78 Dragonriders

A low hum of voices - a hushed cacophony were the words that best described it - echoed through the throne room. Benches were set up along the walls running parallel to the corridor, packed with nobles, dignitaries, and ordinary citizens willing to pay a single silver piece to watch the show, not to mention the thousands in the grounds of the Red Keep waiting to hear the pageboys bring them updates. Today was the first trial of the Lannister swine, and all of King's Landing was waiting with baited breath.

It had been three weeks since the official coronation of Jon and Daenerys Targaryen as the monarchs of a united Targaryen Empire, or simply "The Empire" to the citizens. Life in King's Landing was returning to a sense of normalcy under their beloved Emperor and Empress - White Wolf and Mother of Dragons. Not much was left of Lannister rule aside from the massive pyramid. Atop it, however, rested not the golden statue of the Chimera but a planned equestrian statue of Aegon the Conqueror in bronze, founder of the Targaryen Dynasty.

Just the beginning of the Imperial Couple's plans for the capital. But now, more pressing concerns took precedence. "I hate trials."

Tyene Martell gave her lover a sidelong look. "Had run ins with the King's justice in the past?" Frankly, she didn't care if he did. Only enhanced his allure.

Bronn snorted. "Nah, just the last one of these I was at ended in me a champion for a certain dwarf." He crossed his arms, fancy silks only chafing at his skin. "I do not want to get looped into that again. I got my castle and my… highborn gal. No need to risk anything."

"You have such a way with words, sellsword." Tyene appreciated it all the same.

At that point the Unsullied guards pulled open the side doors, clanging against the stone walls as the Imperial family walked in. Arya Stark, the Lady Baratheon - though no one called her that to her face. Lord Robb and Lady Margaery Stark of Winterfell. Brandon Stark, pushed in his wheelchair by the Lady Reed of Greywater Watch. Lady Catelyn Stark, stepmother to his Majesty and grandmother to the Prince and Princess. And finally Hand to His Majesty Sansa Stark, Hand to Her Majesty Tyrion Lannister ambling beside her. They took their seats, the Stark family on chairs set at the base of the steps, while the Hands sat on chairs adjacent to their respective monarch's thrones.

Before a single word could be said, the Empress' translator entered. Missandei ascended the steps, standing between the twin thrones. "All rise for the Emperor Jon, first of his name and the Empress Daenerys, first of her name."

All rose to their feet as Jon and Dany entered, Ser Jorah and Grey Worm escorting them in the absence of a proper Kingsguard. Crowns rested upon their heads, swords on their hips. Aside from the direwolf snarling on his cuirass, both were pure Targaryen in dress. Black armor and dress, red felt lining on the sleeves, collar, and boots. Fire and Blood made manifest. Even the most loyal of Targaryen partisans felt a chill go through them at the sight.

However, upon reaching the steps, the facade dropped. Jon reached out of his hand for Daenerys to take. The Empress shot her husband a beaming smile, her obviously pregnant self appreciating the help. It was lost on no one that the couple was in love, the first of its kind to grace the Keep in decades. As she sat, Jon pressed a kiss against her knuckles before lowering on his own throne. Such looks of love then vanished. Hardened into Fire and Blood once more.

"The imperial court is now in session," Missandei proclaimed, the Imperial Squire Ollie slamming his staff against the marble floor. All took their seats, not a single word uttered.

"Before we begin the trial, there are some matters to dispense with." Daenerys looked out amongst the crowd. "Ser Dontos Hollard, step forward."

From his seat near the front of the platforms, the weathered fool of King Joffrey approached the throne. He was far thinner since the tourney that resulted in his new employment, the ruddy complexion and red lines along his nose gone from abstention of wine and mead. He was grizzled, but no longer the oaf many considered him to be. "Your Highness," he said, bowing.

"I owe you a lot, Ser Dontos," Daenerys stated, genuinely. "Cersei Lannister may very well have killed Sansa and I had you not taken my sword from Joffrey's chambers."

