27 - ||

A younger queen... How long had Cersei agonized over the identity of the faceless woman who haunted her dream? For years, she watched with a critical eye as the young maids of court blossomed, confident when none of them came close to her in terms of beauty. Even the other famous beauties of Westeros were dull in comparison. Arianne Martell could turn an eye, yes, but that was because of her oversized chest and whorish garb. Margaery Tyrell was a pretty young rose (though, if what one of her surviving guards had relayed was true, the girl wouldn't be able to rely on her face anymore) but too sneaky and thorny to ever make a proper queen. As for Sansa Stark? Well, the girl was as pretty as she was stupid. She'd be no threat to Cersei, not for a long time. 

'Serana, though, she is as beautiful and keen.' Cersei thought, anger spiking at the mental image of the dark-haired woman. 

The so-called Lady Serana had been so arrogant it was sickening to be in the same room as her. How openly she flaunted her rejection of proper decorum even more so. And she'd been happy! The older Cersei got, the more she hated the happiness of younger girls. It was a bitter reminder of the naivety she'd long since lost, and the life that was denied to her. 

'And now she is somewhere out there, with her claws around my poor daughter's neck,' Cersei thought. The image of Myrcella's beautiful face, eyes wide with fear, flashed through her mind. 'You've got to be strong, Little Lioness. Just like I had to. Don't let them destroy you. Don't let her destroy you.'

She took a long swallow of wine, the drink sour on her tongue, as the memories came again. 

"Will the king and I have children?" Cersei asked, already knowing that children were the way to secure her power.

"Oh, aye. Six-and-ten for him, and three for you. Gold shall be their crowns and gold their shrouds, she said. And when your tears have drowned you, the valonqar shall wrap his hands about your pale white throat and choke the life from you," Maggie replied, a smile growing on her ugly face. 

She hadn't needed to say all that, Cersei had often though. Maggie the Frog had promised Cersei three answers. And three answers the woman gave, three horrid, cursed answers. So why more? Why tell Cersei how she would die? For years, Cersei tried to convince herself that it might not have been true, that it might have been a horrible, hateful woman's attempt to drive a beautiful young girl mad. Yet, in her heart of hearts, Cersei knew that wasn't the case. She knew that, no matter how much Cersei tried to fight fate, that the valonqar... the Little Brother would kill her. 

Unless Cersei managed to kill him first. 

'Tyrion is still out there. He's probably plotting my death right now. As soon as he gets a chance, he'll kill me. Just like he killed my children.'

"You must be careful."

Cersei opened her eyes, staring into her vanity mirror. "I know that! I did everything I could to protect myself and my children, only for everything to fall into madness."

"Did it?" her reflection asked. "You have the Iron Throne. You're not tethered to some useless, brutish husband. You finally have the power you've always wanted, with no one standing in your way."

"That's not true. My enemies are still in every corner, lurking in every shadow. Tyrion, Swyft, Slynt, Pycelle, even Jaime. None of them believe in me, and the moment I show weakness, the moment I bleed in front of them, they'll rip my power and position away from me."

Her reflection smiled, skin smooth and beautiful. Completely without flaw. "You are smarter than them."

"But not stronger, not as things stand right now."

"Well, if things come down to it and they become too much of a threat, you know what you have to do."

Cersei started up in her seat. "What?"

A wider smile, bright white teeth gleaming in the candle light. "You have to kill them all. In any way you can. You finally have control over your own life for the first time ever, don't let anyone take it away from you. Don't be anyone's victim."

.

.

.

"Alright," Cersei said, nodding along. "There will be war then."

"War can be a terrible thing, yet it can also be a cocoon for the transformation of your life and Westeros. You can do this, Cersei. You know you can, you've always known what was best for your family and for the world around you," the reflection encouraged. "So, what will be your first step?"

Cersei closed her eyes, trying to recall everything her father had ever said about ruling. 'Father said that controlling the movements of the world was the best way to secure one's hold. Control the flow of letters and information, control the movement of soldiers and merchants, and don't let anyone out from under your thumb.' 

"I need to expand my sphere of control," she said eventually. "I will inform Jaime and Qyburn that I want our standing forces to be readied. King's Landing and the surrounding area needs to be kept secure. The soldiers should start patrolling the roads leading to the cities, and occupying nearby towns."

"Excellent, don't let any—"

An abrupt knocking on the door cut off Cersei's friend, reverting it to nothing but a mirror image. 

"Who is it?" she demanded, pulling the tie of her dressing gown tighter. 

"Grand Maester Pycelle, Your Majesty," a meek voice called from the other side of the door. 

'I've just escaped your company. Why are you here to bother me just one?' Cersei sighed, rolling her eyes. "Enter!" 

When the withered old man creeped in, Cersei scowled. "Whatever it is, be quick about it! I have too much else to do tonight to waste time on you."

"Of course, my Queen." Without another word, Pycelle pulled a scroll from his sleeve. "It's the Greyjoys, Your Majesty. They're finally sent word about their intentions."

Tyrion VI

"You're leaving? But we just got here!"

"This is hardly a vacation, Bronn," Tyrion replied, tucking a clean tunic into his knapsack. Though clearly made for a child, he could tell at a glance that it would fit him poorly. Still, Tyrion bit his tongue. The clothes had been given to him by the Bell Singer's captain, and complaining about the generosity shown to him by one of the few truly neutral parties around would be foolishness. "And yes, I will be traveling west with the Tyrells as soon as they set out, which will be after we've had one more strategy meeting. The sooner I get back to Casterly Rock, the better."

"In that much of a hurry, eh?" Bronn asked, lifting his head off the pillow to meet Tyrion's eye. The sellsword looked as content as a fat house cat from his position sprawled out the guest apartment bed, on the bedside table there was a bottle of wine and a plate of cheese and fruit. All things considered, the man looked as if he was more relaxed and comfortable than anyone else on Dragonstone. 

Tyrion shoved a pair of trousers in the knapsack, following it with some socks. "If you're asking if I miss the place, then no. For all it may be my home, I do not have an abundance of happy memories there. Still, it is my family home and I must speak with my Uncle Kevan. I need to get there before Cersei gets her claws into him."

Uncle Kevan, with his well-known practical, pragmatic nature, would obviously be an important figure in the upcoming conflicts. But, while getting him on Tyrion's side was obviously important, Tyrion's Aunt Genna was a strange study in contradictions: fat and square-shaped, yet bosom and smooth-faced; shrewd and sarcastic, yet intelligent and loving. Genna had stepped into the maternal role of Tyrion and his siblings after the death of Joanna Lannister, and therefore was the only maternal figure Tyrion had ever known. He'd often thought that Aunt Genna had the strength of character and effortless authority that Cersei wished she had. And maybe, just maybe, she would be strong enough to pull Cersei back from this terrible edge she'd found herself on.

