17

Jon

Every night he went to the edge of the cliff that overlooked the valley and the village. No one ever followed him up here, not even Ghost. The moon was full tonight, the worst of times. Whenever he looked up at it he thought of her. Even after so many years he couldn't escape her, the guilt, or the pain. Each night he came up here, he wondered if he would finally have the will to step over the edge and fall.

But in the end, like each night before, he couldn't do it. He would find himself at the bottom but not from the fall but the pleasant stroll down. Most people found it pleasant. He couldn't, not with anything.

The wind carried a sudden voice of anger that echoed throughout the valley, enough to wake many from slumber. A dragon's voice was powerful that way.

He didn't even flinch when Drogon landed in front of him. It all felt like this was what he was waiting for all these years. Finally, the son had come to claim vengeance for the murder of his mother.

The great eyes gazed down at him with such anger and growled with a voice that would make the lesser fall to their knees.

'It's time to fly, Jon… Jon… Jon!'

Jon woke up from his dream. He didn't feel well rested at all but the comfort of the floor was better than sinking into that enormous bed, cold and alone. He turned his head up and saw Sansa standing over him, fully dressed already but looking terrified and concerned.

"Why are you down there?"

Jon groaned as he sat up and brushed the blurriness from his eyes. Ghost, who was laying next to him, propped his head up silently and looked at Sansa in silence. "You live as a soldier for too long, the rough things in life become more comfortable than the normal ones."

He peeked to the window and saw the sun was near rising. No point in falling back asleep now. But then he remembered what day it was and felt there would certainly be no way to go back to sleep.

Daenerys was coming. No wonder Sansa was up so early.

"How did you get those scars?" Sansa asked. Jon, confused since he already explained about his death, was about to answer but she clarified. "The ones on your back?"

Jon looked over his shoulder and barely saw the marks on his back. "I nearly forgot about those ones." He used to remember them fondly and the woman who gave them to him. Even knowing the ending, the memories were still pleasant. "Those are what I got for lying to the first woman I loved."

Sansa blinked. "And who was that?" There was a certain… edge to her tone.

"A wildling girl, before I was Lord Commander." He sighed. "She's dead now."

Her tension changed to genuine sympathy. "I'm sorry," she said, apologizing again.

"Happened a long time ago. No need to dwell on it, but thank you." He sat up and got to his feet, walking past Sansa and leaving a quick kiss on her forehead as additional thanks, to which she blushed and smiled as he proceeded to his trunk where a shirt he could wear for now was. "Do we need to be up this early?" Jon asked as he pulled a clean gray shirt on.

Her sisterly expression changed to the all-business Sansa. "I thought you'd like to prepare for when Daenerys Targaryen arrives."

"We've been doing that for the past couple of days." He walked over to a filled water basin and splashed some of the cool water onto his face.

"But if she's like what Ser Jorah Mormont described then we could use every hour we can get."

He turned his head looking over his shoulder at her. "Are you doing your duties as my Stewardess or my advisor?"

"Both. In the court of Kings, every little detail can make the biggest impact. Who you have to receive her, greet her, and represent you for one of many things."

"That," Jon said with a pointed finger, "shall be your job."

Sansa shook her head. "You won't pin this on me, brother. Daenerys Targaryen, for better or for worse," it being clear to Jon from her tone that Sansa was undecided at the moment for how to regard Daenerys. It was an improvement… somewhat. "...is a sovereign monarch and therefore you have to be there." She was as firm as her mother was when scolding Robb or Theon.

There was none of the special vitriol Catelyn saved for Jon alone in Sansa's voice, best as he could tell. "You're right." Not expecting that apparently, Sansa was silent for a moment. "But a welcome from a dock doesn't necessarily establish a good first impression between monarchs."

"Don't tell me you're still shy around girls, Jon. If the rumors are true, she's as beautiful as the sunrise itself." Sansa looked at him almost amusingly surprised. Given she was beautiful herself, there was a small hint of jealousy in her tone. "It's easy to be intimidated by a woman of her reputation. She's had years as a Queen. You've had weeks."

"I don't care for her titles or how much glory she carries."

Sansa placed her hands on her hips. "If that's not it, Jon, then why are you trying to shirk your duty as King? Is it the dragons? Are you afraid of your aunt?"

"I know my limitations, Sansa," he finally said. "With me, Daenerys… I am certain she'll see me as another one of her rivals. Not an enemy, but a rival. A competitor. I want peace, I'm sure she does as well but does that desire come before or after the Iron Throne? I'm worried she won't see the bigger problem."

"The wight will disprove all of that."

"Some of that. Not others - apparently I give off a sort of… foreboding quality."

Sansa shot him a smirk. "Aye, you do." A tiny giggle followed.

He couldn't help but grin softly. His heart ached like being stabbed all over again. "But to truly win her over we'll need a softer touch. Someone that can connect with her on a personal level without causing her guard to be up."

"So that's where I come in, you're saying?"

Jon nodded. "You both went through the same experiences in certain respects, if Qyburn's whispers are to be believed," he added quickly at the end. "You two went through so much of the same torments. She may be the only person who will truly understand you and the same goes for you to her."

Confused for a moment, suddenly Sansa's eyes widened. She never knew of this… of what happened to Daenerys. Brutalized almost the same as what happened to her. Perhaps if she had known, all could have been avoided. Jon would never know the answer.

"I… I see." There wasn't disgust on her face, but simple solemnity. "I'll do it, just… give me some time. It must look natural."

"Like any other political ploy guised as friendship?"

Sansa chuckled. "Aye, like that. But first, you need to get dressed."

"I am dressed-"

"You know what I mean," she chuckled as she strode out of his room and three of the new castle servants entered to get him ready for the day. Jon sighed but went with it despite how much he felt more like a damn princess than a man. He could dress himself in anything except these damn royal clothes. Hells, dressing into armor was easier.

He stood in front of the mirror, embarrassed at the attire he wore. He didn't give two shits about how he looked but according to his advisors a King had to appear in more than Northern leathers and armor.

His suit wasn't overly done with vanity and design. In the North it would have been something his father and Robb would have worn. It was a fine suit, that much he would admit, but he didn't care for appearing rich. But he couldn't appear sloppy either. It was a black long doublet embroidered to appear as if it were dragonscales, and underneath he wore a deep red leather shirt.

His new cloak was made of black with threads of red running through it was clasped around his neck by two dragon head pins.

He looked over to Ghost, who's head lay on the floor and red eyes looking up at him. "You don't care for the fashion either?" His wolf sniffed at the floor as his response. Compared to all the colors and decorations to remind the world he was a Targaryen, he only needed Ghost to show them where he truly came from.

The door was knocked on before it cracked open. "Are you ready?" Davos asked as he entered.

No, he wasn't. Davos had no idea how he was feeling. After fourteen years he was going to see her again. After fourteen years he was going to face the one that haunted his dreams.

This was the first time he wished he wasn't alone in the past. He wished that the Davos he fought with and who stood by him at the Great Weirwood could have come with him through time so he could have someone who knew him to talk to. The Raven's company was not the right kind.

He didn't have an answer. He just left for the Throne Room with Davos following close behind. Qyburn was with him but idling outside the door.

"Your grace," Qyburn began, "I have a report that you'd wish to hear now rather than later."

"Out with it then," Jon said, keeping his pace with his councilors with him.

