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Chapter Text

They stood together in the ruined throne room. He smelled the burned city, even as ash and snow drifted over them. He realised how frail she had become, eyes hollowed, with lines across her face that were never there when they first met at Dragonstone. One betrayal after another had broken her, until she had opened the gates of hell to the people of Kings Landing. She had burned thousands, even as her army and his had murdered and raped their way across the city. She smiled at him, innocent, girlish even, before remarking,

"It's not easy to see something that's never been before. A good world."

"How do you know. How do you know it'll be good."

"Because I know what's good. And so do you."

"And what about all the others Those who think they know what's good."

"They don't get to choose." It was hopeless, Jon knew. The woman he loved would burn the world, thinking she was making it a better place.

He held her tight. He would die, moments after her, he knew. Slain either by Drogon or the Unsullied. "You are my Queen, now and always", he lied, before kissing her, and then thrusting his dagger into her heart. Only for his weapon to snag on the mail that was sewn into her dress. He recoiled, as she struck him across the face. Now she confronted him, eyes blazing, a dagger of her own in her hand.

"Jon Snow, a man so honourable that he couldn't lie to Cersei, but quite willing to murder his own kin! His own queen! More fool I to trust you. But, even I'm not such a fool as to leave myself defenceless in a city I've put to the sack. Torgho Nudho!" The Unsullied darted into the room, spear in hand, with several of his men. "Place Jon Snow under arrest. Ensure he comes to no harm." Grey Worm trussed his hands together, glaring hate, as he made no effort to resist. It was over now. He would die, and his family would be slaughtered. Then he was led away,

And so he had remained, captive, for more than three months. He had first been confined to a chamber in the Maidenvault, left undamaged in the sack. Later, he had been taken on board ship to Dragonstone, where it seemed his aunt had taken up residence. He could not say he had been ill-treated. He had been confined to the chambers he had stayed in when he first travelled there, months ago. He was allowed to exercise. Grey Worm, and other officials serving the Queen, had come to interrogate him from time to time. But never the Queen. Until now. "Out now. The Queen's Grace requires your presence" said Grey Worm. The man still hated him, would gladly slay him if ordered. He followed him through the castle, until they reached the Painted Chamber. And there she was, his Queen. Unsullied guards stood around the walls of the chamber. She had put on weight, a lot of weight, since their last meeting, and wore a loose fitting dress. She glared at him like a basilisk. A servant brought in a silver pot of coffee, and poured for her. Quite pointedly, he was offered nothing.

"I suppose you wish to know why you're here. What I have planned for you. I'd happily have flayed you alive, for what you did. But it would hardly do, would it?" He waited for her to explain, puzzled now. He sensed she enjoyed drawing it out, a thin smile on her face. "How could I explain to my child, in years to come, that I had put their father to death?" It felt like a gut punch. "Yes, Jon Snow, you utter disgrace to our family. Not only did you try to murder me, you tried to murder your own child."

”Gods, I never knew! I would never…” “

”have done your duty? I’m surprised. What after all is the life of a bastard born of incest, an abomination, when set against the lives of your true born siblings and the noble heir to Casterly Rock?”

”Dany, how can you say that? Hate me all you wish. I deserve nothing less. But accept this at least. I would never have murdered my child!”

”Dany? Call me by that name just one more time, and I’ll have your tongue ripped out. I wish I could believe you, but I’m afraid I don’t. You’re so desperate to be a true born Stark, there’s nothing you won’t do to win the approval of your bitch sisters. You filthy, fucking, treacherous bastard! How could you! How could you!”

Da- I mean your Grace, you burned a city! I heard you speak. You said you’d never stop, until the world was liberated. What choice did you give me?”

”The choice to rule alongside me. You turned it down, remember? “ She calmed herself, before speaking more evenly. “You need have no fears that I’ll seek to liberate anyone in the future. Your family and your people cured me of such naivety. Your Dany was a stupid little girl. I’ve grown up since we last met. It turns out there’s quite an advantage to having the world calling you The Queen of the Ashes. The lords of this land have been falling over themselves to pledge fealty since I burned Kings Landing. I've been bringing in more soldiers from the East, and settling my Dothraki in the Reach. They're all loyal to me, and they're more than willing to crush dissent among the local population."

