76 The Queenshield

Daenerys woke to a beam of sunlight shining right in her eyes. Quickly banishing all notions of going back to sleep, she soon noticed the presence of her husband - his arms wrapped her snugly, her front flush against his. Breath hot on her neck. Even in his sleep Jon couldn't bear to let her go. Not that Dany minded anyhow.

Gazing upon him, strong jaw relaxed in sleep and muscled chest rising and falling, a sudden, overwhelming hunger overcame Dany. The baby growing inside her drove her arousal to new heights, something unfamiliar but oh so good now that Jon was close by her side. All other thoughts were cast aside as she forcefully gripped his shoulders and sucked on his neck.

Jon's eyes flew open, only to close as he groaned. "Gods, Dany." He felt a soft hand wrap around his length, bucking his hips into her grip. "We have a meeting… you're so fucking insatiable."

"Irresistible and delicious, my Emperor." She soothed her love bite on his shoulder with her tongue. "Your fault."

Growling in a way that made her shudder - a mix between a wolf and a hungry Rhaegal - Jon forcefully shoved his tongue into Dany's mouth. He swallowed her moans as he slipped inside her in one fluid motion.

She screamed into his mouth. Gods, he knew just how to send her into a lust-filled frenzy. Perfectly tuned to each other's bodies. Dragon and dragonwolf, the former writhing in pleasure as the latter started pounding away. One day soon the belly swelled with child would prevent this position, but for now Daenerys dug her nails into Jon's back, both tumbling over the edge.

"Your Highness." Missandei entered without a thought, practically skipping. Leftover euphoria from her own sensual night with her paramour left the handmaiden absentminded, and finding her Empress wrapped around her own paramour in flagrante delicto knocked her out of it. "Oh," a bright blush adorned her cheeks.

Still normally prudish, enough of his wife rubbed off on him to treat the matter nonchalantly. "A knock…" He fought to catch his breath. "Would have sufficed, Missandei." Dany buried her face in his neck, giggling."

Missandei fought a smirk herself. "Apologies, Emperor." She turned, allowing him a little privacy. From glimpses, she knew he was quite well endowed, but her Empress was quite jealous and she wouldn't dare to poke the dragon.

Jon pushed off the covers, sliding out of bed and grabbing his trousers. "I'll see you in the council chamber, my dragon." He kissed her. Today would be a long day.

Time made no difference to Jaime Lannister anymore. Not down here in the dungeons. There was no sunlight, no clock, no sense of routine, and vengeful guards thrust his meals through a slit in the door. No, they didn't beat or rape their captives as was common in Joffrey's time, but the stone-faced Unsullied showed dislike for all that stood against their beloved Mhysa and Vrysa.

Jaime didn't care. It brought him face to face with his thoughts. The most gut-wrenching - of killing the Mad King. Of killing Cersei, the woman he had loved. For pushing Bran Stark from the tower. That should have sealed his death warrant, but here he was being left to rot instead. Would he be tried? At least if he did, he had one good act on his conscience by saving the Empress. "Rhaegar's sister."

He could hear the other prisoners, but did not talk to them. The Unsullied guards considered him an enemy, and his former side thought him a traitor. "I can't win," he muttered. Even with the extra comforts someone - probably Tyrion - granted him, most of his days here were spent with a small ball. Throwing it up in the air and catching it one handed.

"Well well…" The sneering voice of a man broken. Tywin Lannister. "If it isn't my loving son daring to visit his father's lowly prison cell."

"This is new." For the collection of half a dozen prisoners housed here, the only people that dared to visit were the guards. Setting the ball down, he hauled himself upright on the bed. Listening.

"You're lucky the Emperor only took your leg." Tyrion was angry, but also sad. Jaime understood.

Tywin hissed. "Spare me. You know I'm a dead man. For killing the precious Targaryen babies," the last was a sneer. Silence from Tyrion. "You've gotten what you've always wanted haven't you? You killed your mother. Killed your sister. Now killing me."

"Come on, 'alf man." Ser Bronn. "He ain't worth it." Boots clipped on the stone floor until keys jingled in the lock of Jaime's cell. He moved to sit on his bed as it opened and Tyrion and Bronn stepped in. "You look like shit."

