16

Bran

Bran was glad that their time in Castle Black was less than a day. They had arrived in the late afternoon and found a host of men from House Reed to meet them and be their escorts at dawn the very next day. Bran had said his farewells and thanks to Edd, or rather Lord Commander Edd now, and was happy to leave.

Meera's health was getting better by the hour now, she could ride steady on horseback and didn't wince every time she needed to move.

Bran got to enjoy a ride in the back of a cart that was cushioned for his comfort and Summer would occasionally hop into it and lay with him, providing a great amount of warmth.

He never had any visits from Bearded Bran while on the road though. The last time was the night he slept at Castle Black. Bearded Bran told him he would be resting his strength for a few days because they had much to see when Bran could use a weirwood's channeling abilities since his power with the sight was not strong enough to do without one yet.

Oddly enough, the thing that captivated Bran's attention was the constant conversation the Children had with the crannogmen but it was in a language Bran did not understand. The Old Tongue. But what did the children have to talk about with the crannogmen that they wouldn't speak to anyone else about?

"There it is," the cart driver said as he slowed down.

Bran pulled himself up to the side of the wagon when it stopped and he peered over to see the hills he used to run and play on, the trees he rode among, and his home. Winterfell. It wasn't the burned mess he last saw when he left it.

"Beautiful," Leaf whispered from under the hood of her cloak, "almost as I remember it."

"You've been here before?" Bran asked, greatly intrigued.

"I planted a weirwood within the walls long ago. I never thought I would get to see it grown. Have your ancestors cared for it properly?"

"I think so. My father told me that a storm broke a branch off when my grandfather Rickard was a boy. He crafted a bow from it that remained with him until it was broken in battle."

Leaf glared at him silently. Was what Bran's grandfather did wrong? Whatever the answer, she didn't say. She kept onward with Summer following next to her and Bran almost felt a wave of excitement rush through his whole body but faded into his legs.

As they got closer and closer, many passersby stopped and looked at the odd band of people and a direwolf on their way to a castle. A child pointed at the wolf and an adult pointed at the Children. Instead of feeling strange or embarrassed, Bran felt excited. Word would soon travel that he was home and he brought many different company.

When they reached the gates, they were halted by two men, one rather large and the other quite skinny, both looking like conscripts instead of volunteers to be guards.

"Halt," the large one said, "erm…" he looked at everyone nervously, eyes darting between the Children, the men of House Reed, and Summer, "and just who might you all be?"

"We are under orders from Lord Howland Reed to escort Brandon Stark home. Here he is," the driver gestured to the back of the cart.

The skinny one had to get on his tiptoes to see Bran looking over at them. "How do we know that's Brandon Stark?"

Meera scoffed. "Well boys, they caught our fib. Even though we brought along a direwolf too this can't possibly be Brandon Stark! Of course it's him, you idiots!"

The two guards looked at each other and did what must have been standing at attention. "Er, yes, of course it is," the big one said, "welcome home, Lord Stark." They parted ways and entered inside the wall with them. The big one with his heavy voice then shouted as loud as he could. "Hear this now! Lord Brandon Stark has returned to Winterfell!"

Brandon felt every set of eyes fall onto his party and then him as the announcement boomed to everyone within earshot. Bran hardly recognized any of the faces, but he could see some that he knew.

A sudden blur of black rushed from around the corner and Summer had darted forward to meet it. It was Shaggydog!

Summer collided with his wolf brother and both of them began wrestling in the snow together, whimpering happily.

"Shaggy!" A familiar but changed voice called from around the corner, "Shaggydog, come back-" Rickon had stopped when he came around the corner and saw the two wolves wrestling together and then his eyes found his own brother.

"Rickon!" Bran called out, overjoyed to see his baby brother still alive when he feared the worst after they parted. If he could have one day for his legs to miraculously start working, it would be now because he wished he could leap out of this cart and run to his brother. But he had to settle for Rickon to come to him.

Rickon had climbed into the cart and fell on Bran, laughing joyfully that they were back together. "I'm so glad you're back!"

"Feels like only yesterday that we parted, doesn't it?" Bran laughed.

"It felt more like three years to me." replied Rickon as he scanned the party. "Where's Hodor? And Jojen?"

Bran went sullen in the moment. "They didn't make it."

Rickon pulled back and nodded, sadness wearing down on his joy. "I would have liked to see them again." While Rickon found Meera and shared his hello with her, Bran suddenly realized just how many people were gathered around. The entire courtyard was filled at this point. Then he picked out a familiar face he was glad to see. He waved over at Osha and she looked just as happy to see him even though she tried to keep that tough look about her.

"Lord Brandon?" A woman questioned as she reached the front of the crowd surrounding the cart.

"I am."

"My name is Barbrey Dustin, Lady of Barrowton" she introduced, "who are these people with you?" She clearly meant the Children of the Forest but Bran decided to introduce all of these people with him. 

"The men serve Lord Reed, and this is his daughter, Meera. And the ones who might look a bit different are the Children of the Forest." Many people gasped and whispered when they looked at the strangeness before them and the truth of legends returned.

"Take us to your weirwood." Leaf said, looking over the people to the few red leaves that sprouted over the buildings from the godswood.

No one had said anything in response, they all just looked at Bran who nodded gingerly and in the first step the Children had taken to find the Godswood, the entire crowd parted ways, either in respectful fascination or fear of the unusual.

"Yes," Bran said, "I need to go too." Instead of being carried by someone and since there wasn't a person present big enough to carry him, managed to get himself on Summer's back and ride his wolf behind the Children. Summer had laid next to the weirwood and he slid off, sitting upright to the tree.

The Children all sat in a circle around the heart tree and began to pray in their ancient tongue. None of the people who greeted them followed except for Rickon and Osha. Meera had awaited at the entrance, barely visible but still watching him.