"While I'm hoping Cersei and her lot will be too disorganized to mount any sort of search or defense, the roads will still be dangerous," Tyrion said. "I'm still in the market for some protection. So, will you come with me, Bronn?"

The sellsword hemmed and hawed, flexing his body on the soft bed. He made such a show out of answering, that the thought occurred to Tyrion that Bronn would make an excellent actor or bard. 

"I supooooooose that I can make the sacrifice of leaving," he said eventually. "Not for free, mind you. I like gold, and you Lannisters have plenty of it. Make no mistake though, if things go wrong, then our partnership is done. If protecting your arse becomes more trouble than it's worth, then I won't hesitate to throw it to the wolves, understand?"

Tyrion snorted. "Oh, I understand perfectly. Why do you think I hired you in the first place? Your overwhelming sense of compassion and mercy? By the Seven, no! It is your survival instinct and practicality that I value."

"Good, just so we have an understanding," Bronn said. He lifted his head up, cocking an eyebrow at him. "Have you given it any thought to what you'll do if things go wrong?"

'I was very much hoping to ignore that possibility, thank you very much,' Tyrion thought. He exhaled slowly, breath forced through clenched teeth. "When I first reached manhood, my father put me in charge of all the drains and cisterns in Casterly Rock. Lord of my ancestral home's waste. Undoubtedly, he considered that to be a suitable position for his unwanted imp of a son. And I excelled at the position, not even he could deny that. The water never flowed better. And all the shit found its way to the sea. There was hardly any stench."

"Is this going somewhere?" Bronn asked. 

Tyrion rolled his eyes but continued. "I was getting there! Anyway, as a result of the said position, I know the ins and outs of Casterly Rock better than anyone. Better than my father and the castle guards. Including ones too small for a proper man. If a meeting with my family goes wrong, then I can use that knowledge to escape to safety. One of the few benefits of being a dwarf, I suppose. I might not be able to pull things off the high shelves, but at least I can sneak around and hide easier."

There was bitterness in that last statement, if one could not tell.

"You could also use that information to lead an invasion and capture that castle right off the back," Bronn pointed out. 

Tyrion winced at the suggestion, the image of soldiers swarming his home filling his mind. "I'm going to my Uncle Kevan to avoid bloodshed and chaos, Bronn. You're a heartless, greedy bastard, my friend. And that is what I like about you. But even you have to understand why I don't want to risk the safety of my family, many of whom are women and children. Not to mention, we still do not yet have a standing force capable of such an undertaking."

He swallowed hard. "I'm not ruling out the idea, only saying that I'd rather it be a secondary option."

Bronn shrugged. "Meh, do what you want. It isn't my family, I have no stake in the matter."

'Family. My family...' Tyrion thought. 

Though he sometimes denied it, Tyrion had good memories of his family. Jaime's warmth was there, of course, a kind and protective presence in his life. But there were also his uncles and aunt. Uncle Gerion, whom he had loved most of all, had taught Tyrion to juggle and tumble, and could also make him laugh. Uncle Tygett, bitter about constantly living in Tywin's shadow they might have been, and Uncle Kevan, who had come to embrace that he would never be his elder brother,were also kinder to Tyrion than his father ever was. Aunt Genna had once, when Tyrion was still quite young, acknowledged his intelligence as being on the same level of Tywin's capability. That was more than enough to secure Tyrion's affection for her. Then there were his many cousins and extended family. Yes, many of them kept their distance due to Tywin's disapproval, or, for the little ones, because they believed the rumors that Tyrion was some sort of horrible nightmare monster. A grumpkin that would lurk under the bed and eat them alive if they were to wander off at night. 

' Will they side with me? ' Tyrion asked himself, truly genuine for the first time. 'I know Uncle Kevan is a practical man, I know that logically. Yet I also know that he cares for the family reputation as well. I'm hardly well-liked by the nobility of Westeros. Even if they don't strike me down immediately, there is no guarantee that Uncle Kevan will decide to hear me out, let alone acknowledge that I was my father's heir and should now technically be the Lord of Casterly Rock. Or that he won't decide to take my information, turn around, and take it back to Cersei. In theory, the Lannisters finally have control of the Iron Throne like my father always wanted. Holding onto it is now the problem. He might think that backing Cersei is in the best interest of the family long term.'

Dread began setting into his bones, eating it away at his stomach and mind. Tyrion forced it away. 'No, no I can't let myself think like that. Plan for the worst, yes, to do anything else would be foolish. But I can't let the fear ruin my plans. I need to trust that Uncle Kevan will see the sense in standing against Cersei.'

Of course, a creeping voice reminded Tyrion, even if he took control of the family without issue, and Uncle Kevan did agree to work with him, there would still be much his family would be expected to answer for. 

'Can we do it? Can we pay our debts?' Tyrion wondered. 'Using the Lannister forces to stop any conflict could be argued as recompense. It won't be enough though, people will want gold, land, and marriages in exchange for blood. I'll have to start calculating what the lives lost are worth.'

Tywin had always been good at that, to decide the worth of a man or woman or babe based on any number of factors. It was easy for the heartless old man; he had always calculated someone's worth when looking at them. And now Tyrion would have to figure out how to be just like him.

Many a bard's song talks about how it is impossible to hate someone without loving them, and while Tyrion doubted the validity of such a statement, it was certainly true when it came to his father. 

'The old man had to die before I got a chance to tell him what I really thought about his arse, didn't he?' Tyrion thought. Abandoning his packing for the moment, Tyrion stole the wine from Bronn's bedside table. 'You never prepared me for this. Maybe it's because you never planned on me living long enough to take Lordship of Casterly Rock?'

That was likely it. While Tywin never outright tried to kill Tyrion, he'd always gotten the feeling the man wouldn't have helped Tyrion if he was dying in front of his father. The old man had always resented that he was stuck with Tyrion as his heir instead of Jaime. As if Tyrion found the idea of being saddled with the weight of thousands of people's needs exciting. 

' Well, it looks like neither of us will get the peace we want ,' he thought, taking a swing of the wine and wincing at the bitterness on his tongue. 

"What're you thinking about?" Bronn asked. 

"My father."

The sellsword snorted in amusement. "I think of my old man sometimes. He hit hard, the right ass he was; not as hard as my Ma though."

"My father never hit me," Tyrion replied. 'He couldn't be bothered.'

Bronn continued without acknowledging that Tyrion had said anything. "He was the one who taught me to only look after myself though. I have to give him credit for that."

Now it was Tyrion's turn to chuckle. "Well, I suppose the time has come for me to use what my father taught me, for better or worse, to survive and protect our family. I'm sure he'll approve, whatever hell he may be in, considering how much he always pressed putting the good of the family above all."

And putting the Lannister name first was what he was doing. Perhaps it would damn him, butTyrion would do whatever it took to protect his family, especially his brother. 

'Oh, Jaime... Why do you have to be involved in this mess?'

