40 The Emperor's War

"TO THE TARGARYEN-STARK DYNASTY!" shouted a random knight, half-empty wine flagon in hand. "May they reign a thousand years."

"HAH OOH! HAH OOH! HAH OOH!"

"To the death of the… asshole in… King's Landing…" Already slurring his words and swaying in the gentle breeze, a tipsy smile crossed his face as he fell forward, drink spilling on the ground where he slammed into. A moment's silence was soon followed by a raucous cheer. A minstrel started up a jaunty tune and the celebration was back in swing.

On the night following the Combined Army's decisive victory over the forces of House Lannister, no expense was spared from the loot within the captured enemy camp. Far from the spartan fixtures that Robb Stark and Theodosius Caryn allowed for themselves and their men, what the Chimera's army provided was nothing short of epicurean. The finest Dornish and Arbor wines, fresh meats both local and exotic freshly slaughtered and prepared, ocean fish, shrimp, and octopus carted from the ocean in watertight tanks… the tents of Tygett Lannister and Adam Marband were piled to the ceiling in gold and silver. All of which was distributed by orders of the King and Queen among the men for their own enjoyment following a hard fought victory. Celebration rocked the plains outside the castle and from within Riverrun itself - young and old, male and female, rich and poor sharing in the bounty.

While the exultant shouts and drunken ramblings outside continued unabated, nestled within the walls of the castle the King and Queen celebrated in their own way. "Delicious," groaned Jon, pulling his bride closer to him.

"Mmmmm…' Dany bit her lip, sensations clouding her in a lust-filled haze. She ground her hips into his, dress stripped down and bunched by her waist while straddling her husband's lap. "Oh Jon." Fatigue from the fighting of the day found her retiring to the guest quarters of the castle, Jon's lips on her milky skin as they reassured themselves in each other still living on this earth.

Sucking the little strip of skin at the join of her head and neck, Jon was rewarded by a sensual, sexy mewl. "I love you," he whispered, soothing the flesh with his tongue and causing her to writhe on him. "I nearly lost you today." Roaming hands reached up to cup her perfect breasts.

Dany couldn't think clearly with the loving, sensual attention Jon was lavishing on her. "Oh Gods." Her hands cupped his, urging him to knead the aching mounds. "You didn't." A whine left her throat as his lips detached from her skin, but she soon came face to face with his stormy eyes - a tempest of emotion reflected from them. "I'm here, my love." Dany smiled. "We're both here." Closing the distance, she crashed her lips to his in a loving kiss.

Kiss turning heated after a mere few moments, Jon laid her down on the soft furs. Tongues mashed and tangled together in an arousing dance that found Jon rocking his hips into hers. His member strained against the fabric of his breeches. 'Gods, this woman was incredible.' A loving wife/mother and powerful queen, and bottled sex to top it off. Her back arching, mashing their chests together, Jon found he couldn't understand why any man would stray from their wives. Not if they had someone as breathtakingly amazing as Daenerys Targaryen.

Drunk from the electric pleasure flowing through her core, Dany grasped the hem of Jon's tunic and tugged. "Off," she growled into his mouth. "I need this off." Kiss breaking so she could pull the offending fabric from his body, another growl left her throat as she latched her mouth to his chest, hard muscles rippling under her lashing tongue.

"Dany." Voice hoarse with lust and emotion, Jon felt the warm, wet muscle glide along his toned front. His scars received the most attention, Dany lavishing them with heated licks and desperate bites of passion and love. He was alive, and she wanted him - their remaining clothes practically melted away. Shifting himself till they were face to face, Jon searched out her mouth and tangled their tongues once more. His fingers found her core soaking. "Gods, wife." Seeing the mischievous glint in Dany's violet eyes, Jon smirked against her lips and guided his length to line up with her - seeking his favorite place in the world.