"What do you plan to do?" Rickon asked with Osha standing close to him.

"To see," Bran said as he went into the sight, leaving everything behind. He didn't know where he was going, only that someone was bringing him somewhere specific.

He stood on the top of a small cliff that overlooked a crevasse of ice and stone. On the opposite side that he was on stood the Night King, alone. Where his army and White Walkers were was another question.

Bran quickly looked around and from out of nowhere, Bearded Bran stood next to him. He looked so different, pale and thinner than last time they met.

"Are you alright?" Bran asked.

"Tired, so tired," Bearded Bran replied.

"I thought you were resting."

"I was. A fortnight would be better if I had such time to spare."

The weather immediately began to turn. The hard winds began to charge and even though they did not affect the two of Bran, they both felt the intensity unlike anything they ever knew. Such force could push back Balerion the Dread even.

The crevasse howled and bits of ice and rock began to blow out from within. Then something that glimmered shot up into the air at great speed. Once it reached its peak, the charging winds stopped and the object fell, twirling down aiming right at the Night King's position. But The Night King didn't move, instead he caught the object right before it would have hit him and it became clear what it was. A sword, but one that was ornate and beautiful… and decorated with dragons.

"Dark Sister," Bearded Bran breathed as though he couldn't believe what he saw. "What is this?"

The two of them met eyes with the Night King who smirked gleefully at them. He lowered the blade to the icy palm of his hand and with a quick swipe, didn't cut through the skin.

Bearded Bran gasped as did Bran. Wasn't Valyrian Steel supposed to kill him?

Then they both heard the most unholy noise they ever had. Laughter from the Night King. It was not that of a man's but a noise so terrible and haunting, it must have been what echoed in the depths of the Seven Hells.

"What does this mean?" Bran asked, shivering as cold captured his senses.

"It means we're fucked." Beared Bran fell to one knee, clenching at his temple. "Jon… needs to know… I… must rest…" Bearded Bran faded from the sight and Bran decided it was also a good time to leave as well.

Bran returned from the sight and found he had clenched his fists since entering the sight. He panted for breath, mind racing with fear and worry.

But he also found that kneeling next to him was Meera. She must have come to him when he was in the sight. Still watching over him as she promised and looking utterly relieved he was back.

"What is it?" Rickon asked. "What happened?"

"A raven, We need to send a raven to Jon, now. Things are worse than we thought."

"How can they be worse?"

Bran took a deep breath, trying to slow his beating heart. "The Night King found Dark Sister and it's his now. He was mocking us."

Osha decided to take on that duty, to pass on the message to whoever it concerned, leaving Rickon and Meera alone with Bran and the Children.

Meera sighed. "Bran," she started, "if things are getting worse, then I think I need to go home with my father's men. Help him fortify Moat Cailin from the north..."

"No," Bran said abruptly, cutting her off. "I… I think you should stay. Please. I want you to." Just thinking of her leaving… it made his heart ache and breathing grow labored.

"Bran, I haven't seen him in so long."

"Then we'll bring him here," Rickon said. "I'll have a raven sent to Moat Cailin and we'll get to meet him too." Rickon and Shaggydog left before Meera could object and she sighed in defeat.

"He'll make a good Lord," Bran said with a proud smirk.

"But you're back," Meera reminded, "aren't you the Lord of Winterfell now?"

Bran took an easy breath. "I don't think I can be anymore, or that I shouldn't be. Not until I know it's safe."

"Safe? What do you mean?"

Bran stiffened as he recalled what Bearded Bran had shown him of that terrible future that could have been. "I'd rather not say, but we'll find out eventually."

Sansa

Growing up as a little girl, it had once been her dream to see the court of King's Landing from beside the throne as the Queen. And now, she had the spot but not the title. Even still, it was an honor to sit beside the best King on the Iron Throne there's been in the last hundred years. Jon was a marvelous image, no one would be foolish enough to contest that. He had new clothes befitting his Targaryen and Stark heritage, his crown framed his strong face rather than act as a decoration like it did for Joffrey and Tommen.

And despite Jon's loss of Longclaw, he still managed to find some northern steel to keep at his side. It was a surprise to Sansa as it was to Jon and Arya when the sword was found in the royal armory. All of them thought that the Lannisters would have tossed away or destroyed everything that remained of the Stark household after the purge. But there it was, gathering dust on a rack. Granted, the blade wasn't Valyrian Steel, but she remembered that her father's sword was just as sharp because of his great care.

Sansa sat in earnest as the dealings of the days went on and did her best to give Jon input on things she could see he was mentally faltering on, if not from inexperience at court then from simply mere exhaustion. And she did have to admit that even though she lost the position of Hand to Davos, he did deserve it. The Onion Knight's wisdom was surprisingly great compared to many and he was honest too.

As of now, the one called Qyburn, Cersei's former lackey, was presenting himself in court to tell of his findings from his study of the wight.

"It is a remarkable magic that gives the body reanimation and is almost akin to the instinct to live. That is to say, referring to any trait as life would be hypocritical." He constantly spoke with withheld excitement in his voice. "The notes you gave myself and Samwell sum up much of what I first assessed and indeed it is nothing more than a puppet with no signs of retaining anything it once had of its former life. But one thing I have noticed is its certain knowledge for death and inflicting it. At certain times, I would loosen the chains enough to give more range of movement to see if it could show desire or direction and upon such it tried to go after the tools of the laboratory. It knows what its purpose is and how to maximize it. To bleed, destroy, and kill. Nothing else."

"But there's nothing you can tell us that may help fight them?" Jon asked.

"If your knowledge is true, then fire, dragonglass, and Valyrian steel are all that is needed. But I do speculate certain possibilities from the notes you gave and ask permission to conduct some experiments involving live subjects."

