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Chapter Text

Blood is rushing through his veins as his legs pump, muscles straining, working to get him as far away from the threat in the quickest way possible.

The air is blisteringly cold, but he feels it only on his face, the rest of his body well on it's way to overheating. The clothes he normally wears are light to begin with, for he was always a bit warmer than the rest of his family, not bothered by cold as much, but now they still feel too thick and heavy.

The doublet is constricting his chest, preventing him from breathing-in fully and he sees spots at the edges of his vision. He is hyperventilating and should really try to control his consumption of air better, but he always had issues with moderation in his life and it's honestly a bit too late to start now.

Behind, he hears a terrifying howl rent the air, sending shivers up his spine as blood freezes in his veins. Despite his best intentions he glances over his shoulder and wishes he remained ignorant of the stuff of nightmares nipping at his heels.

His muscles are burning, legs cramping, lungs screaming for mercy, he is gasping for breath and feels like he will sooner die of a heart attack than from teeth at his throat. Soon he is stumbling and can no longer avoid the painful slaps of branches over his face that is the colour of lava now. A life of leisure and avoidance of physical pursuits had him starting with little stamina to begin with and now he's running out.

The truth is here and it's horrific: he can't run any further.

"I can't..." he huffs with his last breaths "I can't any... more... Gods... help me!"

'I'm going to die!'  is the horrible realization that blasts it's way into his consciousness and oblitterates the last of his composure. His chubby legs, barely strong enough to carry his weight on a good day, much less carry him away from a chasing apex predator, collapse beneath him and down he goes, like a felled tree in the Wolfswood.

He strikes the snowy ground hard, breath escaping him from impact and then a cry of pain as he strikes against a hidden stone with his head. He rolls a few times, scraping the skin of his face and hands on the ice and ground where the snow doesn't cover it, leaving red tracks behind. He comes to a halt on his back, winded, completely out of stamina as he waits for the beast to sink it's teeth into his tender throat and end his life.

He doesn't deserve this. He doesn't want to die. It shouldn't be him here. This is all so unfair! Bran said he would protect him! He promised nothing would happen to him! Bran saw it in one of his visions, the Dragon Bitch would die, not Sam! Little Sam and Gilly will lose him, how will they live without him?! They will be heart-broken, he is such a good man and now for no damn reason at all he will die!

Sorrow, self-pity and fear overwhelm his weak heart and he starts bawling like he did as a child when his father wouldn't let him eat another cake, instead forcing him into the training yard.

"Really, Sam?" the mocking voice of his former friend, the friend he'd thrown away, the man who'd protected him from bullies, who'd saved his life, floats through the air and intrudes upon his bubble of self-pity in the face of imminent death. The voice grows stronger as his former friend quickly eliminates the distance between them "200 yards... that's all you can manage to run? Guess you should've joined us in the training yard occasionally instead of hiding in the kitchen and near the fires. Maybe then you would've actually had a chance at living."

By now he is above the prone Lord. "And maybe... just maybe... you would've had enough honor in your bones to stop you from betraying me."

At these words the muscular man's eyes burn with fire.

"Do you know the punishment for treason, Lord Tarly?" he growls, gripping the dragon pommel of his sword with white knuckles. Samwell Tarly, the last remaining child of Randyll Tarly and the last Lord of Horn Hill, is a pathetic mess on the ground as he sobs into his hands, not even answering.

The man above him nods thoughtfully as he stares down at him with disdain. "I thought as much."

He begins to circle the prone fat man almost leisurely, before taking a seat on a nearby stump, but leaning forward so he can growl at his nemesis.

"Your father, a traitor as well, at least faced his death with dignity. You, the snivelling rat that you are, can't even manage that. The sad part is, I hated the man in your name, because of how he treated you, what he threatened to do to you, but here is the most ironic, tragic thing: he was right all along. He was right about you. You're nothing but a craven. A coward. Instead of taking the sword I offered you and fighting for your life, you tried to run. Instead of dying on your feet like a man, you will die squirming on the ground like a maggot."

He stands up suddenly "Normally I would have Rhaegal deal with a traitor," he glances to the left where the dragon in question is waiting patiently, curled up, but lifts his head, ready to do whatever ordered "but I will handle this differently, just for you."

That wakes his friend from his trauma and he elevates himself on his elbow, one hand extended in supplication "No, please, don't it, Jon! Think of Little Sam, think of Gilly! Please spare my life!"

The last male Targaryen's lips twist in disgust "You should've thought of them when you decided to stab me in the back, betrayed the woman who saved you, the woman I love and the last of my family. You should've thought of your family when you conspired against mine. When you accepted to help a group of ungrateful cunts, my former cousins included, to kill the woman who only wanted to do good for this realm and it's people. Lord Samwell Tarly, in the name of my wife Queen Daenerys and in my own name, I, Aegon VI. Targaryen, RIghtful King of the Seven Kingdoms, sentence you to death."

"Ghost!" the silent white wolf glares up at him with his unsettling ruby eyes "Dinner time!"

The man once known as Jon Snow, the Bastard of Winterfell, the cumstain on the name of the "honorable" Ned Stark, turns away and walks back to his dragon as a horrible scream is suddenly cut off by the sound of flesh tearing and falls off into a gurgle. The sound of struggle stops almost immediately and then only the noises of a beast feasting remain.

Samwell Tarly is no more. 

One down, five more to go.

Chapter Text

"Now hand over the woman!" yelled the guy brandishing a warhammer "You can go freely then."

Jon looked around at the battlefield. Dead Stark guards and dead bandits littered the ground, the snow was red from the spilled blood and entrails and other organs were laying around randomly. 

And there were still six bandits remaining, 2 of them pointing crossbows at him, while the others had him at sword- or hammer-point.

"Oh well, I tried." he sighed and moved away from Catelyn Stark who was hiding somewhere behind him. As soon as he was gone as a barrier she screamed and started running.

He watched as two of the bandits jumped forward with evil cackles and started chasing the woman. With her dress, snow and lack of fitness, not to mention being unused to running, it didn't take long for Catelyn to be captured. In no time at all she was tied up, gagged with some smelly old rag and dragged over to the bandit who seemed to be the leader.

"Ah, what a beauty. She will bring us lots of coin when we sell her to the Essosi slavers." he looked at Jon evilly, obviously wanting his reaction.

"Well, she's yours, so you're free to do whatever you want." Jon instead shrugged helplessly, waving his hands in that 'what can you do...' manner. "Can I go now?"

Catelyn bulged her eyes at him, while the bandit quirked an eyebrow.

"But before that we will do unspeakable things to her, neither of us has seen a woman in years." the bandit grinned, showing rows of bad teeth, obviously trying to goad Jon into responding "Does that bother you?"

"Not really." Jon shrugged again and grimaced, deciding he didn't want to know what they've done since their last sighting of a woman "Seriously, can I go? It will be dark soon and this area is dangerous. All sorts of riff-raff around here..."

The answer was obviously not satisfactory because the leader huffed in exasperation and demanded "Well, why not?"

"Because she's a bitch." Jon stated plainly, sighing as he realised his stay would be longer than he hoped.

The bandits guffawed, laughing and exchanging looks of surprise "What?! Are you serious, boy? This beauty?"

Jon nodded vehemently, glaring at Catelyn as she was now glaring at him, instead of at her captors "Okay, so I'm her husband's bastard, but that's not my fault! I didn't choose to be born out of wedlock! If she needs to blame and abuse someone, why doesn't she do it to her husband - it was HE who cheated on her, after all!"

The ungroomed man's face twisted in thought, the wart on his upper lip pulling strangely, for about 10 seconds as he mulled through this new development. Turning to his captive he wanted to hear her side "Is that true? Have you been hateful to this boy?"

Catelyn started screaming through her gag in rage, throwing abuse obviously meant for Jon, what with her pointing at him and stomping her feet. Her face was nearing the unhealthy shade of lobster-red.

"What has she done to you then, boy?"