It never got old. Gasping into his mouth, Dany felt her insides stretch to snugly mold to his thick member - the sensation familiar but just as delicious as their first time. "Please, more," she purred, Jon's thrusts filling her up so completely. Stars exploded into dragonfire as her eyes shut at the waves of pleasure. Forcing them open, Daenerys gazed into her husband's eyes and felt the desire only increase at the tender, frantic passion within them. 'Love comes in at the eyes.' Oh, how true it was. "Jon, Jon, Jon!" Fingers digging into his back, leaving trails down his skin, they both plummeted off the edge into oblivion.

Eventually, the labored pants began to taper off, a luxuriating calm taking over in the aftershocks. Jon rolled off her, taking her with him until she was nuzzled into his side, one leg and one arm thrown over him. Tightening her hold on his chest, Dany nuzzled his neck as a wave of calm washed over her. "Mmmm, I hope we made a baby tonight, Jon."

Taken aback for a moment, Jon absentmindedly stroked her back. In the revelations of the twins and the fast pace of both the wedding and the first campaign of the new war for the Iron Throne, the fact that Daenerys might want more children hadn't been one he considered. Looking back, it was stupid that he hadn't.

Silence coming from him for several moments, Dany couldn't help but think the worst. "Jon… you don't want another?" She bit her lip and shifted her gaze.

Hugging her tighter against his body, Jon placed a kiss on her silver locks - even matted with sweat from their exertions, they still smelled heavenly. "Of course not. I would love to have more children with you." The line of succession needed to be firm in the event something happened to Rhaegar… gods forbid. "But…"

She looked up at him. "But what?" Dany reached up to cup his cheek. "What is wrong, my love?"

"I almost lost them, Arya and Rhaegar…" It didn't need to be said, how if it weren't for Tyene Martell, Euron Greyjoy would have kidnapped their babies. "There are so many threats, Joffrey and the Night King." Confident in the battle, danger to his own person never fazed him. His honor, his duty… 'Father always said honor is paramount.' He fought to live up to it, because in the grand scheme of things his life was expendable. But Dany… his children… Anguish crossed him even thinking about such a loss. "And today, I almost lost you."

Leaning up, Dany kissed his neck, gently licking the skin. Earning that comforted moan she longed for, a giggle stubbornly escaped as his scrubble tickled her nose. 'Gods, I love you so.' "You didn't lose me, Jon." He relaxed slightly but not enough to fully free him from the tension of it all. "My love, do you want me to tell you about when I was first with child? With our beautiful children?" She was rewarded with wonderous grey eyes, sparkling. "I found out when sparring with Ser Jorah. A bout of the early sickness, voiding my stomach into the great grass. He brought me to the healer."

Jon nodded. "A good man, Jorah. Committed a grave crime, but atoned for it." After protecting him in battle, protecting Dany for so long, Jon planned to knight him once again. Acknowledge his clean slate. He knew Lady Mormont would sign off on it - the two had reconciled back at Winterfell. Feeling Dany turn on her side, back facing him, he shifted on the bed as well. One arm rested below her head while the other wrapped around her, holding his wife close.

Smiling softly as Jon settled behind her, the two of them fitting like a perfect puzzle, Dany continued. "It seemed so surreal. I didn't feel any different for months. Not while growing larger. It wasn't until I felt them kick inside me that I truly realized… we had made two children." She felt him stroke her stomach, feather light kisses pressed against her neck. "I would do anything for them, Jon. Eaven eat the raw heart of a stallion…"

"You actually did that?"

Daenerys heard a tone of half-amusement, half-revulsion from him. It made her chuckle. "The Dothraki believe it brings strength to the child." She guided his hand closer to her heart. "I may have been a little queasy afterwards, but it turned out fine."

"Mmmm, I'm glad." Jon began to play with her nipple, flicking and cupping it.

Swatting his hand, Dany purred when he refused to stop. "I love you, Jon. More than anything."

"And I you, Dany." His heart burned for her. "You are the most amazing woman I've ever known."

"I hope so," she teased, wriggling her ass into him and smirking at his groan. The smirk faltered, something coming to her mind. "Was there ever another? While we were apart?" She wouldn't fault him if there was.

Silence came from Jon. It was still hard to think about, losing her. "One. Just one."

From his silence, Dany could tell it didn't end well… and that he cared for this lost maiden in some way. "Who was she?"