“And what of my sisters?” asked Jon, quietly.

”All in good time. First, the Imp. You begged me to spare his life. You’ll be pleased to learn that I did so. He’s still alive, if a little…uncomfortable. He’s living in a cage above the Lion Gate; minus eyes, lips, tongue, and various other body parts.” He felt his gorge rise at this. "Now, your friend Tarly. He'd got it into his head that he could take a paramour and father a child, despite his Nights Watch vows, and he even expected to inherit Horn Hill. He forgot that his father and brother were a pair of traitors, who rejected my offer of clemency. Horn Hill is forfeit to the crown, although I will allow his mother and sister to reside there. They are not to blame for the actions of their menfolk, any more than any other woman is. Anyway, the Nights Watch still continues, in a fashion, and I sent him back to Castle Black, to fulfill his oaths. However, I did have him gelded beforehand, lest he be tempted to break them again. I'm pleased to say, he survived the operation."

"You disgust me," was all Jon could say. Daenerys laughed.

"I'm well aware of that, Jon. Now, as for your sisters, you'll be interested to learn, we reached an accommodation. I offered Sansa the crown she hungered for. In return, she agreed to renounce any rights she might have, to inherit either the Riverlands or the Vale." Jon couldn't contain his surprise.

"What does it benefit me to rule a frozen wilderness, populated by treacherous ingrates? I wish dearest Sansa joy of them. Of course she will learn, sooner or later, that the bargain I struck with Yara Greyjoy, of independence in return for an end to reaving, does not extend to the Northern Kingdom. I imagine she'll come to regret her lack of a navy. Nor will she find the merchants of the Reach sympathetic, during times of famine."

"You'd let innocent people starve, and suffer at the hands of pirates?" snapped Jon.

"I'd let them find out what their precious independence entails", she replied. "As for Arya, she is a worry, I'll admit. However, she's not the only Faceless assassin in the world. It turns out the House of Black and White were not at all happy that she used her training there for selfish ends. It turns out they were founded by escaped slaves, and they welcomed what I achieved in the East. They have offered me their protection, and several of their people have taken service among my guards. If your sister comes for me, she'll have to go through them. And, there's another thing. I have made it very clear to Sansa that if I die, so do you. With every refinement of cruelty. I'm sure she'll have made that clear to Arya. You know, I did expect that Sansa would try to bargain for your freedom, but she seemed very willing to give you up, so long as she got her crown."

"So finally, what am I to do with you? "

"I think I've worked out, you aren't going to kill me."

"You do know something, after all, Jon Snow. No, I'm not going to kill you. I'm going to do something far worse. I'm going to marry you. " She smiled nastily, at Jon's surprise. "I don't want our child to grow up a bastard in the eyes of the world. One day, they'll rule this land, and ride Drogon. Even if I issued a decree of legitimacy, there would always be those who murmured of bastardy. You and I will wed publicly, and appear together on state occasions. But, that aside, we will lead entirely separate lives. Even I'm not cruel enough to make you lie with a woman you loathe. You'll be invested as Prince of Dragonstone, and here you will remain, under guard, but treated with honour. You will enjoy all the privileges of royalty, but you will play no part in the government of my Realm. And, you will play no part whatsoever in the upbringing of our child. You lost that right forever, when you tried to plunge a dagger in me!"

"And if I refuse to marry you?" She laughed.

"If you refuse? Well, I could make your conditions a lot less comfortable. But, whatever your faults, I know you're not a coward. Let's just say, I know you won't refuse, because you won't want your child to suffer." She was right, he would not. "I wouldn't be too upset Jon. Plenty of married couples in this world hate each other, but they still see political advantage to their union. I won't expect fidelity from you, and I certainly won't be displaying it, either. There are worse fates than yours or mine; much worse."

And that, he reflected later, was the bitter truth. He and Daenerys were locked together, in a mutual bond of hate, until the end of their days.