"I'm Lord Stark's son, but I have to sleep in one of the few rooms of Winterfell that has no heating, with just a small fireplace and very little firewood to keep me warm at night! Even the servants get to sleep in heated rooms. I have only a thin blanket and most mornings when I wake up there is rime ice in my room. I have to wash in near freezing cold water. See these clothes? They belonged to the blacksmith's son, I got them when he grew out of them because anything better is considered too good for me. I only have another pair and they're mostly full of holes. Even though I'm a better swordsman than her son I'm not allowed to spar equally or prove better during lessons with the Maester otherwise I'm whipped and I don't get anything to eat for 2 days, while I'm also put to gong-farming in the castle. Do you know how many people are there? How much shit that is?! Ever since I was a boy she only had hate for me and when my younger brother was ill and looked he would die, she told me she wished it was me laying there, dying!" Jon confessed, his voice hoarse and eyes red from emotion. But it felt good to get it off his chest, to vent his anger and his pain, even if he was holding back tears, even if he was telling it to filthy bandits with more fleas than hair (and they were very hairy) instead of his father, who didn't care and always looked the other way at the constant abuse and refused to even tell him who his mother was.

At least if Jon knew who his mother was, the House she was from, at least they  maybe would've been more welcoming of him and would've loved him. Maybe they would've welcomed him as their grandson and not a source of shame. After all, he was born in Dorne and bastardy was no disgrace there. Why didn't his father simply leave him with his mother's family instead of subjecting him to a life of shame, disgrace and abuse as a bastard in the backwater and miserable North? But no, honorable Ned Stark rather subjected his son to abuse by his vengeful wife than do right by the person he was responsible for being in the world!

When Jon finally got his emotions under control he looked up to see the group of filthy, neglected men looking at him with fresh eyes. And not just him. The angry and disgusted looks they were shooting at the woman they held captive... Hells, one of the men holding her was actually alternately wiping his hands, with which he was touching her to hold her, at his pants. Catelyn's face was as red as her hair as glared down everyone, not just him.

The leader looked back at his men and they seemed to have a long conversation, before they nodded in agreement.

Turning back to Jon he released Catelyn and gave her a slight push towards her stepson, sending him an apologetic grimace.

"In light of what you said, we changed our minds. We don't want her anymore. Sorry, boy."

Jon's eyes snapped open in panic "What?! No! You said you'd take her and now you want to give her back?!"

The bandits shrugged "Sorry." At least to their credit they seemed to mean it as they looked at him with sympathy.

"Be men of your word! You promised you'd take her. When enough people make false promises, words stop meaning anything. What kind of bandits are you?" he chastised them furiously, enraged that they would break promise that easily "Giving back things and people? That's not how it's done - you TAKE, you don't give. Do your job as bandits, take the Lady and let me go on my way!"

But the bandits were already leaving "Sorry, boy, wish we could help ya'. I guess you'll have to find another band. But let it not be said I'm without a heart - there's some real cutthroats hiding in the forest 5 kilometers north of here. Go there, maybe they'll be willing to help you."

Taking what they wanted the bandits waved at Jon, turned and began to disappear into the woods.

Flabbergasted, Jon watched them go and continued to stare at the spot they were last seen for another few minutes. In a wordless cry of rage and despair he threw his sword to the ground and covered his face in his hands, fighting to keep himself from crying.

Finally, reluctantly, he dragged his eyes back to his stepmother, who was glaring daggers back at him, face redder than her hair by now. He counted himself lucky she was still gagged and tied up as she stood there because from the mumblings and rageful muffled screams coming from her she was cussing him out good.

Pissed off and fed up with everything, he turned abruptly and left, leaving even his sword behind, not just the woman cursing his mother, father, the day he was born and even for apparently even being responsible for snow falling and winter storms.

Who knows how long Catelyn would've stood there had a wandering pack of wolves not passed by and taken pity of her and taken her to their lair, to become a mother of real wolves, instead of fake wannabies.

Chapter Text

It's a peaceful summer night as the door of the royal chambers opens stealthily. A dark figure slips inside silently, keeping to the shadows as it makes it's way across the opulent room to the magnificent bed set under the large windows that provide an excellent view of the bay with Dragonstone in the distance.

The stocky form of a man stops next to the top of the bed, the silver- and black-haired heads of it's occupants in deep sleep and obviously in a affectionate position of spoons. Whisper of leather can be barely heard as a wicked-looking blade is pulled out of it's sheath and raised in the dark night air.

"The North remembers." the person whispers before striking and sinking the dagger into the back of the silver head, splitting it open like a watermelon.

"Only what it wants." finishes loudly a male voice, startling the figure standing over the bed who just stared at what he thought was a human head but is only a fruit, before a spark ignites and light bursts in the room. The moment's surprise is enough for the killer to lose the advantage as guards surround him, grab and twist his arms behind his back and put shackles on them. The captured servant blinks, his eyes taking a moment to adjust, before looking around.

At the other side of the room, deep in the former shadows and surrounded by 8 Unsullied and Dothraki all with their weapons drawn and ready to defend, a man and a woman sit. 

The man is dressed in black and red armor steel with a red three-headed dragon on the breastplate, a naked Valyrian sword resting with it's tip to the floor, the man's hands resting on the handguards, but ready to twirl it around and use it at a moment's notice. His hair is dark, just like the look in his eyes and his full lips are twisted in a snarl. 

The woman next to him is a vision of beauty in a feminine version of light armor, lush tresses of silver reaching past her shoulders all the way down to her narrow waist in full waves, amethyst coloured eyes staring beneath full, but expressive eyebrows at the intruder. Plump lips scowl in displeasure as she nods at one of the guards.

Before the killer knows it the guard pulls and their face is removed. The short, stocky man with regular face, but kind eyes, disappears miraculously and in his place stands a short girl, younger than 20, with dark hair, cold lifeless grey eyes and a long face.

"Welcome, Arya Stark, we've been expecting you."

The dead look of the intruder doesn't change, even as the Queen rises and approaches her, but those shiver-inducing marbles follow her closely. They are the eyes of a killer who knows no remorse, no pity, no mercy and no compassion; who kills without a second thought, even when unnecessary, simply for the pleasure of taking someone's life. Eyes who tell the story of how the mind behind them is constantly considering new ways of removing you from this existence.

They try to pull the Queen back in time to those horrible weeks at Winterfell when she came there at the head of a relief army, hoping for welcome and gratitude, but received only hate, suspicion and prejudice in their stead. The feeling of disillusionment was made even more acute by the beautiful but ugly Sansa Stark's hateful words and then the arrival of the younger sister of then-still Jon Snow. The sister she heard so much about from him, the sister she had hoped would became a friend and an ally, but then turned out to be no better than the rest of the Northerners. Worse even, because Arya Stark seemingly decided from the first second they met that she would be her enemy.

"That's too bad." are the first words the youngest and wildest Stark child utters "For I had big plans for your head after I cut it off your neck." The harsh punch she receives in her kidneys for what she said doesn't change her expression.

But the King flinches, his face paling as he listens to the cruel, awful words of the one he considered his dearest sister not even so long ago. Words that a good-cousin should never say to her good-cousin; words that a loving sister should never say to the loved wife of her brother.

Daenerys Targaryen observes her good-cousin silently for a minute, trying to reconcile this person before her with the stories of a loved sister she heard from her husband and the information she received from the Spider when he was still loyal (or as loyal as he could ever be).

"I'm afraid it will be you who will be losing your head, not me." she responds, but the self-righteous sneer on the other woman's face doesn't even flicker. She turns to walk around the captive who stands there with heavy iron chains on her wrists and an Unsullied holding each of her upper arms to restrain her, with another couple of the former slave soldiers aiming their sharp spears at her if she makes any move. 