"Several of my little birds have heard whispers of discontent in the city and outside. Men who fought for King Robert in the Rebellion grow angry and afraid of the Mad King's spawn, as they say. They gather in greater numbers, speaking of the desire to end your line now that the Dragon Queen has arrived."

Jon stopped and looked at Qyburn. "So it's a brotherhood then?"

"No, simply loyalists with a grudge and plenty of wine down their gullets."

"Then tell your spies to keep an eye on them. Talk is one thing, but action is another."

"At once, your grace," Qyburn bowed and quietly slipped away as Jon and Davos kept on for the Throne Hall. That little interruption actually helped calm Jon's thoughts. It might have been a distraction he needed.

All the nobles were gathered, including the few that Jon brought into his outer circle. They lined each side of the hall perfectly, emptying out the middle for their expected guest.

Jon ascended the Iron Throne and sat, waiting for her arrival. She had just arrived at the harbor and was on her way. He was told that she brought a squad of Unsullied and Dothraki as her guard, her translator, the Spider, Ser Jorah, and her Hand.

His hands tightened and the pommel armrests of the throne. Anticipation and anxiety coursing all throughout his body.

The doors swung open. Jon almost felt the urge to curse the gods for being the cunts that they were. He half-wished that Daenerys wouldn't walk through those doors, that she wouldn't appear at all.

But there she was, clad in the same black dress and crimson cape held by a single chain that wrapped around her body. Her silver hair was braided many times like it always was. But none of it was needed to make Jon remember just how beautiful she was. It didn't matter that their positions were reversed and now it was him gazing down at her. All he could see was her.

He felt a dozen emotions rising within him to take over. He fought them with every ounce of willpower he had. He felt great anger at himself for what he had done, what he was forced to do to her. Regret that he ever met her at all. If he never accepted that invitation to Dragonstone then she would have conquered King's Landing with all her dragons. Maybe she would have come North still, but it was his fault she lost herself.

Yet he loved her, yearned for her all the same. He felt longing to embrace her one more time, to kiss her. She was everything, and especially seeing her now made his self-loathing pierce his heart worse than Ollie's dagger ever could.

Daenerys and her entourage, Ser Jorah Mormont, Missandei of Naath, Varys the Spider, and Tyrion Lannister. The rest of them, as the Raven informed, were on Dragonstone formulating plans in her absence should the worst come through. Her guard consisted of four Dothraki - all he recognized but only remembered two of their names - and six Unsullied he could not identify because of their covered faces. They had all been disarmed but still carried themselves ready to fight no matter what and how.

All eyes were soon on them. They came to a halt at the bottom of the steps that led up to the throne. The last time Daenerys was this close to him was when she was taken away from the throne room after her murder.

After he murdered her.

Despite Jon's absolute best attempt, his body betrayed him in the slightest but worst way it could right now. He felt the trickle of a tear fall from his eye down the side of his face. Daenerys noticed, her advisors noticed. That was all it took to assure him that he couldn't face her yet.

Before introductories could begin, Jon stood from the Iron Throne and wiped his cheek clean of the wet streak that was there. "A thousand apologies, your Grace. I am not currently well enough to meet with you." He spoke quickly and didn't look her in the eye. "To make up for my terrible manners, I offer you the hospitality of the Red Keep and leave you in the hands of my Hand, Davos Seaworth, and my cousin and Stewardess, Sansa Stark."

Without another word, Jon walked at a brisk pace to the exit of the throne room, throwing a hand up stopping Beric and Jaime when they tried to follow him. He could feel many eyes on him, judging him, questioning what he was doing.

Ghost, however, did not follow after him. His wolf remained laying upright next to the Iron Throne.

'Jon,' said the Raven.

"Go away." Jon hissed.

'I was just going to say if you need somewhere to be alone, the training yard is empty.' The Raven's presence disappeared after that.

Actually that wasn't a bad suggestion. He needed a place to vent his emotions and the yard was partially secluded. He just had to get away from them all until he could get a grip over himself.

Daenerys

The entire Throne Hall was filled with whispers and murmurs after what had transpired. Jon Snow's Hand looked utterly confused as did some of his guards.

"Ahem," the Hand cleared his throat loudly. "Apologies for that. We can all testify the King's duties have made him wearier than anyone as of late."

In the corners of her eyes, Daenerys could see more than most of the nobles nodding to each other in agreement to that, though from truthful opinion or conforming for favor, she couldn't tell.

In the rest of her sight, she looked at those closest to the Throne. The Hand of the King, Ser Davos Seaworth… he was balder than she expected and much more of humble birth given his simple attire. The Two Kingsgaurd, the one with the eyepatch had to be Beric Dondarrion and the other made her fury flare upon finally setting eyes on the man who murdered her father. Aerys Targaryen was the evilest of madmen, she would not deny, but she could not wipe away the feeling of hate she harbored for Jaime Lannister. Two Kingsguard… one without an eye, the other without a hand.

Was the next going to be without a leg or perhaps a tongue? Perhaps Varys might be asked to join…

And the last of the King's Company was one that caught Daenerys' eye the most, a woman of much beauty and the brightest shade of red hair she had ever seen. People spoke of Northerners as rough people who were no cleaner than Wildlings. She pictured messy folk with battered faces and large, bulky bodies. Sansa Stark was certainly a subversion to her expectations. Though it appears that Lord Smalljon Umber, Ser Brynden Tully, and Lady Olenna Tyrell were not in sight, or perhaps they were just blending in with the masses.

"I believe that tonight we can go through with introductions properly when the King is well rested…" The Hand's words faded when the enormous white wolf that was sitting next to the throne began to slowly walk forward, its giant paws padding on the stone floor. "Ghost," the Hand called softly but went ignored as it came closer to the entourage, to Daenerys.

Two Unsullied stepped forward but with a raise of her hand, Daenerys beckoned them back. She did not get a sense of danger in her or animal ferocity from the wolf. It looked at her intensely, but that was it. She took two steps to meet it and held her hand out. The giant wolf sniffed at her fingers for a few seconds before looking back up at her. She never realized how red the wolf's eyes were until now and realized that she had seen this wolf before as the pommel of Jorah's sword. These wolf eyes that looked at her were intense and beautiful. Then suddenly, the wolf turned around and darted after the so-called King.

The Hand regained the attention of the court by clearing his throat loudly, "With our King's permission, we offer bread and salt and the hospitality of the Red Keep. Welcome home to Westeros."

A young man came forward with a wooden tray carrying a fine wooden bowl of broken bread and salt. Daenerys eyed the Hand, Ser Davos Seaworth as if he were taking her for a fool. Nothing about this was proper. But if this King of his was in fact Jon Snow then it wasn't a trick either. She partook of the bread and salt willingly, as did her people.

"If you will follow me," Ser Davos said to them, "I will see to it that you are lodged appropriately. We have rooms prepared and living quarters arranged for your men.

Daenerys nodded and followed. As they walked through the halls of the Red Keep, Tyrion made his way next to her. "Ser Davos, was it?" He asked. "Last I heard you were Hand of the King to Stannis Baratheon."

"Aye, then he burned his daughter alive for nothing before he died and his army with him." A low anger was present in his voice. "I was at Castle Black trying to negotiate with Jon Snow for help. Hoorah for being at the wrong place at the wrong time."