His older brother would be a problem, no doubt about it. First and foremost, Jaime was an experienced battle commander and a fantastic fighter. On the battlefield, he'd be a one man army. Thankfully, Tyrion was fairly certain that Cersei would want to keep Jaime by her side, lessening his danger. Still, if war erupted, Jaime's skill at organizing troops would keep them on their toes. Simply put, Tyrion's beloved big brother was a potential enemy. A threat.

And yet Tyrion didn't care about any of that. Even if they were on different sides of a war, he wanted to protect Jaime. Even if that meant protecting Jaime from himself. Himself and, more importantly, from Cersei.

'Of all the women in the world, why did you have to fall in love with our own sister?' Tyrion silently asked, as if some magical sense of his brother could hear the question. 

If such a thing was possible, what answer would Jaime give? Cersei was beautiful, yes, but so was fire, a stormy sea, a stalking wolf, and many poisonous plants — all of which were much more forgiving and merciful than their sweet sister. If you knew her as well as Tyrion did, then it was easy to see that, for all her beauty, Cersei was empty inside. Empty like a bottomless pit, an endless want for things she wasn't meant to have, and which only gave way for paranoia, jealousy, and desire. 

Tyrion wasn't exactly sure when he'd become aware of Cersei and Jaime's illicit relationship. Even in his earliest memories, the two were always together. Even by that point, Cersei already had her claws deep within her twin, glaring and hissing and baring her fangs at anyone she believed was looking to take her beloved Jaime away. Many a poor maid had suffered greatly after smiling at, or receiving a smile from Jaime in Cersei's presence. If the young ladies of Casterly Rock were not careful, they would be found with a 'stolen' ring, or accused of 'spying' on family conversations. All infractions that Tywin, despite rarely caring to pay attention to any of his children if it didn't directly benefit him, would punish swiftly and without mercy or thought. 

Having always been an observant individual, even as a child, Tyrion had picked up on this habit. It and Cersei's open hostility to him made Tyrion aware of his sister's true nature from very early on. Aware and confused as to why Jaime would show her so much love and warmth when Cersei had little to give in return. Still, despite this, Tyrion often found himself jealous of the twins. Love and kindness were a rarity in the Imp's childhood due to his cold father's scorn, and the fear or matching hatred of the majority of those around him. So, yes, many times Tyrion would look on at Cersei and Jaime and wish he had someone to be so hopeless and helpless for. Despite how much she hated him, there were times Tyrion wished Cersei would love him like she loved Jaime — no matter how twisted it was. 

Or maybe not. As time went on, Tyrion had become more and more certain that Jaime loved Cersei far more than Cersei loved Jaime. Cersei, he'd often thought, couldn't love anyone aside from herself. Not really, at least. He'd watched as she doted on her children when they were babies and helpless young children, but aside from Joffrey, Cersei always seemed to grow dissatisfied with them as they aged and grew into individuals. In his opinion, it seemed that Cersei had become both more distant and more controlling just as Mycrella had started to truly come into her own. 

'How long will it be before she grows dissatisfied with you as well, Jaime? You don't look as much like her anymore, now that you've both gotten older. I hope you're starting to see the truth of what Cersei is.'

Maybe he was. Maybe Jaime would realize the error of his way and abandon Cersei, sneaking away to arrive on Dragonstone's shore with all the information, supplies, and allies they'd ever need. Maybe Jaime wouldn't need to be his enemy.

'And maybe if dreams were bottles of wine, I'd never have to be sober again,' Tyrion thought bitterly, looking down at the bottle in his hand. He thought to his brother and asked again, 'Why'd you have to have to fall in love with Cersei, Jaime? Why did you have to put this burden on me? If this comes to war and Cersei loses, I don't know how I'll protect you! If you're lucky, you'll keep your life in return for taking the Black or leaving Westeros forever. Oh, how I wish I could hate you for all of this!'

And yet he couldn't. After all, during all the terrible long years of Tyrion's younger life, only Jaime had ever shown him the smallest measure of affection or respect, and for that Tyrion was willing to forgive him almost anything. Even the position he was putting Tyrion in. 

The same could not be said for Cersei.

'Oh my sweet sister, you've really put us all in the shit this time, haven't you?' Tyrion thought, bitter hate and regret pooling in his stomach. 

For so long, Tyrion had helped clean up Cersei and Joffrey's messes, keeping a close ear on dangerous rumors and disastrous plans. He'd smooth over the rumors, diluting them with careful half-truths, or covering them with even juicer lies. He diverted the foolish plans, sneakily redirected Cersei's attention or alerting their father of her intentions. He did his best to keep Joffrey in line, trying to slap some sense into the cruel boy. Yes, he may have done it while teasing and mocking them, but that was all in good fun, and he'd still done it. And he'd done it all for love. Or, at least, he'd done it in the vain hope that, someday, Cersei would finally let go of her unyielding hatred of him.

No more. 

Who knows, maybe freed of any restraints, she would make her plans collapse upon themselves without any fighting being necessary?

No, a fool's fantasy. It's more likely they would all burn to the ground, taking everything else around her down as well. If nothing else, Tyrion knew she would not be stopped without first spreading her spiteful misery around. 

'What're your plans, Cersei? Do you even have them? You never plan ahead, not really, and that has always been your downfall. You took the opportunity to grab at power, and look at what it cost you! Even under the best of circumstances, this would have never ended well. Yet this wasn't the best of circumstances, and now Little Tommen is dead. Moreover, Myrcella has fled from you, having finally seen the monster you are under all that gold and glamor. And that's your fault. It's all your fault.' 

Tyrion stared down into the wine, the dark red color reminding him of what Tommen's head must have looked like when it broke against the ground. 'But I'm sure you don't care about any of that, do you? No, I'm sure you're too busy mourning Joffrey, your beloved baby monster.' 

Flesh and blood or not, Tyrion did not mourn Joffrey; he could not bring himself to do so. 

For all that Joffrey had been his nephew and prince and a young life, Tyrion knew something was wrong with the boy since he was young. There was no sweetness in him whatsoever, no innocence or care about anyone aside from himself. More than once, often while fixing Joffrey's mistakes or witnessing one of his tantrums, he thought that it would have been better for everyone if he'd died in his crib. Perhaps that made him a terrible man, but he'd heard that his entire life, so it had long since lost any impact. 

Despite this, Tyrion also couldn't bring himself to be glad that Joffrey was dead. After all, he could only imagine the madness it would bring out in his sister. 

And the grief it may cause Jaime. 

A knocking at the door drew him out of his thoughts. He tensed and, out of the corner of his eye, Tyrion saw Bronn sitting up in bed. As the man started to unsheathe his dagger, a familiar voice called out.

"Lord Tyrion! Ser Bronn! Are you in? It's Jon!"

Tyrion breathed a sigh of relief and opened the door with a greeting of, "Oh good, it's you. I thought someone was coming to kill me."

Rather than laugh, Jon gave him a concerned frown. "Have others been harassing you? I was worried about that possibility, that's why I came to check in."