Chapter Text

Sansa had an uneasy feeling that she’d blundered. There was a catch, she was sure, but what was it? Not the obvious one, as it had turned out. She'd been waiting back at Winterfell, desparate for news from the capital. She had learned of the ambush at Dragonstone, and the capture and execution of Missandei. Well, she might not have wished for her death, but she felt little sorrow at it, either. The woman had had ideas well above her station in life, and had the cheek to butt into her conversation with Tyrion Lannister, as they took refuge in the crypts. She was a Stark, and Starks should be treated with a little respect by freed slaves! Still, the Dragon Queen had loved the Naathi like a younger sister, and she had a pretty good idea what her murder would mean for the capital, too, when it fell. If it fell. She'd taken a risk when she told Tyrion of Jon's parentage, she knew. She didn't want anything to happen to Daenerys before the city was taken, but afterwards? Well, she hoped her advisors and Jon would strike against her, at that point. The Iron Throne belonged to Jon by rights. There might be some doubt about the legality of his parents' marriage, but the Seven Kingdoms would always favour a man over a woman. Jaehaerys' Great Council had established that point for all time. Of course, there was always the danger that the wretched woman would prevail, but even dead, Jon could be useful as a martyr. Besides, she was lucky. Her schemes usually worked out.

Then word came, by raven. The capital had been taken by storm, with great slaughter, and Daenerys had ascended the throne of her forefathers. There was no word of Jon, or Tyrion, which was ominous. She had been summoned to Dragonstone, "to take part in discussions for the future governance of the Seven Kingdoms". Anticipating her concerns, the Queen had formally promised safe conduct to her, and the promise had been guaranteed by the new High Septon. Sansa had made little attempt to disguise her enmity towards Daenerys at Winterfell, but did the Queen know she had broken an oath before a Heart Tree, and revealed Jon's parentage? The missive gave nothing away. It was all most worrying. She might well be journeying South to her execution. More than once, she'd amused herself, by imagining putting the Dragon Queen to death in the Godswood, in various imaginative ways, and she suspected the feeling was mutual. If only she could reach Arya!

She had sailed South from White Harbour, with Brienne, Maester Wolkan, her lady in waiting, Jeyne Poole, and the few Northern Lords she could trust, Cerwyn, Manderly, and Hornwood. The voyage had been uneventful, until she arrived at Dragonstone, to find the anchorage filled with ships bearing the banners of the Targaryens and the Grejjoys' Kraken. An honour guard awaited her, commanded by lord Yohn Royce, which at least was reassuring. As they walked towards the castle, she first exchanged small talk, before seeking information.

"What of my brother, and Lord Tyrion.?"

The man's blunt reply dismayed her. "Both condemned for treason". Her heart lurched. If they had been condemned, surely she must be in danger. "Your brother tried to murder the Queen's Grace, at the Imp's instigation." Oh Gods, had either of them spoken of her own role in the betrayal? Jon was an honourable fool. He would take the blame on himself, leaving her out of it, but Tyrion, well she knew him of old. If he could save his own life at the expense of hers, he would surely do so! "Have they been put do death?" she asked.

"No, your brother remains in custody. As for the Imp, well, he would probably rather have been put to death. He survives in a cage above the Lion Gate, without his eyes, lips, tongue, and cock". She felt sick. Tales of the Dragon Queen's cruelty abounded. In the East, she had executed members of the nobility most brutally. Yes, they had owned and traded slaves, and that was a sin, but still, they were members of their own class! Nobles might execute each other for crimes committed against their own kind, but never for the manner in which they treated their own smallfolk. That was unforgivable! They continued talking about the state of the Seven Kingdoms, until they reached the Great Keep. A chamberlain approached her, with servants, and led them to their chambers.

Jeyne bathed her, and then she and her party descended to the Great Hall, where a banquet was to be held in their honour. Daenerys greeted her with a formal kiss of peace, and led her to the high table. Seated between her and the Queen were Yara Greyjoy and Sam Tarly’s paramour, Gilly. She suspected this was an insult on Daenerys’ part, but to her very great surprise, it turned out that she was a lady in waiting, addressed by the waiting servants as “Lady Gillyflower.” She had to stifle her mirth at someone so low-born being addressed in such terms. Still, she could hardly complain of the banquet. Quails, partridge, lamb , pork, venison, and finally, rare fruits and sweetmeats, were served in succession, each accompanied by their own wine. At Winterfell, they were still living off the stores she’d requisitioned, nourishing enough, but very plain fare.

Normally, she would never have spoken to the likes of Gilly, save to give an order, but she could hardly refrain at a banquet.

“How is Master Samwell?,” she enquired.

