45

Chapter 45: Chapter 44

Chapter Text

Jon

Busy as the last few days had been, the nights were bliss for Jon when he was together with Sansa. But unfortunately it had gone away when they both woke in the morning, for today was the day the Lords of the Vale would appear before court. Daenerys had returned swiftly after breakfast and everything felt still throughout the castle before the session of court would begin.

The Iron Throne loomed silently in the barren throne room with no one but its King to look upon it in brooding fashion. Jon was within an arm's length of the chair, reaching out and brushing a hand over one of the blades broken by his wrath with Blackfyre. The initial cut was clean, but only a third of the way through before the stress of the metal cracked and a rough texture was exposed.

How his ancestors must be seething at him for such dishonor and disregard for their idol of vanity and glory.

The lonely ambience of the empty room embraced him greatly, enough that he barely heard the scuffing of footsteps. His eyes flickered over to the woman who joined him in isolation. "Dany."

Daenerys regarded him with a muted smile, from the situation rather than her feelings for him. "Jon." His name on her lips was framed with the deepest affection.

Heart tugged, Jon descended the steps of the marble dias, wrapping her in a hug. With no distance between them now, he pulled her into a tight embrace and kissed her passionately. It was a kiss Daenerys returned, not a hint of anything but love and sincerity in her reciprocation. Pulling back for air, she laid her head on his shoulder.

Jon kissed her forehead and stroked her back. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

She broke the embrace, taking a deep breath as her personal affection changed to her royal mask. "Yes. I have to."

"I can speak in defense of you."

There was a flash of something in her eyes, nothing short of guilt. "I know, but regardless of Euron's masterminding of all that happened, I must face the consequences myself. Lest I be seen as that same monster as you dealt with."

His heart ached. "You were never a monster."

Dany kissed his cheek with a tender look. "You know I could have been, but I am not now… thanks to you." She took his hand, stroking the back of his palm.

Another set of scuffling footsteps took their attention. It was Beric. "Everyone is just about ready, your grace."

Jon nodded just as the four other Kingsguard and several of the castle guards had joined them in the room, taking positions throughout while two guards stood by the main doors. He took Dany's hands and kissed her knuckles. "It will be alright." He promised before letting her hands slip from his as he ascended the steps to the Iron Throne and took his seat.

Daenerys remained at the bottom of the steps to Jon's left, Ser Jorah joining them from the small council chambers.

Jon cleared his throat. "Let them enter."

Ser Beric nodded and gestured to the guards by the doors, who hauled them open. Dozens of Lords and Ladies of the various regions of Westeros spilled into the throne room. There was an expected increase in those attending of course, but the amount was a first for Jon. People were practically packing themselves shoulder to shoulder with how many demanded attendance in court.

Those of Jon's Small Council had taken their places, Sansa standing at Jon's right and Ghost padding his way up the steps to lay at Jon's left. Davos, however, did not join the others, instead joining his wife and eldest son in attendance with the court, which was fitting since he never officially took back the position of Hand of the King. In fact he made sure to address the matter that despite forgiving Jon for what happened, his time as Hand was over.

Finally, the crowds settled and the first of those Jon would address stepped forward.

Bowing in almost perfect posture, the Lords of the Vale faced Jon with utmost respect and regard.

"King Aegon," began Robin Arryn, "it is both a pleasure and an honor to finally meet you in person. Your raven telling of Lord Baelish's betrayals was deeply hard to believe, but through many days with my advisors I started to see the truth in your words, and I thank you for ridding the sickness that nearly corrupted my kingdom and for avenging my mother." Lord Arryn's manners were certainly well tailored. "But to the matter of recent events, I come to demand the justice my people are owed after the attack on Gulltown."

Even after having some time to think about this, Jon still didn't know where to start with it. "Unfortunately the situation regarding that day is complicated. Euron Greyjoy was the chief orchestrator of the attacks that occurred in the Vale and Dragonstone."

"I heard as much. Daenerys Targaryen was under the influence of a dark spell cast by the wicked pirate, or so say the rumors. I heard also that you withstood the flames of her dragon without so much as a shade of red marking your skin. But the fact of the matter is that her dragons burned my lands and my people." His gaze darted from Jon to Daenerys. The lad was growing up, but still seemed wary.

Jon took in the mood of his bannermen. The Lords of the Vale all shifted, some tensing, others growing angry, and some fearful.

"Your grace," Daenerys said calmly, "would you allow me to speak for myself in this matter?"

Nodding, Jon silently gestured to the Lords of the Vale and Daenerys stepped to the center of attention.

"My lords," Daenerys said in formality, "despite the rumors you have heard of the destruction that happened that day in Gulltown, Lord Arryn is right. I rode my dragon over the city and let him burn what he did to the ground. Men, women, and children are dead because I was not strong enough to resist the powers that held me." Daenerys did the unexpected and fell down to her knees before the Lords of the Vale, almost as though she were about to beg them for mercy. "The dead are still coming, and I have pledged to my armies, my dragons, and myself to fight against them for Westeros. Until the dawn breaks after the night that we might have victory, I ask that you allow me to fulfill my vow to the people of Westeros."

There was a pregnant silence at first. The Lords of the Vale looked amongst themselves for any time of suggestion at the request.

Lord Arryn raised his hand up. "I've heard of these monsters coming from the other side of the Wall and how terrifying they can kill. Several of my men witnessed their existence both in the North and in King's Landing. If we are to succeed in victory, we will need every soldier we can get. However, if the battle is won as we all hope for, will you face the consequences of your actions upon us as you face us now? With humility and dignity?"