"Just doing my duty, your Highness." The grizzled knight sighed. "Only by the grace of the Lady Hand, did I live. Wiser now than my previous humiliation, I pledge my fealty to House Targaryen."

Dany glanced at Sansa, who nodded to her. "Doing your duty is why I'm giving you Duskendale." Dontos' eyes widened, mouth slack in shock. "House Rykker sided with Joffrey, and therefore it deserves a new overlord. I am putting my trust in you, Ser Dontos, for I can tell you are an honorable man. I hope you prove my trust correct."

"I will your Highness." He went back to his seat, awe on his face.

Folding her arms in her lap, Dany cleared her throat. "Though he is not in court at the moment, I am officially bequeathing the holdings of House Bolton to Ser Davos Seaworth." It had been discussed with Davos the preceding day, this announcement making it official while he was in Dragonstone overseeing the mining operations. "I shall offer the floor now to His Majesty."

Jon gave Dany a small smile. "Thank you, my Empress." The tone was placid, but left a trace of far more than that to anyone who truly listened. Which Daenerys did. "These trials are to proceed in tandem with investigations into the full length of Joffrey's corrupt and evil acts. They will be conducted and prosecuted by our Master of Laws, the eminent Lord Petyr Baelish, Lord Protector of the Vale."

From his perch at the stand of the crown prosecutor, Littlefinger bowed. "His Majesty and Her Highness humble me with such a solemn assignment." He spared a quick meeting of gazes with Sansa and Lady Catelyn - so imperceptible that only the targets of the looks realized them - and a satisfied smirk at Lord Royce, his former rival. The old man simmered in the stands, but said nothing.

Continuing, Jon began to outline the structure of the trial. "The judges today will consist of myself and the Empress Daenerys. If we are not present, the judges will consist of Lord Varys, the Lady Margaery Stark of Winterfell, and the Lord Hand Tyrion Lannister, who shall serve as chief judge of the proceedings." All had accepted the format at a small council meeting earlier in the week. "If there are no further questions, we shall begin."

Licking his lips, body coursing with pure, prideful exhilaration, Littlefinger stood. "Permission to call the first prisoner, your Majesty?"

"You may," Jon answered.

"Presenting before their Majesties," Baelish announced to those assembled. "False Maester Qyburn, former Master of Whisperers to the usurper Joffrey." The great doors opened as the Unsullied dragged in the first defendant of the day...

"Are you sure about this?" A steady gust of westerly trade winds blew in from Blackwater Bay. Horrible for Catelyn's styled northern bun, but perfect flying weather. She crossed her arms, squinting in the bright sun. "They are barely seven."

Daenerys watched as Jon, Robb, and Grey Worm wrapped strands of thick rope around Balerion and Rhaegal's neck. It seemed undignified for the Emperor and the Commander of the de facto imperial guard to do, but no other had the guts to approach the massive dragons - no other would be tolerated enough by them to do so, in all fairness. "They are being trained in swordsmanship and politics already," she told the worried grandmother. Lady Catelyn seemed to be perfectly hewing to the atonement that Dany had insisted years ago in Meereen. The twins adored her, and she and Jon had buried the hatchet in the Highgarden campaign.

"They are the prince and princess, and our family. The risk isn't worth it."

"They are blood of the dragon," replied the Empress as Jon tested how taut the ropes were. "As the future of the Empire, they must be dragonriders."

Leaning on his cane, hobbled by age but mind as sharp as ever, Aemon allowed his worries to collapse in the embrace of his family - long thought dead. "There are six dragons, and only two dragonriders. A dragon alone in the world is a terrible thing."

Laughing at Aemon's spot on comment, Dany watched as Rhaegar and Arya ran to their father. The twins looked on with excitement, barely containing their glee. "Besides, they are stubborn as anything." She couldn't help but grin.

The grin spread to Catelyn, lips curling in a soft smile. "That could be the wolf in them, as well."

"Aye, it could."

Jon nestled on his regular position on Rhaegal's back. 'Regular position dragonback.' He shook his head at the pure unlikelihood of it all. And not just the dragon. "Poppa, I don't need the rope." The pout on Arya's face reminded him of Dany… or his sister. "You're not wearing one."