”E’s recovering well, from ‘is operation.”

”Oh, what was the matter?” Gilly grinned, before replying, “

“The Queen’s Grace ‘ad ‘im gelded.” She choked on her wine. "'E broke 'is vows to the Nights Watch. The Queen could 'ave 'ad 'im executed, but she chose to be kind to 'im. But, she didn't want 'im tempted to do it again. So she gelded 'im, root and stem." Gilly chuckled, fondly.

"But... you loved him."

"Oh, Gods no! I hates him, He's a real dirty mind, an' 'e stinks, an' e's a filthy coward too. I'd rather fuck a walrus than 'im, not that I'd see the difference." The vehemence of Gilly's loathing took Sansa aback, even as Yara burst out laughing, having overheard the exchange. "Gilly's doing a lot better for herself these days. Gods I envy her!" remarked the ironborn leader. The two of them resumed talking, this time about her work as lady in waiting to Daenerys. Gilly spoke of the Queen with real affection, describing a person that Sansa had never encountered. Then the horrid, shocking truth suddenly dawned on her. The relationship between Gilly and Daenerys Targaryen was far closer than that of a Queen and her lady ought to be. Gilly was the Queen's paramour! She actually felt sick. For all her loathing of the Dragon Queen, not for one moment would she have thought the woman could sink that low! But, the more she thought about it, the more it made sense. She had corrupted her own nephew; of course, she'd want to play the part of a man towards another woman. It ran in her family, come to think of it. Not only did their brothers and sisters fuck each other, but they were a race of degenerates as well! Queen Rhaena had kept a harem of beauties at this very castle, and Princess Rhaenyra and Lady Laena Velaryon had treated each other virtually as wives. She shuddered as the thought of the lewdnesses that Daenerys and Gilly practised together. No doubt she had done the same with Missandei. She knew of Dorne of course, and what had taken place between Lord Renly and Ser Loras Tyrell had been no secret in the Red Keep. Thank the Gods that the North remained free of this vice! Men and women of that kind were drowned in bogs, their shameful deeds punished out of sight of the Old Gods.

Daenerys rose to give a brief speech of welcome to Sansa. She manged to say the appropriate words in response, her mind in turmoil, before leaving for her bedchamber.

When she met Daenerys the following day, in The Painted Chamber, she had recovered. Remember, this woman is a degenerate. Your instincts about her were right, she told herself repeatedly. A degenerate she might be, but still capable of surprises. She offered to recognise the North as an independent kingdom, under Sansa's Queenship.

"And, what of Jon?" she ventured.

"I bear his child", she responded, bluntly. "We will marry, and he will be Prince Consort". Was that true? If she were with child, was it not more likely that one of her savages was the father? And, he'd tried to murder her.

"So, you've forgiven him, then?"

"No, he detests me, and I him, but our child needs to be seen as legitimate." Well, there were worse fates for Jon, and at least it kept him out of the North.

"There are, of course, conditions" continued Daenerys. "You will continue to use the Southron currency. You will formally renounce all rights to inherit either the Riverlands or the Vale. You will pledge never to marry a lord who dwells South of the Neck. You may purchase food from the Reach, in times of famine, but you will pay such price as my subjects wish to charge you. Are these accepted?" Well, she couldn't say she was happy at any of this, but at least she had her crown. Her heart soared at the prospect of her coronation at Winterfell.

There were several days of detailed negotiations between the two of them, but never once had Daenerys raised the matter that nagged at Sansa constantly. Until the day before she was due to leave. Daenerys invited her for a walk by the beach. Guards followed them. They stopped at a place where, strangely, the sand had been transformed into glass. Daenerys smiled, unpleasantly. "I burned Varys alive, here. They say his screams carried for a mile. " Sansa's blood ran cold. "Do you know, years ago, he tried to poison me, with my unborn child. I forgave him, stupidly, when I took him into my service. So, he betrayed me again. I suppose I deserved it. Mercy is just another word for cowardice after all. I'd advise you to tear up the weeds in your own garden, when you ascend the Northern throne." She turned to face her. "He knew of Jon's parentage. How do you think he came by that information?" Sansa blushed deeply. "I know what you did, and why you did it. Jon may have wielded the knife, but yours was the hand that guided it". Sansa was lost for words, even as she frantically thought of something to say.