The clothes speak nothing of the wealthy family she comes from, they are unremarkable in quality of material, these are no fineries; but what draws the Queen's attention is the very practical cut that allows for quick and silent movement and that they are completely black, to help the wearer remain hidden. The belt holds a sheath for the dagger with which she meant to kill her targets, that was joined on the floor by more tools of death and torture as the Essosi guards search her thoroughly, plus other pouches from which poisons, bandages and other supplies are retrieved. There is also a sack, or a rucksack, made of rough cloth, typically used by peasants, sitting on her back. 

One of the Unsullied follows his Queen's gaze and quickly cuts the straps of the sack and makes sure the contents pose no danger before presenting it.

Taking the bag from Red Flea Daenerys shoots a suspicious look at Arya and slowly opens it, peering inside.

-

From Jon's point of view his wife's pale features go deathly grey and then vivid green before she snaps the sack closed and thrusts it back to Red Flea, her entire body shaking.

Concerned he immediately crosses to her side, taking her in a strong embrace and pulls her away from everyone, hoping his body heat and presence will help her fight her shock.

"What's in the sack?" he urges, once the Queen has recovered control of her emotions. Dany's beautiful head jerks harshly and she clamps her teeth shut painfully, refusing to answer. Or simply incapable of answering as she again fights for control of her stomach.

Jon sighs and releases his wife with a tender caress, stooping down to grab the offending cloth. 

It is not long before he regrets looking inside.

"Arya..." he whispers hoarsely, looking up at his sister. Nay, not sister, but a psychopathic murderer. For inside the bag there lay dozens of faces, faces she's taken, faces of men, women and even children, guilty and innocents alike.

Even if he still had any mercy for his sister left after they caught her in their bedroom, attempting to kill the woman he loves after he gave her clemency months ago, all good will disappears when he sees the gruesome cargo she carried with her. 

It's in this moment he finally accepts that there can be no second chances for Arya Stark anymore. His baby sister, the one who adored him, who wanted him to teach her how to fight, who defended him from her mother and sister, who cried when he was forced to join the Night's Watch to make Lady Stark feel better, is gone. The person standing before him is not his sister, that person is a monster. 

Features ashen, he orders to the Unsullied "Take her to the Black Cells. Have the blacksmith replace her chains with ones that can't be removed. Chain her to the ground and don't let her out of your sight. Have at least 6 of you guarding her. If she tries to escape, kill her."

Arya's face twitches in a sneer "Kill me, dear brother? You think your slave soldiers can stop me? You really are an Oathbreaker that doesn't care about his family, just for the first cunt you came into... Sansa was right about you all along."

Jon's face goes stone-hard in anger as he storms to his smaller cousin, ordering more chain wound tightly around her whole body, plus short-chain shackles on her ankles connected with those on her hands. She is a fool if she thinks she can escape.

Getting into her face he eyes her with betrayal and disgust.

"What would you know about oaths and family, murderer? It was not I who broke an oath sworn beneath the Heart Tree. You can look no further than the woman you think is the smartest person you've ever known to find an Oathbreaker." he growls "And family? I gave everything I had for you lot, to save your lives and to save your home. And what did I get in return? Scorn, betrayal, complaints and ingratitude. You come back and disrespect the Queen who's come there to protect your home, by ignoring her like she's not there and then looking like you want to kill her. Sansa plots behind my back while I'm away, finding allies so she can remove me and crown herself Queen of North. Then betrays my secret and together you try to convince me to kill the woman I love, the woman who saved all our lives at great personal cost. And then... then you sneak into my home, murder our people and try to kill my wife and me in our sleep. Thank the Gods that Uncle Ned is not with us anymore to see what's become of you, it would've broken his heart."

By the end he is so enraged he is nearly seeing red, his blood pumping crazily through his veins and chest heaving as he struggles to contain his emotions. The feeling of the worst betrayal sours his heart, making him order the Unsullied curtly "Get her out of my sight."

Once Arya's gone and the guards have returned to their posts outside their chambers he barely makes it to the nearest chair before he collapses into it under the weight of his despair. Burying his face in his hands, only the feeling of warm, thin arms wounding around his body from behind and the warmth of another against his back anchors him.

They stay like that for a while, Jon brooding and Dany giving him silent support, no words needed. Just letting their love and bond do the healing. In the end it is who breaks the solemn silence, his voice raspy as he turns around and wounds his arm around the narrow waist of the wonderful woman who has chosen him to spend her life with and pulls her into his lap. There he buries his nose in her hair and inhales the exquisite fragrance Missandei rubbed into her curls almost a whole day ago.

"I never imagined Arya would become..." he stops as memories come back and remind him "Then again I should've. When she was young she was wild, uncontrollable. Didn't listen to anyone. She liked weapons more than even Robb and I and we were training because it was expected of us to eventually fight in battles. For Arya weapons were not tools for a purpose or means to an end, they were the purpose. When I left for the Wall I gave her Needle. Looking back, encouraging her in her lust for fighting was probably the worst mistake I made. She would've probably died with Uncle Ned, but then again, the Arya we knew is gone. Replaced by a monster. I've taken men's lives and so have most of my friends, but we mourned it and we hated having done it, we wished there could've been other way. When Arya came back I noticed she was different, but pushed it to the back of my mind, too happy to have her back. But the truth remained. She was unnerving. Cold. Without feelings. Hard. When she told me she considers Sansa the smartest person she's ever met it surprised me."

The silver-haired Targaryen Queen watches and listens to him silently, not judging, nor interrupting.

"That should've been the red flag, but again I ignored it. You see, Arya never liked Sansa when we were kids, they despised each other. They were as night and day. Sansa wanted to be a southern Lady, prim and proper, she excelled at all the pursuits expected of one and dreamed for years of a Prince coming and taking her away to make her his future Queen. Arya thought Sansa stupid and delighted in getting as dirty as she could and despising dresses. Arya was always the one who stood up for me and never held my bastardy against me, like others did, even Robb sometimes. And now this same girl came to our home to murder you, to take you from me. And then she wanted to kill me as well. I just can't understand it."

His throat goes tight and it's hard to get the words out. The woman of his heart presses a comforting kiss to his forehead and shushes him lovingly, then pressing a small hand on the back of his head until he gets the hint. Resting his ear on Dany's clavicle Jon just listens to the reassuring steady beat of her heart, letting her tender fingers combing through his hair work their magic and soothe him.

"But somehow I still can't forget the young girl that followed me everywhere, demanding I teach her how to fight and claiming she liked me most. I can't do it, Dany. What she did... what she's done... what she tried to do... is unforgivable. All those people she's murdered and not a trace of remorse. I could see it in her eyes, they're empty of emotion, empty of humanity. She's a coldblooded killer, even worse than the ones I served with at Castle Black. At the end of the day she is too dangerous, if we let her live she will just come back and try it again and again and again until she succeeds. She needs to die, but I can't be the one to swing the sword this time."

-

His pleading eyes nearly break Dany's heart and she leans forward, pressing her lips to his rough cheek in love and comfort.

"Do not worry, my love, I will take care of everything."

The naked emotion and gratitude in his eyes still manage to take her breath away as he looks up at her. There are so many times when she has to stop in her thoughts for a second when she realises just how lucky she is to not only have found someone who loves her so unconditionally, but also found him as another last member of her House. She is not alone, not simply because she has someone to spend her life with, but also because she is now no longer the last and only Targaryen. Through them their House will save itself from extinction, rise from the ashes and come back stronger.

The month in Winterfell had all the looks of being excruciating, but there was one thing, one person, who made sure it wasn't. Jon and his steady devotion and support that didn't falter even after he found out about their shared blood, refusing to be repulsed by their incestual relationship, because, after all, it isn't abnormal among the Great Houses of Westeros. Even his maternal grandparents were cousins and by such standard what he and Dany have is even less problematic.

When he shared what Sam and Bran told him, he didn't turn his back on her as she feared he would, instead he still loved her and listened to her concerns instead of dismissing them. He didn't go and tell his sisters... cousins, until they both thought it couldn't be put off anymore. Which was certainly only after they married beneath the Heart Tree in Goodswood and in the Winterfell Sept so that no part of the realm they intended to rule could dispute their marriage.

