38 Storm in the Riverlands

Unseasonable warmth had come to the Riverlands. It was unexpected to Jon - while he realized that the land to the south of the Neck was much warmer and more hospitable to life than the North, they were in the beginnings of the coldest winter in a thousand years. 'The Long Night.' It shouldn't be as warm as it was, straddling the melting point with the sun swaddling all of them in its rays. This would have been largely fine for Jon, for the less unforgiving cold would spare the Unsullied and Essosi regulars inhospitable fighting conditions. All except for the mud.

Gods, the mud. Not a rain cloud in sight, the intermittent days and nights above freezing turned the ground beneath them into slush. A wet, gooey sludge that made marching take three times as long and any type of wheeled vehicle impassible through it. Try as they might, every one of the men in the Stark-Targaryen combined army was splotched in brown - even Daenerys, her leather battle dress defiled. Jon had insisted she stay on the stone-floored manor house where they were encamped around, but she refused to not be amongst her army. Part of the reason why he loved his wife so.

Inconvenient though it was, the worst problem the mud presented was the blocking of all reinforcement. The bulk of the Northmen and Unsullied at the Neck, the Dothraki cavalry and heavy siege pieces moving from Gulltown in the Vale, blocked by the snowmelt turning the ground to mush. All they had against the Lannister host was the Army that had garrisoned the neck…

"Have our scouts returned yet?" The soft Dany from their intimate moments was nowhere to be found, replaced by the imperial, hardened Dragon Queen. General Theodosius Caryn nodded. "Well?"

He pursed his lips, trying best to spin what was clearly bad news. The withering look from both his King and Queen killed that idea. They weren't Joffrey, or Robert Baratheon - Jon and Dany wanted the truth, however unpleasant. "Forty thousand total, give or take a few thousand." Accurate headcounts were rare. "Thirty thousand infantry, mostly Lannister but with sizable portions from the Stormlands under Lord Selwyn Tarth." Lady Brienne, who had ridden south ahead of the main party that departed Winterfell, chafed at that - fighting her father was not something she was looking forward to. "Nine thousand horse, of which seven thousand of that number are Westerlands, Crownlands, or Reach knights under the command of Randyll Tarly of Horn Hill."

Dany guped, seeking out Jon with her gaze. The dour wolf had returned as well, face unreadable as he stared at the map stretched over the table. They were meeting in the open, a beautiful Riverlands day despite the mud. Splashing filled the still air from the River Trident, as beautiful as it was ominous. 'Where my brother died.' "And our forces?" Daenerys knew how many troops Robb had taken to the Twins, but perhaps they had been reinforced?

The defeated sigh from Robb put that hope to bed. "Twenty-four thousand, your Grace. Five thousand northerners and loyal Tully bannermen, seven thousand Unsullied, and ten thousand Essosi regulars. Five hundred wildlings and a thousand Vale knights - we are strong but outnumbered." An aura of futility and self-loathing filled Robb Stark. Missing his brother's wedding to coordinate the initial positions against Joffrey, Jaime Lannister outmaneuvered him to take the lynchpin of their southern defenses He had failed the North at the Red Wedding and was failing everyone all over again now. "I received a raven from mother in the castle. She and the Blackfish have five hundred men, enough for a sally with support but nowhere near enough to hold if the Lannisters try to swarm them."

"Where are our reinforcements?" Lord Cerwyn seemed frustrated - hells, they all were.

"Stuck in the mud, no doubt." With Tyrion gone, Theodosius had taken over as the sarcastic pessimist of the council.

A loud roar filled the din. "And what of my dragons?" Dany allowed a small bit of hope. "Three of them would equalize the battle."

Jon then spoke for the first time. "I will not risk them to Lannister Scorpions. Ramsay Bolton had but a few and they nearly captured Rhaegal." The memory left a bitter feeling within Dany. "How many do they have here?"