"Nothing in the world would make me want to govern your treacherous, ungrateful, people. You and they deserve each other, and I wish you joy of them. Tell your sister that the Faceless Men think ill of her. She owed them a lifetime of service and she used their teaching for selfish ends. They guard me well, now. And know this. If I die, the Unsullied will flay your brother alive! Now, leave me." So, she went.

As she sailed away from the island, she reflected once again. She had her crown, but why did it feel like a defeat?

Chapter Text

The Queen loved her tits. Well, pretty well everyone did. Her vile father, who'd put his cock inside her, and Piggy, not to mention the Nights Watchmen at Castle Black, who practically spurted in their smallclothes, the moment they caught sight of a woman who didn't look like an aurochs. Gods, every moment she'd spent at the Wall, she'd wondered if she was going to get raped, either by Piggy or by one of his brothers. Jon Snow, at least, had been decent, the man who'd tried to murder her lover and sovereign. She wondered at his fate. She didn't expect the Queen to show him mercy, but she didn't think it her place to discuss politics with the Queen.

Decent or not, he'd still packed her off to Horn Hill with Piggy, to work there as a skivvy. Thankfully, the old bastard who was Piggy's father had made clear he couldn't stand her presence in the place, nor his for that matter. “A cowardly sack of shit”, he’d called his son, accurately enough. So, they’d had to leave for Oldtown. There, she'd learned to read, much to Piggy's displeasure. It weakened his hold on her. "Reading is liberating", Daenerys had told her, later. "I came late to reading, myself. But, once you learn, you realise there are so many choices available to you that you never knew existed."

"Politics", that was a term she'd never even thought about, till she learned to read. Now she made a point of reading, every day. The Queen had made her a list of what she called "the classics", and had made the library at Dragonstone available to her. Often, they'd discuss what she'd read, when they lay abed or took tea, together. Yes, the Queen loved her tits, and every other part of her body, and had given ample proof of that, over the past few months, using her tongue and her fingers in ways that Gilly had never dreamed possible. But, unlike the others, she was coming to believe that the Queen loved her which was most flattering, but also, she suspected now, a problem. She might not discuss politics with the Queen, but, she was starting to learn what they meant. And what she had learnt was that many of her subjects would consider the Queen a whore, if they knew what was taking place between them. She'd got that impression talking to that cold, stuck-up bitch, Lady Stark at the banquet, and she doubted she was the only one. Of course, Queen Yara of the Iron Islands knew what was going on, and had congratulated her. But, the Pirate Queen wasn’t typical. The Queen’s Dothraki handmaids, likewise, considered Gilly to have been greatly honoured to be chosen as the Khaleesi’s paramour, but the people of the Seven Kingdoms would think very differently. A fair number of highborn ladies had come to live at the castle, followers of the Seven, and she suspected they would most certainly not approve. She was careful now, not to demonstrate too much affection towards the Queen, in public. She’d spoken of this to Daenerys, who agreed they must be discreet.

None of this prevented her from sharing the Queen’s bed, from time to time, thankfully. That was expected of a lady in waiting. She turned to kiss the nape of the neck of the silver-haired angel who slept beside her, on her side, before stroking her back, and then her arse. “Sweetling “ murmured the woman, as Gilly began touching her between her thighs, savouring the wet heat of her core. Daenerys, now awake, rolled away. “I’m sorry, Gilly, I'd want nothing more than to make love, but I must rise.” It was nearly dawn, a crescendo of birdsong trilling from the castle’s gardens. Gilly got up, and poured small ale for the pair. Neither drank anything stronger at this point, for both were with child. Snow's child, in the case of her lover, Piggy's in her case. Well, she intended to give birth, but the babe would never know who his father was. He was heading back to the Wall, gelded, and would never be seen or heard of again. But, what would the Queen do? It turned out, she wanted her advice, for the first time, about a political matter.

"I've put it off long enough. I must speak today with Jon Snow."

"You're 'aving 'is babe, aren't you?"

"Yes, the child is his. "

"Do you want to keep the babe? Some mother's wouldn't" Daenerys looked surprised.

"I hate the man, Gilly. But, I'm not going to take revenge on my own flesh and blood, for the acts of their father. I lost one child, murdered in my womb, years ago. I'm not going to lose another. Would you destroy your own child, or give it away, because you hate that gross pig?" Gilly shook her head. "Well, then." Gilly thought a little of the things she'd read, in history books.

