27

Theon

Out of all the views Dragonstone had to offer, Theon found that the best one was from the balcony outside of the chamber of the Painted Table. If faced west during a sunset it almost looked like the silhouette of the mainland could be seen against the sun.

For all the fondness he now looked back on his life in Winterfell with, the lack of the sea was one of the few true faults. He was an Ironborn, and his blood called to the ocean.

Unfortunately the peaceful view was not going to be enjoyed as things had become awfully tense when Lord Varys returned from the mainland with news of Queen Daenerys' dealings. Together he and the others gathered around the Painted Table. Theon stood by Yara near the Iron Islands, Greyworm stood across from them at Dragonstone, Ellaria and her daughter Tyene at Dorne with the other two Sand Snakes perched against the wall behind them, and Varys at the end of the North. They had been receiving news from the ravens and little birds passing along messages of what had been going on, but today Varys was acting as the Queen's voice rather than just a simple messenger.

"In light of current events," Varys said, standing with his arms tucked in his robe, "the Queen has deemed that we are to remain on standby with King Aegon. Chances are growing larger that a deal will be negotiated and hostilities unnecessary."

Ellaria scoffed and rolled her eyes, gaining everyone's attention. "We spent all this time just for peace. As long as Cersei and Tommen and the Kinglsayer live, there will always be a reason to raise our spears at them! They will pay their debts, one way or another. But it shall all end the same with none but the Imp left to carry the name."

Theon turned his head at Ellaria. "Cersei is shackled in the black cells and her family's position torn down. How much blood will it be until your thirst is quenched? Was murdering your lover's family not enough?"

Ellaria hissed at him. "Doran kept our spears clean for too long."

"And now you want to bloody them just to prove a point. If Tommen was still on the throne, there would be no argument about fighting. But Jon is a good man and he stopped the war without having to fight battles for it. And now we've heard what he can do when he draws his sword."

Varys looked over at the table. "Ser Jorah regarded him as formidable with a blade, but his action in King's Landing protecting the Queen has convinced many that he is unbeatable, Ser Arthur Dayne come again."

Ellaria did not appear to believe any of it, and neither did Greyworm.

"I will go to King's Landing," Greyworm announced, "I do not trust this Aegon Targaryen. Every ruler has a trick up his arm."

"Trick up his sleeve," Yara corrected. Without Missandei, the Unsullied commander's common tongue was a mess at times. "And I agree with him. Jorah Mormont's a Northerner like Jon Snow, and he owes a favor because of the sword he has. If anyone should be guarding the Queen, it should be someone with no favors needing to be repaid." She looked down at the tokens representing their fleet. "Snow protected her at Baelor, and now she owes him greatly. Who's to say he didn't plan that?"

"Impossible," Varys said, "for once, I found common ground with Aegon's Master of Whispers as we were both unaware of the preparations of this attack. Qyburn heard rumors of men gathering as I had, but that was the extent, just angry men gathering. The extent of their attack was a surprise."

Yara shook her head, not believing the situation.

"As far as our grievances are concerned, I shall relay them to our Queen when I return to King's Landing. However, I am also tasked with confirming some whispers of interest to the Queen. And to you, Lady Ellaria." The Dornishwoman raised a brow, but said nothing. "King Aegon is gaining support, namely among the Westerlords who see his mercy on the former King Tommen and Ser Jaime to be a sign that he doesn't intend vengeance on any but Cersei. Additionally, House Dayne, House Yronwood, and House Fowler are preparing to openly declare for him."

Ellaria's eyes widened. "Treason."

"As many as four other minor Houses of Dorne would follow suit, if my birds are correct… That would serve to bolster his strength as some Northern Houses are beginning to fray at their loyalty."

That drew Yara's interest, as it did Theon's. "Impossible," Theon said. "They'd never betray Jon."

"The Karstarks betrayed King Robb, so why not the bastard?" Yara shrugged.

Varys added his wisdom. "Young Rickon Stark is still immature, and with both Aegon and Sansa gone, there is little assuaging the Northmen's concerns. Some, such as House Glover and Ryswell, are openly agitating for independence."

"See?" Ellaria smacked her hand on the table. "We must strike now while he's fracturing. We should send the Dothraki across the Crownlands while the Unsullied threaten the capital from the south as Stannis did."

"Are you mad?" Theon looked for Yara for support, but she was non-committal. "Daenerys gave us orders to stand down."

Grey Worm shook his head. "She also gives orders to protect ourselves. I see threats from Aegon."