Jaime snorted. "It's good to see you, Ser Bronn. I heard you finally decided on a highborn lady."

"Aye. Gettin' me a castle too." The former sellsword had earned his smugness.

"And all of Dorne, if my sources are correct." The knight looked at his brother. "Tyrion. It's been a while."

"Yes it has," Tyrion replied. He shuffled his feet awkwardly. "Well… is this any way to greet your brother?" Silent for a moment, Jaime smiled and crouched, letting Tyrion give him a brotherly hug. "Get up, you have places to be."

"And where would those places be, brother?"

It was Ser Bronn who responded. "Emp and Lady Emp want to see you." Jaime's face fell. "Deciding your fate without a trial. It's been nice knowing you, Kingslayer."

Tyrion took in the resigned look on Jaime's face. "It will be alright, brother. I will plead your case to them." From his tone, Jaime could tell Tyrion was not as confident as his words suggested. 'Well, if this is my time, so be it.'

And that was how he stood unmoving in the small council chamber. Ramrod straight as a proper Kingsguard should, Jaime kept his eyes locked on the Dragon Empress. Sansa Stark sat to one side, the mocha-skinned handmaiden standing on the other. Tyrion watched from the far end of the table, while the grim Unsullied commander watched Jaime suspiciously - hand gripping the hilt of his short sword. Just in case.

"All my life," the Dragon Empress began. She looked beautiful, skin glowing in her black dress with red trim, complimenting her pregnant figure. Her expression was ice, however, voice cold. As if the moments of the last twenty-four hours of Joffrey's reign had never happened. "My brother would tell me stories. Tales of the man that murdered our father. That stuck a blade in his back - he would often rant about what he would do to that man."

"Are you asking me to apologize for that?" Jaime said stoically. "Because I won't. I'm not proud, but I did what had to be done."

"Of this I have no doubt. My father was a madman, and so was my brother by the end." Her face was unreadable, sipping at a glass of water. "That doesn't by itself discount his portrayal of you, the great Kingslayer, Jaime Lannister." Having heard the name so many times, Jaime was immune to the taunts - so why did it, on Daenerys' lips, make him cringe with shame? What perplexes me is what kind of man you are."

Tyrion took the moment to stand. "Your Highness. I know my brother…"

"Like you knew your father? Yet you still didn't predict his attack at the God's Eye, or Dragonstone." Losing that had been a disaster. Mining would be started forthwith, but the delay cost them plenty.

Taking a deep breath, Tyrion continued. "He tried to rescue you, knowing full well what would happen to him if Joffrey found out. He killed… our sister to save you. Why would he do that if he was the man your brother portrayed him as?"

The Empress leaned back, crossing her arms. "I don't know. He could be sincere, or yet he could be plotting some form of betrayal. I can't be sure at this moment."

"I am reluctant to trust him," Sansa said, breaking her silence. Her dress was as black as Daenerys', but unlike the jewelry that adorned the Empress, all she had was a silver hair clip and the pin of the Hand. Ice blue eyes steeled at Jaime. "Grateful as I am for your conduct on the Day of Revolution, you were an enemy to my family since Robert's Rebellion." Dany fought a smile at Sansa's lumping in House Targaryen into her family. "You attacked my father in the streets. Tried to kill Daenerys on the battlefield of Riverrun. Assisted yout family to destroy my House. Any person who would follow that monster Joffrey is suspect to me."

"Do you think I wanted to follow Joffrey? After seeing what he became?"

Dany cocked her head. "He was your son, was he not? Don't try to deny it - it insults my intelligence." Jaime didn't respond. He really didn't need to. "Ser Bronn spoke in favor of you, as did Lady Brienne. I am sure the northern and Riverlands houses would want your head on a spike, but my family has demurred on such calls after your recent actions." She leaned forward. "Tell me, should I trust your behavior now, or from before?"

"If you are asking me to beg for my life, I won't." Jaime chuckled dryly. "I don't want to die, I don't, but I will not beg. During the course of the war, I fought for my family and my House, just as zealous as anyone here. I won't apologize for it."