"You 'as to 'ave a child, to be your heir. To ride your dragon, when you pass."

"Exactly. Although, I hope I'll love my child as much as any mother would, not just as an heir."

"Then, you 'as to marry 'im, 'owever much you 'ates it."

"You're full of surprises Gilly. Tell me why."

"Your people 'ates bastards. Your child needs a father that you're married to. I know it's stupid, but that's what they think."

"In parts of the East, I could take you to wife. " Gilly was shocked. Such a thing was unheard of. "In Meereen, no one cares what their rulers do in the bedchamber. But, here, the Faith would rise up against me if I dared such a thing. Well, the Dornish might find it funny, but I'm not in good odour with them. It turned out Ellaria went and murdered their Prince and his son. Another critical fact that Varys and Tyrion didn't choose to tell me about. But, you're right. Thank you."

"Does that mean, it's over for us?"

"Not in the least. I may have to marry Snow. I certainly don't have to share my life with him. "

"Why didn't you kill Lady Stark?" she asked, changing the subject. "You 'ates 'er. She betrayed you. An' 'im", she added. "You made 'er Queen."

"Dear sweet Sansa. Such a perfect lady. Yes, I underestimated her once, but never again. I certainly didn't act out of kindness. Since we're talking politics, tell me why I gave her what she wanted." Gilly thought long and hard.

"You doesn't care about the North. I know I doesn't! They're a bunch of selfish arse’oles. You and your soldiers saved their 'ides, and still they treated you like shit! I 'eard all the things they was saying about you behind your back. They called you whore and bitch. I over'eard a couple of 'em, talking to Piggy. They wanted to shoot you in the fight. They didn't take no notice of me. They thought I was no better than a dog or 'orse. I went straight to your knight, Jorah, an' e' said e'd warn Grey Worm an' the rest."

"Then, I'm in your debt, sweetling. Poor Jorah. He gave his life for me. He never told me, probably didn't want to worry me, but that was something I'd worked out for myself already. I wore a good suit of armour, under my furs, I can tell you." Dany smiled nastily. "You're right. As far as I'm concerned, they can rot in the Seven hells. The North is devastated by war; it produces almost nothing in the way of taxes, its people are loathsome. If I ruled them, I'd have to send food, masons, carpenters, artisans, North, which I can ill afford. In return, I got that bitch to give up her rights to inherit in the Vale and Riverlands. They've five times the North's population, and they're fertile. And, I made her promise never to marry anyone who lives South of the Neck. She'll be the bride of some stinking, ale-sodden brute, who'll rut her on their wedding night. " The Queen grinned. "And then, there's Yara."

"The Pirate Queen?"

"Yes. I made a bargain with her. She promised never to raid any of the lands I rule. Well, I don't rule the North. The North has plenty of wood, and no fleet. Yara wants wood to rebuild her navy. I think we know where she'll be raiding next." The pair burst out laughing.

Yes, thought Gilly, as she lay on the bed, after the Queen departed. Daenerys loved her tits, but she loved her brains as well.

Chapter Text

Daenerys woke, feeling sick. She leaned over, and threw up into the bucket by the side of the bed. No surprise, really, she was more than six months' pregnant.

And, she was to marry Jon Snow, at noon, in the castle Sept. The ceremony would be conducted by the new High Septon. She smiled inwardly, when she had recovered. It was just as well the Gods' representative on earth knew nothing of her tryst with the Gilliflower. The man had .... views on the subject of men who favoured men, and women who favoured women. Did she favour women, come to think of it? Her brother had first started assaulting her when she was twelve. She had resigned herself to being wed to him at some point in the future, only for him to sell her to a Dothraki warlord, who had rutted her brutally on her wedding night, and frequently afterwards. Drogo had made clear he saw her more as his whore than his wife. To that end, a pair of Dothraki girls, Doreah and Irri, were commissioned to "prepare" her for his bed, and to "teach her the arts of love". They'd sucked her cunt and tits and made her suck theirs, as preparation for taking her lord husband's thick, sweaty, cock down her throat. Somewhere along the way, she'd discovered she rather enjoyed sucking tits and cunts, and having the same done to her, certainly much more than she did her sessions with her husband, and so the three of them had had a far better time together than Drogo ever anticipated. After his death, their trysts had continued, ending disastrously in Qarth, when Doreah betrayed them, and murdered Irri.

