50

Chapter 50: Burn AnewChapter Text

50.

Burn Anew

King's Landing 

Sansa parted her lips, a shiver running through her skin as she perched on the bow and glimpsed the faint shape of Red Keep afar. She wasn't thrilled to return to King's Landing even less so considering the circumstances but this was her lot and she would be lying if she said it was not lighter than the rest's.

At her side, her little aider asked, "Is it true that at least one million people live there?"

Calla barely passed in height the handrail.

"Not as much as a million but close," Sansa replied. 

Indeed, with the arrival of Daenerys and her armies, that number was bound to boost up, and the city was made up of a number of buildings that were joined together and could be inhabited by a large number of people.

As a child, Sansa viewed with disapproval and frustration that Winter town was such a small and cramped settlement. King's Landing was exactly the opposite.

Sansa wondered with that ever-present feeling of anguish if it was a good idea to return.

The answer would no longer matter once she had disembarked.

***

Before taking the first step down the ramp, Sansa was struck by a rare wind that seemed to want to push her back on board. She looked up where Red Keep rose majestically and importantly and could not help but feel that it was a beast rising above her. This is where it all began for her, the beginning and the end of her life. She entered as a child full of silly dreams and fled as a hostage turned a wanted criminal. 

She held close to her heart her promise to Jon and Daenerys and took the first step.

At least a dozen hundred people descended on the ports and began to scatter. Little Calla followed in Sansa's footsteps, trying to fulfill her self-appointed role. 

"Lady Sansa," a soft, ringing voice echoed through the air.

Sansa turned around and found the Spider standing there. Upon his face, a distressed expression struck her unusual. 

"We will try to cause as little havoc as possible, Lord Varys," Sansa said, moving toward him and assuming this was unexpected. Sansa halted dead in her tracks as if the air had been abruptly filled with poison. "Something wrong, my Lord?" her voice came out weak, a bad feeling already coiling in her gut.

"Oh, my dear," Varys muttered under his breath. 

***

"Fate is master and we can't go against it..." he whispered as Sansa's gaze got lost in the view the window behind him offered.

I could jump, she pondered, but she dismissed the idea quickly. Baelish paced in front of her, his face alight with a sickening emotion. 

Sansa scratched the skin under her nails.

"I thought you were a smart person," she said, in a voice that dripped contempt. "If you were, you'd be a long way from here."

He chuckled and tried to put his hand on her face, but she pulled away violently. 

"I am a man of passion, Sansa. Don't forget that," he said.

Her ice-blue eyes glared at him. "If you think Daenerys is going to let you—"

"Daenerys? I thought she was the Dragon Queen between us. I understand that she and your brother finally couldn't escape the oldest cliché in history. Two young leaders of the same age, handsome, falling in love at the end of times. Did he give up the North for her?"

Sansa didn't bother to answer.

"What is your plan? You know you're not going to win."

Baelish grinned.

"It's not about winning but about surviving, which in the end is the only victory that counts." Baelish stood in front of her at the edge of the desk. "And we are both survivors, dear Sansa."

The Twins

The funeral ceremony went more or less the same way as she remembered from the past. Jon gave a speech to the survivors, and the funeral pyres were lit, burning the bodies of the fallen to scatter their ashes into the air.

Dany stood stiffly, however, not moving forward to carry her torch to the pyre in front of her. 

Jon glanced at her, concerned at her hesitation. However, a hand settled on her arm and Dany looked up. It was Jorah who was waking her up from her state of deep introspection. He prompted her softly and together, they moved forward until she stood in front of the pyre.

There lay the dead body of Tyrion Lannister.

Dany believed that despite where it had all ended for them, a part of her would always feel that lingering foolishness, of knowing she was acknowledged right in his eyes. 

Like a fool little girl...

Dany lowered the torch and lit the pyre.

"Daughter of death..."

"Bride of fire..."

***

She knew the tears on her face did not dignify her, but her heart was broken and she couldn't help it.

