59 Into the Storm

No force on earth could keep the parchment - the hands belonging to Jaime Lannister trembled violently, eyes staring at the words as if they were a curse.

They might have well as been a curse. Jaime would have actually preferred that.

Uncle,

Myrcella is dead. Set aflame in a ritual by His Highest to destroy the Stark Bastard. Mother is inconsolable. The city is gripped in fear. Lord Baelish and Commander Naharis, His Highest's newest favorite enforcer, are preventing any noble from leaving the city - including me.

Please come back. Mother needs you. I need you.

Tommen, Lord of Storm's End, Warden of the Stormlands

A tear slipped from his eyes. Little Myrcella. Beautiful Myrcella. The kind, sweet girl that had inherited none of the Lannister cunning but all of his mother's golden heart, burned alive by her own brother. 'Baelish, Qyburn!' They had to have had a hand in it - but Jaime knew it was ultimately Joffrey that caused it. Cersei's baby boy…

'My son.'

Only he and Cersei knew the truth. The horrible truth that ended up starting the War of the Four Kings, that plunged the entire known world into chaos. There had been others, over the years… Jon Arryn was dead, as were Ned Stark and Stannis. Little Bran Stark had to be dead. Jaime suspected Tyrion knew, while their father would likely willingly blind himself to the truth.

But it was the truth, a truth that ate away at Jaime more and more - his sister, the woman he loved, was growing more and more callous as her influence waned. His eldest son, once the apple of his eye, was a monster. A monster that had burned his own sister, Jaime's beloved daughter, alive.

With Tommen trapped in King's Landing, it didn't take long for Jaime to make up his mind. Come hells or high water, he would head back to the capital. Myrcella was dead and Joffrey was lost, but he could still save his youngest.

The army hadn't budged from its quarters at Harrenhal in months - hardened veterans of the War of the Four Kings reminisced at how it was just like then, even at the same decrepit and ancient fortification. Aside from raiding missions by the Second Sons and small detachments sent by Tywin to recapture and fortify strategic locations in the Vale, Westerlands, or southern Riverlands, the army remained at the same location since it had been recaptured after the Battle of the God's Eye. A sense of boredom had fallen over the troops like a shroud, interrupted by series of heavy drilling ordered by Lord Tarly. Any idiot could conduct that. The army wouldn't miss Jaime, and he had no pull keeping him here.

Snatching up his saddlebag, Jaime moved towards the entrance of the tent but was blocked by Bronn. "Get out of my way," he growled, but the sellsword didn't move his palm from the golden nobleman's breastplate. "You aren't stopping me, Bronn."

"Think about this. Now, your gold-shittin' daddy is not likely gonna execute you for desertion. He has a soft spot for you… about as much as the puckered asshole can. But you'd be going to King's Landing." Bronn lowered his voice so only Jaime could hear him. "A pit of vipers, where the fuckin' King just burned alive his own fuckin' sister just to take out the Northern bastard. Do you really want to get neck deep in that shit?"

Jaime didn't hesitate. "Yes." Pushing past the sellsword, he untied the mount bound to a hitching post by the tent. He tossed the saddlebag behind the saddle and secured it. As he was about to mount, he heard the sound of the horse beside his being readied for travel. "I thought you didn't want to deal with the vipers?"

"Vipers are everywhere in this sorry realm," muttered Bron, hauling himself onto the horse. "Gotta keep you safe, or else I ain't getting my castle." His scowl deepened, the normal banter the proud lion would shoot back to him quite absent. 'Lands ravaged, little girls getting burned alive. This ain't war, it's madness' As they broke their horses into a trot for the Kingsroad, Bronn figured at least he would at least have an actually good lay at Baelish's brothel in the Capitol. It was the small things that mattered.

Thighs half buried in the snow, Bran nevertheless did not feel the cold. The spiritual would manifest as touch, malevolent magic of the Night King leaving his body chilled to the bone during his visions, but natural weather did not register to him. Above, the dark grey clouds depositing the frozen water all over the land blocked out every bit of light - near black. Next to him, he could feel the presence of the Raven. "Why are we here at midnight… wherever this is?"