Daenerys' felt the obvious sarcasm in the Hand's voice but didn't understand. Shouldn't he consider it the right place at the right time? Or was he ashamed he was not able to stand by his former King during the final stand of Stannis Baratheon?

"Jon Snow," Tyrion continued, "the former Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. I believe that makes him the first living man to be a public former member of the Order south of the Wall. How does one do that without losing his head?" Daenerys was keen on knowing as well.

But no answer was forthcoming. "That is not mine to tell. You wouldn't believe me if I did. No one believes anything he says until he shows them wrong, and every time they eat their words. Don't plan on being the first not to because you won't. You can't when you see it." Just like Tyrion said of what Ser Bronn told him.

Daenerys spoke up finally. "And what sort of things does your King have to show?"

Ser Davos stopped and looked back at them all. "The same type of impossible that hatches three baby dragons from stone."

Fair enough.

He pressed onward high into the keep until they came to the first room. He looked at Daenerys. "This has been prepared for you." He opened the door for her and Daenerys was presented with a wonderful room all to herself. It was just as large as her solar in Meereen.

"I'll have one of the servants assigned to get anything you request should you feel the desire."

"Thank you, Ser. I would have time to speak with my council before we press on."

"Certainly. I'll be waiting down the hall when they're ready to be treated to their quarters." He gave a bow of his head and some final words before excusing himself. "Welcome home."

As Daenerys took a quick glance at her lodgings, Tyrion had already made for the silver pitcher which was without a doubt containing wine. "You will stay your hand, Tyrion," Daenerys stopped him, "there will be time to refresh ourselves but now is not it."

Tyrion shrugged with an innocent expression. "A wise man once said that optimism can bring the most beneficial of solutions, and the key to mine happens to be wine or women or both."

Daenerys was not amused at the moment given the current tension. "Do you believe it was fatigue that made him leave like that or something else?"

"Most certainly something else," Tyrion agreed, "but from the way the court went along with the excuse, it appears that he may have already won many of their loyalties. Still, it doesn't shake my curiosity as to why things happened as they did. A radical idea that comes to mind is that he may in fact just be a figurehead for a true ruler like the last two were for my father."

"No," Ser Jorah cut in with a presence of harshness in his voice, "that man is absolutely no figurehead. In these halls, he is the King to those people through and through."

"Like I said," Tyrion raised a hand in defense, "it was just an idea. But my thoughts could be clearer if you shared yours on the matter, Ser. You confided your impression of 'Aegon Targaryen,'" to our queen but barely to the rest of us."

Jorah said a few things he told Daenerys when they had reunited, but right now her thoughts were constantly surrounding her doubts if this man who called himself Aegon Targaryen was in fact what he claimed to be. She never met her brother Rhaegar, so finding a resemblance would be next to impossible. But not a trace of Valyrian heritage was in that man. His hair was dark as were his eyes, complete opposites of herself. Granted, she knew her ancestry had a fair few of those who had different colorings than their Valyrian kin but there was always a trace of resemblance.

"Perhaps," Missandei cut in, "it could be that he truly is tired. He has only been a king for less than a fortnight for a short while and if I remember what Lord Varys said before we left, he tasks himself with many duties neglected by his predecessors."

"That is true," Tyrion said, "a fine testament is the smell of air and city life instead of the reek of the sewers. Personally, I shall be eternally grateful to him for that."

This annoyed Daenerys. "Then perhaps you'd like to serve him instead? He's quickly earning the favor of the people. If he completely does so, then how am I to escape the image of a foreign invader?" Growling, she stood and began to pace, the frustration evident on her face. "To fail at the hands of some false King?"

"So you don't believe him?" Jorah asked.

"I have many doubts as to his purported identity. Many bastards of my House and blood have tried to claim the mantle of the dragon so why shouldn't Jon Snow be any different? I believe the record of Rhaegar and Lyanna's marriage, Jorah. But how are we certain that Jon Snow is in fact their child and not one who found the secret first and took advantage of it?" Did she believe that, or was it just safer for her to assume the worst? Daenerys didn't know. "I did not spend seven years striving to my home just to be told no at the height of my efforts."

"Of course not," Tyrion agreed, "but until we have a proper meeting, we can't deduce much more on the subject."

"Until then, we should seek the opinions and impressions of those around him. Sansa Stark, for example." Daenerys had been impressed with the welcome that red-haired woman had given them at the docks and more so by her unmoving stance when she had been able to casually negotiate the removal of her guards' weapons. "She appears to be the one closest to him despite not being his Hand."

"Sansa is certainly not the girl who I remember. She's a woman now, and a direwolf. Do not underestimate her because she most certainly won't do it to you."

"If you think I would, then you're mistaken. I'm quite interested to see what more is in her. But the king of theirs, you all spoke so highly and yet he disappears at first sight?"

Tyrion sighed. "I've seen this before in military men, so perhaps this is far simpler. They excel in battle and in commanding men, but governance and ruling bore them and lead them to the worst sort of places for a Realm to be…"

As Tyrion continued to drone on with his words and golden advice, Daenerys wandered over to the window of her room and gazed out to the city. She took this moment to let herself feel that she was finally home. It was here that her brothers were born and grew up.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the echoing of a noise. From what it sounded, it was the heavy grunting of a man. Not like a man having a time of passion with a woman, but a man in a great fight. She looked down at the base levels of the castle and could see the training yard from here. There was only one man there, Jon Snow. He swung a sword at a practice dummy over and over again but with such frustrations in his attacks. He was venting his anger more than he was practicing. Even when the practice blade snapped did he continue attacking the dummy.

What shocked her was when he threw his blade to the side and fell to his knees. From what she could tell, he was crying. But why? What reason did he have to be miserable? Perhaps frustration that his reign is about to come to an end? No, that would be more like a spoiled child and even though they hadn't even met properly yet, he didn't strike her as such. Tyrion spoke highly of him, Varys' spies reported how much the great lords of each realm held such great respect for him. Frustration in general? As if he was in over his head as Tyrion last mentioned. Perhaps...

Daenerys remembered what she witnessed in the Throne Hall. He shed a single tear when he looked at her, right when their eyes locked. Why, though? His claims of being her nephew by Rhaegar and Lyanna posed a possible truth. Was he overtaken with her return? At being reunited with a long lost Targaryen kin? Did he expect some heartfelt reunion of the family he never knew he had?

A new idea entered her thoughts. Perhaps she reminded him of someone he lost, someone he held close to his heart where no others could reach.

Sansa

It was the strangest thing. While Ser Davos had led the host of Daenerys Targaryen to their provided quarters, which technically should have been her duty as Stewardess, she dismissed court and slipped away to see to Jon. But when she and Beric Dondarrion had followed after Jon, they instead met Ghost at the doorway to the outside, blocking them off. When they both tried to get around Ghost, the direwolf moved and pushed them away. It was not odd that the wolf was standing vigil to keep his master's privacy, but how coordinated and determined Ghost was.

When they both finally gave up, Jon had just returned and wasn't surprised to find them there. In fact he almost walked right past them after Ghost got out of the way. What was stranger more is that Sansa almost thought she saw Ghost's ruby red eyes flash white for a second but she didn't pay heed to it as Jon suddenly appeared from the other end of the corridor. "Sorry about that," Jon said softly. His eyes were red and his face a little puffed. He had been weeping. "Did they accept guest rights?"