Only with their souls and claims united did they confront his cousins together. However that didn't stop the ambitious Tully Stark from trying to thrust a wedge between them and whisper treasonous words to her cousin after the siege of King's Landing turned catastrophic, words he ignored. One woman's madness coupled with access to wildfire and a twisted determination to disallow anyone from having what she thought was hers left most of the city as ruin. 

Due to loyalty of Jon's Hand who smuggled a company of Unsullied into the castle before the attack, the Keep itself remained mostly whole. There was damage, but it was fixed and the castle was declared safe for habitation after thorough inspections by every master architect they could find.

But the battle still went badly enough for her own Hand and Master of Whispers to turn against her and ally with her husband's cousins. Some of the conspirators already paid the price for treason, while others were given second chance on account of being family. 

Second chance that it now turns out was a mistake. Colossal mistake that Jon and Dany will rectify. Starting with the youngest remaining Stark.

-

The doors of their chambers close behind her and Dany sighs heavily. They've known about an assassin having been dispatched against them ever since one of the remaining Free Folk wargs still in Jon's service (Jon's own group of Masters of Whispers) warged into a rat in Winterfell and overheard Sansa discussing it with Lord Glover. Then when her Unsullied reported a member of the household behaving strangely and mentioned the possibility of a Faceless Man, a group of assassins well known among Essosi security forces - even her Unsullied were trained to recognise and eliminate them; Dany and Jon realised that assassin has arrived and decided to set a trap. 

Even though she suspected who it was Dany still wished it was another Faceless, just to spare her husband the pain. But since the time she found out about the annihilation of the entire House Frey with poison and human remains found baked into pies served to Lord Frey, she had Varys find out more and the results chilled her. 'The North Remembers' was what the killer said. Then, when they were at Winterfell and Arya finally revealed herself, little birds went into action again, the behaviour of the girl too peculiar and dangerous. With a name to concentrate on, it wasn't long before they had enough information to create a rough picture of how Arya spent her years hiding.

It was at that point that Dany started fearing this day would come.

And now, months later, she has just taken on the task of executing her good-cousin. She already has an idea how to do it, in a way that will protect Jon from being accused of kinslaying, but also giving the families of Arya's victims justice without anyone outside their most trusted circle learning of an attack on the lives of the royal couple lest anyone get any ideas themselves.

She looks at her trusted commander standing there, waiting for her orders in silence and hands him the offending cloth bag "Try to find out who these people were and bring any spouses or parents here, but know we can wait no longer than 5 days before she is executed."

Grey Worm takes it and nods, his face stern as he confirms "It will be done."

-

6 days later, as they stare at a small girl chained to a post in the dungeons, her cocky smirk still on her face with scribes and officials present, the families of those Arya murdered are each given a knife and told they are allowed to exact their own payment for the loved ones she took from them.

For a while Arya Stark remains silent through her wounds, until Mya Waters, the young pregnant wife of the servant Arya killed to sneak into royal chambers, approaches to take her own pound of flesh. 

It is as Mya starts cutting Arya's own face off in justice for those to whom Arya did it, does the small assassin finally start screaming. 

She dies in agony, howling out of the remains of her own faceless, blind visage.

Chapter Text

The sun blinds her as she's brought out of the dark.

After spending the last few days in the dungeons beneath the ancient castle, getting used to the brightness of day takes a few seconds before she can see without feeling like the sun will burn her retinas to a crisp. 

Strangely the guards allow her the comfort of the time need to stop and blink a few times before pushing her forward to resume her walk. She thinks she recognises them as 2 of the Wildlings that followed her bastard brother... cousin down South.

The walk through the courtyard is brisk, the grounds almost deserted. Has the white-haired bitch killed them all? Looking around Sansa doesn't see signs of blood or destruction that she is sure would be left behind after the small monster would set her bigger monsters loose.

She doesn't really have much time to ponder because in no time at all she's out of the castle and guided through the expansive field before it. One can't imagine that not so long ago a great battle was fought here, a battle for Life itself against forces of darkness. So many died... but to be fair, Sansa didn't care, as most of the dead were foreigners, the steppe savages, the lifeless slave soldiers and the animal-like Wildlings. Only a few hundred were Westerosi and even those, like the tiny Lady Mormont who thought too much of an upstart bastard, she was glad to be rid of. Problems solved ahead of time before they could become problems.

Sadly the same cannot be said for the tiny, revolting woman sitting before her on a plush chair, not quite a throne and yet not a simple stool, surrounded on three sides by her guards. They are still in the field, Winterfell behind them, but the Dragon Whore is as unconcerned as if she owns the place. 

It shouldn't have been like this, this should've turned out completely differently. It is Sansa who should be happy with the small woman before her being brought in chains and filthy. Blindingly hot rage bursts through Sansa's veins and into her heart as she is forced to acknowledge her failure. 

~ DANY ~ DANY ~ DANY ~ DANY ~ DANY ~ DANY ~ DANY ~ DANY ~ DANY ~ DANY ~ DANY ~ DANY ~ DANY ~ 

The sight of the former Lady of Winterfell, even bedraggled, filthy and shackled, doesn't lift her spirit. Dany is annoyed over having to be here, in this bleak wasteland, where the land is cold, but people colder still. She would rather be south, in King's Landing, even with the destruction spread by Cersei's wildfire, at least it's warmer now that Spring is coming. Plus, there's a certain someone still there that worked wonders to keep her warm during the Winter...

But she will play her part in this fiasco and she will make sure that when she leaves this place she won't have to return for a good while. 

"Welcome, Sansa Stark. I trust your stay in your temporary quarters has been pleasant?" the eldest Stark daughter glares venomously at the woman talkingto her with a dissaffected tone, trying to keep her dignity inspite of her soiled appearance.

"Nothing to say, my Lady?" a thick silver eyebrow quirks upward "That's strange for before, every time we talked you had plenty to share."

The red-headed woman growls, but the filthy rag in her mouth muffles the noise of what is undoubtebly language unfitting for a lady. Daenerys shakes her head in mock disappointment and clicks her tongue at her nemesis.

"Oh, I see now, you have something in your mouth! T'is a good thing you are gagged, for otherwise you would be embarrassing yourself. But no matter. Much work has been done while you were getting yourself acquainted with the accomodations your forebears have arranged for anyone standing in the way of their own lust for power and control over the North." Dany's eyes lose focus as she strays in her thoughts "I wonder if some of those bones down there belonged to the children of the Warg King who were slaughtered or raped by your family to steal their skinchanging powers. Or the Andals or the Children of the Forest."

Shocked, Sansa only stares at the Queen, who smiles slowly.

"Oh yes, I know about your family. I know your brutal, bloodthirsty history. Aegon and his sisters were far from innocent, but they did not introduce anything new to this continent. For all the hate my family ever got and are still target off, they did  bring peace that was longer than Westeros has ever known. After my family was slaughtered the old greedy Houses again sent Westeros into chaos, destruction, poverty and debt. As Aegon, Visenya and Rhaenys did, Jon and I will bring lasting prosperity and peace to this realm."

Her beautiful features then freeze in an ice-cold glare, her nostrils flaring "Even if it means putting every House, bar the children, to the sword to insure the last 20 years won't ever be repeated. And it starts with you."

~ SANSA ~ SANSA ~ SANSA ~ SANSA ~ SANSA ~ SANSA ~ SANSA ~ SANSA ~ SANSA ~ SANSA ~ SANSA ~

The deadly declaration induces a strangled sound from the captive, even though Sansa expected it. 

When she sent Arya south with the plan to kill the Queen and her King, Sansa was so sure of victory she had already begun setting up everything for her own coronation. Had even invited the Northern Lords that are now standing nearby in a group guarded by the eunuchs. But then the raven came, bearing news of Arya's failure, just half an hour before the vengeful Targaryen herself. There was not even enough time to organise an escape or to even come to grip with the news that her psychotic sister has failed and now Sansa was next.