The Raven glanced at him, face devoid of emotion. "It is midday." The implication was obvious, even before Bran had begun greenseeing. Old Nan had told him the stories of the Long Night. Here it was. "In the darkest of times, the secret of House Stark laid bare before all."

"Aunt Serena, what's wrong?" Bran and the Raven turned their heads, seeing a young man no more than twenty past his nameday. He looked so much like Eddard Stark - the same flowing blonde locks, strong jaw, strong shoulders.

"Bran the builder." Bran didn't need to frame it as a question. Instinctively he knew.

The Raven nodded anyway. "Aye, the second of the unfrozen."

Bran furrowed his brows in confusion. "Second? Unfrozen?"

"You shall see," he replied cryptically. The Raven often answered such.

Serena Stark Targaryen - wife of the Lord of Light and sister of the man who was now the Night King - looked away, avoiding eye contact with her beloved nephew. "I cannot tell you, dear Bran." With her children safe in Valyria with her husband's family, the boy was the closest thing she had to a son right now. She didn't want him to know her pain.

But Starks were stubborn. "Stop it! I'm not a child. I've fought the others. I am a warrior of our people! Please, don't shelter me."

Sighing, the northern beauty felt a tear fall down her cheeks. Daenerys wasn't there - she needed someone to confide in. "I will have to die soon, nephew."

The one who would soon become Bran the Builder blinked. "What? Why?" The last sighting of the dead was nowhere near their camp.

"I will need to sacrifice myself for your uncle…" The tears fell upon the snow. "So that he may complete his weapon…"

"No! No one needs to die!" Bran knelt by his aunt while his namesake watched in rapt attention. "The prophecy says he'll defeat him."

Serena shook her head. "Not without his sword. And his sword cannot be properly cooled without the heart of an unfrozen." As the image began to envelop in whiteness, words fading away, Bran finally noticed that Serena Stark wore no cloak…

The next landscape appeared suddenly. One minute the Long Night of millennia past was fading away, and now Bran was in the present. He had no reason why he knew, just instinct. Looking behind him, a vast army of corpses stood in the snow. Motionless. Waiting for a command. But in front of him...

Staring up at the mounted monarch, the malevolent face of the man that used to be Marden Stark, it suddenly turned and bore its ice blue eyes directly at Bran's. Before he could back away, an icy hand clamped itself onto his forearm. Bran screamed. "Ahhhhhhhhh…..!"

Eyes opening, Bran found himself eye to eye with Meera. The young noblewoman looked concerned. "Bran, you were screaming and thrashing in your trance. What happened?"

Sitting up, he looked at Meera, then to the Raven, then back to Meera. Raising his hand, he found the mark of the dead upon it. Burned into his skin. While it did not hurt, the flesh was ice cold. "The Night King… he knows I'm here. He's on his way."

Nearly halfway across the continent, in quarters almost the polar opposite of the cave of the Three Eyed Raven, another Stark found himself in the middle of a restless sleep. Tossing and turning, his face was drenched in sweat. The images formed in his unconscious mind tormented his sanity, driving him to the point of madness. It tugged at his duty. Filled him with a tragedy and perfidy only he could prevent.

It was then that Jon erupted into consciousness. He sat up suddenly, breaths ragged. The fire had died, leaving the bedchamber in a shroud of cold. The Emperor did not notice, memories of his nightmare still vivid in his mind - or was it a vision? It seemed so real to him.

Shivering in her sleep, Daenerys woke to find the warmth of her husband absent. She looked up and found him in that state. "Jon? Jon, my love. What's wrong?" Sitting up herself, Dany wrapped her arms around him.

Decisively, without another thought, Jon knew what his duty was. 'I must go now. He is in danger.' Looking down on Daenerys, he saw the love reflected in her amethyst eyes. Maester Aemon's words were reflected back. 'Love is the death of duty.' This would not go over well with her.