He chucked his adorable daughter under the chin. "That's because I'm an expert, while this is your first time." Jon wrapped his arms around her. "You're quite precious to me, my little wolf." Kissing her head, he began tickling her lightly.

"Poppa… stop…" Arya giggled.

Looking over, he noticed Daenerys smiling widely at him as she helped their son get settled. This was how it was supposed to be - something Jon never thought he would ever have but one he now couldn't live without. When Dany nodded, he knew it was time. 'Boy,' he mentally told Rhaegal, rubbing his scales. 'Listen to your sister today, but don't do anything too crazy.' His dragon let out a low hum in recognition. "Alright, little wolf," Jon whispered in her ear. "Grip the spines tightly." They both did. "Say 'sōvegon.'"

Arya braced herself. "Sōvegon… ahhhhhh!" With a roar, Rhaegal reared on his hind legs and ran along the beach, wings flapping as he took to the sky. Balerion roared with his brother, ascending into the air behind him.

The wind whipped through them, chilling them to the bone. But they were blood of the dragon, heating them pleasantly. Little hands clutched tightly, frantically to the spines, earlier bravado and excitement disappearing in the face of speed and altitude. The dragons caught onto it, working to slow themselves and avoid advanced maneuvers.

Soon, however, they had settled into a cruise. The sun shone down, clouds scattered around in a picturesque portrait of Blackwater Bay. Fear gone, the twins watched it all with awe from their perches in front of their parents. Seeing a sight known only to the valyrian dragonriders.

Magical. Even to Jon and Daenerys, veteran dragonriders both, familiarity couldn't negate the magic of riding dragonback.

"Take control, sweetling," Dany told Rhaegar, yelling but it being faint in the roaring wind.

Rhaegar closed his eyes, mind feeling what Balerion felt - the connection not as strong as that with his rider, but enough. "Higher," he all but whispered, Balerion suddenly flapping his wings to drive further upward, passing through the fluffy white clouds. A shriek behind found Rhaegal, flapping till he fell beside his brother. Looking out at his father and sister, a mischievous thought came to Rhaegar. "Bank."

Looking out over the sheer expanse of water and coast, Arya didn't notice Balerion approach till he was only one wingtip away. She gasped as Rhaegal hissed at his brother, Balerion hooting in amusement. Rhaegar laughed, causing his sister to smirk. "Bank." The tables turned, Rhaegal now letting out his hoot of laughter.

Chuckling, heart heavy with pure contentment, Dany met Jon's gaze from across the gulf of sky. Just… so perfect. In the distance, Dragonstone loomed, the ancestral home of House Targaryen. "Alright, sweetling. Time to land." She mentally took control back, commanding her child to land. Balerion hooted, angling down in a gentle descent.

Mining crews, Davos Seaworth supervising them, looked up in quick succession at the pair of dragons that circled over the island, roaring. The old smuggler's lips curled up. The monarchs hadn't said they were arriving… meaning they were here for pleasure. 'To be young and in love,' he thought with a chuckle.

Landing with a thud, both dragons settled and leaned their shoulders down, allowing their riders to disembark. Untying the ropes, Jon and Dany watched the twins race off into the grassy fields, laughing and chattering about their first dragon ride. Both rubbed a hand down their childrens' scales. Rhaegal looked at Balerion, hooted once, and ascended into the sky of their home. Balerion followed not long after.

Now they were alone. "It is beautiful here," Daenerys said, wrapping her arms around Jon's waist as they stared at the gentle waves crashing against the base of the cliffs. She buried her face in his shoulder. "I wish we could live here forever."

Jon turned to look into her eyes. "When the fight is over, and we win, I'll bring our family here on the hottest days of the year. Escape the capitol - or perhaps just you and me. On dragonback for a calm night alone." Even with their responsibilities, the Emperor and Empress still had the opportunity and means to do what they pleased.

Gazing at him with love, Dany leaned up to kiss her husband, wrapping her arms around his neck as the kiss deepend.