"The things we do for love." Jaime went white at the sudden, monotone voice. Nearly shocked out of his skin, he finally noticed the crippled boy in the wheelchair, nestled in the corner. Bran looked at him… blankly. No sign of hate or anger. For the life of him, Jaime did not know what to think.

Daenerys looked straight into Jaime's eyes. "Why did you do it, then? Why did you betray your family to save Sansa and I. Twice?" For the first time, her voice broke slightly. Curious and… wanting. Wanting to believe the man that saved her and her sister wasn't evil.

Sighing, Jaime felt the years of exhaustion upon him. "I should say that it is because I fight for the living, but that is only the reason I sent Ser Bronn to you." Daenerys blinked, while Sansa furrowed her brows in confusion. "The truth…" He cast his eyes upon a figure leaning against the window, gazing out at the expanse of the city. "I couldn't let Rhaegar down. I… promised him that I would protect his family as devotedly as Arthur Dayne. I couldn't then, so I did it now." A slight tear fell from his lid. "And damn me to hell for turning against my family, but I regret nothing."

Quiet until now, Jon had allowed his wife and sister - both the women who the Kingslayer had risked his life to protect - to conduct the interrogation. They were more likely to expose his true core, but with the recent revelation Jon sensed his turn had come. Shifting his gaze from the outside to the man in front of the ad hoc tribunal, the mid-afternoon light shone against his silhouette like he was glowing. "You said you swore to my father." Interrogating, but also his voice carried a hint of emotion. He wanted to know all he could. "Why does it matter to you?"

Jaime gulped. The Emperor was clearly Rhaegar's son. Looks a copy of a Stark, but Rhaegar's nonetheless. "He was the kind of leader I had dreamed of serving. My father was cold, the Mad King vicious, Robert an oaf, and Joffrey… evil. With him, I had a purpose and that purpose was right."

"And yet you still fought my family."

"My House was the last hope of my life meaning anything other than serving scum, at least until Lady Brienne showed me differently while journeying to King's Landing. For years I thought about what purpose that was, and seeing that corpse rise from the dead. Seeing the only hope to stop it being hunted like animals by… my own son. I knew what I had to do… to uphold my oath to Rhaegar."

"So what do you wish to be done to you?" Sansa's voice lost some of it's edge, but was still hard. "What fate do you think you deserve?"

For years, Jaime had heard propaganda droned out by Robert and Joffrey - that Daenerys Targaryen was a cross between a frightened little girl over her head and a bloodthirsty vampire ready to butcher tens of thousands at the mere snap of a finger. The woman in front of him was neither. Undoubtedly decisive when needed to be - pure fire and blood - but also human. Grounded with a kind heart. "I stand here, ready to fight for the living. Ready to serve under any capacity, be it as a Lord or as a mere bannerman." Clicking his heels, he shifted back to Daenerys. "But if you wish to kill me now, so be it."

Eying Jaime, then Tyrion, then back to Jaime, Jon leaned in to Daenerys. They had a hushed conversation, which the Dragon Empress shared with Sansa. All Jaime could make out was an "Agreed," from the Hand to the Emperor. Which could mean anything.

"Lord Lannister," Jon began. "We need every man we can get to fight the Army of the Dead. You fought honorably at the head of the Lannister army at the Battle of Riverrun." That it was directly against the Imperial couple, neither felt the need to point out. "Ser Barristan told me stories about you as a youth. About how honorable he felt you were. From what I've seen, and have been told by Bronn, Brienne, and Tyrion, I feel you are what Barristan told me. Therefore, I am appointing you to lead the initial detachment to the Wall."

Jaime blinked. For the second time today, he was completely floored.

"You will serve under Lord Commander Eddison Tollett, but as the senior Imperial commander there." Sansa had softened, but was no less decisive. A far cry from the girl brought to King's Landing to marry Joffrey. "We do not yet trust you with your Lordship by birthright in the Realms of Men."

"I understand, my Lady," he stated.

"Your son, Tommen, he is no longer Lord of Storm's End." Both Jon and Sansa let Daenerys finish it. "However, I will allow you to formally adopt him as heir to Casterly Rock, as I am told he is a sweet boy. But the Westerlands will be held in regency until you prove yourself at the Wall." Jaime merely nodded, unbelieving of his good fortune. "Plus, you must bend the knee." He complied, and Dany rose to her feet. "Do you so swear, that you will pledge your strength, loyalty, and honor to the Targaryen Empire and House Targaryen-Stark?"