Obara Sand nodded. "Strike while the iron is hot. He's no army gathered and cares too much about his dead men to notice."

"The Queen's orders are absolute," Varys reminded, "Our duty as her council remains. We can request her return for a day to heed our counsel and concerns. A dragon's flight is only an afternoon of travel."

Grey Worm nodded in acceptance and moved from his position to between Theon and Varys, placing a pair of tokens on Deepwood Motte and Ryswell, when suddenly Nymeria started giggling to herself before she whispered something to Obara who shared a laugh with her sister.

"Is there something funny?" Yara asked.

"For once," Nymeria began, "I wish the Imp was here to help. There's a perfect setup for a joke but I don't have his wit for a punchline. Three eunuchs walk into a room. A soldier, a spy, and an Ironborn. Moments like these shouldn't be wasted." She kept smiling, so amused with herself and her sisters, while everyone else was stone faced serious.

"I'd rather have the Imp here than you idiots," Yara scolded. "I am itching for a fight as any other, but I won't seek a fight that we can't win."

Grey Worm turned to face her. "We can win. Westeros just doesn't believe in it."

"What would you have us do?" Varys asked, humoring the position Grey Worm put himself in.

"Fill the Blackwater with our fleet and amass outside the Walls with our full strength, let the Dothraki charge the fields screaming. We show Westeros just how strong our Queen truly is and no false King can stand up against us."

"Strong arm a surrender in one day," Varys' face appeared impressed but it was fake, "that could work. King's Landing doesn't have the fleet or the army to withstand a full scale attack. Aegon would have to surrender… if you discount the fact that Rhaegal has taken to him."

The news had unsettled all of them when it arrived weeks ago. Theon had been oddly proud of his former ward brother, but the others feared it greatly. "Two dragons against one… and Rhaegal isn't the largest." Yara tried out her bravado, but it was hollow. Even the vengeful Ellaria was quiet.

"Perhaps you're right," Varys shrugged, as if the development meant nothing. "Perhaps the Queen forces Aegon to flee and King's Landing is ours by storm. But by doing so, you would unite all six of his gained kingdoms against us. More than six if you count the half-dozen Dornish houses that will bend the knee to him," he glared at Ellaria.

Ellaria scoffed. "Traitors that will be dealt with as I dealt with Doran."

Varys rolled his eyes. Theon had never seen the eunuch so emotional. "House Tyrell, fresh armies. House Arryn, fresh armies. Even the Lannisters have enough to outnumber our Unsullied three to one and all are battle-hardened. And with winter upon us and the dead, we would all perish, slowly, year after year, against enemies who know their land better than you know war, in weather none of you have ever challenged. A thousand Unsullied can stand up against ten times the Dothraki, but would fall to hundred Northmen in the winter."

"It wouldn't happen," Grey Worm argued, "Westerosi are just the same as everyone else. Whoever is the strongest is the one they follow. They need to see our Queen's full strength is everything more than a man on the Iron Throne."

"No," Theon spoke up. Even with Yara glaring at him, he would not be silenced again. "It's not how Daenerys wants to do things. If you overthrow Jon with an ambush and deception against her back, you'll paint her as the usurper."

"History goes to the victor," Ellaria said, "it has always been that way. Once the Northern boy is gone, nothing can stop us from tearing out the pages scribed by maesters in their books about his 'honorable reign.' He is the son of a whore and liar, nothing more."

"Jon is not a tyrant, or a liar," Theon pressed, "Neither is Daenerys. I trust her decision, not a Dornish slut with a bloodlust for Lannisters." The heat of his growing agitation escaped into his words, but part of him shriveled once they were said. He hadn't spoken with so much as a hint of temper in a long time, probably since he lost Winterfell…

Ellaria glared at him. "We will have our revenge, Ironborn. I swear by Mother Rhoyne and all the gods of Westeros."

Varys kept his piercing eyes on the woman for a moment before he sighed. "I will send a raven out as soon as possible to King's Landing. We will reconvene if her Grace returns or sends further instructions."

Obara scoffed. "I almost feel like we'd be better back in Dorne. There's nothing to do here except spy on miners and look through the Targaryen's stores."

Nymeria shoved her sister playfully. "All the better things they found are under guard. Want to see if we can buy our way into some treasures?"

With a roll of her eyes, Obara and Nymeria began to leave. "What could they possibly have? I've seen some of the things they've found. An idiot was fawning over maps he had of the Sept of Baelor and the Red Keep."

Theon noticed Ellaria glance over to her lover's daughters as though she just remembered or realized something before following after them.