He deserves to be buried with his family at Casterly Rock, Ser Brienne thought, resting her hand on the one hand of Jaime Lannister. The golden one is not with him — she'd removed it and intended to take it to his home and make a tomb with his name there.

At least you have left with your brother, and now you will be with your whole family, your children, and your sister whom you have loved so dearly.

The thought was bitter. But Brienne was grateful that he was given the chance to prove that he did care. That his duty was to the realm, to the living. And she has loved an honorable man, imperfect in many ways but who has been a true knight.

He wanted his page in the White Book to be filled with more than his history with the Mad King, and if she was allowed to, Brienne promised herself that she would see it written that he died fighting for the living. 

Lowering her torch, Ser Brienne bade farewell to Jaime's remains.

***

Every morning since they had come to The Twins, Arya would wake up and go to where Gendry's was being tended.

He still did not wake, and waiting made her desperate. He had a bandage covering his whole head, various parts of his body broken after the remains of the Ice Dragon collapsed and he was caught beneath the beast.

Arya had half her body lying in his bed as she sat at his side when she heard a sharp intake of breath and a dry cough. Gendry had woken up and was asking for water, soon asking about the place and the time as well.

Relief washed over her and an enormous weight lifted and lightened her chest. She'd thought she'd loose him too. All her friends were dead. Most of them. But Gendry was more than her friend. She'd come to feel deeply for him, and the fact that he'd been there when she went through all the pain after first escaping King's Landing, made her feel that she still had a connection with the girl she once was. Before the murder. Before the House of Black and White.

"You're crying," Gendry mocked her, barely speaking with a hoarse voice.

Oh, she realized touching her damp cheeks. Yes, she was crying. Ugly crying. She was just a girl and at that moment she just wanted to be that. 

***

Bran watched as Meera neatly shook and folded the furs that used to cover his numb legs, caring for him as if she had a reason. Bran actually wondered why she kept attending to him when anyone else could do it. But when someone else stepped up, she didn't like something so she would show them the right way to do it, and ended up doing it herself. 

Bran felt strangely grateful, and not in the distant way he used to regard things. As she arranged the furs on his lap, Bran took her hand, and Meera froze for a second.

"It's going to be all right," he just said, although he didn't know why, but it seemed the only right thing to say.

A knock on the door made them look over at it, just as Daenerys walked in.

"May we have a word?" 

She was speaking to Bran.

Since leaving the Neck to settle in the closer location, they had not had the time for a conversation.

Meera gave a slight nod and left, a last significant glance at Bran that did not go unnoticed by Daenerys. 

"Lady Reed is a good woman," she observed, but Bran, as usual, paid little heed to the comment and looked toward the fire crackling in the hearth.

Dany came to sit in the empty chair in front of him.

"Everything went well. Though the magic the Night King stirred up in the North will take time to dissipate," Bran said without preamble. "Sacrifices were made in the past. And we have changed that, but I don't think it is enough. I have felt that the forces of our world are trying to warn us that we can't keep forcing so many changes."

Dany understood heaviness in her heart at the thought of it. In days´ time from now, they'd met the moment of her death in the other life. The moment that saw her leaving Westeros for good. And she knew, always knew, that it wasn't meant to last forever.

She knew that in Meereen, Daario would be besieged by the slaver's armies, though her survival would buy her time. She knew also that the revolts would begin to spread, and that only her return and her fighting would make the difference. 

For that, she needed to leave Westeros.

She had to leave Jon.

"There will be no more changes. When I leave..."

"Have you told Jon about this?" Bran interrupted her, frowning. "Do you think that his fate will be different from the one we sought to change?"

Her heart leaped in her chest at the mere thought of it.

"He will understand. In time," Dany answered. "We have saved him from himself. From the burden of his ...actions," she added. 

"He will always carry that burden," on the contrary, Bran posited. "Why else do you think he can remember it all?"

She remained silent. Her mind wrestled with her heart's desire to stay. And she dared not think too much about it, otherwise, she would not have the strength to do what she had to do.