A small commotion arose from the people of court but Jon silenced them with a raise of his hand. "What kind of subjects?"

"None that are human, but animals instead. A hare, a cat, a dog, and if you also would permit me, three corpses, one that is newly dead, one that is rotting, and one that is near nothing but bone."

Sansa leaned forward. "And what knowledge do you hope to gain from this?"

"The notes say that the Night King can raise any deceased as one of his soldiers. I wish to test the limits of this theory. If your answer is yes, then it can provide many possibilities for battle strategy and tactics. If not, then we shall see from there."

Sansa looked at Jon along with everyone awaiting his answer. "With reluctance, I grant you permission. However, the corpses provided shall not be human either, are we understood?"

"Absolutely, your grace." Qyburn bowed and set off back to his laboratory.

After Qyburn was done, one of Sansa's handpicked staff, Irena was her name, came forward. She worked in the rookery caring for the ravens and delivering messages when they arrived.

"Your grace," she curtsied and held up a scroll, "a message from Dragonstone. I don't think it's one of the mining reports."

Jon held his hand out and beckoned her to bring it forward. She did so but looked absolutely nervous being the center of attention and exhaled greatly when she gave the scroll to Jon. She curtsied fast and then made to get out of the way. She was dutiful but rather shy. But more than those, she was loyal.

While the council and Sansa in particular watched, Jon broke the seal and unfurled it, reading what it said to himself. He took a deep breath and stood from the Iron Throne. "That will be all for today."

The whole of the court exited the throne room but Sansa and Davos remained as did Ser Beric Dondarrion and Ser Jaime Lannister, who now wore the new set of Jon's Kingsguard armor. Gone was the gold color replaced with polished steel decorated with the Targaryen three headed dragon surrounded by a circle of winter roses.

"What is it?" Davos asked.

"Daenerys' fleet was spotted on the horizon. She's probably landed on Dragonstone by now." Jon was phased by this, staring off a thousand feet ahead of him and his mouth gaping open.

Sansa felt strange looking at Jon because she had never seen him like this, as if a ghost was standing before him or he was witnessing a heartbreaking death in front of him. She got the feeling that whatever the reason for this sudden mood was, it might not be for all to know, especially Ser Jaime. "My Lord and Sers," Sansa spoke and the eyes of the Kingsguard and Ser Davos fell to her, "would you kindly allow me to speak with the King privately?"

Davos sighed but nodded. Beric and Jaime followed after him and their chatter echoed in the room. "We have a possible new candidate for the Kingsguard here. I think he's from the North too. House… Ashwood, that's it-" the door closed behind them and it was hauntingly silent.

Sansa approached Jon carefully. She hoped that being close kin that he may find the confidence to confide in her. "Are you worried about the challenge to the throne?" She asked, not thinking of which of many ideas she had to be first.

"No, it's not that…" Jon fell back into the seat of the throne and ran a hand down his face. "She's here," he whispered.

There wasn't apprehension as a King in his voice, but more… haunting. "She's the last of your father's family." He hung his head at that and Sansa's heart broke for him. "I'm sorry. I think I've endured the worst due to father, mother, and Robb perishing, but you know even more loss." She wouldn't continue. "You need not be worried about that. If she isn't a challenger, then she would welcome the chance to know you.

Jon fell back in the throne and looked up at her like he didn't want to talk about it. "Thank you, Sansa. I… I do feel nervous about meeting her as my aunt, but that's not completely it." He pinched the bridge of his nose, looking in torment. "I'm worried that things will go to hell and we'll find ourselves besieged by three dragons, and an army the likes of which Westeros has never faced before." His eyes looked away to the ceiling. "And it'll be because I made the wrong move or said the wrong thing."

"That's not going to happen," Sansa insisted but it made Jon crack a smile.

"You'd be surprised how often it does with me."

"Well how would you treat her? As a welcome family or cautious stranger? She's your aunt but she is also a Queen."

"I get it," Jon said, getting up from the throne. "I'm trying to figure that out but I can't do it in a few seconds. I need some time to understand myself and how to see her."

"Do you want to see her as family? As someone you can welcome with open arms?"

"Is that so bad?" Jon asked.

"I suppose not. But you weren't exactly open armed when we saw each other at Castle Black when you brought Rickon with you. Nor with Arya when we were all reunited. What does that make us?" Truthfully, Sansa had been waiting to ask this very question but the time had never been right until now. She clasped her hands together, nervous for his answer. "Are we just your allies or are we family?"

He looked up, eyes warming. "You're all family to me, Sansa. We just have to do and act differently because of how things are right now. Once it's all over, I'll make sure we can try to make things as close as they used to be for us."

"I wouldn't want things to be like they used to be, not with you sulking in the corner again." She smiled, hoping he would appreciate the little tease and it seemed Jon did from his tiny smirk.

There was pregnant and somewhat awkward silence that hung between them and Jon looked like he was bracing himself for something. What was he thinking about right now? The answer was about to come, she realized, when he looked at her a bit drawn back.

"Sansa," he started, "I have an idea to propose to you, one that could benefit us highly and complete a promise, ironically."

Her brow rose. "What do you mean?" Sansa didn't feel quite… right with how he spoke.

"Father and King Robert had sought out a marriage alliance between a daughter of House Stark and a son of House Baratheon. With Gendry legitimized, we might be able to complete that desire of theirs."

Oh… oh, alright. She smiled softly. "So you've noticed the constant looks between him and Arya, have you?"

Jon swallowed but didn't answer her observation. "I was thinking that... you would do it instead of Arya."

Sansa froze and looked at him… first in disbelief, then with a cold scowl. 

He continued talking as if he didn't notice her reaction. "You know how Arya doesn't want to be a Lady and she's..."

"How could you?" Sasna breathed, voice close to a hiss. "After what you know I have been through, how could you try and throw me into that again?" Her voice rose as did her anger. Jon better come up with a damn good explanation or be leading this into a bad joke.