"Our scouts counted twenty, perhaps twenty-five."

Gritting his teeth, Jon felt a persistent throbbing headache beginning to take refuge in his mind. 'We're not ready… not ready.' What was obviously a mad decision to attack without the main body of troops in Tywin's army - which were still either in Dorne or being offloaded in the Crownlands - ended up a non-intended stroke of genius for Joffrey. Forty thousand elite forces with a strong mix of infantry, cavalry, and artillery, while their forces were outnumbered and lacking in the latter two categories. Glancing at Daenerys, Jon realized her eyes hadn't broken their gaze at the sketch model of the scorpions and larger ballistae. Likely able to break through the walls of Riverrun in a full assault, the lessons learned against Ramsay brought the dragons' use into question.

'Damn it!' He stared helplessly at the sky, feeling not the mighty heir to the Targaryen line but the insignificant bastard of Winterfell at that moment. 'Damn it all to hells. Please father, send me a sign.'

The flutter of a bird's wing, barely audible over the bickering and gnashing of teeth, reached Jon's ears. He looked up, finding the greyish black form of a mockingbird. Jon stared at it - it started right back at him, eyes lining up. A mockingbird, as auspicious an omen as one could find, at least according to northern lore. Chirping, it leaped off the branch and began to fly through the trees.

'Trees.' Suddenly it came to him.

"Robb." All his commanders and advisors fell silent at the single statement. Jon brushed aside the puzzled looks and met his brother's eyes. "How far out is the diplomatic party from Winterfell?"

His brother blinked, unsure of where Jon was going with this. "Um, we received a raven of their progress this morning. They've passed Moat Cailin and will be here in two days. Why?"

"Is Tormund with them?"

"That's what the message said."

He felt a soft hand on his arm. "Jon?" Dany's indigo orbs bored into him. "What are you thinking?"

The King allowed himself a knowing smirk for the first time since their wedding. "At the Wall, Sam told me stories about his father. Mostly they revolved on how… abrasive and cruel he was…"

"I'm sure such stories are interesting, your Grace," remarked Edmure Tully, as stressed and emasculated as any of his commanders - even more so due to Riverrun being his castle and his ancestral seat, taken away from him once by the Lannisters. "But how does this help us in retaking my home from the enemy?" His tone was biting. Edmure had every reason to be enraged, given the hell put upon him by Tywin and the Freys, though he still loved his wife and boy despite the former's heritage.

"Quiet." The heavy Ghiscari accent only made Grey Worm's command more booming and authoritative. "Let the King finish."

Jon nodded gratefully at the Unsullied commander, while Daenerys sent him a smile. "However, one story he told me was one he overheard his father speak of - something that happened when Randyll Tarly commanded the mounted forces of my father's army at the Trident." Such was a horrible day to think of for Jon, knowing what he now knew - but here he would be avenging his father. For both his and Dany's sake and for the Realm's. "Lord Tarly planned to try something new instead of the classic mounted charge, what he called a hammer and anvil charge." Dany, Robb, and the other Lords listened to him as he explained it. "Lord Royce," he addressed the aging Lord of Runestone.

"Yes, your Grace?" As cavalry commander, Yohn Royce paid close attention to the discussion.

"It is come to my attention that there are rumors concerning your loyalty." A mirthful smile danced upon his lips. "It would be a shame if you deserted us with the Vale cavalry at the moment the battle is joined."

Royce flustered. "But… I assure you… your Grace. I am fully behind you." Looking from Royce to Jon, Dany was starting to worry. Her husband was an excellent leader with good instincts, but where was this going?

"What does any of this have to do with the wildlings, Jon?" asked Robb, still confused.

Following his King's line of vision back to the trees around them, Theodosius' eyes widened in understanding. 'You magnificent bastard,' he thought, thoroughly impressed. "And should Lord Royce flee the field, your Grace, what would you expect the Lannisters to do?" The King and his General shared a grin to the bewilderment of even the Queen.