***

Jon climbed down the steps to the great hall where a feast was taking place, stirring havoc in his path, which he tuned down with an awkward nod of his head. It has been a joint effort, he had insisted before. He did not believe that killing the Night King was any more of a victory than stopping the passage of the dead further south in the realm. And besides, it was the whole kingdom this time. As much as he will always regret the deaths of so many people, this was what should always have been. 

His grin grew wider as he met the gaze of his wildling old friend, Tormund, who opened his arms and with a shriek called him "King Crow Dragon" before meeting him halfway and rushing towards him. Honestly, that Tormund and what was left of the Free folk were safe from harm made Jon happy. They had been the true front line in this war, unjustly made baitmeal in the past just as Daenerys' army. 

"You got that son of a bitch, I hear? Did you stick it right in his face, did you?" Tormund asked, emanating a strong breath of alcohol and other things. He slapped Jon in his arms and nodded. "Only a madman or a king could do that!"

Jon smiled but a bittersweet memory flashed behind his eyes. Rather Daenerys' face, was daunted by the words that inadvertently reverberated against her. This made Jon turn around to look for her, to make sure it didn't happen a second time, but he didn't find her there either. 

"Looking for your little dragon?" Tormund put on a wise and mischievous face. "You do well. Such a victory can only be celebrated drinking, eating, and fucking."

"Tormund," Jon growled in a low tone.

"Only a man like you could have met one tremendous thing of a woman," he made one last comment, moving on to discuss other things before being distracted by the first woman who looked at him a little bit too long. 

There was never a moment when Jon was left alone, even if the last thing he wanted at that moment was to be the recipient of praise and celebration. 

The weight of death was still on him, searing and all-consuming. There were people he had seen again and lost again. People who had not died before but whom he had held in such contempt that it had been like seeing them dead in life. And that made him wonder if he wasn't taking something else away from someone.

It didn't take long for him to find her.

Leaning near the fireplace, Dany was in the chambers they shared, where whenever he looked for her in those days he always found her asleep. He was no fool to the fact that they had barely spoken to each other except to sort out the logistics of the survivor camp and other matters related to their people. Now that all their enemies had been confronted, Jon wondered if her air of disenchantment was due to the same reason he felt despondent at times.

But he would be lying if he said he didn't miss her, that he didn't need her.

Dany couldn't help the gentle tug of her lips at the sight of him and when she smiled, Jon grew bolder and walked over to her, purposefully taking her face between his hands to make her look up and kiss her.

She imagined that he knew something was off. She wasn't being subtle about it. But if she chose to tell him the true extent of the untold things between them perhaps it'd be harder for him to accept it. But hard as she endeavored it, she always yielded when it came to him. 

"I was looking for you," he said when their lips parted and he gently caressed her cheeks. "Are you well?"

Her response was to blink and avert his too-intent gaze. 

Dany hesitated as though the words crossing her mind weren't ever the right ones.

"I saw it happening. When Jorah almost died again," she finally said, knowing that she wouldn't be able to speak truly. "It was too close, Jon. I almost lost him. I could've failed—"

He knew those feelings went deeper than fear, and his heart and his mind haunted him for it. Jon may declare vehemently his love and loyalty for her, time and time again, but nothing would erase the scars of the wounds she carried. The extent of the trauma after nearly losing one person wouldn't have permitted everything that happened later to come to happen in the first place.

"I told you once, and I tell you again: Ser Jorah would've chosen to die for you. He still will choose that." As do I, but he didn't say it because Jon knew words meant nothing compared to actions. "And he will die, before you. Not today but someday. It's the natural course of life. And when that happens, I'll be there for you," he promised.

Her face dropped involuntarily as if an intrusive thought overtook her mind. 

A warmth came into Jon's expression nonetheless, feeling as if at that moment, he was holding the rest of his life in his hands. What was left but the rest of the way to go? 

Together. 

"You seem out of sorts. Are you feeling well?" he asked her.

Dany's eyes softened. "I'm exhausted, that's all." 

Jon drew circles right in the spot behind her ears, as he knew she liked, and her head tilted slightly to one side in a gesture of relaxation and fondness. When Daenerys opened her eyes and looked at him with her otherworldly eyes, Jon could not hold back the words he spoke to her.