"A wildling woman. I never meant it to happen, she was just someone I bonded with. I wouldn't call it love, but we cared for each other a great deal. I lost her just when Rhaegal saved me from the dead." He pulled her closer to him, their skin mashing together. "You? Aside from the Khal?"

Biting her lip, Dany wasn't as cavalier with her experiences. Only proactive conduct on her part spared what was likely a husband that cared not for her comfort or consent, and the other… "One as well. It was… a mistake." From what she could remember of that night, too much wine on both their parts led to a reasonably pleasurable evening - Daario pleasing her but more to prove something rather than just to please her as Jon so lovingly did - but one she did not plan on repeating. "He's in Meereen, so you'll never have to deal with him."

Jealous as he was, Jon reminded himself that there was no need to be. "It is fine, Dany. After all…" He turned her in his arms. "I am the one that secured your hand."

"Oh… you did," she moaned as Jon kissed her neck. "Until the end of my days."

He kissed up her jaw and placed one on the corner of her mouth. "Ao issi sīr gevie. Nyke giez skori nyke rūsīr ao." Pulling back, Dany gazed upon him, stunned. Accent still a deep northern brogue, the words were nevertheless firm with command of the language. "Missandei gave me more lessons," he offered in response.

'He continues to amaze me.' She cupped his cheek. "Daor vala iksos hae ao, issa dārys." And with that she pulled his mouth onto hers.

"What the fuck is wrong with you!" Laughing good-naturedly, Tormund smacked Grey Worm on the back. Stronger than his toned frame suggested, the Unsullied commander didn't budge much, but his teeth chattered from the cold. "None of you cockless cunts have felt real cold."

The northerners around the fire laughing, wine and mead spilling onto the ground beneath them, Grey Worm turned to Tormund with a glare. "Colder than this? Not. Possible." He couldn't comprehend anything worse than this or Winterfell.

Set off on a further round of chuckles, Tyrion took a swig from his cup. "Get this cockless man some liquid courage. It'll fortify him!" Gendry, laughing with the rest of them, watched as a mug of mead found itself thrust into Grey Worm's shaking hands from an unknown person. The liquor was flowing freely, and many a toast to the King and Queen had been raised thanks to such. Sipping at the liquid, Grey Worm blanched. "How can you like taste?" Disgust exacerbated his accent.

"A life without wine is not a proper life," Tyrion mused. "You'll get used to the taste, keep drinking." Shrugging, the Unsullied commander took another swig.

"So fierce on the battlefield and still so much like a fucking virgin," Tormund chortled at his analogy. "The cold north of the Wall! Now that's one that'll freeze your prick off."

"Been there," chuckled Robb. "Worse than Winterfell." He downed the remainder of his mug.

"A southerner with sense." Several pairs of puzzled eyes stared at Tormund. "Anyone living south of the fucking wall is a southerner to me." He poured himself another cup, so drunk that half the liquid spilled around him. "Anyway, all the furs in the world couldn't keep out the cold. Walking helps. Fightin's better. Fuckin's the best help." He grinned, obviously tipsy. "Sometimes…" A hiccup rocked his chest. "Sometimes there's no woman around to sheath your cock into… or your tongue." They all laughed when Grey Worm's eyes flickered to Missandei, enjoying herself talking to Roslin Tully and Shae.

Tyrion nearly fell out of his chair. "Oh, one of the worst problems in the world. Not having a warm cunt nearby. So how did you deal with that?"

"Well, we made due." Looking over at Gendry, eyes locking, Tormund smirked.

Shuddering, Gendry opened his mouth to speak when the ginger wildling simply collapsed onto the ground. Black out drunk. There was silence. "Been there, done that," Tyrion said, breaking the ice and leading to another round of laughter. The young blacksmith took that opportunity to sneak off while the others yelled for another keg.