"We've positioned these forces at Darry, sire," General Theodosius Caryn rattled off, placing several markers on the large map table. "The Dothraki Horde has been split in two. A smaller force of about five thousand is resting in the still fertile - if snowed in - grazing lands between the Red Fork and Blue Fork of the Trident." He moved his finger to the other cluster of Dothraki screamer figurines. "The rest are south of here at Wayfarer's Rest. Lord Edmure's Riverlanders surround them, making sure they're hidden so Tywin doesn't suspect we can put twenty-two thousand screaming banshees behind him."

Jon nodded, impressed at the effort. "And the fourth force?"

"I've sent Lord Manderly with his men and that of Lord Cerwyn to Pinkmaiden, along with half the Essosi regulars," Robb interjected, moving several other figurines. "A raven from there indicates the last two battalions arrived this morning."

"Could Tywin think we would try another go at Lannisport?" Daenerys asked, sizing up the lay of the land. "Or march for Stoney Sept and take the Goldroad around his flank to the capitol?"

A rather loud belch echoed in the war room. All eyes turned to Tyrion. "Forgive me, your Highness. Your Majesty." He cleared his throat. "Lannisport is worthless to him. There's no gold left, and all possible reinforcements will come from either the south or the free cities. Dragonstone is still his, as is Sunspear, so there is no reason to worry about the Westerlands."

Davos piped up. "Unless we cut the sea routes - and that would be bloody and crippling to us if we try - he's sitting pretty with reinforcement." Having experience with naval action as a smuggler, the generals deferred to him.

"And he can very easily march astride the Goldroad if he wants, your Highness," Caryn added. "He's also kept his brother Kevan and a force of ten thousand at Hayford Castle outside the capitol. Dornish light cavalry, sellsword companies, and newly raised men from the Reach and Stormlands according to my scouts and Varys' little birds. Not enough to beat us, but enough to hold us back until he can march his army back to the capitol." He pursed his lips. "Tywin knows we can't dislodge him without a fight, so he doesn't need to worry about what he knows of our positioning."

Eyes falling on Riverrun, the largest cluster laid exposed to the Emperor. "And we are here. Reinforced by more northerners, Vale infantry, the Baratheon levies secured from defecting captives, and four giants." Still not enough. The largest force that could tip the scale was still in Volantis with Podrick and Yara. All the while the Golden Company was rumored to be departing Pentos for Sunspear. Not good, not good at all.

All while Jon was depleting what meagre forces were left in the North to ward off the greatest threat of them all.

"We should strike soon, while we still have some element of surprise.' Daenerys seemed confident. Why shouldn't she? Jon was back and all dragons but Edderon were together again. One call and the grey dragon would head back as well.

A sigh left Jon's lips. "Leave us."

Whispered murmurs broke out, confused at the Emperor's decision. "Your Majesty?" Caryn inquired.

"I said, leave us." Voice firm, the war council quickly departed. Robb lingered for a moment, a raised eyebrow directed at Jon - was he going to do it. A slight nod from his brother answered that question. 'Gods be with him,' thought the Lord of Winterfell, guards closing the door behind him.

Now the room was left to Jon and Daenerys, cavernous halls rather empty and haunting. Studying her husband, gauging his mood with expert eyes, Dany found him hunched over the table. Eyes heavy, staring at the figurines clustered around the Riverlands and Crownlands with a sort of brooding fatigue. "Oh Jon." She stepped next to him, wrapping her arms around his back. "What bothers you so, my Dragonwolf?"

Muscles tense, the impotence of his position and the inability to improve it filling him, Jon slammed his fist on the stone table. "Fuck!" The tension dissipated somewhat as Dany hugged him tighter, kissing the back of his neck. It felt amazing, but he was still too frustrated. "It's not enough. Not near enough. Tywin has us outnumbered and holds better ground."

Dany frowned. "We have better soldiers, Jon. And dragons. Half his forces are sellswords and impressed conscripts." She was confused as to how Jon couldn't see it. "Staying on the defensive means we control the initiative."