"I will face whatever it is that honor demands. I have no right to ask for any sort of forgiveness, yet I ask it all the same." Jon watched her swallow deeply, holding her head up high. "I do not wish to die with my legacy being as my father's with death and destruction. If you would allow it, I will spend each day for the rest of my life atoning for the destruction I have committed. Unwilling as it was, the fault still rests with me." The Lords of the Vale were silent, though they did eye each other. "I will work to rebuild what was destroyed and mend the wounds I have made, even if I have to lay the stone and mortar myself, I will do it." The weight of her actions, despite not of her own will, weighed down heavily and brought her to tears. "I'm sorry."

Lord Yohn Royce came forward, tapping on Lord Arryn's shoulder and whispering some words to him. Moments later, Robin straightened himself. "The wounds my people have suffered are painful, and healing from them will not be easy. It's not just to blame someone forced to hold a sword by another swinging it as well. Euron Greyjoy is dead, but if you truly wish to obtain forgiveness, then help us restore what was lost." Robin extended his hand out to Daenerys and she took it and his assistance standing back up on her feet.

"I will, my Lord. With every last ounce of strength I have if that's what it takes me." They shook hands and from the court of onlookers, Tyrion Lannister began applauding from the corner of the room and soon after every other nobles watching the exchange did as well, impressed and proud that resolution was found.

A deep breath escaped Jon that he didn't realize he was holding during the exchange. Peace was found which was far more than they could have believed possible. A year ago, this kind of discussion in the court could never have happened. War would have broken out, and thousands more would die for justice.

Approaching now was the host from Dorne, four men and two women escorted by four Martell guards.

Jon barely recognized the man before him. Were it not for the Martell banners and decorations on his clothing that matched, he would not have recognized the man at all. Jon knew of him from his original life as the Prince of Dorne after Doran Martell, but he didn't ever learn his name, only that he was at least reasonable and open for discussion rather than demand.

The Martell bowed his head to Jon before introducing himself. "Your grace," he said in just as slender in Dornish accent as Ellaria, "I am Prince Manfrey Martell, the new Lord of Sunspear head of House Martell."

"Welcome, Prince Manfrey. I must thank you for your aid in the final battle with Euron Greyjoy. However, I suspect that there is more to your own personal appearance before me today than just that. If you are here to demand recompense for Ellaria's death, you will find none. Her crimes were by her own hand and justice was served."

"I am aware, your grace, and I have not come for vengeance that is not demanded. That woman murdered my family and disgraced our principles. I never liked her, she was too ambitious and obsessive. If fate is kind and we live through this war, I'll be sure to give her daughters a better upbringing so that their father would be proud."

"Your grace," one of the women with Lord Manfrey stepped forward and bowed, "pardon my interruption. My name is Sarella Sand, firstborn of Oberyn Martell. I have come to see to my sister Tyene, if you would grant me such permission and favor, though I know that I have no right to ask for it."

"And what makes you think that?" Jon asked, gaining a surprised look from Sarella. "You were not involved in the plots of Ellaria Sand, your hand did not play a part in the deaths of the innocent. However, until the matters at hand are concluded, you must remain here."

"Thank you, your Grace." She bowed again and stepped back.

Jon nodded, turning his attention back to Manfrey. "With the condition Tyene is in, I made her a ward to the crown as there is no point in putting her in a cell. However, as it has been for many kings and lords to do with their wards, I will not hold her hostage against Dorne."

Sarella sighed with closed eyes and Manfrey nodded at Jon. "House Martell does not seek war against you, your Grace. But I cannot speak for the rest of Dorne. Ellaria's actions have caused a rather great disturbance among the great Houses of my people. There are those who do indeed seek war against you, but they are few, but more look at my House as a weakness in the kingdom because of the recent years. Doran's inaction was unsatisfactory, Oberyn's overconfidence and foolishness stabbed at our pride, and Ellaria fed the hunger for war to sate her revenge. As it stands, House Martell is no longer seen as the leading House."

"I understand your situation, my lord. However I am at a loss for what I can offer that would help you other than my guidance."

"That is exactly what I wish for, your grace. You have shown to be wise, fair, and just in the time you have sat upon the Iron Throne, all of which is what Dorne needs that is ignored from me."

"Hm," Jon scratched the stubble of his chin. "Ser Marcus," his Kingsguard of Dorne came forward, "Lord Dayne," Atticus Dayne stepped forth and presented himself, "tell me your thoughts on this matter as men of your Houses and as men of Dorne."

Lord Dayne looked over at Ser Marcus first, giving the opening spot to him. "I think Prince Manfrey is wrong, your Grace." Marcus spoke confidently but had a nervous tone leak into his words. It was hard to miss that he was not used to being the center of attention in so many eyes. "The Great Houses of Westeros will always be held high to the eyes of the people. They just need something to remind them of the respect that has ruled for the past few millennia."

"Ser Marcus makes a valid point," Atticus agreed, "as did Manfrey about Dorne's inactions. All we've done is sit by while the world crumbled. If we can show the people something that reminds them that we are not weak, and neither are we idle, the people will follow House Martell once again."

Taking in a breath, Jon let himself think on the matter at hand. From the way it sounded, the people of Dorne would need a symbol of good faith, something that showed they are safe and have something to believe in…

"Are you married yet, my lord?"

Manfrey shook his head. "I am not, your grace. If I understand where you are going with this, I must object. While the idea is good, the situation does not support it. If I were to take a wife from one of the unruly Houses, the rest would wonder why not them?"

"You could look inward, my lord. Oberyn carried much respect from your people, and I believe that respect carries down to those who don't abuse it." Jon extended his hand, gesturing to Sarella. "It's only a suggestion of course, but showing that there is peace in the blood of House Martell instead of disruption can calm many hearts."

