30 Planning a War

Spoon slicing through the ground meat and cheese like it was butter, Arya brought the steaming concoction back to her mouth. "This is delicious, Hot Pie." Glancing across the table, she watched a smile form on the face of her older yet still portly friend. "What do you put in this? Some kind of Riverlands herb or something?"

"A good cook never reveals his recipes till he dies or retires," chuckled Hot Pie, seated across from Arya and Gendry.

The former blacksmith's apprentice swallowed. "You've honestly become a better cook since we last saw you, and I don't know how that's possible."

Shrugging bashfully, Hot Pie motioned to Arya. "We've all changed. Can't believe I thought you were a boy once, Arry. You've grown very pretty." Arya - not one to express her emotions - couldn't help but blush while Gendry scowled. "I knew you two would get together. The Brotherhood actually had a pool going on over when. I believe… Beric Dondarrion would have won the prize." Gendry cracked up while Arya just snickered softly. "So are you going back to Winterfell."

Humor gone at the mention of her childhood home, Arya pursed her lips in a puzzled grimace. "Why would we go there? Viserys Targaryen and the Boltons have it." After hearing what the swine did after the Red Wedding, Arya had added them all to her list. However, she was additionally puzzled when Hot Pie leaned in.

"Well didn't you two hear? The Boltons are dead." Both Arya and Gendry were silent, so Hot Pie continued. "Viserys declared war on the Crown, but then Jon Snow came down from Castle Black with a Wildling Army and a dragon and won the Battle of the Bastards."

Hearing Jon's name focused Arya completely - it was if a sledgehammer had hit her. 'Jon. My brother. Alive.' She hadn't heard anything remotely concerning him since he had given her Needle in her room, though Arya had thought about him considerably. And here he was, in control of the North. His home. Her home.

"Wait, a dragon?" Gendry's disbelief snapped her out of their reverie. "Don't be an idiot. There hasn't been one for centuries."

Hot Pie bristled. "It's true. Everyone's talking about it!"

"And I remember everyone in Flea Bottom talking about Cersei Lannister having a secret cock. Doesn't make it true… ow." Gendry rubbed his shin from where Arya had kicked him.

"Shut up," she said, only half serious. Gendry had learned early on that being with Arya meant getting thumped about half the time - it was how she expressed affection. "Who did you hear it from?"

"Tully bannermen mostly. They've been flocking toward Riverrun after the Freys were assassinated…" He eyed Arya wearily, still shocked the young, tiny girl had done that. "And not just one dragon. There are three in Winterfell." He pounded his fist on the table as if to punctuate his point.

"Three? Now you're just shittin' us, mate." Gendry took a big spoonful of pie, glad to satiate his hunger. Traveling on the Kingsroad without much money didn't include plentiful food.

"Yes. Right in the middle of the battle, in swooped the Dragon Queen on her own dragon."

It didn't shame Arya to feel a sense of childlike exhilaration run through her at the image. A modern day Visenya or Nymeria charging forth dragonback, just like she had idolized during childhood play at Winterfell. And now, her beloved brother Jon had taken back her home along with the Dragon Queen - which meant the new Nymeria was an ally of his. 'A safe haven.' Likely the first since her father had been captured. "Gendry…"

"Before you say that you're going to Winterfell and there's not a fucking thing I can do to stop you, I'll save you the trouble by agreeing to go." The blacksmith smiled as Arya's eyes lit up. She may have been ruthless and cold most of the time, but he could always make her eyes sparkle. "Hot Pie, you up to it? Good cooks are like blacksmiths, they are in demand everywhere."

Mounting her horse, Arya looked back at Gendry and Hot Pie. The latter had demurred, but it wasn't long since they left the inn till he ran out to join them. 'Bonds of friendship.'

Wind rustling through the woods, carrying the icy chill of winter even in the Riverlands, Arya clutched the reins tighter. She was going home - to Jon, now allied with the Dragon Queen. Now with dragons. 'With enemies the same as my own.' With Walder Frey dead and the Hound largely having redeemed himself, there still remained many on her list. Closing her eyes as she rode behind Gendry, she began repeating the names just like old Yoren taught her. The names she would eventually all give to the Many-Faced God.