"Sellswords who know that Joffrey winning means continued payment from the complete chaos that follows. Tywin's Army knows they are the lords of the world over everyone else, while we promise no loot and no chaos for profiteers to exploit." Running a hand through his hair, he motioned to the formations of Lannisters and their allies all over the Crownlands. "And he is the one who has the initiative. All avenues he has covered, and no matter where we attack it was all pre-planned by him. We'd just be dancing to his fucking jig! All while the real threat…" He trailed off.

Eyebrow raised, Dany crossed her arms. "What 'real threat?'" They were so close, so close to finishing off the Insane King and ending his reign of terror, so close to finally restoring their family to their true place in the sun. To break the wheel and bring true peace to the entire realm. And Jon was allowing himself to become distracted. It had been happening a lot over the past weeks, and it had been starting to grate on her.

Eying her suspiciously, Jon answered in a guarded tone. "You know what threat."

An exasperated groan left Dany's throat. "Jon, look what you're doing to yourself. You're distracted from your responsibilities. You barely sleep, all you do is train by yourself or with the children. I haven't seen you smile in ages, all because of some legend and superstition you claim as a threat!" Dany didn't mean to add the last part, but it slipped out.

Jon's eyes widened. "Is that what you think? After all we mean to each other, you still don't trust me?!" He couldn't believe it. It was as if Dany had stabbed him in the heart all over again.

In all honesty, part of Daenerys never grasped the idea that there was an army of dead men north of the Wall. "Joffrey is our enemy, Jon. He is enslaving the world. He sent Euron after our children. He paid an assassin to murder me. All the suffering currently affecting the world is on his and his cronies. When we have a chance to end him permanently, you choose to face a myth! A scary story Northern mothers tell their children!"

"It is not a story! Or a myth!" Jon thundered, angrier than he had ever been before. "You don't know any better, Daenerys! You didn't fight the fight I've had to."

"You're right, Jon, I spent my life fighting for our family, for our birthright!" She was not backing down. Two dragons in a furious game of chicken, neither relenting. "And do you know what faith kept me going. Not faith in gods, or myths, or legends - imaginary things fools delude themselves into believing?! Faith in myself! Faith in us! The faith that we can hatch dragons and unite peoples from Last Hearth to Astapor! That is what we need, not some childish boogeyman!" Breathing heavily, she glared at Jon, watching as something dark and emotionless settle into his eyes.

Lips ironing into a flat line, Jon took a step back. "If that's what you feel, then I have nothing more to say. I must journey back to Winterfell." Turning, he made his way to the door.

"Don't you dare leave!" Daenerys was seething, rage burning in her eyes. Outside a dragon roared, the deep bellow of Balerion the Dread reborn. "Your Empress demands it!"

Stilling just by the doorway, Jon's back remained turned, unmoving. In the distance came an even louder shriek. A higher, enraged roar that shook the windows - Rhaegal channeling the pure anger of his rider. It was then that Jon turned, blazing fury. Daenerys had never seen him so enraged, except when Euron threatened their children. Instinctively, she stepped back. But he didn't move, didn't give into his anger. He was too good and honorable a man.

All he did was speak one line. "Then the Empress will have to kill me." Cloak unfurling, he turned and stepped out the doorway - towards the North. Biting her cheek, Daenerys screamed her frustration in his wake.

"I still think this is a stupid fucking idea."

"I'd have to agree with the… ginger on this one," stated Brienne, earning a huge grin from the wildling - much to her annoyance. A loud howling bled through even the thick ice of the Wall, tendrils of the blizzard visible from the top of the battlements. "Rescuing your brother can be done via dragonback, if you know where he is…"

"I know." Tightening the cloak over his frame, Jon couldn't help but appreciate the irony. He had lived here at the Wall for much of his life, enduring day by day of cold so bitter it could freeze a person's balls off. Now, after nearly a year in the south - months in the raging heat of Essos - he had nearly forgotten what real cold was like. Winter in the Riverlands didn't come close. "Don't ask me how, but I know."