Manfrey looked to Sarella silently who didn't seem pulled back or surprised at the idea. Instead, Sarella looked calculating. After a moment, she stepped closer to Manfrey. "For Dorne, I will do what I must."

Manfrey nodded, although it was more like he was bowing his head in respect to her. "As will I. Would you honor me by taking place at my side as my wife?"

"I will."

Manfrey offered his hand and Sarella gently took it and the other men of Dorne with them had a sudden uplift in their stances. "We shall begin here, and then begin to move our forces north to join yours against the coming threat, your grace."

"We will be honored to fight alongside you, Prince Manfrey." The Martell host stepped aside and after them… was someone Jon was not expecting at all. No one had informed him that the young ruler of Casterly Rock was coming. The past several months were good to Tommen. He appeared stronger, in both body and confidence seen through his eyes.

"Your grace," Tommen bowed and took a moment to glance over to his father, almost looking surprised to see him there. "I came to see my mother's remains to Casterly Rock before I heard of the battles. I would have tried to assemble a host to join me in aiding you had I not been on the road already. I apologize, your grace, and beg your forgiveness."

"There's nothing to forgive, my lord." Jon said calmly. "Lord Tyrion has made the preparations for everything. The battles merely delayed the departure."

"Yes, that is well. However, I would also ask you about other matters that I seem to have misheard." Again, Tommen looked over to his father. "There were rumors going around that my father had been imprisoned and I meant to plead for him, but it seems I was mistaken."

"He was a prisoner, for a time. He broke his oath to me and ventured where he should not have… however after time to counsel with others, I realized his intentions were not those I first assumed. He has accepted his place as a Kingsguard once again and will carry out his duties."

Jon watched Tommen's eyes cloud over with grief and he didn't blame the lad. Cersei was evil, but to Tommen she was his mother. "I have also decided that the Westerlands be released from all indemnities not already paid, and the Lords may call their banners for the wars to come."

"They ravaged our lands and plunged the Realm to war!" Edmure Tully spoke with conviction - if anyone had the right to hate the Lannisters, it was him. "What punishments have been meted out aren't enough!"

"Lord Tully, the payments that have been made… most will go to the rebuilding of the Riverlands." Jon leaned forward. "Given you have seen the threat we face firsthand, you know as much as I do the need for peace and unity." Smarting, Lord Edmure nevertheless was silent. Ser Brynden gripped his shoulder, stilling him. Sansa would've been better to clear tensions, but she was handling something far more important at the moment. All in due time. Matters handled, Jon rose from his seat and cleared his throat, bidding Daenerys to walk back up the dias to stand next to him. "My lords and ladies… this has been a trying time for all of us. Prior to my coronation I was able to unite the realm without leveling a spear or drawing a sword, but the chaos and bloodshed were merely postponed as Euron Greyjoy remained at large."

Everyone listened closely, studying him for any sort of tell. Jon wanted to reach out and grip Dany's hand, seeking her comfort and the knowledge that she and the dragons survived his second run in with the Crow's Eye, but he refrained. Now was not the time, and he wanted this announcement to be perfect.

"And yet victory was ours. Euron is dead and his fleet defeated. From the Red Wastes of Qarth to the westernmost isle of the Iron Islands, the realm of the living is at peace. United to face the Army of the Dead and its ruler, ready to descend from north of the Wall to destroy all in its path." He steeled himself for the announcement. "Based on the realities and the ancient prophecies, only a Targaryen dragonrider can lead the living into this war."

"But which Targaryen?" Davos asked, preempting all others.

"It does not matter," Jon said, "whether it's to me or Daenerys, it won't make a difference. Daenerys has sworn to fight alongside us against the Night King's army… and we will be uniting our factions under one banner. Qyburn," Jon called and Qyburn stepped forward, "send a raven to the Citadel, they are to spread word across the realms that I will be taking Daenerys Targaryen and Sansa Stark as my wives."

A collective gasp of shock and awe spread across the court. One that Jon perpetuated by grinning and now taking Daenerys' hand openly. Squeezing it, a gesture that she reciprocated. Finally, finally there was nothing keeping him from expressing his affections openly.

There were some who openly showed their support. Davos was one, grinning like a madman. Lady Missandei was slightly more composed, emphasis on slightly as she beamed at the happiness Daenerys was certainly expressing. Some of the others not affiliated with their small council approved, the Dornish for one, Tommen Lannister for another - if more for Sansa than for Daenerys, both Tullys looked happy… well, as much as Brynden Tully could ever look happy.

The rest… "This is unexpected, your Grace," said Lady Olenna, fanning herself. "You seek to wed both of them?"

"Yes," Jon said simply.

Next to her, Ser Baelor Hightower cleared his throat. "The doctrine of exceptionalism would permit you to marry your aunt if you so wished, and there is nothing preventing you from marrying your cousin, but it does preclude bigamous marriages."

He was being polite, so Jon wouldn't express anger, but damned if he was done being selfless here. "Frankly, Ser Baelor, I don't give a shit." Some were scandalized, some laughed, while most just watched to see what happened. "Everything that was asked of me was done. Every night, I froze myself North of the Wall praying the wildlings wouldn't slit my throat. Praying the dead wouldn't turn me into a corpse. I fought against the Boltons, hoping that the alliance of Northern lords would collapse or there would be too many casualties. Every day of my march south was hell, worrying if I couldn't prevent bloodshed… only to find that my aunt, the woman I love…" He trailed off, closing his eyes to ward off the worst sort of emotion.