He did neither, instead trying to justify himself. "Gendry is not Ramsay and he's definitely not Joffrey either. He's a good man. A bit thick at times when he wants to be, but good and I trust him."

"That's it?" Sansa exclaimed angrily, laughing for good measure. "He's a good man and not like the others. That's all you have to say?"

"Well… you met him. Tell me what lies I've said."

Sansa wanted to smack him for his stupidity. "There is no lie. Gendry is a good man from what I've seen, and my eyes are no longer the stupid ones that found Joffrey my beloved Prince." Still Sansa could imagine those dreams albeit less fantastical, though now her princes were dark-haired instead of light. "And not the eyes that found Ramsay possibly acceptable."

"Then I don't see what the problem is?" Sansa could see a lot of her father in Jon at that moment. The ill as well as the good. "Plenty of marriages are made for political reasons."

Her scowl deepened. "Are you this foolish? This callous? The whole realm bends at your feet and you think that your raped cousin, the one raised as your sister, should be packaged off to a marriage she doesn't wish for? To the man desired by her sister, no less!" 

"If you understood how she did-"

"And you magically do?" Sansa almost laughed. "You have visions from death and suddenly you know people better than they know themselves."

"Yes!" Jon shouted and as soon as the word was said, Jon looked like he knew exactly the mistake he made but was too invested to stop. "I saw what happened to all of us, Sansa. I saw what happened with them too."

"Oh please tell," Sansa exaggerated her words, "what fate is in store for them?" A small part of her warned she didn't want to know, but it was too late.

Her cousin sighed. "Nothing. Arya would leave to be alone with whatever shit she wanted to do and Gendry would rule the Stormlands well for a bastard. They would have one night together and that is all they need to misunderstand each other. Gendry would seek her out for marriage while she sought him out just to experience sex for the first time."

Sansa's anger was replaced with incredible doubt. "I don't believe it." Arya was… well, Arya, but she wasn't that callous. Was she? "I know you're the most honest one out of all of us, but that is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard from you."

He stopped, face tightening as he shook his head. "Well it doesn't matter for them anymore," Jon said, "I already spoke with them and they've distanced themselves from each other."

Her eyes widened. "You did what?!" Sansa walked directly up to him. "You have no right to interfere with them however you did. Arya is her own woman and can do as she wants with who she wants. It's her choice!"

"But what about the consequences she leaves behind? Are those hers too or must the ones she involves deal with them instead? You certainly had that way of acting when you allied for Cersei and called father a traitor-"

Jon was cut off by a loud slap to his face that echoed down the hall. Silence hung between them as the mark on Jon's face began to show in bright red.

"How dare you," Sansa said with a scowl.

"I'm sorry," he said with a slight lisp as he rubbed his cheek. "I didn't mean that and I wasn't going to force this. It was just an idea."

Sansa took a deep breath and sighed as she started feeling a sting pulsing in her hand. "You need to work on your people skills, Jon. You're bloody terrible."

"That's why I brought you. No one better to help me."

"I think the ones who need help are Gendry and Arya." Before Jon could say a word, she shushed him. "I know Arya tends to make a mess and get others to clean it up, but she does not leave it just for them, she does what she needs to in the end."

Jon hesitated, but nodded in agreement. "I won't bring up marriage with you again. I promise. It seems so stupid in hindsight…"

"Yes, it was." Seeing his anguish, her ire softened. "Do you know how much Arya would want to kill me for taking the man she fancies?" She laughed under her breath. "You're under a lot of stress, Jon, and I know you didn't mean to hurt me. Seven hells, you pretty much…" Her eyes widened, Sansa wanting to gasp. "You… you saved me." 

Jon looked at her oddly. "Theon's the one who saved you, along with Brienne and Podrick."

"That's not how I meant it. They rescued me but…" For the most formative years of her life when all the childish games were torn away and reality exposed. Her closest role model was Cersei. Not Margaery, not her own mother, but the mad Lannister Queen and the thought of her bitterness and spiteful manipulation for power scared Sansa. Even though her time with Littlefinger had been brief, his words were etched into the back of her mind, whispering so low she could not hear but felt their influence. "I am not Cersei Lannister. I am not Petyr Baelish," she said without knowing why they felt right to say.

Jon smiled at her, and something about this one made her happier than she had been in most days. It felt real for her. "I know you aren't."

Sansa smiled back but she also noticed that her heart was beating hard against her ribs now and for one brief moment she felt nervous for a familiar reason she couldn't immediately identify when she looked at Jon. It only took a few seconds for her to realize what and question if it really was or not.

The realization came quickly. The prince she dreamed about for so long... in the end he was closer to her than her youthful self had once thought. 

Daenerys

Since the moment the first sighting of Dragonstone came into sight, Daenerys had not moved from her place at the front of her flagship. Every breath she took felt weighted with the anxiousness to get there faster. After all these years, she was finally home.

The longboats were ready to depart for the shores at the root of the castle. The flagship and all the rest would make for the harbor on the north side of the island. The waves rocked and pulled them closer to land. The air felt different to her than in Essos. 

Being in the presence of her birthplace was like meeting a long forgotten friend.

The boat broke through the sand and beached with sailors scrambling out to pull it ashore. Daenerys stepped out of her own volition rather than have someone assist her. All others accompanying her disembarked but dare not say a word as she felt the long desires starting to quench within her.

She knelt down to the cold sand, feeling the land that her family has ruled for nearly three hundred years and would have once again. Her dragons flew high above overhead, roaring their joys of being in their mother's home. After all these years, after all the hiding and running, all the delays and crusades, she was finally home.

"Your grace," Missandei hissed.