"Joffrey, Cersei, Meryn Trant, Ilyn Payne, Littlefinger, the Mountain, Amory Lorch, the Waif, Tycho Nestoris, Viserys Targaryen." Dutifully, religiously, she began again. "Joffrey…"

Groaning, Jon's eyes fluttered open to a warm pleasure spreading through his lower body. There, at the foot of the bed, was the mighty Dragon Queen with her lips around his cock. Her eyes twinkled as they stared at him. "Oh good," she said, lips leaving the head with a pop. "You're awake." A long tongue darted out and licked hungrily from the tip to the base.

"Dany…" The ministrations of his Queen reducing the White Wolf to a limp rag, all he could do was gasp and grab Dany's head. His fingers weaved into her hair. Only she could reduce him to this state - and by the smirk on her lips, she knew it.

"I was getting dressed for the small council meeting soon, but you looked so delicious that I couldn't help myself." Dany loved doing this to Jon. She loved Jon - more than anything. The groans coming from his mouth spurred her forward. "Give me your release, my soon-to-be King. Shatter into your Queen's mouth." With that, Dany sucked his tip and took him deep.

"Fuck!" Jon felt his cock erupt into her mouth, Dany's tongue swiping over him to prolong the pleasure. "Thank you…" he panted. "For that."

Licking the remainder of his juices from her lips, black wool and leather dress making her look every inch a warrior queen, Dany leaned down to kiss him softly. "Anything for you, my love. Now get dressed for the meeting." She kissed him once more and rolled off him. "The children are with Doreah, and the small council is expecting us."

He stared at her incredulously. "Now hold on. It's my turn now."

Dany stood up anyway, scooting to the edge. "No time, Jon. We're already skirting our punctuality. However, her eyes slithered shut when his arms wrapped around her. Palming her breasts through her dress, Jon's mouth lavished open-mouthed kisses on her neck. "Jon… mmmmmm…" She felt him smile against her skin. His beard tickled her skin. But while she would have loved to just fall into bed and let him ravish her, they couldn't. "Not… now." Forcing herself from his grasp, she stood up. "Later," she offered with a smile, leaving the chamber.

Chuckling to himself, Jon shook his head. "Little tease," he said to Ghost… only Ghost wasn't there. Sighing, he scrambled out of the bed and reached for his breeches. He just finished strapping his direwolf-emblazoned leather tunic on when there was a knock at the door. "Enter."

The door swung open and in walked an older man. His white hair and beard were cropped close, clad in similar leather armor and a warm smile on his face - one weathered with the weight of experience and loss. Jon recognized the same look, one he wore often in the mirror. "My Lord," he bowed. "I am Ser Barristan Selmy. The Queen asked me to be your personal guard while you are on Dragonstone."

Jon blinked, taken aback. The great Barristan Selmy, legendary Kingsguard and someone Jon had often idolized as a child. Willing himself to move, he took the proffered hand. "Well, I wouldn't be able to find someone more skilled to keep me safe, Ser Barristan. It is an honor."

"The honor is mine, my Lord. I served your father… Rhaegar. He was one of the finest men I have ever known." Guilt welled in Ser Barristan's eyes. "I was unable to save him on the field of battle, so I understand if you wish to dismiss me from your service."

Pondering the old man's words, Jon finally met his eyes. "Ser, if Queen Daenerys saw fit to assign you to me, then you have proven yourself worthy."

The Knight smiled wanly. "The Dragon Queen is a remarkable woman, and from what I've heard you are just the same. The Seven Kingdoms are in good hands." Nodding, Barristan just paces behind, Jon slipped Longclaw into the scabbard and headed for where the council was meeting.