Leaning forward, Jon splayed his arms on the map table. "If Jamie Lannister wants to fight a cavalry battle, then why don't we let him?"

"You will bend the knee, Torrhen Stark!" Wooden stick in hand, little Arya ducked around the smithy and waved it at her brother. "Surrender now or face the fire of Maraxes!" Above swept in Rhaella, screeching with enjoyment.

Rhaegar, with his dark curls and dour determination, looked every inch an heir to the North. "Winter always comes, vile Rhaenys!" Giggles threatened to leave both twins at their playacting. They tried to be great Kings and Queens but it was just so ridiculous and fun. "A dragon is no match for the direwolf." Whistling - aunt Sansa taught him, a smug satisfaction filling Rhaegar everytime he watched Arya try and fail - the massive direwolves bounded over from where they had been resting. The size of small ponies and terrifying to behold, with the twins they were like the gentlest of dogs. Ghost nuzzled Rhaegar's hair, but in the middle of a game of battle it did not go over well. "No Ghost, Nymeria, attack Rhaenys."

"Ahhhh!" Knocked into the soft snow, giggles and weak protests left Arya as the direwolves began licking her face. Quite adorable and joyous, it was a shame that the courtyard was deserted. "Stop! Ghost! Nymeria! He he. Brother, sister, help me!"

Sensing 'Rhaenys' in danger, Rhaella hooted to her sisters from her perch on Ghost's back - where he could once carry all of them, now only one could comfortably fit. Down dove Sansenya and Lyanarys, joining with their sister to mob Rhaegar. Bite strong and claws sharp, combined with their dragonfire they could do considerable damage if they wanted to. But to the little dragonwolf they were gentle, affectionate even. "Noooo!" he laughed at the attention. "Direwolves, Aegon and Visenya have come! We must fall back!" Barking, Ghost left Arya and helped nudge the hooting dragons away while Nymeria barked, guiding her little lord to a safe place.

Laughing as well, Arya pointed to where her brother was running. "Meraxes, Vhagar, Balerion, to the cave!" Hooting delight, the dragons followed the little dragonwolf - silver hair flowing - to the entrance to the kennels…

Only for a foreboding presence causing them to hover, screeching. There was the smell of dog, as imagined, but the new Winterfell dogs loved the twins as much as the direwolves did. No, it was something else. Their nasal receptors picked up the scent of dragon… but not dragon. It smelled worse than even the most putrid enemy that the girls shrieked again, flapping away.

Smile still on her face, Arya approached the still form of her brother. "I found you, King in the North." About to grab him, the sudden stillness in her twin suddenly became apparent. "Brother?" she asked hesitantly. At his lack of response, Arya followed Rhaegar's eyes to where they gazed at - it just now felt colder than the winter temperatures outside.

The cell was empty, or rather seemed empty until something in the corner shifted. "Away with you, bastard," came a weak, hoarse voice. "Leave me be."

Feeling the foreboding nature shroud over him, Rhaegar nevertheless steeled himself. 'I am a Stark and Targaryen. No fear.' "Who…" He stepped closer to the bars. "Who are you?"

Ears perking up, the person that had once been Prince Viserys Targaryen began to crawl towards the iron bars that kept him from freedom. A soft, childlike voice hadn't been what he expected. Blinking, his eyes took several moments to adjust to the light. "I am the one true King of Westeros," he hissed, but the normal anger in his voice was tempered by curiosity. "You have the look of a Stark."

Rhaegar and Arya stared in equal parts wonder and fear. The person before him was a man, essentially his poppa's age but far skinnier - almost skeletal. He was filthy and bore a splotched Gold fist where his hand should have been, but the silver hair matted to his skull was distinctive. A Targaryen, just like their muña. "I am Rhaegar, Crown Prince of House Targaryen."