"I so swear, your Highness."

Finally, Daenerys allowed her gratitude to show. "Rise, Queenshield."

For the first time in decades, Ser Jaime Lannister - Kingslayer no more - felt true pride surge through him.

"A little bird told me that Jaime Lannister was given an actual military command today." Soft-orange light bathing the otherwise dark hallway, Sansa looked up at the much taller Petyr Baelish with a cocked brow. He gave her a ghost of a grin. "My sources aren't as vast as the Spider's, but I do alright."

Snorting, Sansa continued down the corridor. "Well your 'little bird' is correct. Ser Jaime is in charge of the first military expedition to the Wall." Littlefinger had popped into her office in the Hand's Tower just as she was getting ready to leave, and offered to escort her to the quarters of the Imperial family. The only bedroom in the tower was Tyrion's, so Sansa accepted. "A means to test his loyalty."

"Smart. Always wise to test a defector." His face was unreadable, but his words always dripped with subtext. Subtext only one trained in reading it could grasp - though perhaps that was what Littlefinger intended. No one had ever truly unmasked his true thoughts. "The word of a traitor always creates more doubt than the word of an enemy."

"Ser Jaime saved my life, and that of my sister."

"I presume to remember doing the same, with the Knights of the Vale." Not an accusation, just a statement.

To which Sansa replied with a statement of her own. "You wish for your loyalty to be tested."

Littlefinger chuckled. "I presume to tell you nothing. Only offer my services as one who knows all the dirty secrets within these walls. Ones useful for tribunals to discuss the guilt of Joffrey's confidants, among others."

'So he wants Master of Laws,' Sansa thought. 'Interesting.' "I shall relay your qualifications to His Majesty." They had reached the Imperial wing. "Remember what you promised me, Lord Baelish."

"That I would flush out the Lannister Vipers one by one." The words he had written long before were etched into his mind. He bowed. "Night, my Lady."

Still processing the conversation, the goings and comings with the true snake of King's Landing. He had come to her aid time and time again, but many times she simply wished Jon or Arya would just behead him or slit his throat. He had sold her to Ramsay. Unknowingly… possible, but Sansa doubted it.

Opening the door to her chambers, she was greeted by a figure. As Sansa yelped, she realized it was Podrick. "Well, good evening to you," he quipped.

Sansa hit him on the chest. "Don't do that again." Inhaling to calm her beating heart, she finally looked him over. "Despite that, I'm glad you're here." She leaned up and kissed his lips chastely.

"I couldn't disobey an order from the Hand of the Emperor." He nevertheless pulled away. "I still don't understand why you had to summon me. We didn't have a problem last night…"

"I love you." Sansa forced the words out abruptly, not willing to trust herself with a delay. "I wanted to tell you for weeks, but…" Her captivity precluded that.

He looked shocked, emotions racing across his gaze. "Is it just because you were scared of dying…"

Soft hands grasped his. "Please don't... don't overthink this. I. Love. You." Each word was punctuated with a poke of the chest. "I hate that it took getting kidnapped to make me realize it, but I shouldn't let ghosts keep me from what I want." Sansa pulled him into her arms, resting his head on her shoulder and stroking his back softly. A smile curled on her lips as he returned the embrace.

They stood silently for a few minutes, Podrick enjoying her soft curves. 'Has any man ever held her like this?' No woman Podrick had ever been with could ever compare. He pulled away and was met by azure blue. She gazed back at him, in awe.

Her look seemed to affect him. Sansa could feel… him, against her hip. Forming a sultry smirk of her own, Sana deftly unfastened the ties of his tunic. "It would appear you enjoy my presence, Ser Payne." It felt… liberating to flirt with him. Like each word banished the dark memories of years before. The Hand of the Emperor leaned forward enough for her breath to tickle his ear. "You are wearing too many clothes."

A groan left Podrick. "You are such a tease."

"Am I?" Feeling uncharacteristically playfull, she gently nibbled on his earlobe. "Why would you say that?"