Groaning, Tormund turned to Davos and Robb. "Please try to talk him out of this. I can gather getting his brother the cripple, but finding one of those fucking things?" All present had been stunned when Jon announced the addition to the plan, finding it one step above insanity. Even as they were preparing themselves to leave, Tormund, Brienne, and Tyene were still trying to steer him to reason.

"Don't you think I've tried?" Davos shrugged. "The Emperor is not one to deviate from something he considers vital."

Tyene persisted, hoping he'd see reason. "If you think seeing one of these things would convince Joffrey or Tywin not to make war with us - even for a single campaign season…"

"It isn't for them," Jon replied, remembering the harsh words. They were said in the heat of the moment, but he had no qualms as to how real they were. "We're all on the same side, we're all breathin' - but I know he won't see it that way." There was no persuading Joffrey, but in a victory with him dead, unity would be a must. "It's for another."

"Hold on… let me get this shit straight." Tormund stared at Jon. "Your with the huge tits no longer believes in the Army of the Dead, so you want to go into the fucking icehouse to get a dead fucker to prove her wrong?" He shook his head. "Wouldn't it be easier just to fuck her brains out?"

Lips pursed, fists clenching, Jon looked off into the distance. The rage and anguish at his wife's lack of trust in him still was a raw, gaping wound. "Believe me, it's necessary."

"You could still do it off dragonback…"

"Lady Martell," Robb interjected. "You weren't with us at Hardhome. The Night King easily took Rhaegal down with one spear - if Wun Wun hadn't been there… we're not risking our greatest assets for this." Jon couldn't have said it better himself.

"Aye. With luck, we'll avoid the main host. Last sighting of those fuckers that Marg gave me was that they were still near Hardhome."

Listening to Tormund, a thought came to Jon. "Wait." While he and Robb could rely on their Valyrian steel blades and Wun Wun on pure strength, the others were at a disadvantage if walkers or wights attacked them. "We need dragonglass weapons, now!"

"I have that covered, sire." Gendry dropped a sack on a table, reaching in to hand out forged dragonglass weapons. "Worked on them myself over the last week. Guaranteed to take down any fuckin' dead man in its tracks." Each man now sported a sword and a dagger, except for himself and Tormund, who got axes. Grey Worm got a short sword, but an additional spearhead for his main weapon.

Wun Wun, however, didn't need one. His arms and legs were good enough.

"I shall wait here until you return," Sansa told the men, flanked by bannermen of House Stark. "If two weeks pass, I shall have Edd destroy the gate to block any entrance to the realms of men." She knew the stakes, much as it pained her to potentially leave her beloved brothers in the icy wilderness. Eastwatch by the Sea would still have a means of exit, but it would be a treacherous trek of nearly a hundred miles. Not a viable option.

Breaking a sensual and passionate kiss with his beloved, Robb made his way to Sansa and hugged her. "Keep Margaery safe for me, sister."

"I will, brother." As the Lord of Winterfell made his way back to the group, Sansa found the Emperor standing before her. "Jon." The redhead bit her lip, eyes darting to the ground. "I don't like this. It's too risky - the Empire cannot afford losing you. The family cannot. I…" Her eyes closed tightly, feeling another flashback coming. Jon saved her from Ramsay, took her in and provided the safety and comfort needed to pull out of the worst of the pain - it still affected her sometimes, and facing Jon's possible death at the hands of the white walkers caused one of these times.

The Emperor pulled his sister into a hug. "Hey… don't worry about me." Jon had never been close to Sansa in childhood, overjoyed now that they had the same relationship as he had with the other siblings. "I will return."

Sansa, enjoying the brotherly embrace, nevertheless pulled back. "That's what father said. I would imagine Rhaegar Targaryen told Aunt Lyanna the same."

Memories came back, of three smiling, loving faces in the wide expanse of the afterlife. They stabbed at Jon's heart, but he pushed it back. "I won't make their mistakes." A gnawing feeling overtook him, however. One of sensing some kind of threat… "Sansa, if something happens…"

"Don't say it, Jon."

"If something happens, make sure Daenerys stays vigilant on the threat to the North. Promise me, Sansa."

"I promise, brother."