Grey Worm was just as sour as Lady Ellaria but didn't vocalize it. Yara was tired, and so was Theon… "Lord Theon," Varys said, "a moment if you will"

Blinking, he looked to Yara, who shrugged. "I'll see you at dinner."

They were now alone. "Lord Varys?"

"You grew up with Aegon Targaryen when he was but Jon Snow… do you think he has horrid designs to our Queen?"

It didn't take a while for Theon to make his assessment. "All Jon ever wanted while growing up was the love of his family… and the peace it would grant him." From what he had heard of Jon's time at the Wall and being Lord Commander, it was clear that Jon would not raise blades unless he had to. "I believe he won't go behind Daenerys' back for an advantage, even if she did it to him. It's not the type of man he is."

Varys nodded. "Good." He looked over at Theon, a small ghost of a smile playing at his lips. "I believe Lord Bronn has received a raven Lady Stark meant for you, my lord."

"Sansa sent me a raven?"

Varys nodded and glided off without another word.

Theon's heart skipped a beat and the next thing he knew, he was rushing out and towards the guest wing of Dragonstone keep.

Reaching the chambers occupied by Lord Bronn, Theon knocked twice on the door. "Lord Bronn?" he called.

There was a small pause before a reply came. "Come in, Grejoy."

Theon opened the door but flinched back when he saw Lord Bronn naked on his bed with… Tyene Sand? She had everything in full display of him, leaning over from being taken from behind.

Theon looked away. "Varys said a raven came for me from Sansa Stark."

"Mmmm," Tyene moaned and looked over at the nightstand. "Come and get it if you want it."

Theon looked back and locked eyes with Ser Bronn who shot his brow up in excitement. "Don't you think your wife will have your head if she finds you like this?"

Suddenly, a third voice came from the coupling. "I'll have yours if you don't hurry up." Myranda Blackwood's head poked out from underneath Tyene's body. She had been hidden by the mess of sheets around them.

Theon's jaw tightened and his hands began to shake. He marched in as fast as he could, almost breaking into a run, swiped the scroll from the nightstand, and got out. He almost slammed the door behind him as he marched away. His heart was starting to pound in his chest and his breathing was sharp and intense.

A cackling laugh was one that still haunted his mind. "The next time you think about naked girls, do you feel an itch?"

'Go away,' he thought as these feelings tortured him. All of the pain and suffering lingering. He couldn't escape it. His neck began to tighten as every fiber of muscle felt like it was constricting and his jaw became nailed shut. 'Go away.'

Finally, he sucked in a breath and felt his strength leave him. All he wanted in the whole world now was just to collapse somewhere.

His hands were shaking, but once he took a moment to remember what he held, Theon's body calmed. He took a deep breath and broke open the wax seal of the scroll.

Dear Theon

I am glad to know that you returned to your sister's side and are doing well. I want you to know that should you ever desire to come to King's Landing, you will be safe. Jon has agreed to permit you and your sister if you wish to meet with us. It will be wonderful to see you again if you do.

Sansa Stark, Stewardess of the Red Keep

A joyful smile came to Theon's face as he read the words over again. Someday soon, he will accept this offer. He wanted to see Sansa again and make sure she was well… and he had to apologize to Jon. He wouldn't ever get forgiveness, not that he deserved a shred of it, and he would live with it.

Tyrion

It was an irony.

The chamber of the Iron Throne had not a single person inside of it, the light from the sun just beginning to set to the west bathing it in a glowing, warm hue. Slowly walking on his stubbly legs, Tyrion chuckled to himself. This place, a place of death and betrayal and cruelty seeming calm and warm.

So much death and betrayal. It filled him, the memories of enduring it personally. He stood where he had stood before, upon a raised platform in the center of the hall. Where he had gazed upon his father sitting on the Iron Throne. Watching Shae betray him, and him screaming his judgment and curse upon the court that had traded allegiance from Robert to Joffrey to Tommen as one would change soiled trousers.

Tyrion still felt contempt for them.

Gingerly he ascended the steps until he reached the Iron Throne. Looking upon the chair his family had fought for, had devastated the realms for, had destroyed themselves for, only so the old ruling dynasty his father toppled could return and win it. Oh, would his father have enjoyed that.

"Ghastly thing, isn't it?"

Tyrion turned to see a familiar face. "Aye, it is, though I doubt Aegon the Conqueror cared about it being aesthetically pleasing." This moment between them brought back such nostalgia. They had been in this exact same position so many years ago after Jaime was named to the Kingsguard.