A soft kiss pressed to his cheek. A simple, chaste gesture that nevertheless spoke to all the genuine love Daenerys possessed for him. It was enough to steady him, Jon meeting her eyes and bringing her hand to his lips. Kissing it. She smiled back.

He continued. "I found her captured, imprisoned and enslaved by Euron Greyjoy. I handled it, but gods, did it nearly destroy me." Jon looked over everyone. "If it damns me to say that I cannot do this without them by my side, then so be it."

There was a long silence, but it seemed that even Ser Baelor and the other pious lords nodded their heads in agreement.

While the two Tullys undoubtedly thought it, Robin Arryn was the one who voiced his concern for his cousin. "My King, you and Daenerys both are dragonriders, but Lady Sansa is not. Would that not make her the lesser monarch?"

Daenerys answered for him. "You are mistaken, Lord Arryn. Lady Sansa is the bonded rider of the dragon Viserion."

That created just as much a confused uproar as the betrothal announcement. "How is that possible?" asked Lord Edmure, in awe.

"Truthfully, I am not sure," Dany replied. "Mayhaps it is prophecy, mayhaps Viserion found her worthy, but she is a dragonrider. The third head of the three-headed dragon of our house, and as symbolic as anything. Me, a Valyrian raised in Essos. Her, a mix of Andal and First Man raised in all of Westeros. And King Aegon, the union of both bloodlines. The bridge of east and west. The fight ahead of us may be difficult, but I see no other union that can so forge the bonds that will unite us going into the gates of the seven hells and emerging victorious."

Mayhaps there were still some ill feelings about the betrothal. Mayhaps the fact that there were only the three of them standing, each being a dragonrider, that convinced most to support it. Jon truly didn't care - the true solidification of their new dynasty could be done if they survived the Long Night. Such was his goal, his one duty, and he would see it through above all. "Now, my lords and ladies, with all other pressing business dealt with we must prepare for the march to Winterfell. Call your banners and begin the march."

"Doesn't the Wall still hold?"

He looked at one of the Reach Lords who had said that. "It may, but we cannot count on it to continue to do so. The Night King is too powerful… only through facing him in battle will we be able to triumph." He clapped his hands. "Now, may you all file out into the courtyard. My betrothed Lady Sansa is preparing a little demonstration for you all." The Goldcloaks and Household Guard began shepherding the Lords and Ladies to where Jon wanted them while he and Daenerys, still hand in hand, walked down the steps to their family and councilors. "That went better than expected," he mused.

"Little dissension, son," Davos said, hugging Jon. It was unexpected, but Jon reciprocated.

Missandei hugged Daenerys. "Congratulations, your Grace."

"We already knew it would happen, but it feels wonderful for it to be open," Dany beamed, returning to Jon's side. Body melded against his. "Where's Arya?" Jon noticed then that his sister had disappeared.

Gendry shook his head. "Said she needed to do something, and not to worry about her or keep Sansa waiting."

When Dany looked at him, Jon simply shrugged. "You heard her."

Surrounded by the Kingsguard and Dany's bloodriders, the King and Queen arrived just as the rest of the guests were taking their seats in the special chairs prepared for the occasion. Sansa waited with the Hound, and beamed when she saw them approach. "Is it done?" she asked.

Jon nodded. "I cannot wait to marry you, my betrothed."

Her reaction was far more exuberant than Daenerys', hugging him and planting a kiss on his lips. He gladly kissed her back, short as it was as she broke it off to hug Dany. "All is ready, betrotheds," she grinned, ever so happy.

He was determined to always make her as happy as she was now - both Sansa and Daenerys deserved it. "Then let's see it done."

The Iron Throne stood solitary in the center of the courtyard. Hundreds were gathered around to watch what was going to happen. Jon merely waited with Sansa and Daenerys at his side, not saying a word to anyone. The only noise made was the quiet chatters of the men and women watching, the faint crackles of torches, and the cold winter winds gently brushing by.

Finally, the sound of great wings flapping in the air and the growling of a dragon came from above. A host of the encircled crowd parted ways to immediately get out of the way where Drogon was set to land. The grounds shook with a thud when the black dragon set foot down and lifted his body up to his tallest resting height.

Daenerys was sitting tall on the back of her mount, looking sternly as she did whenever she was treating with a challenger. She glanced over to Jon and Sansa, the former only giving her a single nod, not as a way of telling to go through with it, but to comfort her that she had the strength to.

Taking in a breath, Daenerys said in a firm and almost restrained tone a single word. "Dracarys!"

Drogon growled as the shadows behind his teeth disappeared and the glow of flames burst forth and engulfed the Iron Throne. A great gasp of fright and shock went throughout the onlookers both noble and common. The flames kept burning forth and the many swords of the throne began to glow dim red before becoming bright orange. The light of the hot metal nearly became too intense to look at just before the tips of the out blades began to collapse. A hot pool of liquid metal grew all around the Iron Throne as it continued to shrink and melt.

The dragonfire finally ceased, for it was no longer needed as the Iron Throne sank into itself. The air around the destroyed throne rippled from the heat even as the steel began to harden and the light diminished.

After three hundred years since the day of its conception, the Iron Throne was no more once again. Not a victim of a dragon's sorrow and wrath, but a dragon's humility and strength.

Looking back at Daenerys, Jon saw that there were streaks of tears on her cheeks and she was showing that the act did indeed affect her greatly. She climbed off the back of her dragon who took back to flight once she was off and walked into Jon and Sansa's arms, but she did not weep. She just wanted to be held.

Tommen

The presence of his amusing, charming uncle had normally been a joy to Tommen. He'd always have the funniest jokes and snuck him and Myrcella treats from the kitchens that his mother or governesses wouldn't allow. Now that he was grown, however… "Please, nephew, stop pacing about."