Before she could order her steward to have the guards, what few remained alive and loyal to her after that blasted cunt-blind bastard had left, following his woman like a little lapdog; to lock down the castle and prepare for an attack; the familiar, yet bone-chilling shrieks of dragons could be heard even through the thick walls of the main keep.

The soldiers didn't know about the games played in the shadows, instead they welcomed the Dragon Whore like an ally, like the Queen, letting her into the castle grounds and sealing Sansa's fate.

In no time at all she was then apprehended and taken to the dungeons, where she spent the last week in darkness and misery, contemplating what she's done wrong and regretting not trying to poison the silver bitch herself while she had the chance.

~ DANY ~ DANY ~ DANY ~ DANY ~ DANY ~ DANY ~ DANY ~ DANY ~ DANY ~ DANY ~ DANY ~ DANY ~ DANY ~ 

Daenerys secretly enjoys the storm of emotions on her enemy's face.

When she originally arrived North she had come there with hope of acceptance and love. Instead she was received with cold eyes, hatred, mistrust, prejudice, derision and scorn. And at the head of the lot, the ringleader with her own circle of followers, had been Sansa Stark, the Lady of Winterfell.

It had all gone downhill after that, her not-yet-husband's then-sister doing everything she could to undermine the new cooperation and understanding between two peoples. Dany had quickly realised Sansa was ambitious, ruthless and without scruples, but had underestimated just how much. The fact that Sansa would destroy and sacrifice her own brother to grab power had been a terrible realisation.

They could've avoided so many issues, complications, losses and setbacks had one single woman known honor and loyalty. 

So many months later the day of reckoning has finally arrived.

But first, a smaller matter to deal with, a matter that cannot be postponed for it's been pushed off too much already when it should've been handled immediately back then - it will sober Sansa up and make her realise just what she stands to lose.

Looking to her faithful Dothraki leader she orders "Fichat mae." [Bring him.]

Ignoring Sansa as she splutters in disbelief over suddenly being rudely ignored, her eyes follow her Bloodriders as they descend upon the group of lords. They quickly start roughly dragging one of them to her as he fights and protests along the way.

"Get your hands off of me, you eastern savages!! I am a Lord! You will treat me as such!"

It doesn't get him what he wants though, because without fanfare he is thrown to his knees in front of their Khaleesi, spears to his back to insure he won't do anything stupid.

Dany feels cold fury settle into her heart as she beholds the despicable Lord of Deepwood Motte kneeling before her. This is the man who left them all in the lurch right when they needed help the most. 

"Lord Glover." she stares down at him coldly "In our greatest time of need, when we were facing the possible end of all life on this world and needed every single person for the fight, you betrayed us. You abandoned everyone that gathered to fight our common enemy, when even our previous enemy joined us in the fight, you ran like a craven and hid in your castle like a coward. Then you band together with Sansa Stark to assassinate your King and Queen in cold blood to make up for your failures by supporting a Usurper."

Glover's face was getting increasingly red as Dany went on, getting to his feet even with the threat of weapons against him, before he finally explodes "I have nothing to be ashamed of and I will not be called a craven and a coward by the Dragon Whore who lays with bastards and savages!" 

It's something that wasn't well thought-out because he instantly receives a punch in the gut from a Bloodrider that causes him to lose all his breath and curl upon himself, before a kick in the back of the knees slams him to the ground again. Coward in the face of the undead he is brave in the face of a small woman as he looks up at her and spits at her feet "Bitch!"

Which achieves nothing except earn him another punch, this time in the mouth. 

Qhonno looks up at his Queen, eyes blazing. He's not comfortable speaking Basic yet, but he's learned enough to know what was said and he's not pleased.

"Tat vo efichisalat anna tat fichat mae nhare ha jin, Khaleesi." he requests. [Allow me to take his head for this, Khaleesi.]

Dany looks at him fondly, but shakes her head "Yer tikh, athayoz ha ajjin." 
[You shall, wait for now.]

Then she turns to look down at the beaten Lord who is spitting out blood from a split lip.

"Adding rebellion and disrespect to the Crown to charges of treason and cowardice, Lord Glover? You must really be desperate to meet your gods." she pauses for a short while in thought, then nods and looks at the rest of the Lords who are smarter than Glover and remain silent. No-one dares to meet her eye, they all look down submissively.

"Very well, as you wish. Lord Robett Glover, I, Daenerys Targaryen, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, hereby find you guilty of conspiracy to attempt Kingslaying and guilty of treason, cowardice in war, rebellion and disrespect to the Crown. Punishment for any of these charges is death or the Night's Watch. But with all of them combined and, seeing that the only inhabitable Night's Watch castle is no longer such, I have no other choice but to sentence you to death."

A twisted grin forms on Glover's mouth as he looks up, his teeth red "So, you're going to burn me alive like you did Tarly then? You truly are the Mad King's daughter." he laughs mockingly, looking at his fellow lords to join him and frowns when they don't. Nobody wants to join him in losing their heads.

Dany's eyes flare in anger, but her face remains impassive at this slight. It reinforces something she realised a while back - some of the older aristocrats will never give her a chance to prove her worth, for them she will always be nothing but the Mad King's daughter. They will never change their minds, for the future peace of her realm it is better she rips them out, root and stem. 

She will never have their love, but their fear will be just as good a substitute.

"My husband grew up in the North, my lord, I know very well how things are done here." she assures him "The one who passes the sentence must swing the sword. I've never held a sword in my life, I don't know how to grip it, I don't know how to swing it. I am not physically strong enough to wield it correctly, I leave that to my husband." 

Glover starts to laugh mockingly, not intelligent enough to realise where she is going with this, but her next words shut him up.

"I have much doubt I will be able to make a good, quick cut through your neck, it will take me a few tries if you insist." the paling of his face is  some satisfaction "On the other hand, death by dragonfire is instantaneous and there is no pain. A grown man is turned to ash in less than a second, he feels nothing."

She sees the animal-like fear clawing in his eyes as he realises the truth of her words. His death will not be quick nor painless if he pursues this path, he will suffer and suffer greatly.

Let it not be said that he gives up easily though.

"And why doesn't Snow do it? Where is he? Why is he not here?" he demands, the sneer in his voice when he says Snow  is quite apparent.

Dany clenches her jaw at the slight to her husband - it's obvious that as much as she is despised for being Aerys' daughter so is Jon for his baseborn upbringing - no matter them choosing him as their King years ago, no matter the revelation of Jon's actual status as a trueborn Targaryen, he will always be seen as a bastard by these backwater people and looked down upon by them.

"Aegon Targaryen is the King, he is ruling while I am here to deal with traitors."

The truth is that Jon, as she still calls him, knows that after Arya's assassination attempt there is no way they can let this go unpunished anymore, lest they want every dissatisfied noble sending assassins to their door. At the same time it can't be Jon dealing with Sansa, because it would brand him Kinslayer and none is more cursed by the gods than a Kinslayer. Yet traitors still have to be dealt with and so it falls on Daenerys to see it through.

"But I will try to obey tradition." she turns to her bloodrider captain "Me ajjin kashi."
[It is time.]

By the time Qhonno has pulled out his weapon one of her men has already placed a block of wood beneath the Lord and has him leaned over. With little ceremony the huge Dothraki swings his scythe and the head cleanly parts from the body.

Daenerys watches impassively as the blood gushes from the stub like a waterfall before the  body and the head are taken away to be sent back to Deepwood Motte.

She then rests her eyes on the selfish redhead, who for the first time is showing nerves and fear. Until now she has thought herself invincible and beyond punishment, even after days in the dungeons, but the sight of her strongest supporter losing his head so easily has shaken her badly. Now Sansa is realising that in an extremely short time, all too soon, she  could be laying there as nothing but a lifeless corpse, her head rolling in the snow as her lifeblood stains the pristine snow.