Walking through the crowds of revelers, Gendry couldn't help but feel the celebration was starting to taper off into its inevitable conclusion. Knocked out soldiers - usually face deep in a puddle of spilt mead or sour wine - were strewn everywhere, as were the pale fools retching their stomachs in corners. Or not in corners, as did the one that Gendry barely dodged before the vomit landed on his tunic. Those lucky enough to pair with a woman were dashing towards whatever privacy they could find, or not at all. Lowborn and highborn alike finding their victory toasts in the arms of warm bodies. 'Is that Jorah?' The woman was clearly Lady Stark… 'Perhaps he's just helping her inside.' Rolling his eyes, he stepped around another cluster of passed out drunks.

Only for a pair of small, very persistent hands to pull him into a stairwell. "Do not talk, Gendry." Lips crashing into his, Arya felt a quite unfamiliar passion inside her. Perhaps it was the wine. Perhaps it was exhileration from notching another name on her list. Perhaps it was the fact that she was a grown woman for the first time Gendry got into harm's way. Whatever it was, she wanted him desperately. "I have," she mumbled in between kisses. "Furs set up at the top of the tower. Take me there." Arya yelped as her man lifted her, kissing her yet again as her legs wrapped around him.

Afterwords, Arya couldn't help but stretching languidly under the furs. Freezing around them, underneath the shared body heat made them nice and toasty. "Oh Gods, that was amazing."

"Now I'm completely sure you are a woman, and a fair maiden at that… ow!" He rubbed his pec, still smarting from where Arya smacked it. "Betrothed and still hitting me?"

Arya scowled at him. "I may be a woman, but I am not a 'fair lady' or maiden or whatever. I don't care if we're married for thirty years…" Abruptly feeling his lips on hers, Arya stopped talking and melted into the kiss. "You are such a cunt," she laughed, slightly lightheaded. "But I love you regardless."

Gendry smiled. "Same." Sighing, he fell back, staring at the stars. "I only wish I was good enough. A baseborn bastard is no choice for at highborn woman."

Suppressing the temptation to hit him again, Arya gripped his chin and forced him to look at her. "Firstly, I'd marry you even if you were the bastard son of a manure shoveler. Second…" A smile curled on her face. "Jon is planning on legitimizing you." Her smile grew wider at the shock on his face.

"Make way for the Hand!" The bell at the inner gate rang twice, signalling Lord Lannister's return.

Inside the royal solar, Joffrey paced back and forth. "Do not be afraid, all Highest." Dolgren Hill did his best to comfort his sovereign - item two in the brown-nosing playbook after flattery. "You must stand up to him."

"Grandfather is not in charge here, I am!" he snarled, but continued to pace. If he ruled over Tywin, then why was he shaking so.

"Your grandfather will know about Riverrun, all Highest," Cersei pointed out, not even looking at her son. He disgusted her more and more.

Joffrey sneered. "I will bring it under control myself, and I command you to not tell anyone!" He gestured to both Qyburn and the High Sparrow, also present to greet their Lord Hand's return from Dorne. "No one!"

Quiet descended over the room as the door swung open. Shining plate armor swaddling his red/gold tunic, the still battle-ready form of Tywin Lannister strode into the room. He offered no greetings, spared glances at no one - simply proceeded till he was directly in front of his grandson. "What news of the North?"

Sensing his ruler's stare boring into his back, Qyburn cleared his throat. "No word has arrived today, Lord Hand. We've dispatched ravens to Ser Jaime this morning." Such was true - nothing had come in that day. So far.

"Interesting," Lord Tywin remarked, his tone polite to the point of mockery. Cersei, Qyburn, and the High Sparrow, seated by the table in the center and standing to either side of the Hand respectively, made sure to give him a wide berth and slink into the shadows. Tywin, stepping closer to his grandson, ignored them and focused his piercing eyes on the face beneath the shroud. "I heard the word in Dorne, where I was fighting to maintain your Kingdom. Word that over half our Northern Army has been… annihilated." And so he knew - a forlorn hope that the man that destroyed Castamere and made Dorne howl would be ignorant of just how massive the defeat at Riverrun had been. "Your uncle missing for a week, thousands of your brother's bannermen defecting, and Daenerys Targaryen's dragons all alive and well." He chuckled darkly. "All while nearly twenty-five thousand men were lost."