"I love you," he said.

Dany took a deep breath and straightened up. 

"I love you too," she answered, bringing a hand to hold the side of his face, brush his lips, and then down to his chest where his heart was beating, thinking why she had to love the one person in the world she could not be with. But the thought of that was too painful, to the point of filling her eyes with tears, which she didn't want to have to explain. 

If this was all she could have, she wanted to celebrate and not regret it. 

They kissed again, holding their grip tighter on each other. Dany felt the aftertaste of alcohol in his mouth, surely he was coming from the feast she chose to not assist this time. When he pulled away, his eyes glistened with want and she knew that she wanted him all the same, dizzy-minded or not.

"If you're tired—" he tried to say, before she kissed him again, silencing him. 

His calloused, clumsy hands came quickly to untie the laces of her gown, as he walked them to the bedchamber, all the while their mouths clashing and battling for dominance. Jon's hands traveled up to bring down the fabric of her dress, obliging her to lower her arms to allow it to fall free below her. Dany breathed heavily against his mouth as he stood there almost agasp, regarding in awe the silhouette of her naked body under the thin fabric of her small clothes.

He rested one hand on her hip, and the other he brought up to massage the mound of her breast, to which she mouthed a high-pitched whimper. 

They resumed their kissing, she eventually insistingly pulled at his clothes off him, feeling the persisting need to have him as close to her skin as possible, and wanting the moment to last forever so her being would be forever merged into his.

Dany's despair was met with Jon's eagerness for her and soon he walked them over to the bed and lay them there, as they continued to memorize the body of the other with their touch and kiss. 

Jon trailed kisses down her neck, the vale between her breast,s and then put his mouth on her exposed left nipple as his hand came down to assess how ready and needy she was for him. Dany writhed between his arms, feeling overwhelmed. He had her reaching completion with only his mouth and hands before he climbed above her and joined their bodies with the thrust of his cock into her.

Dany hold onto his back as her nails scratched his skin, eliciting all kinds of sounds from his mouth as they bit and kiss their lips. She felt that she would die, tears slowly sliding down her cheeks as he took her hard and slow, stretching the moment for them to stay as long as they could in there like a cocoon protecting them from the outside world.

But it never felt enough, her heart swelled with the love for him. And when he gave them release, he grabbed the down of her back with his hand and held them still, his other hand holding her face to make sure she looked at him in the eye. 

As they lay in each other's arms, Jon behind her with his arms circling her, pressing her against him, Dany's eyes stared into the crackling fire in the fireplace for a long time before they closed. 

King's Landing

Calla approached a tray with lots of food but Sansa rejected it all, shaking her head, feeling that whatever she shoved down her throat, she would immediately throw out. 

Her young maid looked at her with concern. "Is m'lady sick?"

Sick she was, but Sansa was not sure exactly with what. Sick with worry. Sick with contempt for having been so naive to believe Baelish would just leave and let her alone.

She should have had him imprisoned when she had time, handed him over to Daenerys and Jon, or better, done the execution herself.

But her short-sightedness got the better of her. Sansa thought she was playing against the Dragon Queen, when in fact she was tuging the rug from under her own feet.

She was a prisoner in King's Landing again. Her guards and people had to be dismissed so as not to arouse suspicion and condemn them to a worse fate. The only one who chose not to leave her side was little Calla, and for her life, Sansa also feared. 

When the door opened, letting Lord Varys in, Sansa pushed Calla behind her.

"What are you doing here?" She asks in a voice bordering on paranoia.

"I have come in good faith, Lady Sansa. I am as much a prisoner as you are," Varys explained, curiously eyeing the child, making Sansa move further away from him.

"You are not kept imprisoned in a room. You are his collaborator!" Sansa accused him. 

Turning briefly to hurry Calla into the bedchamber, Sansa shut the door.

"You are mistaken, but I can understand impressions speak so," Varys continued. "Let me enlighten you on the matter, Lady Sansa. Like you, I have fallen into a trap. And now any false move may end in the worst of fate."