"Sansa Stark." the Queen starts, bringing her good-cousin's shaken gaze upon herself "During the battle you hid in the crypts, yet for some reason you believe you deserve the crown. For what? For hiding in safety with the children? For not contributing anything to the fight? For treating the army coming to protect you like pariahs?"

She pauses for a few seconds to regain control as the memory of those days returns. When she feels calmer she continues.

"But you did not stop there: in your quest for power you turned on your allies as well and orchestrated an attack on your kin, making yourself Kinslayer."

The murmuring of the Northern crowd confirms they knew nothing about this and that it's news to them. 

"While burning you alive would be the easiest way of dealing with you I am a firm believer in allowing people to learn from their mistakes. Or to suffer for their deeds." her eyes drill into the other woman with such intensity that they almost put a hole in her head.

"To kill you would be mercy you do not deserve. Instead I will insure you will have plenty of time to regret your treason, both against the crown and against your kin - you will have the rest of your life, however long or short it may be. To make sure no treasonous words ever pass your lips again, your tongue will be removed. You will be exiled from Westeros, as a kinslayer you will lose your name, all titles, all rights, all lands, property and inheritance. You will keep only what you will be given. From now on you are no longer Sansa Stark, but Sansa Rivers. If you somehow get to have children in your coming years you will have no name to pass onto them and they will have no right to either Winterfell nor Riverrun. To make sure there will be no more rebellions Winterfell will be razed to the ground."

Nothing exists in the moment, except the woman staring at her with a mixture of hate, horror, sorrow and disbelief.

Yes, Sansa Stark, this is happening and you have no-one to blame this on but yourself.

"This is your legacy: to live with the knowledge that in your endless greed and ambition you've brought about the end of House Stark and it's ancient fortress. In the time you spent as guest of your former dungeons the castle was emptied of everything of value. Furniture, food, tools, materials and other helpful items were distributed among your former serfs, the rest now belongs to the crown. TARGARYEN crown. At my husband's request the bones, sarcophagus and the statue of his lady mother were removed from the Starks crypts and will be taken to Dragonstone where she will be interred among Targaryens with her husband, as befits a Targaryen wife. The crypts themselves were then caved-in, sealed and the entrance filled by stones and hidden to become forgotten. The stone from Winterfell itself will be used to improve the living conditions of people in Wintertown and nearby farms, unlike your ambition that would've had them die just for you to wear a crown you did not deserve. The Northern people will become an integral part of the Seven Kingdoms that they should've been a long time ago and with openness will come trade, prosperity and happiness. And you will not be around to see any of this. Say your farewells, you have but a minute."

Leaving the now-crying defeated woman behind Dany approaches her sons lounging nearby. They know their task, she made sure they knew they were to only destroy the castle, not hurt anyone or anything else. Her favorite child greets her with a purr as the other two close the circle around her, shielding her from everyone's view. Their love and caring never fail to soothe her ills and the time she is willing to give Sansa passes far too soon.

Pressing her small hand to the hot, hard scale of the black dragon's cheek she smiles with love before stepping back to give them space.

"Jikagon, ñuha riñar." she whispers.
[Go, my children.]

Drogon's head pulls back before he screams into the air and unfurls his massive wings. With a mighty flap and a strong gust of wind he is airborne, his smaller brothers following close behind. 

With love and pride in her heart Dany's amethysts track them as they gain altitude and circle around the ancient castle. Then, as one, they dive, bright flames bursting forth from their maws, making mortar, brick and stone fly in all directions as first one tower crumbles, then a second and then third. 

She hears gasps of horror from the gathered lords as they truly witness the destructive power of dragons for the first time and muffled screams of rage and despair from the would-be-Queen as the oldest castle of Westeros is disassembled and razed to the ground in less than quarter of an hour. The dragons are thorough and make sure not a wall is standing. The spectacle is much more than just a demolition job though: it's a statement, a warning: your castles are not safe from dragons, this can happen to them as well, so behave!

The tiny Queen is a mix of emotions at seeing the place where she experienced so much pain and so much happiness turned into dust. Here she was betrayed by her Hand, there in the Godswoods she married the man of her dreams, there is the main keep his cousin had sank a proverbial knife into her back before the entire gathering, there in her temporary rooms Jon came to her with the world-quaking news of his parentage and promise it changes nothing for him...

She is glad Jon isn't here to witness the destruction, even though they both agreed upon this course of action. He has still spent a large part of his life here and has considered it his home.

Not flinching she stands by as the last part of the sentence is carried out, Sansa's shriek rending the air before it turns into wet gargle mixed with broken weeping. Her tongue is thrown to a nearby hound who gobbles it up gratefully, making the Stark woman's humiliation complete. Such is the Northern Lords' last impression of Sansa Stark, now Sansa Rivers, as her fine clothes are torn off her body, replaced by rags and she is led away to be put on a ship and disappeared into the world. 

What Daenerys didn't share and Sansa didn't think to ask is just where she is being exiled to. Sansa's new life will be in Astapor where she will engage in her new profession of gong farming under the supervision of a good friend of Dany, who will make sure she will never be a danger to anyone but piles of shit. For the rest of her life. 

The first idea for punishment was to send Sansa to the Wall to the Night's Watch that will be resurrected sooner or later. Dany wouldn't wish such a fate unto any woman, but the fact of the matter is that Sansa is not only a traitor, but has also actively tried to murder them - they cannot let such a dangerous enemy go unchecked and unpunished. She'd deserve the worst fate possible. Double-Kingslaying mixed with Kinslaying, plus accomplice in the murders Arya committed on her way to them - for this, death is too merciful and quick. 

Sansa needs to suffer, she needs to have time to regret her actions, she needs to spend her remaining years, hopefully many remaining years, in misery, poverty and despair - the kind of life she wanted to sentence her people to. She needs to cry herself to sleep every night, knowing she is alone in the world in a hopeless situation she will never be saved from and wish for a quick death that will never come. Only the next day filled with more hard, back-breaking work in humiliation and stomach-churning circumstances. In a new country, new, hostile climate, where she will not understand the language, no-one will understand her and will thus be completely isolated and on her own. 

Compared to that, in the long run, being sent to the Night's Watch would've only helped Sansa. She would've become a martyr. Danny Flint was a tragic figure that is remembered to this day, has songs written about her, the last thing she and Jon need is to make a tragic martyr out of the power-hungry fish to be remembered for a long time and to possibly gather rebellions around. The best way to deal with Sansa is to make sure people forget about her and about House Stark entirely.

Starks will join Lannisters in the sands of time, all records of them destroyed and in a few generations no-one will remember the name anymore. 

In a sick, twisted way the endless greed of the Houses did them a favor: during the last two decades they killed each other so much that almost no-one is left to oppose their plans and those who are still alive are too weak.

She is exhausted, the week has been emotionally and physically draining, but there is just one thing left to do before she can rest. She still has to deal with the remaining lords.

When they realise she is coming towards them they fall to the knee as one. She wants to get satisfaction from that, but she knows all too well how easily their moods and loyalties can change. Still, she addresses them, making sure her voice carries clearly.

"My Lords. You are expected to appear in King's Landing to kneel and swear fealty to House Targaryen, otherwise this just might be your castles you see there. We will not tolerate rebellion or treason, but we will reward loyalty and work that benefits the realm and it's people."

Satisfaction rules her heart as they bow again and take their leave from her. What she had to do was unpleasant and it leaves her feeling disquieted and dirty, but she can't deny the necessity of it all. Glover had to be punished for his treachery and to be made an example of. Sansa had to be punished, but with leather gloves instead of steel gauntlets.

The lords' days are numbered though, Dany reminds herself as she stares thoughtfully down the field towards the smoldering wreck of a once great castle, her amethyst eyes unfocused. 

The North will be brought into the fold of the rest of the provinces, kicking and screaming if need be, castles burning and Lords beheaded if they force Jon and Dany's hands. 