Striding through the winding corridors and large hallways, Jon's eyes darted to a row of windows open to a sort of inner courtyard a floor below. There were the twins, taking outside lessons from a bearded tutor while Doreah kept her eye on them. Seeing their smiling faces, rapt with attention to the lessons before them, Jon couldn't help but feel his heart burst with love. His children, part of him and part of Dany. If there was anything that he was now fighting for… it was those two darlings in the courtyard.

"They always asked about you." Jon felt Ser Barristan's hand on his shoulder. "I didn't know what to say, so I told them about your father, Ned Stark. But Queen Daenerys always told them stories about you, how you were someone they could be proud of."

Some self-deprecating comment rose to his lips but Jon bit it back. Much as his old personality was hard to change, he knew Dany despised it. If he was to be a King, he had to be more regal. "I shall strive to be exactly that."

The map room hadn't changed since Aegon the Conqueror had planned the invasion of Westeros with his sister-wives. It had the look of a dark cave, braizers and candlesticks providing the needed yet low light with dark clouds forming above through the maw-like opening of the window. Mounted in the middle was the famous table, granite surface sculpted with a terrain map of the entirety of Westeros - Dorne to the Land of Always Winter. Known military concentrations were marked, clusters in Dorne and in and around Winterfell.

All present bowed to Jon as he walked in. "My Lord," said Lord Varys, the first from the door. "An honor to meet the son of Prince Rhaegar." Jon shook his hand, taking the blank stare in the Spider's eyes. This was not a man to trifle with, fat eunuch or not. Someone to respect but not trust fully until further notice.

"Jon Snow." General Theodosius was next, expression friendly but with a hint of pain in his eyes - one Jon had seen in Robb's ever since they reunited. "I look forward to the many battles ahead." The Dothraki bloodriders weren't as impressed, looking him over as if a curious, puny insect. Grey Worm was cordial and slightly trusting, but Jon noticed the Unsullied commander was still sizing him up. And lastly, Dany, as radiant as ever...

Sharing a tender look with his betrothed, it immediately iced over when the Greyjoys entered the map room. Jon leveled his gaze at the old ward of Winterfell. Theon Greyjoy. He registered Dany grasping his hand, trying to keep him from doing anything rash but it was too late. His legs were already carrying him to the Ironborn Prince.

To his credit, Theon had a posture of remorse and barely concealed pain. "Jon." He offered, eyes guilty but still meeting those of the northerner that was rounding the massive table. "How's Sansa? Is she safe…" Theon was cut off when a fist slammed in his face.

Dany gasped, watching as Jon wordlessly grabbed Theon by the straps of his armor. The dragon had been woken, her King taking his own personal vengeance on a threat to his family. But fear filled her as Yara moved for the sword on her hip - Ser Barristan noticing this and placing his hand on the hilt of his own sword to protect Jon. Yes, Theon betrayed the Starks, but he was an ally that Dany could not afford to lose… nor could she bear it if Jon was hurt.

However, as soon as the dragon was unleashed did the wolf return, menacing but reserved in its icy rage. "What you did for Sansa…" Images… imagined horror stories of what Ramsay had to have done to his sister… flashed in his mind. "What you did for her, is the only reason that my fist wasn't a sword." Theon nodded, understanding and not resisting. Shoving him back, Jon calmly walked by a relieved Barristan - Yara relieved and guarded as well, eyes glaring daggers at Jon's back - and took his position beside Dany, hands placed flat on the edge of the table.

"Perhaps we should begin," offered Varys, voice flat and monotone.

The topic before them was generally the same as the one in the north. The announcement of the betrothal and the Army of the Dead, followed by how the Targaryen Armies should proceed against the Lannisters. As Jon predicted, the matter soon descended into a heated debate.

"You need to attack King's Landing now!" Perhaps the subtlety and intrigue normally characterizing grand political power plays were a thing of the past within the Dragon Queen's Small Council - at least her War Council. Yara made a decisive slash with her finger from Dragonstone to King's Landing, and then from the North to King's Landing. "Burn the Red Keep to the ground with your dragons, then deal with Tywin Lannister once you hold the capitol." Once translated, the Dothraki all voiced their loud, boisterous agreement by smacking their chests with their fists.