A thought occurred to Arya, connecting the dots. "Are you our uncle? Muña's brother?" Their mother rarely talked about him, but he had to be as kind and loving as Sansa, Arya, Robb, and Rickon. 'Right? They love us. Of course he does.'

Milky violet eyes widened as Viserys understood. Rather than smile as Arya expected, his face curled into an enraged sneer! "I knew it! Dothraki horselord my ass!" His voice dripped venom. "He fucked her didn't he?"

Aside from panicked shouts when in danger, the twins had never heard yelling - chiding yes, stern discipline yes, but never anything resembling the enraged vitriol thrown their way. Rhaegar stumbled back while Arya started to shake. Ghost and Nymeria, who had been sniffing at each other, tensed and looked at his wards. "Uncle…?"

"Uncle? UNCLE!" Rage, frustration at the loss of his birthright welled up inside him like a volcano. It erupted in the face of the perfect representation of what he had lost: the dragonwolves, clearly Targaryen but clearly Stark as well. "I am no uncle of yours! Dirty half-breed scum!" He hadn't seen them since they were mere babes, when he had held a blade to their cribs. Now the resemblance was uncanny. They reeked of Stark. Reeked of the bastard. "That horselord savage was bad enough, but to lay with the dog of the Usurper! A bastard!"

Feeling his sister start to sob into his shirt, Rhaegar fought back the tears himself as he felt the urge to protect his father. "He is no bastard. He's the King! A good king!"

"Your father is scum! The son of a whore!" Viserys pulled on the bars, pressing his face through the opening. The madness was on full display. "And now he lays with another whore! I should have taken Daenerys when I had the chance! Had proper Targaryens, not half breeds of northern traitors and whores."

"Little wolves!" Jogging slowly from the steps to the balcony, Arya Stark glanced around the courtyard. "Where did you get off to this time?" she laughed. They were worse than her and Bran, exploring every nook and cranny of the castle. "It's time for your lessons… Little wolves?" Try as she might, they were nowhere to be found. Arya smirked - she liked a challenge.

However, unlike the other times the twins decided to play predator and prey - and they did it often, Arya always flushing them out to a barrage of tickles from her and licks from Nymeria - this time it was far easier. All she had to do was pick up Ghost and Nymeria's growling… 'Growling?' Now her Faceless Man antennae were picking up danger. Ears pinpointing the sound, she zeroed in on the kennels…

'The kennels.' Arya's eyes widened. 'Seven hells!' Eyes flickering towards it, she already saw the forms of the dragons perched above the entrance in obvious distress. Heart thudding, she ran towards the open tunnel.

What she found made her blood boil hotter than dragonfire. Tears cascaded down the twins' cheeks, trembling in each others arms as they shut their eyes tightly. Ghost's teeth were bared in a malevolent growl and Nymeria hissed in anger, but such wasn't the cause of her niece and nephew's discomfort. Instead it was the rabid shouts and snarls from beyond the iron bars.

"Your mother is a whore and a traitor, polluting the Targaryen bloodline with subhuman scum! I should have taken her when I had the chance, and put a sword to your fucking necks when you brats were but babes!"

Just before the direwolves lunged in a mad frenzy at the bars, Viserys found a sharp tip pricking at the skin of his neck. "One more word out of you, Viserys Blackfyre, and these direwolves will be the least of your problems." She so wanted to kill him - he was on her list for what he did to the North - but Arya knew that he deserved to answer before the Realm for his crimes. She, reluctantly, sheathed needle. "The North Remembers, and Winter will come for you yet." Wrapping her arms around the crying twins, she guided them out.

Undaunted and mind likely snapped completely from reality, Viserys lunged his good arm through the bards in a desperate attempt to close around her throat. "I'll get out of here you Stark cunt! And when I do I'll find another army and BURN YOU ALL!" Arya ignored his deranged rantings, hustling the twins until they were free of the Mad Prince's tirade within the main solar.