At the worry, Tyrion felt a twinge of warmth for the young man. "Well, no one is happy to have me here, but no, they accept it well enough to not be openly hostile. At the very least, no one has threatened my life. Come in, come in."

He waved Jon inside, shutting the door behind them. Even though they were in a (marginally) safe place, Tyrion had spent far too long playing courtly games to trust that no one was listening. "I wanted to thank you again for all your aid. If not for you, I'm quite certain that I'd have ended up as shark food."

"We both would have," Bronn piped up, having returned to his relaxed position. 

"Think nothing of it," Jon said. He accepted the wine offered to him. "You didn't deserve to be killed for simply being related to the wrong person."

Jon and Tyrion both cringed at the words and the unintentional meaning they held. 

Jon cleared his throat, diverting the conversation into less tragic waters. "From what I can tell, most people will be heading out in two days. Will you be ready?"

"As much as I can be, though I can't claim I'm looking forward to traveling again so soon," he said. "You?"

"Same, not looking forward to being back on a boat. Though, hopefully, this trip will be a lot shorter," Jon shrugged. He looked over at Bronn, "I hadn't realized you'd be along for this adventure, Ser Bronn."

The sellsword chuckled. "Ser Bronn? I like the sound of that. And yes, so long as the Imp makes it worth my while, I'll be around."

"Well, I welcome you then. I have a feeling that we'll need all available hands, and I've heard you were successful in defending Lord Tyrion from bandits that took out his entire party, and got him out of King's Landing. If nothing else, we can't let Cersei move first, if we do then she'll have the ability to set up the playing field."

"Agreed. Which is why Bronn and I will be heading to Casterly Rock. We'll stick with the Tyrells as long as possible. Safety in numbers and all that."

"That is the hope," Jon agreed with a nod. "That and that my family will be safe whilst heading back north. As worried as I am, I keep telling myself that I need to trust that the measures I've put in place will be enough to protect them." 

"Measures?" Bronn asked.

For a moment Jon hesitated in answering, no doubt wary about revealing too much information about his family's plans, even in front of believed allies.

'Smart boy,' Tyrion thought, refiling Jon's wine glass. Especially as it was his hidden tricks which had played such a pivotal role in foiling his sister's little ploy beforehand. Of course he was not so charitable as to assume she would not have made a complete mess out of things without the hidden prince's presence.

"My sister's instructor, Syrio Forel, will be going with them, and he is a swordsman of fierce renown. Him along with a few other specialized guards will be enough to handle any threat that comes their way." Jon shifted, eyes sliding around the room. "Actually, Tyrion, I was wondering if you would mind walking with me for a bit? There is something I would like to show you."

"Oh... yes, of course," Tyrion said. He wasn't a stupid man, it was easy to guess that Jon wanted to speak about more secretive matters.

He was also not the only one who picked up on such things. 

"Alright, you two go have your secret fancy talk," Bronn laughed. "I'm going to catch a nap before supper and get my things together."

It occurred to Tyrion, not for the first time, that the sellsword was smarter and more aware of the goings on around him than one might guess by appearance. It was part of what made Bronn so useful, and also so potentially dangerous. 

Still, he bid the man a friendly goodbye as he left the room to follow Jon through the twisting corridors and walkways of Dragonstone. When they reached what Jon must have decided was an appropriate level of isolation, he spoke up again.

"Lord Renly will stay here at Dragonstone."

"I imagined as much," Tyrion said. "I won't claim to be a healer, but even I know that you should avoid moving someone in his state as much as possible."

Jon nodded. "Yes. But Lady Valerica will also be staying, so she can continue to oversee Lord Renly's treatment."

Huh, that was strange. Tyrion could count the amount of interactions he'd had with the formidable Lady Volkihar on one hand, and while none of them had been technically unpleasant, the woman unnerved him in ways that he couldn't explain. Then again, Tyrion did know that the woman had spent most of time aboard the Bell Singer toiling away in the infirmary. Still, it seemed odd that she was willing to separate from her family. 

'Perhaps Lady Serana will be staying here as well? They may see it as a safe haven, or a convenient way to escape Westeros. Even with Cersei and King's Landing being so close, Dragonstone has easy access to the sea so they could sail back to Skyrim if need be.'

"Gendry will be joining my family in the North, it seemed like the safest place for him. He considered staying here in Dragonstone, but thought that it would become messy," Jon continued. 

"Matters of inheritance and power always are."

Keeping the boy far away from the trueborn Baratheons was the best way to keep him alive. More importantly, it would keep him from making enemies. 

Another nod, then a pause, and, "Myra will be joining them as well... Lady Valerica insisted on it."

The announcement had Tyrion stumbling in his step, caught off guard. Hot anger cut through his body and he looked up at Jon, ready to demand what right the young man had to decide such a thing without consulting him!

But then Jon shook his head ever so slightly, his face solemn, and Tyrion's anger faded away. It was replaced by a deep sadness, a deep sadness that Tyrion could not keep Myrcella with him and that he could not protect her. 

'No, I have to trust that Jon wants to keep her safe too,' he reminded himself. 'He hasn't let me down yet so, for now at least, I need to go along with it.'

Besides, there was no possible reasonable explanation for why Lady Volkihar's granddaughter would be traveling with the Tyrells and the Lannister Imp. No, people would be much more likely to believe that the woman would want her grandchild to travel with the family of her soon to be goodson. 

' Myrcella managed to survive living with her mother, Joffrey, and the snakes of the royal court. She is a strong girl, just as I need to trust that Jon has her best interest at heart, I need to trust that Myrcella is strong enough to make the right choices and survive. ' 

No matter how much Tyrion tried to reassure himself of that, a dark voice in the back of his mind mocked that hope. 

Better hope she isn't too strong. That's what gets women and girls killed. You don't little Myrcella turning into another Brave Danny Flint, do you?

Tyrion shivered and shoved the voice away. He forced a smile and a nod. "Yes, I... agree with her. That is a good solution for her."

Jon's shoulders fell slightly, giving Tyrion the impression that he'd been worried the situation would turn into a fight. He grinned and started speaking again, his voice now more relaxed. 

"Enzo and I have finalized our plans to sail for Sunspear. Captain Adelaisa is taking us in the Bell Singer , reminding me once more that I am going to owe her forever when this is all done." Jon said that last part with a chuckle, but Tyrion couldn't help but agree with the statement. He owed the woman too, for the fair way she treated him on the ship, and making it clear that she would not tolerate any violence against him or Bronn. "Sam will also be joining us, though he has admitted to not caring for the heat. So I can't imagine he'll be enjoying himself in the desert. Still, I'm glad to have him along."

"You certainly won't be seeing me in Dorne anytime soon. As much as I appreciate a good bit of debauchery, heat always makes a hangover worse," Tyrion replied, only half-joking. Then a thought occurred to him. "Jon, where are we going? I understand that you wanted to get me away from Bronn to discuss... private matters, but are you taking me somewhere in particular, or are we just walking in circles."