Crossing his arms, the familiar white cloak behind him, Jaime stared at his brother. "Does your Queen have the same sentiments?"

A shrug. "She likes beautiful things, but she says her dragons are beautiful." They were beautiful… in a way. He would never forget the wonder and glory he felt that day in Valyria when he saw Drogon fly overhead. "And your King?"

"I don't think he cares one way or another… as long as it functions its purpose." That sounded like the former Jon Snow. "Heard you wanted to see Lady Sansa."

Tyrion's brow rose. "News travels fast."

Jaime kept his flat expression. "It's my rotation as her vigil."

"Does that mean she's here?" Tyrion looked around at the empty space around them, but it was as empty as it had been when he first came.

"On her way. We have more guards than just the Kingsguard, brother." Jaime approached, looking around. "Contemplating things? You never were a brooder like the King is."

"I drink and I know things, after all." He stepped down from the Iron Throne. "Father would've hated seeing a Targaryen sitting here, back on the Iron Throne. Undoing all of his hard work."

Jaime shook his head. "Cersei would've thought he'd have been proud of her for all her doings before Aegon came. At least I figure she thinks that."

"Father cared about legacy. Cersei denied him all his legacy… it will not be a good meeting when they see each other in the next life."

A sigh came from Jaime. "Forgive me if I don't wish to witness that deliverance."

Someone cleared her throat. "I hope we're all getting along."

Tyrion turned and spotted his former wife. She was dressed in her house's colors, but in a dress more like that Margaery would wear. Exposing her arms and a generous helping of neck. Draped over her shoulders was a warm shawl. It suited her well, especially given her growing beauty. "Perfectly well Lady Sansa. Simply talking to my brother about old times."

"My cousin and I tend to do that as well," she replied. "Bittersweet memories, but more sweet than bitter now that our sister and two brothers are confirmed safe." She nodded at Jaime. "Ser Jaime. Will you give us a moment."

Jaime looked to Tyrion, who raised his arms. "As you can see, I am no threat."

"And I could take him if he did attack," Sansa replied with a bit of a grin, patting her dragonbone dagger that had once been used to accuse him of conspiracy. Jaime only nodded and headed for the entrance. "Many in my brother's service still don't trust him… for obvious reasons."

"Robert's guard didn't either, and he wasn't their enemy." Tyrion sighed. "We're all haunted by our past deeds, some more than others."

"Worse for those that caused their own misfortune." They shared a solemn gaze for a moment before Sansa smirked at him. "The beard suits you."

Laughing, Tyrion gestured for them to walk amongst the columns. "It helps distract from the scar from the siege. Thought it looked dashing at the time, but no one mistakes me for a warrior." He looked at her. "You are flowering into a beauty like your mother."

"She was a beautiful woman."

"Yes, she was." His eyes sparkled with mirth. "If you wish to resume our marriage, I wouldn't complain."

Sansa, for her part, chuckled as well, but her answer was obvious. She was clearly hardened. "A generous offer from her Grace's Hand, but I must decline."

"Fair enough." Tyrion weaved his hands together. "I am sorry for what happened to you after you left."

"As I am for what you went through, but we both emerged on top. Stewardess to King Aegon and the Hand to Daenerys Targaryen. Prestigious."

He shrugged. "I made a few mistakes when I arrived in Meereen. But through my teeth I was able to make the best choices we could when she was missing… I have to be extra cautious since it isn't evil slavers or the snakes of court we face anymore."

"You're not in any danger, are you?" The expression she had was… serious.

"No, nothing like that," Tyrion shook his head. "Just wondering if I can guide my Queen against opposition the world's rarely seen at times. It's hard to be good at what you do when your opponents aren't bad people."

A gentle smile came from Lady Stark. "Even you had a lot of pride. It goes with the Lannister blood, I suppose." A lot to ponder with that. "And yet, even that cannot compare to the pride one feels when riding a dragon, I imagine. With being a dragonrider."

Tyrion looked to Sansa with a poignant expression, the two of them stopping before a wall mosaic of two knights dueling. "I know you've never had the pleasure of bonding with a dragon, nor have I, so are you making some sort of point?"

She smirked. "At least one husband bothered to understand me. In short, I have been impressed with the lack of pride and haughtiness that Queen Daenerys has displayed in her dealings with the people of King's Landing."

"Well, Lady Margaery has a beloved reputation here due to her care for the smallfolk, and her Grace shares such a reputation among the slaves she freed in Essos. The idea for her to introduce herself in such gentle circumstances was truly one of genius."