"It's easy for you to say, uncle." At least Tyrion was still his uncle. As for his true father, it was damn near impossible to think of him like it. Uncle jaime had always been Uncle Jaime…"I wasn't meant for this. Never. Mother never taught me. Father… King Robert never taught me…"

"Robert never even bothered with your brother," Tyrion shot back. "He was not the very fatherly type. There are about twenty corpses of his bastards who would attest to it."

That made it partially more bearable. Robert Baratheon not being his father was more an issue of losing an identity rather than any love connection between each other. Let alone how much pain his Grace King Aegon had been through in finding his true identity. Tommen had it better, at least.

Truthfully Tommen loved his mother even with her flaws. Robert had just been someone he occasionally saw. 'Uncle' Jaime was always more of a father to him, ironically. Now he understood why Jaime was always insisting to be around him, Joffrey, and Myrcella.

All of this didn't help him. "He could've taught me something, anything. How to swing a sword, how to be a leader of men."

Tyrion sighed. "I'm sorry, Tommen. I truly am." And now the reduced but intact Westerlands force - battle-hardened and veterans of two-dozen engagements across the entire War of the Five Kings - was to head from outside of King's Landing, link up with the garrisons in the Riverlands, head for the Neck, and he of all Lannisters more capable was supposed to lead them.

It was driving Tommen mad. "Grandfather would've taught me some things at least, but you…" He bit his tongue, wincing at his uncle. "Uncle…"

"No. I killed him. So don't dance around the truth of it because nobody else does."

"Why… why did you do it?" His mother told him that Tyrion was an evil Imp who just wanted to see the family suffer, hence his killing of Joffrey. But he hadn't killed Joffrey…

Sighing, Tyrion looked to the window. "When the truth was but rumors about your mother and father, did you ever feel frozen by the gazes of people who believed them? Did you ever feel shriveled at the eyes who saw you as an abomination instead of human?"

Tommen swallowed. The moment his uncle asked such questions, his body shivered at the memory of the common folk looking at him the exact same way for who he really was.

His uncle looked at him with eyes holding back the rage behind them. "How much did it hurt? How can you bear such a feeling for a day, let alone your whole life from your own father who wanted you dead more than anyone. I killed him because he hated me, and I refused to let it go on. And now I am here, trying to do right for the damage my actions caused. But I won't atone for Joffrey's murder. I didn't do it."

"Mother believed you did."

He shrugged. "My sister's passion didn't faze your grandfather one bit. I think I was just a convenient scapegoat to preserve the Tyrell alliance."

"Fat lot of good that did for the Realm," a third voice rang out, one that drew Tommen's attention.

All thoughts left him at that moment, eyes widening and jaw dropping. "Margaery…"

His uncle looked much the same way. "My Lady, you look…" words fell short.

"I will take that as a compliment to Qyburn's efforts." Smiling radiantly, the same smile from their wedding night which remained the happiest moment in Tommen's short life, she strode into the solar currently occupied by Tyrion and Tommen. Taking Tommen's hands in hers. "Husband."

They were apparently still married, after all. "They told me you were covered in scars worse than the Hound. But you look… "

What disfigurements from the attempt on her life instigated by his own mother were gone, only shadows remained. Along the lower right side of her face and neck were marks pinker than the rest of her skin. But Margaery Tyrell looked just as beautiful as the day he married her. Resuming her place next to Queen Daenerys and Lady Sansa as great beauties of the Realm. "Qyburn did a marvelous job, even if I had quite a time recovering."

"I heard rumors that you were with him… it seems I didn't give his talents much credit. Certainly better than what happened to Gregor Clegane."

"Aye, I'd much rather he brag about his work on me than on him." Restored to her beauty, the charm Margaery exerted had returned, though to Tommen's eyes it seemed… more genuine. So she wasn't genuine before.

Who was he fooling, thinking she actually loved him?

A clever woman, she seemingly noticed his mood and cleared her throat. "Lord Tyrion. Would you mind giving my husband and I a moment of privacy."

Tyrion understood, nodding. "But of course. Take all the time you need." He ambled out, door shutting behind him.

"Husband…"

"Wife…"

Tommen blushed just as she giggled slightly at their simultaneous words. Margaery gestured to the couch. "Why don't we sit." Tommen let her lead him to the couch, though was surprised when she sat close and facing him. "We have a lot to speak of."

He nodded. "I know."

"Would you like to start?"

Almost stammering, a strange bit of boldness overcame him. "Did you ever love me, Margaery?"

If she was surprised at his measure of confidence, she didn't show it. "Tommen…" That told him all he needed to know, but Margaery reached out and took both of his hands in hers. "It was obvious that our marriage was political. All of mine were, which in the face of his Grace's brides and his sister's betrothal makes my life look rather pathetic."

Tommen sighed. "I knew that much, but I was so sure you grew to love me."

"I grew fond of you, certainly." She smiled at him, caressing the back of his hand. "Renly and I were pretty much strangers, all that I knew of him coming from my brother." Tommen knew enough not to want details. "As for Joffrey…"

"I know what his proclivities were." Tommen pursed his lips. "He was cruel to me and Cella as well."

"When he died, I did not weep. I was glad he was dead so I wouldn't have to spend a single night with him." Her smile grew a bit shy, something strange to see from the confident Margaery Tyrell. "Our first night together, I very much enjoyed."

He blushed. "I still remember that night fondly."

Reaching up, Margaery cupped his cheek. "You were young, Tommen. Too young for me to know who you would be growing up… and my grandmother and I were hoping to manipulate you. I did so when I was speaking of sending your mother to Casterly Rock."