Daenerys looked up and saw a small party that appeared from the cover of the rocks hiding the great stairway to the castle. She stood as two of her Unsullied and all of her bloodriders flanked and stood cautious. Did the false King Tommen grant the island to someone while they were at sea?

"Your grace," Tyrion said, stepping forward but keeping behind her, "I know that man. He is an old friend. Allow me to handle this…"

"No. I will," She told him firmly.

The party was led by a man maybe twice her age, dressed in fine clothes and with a groomed face. With him was a woman crimson of hair and robes just as red, a priestess of the Lord of Light no doubt. They were followed by a dozen soldiers with shields bearing a sigil of a flaming arrow over a blaze of green flames.

The party halted and the man and priestess leading them bowed their upper bodies politely. When they rose, the man looked to Tyrion with a smirk before back to her.

The Priestess introduced themselves in High Valyrian. "I give greetings to you, Daenerys Targaryen, the Breakers of Chains, and welcome you back to your homeland of Westeros. I was once a slave, bought and sold. It is a great honor to meet she who has ended the sufferings of those who shared my fate to the masters."

Daenerys replied, "your gratitude is a blessing to me as it was the Red Priests who helped me bring peace to Mereen. What is your name?"

The Priestess then switched to the common tongue. "I am Melisandre."

Varys tilted his head in recognizing the name. "She once served another who wanted the Iron Throne. It didn't end well for Stannis Baratheon, did it?"

Melisandre's head dropped. "It was my council that brought him to his downfall and swayed him to make terrible mistakes. In my retreat I discovered my true purpose and now serve another. By order of the King we have made sure that Dragonstone has been prepared for your return."

This was most strange to hear. Daenerys looked at the man with her. "Your name, Ser?"

"Ser Bronn of the Blackwater and Lord of Whitesgrove."

Tyrion spoke up. "You finally collected your payment? The gods must have a love for you after all."

"Not the gods, just everyone who isn't a Lannister. Turns out you lot can't pay your debts for shit anymore." Ser Bronn found that to be the most amusing thing in the entire world. "It was the King who settled your family's debt to me and for that I am loyal to him."

"Has Tommen Baratheon had a change of heart as of late?" Daenerys asked. "Does he think a bribe such as my family's home will stop from taking back what is rightfully mine?"

Melisendre straightened herself to stand tall. "Tommen Baratheon has denounced his false name and crown, your grace. He has accepted his heritage as a bastard of incest of Jaime and Cersei Lannister…" That caused Tyrion to wince. "...and surrendered to the rightful King. For his peace, our King has granted him the name of Lannister and lordship of his family's seat at Casterly Rock."

"And which King is that?" Daenerys asked.

Ser Bronn's smirk grew. Was he excited to tell? For what reason? "King Aegon of the House Targaryen."

Daenerys lost all breath and her mind went blank except for that name. Aegon Targaryen… King Aegon Targaryen. "Impossible…" was all she could murmur.

Thankfully, her translator hadn't been as dumbfounded to the point of speechlessness as she and Tyrion were. "Aegon Targaryen? The last Aegon Targaryen was murdered by Ser Gregor Clegane if my reading of the Rebellion is correct. What manner of man would dare to falsely claim the name of her grace's family?"

"No tricks, milady." The man was enjoying this. "It was Ned Stark's greatest secret." He turned to Daenerys, whose expression had finally lost the deer in the dragonfire look. "You may have heard of him by his other name, Jon Snow of Winterfell."

"Jon Snow?!" Tyrion blurted out, looking as shocked as if he saw his father's ghost right in front of him. 

"Not a bastard and not of honorable Eddard's seed, no matter what he looks like. He was born by his mother Lyanna Stark and his father Rhaegar Targaryen. Trueborn at that."

"It can't be." Daenerys felt her knees starting to twinge. "It can't be possible." Did she wish it possible? Her old self, the girl that just wanted a family, felt elated. That which was a Queen… held mixed feelings.

"What proof do you have of this claim?" Missandei asked of Bronn.

"None. He's the one to go to for proof. Then again he has the Iron Throne so his word is truth itself. You'll get to decide when you see him, you and your companions. He has invited you to meet with him at the Red Keep and welcomes you home, Princess."

"She is the Queen," Missandei insisted with a scowl. "The rightful Queen. Daenerys of House Targaryen, First of Her Name. All the proof she needs of her legitimacy in her dragons and her unburnt flesh, none of which I assume this 'Jon Snow' possesses." Of everyone who ever came into her service except for Jorah, Barristan, and perhaps Daario, Missandei was the most protective of her claim.

Bronn laughed. "I like your spirit, girl, but as inheritance goes... the male comes first. We are merely the messengers to deliver this to you and your reply to him."

Daenerys felt the urge to yell. She had spent all those years, came all this way, just to be told no by someone claiming to be her family. Not even by him, but by some delegation without any drop of highborn blood. It couldn't be true, it just couldn't. But if it was… then she was not alone anymore. "Tell your King that I accept his invitation."

Missandei's eyes visibly widened. "Your grace…"

But Daenerys raised her hand to still her. "We will speak of this later." Her translator and best friend disagreed, but obeyed. "A meeting of monarchs is always inevitable. Only now it seems the battles will come after or not at all."

Ser Bronn nodded and turned to the men. "You heard her, lads. Get a raven to King's Landing, now!" One of his men went off on his own when Ser Bronn turned back to them. "We have made sure the castle's been refurbished and prepared for you, along with a warm dinner. I think the King will give you a proper feast in the capitol so you'll have to settle for what we got for now. I hope he's got it all ready." Lord Bronn turned to lead the way but then suddenly halted. "Oh," he turned back, "I was told that you have a man of the Night's Watch in your custody. Met him in Volantis? If you'd kindly allow him to be back on his way to the Wall, the King would be much appreciative as he was acting on his orders."