She laughed mirthlessly. "Are you afraid to die, Lord Varys?"

"It is not that, no, my Lady. I'm not just talking about me. Red Keep and all of King's Landing sit in an even deadlier trap: wildfire."

Sansa knew that. Cersei had burned the Sept of Baelor thanks to it. But why would Littlefinger want that? Was he as mad as Cersei?

"What does Littlefinger want? Queen Daenerys will have us all dead when she learns that he's seized her throne and is threatening her city!"

Lord Varys stepped forward. 

"Until before your unannounced arrival, it was a wild plan, the hand-wringing of a man who is already drowned. Captain Aurane backs him up with a small army, and most of the castle is unaware of who is behind it. For most people in the city, nothing bad happens. Little do they know that they will soon discover that their lives hang on by a thin thread. But I am confident that their arrival can do more good than harm. To Baelish you are the most precious thing he holds dear."

Sansa felt disgusted and furious.

"You think Baelish is going to stop this madness for me? He's already handed me over to Ramsey once! What makes you think that—"

"It's not about Baelish as much as it is about your brother Jon," Varys cut her off. "With you here, no sudden move will be made without consideration for your life..."

She blinked and took his words in confusion. 

"You don't know yet?" 

'Know what exactly, my Lady?"

"Jon is not my brother. He is the son of Lyanna Stark and Prince Rhaegar. My father passed him off as his bastard all his life," she declared, too caught up with many emotions to realize that she shouldn't be saying it aloud. 

From the look on Varys's face, she could tell it was a mistake.

"How has Daenerys taken the news?" he asked after a moment of silence. 

"They are married. In love by the looks of it. He has ridden one of the dragons, and—"

Sansa was startled when the man rushed in front of her and grabbed her hands.

"For all you care, don't let Lord Baelish know, my Lady," Varys said almost whispering, "His whole plan hinges on the fact that he can make a case against Daenerys. If he discovers that there is a male heir, that that heir is Jon Snow...there will be nothing we can do."

Dragonstone

Captain Aurane knelt on the shore and lifted a mound of sand, bringing it to his nose to smell the cold, humid waters. His gaze was on the horizon, where small forms of the ships of Yara Greyjoy's fleet burned in defeat. As soon as he was informed of the Ironborn fleet returning to Westeros, Aurane knew it was time to strike the first blow. The move would eventually draw the attention of the army in the North back to the South.

What he would never have guessed is that the fleet would bring with them a bounty. A very precious bounty. 

"Captain," one of his men speaks behind him. Aurane stood up and turned around, seeing as two sailors carried a third person with them. A woman. A young, eastern woman with dark skin and black hair. 

Daenerys' scribe, he knew she was. Her name was Missandei.

"Where we put her at?" his men asked him.

Aurane exchanged a brief glance with the woman, who notwithstanding being shivering with cold from being wet, crossed him with a violent and defiant emotion. 

He chuckled. 

"Keep her warm and tidy. We don't want the Queen to see her little maid like this," he answered. 

The Twins 

Jon walked slowly but surely across the distance between the castle to the fields where Dany spent time with the dragons. The message had only just arrived, a terse, shaky-written letter from Yara Greyjoy from Gulltown, giving no further explanation of how it happened but reporting an event that he knew could only devastate his wife.

But Jon knew exactly how it happened. He needed not much explanation. Fiercely loyal as they were, they hadn't abided by Daenerys' request to leave Westeros.

When Jon neared close to the dragons' nest, and saw Dany's dwarfed frame in the middle of the three of them, he wished he could freeze that moment forever, for he knew that the moment he told her what the message said, all her peace of mind would be gone. Because in the past, Missandei's death had been the beginning of the end. And then, Jon could do nothing, letting her slip through his fingers like sand.

She turned around as she felt him close, a tender smile creeping across her face that quickly disappeared when she met his somber expression. Jon made sure to hold her hand, and this time when he told her that Missandei had been captured by those who had seized the city and the Throne, he made sure to hold her and contain her as she collapsed in his arms.