"In all fairness, it would've been better for everyone had she gone there." Hindsight was always the best manner of sight.

She chuckled, only to grow serious again. "I'm sorry for doing this to you, making you a pawn in my family's game. It is the way of the world and I cannot say I wouldn't do it all over again, but I am sorry. You didn't deserve it."

Of all he could say, Tommen simply took her hand up and kissed her knuckles. "Thank you, and I forgive you." There was a pregnant pause. "Margaery."

"Yes?"

He'd seen her nude, seen her while riding him or underneath him, but with their souls bared in confession, she'd never looked more beautiful. "Did you ever think you'd come to love me?"

Margaery was silent for a moment. "I think," she finally said, "That I would've grown to love you if we had more time together. A long stretch of peace where we could grow and connect properly." She smiled. "I liked being married to you, and I was very fond of you, Tommen."

He swallowed, spontaneous and bold for the first time in his life. "Then mayhaps we should start again." For once, Tommen surprised her. Her wide eyes and open mouth increased his confidence. "I am the Lord of Casterly Rock now, someone still eminently worthy of you."

"Tommen… you truly wish to?"

"Yes, I do, though perhaps much slower."

That made her nod. "Slower, that would be better. A proper courting, I would like that." They smiled, and Margaery leaned into kiss his cheek. Then his lips, something chaste but one with a bit of promise. "I know what I would like to be first, husband."

"And what is that?"

"A walk in the gardens. It's been too long since I did so."

Tommen chuckled, rising and offering a looped arm. "Let me lead the way, my Lady." Margaery's eyes sparkled as she took the proffered arm.

Bran

The Great Hall was rather quiet this morning, people were constantly stealing glances over at Bran's table and whispering to those sitting with them. Why wouldn't they of course? This was the first time the Children of the Forest decided to eat breakfast in the presence of others instead of alone in the Broken Tower. They lingered so much at the weirwood that their presence at Winterfell was nearly forgotten.

Joining Bran and the Children were Meera and her father, Lord Reed. Each of them enjoying their bacon and tomatoes. Although technically speaking, it was Bran who joined the Children and the Reeds when he was brought in to eat. Howland had extended an invitation to the Children to come to the swamps and live among the crannogmen. Their isolated way of life was one that was inviting to the Children, but the offer had yet to be declined or accepted.

"My Lord Bran," Lord Reed said just as Bran finished chewing a pan fried tomato, "I've learned last evening that you haven't taken to the Godswood in several days since the battle. Might I ask why?"

Bran swallowed and set his fork and knife down. "I don't need to anymore right now. The prophecy of the Red God has been fulfilled and there's nothing more for me to search for. I can help Rickon and Winterfell as a Stark now."

Lord Reed cocked his head. "I can see why such a precedent would lead you to assume that."

Looking over at the Children, Bran found them looking back at him with faces in agreement with Lord Reed. "But what else is there? The Prince who was Promised shall bring the Dawn. That's the only way the Night King will be defeated." He scoffed and sat back in his chair. "I'm not trying to be lazy about this, but I genuinely can't think of what else there is I need to look for."

Leaf set her elbows on the table and leaned forward to him. "Have you learned nothing? Was it your decision to look at the memories that lead you to the answer? No, it was the sight that guided you into seeing what you must do to fulfill your role." She took a moment of silence. "Until the Night King is dead, you can't afford to be Brandon Stark. Not yet."

At first, Bran was going to contradict such demand with the words of his late mentor. Jon and Bearded Bran's work was to also make sure he didn't become the being that would have erased who he was. But thinking on her words, he realized that Leaf was not referring to that drastic transformation of character, but simply devoting his duties where they must be. She was right. Taking in a breath, Bran nodded. "Right, I apologize. I'll get back to it after breakfast."

Leaf nodded and appeared the closest he ever saw her or any of the Children appear in a positive attitude. They were always on the edge of a knife. "There is so much more you can be if you try." The way she said that was as though she was referring to something undiscovered.

"What else do you think I need to see?" Bran asked Howland.

"I haven't the faintest clue," Lord Reed said with a smile of sorts, "for my experience with the sight is very little and my interpretation of the key points of our history is as obstructed to me as it is to nearly every other man who would never have guessed when the moments were that you needed to see-"

"BRAN!" a wrathful voice echoes from the corridors loud enough to wake up the people in Asshai.

Everyone's eyes focused where the shout came from, but Bran simply kept eating as though as was well in the world, smirking at the success of his revenge.

"BRAN!"

"What did you do?" Meera asked when she noticed how smug Bran was being.

Bran looked over to her. "Got even for the beard." After he said that, Rickon came running into the Great Hall and his head and upper body were covered in quite the mess.

"Those are your ravens in my room! They've shit everywhere!"

Bran gave a stunned look at his brother. "No, what do you mean? Those could be anybody's ravens."

Rickon's face was getting redder. "Is this because of the soot beard? Because that was a joke. This is bloody disgusting!" He pointed a finger at Bran. "If that's how you want to play it, then fine. You better keep those ravens watching your back from now on." He stormed off, leaving those still breaking their fast in a stunned silence.

Bran started to laugh. It was true that a part of him felt that he'd gone too far, but then again, Rickon was right. Things were quite dull indeed, and the chorus of laughs in the room proved otherwise. When he looked back at those with him at the table, each of them shared the same look that questioned his maturity.

"Now," Bran lifted his finger, "we can get serious again."

Meera scoffed and gnawed the inside of her cheek. "Boys." She got up and left, the Children followed after her since their meals were finished.