There was disagreement from Theodosius. "The Capitol is but a point on the map. An eyesore if there ever was one. We don't need it but they do. Blockade it from the sea with everything we have before the damn Ironborn under Euron Greyjoy arrive, and put the rest under siege with every soldier you and the north has to offer. Make Tywin come to you." He slammed his hand down on the ridged stone representing Dorne. Jon could see the righteous fury in his eyes. "Tywin is the goal. Not any fixed point in the map. Destroy his army and Joffrey is powerless."

The arguments continued along those lines, though all agreed that she should go on the offensive immediately and wipe out the enemy in one campaign with all she had. Only Varys and Jon remained silent. The former sat quietly, taking everything in. The northerner merely studied the map, shifted his eyes to glance at Dany for a stolen moment, then went back to the map.

She placed a hand on him. "We are at war," Dany said when he finally looked at her, broken from his brooding. "My forces are dispersed across the world. My advisors are all divided on what direction to advance in." There was nothing but steel in her tone, the dragon in full force. "What do you think I should do?"

"Daenerys." Hearing the slight tinge of affection and familiarity in his voice, her anger and steel melted. Jon visibly chafed, opening and closing his mouth as if trying to find the right words for the moment. A politician or orator he wasn't - but a leader he was, nonetheless. "You have done… incredible things," he finally began. "Things that no one would have ever thought possible. Bringing emancipation to the slaves, commanding an army of Dothraki and free Unsullied from Astapor to Winterfell, joining the Targaryen dragon with the Stark direwolf." The last brought a very hint of a smile, one he reserved only for her and his siblings. Those that he loved. To all others, he was the brooding, icy wolf - but one that would raise his inner dragon if need be.

"Although none of us are doubting such extraordinary things, Lord Snow, the art of military tactics cannot…"

"Let him finish speaking, General Theodosius," Dany interrupted icily. The general quieted, sufficiently chastised. "Continue, Jon." There was symbolism in her use of his first name. The others may have been advisors - trusted advisors - but Jon Snow was her partner. Her equal.

Looking at the commanders and politicians around the table, Jon met each's eyes to ensure that he was not that kind of arrogant leader. But rather one of humility. Loud roars from outside echoed, the dragons voicing their displeasure with the lightning and thunder preceding the coming rainstorms. "No one thought dragons would ever come back to Westeros. I rode one into battle and I was still in disbelief." His gaze returning upon her, Jon covered her hand resting on the table with his. "You made the impossible happen. The people that follow you and will follow you believe that you make the impossible happen. To bring them a life better than the shit one they've lived or the hellish one that Joffrey would give them. Burning your way to victory would destroy that. Would make you into no different than the Kings that ruled before you."

Many did not find themselves impressed by Jon's plea to mercy and honor. "Pretty words do not win battles, weakling." One of the bloodriders remarked dismissively. "Only killing wins battles, and the sky monsters are the best killers."

"What is the use of winning battles if there is no foundation for what comes after?" Jon asked, leading for the bloodrider to snort. Worrying about consequences wasn't the Dothraki way. They raided, took what they wanted, and left. "We need the people to stand behind Daenerys if we are to break the cycle of rule by fear that has gripped the Seven Kingdoms by Kings for generations. What better way to do that than to fight the true enemy of all of humanity?" He jabbed his finger into the Land of Always Winter on the map.

General Theodosius remained skeptical. "While I appreciate your honor and zeal for your cause, Lord Snow, what proof do we have that this 'Army of the Dead' even exists?"

"I have seen it with my own eyes. Every living thing that dies can be risen into the Night King's army. What honor do we have if we squabble like children and allow the true enemy to smite us all down?"

"Your honor did not serve your father, Jon Snow," hissed Yara. It reminded Jon of Theon from before, when he was just the ward of Winterfell. His sister was smarter, but just as crude and ill tempered. "Having honor is bad strategy."