"And yet… that wasn't the original plan. Was it?" Sansa crossed her bare arms over her chest, legs splaying out slightly as she towered over Tyrion. "Many were afraid she would act as Maegor instead of Alysane would. Dragonfire first, regardless of lives lost."

"Come now, do you not believe she is genuine? His Grace does."

"His Grace wears his emotions on a sleeve. I am sure of his desires and attitude, while Daenerys' are still a mystery to me."

Certainly this Sansa would've been a formidable opponent to Cersei in her younger years, before his sister went insane and made it hardly contestable. "No," he finally said. "There were those that wished her to attack King's Landing with everything she had. She sided with myself, not wishing to make the attack. Not to be 'Queen of the Ashes' as she said."

"Your idea? Or hers?"

"Her decision to come around to my point of view, against the recommendation of Lady Yara and Lady Ellaria." Sansa gave nothing away, though clearly she was remembering that bit of information. "As for how we were going to conduct the war… With the destruction of Baelor, the Tyrells would have been ripe to become allies against my sister. Two powerful Houses fighting with Dothraki and Unsullied, it certainly would have put a better image to the realms upon our arrival, don't you think?"

Sansa shrugged. "It's easy to paint a bad picture of your enemies. Ellaria killed Myrcella, Olenna would have been a traitor, and the Dothraki and Unsullied would still be foreign invaders. All Cersei would need to rally the other kingdoms to her."

Tyrion shrugged and nodded. He could not deny that in the first days they sailed for Westeros from the Bay of Dragons, he pondered day and night how the realms would look at the army Daenerys amassed. Powerful yes, but always foreign.

"What would Daenerys have done if she beat Cersei?" Sansa asked. "What kind of rule would begin with her on the throne?"

"Breaking the wheel."

"The wheel?"

"Targaryen, Stark, Baratheon, Lannister, one house is on top, then another, and on and on it has spinned, crushing the people beneath it. No more Littlefingers scheming their corruption, no more High Septons adorned in silks and whores, no more death to those who are honorable and dutiful. On the Iron Throne, she can change the world for the better."

Sansa breathed. "Do you truly believe it?"

"I do. I've seen it first hand. It wasn't bloodless, it just about never is. It almost was for Aegon the Red-"

"Don't call him that," Sansa interjected, "he hates that name."

"My apologies," Tyrion said quietly, "it seems some lessons are forgotten." He took a few steps to the Iron throne and touched the blackened pommel of a sword embedded as an armrest. "My father used to say that whoever came out on top of the War of the Five Kings would establish a dynasty unlike the world has ever seen. It could last a thousand years. If things remain as they are then there won't be anything. I want peace between Aegon and Daenerys as much as we all do, but without him striving for an heir, then how can such a dynasty last? Memory is powerful, but legacy is stronger, that much my father was never wrong about."

Sansa's expression softened. "I can imagine it would bring about pain, to not have a child… I have never thought about it in years, but always figured…" She shook her head. "Daenerys' feelings must consider the state of the Realm. Were there plans on how to deal with that?"

"No one asked her yet, and she didn't bring it up. It's not a subject she likes to confront."

A nod. "I see." There was a pregnant pause. "Well, the matter resolved itself."

"Not so sure, considering the fertile member of House Targaryen is still unwed. Are there any plans to change that?"

Sansa shook her head, eyes full of disappointment at the matter, the same kind Daenerys had when first dealing with the news of Aegon's claim of the Iron Throne. "No, there are not. But there's no short line of maidens willing around here now." Sansa said the last with revulsion, which Tyrion found… interesting. "He never gives them any attention, though I hadn't seen him react as badly as he did when we first talked about it. He'll humor them with an introduction, but no heed is ever given. Some in the court are starting to think he's either a eunuch or a poof for not burying himself in every woman that wants him."

"Honorable, like Ned Stark?"

"I do not see our father in him when he deals with those things. It's something else. He's simply personally opposed."

Clicking his tongue, Tyrion approached Sansa as close as he could without craning his neck too far. "When I heard it was your brother that turned out to be the secret son of Rhaegar and Lyanna, I felt relieved. The boy I knew for a short while, even if brooding and with a sullen outlook on life, would be honorable and devoted. Someone her Grace needs on her side, but…"

Sansa snorted a laugh. "Jon once told me that our father used to say everything before the word 'but' is horseshit."

Staring at Sansa, Tyrion snorted. "You're Uncle Benjen told me the same thing at the Wall. But," he continued, "he has changed."

Sansa nodded. "Of course he has. We all have."