Lord Reed remained. "You know, usually suitors try to impress the family of the maiden they seek."

"In my defense," Bran said, "Rickon is the one who's been saying that we've all been dulling ourselves to death. I'm simply trying to follow his wishes."

"Hm," Lord Reed gave a single nod and got up, but Bran barely caught sight of a tiny smirk that would have turned into laughter.

With breakfast done, Bran was wheeled out of the castle by Lady Brienne and into the Godswood to join the Children.

Taking in a deep breath, he set his palm to the face of the weirwood and entered into the sight, letting the current of memories take him in their pull until he found his footing in a memory from long ago, but not ancient.

Bran stood upon a bridge that crossed over a great river. On each side of the bridge were two similar scenes. Two stood across from one another. The army on the north side was three times that of the army on the south side, but among the ranks of the southern army was a colossal black dragon of incredible presence.

The Banners of each army indicated the leading Houses perfectly. Stark and Targaryen. There was only one moment in the North's history that such a stand had ever been between them and the Targaryens.

A small host from the Stark armies was approaching on foot across the bridge. If Bran knew his history right, the one leading them was his kin, Brandon Snow, King Torrhen Stark's bastard brother. With him were two guards and three maesters, all heavy in their chains as they were in their years.

Bran followed closely behind, eager and excited to witness such a momentous mark in his people's history. There had been no records of the meeting that occurred between Brandon Snow and Aegon Targaryen. Now here he was, about to witness it himself!

A small collective of Targaryen soldiers and a messenger awaited the Stark host.

"Lord Snow," the messenger greeted with a prim voice, "his grace, King Aegon Targaryen, awaits you. But first, you will disarm yourselves."

The two Stark guards looked at each other distrustfully of the gesture demanded.

"Of course," Brandon said as though he were unphased, "wouldn't want bloodshed before the battle." He undid his belt and wrapped it over the scabbard of his finely made sword before handing it off to one of the Targaryen soldiers. The Starks did the same, handing over their spears, shields, and swords.

"This way," the messenger said, and the Targaryen host parted ways for Brandon and his men.

Bran followed close by. No words were exchanged by anyone the whole walk to the great tent that was surrounded by the greatest of all the dragons to every soar above Westeros. Daenerys Targaryens' dragons were practically children compared to Balerion. How could a creature so enormous exist like that? And he wasn't yet fully grown…

Balerion lifted his great head up and watched the host of men approaching his rider's tent, almost as if he could sense the tension and knew exactly who the enemies were.

But Brandon Snow did not break stride. He looked upon Balerion with fascination, but was not slowed at all.

The Targaryen soldiers stopped and made way for Brandon's group to proceed.

"Wait here," Brandon ordered the men with him, "I'll be back."

Brandon proceeded onwards, but the messenger looked back. "The maesters?" He said as if he were asking what they were doing here at all if not to join Brandon.

"Witnesses of a parley, Ser. Should things go south, so to speak, and the right of peace broken, they shall inform the Citadel and the Citadel shall inform all of Westeros and Aegon may add history into his throne."

Bran rushed after Brandon Snow into the tent. Once inside, he was surprised at just how lavished it was. It put the current solar of the King at the Red Keep to shame.

Sitting alone at a table with a pitcher of wine and two gold chalices, was him. The Conqueror himself, Aegon the First, dressed in fine robes of red with gold and black threaded through the chest and small bits of dragonglass sewn into the collar. What shocked Bran the most was just how much Aegon looked like Jon. The Conqueror was a bit bulkier in muscle while Jon was leaner, but their faces were practically the exact same except for the hair of course. But the eyes, despite being a different shade, there was something about them that had the same piercing gaze.

"Lord Snow," Aegon greeted calmly. He poured Arbor gold wine into the chalices and slid one to Brandon.

"I'm no lord, your grace," Brandon said, taking a seat and accepting a golden chalice with copper colored wine. He raised it up. "Here's to tomorrow, whatever it may bring."

"Indeed," Aegon clinged his chalice with Brandon and they both drank deep, nearly finishing their cups.

Brandon set his chalice down and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "My brother has given me the authority of his voice between us. And while I disagree with some of his tactics, I will honor his voice."

Aegon tipped his head to him. "You're a humble man to forsake your own desires for another. I respect that in you."

"Respect from a dragonlord," Brandon raised his cup, "I'll take it." He took a sip and set it down, leaning on his elbows to Aegon. "Did you see the army out there?"

"I did. Thirty-thousand of the strongest warriors I've seen since I began my campaign. Not in brilliant armor like the Lannisters or Greenhands, and not with blades stained with the blood of thousands like the Hoares. Those are warriors bred and grown."

"Quite true, and I may add that there's not a single heathen knight among them." Brandon pounded his chest in pride, reminding Bran of Greatjon Umber prior to the start of the War of the Five Kings. "We are the North, the First Men through and through. Stone, ice, and oak course through our spirits and the Old Gods have made us strong."

"I understand."

But Brandon shook his head. "Forgive me, King Aegon, but no, you do not. While the realms in the south enjoy the years of sun, we bear the snow, always, and not so we can suddenly let a southern King march into our lands he knows nothing of. I've seen the south, but I live in the North, I am the North. I know the exact blades of grass that mark the end of our border at the Neck. I know every brook and bridge, every tree and keep. What do you know of it?"

Aegon opened his arms and shook his head. "Your people's lands are as foreign to me as the Great Grass Sea and Asshai. I know the map, the markers, and the rough lay of the land. To all rights and purposes, anyone who would seek to gain footing in your realm is a foreign invader. I envy your love of home, Brandon. Your people's history binds you all to it with such a beautiful strength." He shook his head. "My family's home is gone. Rubble, waste, ghosts, and curses are all that remain in Valyria."