That got him a true smile, broad and bright. "Oh, I have a surprise for you, Lord Tyrion. And I think you'll like it."

"Truly magnificent," Tyrion breathed, eyes wide as he gawked at the little creatures in front of them. He reached out a hesitant hand, daring to let his fingers brush against the smooth, warm membrane of a wing. 

"I know of your fascination with dragons, so I thought you'd like to see them before we separated again," Jon said. He leaned down, scooping up the small blue dragon and lifting it to his shoulder. Little claws dug into the cloth of Jon's tunic as the creature gained its balance before letting out a chirp, and sticking its snout into Jon's ears. After a moment of snuffling about, the dragon sneezed and pulled its head back. After a moment, it seemed to make its comfortable and Jon reached up to scratch it under the chin. "A bit of a thank you for trusting me with Myr…rrra"

The dark colored dragon —Ebony, Jon informed him— stretched out across Tyrion's boots and let out a deep breath. He reached down, stroking a fingertip down the creature's spine and admiring how the muscles and scales flexed at the touch. "They might be the most amazing thing I've ever seen."

A loud feline shriek drew their attention to the dresser Jon's pet shadowcat had been sleeping in. The third of the dragons, the gray and orange one, had found its way up next to it and decided that nipping at the feline's tail was an excellent idea. Clearly it had not considered how much larger the shadowcat was. Now pinned under a furry paw, it was letting out a series of loud, indignant clicks and squeaks that had its two siblings getting agitated. 

"That ones a trouble maker," Jon sighed. He made his way over to the dresser and started separating his bickering pets. "Phantasm, that's enough! You've won, he's learned his lesson!"

He finally managed to pull the dragon away, leaving the shadowcat to scowl and hop up on a higher ledge so she could safely resume her catnap. Walking back to his armchair, Jon glanced down at the dragon in his arms and said, "You brought that on yourself, you know that right?"

The dragon let out an annoyed sounding huff. 

"They keep you on your toes, I assume?" Tyrion asked, earning a loud groan. 

"Oh, you don't know the half of it! They keep escaping from anything I keep them in, and will bite anything that sits still long enough!" Jon said. "I'm trying to train them though, especially now that they've started to breathe smoke. Fire will come soon, and I don't want that to get out of hand."

Tyrion thought back to the stories he heard of the destruction Aegon and his sister-wives' dragons had caused, as well as stories of the destruction of Summerhall. With a wince, he nodded. "Yes, that would be quite... unfortunate. Especially if you're on a ship."

"Excellent!" Jon returned to his seat. "What can you tell me about dragons?"

"What?"

"You said you've read most everything written about the Targaryens' dragons. It makes you the closest thing I have to an expert. So, what can you tell me about dragons?"

This was true, Tyrion had chased knowledge about dragons as enthusiastically and ravenously as he consumed wine and women, especially when he was younger. Yet in the face of actual, living dragons, it all seemed so inadequate for the situation at hand. Still he searched his mind for all the information he'd consumed over the years.

"What do you want to know?"

Jon shrugged. "Let's start with how long it will take for them to be big enough to ride."

"Hmmm... Not for some time, I'm afraid. From the stories, the dragon, Tyraxes, was about a decade old before it could carry young Prince Joffrey Velaryon for short distances. Though, from what I recall, Tyraxes was still considered too young and small for battle," Tyrion explained. "Though that isn't to say these—" he nodded to the trio of troublemaking hatchlings "—will grow at the same rate. I can tell you that having plenty of space to grow, unbound and unconfined, and plenty of meat will allow them to grow faster, stronger, and larger. They need to eat cooked meat, by the way. In time, they'll be able to hunt animals, and cook them with their own fire, but not yet."

With a nod, Jon said, "Yes, I've noticed that. They've pulled it right out of my supper. I'll make sure they have more to eat though. Gendry is working with the castle blacksmith to make a cage that I can use to transport them. It's for their own safety and necessity, but I'll make sure they can be out in the open as often as possible."

"Be careful with that," Tyrion warned. "Eventually, their scales will thicken and grow harder, harder than steel. They'll be able to melt the walls of castles with their flames. For now though, they're vulnerable, and it is up to you to protect them."

At these words, Jon pulled the dragon in his arms closer. Looking down at it, he rubbed the pad of his thumb against the creature's neck. "I was like them once. Young and weak, in a place I didn't understand and was too large for me. It was only by luck, a bit of... natural skill, and the care of those around me, that I was able to survive until I could grow strong."

He looked up at Tyrion then. "I grew strong, Lord Tyrion. Do not doubt that. I grew strong just like they—" he gestured to the dragons "—will."

A shiver went down Tyrion's spine, and he recalled for a moment his dreams of dragons coming to burn his family. In the moment, there has always been an element of guilty satisfaction in the dreams. To see those who hurt him writhe in pain as they burned. Now though... Well, he couldn't help but wonder how satisfying the fantasy would be if the fire was turned onto him.

"Are you afraid?" 

Tyrion blinked, startled by the question. "Excuse me?"

"Are you afraid?" Jon asked again. "Are you afraid of everything that is happening?"

"Are you?" Tyrion replied, deflecting so he wouldn't have to give an answer that he did not yet have. 

Jon frowned, brows knitting together. "I'm... afraid that I won't be able to protect my family. It feels like I'm finally growing close to them again. I don't want to lose that."

Tyrion wished he still had his wine. "How strange... I'm afraid because of my family. I'm afraid of what Cersei's actions will cost us all."

"I'm afraid of what people will want from me," Jon said, frown deepening. "Now that they know I'm... what I am. I'm afraid people will want me to be king by the value of my blood. I don't want to rule, not like this at least."

It struck Tyrion then how Jon looked somehow incredibly young and old. It was a look that he'd only ever seen from those who'd stared into the fires of tragedy and horror. It hurt him then, to admit that Jon's worries were well founded. 

"I have found that the burden of duty rarely cares whether or not we wish to carry it," Tyrion replied. "No matter what happens, Cersei cannot be allowed to maintain control of the Iron Throne. Once she is gone, the realm will need a new ruler. Be it you or someone else, that much is clear. And the current list of desirable and suitable candidates is not very long."

'You would be a good king,' Tyrion thought. 'They say the best kings are the ones who do not want the crown.' 

Of course, Tyrion wasn't entirely sure he wanted Jon to be king. Dangerous as the position could be, part of Tyrion still wanted Myrcella to sit upon the throne—even if her... heritage called into question how much claim she had to it. Of course, in the end it would likely be best if she did not. Her safety was his utmost priority and would continue to be for the foreseeable future. And few would be more vulnerable than a young, parentless, and unmarried girl in a position of power. Even if he was her uncle, there was little Tyrion could do to protect Mycrella in the viper's nest of King's Landing. 