"That's not what I meant, but I can't quite describe it either." He took a moment to try and organize his thoughts into words. "When people part ways for such a long time only to see each other again, there is the reunion and a familiarity between them. Yes, they've grown and developed, but some things are still the same. It doesn't feel that way with Aegon now. It's as if Jon Snow is gone entirely, and Aegon is someone new."

The expected reaction came from trying to describe it, Sansa's face twisted into confusion, but there was a little bit of understanding. "He died, Tyrion. Only Beric knows what it does when you come from death, but they don't talk about it." Sansa became solemn in silence. "It could be that much has changed around him."

"As it has for Daenerys, but there is a desperation in him. A zealousness… not just to fight the army of the dead." She said nothing. "All rulers have secrets, but while you and his Grace know Daenerys', there is still much your brother isn't telling us."

Sansa smirked at him. "We all have our secrets, Tyrion. And after everything I've seen from Jon now, I wouldn't be surprised if he knows something as incredulous as a few words that would tear the realms apart." With that, she left him to his own devices.

Tyrion sighed and descended the steps of the Iron Throne, but took one last look at it. For three hundred years, it has stood in the Red Keep, governing the Nine Realms with more power than any throne could perhaps in the history of the world. So many lies shed the blood of millions for its power. Was it now time for truth and honesty to shed blood too?

Bran

The warm winds of Dorne blowing through the tower were not felt on the skin of Bran and his older self, only an illusion of thought gave a phantom sensation as to what it may have felt like as it had been so many years that Bran felt the heat of sun without the North's winter chill.

This place, this tower, it was not yet the scene of dread and sorrow that he last witnessed it to be. Where he once found his aunt Lyanna laying in a bed of blood and tears, he now found her resting on a sofa with one hand gently stroking her thumb on a swollen belly, smiling and humming to herself, and the other hand fallen off the side of the sofa, resting on the shoulder of a silver haired prince who sat on the ground up against the sofa with eyes diving deep into the words of texts.

This was two days before Rhaegar would ride off to war, two days before he and Lyanna never saw each other again.

"Lyanna," Rhaegar spoke softly but with a growing tone of shock and breathlessness, "listen to this. It's a transcript of a torn page written in ancient Valyrian." He sat by her side, resting his head in the valley between her breasts. "Through the changing of the seasons as life is to death, light is to darkness, and fire is to ice. One is not without the other, but never are together. Until the powers of these are bridged, only shall the Lightbringer be forged. Through the act of love and creation of blood shall the world be ignited in the guiding truth to salvation." There was a pregnant silence as Rhaegar set his book down and looked at her. "Fire and Ice…"

"Targaryen and Stark, Dragon and Direwolf." Lyanna smiled, kissing the crown of his head.

"And our child born of love is blood created… our son is him, the Prince who was Promised… but I don't understand."

"Understand what?"

Rhaegar scratched at the unshaven stubble on his chin. "I saw my ancestors and the shadows they cast transform into the future. An Aegon, a Rhaenys, and a Visenya. But if this child is not Visenya, then what does this mean? Have my dreams been nothing but my own mind misguiding me?"

"If that were true, then we would not have found each other. We would not have understood each other… We would not have loved each other." Her smile faded and her hand curled into a hard clench on Rhaegar's tunic. "But then my brother… my father…, what about Ned and Ben? And Princess Elia? If your father finds us… oh gods, he would rip our child from my womb himself!" She began to breathe sharply as Rhaegar quickly turned his body over to kneel eye to eye with her, stroking her face softly and hugging her to his chest.

"My mad Father will never lay a finger on you. And your family will not suffer any more than they have. All of this because of a misplaced letter. But when I return, it will all be over. The world will start to smile again without a tyrant on the throne and a war every generation. And when the day comes that our son is old enough, you, him, and I will plant a weirwood in the godswood, together."

Bran had to turn away from the scene. This heartbreak in him, he felt it when he helplessly watched Jojen's dying body grow small in the distance so long ago and again when his home was reduced to smoke and rubble.

"In this world," Bearded Bran said, "it is so rare for one to marry for love, but not so rare for those times to end unhappily. There was a time when I could have had such a bounty, but I let it slip from my fingers in favor of foresight and memory."

"I wouldn't have guessed you'd be a poet at a time like this." Bran stated, trying to shake off these feelings. "So Jon truly is this Prince who was Promised."

"By his hand, death shall not reach where his light shines."

"What?"