Grimacing, Jon's fists clenched. The wolf in him was fighting the dragon equally within him. "I'm sorry, but the Ironborn grand strategy for the War of the Four Kings. How many castles do they still control on the mainland? What lands does Balon Greyjoy now rule?" The words were delivered flatly, but there was no mistaking the caustic effect. Yara crossed her arms, scowling. Theon said nothing, eyes averted.

Silence hung in the map room before Daenerys broke it. "Lord Varys?"

Quiet the whole time, the Spider had been taking in everything said around him - the tactic that led him to survive serving four monarchs in his lifetime. "I serve the realm, your Grace. The people. I know you are the queen that will deliver for them and not for yourself or the lords or your close allies, and from what I know of Lord Snow I feel the same about him." His little birds reached everywhere, and aside from the deepest secrets such as Jon's true parentage, he knew most of the comings and goings of the world. "I am not of knowledge of the dead beyond the wall, but if you seek the betterment of the people of Westeros, you cannot act like Joffrey. Jon Snow is right in this regard."

Dany closed her eyes, making her decision. "We will not attack King's Landing," she commanded, her tone leaving no room for further argument. "I am not my father. As to whether we attack the Lannister armies or focus on the Army of the Dead…"

The meeting was broken by a Bloodrider, brusquely barging inside and marching straight to Dany. Conversing in Dothraki back and forth, Daenerys nodded. "Jon, Lord Varys, to the throne room. It appears we have a visitor."

It was certainly imposing. Lady Tyene Sand wasn't someone of low birth who would be awed into silence by the shittiest castle owned by the lowest Lord in the Seven Kingdoms - Prince Oberyn hadn't bothered with the distinction between trueborn and bastard, raising his bastards as his own and availing them to the best Dorne had to offer, be they luxuries or melee instructors. Growing up in a childhood filled with gilded palaces and hallways of travertine and pink marble, Tyene nevertheless felt slightly intimidated at the majesty of Dragonstone. This was no grandiose monstrosity to satiate a gluttonous King's garish taste, but rather the imposing palace fit for a conqueror. And Aegon and his sister-wives were by far the greatest single conquerors in history.

Being led in by the Unsullied guards that had first captured her at shore, clad in simple gold and brown combat attire of a Dornish rebel, Tyene found herself gazing at the figure seated on the throne. Silver haired. The descendent of Aegon the Conqueror, set about on her own campaign of conquest and subjugation.

Without Missandei, it was up to Lord Varys to announce Dany's presence in the throne room. "You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, Rightful Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. Mother of Dragons and Queen of Meereen. The Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, The Unburnt, The Breaker of Chains."

As the titles were recited, Tyene noticed the Queen standing stone-faced. An emotionless scowl - apart from a sort of default regal contempt that Tyene recognized - was all that existed of outward features. The Dragon Queen was striking and of small build but there was no doubt of the determination of a conqueror. She was the embodiment of the Targaryen motto: Fire and Blood. None of this surprised the daughter of Dorne.

No, what piqued her curiosity was the man standing next to the throne. Far too tall to be the distinctive form of Tyrion Lannister, the Queen's Hand, was this one. 'A northerner,' she thought dismissively. The brooding features, dark hair, and no nonsense build gave it away, and any member of House Martell would be dismissive of them since Lyanna Stark had caused Rhaegar Targaryen to betray her aunt Elia. However, by being next to the Queen he must have commanded great respect in Daenerys' eyes, so Tyene had to be weary.

"Speak," Daenerys offered, gesturing to Tyene. She didn't look much older than herself or Jon. Glancing at her beloved, Dany remembered how she had said the generation of their parents had brought everything to near ruin with their squabbles and jockeying for power. 'It is up to the young to set the world to rights.'

Dipping her head in respect, Tyene pushed her headscarf down to reveal her short locks. No one showing respect to a monarch would keep their head covered unless they were an armed guard. "Your Grace, I am Tyene Sand. Daughter of Oberyn Martell and the Lady Ellaria Sand."

Dany pursed her lips. "Yes, I heard about the sack of Sunspear. My condolences on the loss of your mother and sisters." Losing the potential for an alliance with Dorne stung, namely for the ability to force Tywin to fight on two fronts.