The last 20 years will never be repeated again and that's why the North will be forced to thrown down their mantle of eternal victimhood and open up to the world. 

With the Wall having fallen after the Night King was defeated since the magic sensed it was no longer needed the North will no longer be a frozen wasteland, it will be capable of supporting cultivation and more life. Trade will have to be nurtured, people from the South will need to be settled into the previously deserted valleys and fields to recuperate the number the North lost, to build farms, mines, smelters, millers, villages, markets and towns. With exposure to Southrons and foreign cultures eventually the hostile and standoffish attitude will disappear with time and the Northmen will become what they should've been for the last 300 years: a part of Westeros, instead of an outsider.

A Westeros united under one banner, in one kingdom, under a single ruling family without nobility to curtail their power or to endanger them, with provinces administered by the most promising of the smallfolk who will be educated in schools she and Jon are planning on setting up, instead of passed down through dynasties as a right and privilege of the rich. But that is all in the future.

The future that has just begun.

Chapter Text

Awareness returns slowly, much more hesitantly than he's used to.

Though he's been a heavy drinker for decades now, his entire adult life, there is nothing familiar about this hangover. His eyelids refuse to rise, there is a metallic taste in the back of his mouth and his body is more sluggish than ever before.

Worse still is the lethargy he feels, it's feel is acutely unnatural. There is tightness in his crotch telling him it's morning, but for some reason his body refuses to cooperate with the wishes of his brain. For a moment he panics, but soon realises he isn't tied down, he simply can't move. Hopefully it will pass before he pisses his pants again.

Finally he manages to muster the strength to open his eyes, but the sounds come before the image. Instead of the expected smell of vomit and urine that always accompanies waking up from stupor born of dead drinking and the muted sounds of the Inn he was holing up in, he is greeted by the whisper of the wind in the branches and leaves of many trees, the chirping and singing of birds and the crashing of an ocean far away.

Something is wrong.

His eyes snap open and he groans as the harsh sunlight stabs directly into his brain, blinding headache making him feel like his brain is going to explode and making him prefer that compared to living and feeling like this. 

It takes him a while before he is ready to tempt opening his eyes again and after a few careful flutters he can finally take in the place he has found himself in.

He is sitting with his short legs outstretched on a mossy ground, rocks strewn among the dirt and grass. There is a rockface wall giving support to his back as he is facing towards the forest in front of him. It's close, the length of his old room at the Rock away, dense and dark, giving it an almost oppressive feel. It's an ancient forest, hiding life untouched and unbothered by humans.

It continues to his left where it meets the beginning of the rocky summit, merging with the granite. 

To his right there is a scene worthy of being captured by the best painters of Westeros and Essos combined and to be hung proudly in the Red Keep: the forest approaches the rocks close enough so that it gives the empty space the feeling of a room with a floor-to-ceiling bay window that is the edge of the cliff dropping off into dizzying depths. From far down below he hears the violent sounds of the surf and waves breaking upon the shoals and shore. 

Beyond the cliff spreads out the endless blue-green water, glittering in the midday summer sun like millions of diamonds are playing upon the surface. The Narrow Sea beyond which lies the mysterious land of Essos.

And in the foreground, exactly in the left third of the picture is the vision that takes his breath away: the most beautiful woman in the known world, dressed in a long silver dress that compliments her pale hair, red embroidery woven into the thick silk, leaving her throat and sternum bare, but hiding her delicate shoulders and clinging to her ribcage, before dipping into the narrow of her waist and flowing into the width of mouth-watering hips as it gently, reverently cups her full, but firm buttocks and then falling down to almost touch the ground. 

She is framed by the blue of the sea, the green of the forest and the warm yellow light of the July sun. A vision that only the Gods could have put on this world to make up for all the shit normal mortals must live through. She is turned away, gazing into the distance, her thoughts maybe with the city with it's rainbow-coloured walls and large pyramids that was her home and that lies somewhere far beyond the horizon, her arms crossed beneath her breasts, supporting what he knows are full mounds, as she leans her body against an old, distinguished oak tree.

If never before, it's this moment that Tyrion is faced with the truth of the magic suffusing the very being of Targaryens. No normal mortal could be this breath-taking and ethereal. This was something that only heavens could've held. Was this why they were hated and despised so much? Were all the other Houses merely jealous and envious and destroyed a Great House purely out of their own feelings of inferiority and inadequacy?

Yet the presence of this stunning woman is accompanied by the sight of a scowling dark-haired man almost hidden in the shade of a tree, his hand on the pommel of his sword as he watches and waits silently. The two mismatched eyes of the dwarf then move back to the young woman he once fancied himself to be in love with. 

"How..." he has to clear his throat because the croak that emerges is embarrassing "How did you find me?"

She doesn't answer immediately, nor does she turn around. But her voice is still as musical and feminine as ever when she finally does, even with the hard edge due to who she's talking to.

"You weren't that hard to find. You think you can hide easily, but you still stand out." 

Anger boils in his belly, making him want to shout at her to just look at him for fuck's sake.

"But we had bigger problems to deal with first than you, so you had to take a back seat, I hope you're appreciative of a few more months of life." grumbles Jon Snow from where he is folded in his slouch against a tree. 

No, not Jon Snow, but Aegon Targaryen. The man before him, even with his face in shadow, is nothing like the meek, obedient, Stark-glorifying bastard that he knew even last year.

Tyrion snorts "Two cheap shots at my body, how incredibly wity of you both."

Daenerys whips around to glare him down, her amethyst eyes a strange fire that burns him to the soul "I never held your physical disadvantages against you and you know it. If anything, I was one of the few who instead appreciated the inside instead of the outside."

The words chasten him immediately because they're complete truth. During his service to the young Queen he felt more appreciated and useful than ever before. 

"Though it seems that that was a mistake." she concludes, looking down at him with disgust.

He has nothing to say to that, no defence, so he switches to what is second most present in his mind.

"What have you done to me? Why can't I move?"

"Merely a harmless potion that was slipped into your drink to insure you wouldn't wake up until the time was right. The paralysis was purely for your safety though, to make sure you wouldn't fall off Drogon while you slept."

He doesn't see any of the dragons, there is frankly not enough space for them here. He wonders, but does not ask for now.

"It will wear off soon." continues Daenerys, before finishing with an ominous tone "Though it's doubtful you'll still be around by then."

He takes the words in with the sharp analytical mind he's famous for, or rather, as much as it's able in it's current compromised performance "So that's it then? I've already been sentenced."

Daenerys pinned him with a frown of disgust at his hipocrisy "You certainly didn't hesitate before judging me, finding me guilty and then immediately sentencing me to death."

That immediately makes his blood boil, though, and he desperately wishes he could stand as he yells back, face red.

"You just murdered hundreds of thousands of people! How dare you pin this all on me?!"

"When did I murder hundreds of thousands?!" she hisses, looking ready to strike.

"When you burned King's Landing or have you already forgotten? I certainly haven't! It's why I left." he finally shouts in anger, tears staining his eyes at the fresh feeling of betrayal.

There is deadly silence for a few seconds as both verbal combatants stare at each other, blood surging through veins in adrenaline.

It is the silverhaired beauty who finally dispells it, but this time her voice is so dangerously low that it sends shivers down the dwarf's back "I realise it's been quite some times since you personally used it, but I'm sure you should still know what green flames mean."

The last Lannister gapes at her, stupefied and speechless for the first time in a long time. It takes a few hearbeats for him to find the words, but finally he stutters "Green flames?"

She can't hide the hurt and betrayal in her expressive eyes "Did you really think I  would slaughter smallfolk? Have you learned nothing  about me in all these years?"

The words, the truth in them, hit him like a sledgehammer, making him reel.

"Wildfire." he whispers to himself, into his hands as he buries his face in them, realisation awful and stomach-turning. "Cersei."

Unseen by him she nods.