Joffrey, arrogance not leaving his posture at the head of the room, snorted derisively. "Nothing but peasants and street scum, grandfather. I've decreed conscriptions to be made. That'll plump up the ranks against the bastard and his whore."

Opening his mouth to retort, Tywin stopped as the door burst open. "All Highest," Meryn Trant stated, face ashen. A basket was propped in the crook of his arm.

"I told you I wasn't to be disturbed by the likes of you!" snarled Joffrey.

"Urgent dispatch from Lord Tarly at Harrenhal and a… gift from Riverrun, all Highest." Trant's face was white as a ghost.

Muttered obscenities barely audible through the gossamer shroud, Joffrey waved him in. "Give it to the woman," he ordered dismissively, "and put the basket here." Trant did as ordered, handing the dispatch to Cersei, who stood to take it. "Leave us."

One could easily see the fearful relief that washed over Trant. "Thank you, sire." He hurried out, shutting the door.

Cersei parsed through the letter. She was never the best reader, and Randyll Tarly apparently didn't bother to learn the finer points of penmanship. The message became apparent soon enough, ice filling her veins. "The Dothraki have, um, sacked Harrenhal."

Tywin blinked. "What?"

"The Dothraki have sacked Harrenhal!" Her father snatching the dispatch from her fingers, Cersei ran her hand through her hair in fear. Absentmindedly flicking open the leather flap that covered the 'gift,' bile spewed up to fill her mouth as she collapsed back into the chair with a gasp - blood leaving her face and eyes haunted.

Peering down at the contents of the basket, Tywin reached down and gingerly scooped up the blackened, ash-coated skull within. Balanced on the top was a signet ring. The intricate lion carving only worn by one - Tygett Lannister. Qyburn pursed his lips, the High Sparrow prayed silently, and even Joffrey seemed taken aback from within his veil. Not one vicious, haughty word even murmured from his lips. Dropping the skull, Tywin inspected the single leaf of parchment within.

To the Usurper Joffrey Baratheon and Lord Tywin Lannister, the North Remembers. Winter has come, and it brings fire and blood for House Lannister and the Chimera for their crimes upon the people. Let this be a warning.

Jaehaerys of House Targaryen-Stark, Third of his Name

Daenerys of House Targaryen-Stark, First of her Name

"My Gods. Your own brother." Dolgren Hill wore an expression of half-disgust, half-incredulity upon his face. His genuineness was quite warm - only the most observant and skilled could tell they were mere crocodile tears. "What beast could do such a thing?"

"A dragon and a wolf, it seems," Qyburn mused dryly.

Expression grim, feeling every bit of his over six decades upon the earth, Tywin began to pace around the table. "If they can capture Harrenhal, then they can be at King's Landing within the fortnight." Divining the meaning of the names and titles - he knew that the Stark bastard was not named 'Jaehaerys,' apparently now married to the Targaryen Bitch - could be reserved for another time.

Hill came forward, close to Tywin. "We will stop them. The Whore and her bastard lover won't stand a chance."

Closing his eyes, Tywin exhaled in muted fury. "Who is this person who approaches me as though I granted him permission?"

Watching Hill step back with a worried set of the jaw, Cersei shook her head with a barely suppressed smirk. Much as the situation was dire, she knew what was likely to come and took a special schadenfreude in it. "I have made, Dolgren Hill my Chief Military Advisor," she heard her son say.

"Is he qualified?"

It was Hill's turn to smirk pridefully. "I am skilled in the arts of war, diplomacy, and battlefield tactics, Lord Hand."

"Oh are you?" Tywin's stare now bore down on the highborn bastard. "Tell me." Wrapping an arm around Hill's shoulder, the Hand of the King walked with him across the room. "What advice would you offer on the present… SITUATION!"

Before anyone could react, Tywin grabbed Hill by the scruff of his tunic and pitched him out the window. Panicked screams were heard… followed by a sickening crunch of bone. Ducking his head for but a moment out into the open air, the Lord of Casterly Rock clicked felt satisfied at the broken corpse lying on the stone floor of the garden, goldcloaks racing over to inspect the bloody remains.