"And now you seek to rebuild your empire."

"If my intent were that ambitious, I would have burned you all at first sight and enslaved your people. But my desire is not for vanity and grandeur."

"Then accept your conquests and keep your kingdoms. Already you have taken hold of a rule greater than Garth Greenhand once had. And I heard King Argilac even offered his daughter as a wife for you."

"I already have my wives, and I love them with as much passion as you love your home. But I cannot stop. My destiny is to unite the Kingdoms under one crown, by peace or by blood, I will do it."

Brandon took a deep breath and sighed. "I believe you." He stood up. "Then tomorrow I shall look to the sky from the battlefield to see you astride your champion safe from steel, but I do not name you cowardly. The moment I saw your dragon, I wished I could have been a Valyrian for a day." He turned his back and took two steps before Aegon stood up.

"Before you go," Brandon stopped and turned his head, "answer me this. Of all the things I have heard of the North, one thing is said by all. The North Remembers."

Brandon nodded. "Aye, we do. Doesn't matter if you turn every last man, woman, and child to ash. The weirwoods are watching. The North will remember."

"Then do you remember your own legends? Tales of winters so terrible they lasted generations, covering the world in darkness."

"You think I don't know of the Long Night?"

"I was counting on it…" Aegon's eyes fell to the table and he slowly sat back down. "A year before I began my conquest, I had a nightmare, one that haunts me to this day. I stood upon the brink of winter, at the mercy of a great storm of ice and cold and… there was something there. An army unlike the world has ever seen before. Corpses fresh and rotted, walking as soldiers to their commander… their King. I never knew a beast so terrifying as that. And those eyes, those horrible eyes that froze my very soul-"

"You saw him," Brandon whispered, turning his body to fully face Aegon again. "You saw the Night King." He was silent, eyes tracking the ground back and forth. Finally, after a great pause, he returned to his seat and pushed the chalice aside. "Tell me everything you saw."

Aegon was shivering. "Daenys the Dreamer saw the Doom take Valyria. It has become my turn as I watched these horrors march upon Westeros. If the realms do not unite as one when they do, then it doesn't matter who's crown rests upon whose skeleton." He looked at Brandon straight in the eye. "But I saw hope. I saw the armies of Westeros united as one to fight together until the end. I have to make sure that day comes, no matter the price. I accept the judgment that awaits for the blood I have shed and burned. But I want my children to live. Is that not worth the price of a crown?"

Bran stepped back as the world around faded into dust and reformed into the Trident. Standing away with his back turned to Bran was a man in a heavy cloak and wearing the bronze and iron crown of winter. It was King Torrhen, watching the sunrise as Aegon was riding on horseback to meet him. Aegon stopped a good twenty paces away before dismounting.

"King Torrhen," Aegon said, "I trust your half-brother relayed…" Aegon paused when he got halfway and Torrhen turned to face him, revealing the face of the man who was at the negotiations last night.

"He did indeed," Torrhen said, "the way he conveyed it, I almost felt like I was there myself and felt the weight of your fears and hopes." He nodded at Aegon. "If what you told him comes to pass, then there will be nothing that the North can remember." Falling to his knees with his cloak billowing in the wind, Torrhen removed his crown and offered it. "I, Torrhen Stark, do hereby surrender my crown, my throne, and fealty to you, Aegon Targaryen, the King of the Andals and Lord of Four Kingdoms."

Aegon fully approached Torrhen and took the crown from his hands with delicate fingers. "I do hereby accept your surrender and your fealty, Lord Stark. Let no Northern blade be taken and melted into my throne."

Bran thought he felt it within himself to laugh. Such an incredible moment in history had been a trick in reality. But his smile faded when the truth of the present had settled on him. If Aegon and even Torrhen Stark had known about such a terrible impending future, why had hardly anything been done to prepare for it?

He closed his eyes and let the world around him fade away, listening to the voices long dead in the moments of time since past.

"Your father's dreams mean a strong King has to lead the realms, Maegor. How exactly does Aenys come close to that image?"

"Kings have always used their dreams as allegories. A great enemy from the North? Who else could it represent except those rabid wolves in Winterfell? They were Kings once, who's to say they're not just biding their time?"

"Viserys' last words to me were that Aegon is the chosen. My son is the true heir, not Rhaenyra."

"People used to speak of how much Aegon the Conqueror strived for a strong leader against the wars to come. You have his blood, Daemon, and now his very sword, what does it matter what color the dragon is on the banner?"

"You are the King now, Aerys. Prophecy, dreams, they are menial distractions that have wasted many Kings before you into ruin. You can't be like them. You need to be wiser, my friend."

Returning to reality, Bran sucked in a breath and took his hand away from the heart tree.

"What did you see?" Brienne asked intently.

Bran found himself on the verge of laughing, but contained himself only barely. "Did you know that Brandon Snow was actually Torrhen Stark in disguise when he met Aegon the Conqueror at the Trident?"

Brienne's jaw dropped. "Are you being honest?" She asked, almost thinking it was a joke.

Nodding Bran realized he couldn't believe himself either. "He surrendered his crown because Aegon dreamed of the Long Night and the Dead coming. He knew that Westeros needed to be united if we were to win this time…" His smile faded. "But then the whims and wants of others clouded Aegon's prophecy through the generations." Folding his hands in his lap, Bran sat back. But if Aegon the First dreamed of it and knew about the prophecy, why was there never a clue or a hint about the failures that would follow or about the Night King's survival? Why were there no warnings about what happened to the people of Jon and Bearded Bran?