Tears of grief threatened to well in her eyes but Tyene fought them off. Her mother barely mourned her father, instead choosing to honor his memory by avenging his death. 'So to will I, for Obara, Nymeria, and my parents.' "They fought as honorable Dornish warriors and statesmen. I would be honored to live up to their example."

At that moment the northerner leaned in to whisper something to the Queen. The Queen responded in hush tones, and Tyene did not fail to catch the tenderness by which Daenerys Targaryen regarded the man. 'Her lover? Betrothed?' Was that how she intended to ally with the North. A reminder of the circumstances of her sibling, Rhaegar, angered Tyene but her quarrel was not with them. "Tell us, Lady Tyene," the northerner finally responded. "Your cousin Trystane rules Dorne as of now. As family he is likely to grant you a pardon, so why do you seek Queen Daenerys' counsel rather than his?"

"Because he is weak, nothing more than a puppet of the Lannisters." Eying him with distaste, she shifted to the Dragon Queen. "You and I share a common enemy, your Grace. We both wish to see the Lannisters burn."

"That is correct, we both have enemies within House Lannister," Daenerys began. "However, the question wasn't asked by me, it was asked by Lord Jon Snow. In the future, Tyene Sand," she remarked coldly. "You will address my betrothed with the respect and honor he deserves."

Jon Snow. 'Eddard Stark's bastard.' The nephew of the woman that so disgraced her aunt Elia. Someone who's family Tyene would have to forgive if she were to gain her desired goal. "Forgive me, Lord Snow. I meant no disrespect."

To Tyene's surprise - though it shouldn't have been, given the infamous Stark honor - Jon seemed to shrug any grudge off. "What is it that you are seeking, Lady Tyene?"

"An alliance between Free Dorne and the Dragon Queen. One to destroy the false King Joffrey and liberate my homeland."

Dany's eyes narrowed. "And to do so you are willing to bend the knee?"

"Yes."

Meeting Jon's gaze, Dany gestured to him to lean in. "This is our chance to bring Dorne into the fold, my love," she whispered.

"I'm not sure if she's trustworthy, Dany. And it wouldn't be easy. People tend to follow those in control of the cities."

"So we shouldn't take her offer?"

"I didn't say that. Tyene Sand isn't going anywhere. Keep her close and see if she can be trusted before legitimizing her claim." There was no doubt that Dany would if she so chose - she had planned to do so to Jon before finding out he was already legitimate.

Watching Jon step back, Dany planted the mask back onto her face - though this time a bit more cordial. "Well, you must be tired from your long journey. My guards will escort you to your rooms while Lord Snow and I consult further on your offer." As Tyene was led away, she couldn't help but wonder if she was a guest or, rather, a prisoner.

Feeling the sun's rays warm her cheeks, Sansa was glad for the break in the snowfall. Temperatures were still nowhere near enough to melt even a portion of the white blanket that covered the ground though. But this allowed the snowdrifts to be shoveled away and clear the roads, perfect as to the gathering of new forces in and around Winterfell. The northern lords would soon arrive, and they already had an important visitor. One she was currently helping out of the sleigh.

"Don't worry about me, young lady." Smiling toothlessly, Maester Aemon Targaryen peered at her with almost blind eyes. "My body may be old but I have the spirit of a man much younger. Help the young mother and her child."

"It's fine, Maester Aemon, I've got her," laughed Sam, guiding Gilly and the adorable toddler swaddled in her arms down from the sleigh. "Lady Sansa," he greeted, bowing slightly.

Sansa smiled. Jon was right, the awkward, bashful attitude was quite endearing to people that didn't have the personality of an asshole. "Sam, it's good to see you and Lady Gilly again." They had gotten along decently at Castle Black, Gilly having a heart of gold and Sam's intellectual heft proving a great asset.

"Do you know where the Winterfell library is? I need to see Jon about something."

"Now, now, Samwell," chided Aemon. "You've just arrived. Settle your family down first."