"Ugh!" The twins both looked away, retching from disgust. "Muña and poppa have ugly bugglies!"

Dany pulled away, amusement on her face. "Ugly bugglies?"

A half-embarrassed, half-amused flush coated Jon's cheeks. "What we used to say every time we saw my father and Lady Stark affectionate. The… evil vapors of intimacy." Dany couldn't help but giggle. "Arya… or Robb… probably Arya."

Shaking her head at the absurdity of it all, Dany simply pulled him down for another kiss.

Nails digging into the mattress, Arya bit her lip as she hurtled off the cliff. Her hips attempted to jerk but were pinned by strong hands to hold her still as she rode out her climax. "Fuck…" she gasped, heart thumping in her chest. "You are good at…"

She was cut off by her husband's lips on hers. Arya yelped in Gendry's mouth as he filled her. Him completely ready, her extra sensitive from his oral ministrations. He was so big, stretching her as deliciously as their first time. His tongue plundered her, Arya surrendering to him. Outside, never - only here did she let her stag completely dominate her.

Nails gripped his back, hard. It wouldn't be the first time, and he was fine with it. The little moans that entered his mouth spurred Gendry on, thrusting harder. Pounding her as he would against an anvil in his smith. Arya felt him hit a sensitive spot deep inside her core. She screamed, the angle and tempo shattering her completely. Shattering him as well

Now with two hearts racing, Gendry rolled off. He and Arya's cooling breaths filled the post-coital silence. 'Well…" As always, Arya had to make the first move. "I'm certainly glad I married you."

Gendry glanced over at her with a raised eyebrow. "So you can use me for sex? Is that it?" His tone was firm, but Baratheon eyes sparkling with mirth.

"Not just sex," she replied, sweetly. "You can also fetch things from the top of the cupboard." Gendry let out a snort, to which she laughed. "Stop being such an idiot." Arya smacked his shoulder lightly.

Used to the petty insults - it was just Arya's way - Gendry smirked, watching her rise and enjoying the view of his wife. "If you want to use me for sex, I have no complaints. Lady Baratheon needs to relieve stress."

Enjoying the conversation, Arya's eyes darkened at the comment. "I'm no Lady."

Certain that Arya wouldn't inflict major bodily injury on her husband, Gendry decided to keep poking the Wolf. "Well you're gonna have to be. Wearing dresses, hosting parties at Storm's End, entertaining the various ladies of the Stormlands as they talk about clothes and gardening… oww!" He rubbed the bicep that Arya had slammed her fist into.

"I said, I'm not a lady," Arya muttered. "Do you want to have sex with me again, idiot?"

Having the brain to look sheepishly away, Gendry shook his head. "I do. Apologies, not-Lady Baratheon."

Arya felt her anger leaving her. 'Fuck, why is he cute?' "I'm alright with that title." Fastening her tunic, she walked over to Gendry - still laying naked on the bed - and kissed him, deeply. "By the way, I married you cause I love you." She loved his beaming smile. "But you're still stupid." But she was still Arya.

Outside her chambers, the Wild Wolf wore her mask. Giving away nothing, intimidating in and of itself. But she was in a good mood that morning, beaming inwardly. She supposed her younger self would have skipped. Fresh from a morning of feverish lovemaking, heading to training with Grey Worm. She rather liked the dour Unsullied commander. Spiced up her sparring with additional skills. Arya did not want to sit down with the new court… painter, Jon called it, as she was scheduled to after training, but that couldn't hurt her cheery demeanor.

"Lady Arya." With two words her entire mood was ruined. Well, more the distinctive voice that said them. Putting on a mask, she turned to see Littlefinger walking behind her. He carried a ledger tucked underneath his arm, smug smile upon his lips. "Would you give me the pleasure of escorting you to the training grounds?"

The sight of him repulsed her. 'How did Sansa allow him to charm her?' she thought. Nevertheless, Arya would not be antagonistic. "I do not need an escort."

"I suppose you don't." To her dismay, Littlefinger made sure to walk beside her, intent to talk. "The great Arya Stark, slayer of the Chimera." Every word dripped with an unctuous, yet guarded flattery. "Many have tried, many stronger, more powerful men. But you succeeded where they failed."