The reality and entire scope of his failure, his treason and betrayal is suddenly revealed right before him and he feels sickened. Whether consciously or not, he's been working against his Queen and sabotaging her from the beginning and then, when failure inevitably came, not her own failure but of those who swore to serve her and be loyal to her, failure he himself engineered, he had immediately given up on her and declared her lost hope. He was like Varys, not even given her a fair chance to prove herself worthy, before betraying her and trying to have her removed.

He even tried to convince the Queen's own nephew and lover, the very man that's with them right there, to kill her when he was so sure she'd gone mad and burned an entire city. Hadn't even cared to ask about the nature of the fire, just charged her with a crime and immediately found her guilty.

Rather Daenerys than Cersei.

Blood is thicker than water. Even after all the hatred and despisal his older sister had for him she'd still been his sister, his family. So, when he had to choose he chose family instead of the woman he knew would be best for Westeros. Better than anyone in this shit country even deserved.

It's at this point that Tyrion realises, he's fucked up.

His jaw snaps with an audible sound and he exhales heavily before his head falls forward in defeat and his hands into his lap.

"So, what will it be? Drogon? A blade? Poison?"

The torment in the Queen's eyes at what's coming next disappears for a second to be replaced with revulsion when he mentions poison. 

Poisoning someone is not the Targaryen way.

It's the Lannister way.

It's the Tyrell way.

It's the Martell way.

It's the Vale way.

But it was never and will never be the Targaryen way.

Targaryens may have been brutal, bloodthirsty and they have made mistakes, but when they decided to get rid of an enemy they did it openly instead of in the backstabbing way of other houses.

It's obvious she's wavering about what she must do, but before she can say or do anything, her husband, who has been satisfied to stay on the sidelines until now, decides to take the choice from her.

The King, resplendent in his red and black armor, with a red three-headed dragon on his wide breast, and light black cloak with red lining completing the set, kneels before him and looks him right in the eyes.

The small man almost shrivels at the fury burning in the former bastard's eyes.

"You might think you can talk your way out of every tight spot, even now, Tyrion, but not this one. You may try to sway Dany in her resolve, but I will never forget who tried to talk me into betraying the woman I love and stabbing her, just so you could save your worthless hide after your betrayals." 

At the deadly serious look in the half-Northman's eyes and the way his curled lips reveal strong teeth in a snarl, unspeakable terror grips the dwarf. 

He was this close. 

He could see Dany was the weaker of the two when it comes to him, the years they've known each other meant a lot to her and the bond they created in the hours of private conversations after duty hours was an excellent rein on her. He's a survivor and if that means betraying and using someone who trusts him implicitly and then throwing them away, he will do exactly that, just so he saves his own skin.

But he's forgotten about the outlier, the unknown entity who feels no such bond to him and who takes betrayals extremely seriously and personally, especially when comitted against the last of his House.

Now he knows that he is to die and nothing he can do, nothing he can say, will save him. The panic strikes then with full force.

It claws at the back of his throat and if he could stand he would and try to run away, but he's still paralysed, so the only thing he can do is stare as the King pulls a small knife from it's sheath and approaches the bulge in his breeches.

He's gonna cut my cock off!!! He screams in his mind, too panic frozen to physically react and defend himself.

But the King merely cuts a hole in the crotch area to expose his privates, who, despite Tyrion being on the verge of shitting himself, are standing proudly at attention.

How the hell is he still managing to be hard in a situation like this? Does he have some danger fetish he didn't know about before? The answer is provided quickly though.

"This is a byproduct of the drug. It's just as well because we are going to fulfill your wish, Lord Lannister. Something that your friend Varys revealed. Right before we wipe House Lannister from the annals of history and memories of men. No songs will be written about this, no bards will pass on your story, your House will simply disappear and soon no-one will even remember the name." 

The darkly whispered words scorch their way through his brain and he looks helplessly to his former Queen for either help or explanation, he isn't sure at this point anymore.

"Varys..." her voice wavers and she has to stop and cough to regain control of her voice and emotions "He told us of a conversation the two of you had back in Meereen... about how you want to die."

Tyrions's voice is high pitched as he laughs hysterically in his panic "About dying with a whore's lips on my cock? And where are you going to get one? I don't see any here, unless you're hiding her in a pocket or something. Or are you going to do the honours?"

He realises a second too late his badly thought-through quip was a bad idea. A very bad idea.

The eyes of the man before him catch ablaze and in that moment Tyrion realises: Jon Snow was never the white wolf everyone thought him to be. He was simply a slumbering dragon, just waiting for the right moment to awaken. And, in his hysteria, Tyrion did just that.

Before he can blink a large hand is wrapped around his throat and cutting off his air supply. Fear, mindless, shapeless, animal primal fear suffuses him as he gasps, trying to get oxygen into his lungs, but for naught. Slowly, his body twists in agony of denied air and his vision begins to dim at the edges, darkness crawling increasingly faster to the middle, taking him into oblivion.

Then, suddenly, he is released and he falls back against the wall, coughing so hard he thinks he will bring up his lungs themselves as the onslaught of air almost physically hurts.

Aegon Targaryen straightens to his full height and even though he is not physically tall, the way he stands, dominates above the Lannister even if the dwarf was much taller than his current height. There is hatred in the King's eyes, eyes that on closer observation look more a liquid purple than Stark grey, but dark enough to not be apparent without closer look in the light of a bright day, yet undeniably purple not grey when you finally see it; and a snarl on his lips, his teeth showing brutally.

"No, we don't have a whore with us, but we don't need one. You will do just fine yourself."

Before Tyrion can react or demand an explanation what he means the man grabs him by the back of his head and forces his head into his own crotch. The lack of regular hygiene in almost a year, usual for drunks the magnitude of him, is almost literally rubbed into his face as the stench of unwashed cock and piss penetrates his nose and mouth, making his still-unsettled stomach roll. 

The crippled man's spine screams in protest at the unnatural bend and he can hear himself shriek, his small arms flailing around, trying to dislodge the hold as his own cock penetrates his mouth slightly. 

Oh gods, this is what he meant. I'm going to die choking on my own cock. It should've been a whore's mouth on it, not my own.

The pressure suddenly disappears and Tyrion has a crazy thought it was all a prank when the sole of a boot hits the back of his neck and his world goes black from excruciating pain as all the nerve endings in his back, both healthy and severed, scream.

~ A&D ~ A&D ~ A&D ~ A&D ~ A&D ~ A&D ~ A&D ~ A&D ~ A&D ~ A&D ~ A&D ~ A&D ~ A&D ~ A&D ~ A&D ~ A&D ~ A&D ~ A&D ~ A&D ~

Aegon steps back from the broken body of a man on the ground as the sounds of unconscious choking slowly quiet to eventually peter out, organs shutting down one by one as death settles in. 

His stomach is churning and he closes his eyes to steady it, but when he opens them again and the first thing his eyes fall on is the broken end of a spine sticking out of the former Hand's back he quickly turns away before proceeding to lose his breakfast. 

He's killed many in his life, but it never gets easier, nor does the self-loathing and regret disappear no matter how much the dead one may have deserved it. He's never before killed someone in such a brutal way, but the former Hand brought it on himself. Tyrion Lannister deserved it for the betrayal, sabotage and backstabbing he committed against the person he rightfully should've owed everything to.

Aegon heaves until there is nothing left in his stomach and then continues heaving when it's just bile leaving him. The only steadying source are the soft hands running soothingly down his back and gentle murmurs in his ear as his loving Queen seeks to comfort him.

It is Dany's love, support and steadfast devotion and their shared vision of a fair, stable and prosperous Westeros to raise their family in that carries him as he leaves the glade and the body of the traitor to forest animals and mounts his dragon to make their way back to Dragonstone.

Because at the end of the day, no matter how unpleasant or brutal the deeds that must be done, if they are to protect his family - and now and until the rest of his days that means Targaryens and Targaryens only, no more Starks, he will do it and never look back. 

For, in the words of his House, the only thing their enemies deserve are Fire and Blood.