Sobs still wracked the little ones, snot and tears lining their faces. "Oh little wolves." Opening her arms, Arya felt them cling to her for dear life. "It's alright. He can't hurt you." Softly stroking their backs, the crying soon dissipated, though their little forms still trembled.

"Gods! What happened?" Arya looked up to see Sansa, concern written all over her face. Seeing the twins' sobbing forms, she rushed over and knelt behind them. "Sweetlings, what troubles you?"

Still trembling, it was Arya who spoke for them. "Viserys." Her eyes were burning, mouth set with determination.

Mouthing a curse, Sansa hugged her niece and nephew from behind. "Shhhh. Don't tremble sweetlings."

"The bad man…" mumbled Rhaegar, turning to burrow his face into the crook of Sansa's neck - he and his older aunt were as close as Arya was with her namesake. Such was a close family, the Starks. 'The Pack survives.' "He called momma a… whore, and poppa a… bastard." Words new to him, he said them haltingly.

"He said he tried to kill us and was going to do it again." Fresh tears fell from little Arya.

"Listen to me sweetlings." Sansa looked at both with all the affection in the world. Resigned to never having children, she could at least satiate her maternal instincts with her beloved niece and nephew. "That monster will never hurt you. I will not let him."

"If he even tries, he'll have to reckon with Needle," Arya said with grim determination.

At that moment, a bannerman walked in. "Lady Arya?"

"Not now," she shot back, continuing to console her niece and nephew.

"It's a dispatch from His Grace, my Lady." To his credit the bannerman did look apologetic for intruding on the moment. Wordlessly, he handed it to Arya and left.

Sansa nodded at her. "Go take care of what Jon wants. I'll get the little ones a hot supper. Come on sweetlings. Hot Pie is making lamb stew…"

Running her hands through her hair in frustration, the young woman stepped back out into the cold. Watching as Nymeria fell on the ground next to Ghost, the white direwolf starting to lick her fur, Arya quickly perused the words in the dispatch. 'Hmmmm, looks like Gendry and I have to get going.'

"LOOSE!" Clunking, the gears of the trebuchet groaned from the friction before its rope resonated with a whip-like crack. A load of rocks shot through the air before smashing into the inner walls of Riverrun castle - soon joined by several more lobs in quick succession that caused damage unseen by the observers. The defenders did not let the slight go unanswered as a fusillade of arrows began peppering the muddy ground around the siege artillery. Several screams rang out from hits, the artillerymen racing for the mobile mantlets.

Setting down his spyglass, Ser Bronn of the Blackwater whistled. "That woke em up! Cease fire!"

"Cease fire!" screamed the battery commander as the protective Scorpions halted their return fire. Less than a minute passed before the last arrow impacted the ground, the Siege of Riverrun returning to the anticlimactic, sleepy affair that it had been for the past weeks.

Turning his head away from the men as they moved the trebuchet battery out of longbow range, Bronn groaned and met the eyes of his commander. "This is fucking pointless. Are we gonna storm the castle or prepare an actual siege - or do what I fucking suggested and flesh out the damn Northern cunts before the blizzards come back?"

Jaime rolled his eyes at the classic Bronn-speak. "There's a Dothraki Horde and three dragons bearing down on us. I would think someone that fights for a return on his investment would want to be cautious." Truth be told, he thought being here was a massive error - to wait for his father's main host would swell them to over double their current size. But what Joffrey wanted Joffrey got. 'My boy. My son… he is the mad King reborn.' Clenching his fists in anger at the whole damn scenario, Jaime glared at Bronn. "If you sent the scouts as you were supposed to, then we'd at least know where they were."

"I sent 'em," replied Bronn nonchalantly. He spat a swish of spit into the mud. "I'll bet if it wasn't this damn muddy, they'd be back know." Eyes narrowing, he peered into the distance. "Say what you want about my motivations - and you still owe me a fuckin' castle for joining you in Dorne, twice - but you always attack. Make the cunts react to you." 'Sometimes the gold-shittin' aristocrats don't fuckin' get it,' Bronn thought to himself.