The whole scene was amusing to Sansa, who couldn't help the small grin on her face. "Maester Wolkan will take you to your rooms. Jon isn't here at the moment, but at Dragonstone with Queen Daenerys."

Distracted slightly by a gurgle from Little Sam, Sam nevertheless insisted. "I need to send a message to Jon at Dragonstone. There was a text at the library in Castle Black that I just discovered that alludes to something very important."

"Very well. Maester, I need you to prepare a raven…"

"FUCK!" Head snapping around, Sansa only just saw a rapidly moving blur before she was brusquely shoved to the ground, a heavy weight on top of her. Blinking in confusion and fear, a flash of Ramsay mounting her with a disgusting leer on his face filled her mind and she screamed. 'NO! NOT AGAIN!' her thoughts shrieked as she lashed out with her fists. But a crash to her left abruptly brought her out. Turning, Sansa saw the sleigh hit the walls of the castle.

Finally looking up, there was Podrick Payne, sheepish and with a bruise on his right cheek. He extended a hand and pulled her up. "Forgive me, my Lady, but you were about to be crushed."

Breathing hard, Sansa only nodded. She faintly felt Margaery rushing over, looking her over for any injuries. "No… thank you." Offering him a smile, at that moment the lowly squire seemed to her the dashing knight she had always hoped to meet - he may have been young and awkward, but he was brave. "Thank you, Podrick. I am in your debt."

A small smile curled on his face. "No, my Lady. It was my duty." Turning, he trotted off to wherever he was supposed to be. 'At least there are some good men left in the world not related to me,' Sansa couldn't help but think.

"My Lady." Blinking, her reflexes still a bit sluggish from her brush with death, Sansa took a moment before registering Maester Wolkan. "Dispatch from Lord Snow in Dragonstone. Arrived by raven just this hour."

Nodding, she took the rolled up paper. "Thank you, Maester." Watching him lumber away, she unfolded it with Margaery and Olenna waiting. Her eyes narrowed, rapidly perusing the message. "There's division in the camp there as well. Queen Daenerys' generals and… the Greyjoys…" 'Theon made it,' she thought. Sansa still didn't forgive him completely, and Robb probably wanted to gut him like a fish, but she was glad that he made it to his sister. "Want to go for King's Landing immediately, while Jon still thinks the Dead are more important."

Olenna snorted, having ambled in after her granddaughter. "Maybe if Tywin was in charge… Hells, even that cunt Littlefinger. Joffrey and the 'High Sparrow' are insane and Cersei has the trustworthiness of a jackal. They have to be taken out first."

"I'm inclined to agree with you." Sansa went back to the message. "Seven Hells. The Dragon Queen is moving her forces to the mainland in order to consolidate a single front against both the Lannisters and the Dead. Seven thousand Unsullied and fifteen thousand auxiliaries departing for White Harbor, while thirty-five thousand Dothraki cavalry are to be ferried to Gulltown in the Vale. Oh this is just perfect." Rolling her eyes, Sansa unceremoniously crumpled the message in her hand. "More mouths to feed in Winterfell…

"...And what message will this send to the Lords of the North, Vale, and Riverlands for both an Essosi army and a Dothraki horde to set foot on Westerosi soil," Margaery finished for her. That was just the point. It wouldn't. There were two natural boogeymen for the people of the Seven Kingdoms to scare their children and have nightmares about: the White Walkers and the Dothraki - not to mention the general distaste for slaves, which was technically what the Unsullied and the Meereenese regulars had been.

Jon - and by extension, Sansa - had his work cut out for him when he returned. Especially now that he was both a Targaryen and betrothed to one.

"And this mammoth had fur?" Curled up on either side of him, both Arya and Rhaegar were engrossed in the tales of their father north of the wall - not that Dany had seen them tire of anything in regards to their father. She hadn't either, leading to some rather… pleasurable experiences for the both of them. Noticing the familiar sparkle in her eye, Jon smirked.