"They did," Sansa confirmed, "and Davos took them to their rooms."

Jon took a deep breath. "That won't happen again, I swear. We'll host the court tonight and do things correctly. For now, I need to be alone." She opened her mouth but Jon clasped her shoulder. "Don't ask why or if I need anything else. Just solitude and… peace."

She paused… then nodded. "If that is what you wish."

Beric raised an eyebrow. "Shall we postpone the interview with Remus Ashwood?"

That's right, the man Lady Barbrey recommended and sent to be a Kingsguard. And there was also the one by Bronze Yohn's recommendation… whose name she had forgotten, arrived today as well for the chance to don a white cloak.

"No," Jon said, "have Ser Jaime and the Blackfish meet us in the Small Council chambers. We'll take care of that first. And Sansa," he looked straight at her, "I want you to go and introduce yourself to Daenerys and offer her other courtesies, a tour if she wants, or something to help ease the insult until tonight when I'm ready."

"Jon," Sansa began her objection with a hiss, "do you really think it wise to allow a potential enemy such freedoms so quickly? Confinement for a night is not the worst they can have for their first"

"If they were our prisoners, aye. But they are our guests and as such we should be treating them well. I have hopes that you may form a good relationship with her for your own benefit. That's my final word." Without waiting to hear what else she had to say, Jon went off with Ser Beric and Ghost following behind them.

If Jon had told her any other way or spoken in a different tone than what he used, she could have shouldered the burden of this task onto someone else. But he spoke with the clear distinction that it was a task just for her as if he had planned to give it from the very start. And he had, given their conversation earlier. She had accepted the task of speaking with Daenerys. But what would there be to talk about?

She began the trek to the upper levels of the castle, but midway found herself pacing up and down the corridor, reluctant whether to keep going to the lair of the Breaker of Chains and all the other titles, or risk venturing throughout the castle to find some excuse to not to. If Jon wanted her to spy on Daenerys Targaryen, she would have better ways to go up to meet her, but he wanted her to be friends? The idea felt bland in her mouth.

Since when could she call someone a true friend that wasn't family? Jeyne Poole perhaps? Margaery?

"Oh," a voice appeared from behind her back as she paced, one that was all too familiar when she turned around, "forgive me, my lady," said Tyrion, "I didn't mean to interrupt your deep thought."

With her thoughts run astray at the arrival of her former husband… or was he still her current by technicality? Whatever his position, Tyrion's arrival sent her mind blank for several seconds that befuddled her for a proper response. All that came out was a single word. "What?"

Tyrion cracked a smile as he stepped forward. "If you would take my advice, pacing doesn't suit you Starks. You seem better at brooding. I remember your father doing it at Winterfell, your uncle and former half-brother doing an even better job of it at the Wall. You might want to try it." She stopped a few of his steps away from her and appeared content. "You look well and have certainly changed since last I saw you."

Sansa straightened herself. "First glance would have me say the same about you. Hand once again. Do you think you'll hold the position longer than last time?"

"I certainly hope so. I'd be rather flabbergasted if my father were to suddenly appear to take it from me."

'Then pray the dead don't make it to any remains of the Lion of Casterly Rock,' she thought silently.

"Though I don't think it would be as great as when we last saw each other. Joffrey poisoned and my wife fled from the city. I never felt so confused or astounded in one day."

"I'm sure it had its moments to enjoy." She certainly did when she saw as much as she could of Joffrey's final moments. "But I'm sure there have been marriages that ended more ridiculously."

"Yes," Tyrion agreed, "I believe that was the second husband in a row that Margaery never bedded, and as beautiful as she is, it's quite amazing the feast wasn't skipped straight for the bedding."

Sansa narrowed her eyes. "I meant ours, Tyrion."

"Oh," Tyrion felt slightly sullen, "of course." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I remember hearing from Varys that Littlefinger took you to the Vale. Was he involved in this little scheme that nearly had my head?"

Nodding, Sansa chuckled. "Yes, but you need not worry about him. Jon saw to it that he was not as lucky as you."

"Did he?" Tyrion leaned against the wall. "I feel like a certain part of me should be upset to not get a last word in to that man before he died… but then again I'd rather not risk some gaudy spiel to come from that wretched mouth of his. Your brother is proving himself smart to deal with Littelfinger as efficiently as he did. I'd like to hear more about it someday. But I do have my places to be as I can guess you have yours. Or am I wrong to assume you're not here just to think, but perhaps stuck on your way to see Daenerys?"

"You always were perceptive," she said with genuine compliment.

"You know," Tyrion continued, "the two of you have more in common than you may first assume. Being on different sides, it's certainly hard to think or look at things that way, but have you heard of her doings? I've told her much of yours and she is impressed with you. I know she'll be even more so to hear the better parts from you yourself."

Sansa's first feeling was to grimace that Tyrion was supporting Jon's statement from earlier, but it turned into surprise to hear that Daenerys Targaryen was impressed with her.

Tyrion bowed his head to her. "I hope we may speak some more after today, my lady." He kept onward down the hall leaving Sansa alone once again to decide which way to go.

Scrunching her skirt, she marched onwards up to the apartment of Daenerys Targaryen until she was finally at the door, finding it being guarded by two of the Dothraki warriors. Though it looked awkward since they were without their curved swords. Still, up close, they were tall and imposing, smelling of oils and horse and gazing steel eyes at her.

"Fin ajjin mae?" One of them asked.

"Jin andal khal's ajjalani chiori anha tikh astat. Fin kisha elat tat athvilajerar arrek anha'm elat tat zhorre mae asshekh akka ajjalani," the other one said and smirked at the other one, who chuckled. Sansa didn't need to speak their language to understand them. Their eyes said all they thought as they looked at her lustfully like Baelish did at times. "What you want?"

"I am here to see Daenerys Targaryen." Sansa said, not caring how they looked at her with imposing, lust-filled eyes.

The second Dothraki looked her up and down before knocking thrice.

Instead of the Dragon Queen, it was her handmaiden, Missandei of Naath.

Sansa curtsied perfectly. "Good day, my lady. I have come on behalf of King Aegon to seek an audience with your Queen."

Missandei nodded once and stepped aside, allowing Sansa to enter and see Daenerys Targaryen at one of the windows, looking out to the harbor and castle grounds before turning her head to Sansa. Even here, in a less formal setting, she was radiant in the way that all Targaryens were described to be. Sansa had met one in Jon, but he took in coloring after her aunt Lyanna. Here though was the pure article.

She honestly felt as unable to measure up.

Shaking away the thought, Sansa curtsied once more.

Daenerys walked forward, stopping just a couple steps away from her. "I must confess that you are not what I expected a Stark to look like. I had pictured your family as nasty, hateful figures because of their part in the rebellion. But it was one knight's truth that helped change that. On behalf of my family, I ask your forgiveness for what happened to your uncle and grandfather."

Sansa was shocked. She didn't expect the first words from Daenerys to be an apology.

"My father was an evil man, and I ask that you not judge a daughter for the sins of her father."

Sansa breathed, finding herself at ease a little more. "There is nothing to forgive, your grace. You are not the one who was responsible for it happening and neither was Aegon. The Mad King's deeds were his own fault, done before either of us were born. We are beginning anew."