Hooves sloshing in the mud, the sound of the gallops drew Jaime and Bronn to the arriving party. "Lord Tarly," the commander offered his main general.

"Lord Lannister," replied Randyll Tarly. "Ser Bronn." The grim-faced highborn saved a special contempt for the sellsword turned somewhat-knight.

Bronn would readily tell anyone around him how many fucks he gave. "My Lord," he said over politely. "Lord Tarth." Selwyn Tarth was more humble, and deserved a bit more respect. His gaze flickered to the baby-faced youth on the horse beside him. "And…"

"Rickon Tarly, correct?" Jaime said.

"Dickon," the boy corrected, causing a belly laugh to chortle from Bronn. "The scouts have returned, my Lord. We've found the Northern Army?"

Jaime's brow furrowed. "How many Dothraki?

"None." Randyll Tarly flashed a rare smile, though it looked more sinister than joyous. "They have twenty-five thousand at most. Barely any cavalry, and most of their infantry are foreign scum the Dragon Queen brought over. We need to attack as soon as possible, use our cavalry to crush them."

"Seems too good to be true." In Bronn's experience, such moments usually were.

What choice did Jaime have, though? "Prepare for battle. We march on them tomorrow."

As the entire Lannister camp descended into a madhouse of activity, no one noticed the small boat slipping through a bend in the river. Guided by the directions Edmiure had given them, the two figures inside reached the hidden side dock without much trouble. "We're here to see Brynden Tully and Catelyn Stark," Gendry announced, trying his best to sound like a highborn commander.

"Who the fuck are you?" came the response, sentries with their swords drawn.

The second figure dropped her hood. "Arya Stark."

A short length of time later, Arya found herself in a crushing hug from her mother. "You keep trying to give me an early death, sweetling," she chuckled, kissing her head.

"I'm fine, mother," Arya groaned into her shoulder, glancing at the sorry sight around her. A great castle built to withstand anything lesser than a dragon, the Lannisters had stolen a march on the defenders leaving Riverrun without the time to stock itself for a lengthy siege. The Tully garrison had implemented bare bones rations to extend them, and a lot of hungry bellies resulted.

"Lovely family reunions aside, my beloved grand-niece, what is this all about?" Gruff, the Blackfish had seen too much in his life to afford to be sentimental. He saved that for his nephew Edmure - though the pain of being locked in the Frey dungeons may have tempered that considerably. "Is His Grace wishing us to mount a sally attempt out of the castle? He'd better bring a powerful army with him, then." A glance to the sorry state of the inner defences belied his unsaid point.

Breaking the tight embrace with her mother, Arya allowed herself a small smirk. "Jon is here, with a little under thirty thousand."

Catelyn's lips pursed in a dischanted scowl. "We're doomed then. The Kingslayer can starve us out while he simply waits for his father's main force."

"Don't worry mother. It's all the numbers we need." Her elaboration had the two Tullys nodding within minutes.

Growling softly - almost a purr or hum - Rhaegal lowered his head till it essentially hovered at just above chest-height. Chuckling, Jon knew exactly what he wanted. "Easy boy, no need to be scared." Extending his hand out, he began to rub the dragon's lower jaw. "You have your flight, and your fire back. No one's gonna come close to hurting you again." As Jon began to scratch the soft scales, Rhaegal's purrs intensified. The dragon's eyes closed as he enjoyed the attention from his father and rider. He had been restless all day from what Jon noticed, and the King could simply feel the memories of the Battle of the Bastards and nearly being pinned to the ground were weighing on him as the clouds of war sprung anew. "Everything will be fine." Jon didn't know if he was comforting Rhaegal or himself.