'If she had a husband, one with the power and allies to protect her, Myrcella may be able to not just survive, but even thrive. She is a smart girl, practical and friendly. She could be a strong ruler, if given the chance.' Tyrion glanced at Jon again, doing some quick mentally calculation of his age. 'He's older than Myrcella by several years, though Westeros has certainly seen larger age gaps. It would also seal her legitimacy.'

Jon as king could be a dangerous and currently unpredictable problem. Jon as Myrcella's loyal consort was another matter entirely.

There was also the matter of Lady Serana, Jon's soon-to-be bride. But that was a problem to be solved for another day.

"Perhaps it is good that we are afraid," Tyrion said after a long moment. "Fear can keep us cautious. Caution can keep us alive."

"It can also drive us mad," Jon replied. "You know, I have nightmares sometimes. About things that could happen, about things that have happened, battles I've been in, and things I've seen that I wish I hadn't. More than that though, I've always had nightmares about the stories I was told as a child. There were times when I was little that I'd have so many dreams about the things that lurked beyond the Wall coming to get me, that Uncle Ned considered talking me on a trip up there just to convince me there were no such dangers."

Tyrion couldn't help but snort. "You used to have bad dreams about snarks and grumpkins?"

"Don't laugh, I was a child," Jon said, fighting the urge to chuckle himself. "And no, not snarks and grumpkins. Uncle Benjen told us all sorts of stories, filling our heads with so many terrors that Uncle Ned finally put his foot down and forbade anymore stories. He claimed that all our screaming and crying was driving him and Lady Catelyn mad."

Jon pulled a hand through his hair. "Ever since I came back to Westeros, I swear that... Oh, never mind. I actually have another question for you, Lord Tyrion. If you'd be so kind."

"Of course, though I'll have to start charging you after this one," Tyrion said, half-joking. He didn't ask about what Jon had clearly wanted to say. Tyrion had his own nightmares, after all. Still, something about the young man's description of his nightmares tugged at his brain. It reminded Tyrion of what the Old Bear had told him. And his own promise to get help for the Wall.

'Now is not the time for ghost stories. My mad sister is the bigger issue. I'll consult with Lord Stark afterwards, I'm sure he'll want to keep his own house in order.'

"Tell me about the Martells," Jon said. "If I am to treat with them and make peace, I will need to know about the family. More than I already know, at least."

Tyrion let out a long, slow breath. "I can tell you that they might kill you immediately. Prince Doran Martell is a calm, intelligent man, but his younger brother is only one of those things. I'm sure you've heard stories about the infamous Oberyn Martell."

The look on Jon's face said it all. "I know that he is a well-respected warrior and scholar. I know that he reputation for both his temper and habit of poisoning those he takes issue with."

"And his sexual appetite, don't forget that," Tyrion teased. "It could be useful when you finally meet."

Jon rolled his eyes but smiled and said nothing. "I know that he has many illegitimate daughters that he dotes upon; Uncle Ned even considered trying to arrange a marriage between myself and one of them. And I know how much he loved his sister. Which... yes, means there is a good chance he'll want to kill me immediately."

"I won't lie. It's well known how furious Oberyn Martell was at the death of his sister and her children. If Jon Arryn hadn't figured out a way to make peace with Prince Doran, I have no doubt he would have fought the Crown until his death—maybe even beyond. My father claimed Oberyn Martell was half-mad, and, while I know the man only by reputation, that reputation is fierce enough that I do not doubt it. 

"I fear that, if he deems you guilty for what he sees as your parents' sins, despite whatever his brother may say, he may do his best to ensure you never leave Dorne. There is a reason they call him the Red Viper of Dorne. I may not understand the full scope of your… abilities, but you'll do well to remember that vipers are deadly, dangerous, unpredictable, and they kill beasts greater than them often." 

Tyrion gave a tight half-smile, "What I'm saying is… be wary."

"I will," Jon said with a thoughtful nod. "What about the rest of the family?"

Tyrion took a moment to answer, mulling thoughts over in his mind. Eventually, he said, "Prince Doran Martell is a difficult man to judge. I know he's suffered from gout for many years now, he's used it as an excuse to not travel to King's Landing on the rare occasion the Martells have been invited. It, and his lack of political moves involving the rest of Westeros, has led to some consider him weak. My father was never convinced of that though."

At the confused look on Jon's face, Tyrion continued. "He never believed Doran was willing to let the death of his family go so easily and without demands of reparation. Even the most placid of Dornish have a temper that would prevent such a thing. Moreover, somehow he kept an infamous hothead like his younger brother from taking action. No, he always suspected Doran was waiting for… something. He had no proof though. Still, if he was right, than Doran Martell might be more dangerous than his brother."

"And what of Doran's children?"

"Hmmm… His heir, Arianne Martell, is the only one of note, as Trystane is still only a boy, while Quentyn has been lying quiet. He doesn't seem to be impressive in any aspect. From what I've heard, she is stunning, keen, and calculating. Oh, and keep your wits about you with Oberyn's bastards. They are loyal to their father, and generally similar in temperament. He may use them as agents against you.

"Hmm, in fact, it's not just regular danger you need to watch out for. The Dornish have a successful history of using seduction to undermine outsiders. Although I'm sure Littlefinger tried the same with you. Spurning them might lead to shorter tempers though."

"So you're saying that I need to beware of the entire House?" Jon laughed. 

"If it makes you feel any better, I'm sure I'd be up for the slaughter too."

"Surprisingly, it does not." Jon gnawed on his lower lip for a moment before speaking up again. "Perhaps if I gave them another object for their revenge, it would state their bloodlust long enough to hear my proposal."

Tyrion gave the young man a startled look. "I certainly hope you aren't looking at me!"

"What? No! Do you know anything about Amory Lorch?" 

'Odd question but... ' Tyrion turned the name over in his mind. "Lorch... Lorch... He is a knight of House Lorch and bannerman of House Lannister. I've only met him a few times, and, honestly, he isn't anything impressive. My father tolerated him more than most, something that always struck me as strange because of how unintelligent Lorch is."

"Do you know where he resides now?"

"Last I heard, my father sent him to oversee the reconstruction of Harrenhal. Which, if the legends are true, means Lorch will likely be dead soon. Why?"

Jon waved him off. "I'm afraid that I will have to keep that to myself for now. All you need to know is that Ser Amory Lorch has a great debt that he needs to pay to the Martell family."

"Hmmm." For saying so little, Jon had just told him much. With how little the Martells tended to interact with the rest of Westeros, it created a very short list of grievances they could possibly have against Lorch.

'The murder of Princess Elia and her children, such a terrible thing it was.'

Technically speaking, it wasn't common knowledge who had carried out the brutal deed. That was something his father was very careful to ensure. Elia was well-liked by the people, and he hadn't wanted to deal with the mess of one of his bannermen being openly responsible for the slayings. Despite this, it was common knowledge in Casterly Rock that Gregor Clegane had killed Elia and her babe. They said he had raped the princess with her son's blood and brains still on his hands. Princess Rhaenarys though, she was more of a mystery. 

