the twins would end up asking about their father. Given that Jorah was the only one aside from her that even knew of him - though Ned Stark was legend even halfway across the world - it was only natural he'd be the one to prompt their questions. In any case, Daenerys had no compunction to answer. Just that thinking of Jon brought a pained longing to her heart. "He is, sweetling. One of the best." If Jon had joined the Night's Watch as he wanted to, he had to be a great one. "Your daddy is one of the finest swordsmen in Westeros."

"Where is he now?" Arya asked with wide eyes - they were a stormy grey, exactly like his. "Why isn't he with us, Issa? Does he not want us?"

Dany stroked her silver hair, trying to comfort her daughter. "Of course not, sweetling." How could she tell Arya or Rhaegar that Jon didn't even know they existed? 'If Jon knew, he'd be here. Renouncing his vows and putting his life at risk.' Only Dany wished he were here as well, damn any consequences. "Daddy loves both of you, my sweet dragonwolves, but he is a Watcher on the Wall. A Stark has always served on the wall, protecting against the dangers of the icy north. Bad people, monsters, he fights to protect the realms of men…" She trailed off, noticing the soft breaths of her two children. They were both asleep, serene and curled up next to her. Soon she joined them, images of her long lost love flashing in her mind.