"Bear in mind, Littlefinger," she said bluntly, just as she had at the tourney many years before. "Anyone who seeks to hurt my family will end the same as Joffrey. As the Freys. Winter will come for them." Arya tried to speak flatly, but anger tinged it just the same.

Petyr Baelish merely smiled. A smile as poisonous as tears of Lys. "Such is the job of all of us who follow our beloved Empress and Emperor." He took the ledger from underneath his arm, holding it in both hands. "Such as the assassin from the coronation at Riverrun."

Arya said nothing, but a nearly imperceptible widening of the eyes was caught by Littlefinger. "Oh, what about it?"

"Mysterious, isn't it? A servant girl, appears suddenly and then disappears. Poisons the Blackfish and nearly kills Her Highness. Almost like at Harrenhal during the War of the Four Kings, when Tywin Lannister's chief interrogator suddenly dropped dead. And then his cupbearer disappeared. Strange." Smile widening, Baelish bowed. "Do not worry. My investigation shall get to the bottom of it. Your brother and sister will be safe on my watch. Good day, Lady Arya." With that, he turned the corner.

Standing there, Arya's eyes narrowed. 'So Baelish wants to play this little game. Cunt.' He was still on her list.

She was abruptly bumped into by an old servant. "Oh, forgive me, my Lady." Carrying a stack of sheets, the servant continued down the hall. Arya stared after her. Even continuing to the training grounds, she couldn't shake a sense of suspicion. Perhaps Littlefinger… but perhaps something else entirely.

Tens of thousands of picks smacked into the ground, ice cracking and splintering. They worked in a coordinated wave, drones programmed for one task and one task only. No need to eat. No need to sleep. No need to even breath. A mass of walking corpses, working the land in one massive strip mine into the earth.

A gathering of their ice blue overlords, watching the work from their perch on a nearby cliff, couldn't help but ponder the futility of it all. Unlike the corpses below, their minds were sharp. Emotionless but more calculating than the coldest psychopath. It made no sense to be digging into the ground.

But it was the command of their leader.

The Night King stood alone, unmoving. Lost in his own thoughts - normally imagining his vengeance upon the world, about battle strategies and massacres to bring new meat for his army, lately they were all about one matter. One person. One woman. The woman with the silver hair, so much like his past.

Nevertheless, he still focused on the task at hand. "Have we reached the burial chamber?" he asked his generals.

'No, sire. Not yet.'

'We continue until the chamber is reached.' Looking down at his belt, he removed something. A shard of dragonglass. Recovered from Hardhome. He didn't know why he insisted on taking it at the time… but now it all clicked together.

His generals, utterly obedient, nevertheless made their thoughts known to him. 'It seems far-fetched for it to be here, sire.'

'It is here,' came the reply, eyes never leaving the wide expanse of ice and snow. Beyond it was the Wall. Beyond was all of Westeros, ripe for the taking…

Beyond was her.

'You could have had a dragon, had you not hesitated…"

Hands gripped the dragonglass tightly. 'Do not mention that again.' Losing his humanity had killed nearly all emotion within him, but at the mention of that drew what remained in a pure rage. One that could power the greatest blizzard. Snow clouds swirled overhead, sky in a roaring tempest. 'Do. Not.'

The generals cast a glanced at each other, and then back to their ruler. A distinctly human gesture - from the most inhuman monsters conceived by man or god. 'Is she really worth it, sire? Worth all your thoughts and plans?'

Silence. Nothing but the swirl of snow and howl of wind. 'Yes. She is.' None would understand. Made from Craster's children, none had any true human life. He had, and would move mountains… cover the earth in piles of corpses to get just a speck of it back.

'Sire.' The man once known as Marden Stark turned, expressionless but nevertheless exuding a sense of malevolence from his icy blue eyes. 'We have found it.'

Had the Night King been human, a smile would have stretched across his face. Not one of humor. 'Good.' He clipped the dragonglass back to his belt.