So the man was telling the truth after all. Daenerys turned her head to Varys and nodded, all he needed to carry out her order as soon as it could be done.

It was quite the trek up to the castle but well worth it. Taking in every step and every detail is all she did. The Red Priestess and Ser Bronn kept their distance from her and remained silent. Then she stood before the gates into Dragonstone castle. Two statues of dragons acted as vigils. Seeing them now, she was grateful Stannis Baratheon was not so petty as to destroy the beauty of her history.

Then gates groaned on iron hinges as they opened and Daenerys lost her breath with an uncontrollable smile when she saw her faithful knight waiting for her. Ser Jorah smiled back as he walked up to her and went down on one knee to her.

"Rise, Ser Jorah." Daenerys bade him and he did. "You found a cure?"

"I did. And I come to ask if I may return to your services, my Queen."

"Of course." She couldn't stop herself from hugging him warmly. Her greatest friend and protector had returned to her. "How long has it been since you arrived?"

"Only a few days. I came with Ser Bronn from King's Landing and agreed to vouch for King Aegon. He bears no ill will and no intent to luring you into a trap. He desires peace above anything with you."

"Is that so?" Daenerys asked as she linked her arm in his and walked further to the castle. "What can you tell me of this King Aegon?"

"He's honorable above all else and a good man as well. But I have some certain suspicions about him. He claims he doesn't rule for power or glory but for survival. He says there's an army of darkness coming from beyond the Wall. And…" he appeared withdrawn to say any more.

"You may speak frankly to me, Jorah. You have my fullest trust as I know I have yours."

"This next Aegon Targaryen will without a doubt be remembered as a great King, even if his reign ended on the morrow. He does what the last several have failed to do for the people. He's strong, a great fighter or possibly the best," Jorah pulled the hilt of his sword forward which Daenerys had only now noticed was a nicely decorated one. "He went so far as to return my family's sword to me before I left. My father gave it to him. Trusted him. Such is not earned lightly. And I am in debt to him for returning it, but never would I compromise my loyalty to you to repay it, I swear on my life."

"He knows how to make good friends where he needs to then." Daenerys noted.

Jorah nodded. "His allies are many. He won over House Lannister through negotiation and loyalty instead of fear and established bonds with the new Lord Baratheon. The Vale, the Riverlands, the North, and the Reach all declare for him. It will be difficult to find more allies. However, I believe him to be genuine in his desire to meet with you. And from what I felt when I met with him, I sensed that there is a possible reluctance he has for being on the throne."

Were it any other person except Jorah, Missandei, or Tyrion to tell her, she would not have believed it. "Reluctance, you say?"

They passed by a large mural… one of the Field of Fire, arguably where Aegon the Conqueror had truly become King of the continent. "He says he does this because he has to, not because he wants to and I think I believe him. But this can be to your benefit, your grace. If this need of his ends with you as an ally, he may abdicate the throne to you."

This sounded almost too good to be true. What Daenerys would not have believed even from Jorah would be if the throne was empty and the people cheered her name and place on it. What gave her doubt was enough past experience with plots and betrayals, even from those she thought loyal.

"I have accepted his invitation but I am not without my caution or doubts, Ser Jorah. I'll be counting on you to protect me should the worst come to us."

"WIthout question, my Queen."

Daenerys smiled for only a response to Jorah's promise. "I will hear what Lady Melisandre has to say. Her sisters in Volantis gave wisdom that could not be ignored. Neither should her words." There was clear protest in the eyes of Varys and Tyrion, but she politely ignored it by not addressing it at all.

Striding back into the throne room of Dragonstone, Daenerys sat herself on the stone seat carved by her ancestors. It was no Iron Throne, and yet it held its own great power and authority when she sat in it.

Melisandre stood before her, illuminated by the light seeping in from outside. She opened her arms, displaying herself before Daenerys. "I carry no blade, I have no army, and my name is my own, Queen Daenerys. All I have to offer you is my council if you so desire it."

"And what council does a servant of a supposed rival have to offer?"

Melisandre folded her hands into her robes, differently than the way Varys did it, and looked to the ground. "I do not serve King Aegon, not any more for he will not have me in his service. I am charged to serve the Lord of Light until death takes me into his fold."

Daenerys eyed her suspiciously. "Tell me of your King Aegon. Who is he?" Though the answer to the question had technically been answered, Daenerys sought to know more than just a name and previous occupation and the Lady Melisandre knew it too.

"As Jon Snow, he became Lord Commander of the Wall, he made peace with the Wildings. After his release, he united them and the Northmen against the Boltons to retake his family's home. Now, as Aegon Targaryen, he made allies with Reach, saving Loras and Margaery Tyrell from death at Cersei Lannister's terrible deeds. He made peace with House Baratheon by granting the eldest living bastard the name and the home. And now he strives to start a new day for the House of the Dragon, to clean the name that the Mad King tainted with his dying breath."

Daenerys took a deep breath. Aegon Targaryen's deeds were great and many. "And why would you choose to follow such a man?"

Melisandre's head fell, averting eye contact before looking back up. "There are some things that cannot be told, they must be seen to believe. His true purpose is not of glory, or pride, or power." The red woman sighed deeply. "We say that 'the Night is Dark and full of Terrors,' but only now do I truly understand exactly what malevolence such a phrase heralds. King Aegon has shown me exactly that truth, and even the most twisted of nightmares cannot conjure such evil."

She was… skeptical, but Daenerys decided to play along. "And this… malevolence inspires you to serve this supposed nephew of mine?"

"He was sent for this very reason, to bring the Dawn. But he is not the only champion of the Lord of Light."

Daenerys repeated what she had once said to the Lady Kinvara in Volantis. "The Prince and Princess shall bring the dawn." Unlike Kinvara, Melisandre did not react with surprise. "Do you expect me to present myself to this King to unite ourselves in hand and oath?"