Smiling, Jon kissed the crown of her head. "Oh, and please speak with Ser Podrick Payne when he returns to Westeros. He's anxious to speak with you." Turning, he walked back towards his men with a small smirk on his face, not seeing but certain of the red blush on his sister's cheeks - one not due to the blistering cold.

Torchlight covered the tunnel, shadows flickering over the walls. Not a single sound penetrated the cavern, each man and woman withdrawn into their own thoughts. "I wish I could spare more men, Jon," whispered Edd, breaking it. "We don't have enough for even skeleton crews, even with what you sent us." Some of the most recalcitrant Bolton supporters or Lannister prisoners had been gifts to the Night's Watch. They were sorely needed.

"It's fine, Edd." Jon looked behind him. "Pyp and the others will be enough." At that point the massive iron gate rose, slowly and with loud creaks as metal groaned against metal. 'Five inches of cold, wrought steel,' Jon thought. 'Undead giants riding undead mammoths… they could break through.' He looked once more at Edd. The new Lord Commander nodded. He and Sansa would carry out what had to be done if it came to that. "Alright men," he announced as the gate opened fully. "Let's get it done."

And the party began their long trek into the blizzard. Jon, Robb, Gendry, Ser Barristan, Ser Jorah, Tyene, Brienne, Tormund, Wun Wun, Pyp, and half a dozen other men of the Night's Watch. All ready to face the greatest evil in the known world.

Just as the swirling snow enveloped them, blocking out the sight of the towering behemoth of ice and rock behind them, Jon heard his children roar. It boomed loud enough over the howling winds. Defiant, but also mournful - tinged with pain and fear. 'I'll be back, my children,' he called out to their minds. The mournful cries melted into the wind as he turned and disappeared into the blizzard.

Fire roaring in the fireplace, a rhythmic - almost automatic - display played out before it. Rage boiling within her, Daenerys stared intensely at the fire, paced back and forth several times, gripped her head in a silent scream, paced again, and then faced the fire once more. It happened in those same exact steps over and over again, beginning to make those few present nervous.

It was Missandei who spoke up first. "Your Highness, please calm down." She flinched slightly at her murderous glare, but kept her composure. "At least take a seat."

"Who does he fucking think he is!" If the silver hair and violet eyes didn't show off a Targaryen, the metaphorical dragonfire spewing from her would have made it crystal clear. "How dare he do this? I gave him everything in my power, and now he abandons our cause to protect from some myth!"

"I admit, your Highness…" Missandei was her longest friend after Ser Jorah. She instinctively sided with her over all else - with the woman that had freed her and all her fellow slaves from bondage. But the translator had also gotten to know the man formerly known as Jon Snow. A man that matched and contemplated Daenerys as if in some divine plan. Her loyalty to her Empress extended to her Emperor as well. "... It is far-fetched… But would you know your husband to lie to you? For Robb Stark, Margaery Tyrell, or Ser Davos to lie? Lady Martell has gone with him as well, as has Lady Brienne. Lady Sansa believes him - are all of them foolish too?" She realized what a ledge she was putting herself on for something she found skeptical, but some part of Missandei knew that Emperor Jon would never believe something that wasn't true. It was just not his way.

Nursing a drink - not his first of the night, despite Shae's prodding - Tyrion pushed himself off his chair. "I don't doubt he believes it, Lady Missandei. But the northerners are superstitious folks. Moreso than any… aside from Dothraki," he ended up adding. "I saw it at Castle Black with His Majesty's uncle. Never saw anything, but relied on his superstitions."

The Naathi wanted to roll her eyes. "No one thought dragons could return from extinction, nor that a man could be resurrected from the dead. But they did happen. Is it too much of a stretch for there to be an army of dead men? Especially if so many level-headed friends and loved ones claim to have seen them with their own eyes?"