"An excerpt from a scripture of the Red Religion. None of us, even after so long, could ever understand what it was that made Jon the one chosen for this. Yes, he was born a King and reborn again through death, but why must it be him? I have witnessed this memory nearly a hundred times but still there is something I am missing. Rhaegar was right, but at the same time I feel that he is not."

The scene of the Tower of Joy faded into nothingness and the comfort of the Winterfell Godswood appeared around them. Bran ignored looking at his real body lounging beside the hearttree and sat down in the spot that his father once did whenever cleaning Ice of the blood from a battle or execution.

"Have you told Jon about the book? Maybe he should read it himself."

"He can't read Ancient Valyrian. Even though it sits in the library of the Red Keep, I have told him many times of this and he cannot make any more sense of it than I. He has accepted his role and will be ready. We can only hope that we do not fail."

Bran couldn't shake the agreeing feeling that his older self was right. Something did feel off about this but he couldn't put his finger on it. His intuition told him that it would be foolish to simply shelve a book like that. There was always something more, something between the lines of the words. But who could read ancient Valyrian?

"I must rest now, Bran," Bearded Bran said, "I have much to do tomorrow. We will not meet until the day after. So please," He rested a hand on Bran's shoulder, "do not do anything foolish like I did."

Bearded Bran vanished and left Bran alone in the shadows of the sight.

What to do, what to do? That was all Bran could ask himself as he tried to make sense of this. He had the ability to look at any point in time and history that he wished, but understanding what it all meant is where his ability was limited.

The Prince and the Princess shall bring the Dawn. "Jon… Daenerys?"

He decided to take a look at the present instead of the past, bringing himself to Red Keep. It was raining today in King's Landing, not a storm but enough that one would get indoors to stay dry.

What was odd was that instead of Jon's company, Bran found himself in Daenerys Targaryen's instead. She was with Tyrion Lannister and that other woman from Essos… he could not remember her name. The three of them were gathered in one of the castle corridors.

"He actually did that?" Daenerys asked with amazement.

Tyrion Lannister looked like he was failing to contain a smile. "There was no exaggeration in the tale. He went drinking and knighted a common man into his Kingsguard. And now the people sing joyfully of their King if not fearfully of him."

Even the dark skinned companion… Missandei, that was her name, even she looked amused at the situation. "He is earning their favor in surprising ways."

"That he is," Daenerys agreed, "and he's revealing himself to be more like my brother than I care to admit."

"Still," Tyrion continued, "aside from the fright of the attack, you did well in your tour of the city. The people also praise you and hope for peace."

"But they do not wish for me as their Queen?"

"Not yet, but they will. Once we do things right and show that you are just as capable of being the ruler this country needs. Aegon Targaryen is proving himself a good man day after day, but I can see that he does not enjoy where he sits. There will be a moment when circumstance aligns to our favor. We just need to be patient."

The Lady Missandei stifled a shrug of her shoulders. "I think the Queen has been patient long enough. I would wager I could learn to speak another three languages by the time all is ready for our Queen's rightful ascendance."

Bran's interest peaked at the mention of Missandei's skill with languages. He delved further into a memory of her when she and Daenerys Targaryen first met. She can speak seventeen different languages?

Bran suddenly had a marvelous idea. He took back to the sight and wandered the castle grounds in search for a raven and found a nice one perched atop a windowsill of Maegor's Holdfast. He warged into the creature and immediately took flight in ascendance down to the windows of the castle in the rain. Finding the interior locations from the outside was harder than he first assumed. He flew the raven from window to window until he came across the library. He flew inside and found the book written in ancient Valyrian that Rhaegar had tried to read.

The raven was in position. Bran warged out of the bird but kept it there and brought his unseen projection of himself right next to the Lady Missandei.

That moment at the Tower of Joy, and then that day at Riverrun, it wasn't a coincidence, either of those moments. Somehow his voice was able to carry into the past, despite the ink being dry. He knew it could work.

"The library…"

Missandei flinched before turning her head, looking around for the one she could not see.

"Missandei?" Daenerys asked.

"I thought…" she muttered but shook her head. "I heard someone."

"It is just us," Tyrion added, "unless one of Qyburn's spies is not that good at their job." He spoke with extra volume to his voice as if to pass a hint on to the nonexistent spy or in hopes of startling them out.

"But… I could have sworn…" Missandei sighed and almost looked like she was going to ignore and forget this, but she proved Bran wrong. "Is there a library in this castle?"

"Of course," Tyrion said with a pleasant smile, "one of the best in all of Westeros if the Citadel did not exist. Why don't we go there instead? I'm certain it'll be more pleasant than here."