Daenerys smiled. "I hope we can. I do not wish for animosity to continue between us all."

Sansa straightened herself. "The King has asked me to offer you any services and a tour of the castle and grounds if you wish."

"I would, my lady. As I understand, you spent several years living here yourself, though not under the best circumstances. Are you glad to be back without Cersei Lannister watching your every move?" They walked out of the room and down the steps, with one of the Dothraki following them as a vigil, the first one who spoke when Sansa arrived at the chambers.

"I am glad that I do not need to look over my shoulder every time I turn a corner in the corridor, but I would like to go home where I belong. Winterfell is where my heart is but the King's side is where my duty is."

"I've always felt that way in my travels in Essos. I was happy in places I lived, the things I was able to experience and see, but I never truly felt like it was where I was meant to be. But setting foot on Dragonstone, years of feelings being quenched, it all felt right in my soul."

"I envy you then, your grace, if you found yourself happy in those lands faraway from your home." Much as she tried to forget her time here, the layout of the Red Keep was burned in her memory. Sansa found it easy to lead the both of them through the cavernous hallways. "You forged a great path, even found true friends in your journey. Those with pure loyalty derived from love and trust." The prospect… it eluded her most of her life. "You might not find the same here with most. I didn't, not for a long time."

They reached a set of stairs, stepping down them in silence. At the bottom, Daenerys looked up. Sansa realized the Queen was much shorter than her. Quite the irony given her reputation, the Dragon Queen should've been nine feet in height. "It should be easier, I expect, now that the Lannisters are out of power, given I heard of how vile their treatment was to you."

Sansa took a deep breath. "I've been treated worse, but that says more of those experiences than of Joffrey or Cersei."

Daenerys looked curious into that, but seemed inclined to not pry into matters deep enough to cause pain. "Varys has told me it was someone else who kept close to your ear more than they."

"Petyr Baelish," Sansa hissed, which looked to surprise Daenerys. "I would ask that you thank the King for delivering justice to that man, or else we would all be slipping poison into each other's minds more than our cups. He always found a way to escape what he deserved with some slight sentence that could turn anyone to his side. I was too stupid for too long to think it was friendship he offered."

"I have known those of that type. Too many to count. As long as people like us reside in places of power, there will always be men with silver tongues to try and enter into our company."

"And those that try entering much more," Sansa implied. Before Daenerys could respond, they felt the sunlight hit their faces. "Ah, we're here."

Raising her brow, Daenerys' eyes then widened as she took stock of the royal gardens. "It's beautiful."

Sansa smiled. "My one refuge during my time here." She folded her hands as the two of them stepped along the flower-lined paths. "I learned a long time ago that it was Good Queen Alysanne that first started the gardens, and they were expanded by Queen Myriah Martell."

A brilliant smile now stretched on Daenerys' face. "Something of my House the Lannisters and Baratheons couldn't burn down." Her gaze shifted back to Sansa. "That and my nephew."

"And your nephew," Sansa chuckled. "Speaking of Aegon," using his Targaryen name lacked in familiarity, but it made up for in majesty. Like it held all the power and strength Jon deserved to have. "...on the throne, it feels like those kinds of men are too afraid to come close. I think that's the only reason I feel safe here."

"My nephew… Aegon Targaryen, Sixth of his Name." Daenerys spoke all of that in a surreal tone, as if she was still in disbelief. "My Hand and Lord Varys spoke much about your King when he was Jon Snow. A rather withdrawn person, but as honorable as your late father and a strong fighter. Now I hear he may just be the best swordsman in the whole world." There was a little exaggeration in Daenerys' words, but also a little belief too.

"You should have seen his fight against Smalljon Umber." She snorted. "Although calling it a fight is too proud a term. It was a humiliation. Aegon didn't even break a sweat while Lord Umber was battered, bruised, and bleeding. He could barely stand the next day." There was pause in Sansa's words. Thinking back on her reunion with Jon, it felt different than what she expected in a way that's not normal. "Sometimes it feels like he's a different person entirely. And I don't mean that because he was Lord Commander and a Wildling for a time, but… I don't know how to describe it. It's almost like he's the boy who would sulk in the corners of Winterfell, but only now he chooses to be there of his own will, not because he's ashamed of his birth. I sometimes wonder if it's because of how much of a prissy little girl I used to be." She bowed her head in resignation, sighing. "Especially in my treatment of him."

Brows furrowed, the Dragon Queen looked truly skeptical. "Were you that awful to him?" Daenerys asked. "You both seem much closer than most siblings, quite in tune with each other. He must have a great trust in you to have you in his council so deeply instead of in the North… and yet you speak as if in your youth being at each other's throats."

"No, I wouldn't describe it as that, more… I kept my distance and he simply stopped trying to approach." In a way, it was more painful than they had been at each other's throats. Sansa was that way with Arya and their relationship now didn't feel as if she was constantly trying to atone for the past. "If you knew our family, you wouldn't make such a conclusion. I was the perfect little lady for my mother while Arya was the one that truly gave Jon the kinship he deserved. But now… it's almost like the roles have reversed. I'm the one closer to him and Arya's keeping away."

Daenerys was silent for a moment. "...Still," she finally spoke. "You must be happy to have each other."

A smile formed on her face, a tiny one. "Oh, more than anything." Looking back at Daenerys, she suddenly blushed a bit. Sansa felt like a nerve had been touched with all this talk about her family. "My apologies. I've just been rambling on."

"You don't need to apologize." Daenerys fingered a lovely bloom of winter roses, planted off the path. "These were the flowers that made the crown my brother gave to your aunt, correct?"

Sansa had thought the story was a tragedy. It still was, though in a far different way. "Aegon's parents."

"Rhaegar should have been King," Daenerys murmured, before turning back to Sansa. "It's my turn to envy you, Lady Stark. You have what I let go of years ago."

"What do you mean?"

"My brother, Viserys, was killed in front of me, and I did nothing to stop it. I could have, but I didn't, rather letting my husband crown my brother with molten gold. I hated my brother so much, I feared him, and it all took to new heights when he pointed a sword at my pregnant stomach. It didn't matter anymore what blood or name we shared." Daenerys' head fell and they stopped walking. "There is no forgiving what he did, but I should have not let his fate come to pass, not at the cost of my only kin being gone from the world… as far as I knew, at least." The Queen looked very much older at that moment than her youth suggested. Sansa understood. "Have you ever felt truly alone in the world, Sansa?"

A question with an easy answer for once. "Yes. Maybe not as long as you, but yes. Here, the Vale, my own home. Until I found myself at the Wall with my brothers." Her eyes widened. How could she have forgotten? "Is Theon alright?"

Daenerys looked surprised that she inquired of Theon. "Theon Greyjoy?" At Sansa's nod, she continued. "He stands at his sister's side on Dragonstone in my service and is a loyal man."

"But is he alright?" Sansa asked with a harder emphasis.

The Dragon Queen looked at Sansa intently. "Yes."

Sansa sighed, relieved. "I hoped he would have come, but I don't know how Jon would have reacted if he did. He's been rather unpredictable at times."

"So I have seen," Daenerys said with a bit of humor in her tone, though there was an edge to it.

"Believe me, none of us know what happened with him today. It just did. But he has great respect for you and wants peace."

"What about you?" Daenerys asked. "Do you wish for peace with a foreign queen here to take the Iron Throne from your King?"