Unable to hold himself any longer, Podrick hungrily attacked her lips. Their mouths opened immediately, insatiable lust of two youths in love pouring out in a clash of teeth and tongue. The redhead was uninhibited tonight. Desiring the feeling of ecstasy. Desiring to banish Ramsay forever. Desiring the young Knight pushing her to the bed, his shirt tugged off and her dress pooling to the ground.

Soon, he was hovering over her, both of them naked. "I think you have a clue, San."

Her eyes widened for a split-second at his nickname for her. Sansa smiled. She liked it, liked the sound of it on his lips. Running hands down her sides soon shifted the mood. "Perhaps I do." She cupped his cheek. "Gods, I want you." Pulling him down, they kissed again.

Resting flush against her, the bruising kiss showed no hesitation on Podrick's part either. Moans were muffled in each other's mouths as he slipped inside her, losing themselves in their shared pleasure.

"Stop squirming," Missandei insisted, enjoying the novelty of working with dark brown locks instead of silver.

Arya gritted her teeth, disgusted at herself. "I would if you cut this girly torture chamber short." Training from the faceless men and she was being subjugated by mere hairstyling. "Oww, fuck!" Somewhere Syrio Forel was laughing at her.

"Perhaps you shouldn't have kept your hair in such a tangled mess," Sansa chided, assisting Missandei in drawing a proper - if simple - northern style. "Sit still or you'll be wearing a dress by order of the Hand."

"I hate you," Arya hissed, but complied. The indignity of it all.

Sansa ran the comb through particularly tangled locks, resulting in further profanities. "Oops," she apologized, smirking at Arya's angry look. "Let your sister fix you up."

"I'd barely let mother 'fix me up,'" Arya sneered. Catelyn was still held up with the army, dealing with the newly sworn lords. She'd have likely come, but Arya insisted on having this ceremony over and done with. "The idiot is lucky I love him."

Unable to hold back her giggles, Daenerys withstood the Wild Wolf's fury. "You're already allowed to wear breeches and have Needle clipped to your belt. I think a little work on your hair is perfectly reasonable for your wedding." Unintelligible grumbles came from the Stark daughter, but she endured the rest without incident.

The door opened a crack. "May I come in?"

"You may, sire," Missandei answered, smoothing the pleats on her dress.

Jon stepped through the doorway. Dany licked her lips, finding him delectable in his black cuirass, hair let down. She so desired to get him alone, but it was Arya's night. "She looks, beautiful, doesn't she?"

"Aye, she does." Arya couldn't help blushing slightly. "Ready, sister?"

There was no hesitation in her voice. "So ready."

The Godswood at King's Landing had barely been maintained during peacetime. Once Joffrey was crowned, it descended into pure dilapidation. Overgrown with weeds, part of the weirwood was even starting to die. No one visited, so there was no need.

But in preparation for the wedding, Sansa had ordered the entire holy site restored. It wasn't on par to those in the North, but passable. Considering the increase in traffic from pious northern bannermen and curious smallfolk disenchanted with the post-Joffrey Faith of the Seven, such was a welcome development.

"Hard to believe Arya's actually getting married," Robb mused, leaning against the sacred tree. He glanced at his wife, beside him. "I wish father was here. Jon should be giving away his daughter, not filling his shoes."

Balancing little Jon Stark in her arms, the little boy wrapped tight in his blankets and snoring softly, Margaery leaned over to kiss her husband's cheek. "I know you miss him. Everyone says he was the most honorable man there is. Letting everyone think his nephew was… just to protect him?" Few men in the Empire would exhibit such nobility.

Robb hung his head. As Warden of the North, he was presiding over the ceremony. Maester Aemon presided over his and Jon's weddings, but the old man could only travel to King's Landing slowly - bringing the prince and princess with him. "He was a great man. I try to follow his stead… but…"

Smiling, Margaery gently took his hand and placed it on their child. "He would be proud of you, of the entire family."

Only a smattering of people milled underneath the weirwood tree. Deliberately kept small and simply at the request of the bride - no one willing to challenge the woman that killed the Chimera - few individuals not a Stark or the paramour of a Stark were present. As the early evening sunset cast a decreasing low light upon the southern ground, it had a rather quaint charm to it. Hopefully, the fifth of the Stark weddings would turn out as the last two, rather than the two preceding.