'Clegane is dead now. From the whispers I've heard, Jon did the deed himself and took great relish in it. If he, and the Martells, want Lorch that badly, it can only mean one thing.' 

From what Tyrion knew, Lorch wasn't liked by anyone in the main Lannister House. Sacrificing him to the Martells to ensure their cooperation would be no great loss.

"As I'm sure you've heard, a Lannister always pays his debts. Therefore, I approve."

"Debts... I can't help but feel that I have my own to pay."

"How so?" Tyrion asked. Jon hadn't lived in Westeros in many years, who could he possibly owe?

Jon shrugged once again. "It was my parents who caused Robert's Rebellion, wasn't it? If they hadn't run away together, perhaps Elia and her children wouldn't have died? And, yes, I know everything is more complicated than that. Enzo and Serana have all but beaten it in my skull that I am not responsible for the actions of my parents. Yet.... I suppose emotions are not logical and some guilt still remains."

"Well, there is no way for me to convince you to feel any other way than you do," Tyrion said. "But, allow me to say just one thing: being born isn't a crime. You didn't ask for your legacy anymore than I asked for my—"

He gestured to himself, earning a chuckle. 

"I just—"

Without warning, the door swung open to reveal the dour face of Ned Stark, startling both men.

"Uncle, please knock next time!" Jon said. "And I thought I locked that door!"

The words stopped Stark in his tracks. He shifted uncomfortably, "I asked one of the head servants for the extra key. I was worried I might not be able to get in if something happened to you."

Jon frowned, clearly displeased. "Ah. Still, please knock next time."

The Lord of Winterfell said nothing for a tense moment, instead shifting his attention to Tyrion. "Lord Tyrion, I hope you are well."

The man's voice was as frosty as his homeland. It was clear that, though Stark had voted in Tyrion's favor, there was no trust or lost love between.

"As well as I can, given the circumstances at least."

"Excellent. Excellent. Now, if you don't mind, I would like to speak with my son. Privately."

Jon didn't look all that thrilled at the prospect of such a thing. Still, it wasn't Tyrion's place to get in the middle of family drama. The one he was born to was bad enough. He got up, carefully pulling his feet out from under the still-snoozing hatchling dragon, and patted Jon on the knee. 

"I'll make a list of different texts that you may find useful," he said. "There are a few more common ones that they may even have in this castle's library."

"Thank you, Lord Tyrion. It's been excellent speaking with you."

"And you as well."

Jon smiled at him then, looking like a young man once more. Stark, however, merely scowled when Tyrion squeezed past. 

'Oh, working together will be so much fun.'

Jon XV

Jon bit his tongue to avoid immediately bringing up the subject of the extra key his uncle had gotten to his room without permission or consultation. If they were parting ways again soon, it would do no good to spend these final days fighting or being angry with one another. 

"Have the preparations been going well?" he asked, though he already knew. Jon had been helping oversee them, and what he wasn't there for, Arya told him about.

His uncle nodded. "Yes. Lady Shir—Lady Baratheon is being generous by lending us a ship to return to Winterfell. We will be in her debt."

"Maybe she sees doing so as paying off a debt for helping her escape King's Landing?" Jon suggested. "Or perhaps it is simply out of the goodness of her heart."

The cynical part of Jon doubted it. People, especially those in power, rarely did anything just because. Yet, Shireen Baratheon was still young, so perhaps there was hope for her. 

"How does Arya feel about all this? Is she getting her things together?" His little sister hadn't been happy the last time they spoke; she seemed torn about between wanting to return to Winterfell, and wanting to stay with him. "Sansa too. I know she's been... emotional."

Uncle Ned sighed. "Arya isn't happy about separating again. 'The lone wolf dies and the pack survives,' she keeps telling me. She won't admit it, but she is terrified that she'll never see you again."

'No matter how tough Arya acts, she is still a sweet little girl on the inside,' Jon thought fondly, hiding his smile. "She need not worry, I'm hard to kill."

"We all think that, right up to the point we're in our grave." Before Jon could respond, Uncle Ned continued on. "Sansa is... Sansa. She's still crying, and throwing fits whenever I try to talk to her. I want to help her, but I wonder if that will do any good in the long run. Maybe... Maybe it would be better to let her figure this out herself?"

"Tough love has its place in the world," Jon agreed. "I had to learn to survive on my own in Skyrim, and it made me all the stronger for it. Now, I'm not saying we drop Sansa in a far-off land alone and without any coin to her name, but forcing her to solve problems on her own might do her good in the long run."

"That is, if we all..." Uncle Ned trailing off. Not wanting to speak the words into being. Jon understood, more than any of the living Starks, his uncle had lost much to war and conflicts. Now that he had children of his own, the Warden of the North was undoubtedly terrified that his children would soon join his brother, sister, and father in the Winterfell Crypts. 

"Serana will protect you all," Jon said, hoping to provide some comfort. "I wouldn't have agreed to let you all sail off alone to Winterfell if she didn't agree to go with you."

"And I'm happy to have her along for the extra protection. I won't claim to understand all this... magic business and I'm not even sure what Lady Serana is, yet I can tell that she is a more than capable fighter. And I'm not going to argue with having someone like that by my side. Even if I get the sneaking suspicion that she doesn't like me."

'She doesn't,' Jon thought. He wouldn't say it outloud —why risk creating any potential animosity between future protector and protectee?— but there was no use pretending in the safety of his own mind. And he didn't even want to begin dealing with the fact that his uncle had begun suspecting that Serana wasn't human. "You should ask her to spar against you. Serana is trained to use a short sword, but tends to neglect keeping her blade sharp, so to speak. And having a skilled opponent might motivate her to break it out."

"...I used to train with Lyanna when we were both little," his uncle said after a moment. "That's why I could never bring myself to punish you for sparring with Arya. It reminded me of the past far too much."

A silence lapsed between them as they couldn't help but think of what had been, and what could never be again.

After a moment, Uncle Ned seemed to shake himself back to the present. "Aye, that is a good idea. I'm afraid that I've been slacking in my own sparring as well. With what is to come, I need to be as sharp as possible."

"Syrio will be there as well. I know he will be spending most of his time training Arya —something that will continue, no matter what you say. I will be firm on that— but I can't imagine he'll turn down the chance to spar if offered. Even if his style of swordplay is far different from yours, it is always worth expanding your abilities."

Especially, as Uncle Ned had put it, with what is to come.

"I also have an important favor to ask of you," Jon said. He reached out to take his father's hand, looking him in the eye. "Take care of Myra. She is deeply important to both of us."

"Yes, of course. I'll treat her as I would any other child in my care," his uncle replied. "She will be your family soon, which means she will be mine. Rest assured, I will protect her."