Sansa didn't answer immediately. She locked eyes with Daenerys and found that she was not trying to goad her into an argument, but seeking an honest opinion about herself. "I wish for peace, your grace. But are you willing to be alone again to get what you want?" The question now left Daenerys without an answer.

A silence hung between them, standing in the middle of a grove of fruit trees, but was broken by one of the Tyrell knights approaching them. "Pardon, Lady Stark," he said, "but you should know that Lady Margaery has just arrived."

"What?" Sansa gasped. "Why has she returned? Is Tommen with her?"

"Lord Lannister is not accompanying her. She is in the Throne Hall, awaiting the courtesies of the Red Keep."

"Of course," Sansa made to leave, but remembered her own courtesies. "Pardon my departure, your grace. I must attend to my duties as Stewardess."

"Allow me to join you. I would love to meet the former Queen Margaery."

They went forth to the Throne Room and found Margaery standing alone with only one of her family's men with her as a vigil. She wore a green and gold veil that covered her lower face, barely visible underneath, but Sansa could see that the bandages were gone.

"Margaery," Sansa said with open arms as she approached her friend. She could barely see a smile on Margaery's face when they both hugged each other softly. When they pulled away from each other, Margaery lifted her veil away and revealed a scar that broke Sansa's heart to see inflicted on anyone. It was still fresh with red, it would take years for the color to blend with the skin, but as it was, it looked worse than the Hound's. "What are you doing back here? Is everything alright with Tommen?"

"Tommen is fine. We've agreed we still need some time apart, but that doesn't mean he's not under my watch. As long as Cersei is here where she belongs, the Westerlands are at heel. My reasons are… my own."

"You need not say anymore. We have at least a dozen chambers ready to accept anyone. Take your pick."

"I don't suppose my old solar is available?" Margaery joked and shared a laugh with Sansa before turning her covered eyes to Daenerys. "So the news is true." Margaery curtsied before Daenerys. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, your grace. My name is Margaery Tyrell, wife of Tommen Lannister and Lady of Casterly Rock. Not as many titles as you, if I've heard correctly, but I am content."

Daenerys smiled and curtsied back to Margaery. "The pleasure of meeting you is mine, Lady Margaery. I would very much like to meet with you and your famous grandmother in the coming days. But I do think that this afternoon should be reserved for you and Sansa." Daenerys walked away without another word, back in the direction whence she and Sansa came.

"She's more than what I expected," Margaery admitted, "I never imagined pure Valyrian to look so ethereal. But I think the silver hair suits the women more than the men. Imagining the King with it is… an image of itself. He looks better with his dark hair, don't you think?"

Sansa, smirking slightly, looked at her friend. "Rhaegar Targaryen fell for my aunt for a reason, I believe."

"Do you think events will repeat themselves with them?"

Sansa, as if realizing for the first time Margaery's implication, stiffened at the mention of it but kept her noble composure. "They already are, in a way. My father told me that at Harrenhal, my Aunt Lyanna shed tears when she heard Rhaegar play his harp, and Jon shed one just at the mere sight of her." She sighed as she looked at the last bit of Daenerys before the Dragon Queen disappeared from sight entirely, not realizing the studying look Margaery was giving her.

"Have there been any marriage proposals between them for an alliance yet?"

Sansa scoffed and laughed at the same time. "There's been nothing between them except an apology from the King when he couldn't present himself to Daenerys. He won't say why it happened though. He's playing it off as being ill but anyone could see through him."

"Will there be, though? It makes sense for the King's mission against the dead. Her armies are not ones to be laughed at. Didn't Robert Baratheon acknowledge that a horde of Dothraki half the size of Daenerys' army would defeat whatever we had against it?"

"I do not recall that, but despite the large stature Robert was in his final days, his heart and mind were still hard tempered as a warrior's. He knew the art of war almost the best in the realm."

"And then there are also the dragons. I haven't seen them yet, but from what people say, they are not the little pets they were in their final days before vanishing. If we had just one of them-"

"Then no castle, keep, or fortress would stand firm against that power. The Dead could be maimed in an hour. If Jon were to marry her then he would have all three aligned with him, perhaps one would be his mount." In truth, if it was Daenerys who offered marriage for peace to Jon then he would be a complete fool to say no. Anyone who had those armies and dragons within their command could be unstoppable.

Margaery looked at her, gaze much like her grandmother's. "So if his Grace asked you what you thought of a marriage with Daenerys, would you endorse the idea?"

Sansa blinked, several responses forming on her tongue… only to die. "It… would be foolish of me to not endorse it."

Brow rising, Margaery cocked her head at Sansa. "That wasn't an answer. Would you?"

"I don't know what you want from me."

"A simple answer, yes or no."

Seven Hells, why did she have to put her on the spot like this? In this case it shouldn't matter what her personal feelings were about Jon going into an alliance like this, her duty as his advisor came first and she had to do what felt logical before thinking of what she felt he should do. "No, I do not. Not yet, at least. I have met with her and found that I both admire and respect her, yet everyone can mask their true selves with a good first impression. Her crusade of ending slavery is of the noblest kind, no one can argue otherwise. But a crusade for a throne is a different matter. What she is willing to do for the latter and not the former is something we have yet to discover. If we were to propose an alliance through marriage, we need to see her for more of who she truly is."

Margaery stroked her chin. "Hmmm, add in a few profanities and that sounds like something grandmother would say." Sansa snorted a bit, to which Margaery gave a tiny grin. "Yet it seems you want Daenerys to match up?"

"Well… of course. She's all Jon has left of his father's side."

"So you'll keep trying to connect with her as a friend."

"Yes…" Sansa looked back to where Daenerys had been. "Even if not… she seems like someone who understands me." After everything they spoke of before running into Margaery, Sansa felt a tiny connection between them that had the potential to grow. If things were not as they were with Daenerys seeking to supplant Jon, Sansa's heart would be set ashore to find a potential friend like her.

Sansa remembered that it was just her and Margaery alone right now and took the chance to repeat a previous question. "Why did you come back here, Margaery?"

Margaery simply sighed in her first response. "I was told there's someone here who can help me with some problems I have, a man they call Qyburn."

"Qyburn?" Sansa asked in surprise. "He's more or less the unofficial Grand Maester in the Red Keep and stays in the lower levels studying the wight with Samwell Tarly. Why are you looking for him?"

"That's my business, Sansa. Please respect my privacy in this. I just need to meet with him for a little while."

"No one can unless Jon or Sam allow it."

"Then would you help me by asking Aegon? I once knew Sam when we were children but not enough to consider him a friend. He was a kind boy but often too fidgeting and stuttery."

"You'd be surprised at him now. But I will ask the King as a favor to you. Don't expect to hold your reasons back though, or else you may not be allowed to so much as get a look at the odd man."

"Margaery!" Olenna had entered the Throne Room with a pleasant smith and feet dashing as fast as they could forward to meet her granddaughter.

"Grandmother!" Margaery rushed to Lady Olenna and they met in a hug.

Sansa had things to do and felt that the Tyrells deserved their privacy for each other. She knew that she would expect it when she and Arya returned home to Rickon.