Those assembled still in shock over what happened, Tywin jerked his steel-gloved hand and slammed his fist into Joffrey's face. The Chimera himself went sprawling on the ground, crying out in pain. "Joffrey!" Motherly instinct taken over, Cersei made to go to him but was thrown back in her chair by a backhanded slap from her father.

"Get in your chair and stay there, woman," hissed Tywin, adding a fiery gaze at the two other men within the room. Neither Qyburn or the High Sparrow said anything, much to their advantage. Calmly stepping over to where his grandson laid moaning on the floor, Tywin swung his foot into his stomach, earning another cry and strangled gasp of the air forced out of his lungs. A second kick followed for good measure and Tywin collapsed into his own chair, stare zeroing in on the basket containing his brother's skull.

"I must offer a truce," he mused to no one in particular, stifling a cough that threatened to hack up from his lungs. "Par the Stark bastard off, buy some time." so many pieces were clicking in his mind, but they would take weeks and thanks to Joffrey's idiocy in military matters they did not have weeks. "But who to send? Not I." He chortled, sending him back into a fit of coughs. "Seven hells…" Tywin's hand flew to his mouth, trying to stem the tide. "If I allow myself to fall under the sword of that murderer, it might be my charred skull, in a basket. And not my… impetuous grandson…" He spared a glance to the moaning, crying form of the mighty God-King, blood coating his shroud as Joffrey curled in a fetal position from the pain. "One word out of his mouth and half our allies will be under the Dragon Queen's banner by the next day... But who to send?" Another cough felt like his lungs were stoking a fire. "Who…?"

Looking at the ceiling, he ultimately settled on one, golden hair glinting from the light.

"Come on you lazy sack of shit!" None of the Second Sons - individualistic in dress and arrogant in swagger - carried whips, but in every other manner acted the part of the Wise Masters perfectly. "Move your brown asses!" The carts rocked as the crates of weapons and sacks of grain were lifted by the freedmen and hauled to the waiting ships. They all worked for wages now, but the patient observer saw nothing much had changed now that the Queen had sailed across the sea.

Brushing past the observer as if he wasn't even there, which in all honesty he wasn't, the bearded man had triple the hubris of any of the other sellswords. It wasn't long before the observer knew why - the man was a familiar face. "Looking at these people, it's no wonder the Wise Masters kept them on a short leash." The words were muttered, but he heard them all the same.

"Useless fucks," his companion commented. "Faster!" The barking got the roustabouts to move just a bit quicker, if only to avoid more abuse.

Dust kicked up into clouds by the shifting feet, the new figure that approached the others was covered in it. "Naharis, what is the meaning of all of this?"

The sellsword - Naharis - shrugged. "Transfer of my forces to Westeros, Mossador. Our armies there are in need of reinforcements."

"And how do you possibly know that?" said another man, dressed far more well-off. Every inch a Wise Master, and a wealthy one at that. "The Queen's orders were for you to stay here. Yunkai and Astapor have already rejected our authority and Volantis is allying with them! We need the Second Sons here!"

"Orders from the Queen herself." Naharis handed the two men a dispatch with the Targaryen seal. "There was a major setback, zo Loraq. The Stark bastard suffered a large defeat and lost much of his army."

'No they haven't.' The observer, who had just been at Riverrun and knew better, wanted to shout it - but it was futile. Soldiers continued to embark on the ships, and freedmen continued to load them… the lie and deception unchallenged with the truth thousands of miles away.

Eyes opening, Bran Stark found himself staring at the ceiling of his bedroom. Shadows danced in the orange glow of candlelight. Another secret vision - another unauthorized use of shade of the evening. But one that brought him ever closer to uncovering the web of intrigue that threatened to surround and constrict Jon and Daenerys like a python.

"Bran…" He looked to his right to see the expectant, worried face of Meera. Her eyes flickered with worry - then relief. "Thank Gods you're fine."

"Looks like we can safely say that he can manage the correct dosage," said Ply Qyree, youthful expressions belying his exuberance. "What did you see, Bran?"

He looked back at the shapes imposed on the ceiling. "More and more." Perhaps they needed to leave Qarth after all.