'And, if nothing else, Ned Stark always strives to protect his children. For better or for worse,' Jon thought, reminding himself that Serana and Syrio would be there to keep things together. "Thank you. She has... been through much in these past months. It's why she stayed with her grandmother and away from the Red Keep."

An easy lie, one of many they'd concocted to stitch together a backstory for the suddenly appeared Myra Volkihar. If there was one thing Jon regretted about this entire situation, it was that Arya had to play along with it all. They'd tell his uncle eventually, though Jon wanted to be sure it was safe first. 

"Thank you," he said, forcing a smile. 'Here I am, lying to you like you lied to me for most of my life. And we both did it for the good of a vulnerable child. What does that mean? I will admit that I understand you better now.'

Jon released his uncle's hand and sat back in his armchair. "So, are you looking forward to going back to Winterfell?"

That seemed to break the tension. Uncle Ned smiled, "Not looking forward to the long boat trip, but aye, I am excited to see everyone again. I keep thinking of poor Robb, stuck dealing with matters I did not properly prepare him for. I hope to lessen the burden he must be feeling right now. As much as I hope that full out war does not break out, I need to take control of the North and assemble the proper reinforcements. But, even more than that, I just want to see my family and home. I miss them all. Bran and Rickon won't be small for so much longer, and I want to be able to enjoy it."

"I miss them too," Jon admitted. "More than I thought I would. It's strange, as I've been away for so long in Skyrim that you'd think a few months away would be nothing. And yet, I still think about the boys and Robb every time I close my eyes at night."

His uncle nodded in agreement before wincing. "I want to see Cat too. We did not part on good terms, something we both have fault in. I have... mistakes I need to apologize for, and problems that I need to fix."

"Me," Jon said, his face carefully blank.

"...My lies concerning you," Uncle Ned replied. "I'm not sure I can ever fully regret them, not in the sense that I did them to protect you, and I will never regret that. Yet I do regret all the pain they've caused, for Cat, our children, and you most of all. And now I must do everything I can to fix what I have broken. If we are to survive the coming storm, then our pack cannot be divided, in loyalty if not distance. I also need to speak with her about what to do about Sansa. I allowed Cat to oversee Sansa's upbringing and training, Arya's too for that matter. And while I thought nothing of it at the time —it is simply how things are done in the South— something clearly went wrong. Something that we need to fix."

'No kidding. If Sansa is allowed to continue the way she was, she'll get herself killed.' On that matter of Lady Catelyn, Jon merely nodded. "Lady Catelyn is your wife. It is only natural that you wish to see her again."

And that was all he was going to say on the subject. Instead, he steered the conversation to the only topic possibly more uncomfortable: future rulers of Westeros.

"Who do you think will lead when all is said and done?" he asked. "Cersei cannot be allowed to stay on the Iron Throne for long, that much is clear. But what about afterwards?"

"That is... a good question. When the time comes, I can only imagine that there will be squabbles for power, especially if there are no concrete plans." Uncle Ned gave Jon a curious glance. "Do you want to be king? I would back you, if that is what you want."

Jon nearly cringed at the idea. "Do you want to be king?"

The look on his uncle's face made him laugh. "Then we are in agreement on how terrible it sounds. No, I just want to go back to Skyrim when this is all over. Being king would drive me mad. I have a good life there; busy and occasionally stressful, yes, yet one I am happy with. There are still things I want out of it, mostly a wife and children. But those are things I cannot accomplish while staying here in Westeros."

"As much as it will hurt to see you leave once more, I will not argue with your logic. If the gods are good, then I will be able to return home and grow old surrounded by my children and grandchildren," Uncle Ned said. "Still, where does that leave Westeros? Everyone else undoubtedly has their own plans for candidates and marriages. I hope you're ready to deal with all of that."

"Oh, trust me, I've been dealing with it for many years now."

His uncle had a point though. Who else was there? Shireen didn't want the throne either. There was no guarantee that Renly would awaken in time to lead, or that he would still have the mental faculties to do so. Would it be right to hand the kingdom over to one of Robert's completely unprepared illegitimate children? That could leave the other houses to scrabble for power and that never when well. And what about his remaining Targaryen relatives? No, of course not. Not only did Jon not know where they were, he knew nothing about them! They could be terrible people, unsuited for ruling. And, even if they did have any interest in the throne, they were strangers to the people of Westeros, who may only know them as the children of the Mad King. More than that, they would likely have little in the way of major local support to back them up. 

As much as Jon did not want to be forced into ruling a kingdom so far from the place and people he loved, could he truly just abandon it to potentially fall into chaos yet again? If things came down to it, could he set aside his desires for the good of many?

"Part of me wishes it wasn't our job to decide such things," he eventually said. "After all, why should I have any say in who rules when I won't even be living in Westeros for much longer?"

"Who should then? The gods?" Uncle Ned asked. 

Jon snorted and shook his head. "Oh no, that never ends well. Perhaps... Perhaps there is a way for the people to have a say in such things. That is how they decide leadership up at the Wall, isn't it? The members of the Night's Watch vote on who they want for the Lord Commander?"

"Aye, but that is a small, isolated community, with people of all ranks origins thrown together. Implementing a system like that on such a large scale would be incredibly difficult. Perhaps impossible."

"The most worthwhile things in life often are," Jon said, looking down at the dragon still in his arms. On his shoulder, Blue shifted to start nosing at his hair again. 

The pair laps into a comfortable silence then, simply taking solace in each other's presence. After some time, Ebony even hopped up into Uncle Ned's and settled in for another nap.

'Fat, lazy lizard,' he thought affectionately, grinning as his uncle started to absentmindedly stroke the hatchling as he would a housecat. 

Jon had gotten so comfortable by the silence that he was startled when Uncle Ned spoke up once more. 

"Let's all survive this, Jon. I understand that you will not be staying in Westeros permanently, but I don't want to say goodbye to you again. Not forever, at least."

A rush of warmth filled Jon, though it was tainted with sadness. Eddard Stark had his own demons, just like Jon, and he was afraid of losing his family to them.

He leaned forward, meeting the man's eye. "Fa—Uncle, I'll promise you this. No matter what happens, you will not have to bury me."

"...Do not make promises you cannot keep, Jon. My brother swore he would not die too, and we both know what happened to him."

NEXT CHAPTER: Jon and Enzo find an interesting memory from the Targaryens of the past. Serana comes face to face with the Red Woman. Margaery struggles to find her footing. 

Notes:

Soooooo, could anyone tell that I REALLY like writing Cersei's POV?

So this chapter went through an interesting development, which is part of the reason it took so long. I had to change around the outline twice, and then it ended up being wayyyyyy longer than I thought. That led to this and the next chapter being separated into two parts. Then, like I said, COVID.

Lots of character introspection in this and the next chapter. I know that's boring for some but I think it is good to know where everyone's mind is when everything erupts.

Anyway, I guess I'll see you in another couple of months. Ta-ta for now!