Tyrion

It seemed that until nightfall came, all were left to their own devices. There were many men to keep watch in every corner of the Red Keep still, but they did not bear the Lannister Red. Instead they mostly bore the Tyrell Gold, only a dozen or two wore the armor of the North. But not a single man bore armor with dragons on it. Though it didn't matter what armor they wore, Tyrion had no need of them. The armor he was looking for was that of the Kingsguard, which in his opinion looked far better than those before. The gold coloring was quite vain to be honest and it looked ceremonial over functional. It's no wonder so many of Joffrey's died.

It was somewhat of a surprise to find the Kingsguard out in the training yard instead of with their King, and for Jaime to be practicing out in the open where everyone could see him if they wished but there were no spectators at all. That wasn't to say it was just Beric Dondarrion and Jaime, there were dozens of men all around doing drills before the evening came.

From Tyrion's experience watching men fight in melees and Jaime in his prime, this was a slow sparring session. Beric was purposefully keeping his movements in a steady constant flow, never giving rest.

Unfortunately Jaime was moving at full pace, or at least it looked that way how he sparred with his left hand. There was a level of skill now instead of unease like before, but he would never be at his prime again.

The two men finally stopped when Beric easily brought his blade to Jaime's neck at the slow pace.

"You're still letting the tip wave out too much," Beric told Jaime.

"I know," Jaime hissed, "it feels like I'm swinging this with a leg instead of an arm."

"Then quit your flourishing and those other fancy tricks you got to do with your other hand. Perfect your basics again. Here, I'll give you a new challenge." Beric grabbed his eyepatch and switched sides, now his good eye was covered and the mangle spot where his other would be was exposed. "Don't let me block you, that's all you need to do." Beric stood at the ready with his sword in both hands.

Jaime flourished his sword and stepped forward with a horizontal strike from the right but met Beric's blade instead of the arm. Beric followed his block by stepping forward and grabbing Jaimes neck, twisting his body around so that Jaime was forced to kneel with Beric behind him and a blunt blade at his neck.

"Good to know you show off harder than I do," Jaime groaned.

Beric released him. "The only thing you show off is how hard you wave the wind at me." Beric switched the eyepatch back and caught sight of Tyrion when he did. "Seems like a good place to rest anyways."

Jaime turned his head and his exhaustion turned into a strange scornful look, one filled with anger but also clueless.

"Lord Beric," Tyrion greeted.

"It's just Ser Beric. Has been ever since your father's dog lanced my chest open and I returned to tell the tale."

"Yes, I heard rumors about the Brotherhood with Banners, but never thought it was you at the reigns. You caused us much trouble, especially when we tried moving in on Lord Harroway's Town."

"Good thing your cousin was a terrible commander… or was it your uncle? I can't remember."

"My cousin's uncle's third aunt's grandson, or something close to that as it tends to go with my family."

Beric smiled, his mustache was so thick it covered his top lip but curled for it instead. But Jaime's expression did not change, nor did he blink at all. He just kept his eyes locked on Tyrion.

Beric cleared his throat. "I'll see myself under a tree or by the shore far enough I can't hear." He stepped away, keeping his eye on them for a cautious time before finally turning away and leaving.

There was a silence between the two brothers of House Lannister. Tyrion shifted in his stance but Jaime didn't move at all. "I feared the worst when I heard things had taken their turn here. Bronn likes you, but he likes getting his reward more."

There was still nothing but silence from Jaime.

"I guess you must be somewhat glad to be restored to the Kingsguard. I know it means incredibly much to you."

"To be honest, I never really cared about the Kingsguard," Jaime growled. "I cared about Cersei, about Joffrey, and Myrcella, and Tommen, and father." his voice grew angrier with every name he listed. "I told Bronn once I'd cut you in half the next time I saw you." His eye is moved over to a table where some live steel was located.

"Don't even think about it, Kingslayer." A girl's voice said. Out from the shadows cast by a wall, a young woman stepped out with a hand resting firmly on the pommel of a small sword. "Don't get me wrong, Imp, I wouldn't care if he tried to, but if he tries to cock up the peace the King's holding together then my blade will get to him first." She walked up to Jaime with a steely gaze. "First in the leg, then through your eye."

Tyrion winced but Jaime simply looked at her. "Then do it, and get it done already, little Arya, before my sheer presence brings you to a bloody mess too."

Stepping forward, Tyrion truly worried that a fight was about to break out. "Let's not get out of hand…" his eyes briefly darted to Jaime's golden hand, "I mean why don't we all just calm ourselves for at least one hour of our lives, or what could potentially be what's left of them. I know our family has done tremendous amounts of harm to yours, Lady Stark-"

"Sansa's the Lady Stark," Arya hissed. "Don't call me that, ever."

"Very well, Arya," Tyrion said cautiously but the lack of cold response confirmed his allowed usage of her first name, "I hope you're adjusting back to city life well?"

Arya looked down at him with a raised brow. Tyrion almost shared her feeling of disbelief that he was making smalltalk right now. Or at least trying to. "It seems every castle I go to, there's a Lannister causing my family trouble. At least in Harrenhal I got to cause some back."

"Harrenhal… you were at Harrenhal when our father was?"

"I was cupbearer to the most powerful man in Westeros and he didn't even know it was me. He was at least good to me, I'll give him that."

"You must have done your job well if he was good to you. There aren't many others who can say the same, but they tend to not be around him long enough to get a decent impression." He shrugged. "Then again, I was around him all my life and never managed to gain any sort of impression no matter how well I did my job."

She shrugged. "A good enough job, since your men were able to track Gendry down to a convoy of the Night's Watch."

He furrowed his brows. "You mean the bastard of Robert? That order was Cersei's, not mine."

"Figured, just needed confirmation. I'm glad my mother was just coldhearted to bastards and not a murderer like your sister. Embittered at the existence of children of her husband not her own." She snorted. "And it turned out Jon never even was one. What a waste."

"Not upset that your brother's a Targaryen, then?" Jaime asked, shaking his head. "That his grandfather butchered your pack."

Arya glared at him. "He's my brother in every way that matters, Lannister. I don't shun him, even if he is by blood my cousin. Even if he's… from that family. Not his fault." She shrugged. "Besides, can't blame him for faults when I have them myself."

"We all have our faults we have to mend from the War," said Tyrion, "We can't do that if you don't let us try."

"You have nothing to make up for," for once, she calmed down a bit, "I know you took care of Sansa good and honorably. You have my thanks for that. And you'd have even more if it really was you that killed Joffrey, but there's no way in Seven Hells I'd thank Baelish for that-"

"Littlefinger?" Tyrion squawked in surprise. "It was Littlefinger that did it?"

"Did no one tell you?" Arya asked with a smirk.

"Oh yes, this is the look of someone accused of murdering a King that he was innocent of."

Arya actually giggled at his remark. At least he still had some of his witty charm. "He arranged the whole damn thing with Olenna Tyrell. Brilliant, but I still would have killed him had Jon not done it first." She looked back up to Jaime. "And I would have killed your son if it was me at that wedding instead of Sansa."

"But you weren't," Jaime said with a dulled expression, "you ran from the city with your tail tucked between your legs, leaving your sister alone with my sister and my father."

"Ran from the city?" She chuckled and shook her head. "Imagine an eleven year old girl doing anything else. Were you an expert swordsman at eleven?"

"Well I won my first melee at thirteen, what did you win at that age? A bloody pair of breeches at long last or a pair of tits first."