'That woman will be the death of me.' While they were spending time with their children - he was glad that Dany shared his distaste of the 'hand the children off to a nursemaid' method of parenting common among noble families - was not the place to make sexual innuendo. Not when neither could do anything about it. "In the far north the mammoth are covered in woolly fur. The Free Folk and giants make their thick coats from it." It brought a warmth to his heart to see the twins hang onto his every word. "They have large hunts, where a single warrior is entrusted with throwing the spear that takes down the beast. Last time it was held, I was that warrior."

"You, poppa?" Arya's eyes widened in shock.

"Of course it was poppa. He's the greatest warrior ever.," her brother declared.

Family. Such was what Daenerys wanted more than anything - more than even the Iron Throne. Here, with her love and her children without the worries of battle or ruling, this was what she craved. Where she most belonged.

What happiness and tranquility the dragonpack had was shattered as a distant explosion rocked the castle walls. Frightened murmurs left the children's throats as Dany froze, eyes wide. Jon's reflexes were far more honed from his years at the Wall. Longclaw out before a word could be said, he motioned for Dany to move the children away from the door. 'I wish Ghost were here," he thought bitterly as he moved to cover the entrance. When it burst open the blade rose to strike…

Only for Jon to lower it when Grey Worm appeared. His face was flustered, the slightest hint of panic marring his usual scowl. "My Queen," he began in Valyrian. Then noticing that Jon was there, he switched to his still halting common tongue. "A large raiding party assaulting castle from the sea. Yara Greyjoy says they Ironborn."

Curses left Jon's mouth. Of course the other side of the Iron Islands civil war would eventually do Joffrey's bidding - or at least try to take out their rivals. "How many?"

"I'm not sure. Fifty or so."

'And most of our army is holed up in camp or on the ships in this rain. Fucking hells.' The enemy picked the best time to attack. Jon sheathed Longclaw but donned his armor. "Are the Unsullied garrison and Yara's men holding them off?" Grey Worm nodded. "I need several men guarding this room, quickly."

"Jon…" Dany clutched the trembling twins close, neither of them fully grasping what was going on but picking up on the tension. 'Please, don't be the hero…'

He strode over, kissing Arya and Rhaegar's foreheads before placing a deep kiss on Dany's lips. "Stay with the twins. I'll be back soon." Jon offered a small smile and then was off with Grey Worm.

"Issa, will poppa be safe?" A pair of piercing grey eyes stared at her, small versions of her love's. Dany nodded at her, holding them close. The door opened again revealing Doreah and four Unsullied. The handmaiden ushered the twins into the nursery, Dany staying behind while the guards divided in half between the room. Sighing, she sad facing the crackling fire, praying to whatever god was listening to keep Jon safe.

"I thought he'd never leave."

Blood turning to ice, Dany's head jerked back to see a dark shadow perched in the window ledge. A grappling hook gripped the overhang - how none of them heard anything was a mystery. The guards dropped their spears in defensive stance, sharp tips pointed right at the intruder.

The figure stepped out of the shadows to reveal a large, muscular man. "My, my, I admire his taste." His Ironborn coat was soaked from the sea spray. Close beard covering his perpetual half-grin, half-snarl, he towered over her, gaze hungry. Whereas Jon radiated warmth, this one was menacing. Malevolent. "I suspect he went to where my idiot niece and nephew are."

'Ironborn coat… niece and nephew…' Dany quickly put it together. "Euron Greyjoy."

"You catch on quick." His eyes darted to the nursery, twinkling as if they discovered buried treasure. "While I love the company of a pretty woman, I have places to be. Hand over the brats and I won't bother you or the bastard again." Crashes and a scream from Doreah saw three more Ironborn enter through the windows for the nursery - only Euron remained in the massive bedchamber/solar.

Dany's eyes blazed dragonfire. "You will die before you have them." Hand darting to grab Saracen off a table, the blade glinted in the firelight as she drew it.

Euron sneered, grunting in triumph. "Feisty." He drew his own short sword. "I like that in a woman." The blade flashed as he lunged...