"I've been to one of these before, Podrick," Tyrion stated to his former squire. He didn't know whether he was here as the Hand, or because Sansa liked Shae and he came with her. "Northern ceremonies end quickly. You'll be with your lady love soon."

Despite being a battle-hardened veteran of countless battles, the crimson blush on his cheeks proved he was still the same Podrick Payne. "I'm not…"

Tyrion laughed. "Please, I was a lovestruck youngster as well once. I know the signs. Plus it's exactly like the groom there." He pointed to Gendry, who had a manic excitement about him, though likely hiding nervousness. The poor lad was a complete orphan, the only blood relative present being the Lady Shireen. Though getting closer over the last several months, they were still strangers. "Relax, Lord Baratheon," the Imp called out. "If you're nervous about the wedding night, this man can give you tips." Gendry blinked confusion, while Podrick looked like he wanted to melt into the ground.

"Shut up, Tyrion," Robb growled. "That's my sister." He paled as more came to him. "And he's with my other sister… oh gods." All non-Starks enjoyed his mortification.

The arrival of Missandei heralded the start of the ceremony. First came Sansa, and then Daenerys, each carrying two bouquets of winter roses. The favorite of Lyanna Stark-Targaryen, long considered the elder doppelganger of the bride. They rested both on either side of the weirwood, Dany taking her place of honor at the center of the grove while Sansa settled next to Podrick, inconspicuously weaving her hand in his.

Lastly, the woman of the hour. Darkness banished by only a barely waning moon and flickering lanterns, Arya felt butterflies fluttering away the determination within her. It was true, she did look radiant even in her breeches, makeup and hair simple but causing her face to practically glow. The snow white cloak was feminine, styled wool flowing behind her. But inside, she was a near wreck. "Calm down, sister." Jon's familiar voice grounded her, but all the training of Syrio Forel and Jaqen H'ghar flew right out the window upon spotting the strong jaw and warm eyes of her betrothed waiting by the weirwood.

Trying not to tremble, Arya fell into place across from Gendry. It took all her energy to steel herself, not willing to look up and likely fall apart. 'Breathe, Arya. Breathe.'

"Who comes before the Old Gods tonight?"

"I," Arya croaked, clearing her throat to several worried murmurs. "Arya of House Stark, a woman grown and true of birth. I come to wed in presence of the Gods." It surprised her that she managed to get through all of it without collapsing.

"And who gives her away?"

Jon leaned down to kiss his sister on the head. "This is what you want," he whispered. "I, Jon of House Targaryen. Brother of the bride." Quietly, he stepped beside Dany.

"And who come to wed her?"

"I, Gendry of House Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End."

Robb, trying not to show his apprehension at Arya's hesitance, spoke loudly. "Arya of House Stark, do you take this man?"

Blinking, a bead of sweat trickling from her forehead down her cheek, Arya looked up at the far taller man she was about to marry. 'To marry…' To become Lady Baratheon. All culminating in this moment, the reality came crashing upon her right as she was to make a decision. To choose a life that she so desired from childhood or a life her choices brought her too.

Bated breaths of the pack were let out in relief when a wry, awkward smile curled on her lips. "I… take this man." Arya didn't care about her childhood wish. She wanted this man. He accepted her for who she was, and he wanted him.

"Gendry of House Baratheon, do you take this woman?"

Sporting a rare, ecstatic demeanor, Gendry nodded. "I take this woman." Jon heard Arya's breath hitch, ever so slightly. In her own little… Arya way, this was comparable to a teenage Sansa swooning over the romantic tales of knights and princes.

Missandei stepped forward, holding the strip of silk. On it was embroidered a wolf at one end and a stag on the other. Robert's wish to join the two houses of Baratheon and Stark in marriage had finally come true, and this time both the desire and the blood were present. Robb gingerly tied the bride and the groom together at the wrist. "In the sight of Gods and men, I bind these souls for eternity." Caution to the wind, Arya pulled her new husband down and crashed their lips together to the clapping of her dear family.

And the watchful eyes of an old foe, hidden among the far-away trees...