"For fuck's sake!" Tyrion shouted. "Jaime, seeking a battle of wits with a young girl must be a waste of your talents… and even then, we are not enemies anymore. Can either of you not insult the other for a minute at the least? It won't end until someone decides to."

"Why should you care?" Arya asked. "You serve a different ruler than me. And I say 'me' since he's sworn an oath but it's nothing more than a formality for a hostage."

Tyrion brushed a hand over his face and almost groaned from the rising nausea this conversation was bringing.

"Girl!" a deep familiar voice called out and Tyrion couldn't believe he was looking at the Hound. The rumors said he died, but here he was, walking strong in better armor and just as scowling as before. "If you want me to beat your ass down, then you don't make me wait."

Jaime smirked and chuckled. "I should have expected the little wolf to take a dog for company, but I didn't think he made you his bitch."

The Hound didn't say a word. He took one step forward and punched a bare fist into Jaime's stomach. Jaime groaned and fell to the ground, clutching his body.

"I don't work for you fuckers anymore, Kinglsayer. And you," he looked at Arya, "I thought you liked challenges, yet of all people to through insults with, you pick Jaime fuckin' Lannister? Any bloody nancy could win a battle of words against him. Now come on."

Arya didn't even give the courtesy of a second glance to the Lannister brothers when she followed behind the Hound. Were they really going to spar against one another? If this were any other time, Tyrion wouldn't miss such an event for the world. Varys mentioned that Arya became a skilled fighter, but to what extent?

Jaime finally got back up to his feet and brushed his doublet twice for dirt. "I always hated that dog."

"He was good at killing, all that father wanted from him and Gregor." Tyrion hoped that a conversation might actually go on between them but Jaime simply shrugged off and took a step forward to leave. "I'm sorry about father."

Jaime immediately spun on his heel with a tight fist. "You don't get to say that! You will never be able to fix what you did! I set you free so you could run, not so that you could tear our family down!"

"And you have no idea what happened that night! The man who scorned me every moment he could, belittled me, reminded me of what I did to our mother. Do you think I asked to be born this way? Do you think I wanted any of this?"

"You fired the crossbow. Your bolts, your choice."

"Yes, I chose to kill our father!" Tyrion hissed angrily. "And do you not think that there's a part of me that regrets it? I do, and I am trying to do everything I can to atone for it. If you can't see that then I cannot help you."

"And how exactly are you supposed to help me? I'm a Kingsguard to the man who put our sister in a dungeon instead of taking her head and made my son a Lord instead of forcing him to take the black. I have no power here, and neither do you. This is what our family has become. There is no changing it."

"There is always a possibility. The difference between us is that I am better at finding it than you. And unless you change from the lonely Kingsguard you've always been, things won't get better. If I were you, I'd try to make a few friends since you don't have any around."

Jaime shook his head in disbelief. "Then by all means, get looking for what doesn't exist. But understand this, while Cersei is in a cell and Tommen in Casterly Rock, my oath is to the King."

"And mine is to my Queen. Our squabbles are ours and we must not let them interfere with those we serve. That much is clear. But I need you to believe me when I tell you that if we do find ourselves on opposing sides of a war, I will not have any part in harm that is aimed at our family."

Jaime didn't say anything more. He just turned and walked away as if nothing was said at all.

Considering how things have been going on so far, this wasn't a bad start to reaching out to his brother. Now, it was time for the part that Tyrion loathed and dreaded, something he believed would be completely pointless and redundant, but he still had to try. He had to talk to Cersei.

He knew where she was, and he was right to expect more guards than usual when he arrived at the door that led down to the Black Cells. A tall guard with a Stark shield and spear stood at the entrance.

"Halt," the guard said.

"I would ask to have an audience with Cersei Lannister, my sister-"

"The King figured you would," the guard interrupted, "and he's granted you one visit. Just one," the guard emphasized with an outstretched finger off his spear. "If you want to see her more, you need to beg the King for that privilege." He stepped aside and unlocked the door, opening for Tyrion and a guard on the other side stood from a wooden seat and acted as Tyrion's escort down into the darkness, but Tyrion had to hold the torch.

Deep into the darkness they went where no light of day would reach unless the earth itself opened itself up. And then they found her, curled up in the corner of her cell with messy hair falling in front of her face. Tyrion heard what happened regarding her walk of atonement, but he never could picture her with cut hair and neither could he imagine her with short hair that just barely reached her nose.

Cersei brushed her hair aside and squinted, bringing a hand up to her face to cover the light away. She always had this natural angry expression that was always present, at least when Tyrion had her in sight and she saw him, but this time it was almost like she was disappointed to see him instead of angry.

It felt like an eternity as neither of them said anything but in truth it was only half a minute before the escorting guard stomped his spear. "If you're not sayin' anthin', then it's time to leave, dwarf."

"He always has something to say," Cersei said, "some witty joke about cocks, or perhaps a turn of phrase leading to blackmail, or what about how his papa was such a mean old man to him?"

Tyrion tried to take a step closer to the cage but the guard blocked him with the shaft of the spear. "I didn't come here for any of those, Cersei. I came here because I'm the only one of our family who can. Tommen's in Casterly Rock, Jaime's forbidden to get past the door, and everyone else alive with our name is too beneath your favor for you to care if they came to see you, even as you are now."

"As long as you're alive, only one is too far beneath me." She slumped down to her hands and knees and crawled forward to the bars. She looked too weak to stand up, her arms and legs were the thinnest he ever saw, but not to the point to think she was being starved. "You are the curse of House Lannister. If you had never existed then our family would have ruled this country in a new dynasty that would have made the Targaryen's look like peasants and idiots. Instead you have to live, and kill half of my family so you can keep drinking with thieves and fucking whores."

Sighing, Tyrion looked her in the eye. "You must know now that I did not poison Joffrey."

Her hate for him did not diminish. "You may not have killed Joffrey, but you killed Myrcella. Jaime finally had the chance to be the father she deserved, but those whores stole all of it because who would see to it that they suffer? An Imp? An Imprisoned Queen? A one armed Kinglsayer? Everything that was mighty in our name, our legacy, was destroyed because of you."

"I'm not going to play who's fault it was when it was all of us. I know my part in it and I accept it. You won't, even in this state, you refuse to see how things got this way when you birthed three children from your own brother. You are not a Targaryen, Cersei, and neither was our father and yet he constantly did everything he could to outdo their entire legacy. He was jealous and spiteful because he was born a Lannister and not a King."

Cersei scowled and fell back into her cell, leaning up against the dry dungeon walls. "Why are you here?" She hissed.

Tyrion took a deep breath, venting the stirring anger out of him to regain his cool composure. "I am here to try to atone for my mistakes. I know the pains I have caused and I know the faults that are mine. What I also know is that no matter what I do, I will never receive forgiveness from you and neither will you ever see me as your brother. But I am your brother, I have always been your brother, and if I can ease this decrepit place which you survive in, then I will because no one else could."

He had nothing else to say and neither did Cersei. He carried the torch back up the steps and could feel the judgemental gaze from the escort. This would be told to Jon Snow of course and probably interpreted as trying to assist Cersei's escape. But faith in the King being reasonable gave Tyrion confidence he would not be charged with a penalty but it was because the King was reasonable that he did not have that much faith that he would be able to do anything to help his sister.