"Would such be a terrible thing? An alliance made with the two most powerful leaders on the verge when unity is needed most. The both of you each have a role to play in what is to come, as does another. But the path to victory and peace will not be found if you meet the King as you have met the masters."

"I have not spent all my life waiting and fighting for my family's legacy just to be told no by another."

The eyes of Melisandre flickered red from the sudden glow coming from within the ruby at her neck. "Do you fear his name so much that you would seek war?"

A small shiver coursed over Daenerys. The words echoed what Kinvara had said.

"I see that such words affect you greatly." Melisandre's words were surreal, ones that seemed innocuous but for the fact that she vocalized them. "You need not be afraid of his name, your grace, nor his existence. That he is your family should not exist as a threat. Together, you are the last of your blood. He desires peace for you and the realm. What is it that you desire?"

Daenerys felt she had been lured into the question. How she spoke earlier made it sound as though her goal was the throne itself, not that which it represented and what she would do with the authority. She sighed to calm her head. "I seek the same, Lady Melisandre."

Tyrion

They were gathered at the legendary Painted Table, the very tool Aegon the Conqueror used to begin his conquest of the whole of Westeros. But if things could go well in their favor, a war would be avoidable and not a single ounce of blood would need to be shed.

Bronn and the Priestess Melisandre had been dismissed by Daenerys given the suspicion of possible backhanded tactics being used. Bronn didn't really do much to help ease them.

Daenerys stood not at the head of the table, but right next to the east coast where King's Landing and Dragonstone were. Theon and Yara Greyjoy next to the Iron Islands, Missandei by Gulltown, Greyworm at White Harbor, and Ellaria Sand at Dorne.

Tyrion pulled a drawer from his side of the table open and started taking out wooden war tokens out and dropping them carelessly onto the table. There were many he shifted away like those of a burning heart and several crosses. "I don't suppose we have any of ours on hand, do we?" he asked.

"Not yet," Daenerys said, knowing that the ship with many of their supplies was at least an hour behind them on the journey.

Tyrion picked up the burning heart tokens. "Then for now, let these represent our forces." He walked over to Daenerys and set several on Dragonstone so that it was packed full. "We'll keep our armies remaining here of course, lest a move anywhere would be considered a slight against the truce we have accepted. But," he pointed out, "should the worst come to a strategy will be needed. My first suggestion is to rally the very forces we originally planned to fight against." He walked over to the Westerlands and placed four lion tokens at Casterly Rock. "The Westerlords will not be happy that Jon Snow removed Tommen from the throne-"

Ser Jorah butt in, "I do not think it wise to plan for war, your grace. And with all due respect to Lord Tyrion, but he is no man of war."

"I would disagree," Tyrion said jovially, "I defended King's Landing against Stannis Baratheon quite well."

"But your force was still pushed back and would have lost had it not been for House Tyrell and your father claiming victory."

'And my glory, and the credit, and everything I had,' Tyrion thought. 

"If the King does get word of our plans, he may forgive you but his advisors will not. He will be forced to act and with the right rumors spread, your name could be slandered. The queen who plots when offered peace."

"He has a point," Missandei agreed. "I don't think we should mobilize for war just yet. We haven't even met the man. But I also agree with Lord Tyrion that we should have something at the ready in case the worst happens."

"All we have available is Dragonstone and Dorne." Jorah mentioned. "We can plant ourselves right at the city's gates but also find ourselves surrounded at the same time. I propose that we keep the Dornish army at the ready to strike north at the Reach if all comes down to war. We can send a host of Dothraki to meet and assist them and then bring the Unsullied to the mainland, somewhere with a strong keep to have as a stronghold to attack at the Red Keep."

Daenerys nodded. "We will keep ourselves at bay for the time being, Ser Jorah." She agreed. "I would see you on the battlefield, but need you in my counsel more. Ser Jorah, I name you Master of War."

Ser Jorah smirked politely and bowed his head. "You honor me, my Queen."

"We shall allow ourselves time before discussing battle and war any further, however. We have been invited to treat with a King, and so we shall."

Tyrion tapped his fingers on the table lightly. "As far as diplomats are concerned, we must not present the entirety of your allies. I suggest that the Greyjoys and Sand Snakes remain as well as Greyworm to continue intercepting the remainder of your army and organize them."

"Agreed," Daenerys said, "you especially, Theon." Daenerys looked at Theon Greyjoy calmly. "If this King of theirs is in fact Jon Snow then you will not be any more welcome in his presence than Robert Baratheon would be in mine."

Theon nodded timidly.

Varys stepped forward slightly, gaining the position to speak. "We shall know before the moonrise more about this King as I have already sent out calls to my little birds in King's Landing."

"That's not fast enough," Daenerys said, "if we are departing on the morrow, we will need to find a source of information that can give us time to properly ponder and assess these things."

Tyrion smirked. He should have realized sooner that the information they needed to form a plan was available to them right here. "I have just the means to do it. I only need a bag of gold and some bloody good wine."

There was almost a skip in his step for realizing the convenience of his idea and the chance it gave him to have his first drink back in Westeros with a good friend. He had sent for Bronn to meet him in the dining hall and nearly got lost on his way there but found it after accidentally taking a correct turn. What he walked in on was quite amusing but a little worrying at the same time.

Tyene Sand was with Bronn, both of them leaning against a wall in the room too close for comfort and she had a bewitching smile. "You should live in Dorne instead of that damp, moss covered place you have as a castle. You'll be much warmer and our customs are far better-"

Bronn's wife, who Tyrion was told about but finally got to see for the first time, strode in through a doorway at the opposite side of the dining hall. Tyrion had to admit defeat to Jon Snow for finding a willowy, graceful beauty such as her for Bronn when all his family did was find someone like Lollys Stokeworth.