Excellent. Bran returned to the library and warged back into the raven perched on the shelf with the book. He waited patiently for a few minutes until the people he needed finally arrived. With much difficulty, the raven clawed and pecked at the bindings of the book, pulling it loose inch by inch until with one last tug, the book tipped from the shelf and fell. It landed on the cover with a loud bang among the quiet, causing a yelp to come from Daenerys. The raven cawed and Bran flew out of the library. He warged out of the bird and watched pleasantly as his work succeeded.

Missandei of Naath found and picked up the book, brushing her fingers over the scratches on the bindings where the raven grabbed at. Bran felt a little bad for damaging such a rare and ancient book, but he did what he needed to do.

"What's this?" Daenerys asked. "Legends and Myths of Heroes?"

"Close, your grace. This is a different dialect of Valyrian, a dead one. It says 'Legends and Histories of Heroes.'"

"Ah yes," Lord Tyrion added, "I recognize this as one of the few books I could not decipher. High Valyrian was difficult to learn but this felt near impossible. Now I know why."

"Bran!" Meera's voice echoed around him. "Bran, wake up!"

Bran decided to let things unfurl as he set them to. If neither he, his older self, or Rhaegar Targaryen could make sense of this, then maybe one of the people in the Red Keep could. He returned to his body from the sight and gasped suddenly. His skin on his face was ice cold but his body was warm.

"Bran," Meera sighed. She was leaning right in front of him with her hands on his shoulders. "Are you alright?"

Bran nodded. He didn't realize just how late it actually was. The sun was all but set and the stars were coming out.

"You keep staying in there for longer and longer. You need to be careful."

"I have help," he told her. He couldn't really explain that his future was the one guiding him now. There were limits to what one could believe in the presence of the impossible.

"Just don't forget what the Raven said. Stay too long, and you'll drown."

"Well it's a good thing I have you to pull me out if it looks that way."

Meera smiled nervously at him. "I may not always be there though."

Bran didn't fully believe that. Since the day they met, she's always looked out for him, protecting him. He felt like a big arse at times for not being able to do as much for her.

He suddenly paused when he started to really see that wonderful smile Meera had. The way it made his fingers feel twitchy.

His eyes fell to the snow as he pondered what Bearded Bran mentioned. Is this what he meant? He let Meera go? They loved her?

Bran looked back up to her and swallowed. He never really thought of her that way… but now that he was, he couldn't stop thinking otherwise. He did admire her for a long time, but being in love with her? He chuffed a small laugh that he didn't recognize this for himself sooner. He had been reluctant for her to leave Winterfell after all.

Meera was so close to him, bringing a hand to his forehead. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Um, yes," he felt his cheeks start to burn at her touch. He gently took her hand off him but didn't let go. Meera looked down at their hands when he did not let go and then slowly back to him.

Bran decided then and there to take a chance. He leaned closer to her and kissed her on her cold lips, instantly feeling them turn warm. It lasted only a second as Meera pulled her head away and looked at him with pure shock and pink cheeks. She opened her mouth to say something, but no words escaped. Her eyes darted around, as though she was pondering the same thing he had just been. But then she looked back at him with eyes that looked doubtful.

"I'm sorry," Bran said, "I… just wanted to…"

Damn him to the Seven Hells! Did he just ruin this?

His answer came with Meera leaning over and kissing him this time. This one was much better than the first.

Things took a turn that Bran did not even think would happen, such as ending his day in bed with a beautiful woman next to him. While they were laying together, they did not fall into each other's arms in a night of passion. That was something they both agreed should come later when they were both ready, and neither of them were yet.

But with what Bran had, he felt at peace, more so than he had been for so many years now. All the worries he used to have, being on the run, hunting for food that barely fed them, learning to use the sight, it all melted away under the warmth of his sheets and Meera's touch next to him.

The blissful emptiness of sleep engulfed him, but not for too long as the sensations of the sight pulled him away and into something of the power itself and a dream. He wasn't in the sight, more like viewing it through a window. He could see a great city at the edge of a bay with mighty pyramids standing high above everything else. The lands looked like they were of a desert, but it was snowing furiously all around. A great and terrible army of incredible proportions was climbing over the city walls like deranged insects. The numbers were impossible, hundreds of thousands if not millions of soldiers. Screams of pain and despair echoed into the air all around.

All the while this horrific scene played before him, Bran could hear faint whispers all around him.

That voice… he heard it once before in the ruined throne room of the Red Keep. It was him, the Night King.

'Where are they?'