So entranced in thoughts of the battle soon to be joined and the battle long ago fought, Jon didn't notice the winged shapes and thuds behind him until he felt a heavy nudge against his back. Had it not been for Rhaegal's head to push back against, he would have fallen. The green dragon growled and snapped his jaws at both of his brothers. 'Don't hurt father,' was the essential message that Jon managed to figure out. Turning, he saw Balerion hiss while Edderon merely simmered.

"Hey, hey." Jon tried his damndest to not burst out laughing. The dragons reminded him of how he, Robb, Arya, and Sansa used to bicker and squabble amongst themselves. "Be nice to your brothers," he chided Rhaegal, giving him one last scratch on the lower jaw. "You can't hog your father's time anymore." Growling softly, Rhaegal hooted at his brothers and nuzzled his snout against Jon's chest. Jon laughed again. "Just a big softie at heart, like Ghost." If left to his own devices, Ghost would run off into the woods or roll around in the grass while he rubbed his fur. Turning to Balerion and Edderon, he met their gazes. "Father hasn't forgotten you." They may not have been as close as he was to Rhaegal, but they were still his… children as much as the twins or the girls were. Reaching out, he began to rub their snouts, eliciting the same low growls of contented delight.

"There you are." Glancing over his shoulder, Daenerys could see a smile spread on her husband's face at the sight of her. Her heart made a little catch. 'He's so handsome when he smiles.' Stepping forward until they were mere inches away, Dany wrapped her arms around his side. "They love you." It never ceased to amaze her how close the bond was between Jon and her… their dragons. They had no knowledge of him and been raised by her, yet Rhaegal flew halfway across the world to him and even the temperamental Balerion adored him. "So do I."

Feeling the stress of the week melting away at his wife's touch, Jon continued the scratch the scales of the two dragons. "I love all of you as well." Jaws opening in a yawn, Balerion leaned forward to nuzzle his mother before curling up into a nap, joined by his brothers. Jon let out another chuckle at the scene. "I still remember when I first saw Rhaegal. Sweeping out of the stormclouds and burning everything, it was shocking that I wasn't pissing myself at this 'beast' in front of me."

Kissing his cheek, Dany walked towards the sleeping Rhaegal. "They were never beasts, regardless of what our enemies say in their propaganda." She sighed, softly running her hand along her sleeping child's snout. "We almost lost him, Jon." Sadness couded her features. "Twice once to the others… and once to Ramsay Bolton." Daenerys had no doubt that the sadistic freak would have slaughtered Rhaegal had he been acting unilaterally, only capturing him because her brother thought he could ride him. 'Fool.' Let alone the fact that he was no dragon, Rhaegal had already bonded to Jon.

Behind her, Jon wrapped his arms around his wife's waist. She leaned her head back against his shoulder, sighing at his touch. "We won't lose them, my love. I promise."

"I could lose you too." Dany turned in his arms, cupping his cheek. "You are already a King, Jon. Don't put yourself in danger."

It killed him inside to worry Dany so much, but Jon couldn't allow himself to go down the road to tyranny. "What kind of King would I be if I didn't fight for my people?" The words said in the parlay with Viserys and Ramsay came to mind.

Trying not to tear up, Dany stroked his soft, raven whiskers with her thumb. "What kind of King would you be if you died?" She didn't think she could bare it if he did. They were just that important to each other. "Your plan…" If Randyll Tarly and the Lannisters took the bait, then Jon would be putting himself right in the path of a heavy cavalry charge.

She didn't need to finish. He understood. "I know." Jon tightened his hold on her, absorbing her warmth. His father - Ned Stark - had always taught him to be humble before the Gods, to eschew arrogance at every opportunity. But with Dany, he felt he could take on the world and be victorious. A powerful feeling, but one he needed to be mindful to not blind him. He pulled back to look in her eyes. "I promise you, Daenerys." Her eyes sparkled. "We will win." She said nothing, only pulling him down into a kiss.