"Hello, darling," Myranda Blackwood greeted while keeping herself smiling. It almost reminded Tyrion of Cersei's smile she wore whenever she was greatly upset but didn't want to show it… except this one actually felt genuine and it was strange. "Who's this?" She linked her arm with her husband and stood off with Tyene.

"Tyene Sand," Tyene introduced, "daughter of Prince Oberyn Martell and Lady Ellaria Sand."

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Tyene. My name is Myranda Blackwood, Ser Bronn's wife."

"Hmm," Tyene kept smiling as though she knew something Myranda didn't. "Mmmm… you're beautiful. Too bad you're with this one… I do enjoy deflowering you Andal types. As fun as Septas but less of a fuss." Tyene decided to make her exit and walked away, swaying her hips seductively in full view of Bronn and his wife, like dangling meat in front of a lion and baring her fangs at an intruder.

"And you have an ass I'd like to bury my face in," Myranda said, taking everyone by surprise. Tyene's mask broke when she turned around, Bronn looked shocked but happy at the same time, while Myranda winked at Tyene who went a little pink in her cheeks.

Tyene picked up her pace to leave and Myranda kissed Bronn on the cheek before whispering something to him with a little nibble on his earlobe. She then took her leave, walking past Tyrion without a second glance.

Tyrion finally entered, looking bewildered and almost felt jealous.

"Save your words," Bronn said to him, "no amount of gold or a different bride will change my allegiance now. When I get back, I'm falling to my knees and thanking my King a thousand times for my wife."

"I can imagine you would," Tyrion began, "and I also figured your allegiance would be firm with your new king, only something like Dragonstone and the Queen herself might sway you but I would never offer either. Instead, what I have is some damn good wine and a heavy bag of gold if you wouldn't mind selling a few things to say about your King." 

"Hmmm… we'll see, though you're right not to offer. The Queen is far too much work for me." He laughed, and Tyrion cracked a smile. Bronn walked over to the table and sat down first and then Tyrion. "I'm not in his inner circle, so I have nothing to tell about his tactics or any of his weaknesses."

"The last I saw of him, he was an optimistic recruit of the Night's Watch and then I heard he managed to become Lord Commander a few years later. I'm not looking for tactics, just some common knowledge and maybe a few things only someone at court would know about him." Tyrion presented a heavy wineskin in one hand and dropped a decent bag of gold on the table with the others, coins spilling out and rolling over to Bronn. "And perhaps a secret or two I know you would have looked into. You wouldn't be much fun if you didn't."

Bronn gathered the bag and the spilled coins and pulled them close to him before reaching for the wine and taking the first drink. "Mmm, what is this? It's almost spicy."

"I did some exploring here in my younger days and found a secret trove of wine the Targaryens brewed. Kasta Zaldrīzes, the Green Dragon." Bronn had passed the skin to Tyrion who took a swig for himself and felt a sensational burn of flavor and spice flow into his mouth and down his throat. "Ah," he exhaled, feeling like his breath was an invisible flame, "the stores are running out and never have I been able to find the recipe." He gave the skin back to Bronn.

Bronn took another drink and leaned back in his seat, kicking his boots up onto the table. "If you want to know King Aegon's secrets, he barely has any. He's Ned Stark reborn but as strong as Ser Arthur Dayne."

"So he's unbeatable in battle, even for you?"

"I've seen him fight. If the Hound and the Mountain before his turn fought together against him, they'd lose."

Tyrion involuntarily gulped.

"Speaking of the Hound, he's got Clegane acting as Sansa Stark's sworn sword-"

"Sansa?" Tyrion broke in.

"Oh aye. She's his stewardess and some call her his unofficial Hand. The official one is Ser Davos Seaworth." Bronn went on to list Jon Snow's council and it was certainly a reckoning roster, but even more so that they were there to begin with. Tyrion knew each of Jon's council members decently, through personal meeting and reputation and none of them would want to be on the small council in place of places they considered themselves better served. "But I'll tell you this, he talks about mad things that shouldn't exist," Bronn drank again, "the shit part of it all is he has the proof for all of it."

"What kind of things?"

Bronn looked at him with uncertainty. "The day he sat himself on the throne, he had brought a crate into the throne room and inside it was a corpse," he took another drink, "a corpse that got to it's fuckin' feet and screamed the most terrifying noise I've ever heard."

Tyrion had enough experience to know when Bronn was a merry drunkard telling false tales, and this was not one of those times.

"Is this a figure of speech?" Tyrion inquired as Bronn handed the skin over to him.

"No. He says that the fuckin' creature's part of an army north of the Wall and that the White Walkers are coming. I saw the damn thing and I can't fuckin' unsee it, and neither will you once you get there." He pointed furiously at Tyrion, an action that gave Tyrion a flashback to the hard words of Benjen Stark when he mocked the reports of mysterious things in the north.

Bronn took the wine back and stood up. "He's got something else going on that I don't know about, but it's supposed to clear up the crown's debt. That's all I got to give… oh, and I also got this." He reached into his shirt and pulled out a letter. "I got this from your brother before I left. And consider this the last favor I do for you as a friend until you do me some." He dropped the letter in front of Tyrion and left without another word.

Tyrion should have pressed further, but the letter captured his full attention. He unfolded it and found that not much was written and the handwriting still needed work.

Cersei in prison, Tommen is fine, I will live.

Our House shall remain if you don't do anything stupid.

Do not underestimate Jon Snow, but do not overestimate him either. 

Do not let him fight your Queen.

Do not let the city burn.

Believe everything you're told.

Jaime

A quick glance around the hall, a silence from himself to make sure that no one was listening, and then Tyrion walked over to a brazier and tossed the parchment into the flames. Daenerys was sensitive when her enemies and rivals colluded in secret, and after enough convincing she could be swayed to forgive but that was time best not wasted.