Pausing mid-pace, Dany turned to look at her friend and handmaiden. "Dragons have existed in recorded history, Missandei. And I don't know what…" She pointed at Melisandre, quietly observing from her chair in the corner of the solar. "She did to bring Jon back from death. But there had to be some natural reason for it all. The 'Long Night,' the 'White Walkers.' They're all legends! If we cannot reason what force brought such about, then the only conclusion is that all the legends are apocryphal. Lies! Fantasy! And my Jon…" Another groan of frustration left her.

An ancient voice, low and hobbled with a lifetime of experience and pain, spoke up. "It is not wise to confine oneself to that which can be seen." Pushing himself out of his chair, Aemon Targaryen's back was bowed, his legs were wobbly, and he leaned his entire form upon his cane. But the old man's unseeing eyes still sparkled a pure amethyst of a sharp, Targaryen mind. "I have lived through much. Lived to see my family disgrace itself, die all around me, and be reborn. I have seen monsters, giants, dragons… every creature known to man." Nearly collapsing, Daenerys rushed to her great-uncle and helped him into a seat next to hers.

"Please, uncle. Don't exert yourself," she cautioned.

Aemon waved her off. "I understand what you think. I myself have contemplated it. But the majesty of existence… it cannot be explained by reason alone. We humans are too frail, too weak to accept the hubris of supreme thought." Daenerys found herself unable to respond. What could one say to that?

The door to the solar flung open, slamming against the wall with a loud thud. Through the doorway came Catelyn Stark. "Your Highness…" Her appearance was that of a corpse, drained of blood as if exposed to the most frightening sight imaginable. Beside her was Lord Varys, his ruddy face similarly white as snow.

Daenerys stood, fearing the worst. "What is it?" There was silence. "Tell me!"

There wasn't much to shock the Spider, but this did. "One of… my Little Birds in the capitol, your Highness. Joffrey has done something. Something monstrous."

Tyrion rolled his eyes - a move he would soon regret. "What is it this time? Did he use a crossbow on his whores, because he already did that."

Wordlessly, Catelyn handed a dispatch to Tyrion. "There was a ceremony in King's Landing. A ceremony of fire and blood to bring death upon an enemy. In this case Jon." Dany's eyes widened.

It was the red woman's turn to stand. "A ritual of full blood sacrifice?" Such was common among early followers of R'hllor, but abandoned largely and replaced with that of leeches. "That is impossible, not to mention blasphemous. And to take down a monarch it requires one of royal blood. Not a normal…"

"They found someone." Tyrion stumbled, falling on his ass. The pain didn't seem to register, his body numb. "Myrcella."

"His sister?" asked Daenerys, wishing it weren't true. She had heard many things.

Nodding, Tyrion fought the urge to vomit. 'Sweet, innocent Myrcella.' His favorite. 'No more. Killed by the vicious idiot.' The battle failed, but he managed to make it to the chamber pot before puking his guts out.

A sinking pit of ice formed in Dany's gut. "Robert Baratheon's grandmother was a Targaryen. His children have the blood of Kings… oh Gods…" The sheer scale of it all hit Dany like a stampeding mammoth. Joffrey burned his own sister alive so that her royal blood could kill Jon. "Lady Melisandre," she said, whipping around to face the red priestess. "If this curse works…"

"The Emperor is in danger, your Highness. Danger of imminent death." Her mind was already filling of incantations on how to block the dark magic before it destroyed the Prince that was Promised.

'What have I done?' Swallowing her bile and pain, she raced out of the solar. Not a contrary thought in the world. Footsteps followed, the unmistakable ones of her Hand. "Do not try to stop me." 'I need to save him.'

"I would say this is foolish, your Highness," Tyrion began, struggling to keep up with her furious strides. His short legs annoyed him sometimes. "But I know when it comes to your husband you'll do it anyway."

'My fault.' Dany blinked away the tears, painful images flashing before her eyes. Images of Jon, of death. 'All my fault.' "Balerion, come!" she called out, hearing his roar a split second later. She had made it in the nick of time before at the Battle of the Bastards. Hopefully lightning would strike twice.

Climbing onto Balerion, Daenerys did something she never thought she'd do. She prayed. "Gods, whichever ones exist in the heavens. Please let me save my beloved…"