Well, it hadn't ended happily for Doreah, locked in a vault to starve to death. Occasionally, she wondered idly how long it had taken.

Other young women had followed, mostly courtesans in Meereen. But, never the woman she had loved more than life itself, dear sweet Missandei. Oh gods, she was the most kind, loyal, and intelligent person she'd ever met. Had she expressed an interest in sex, Dany would gladly have obliged, but she sensed that the Naathi had no interest in a physical relationship between them, and she had no desire to put their gentle friendship under strain by making unwanted advances.

There were nights she still cried herself to sleep, as she remembered her dear friend's head being severed from her body. She would have surrendered herself to torture and execution at Cersei's hands, if she thought it would save Missandei, but she could hardly surrender an entire army. Nor Jon Snow, back when she thought she had loved him. And, Cersei would have had some nasty scheme up her sleave. Oh, she'd have released Missandei. But, first, she'd have forced her to watch as Dany was slowly dismembered, piece by screaming piece, in the Black Cells.

May the Seven send that bitch a lover of red hot metal to fuck her throughout eternity.

She’d enjoyed men, too. Never her husbands, but she realised now that Daario had loved her, and she’d treated him shabbily in return. Attractive Dothraki warriors had sometimes shared her bed, as well. And then, she’d met John Snow. A good, brave, decent man who genuinely loved her. Or so she had thought, besotted fool that she’d been. In reality, he’d just seduced her in order to get her to fight for his family, while planning her murder down the line. He denied it, even now, which only increased her contempt for him. A villain who was honest with her would at least deserve a measure of respect.

Gilly entered the bedchamber along with a small host of noble ladies and Dothraki handmaidens. Most of the former despised the latter, but everyone wished to be present with the Queen on this most joyous of occasions. They gushed about how handsome and heroic Jon Snow was, and how the bards would sing of this wedding for a thousand years.

They might at that. Who will know by then that the pair of us loathe each other on sight.

She entered her bath chamber, where a large wooden tub had been made ready, filled with warm, scented water. Only Gilly and the Dothraki accompanied her.

”I’ve 'ad word of the Imp this morning,” said Gilly, who increasingly, she relied upon for advice, like Missandei.

“Do tell, Sweetling.”

“They say e’ refuses to eat or drink, any more.”

“Then, I’ll have him chained to a stake before Baelor. People can watch him die. But, his guards will force water down his throat.

What a thought for a wedding day

Gilly dried her off as she got out of the bath. Should she tell Jon, later, that she planned to spend their wedding night fucking her?

She returned to the bedchamber, where the court ladies fussed over hair and clothing. There was however, only one outfit suitable for the occasion. The black and scarlet garb she had worn, the day she burned the city. A little tight now, around her middle, but still bearable. They left for the Sept. As she entered the sept, she wondered, not for the first time, why the Gods didn’t just collapse the building on top of her. Perhaps they were simply indifferent to the way that people behaved on this middle earth.

Her betrothed was waiting for her by the altar, with Ser Davos Seaworth. She gave Jon a smile that would have curdled milk. Once, not long ago, she had dreamed of this moment. Now she hated it. No doubt, so did he, which gave her some comfort at least. She hardly paid attention as the she and he recited the necessary words. Then, at last, the High Septon proclaimed them husband and wife, as cheers and applause rang out across the Sept.

She would rather be anywhere but here. No doubt, theirs would be a long marriage, sustained by a little hatred on the part of both.

Chapter Text

Tycho Nestoris was not sure what to make of this Northern Queen. She had summoned him to Winterfell to discuss obtaining a loan from the Iron Bank. Hitherto, Westeros had not proved fruitful to them. The Dragon Queen in the South had agreed to honour Cersei's debt to them by instalments,, in gratitude for the protection afforded her by the Faceless Men. But, no one would be repaying Stannis' debts. Still, the North, properly exploited, might be able to make good this loss, indeed, generate a handsome profit. Sansa Stark needed a lot of money, to rebuild Winterfell not just as a castle, but as a palace to rival Highgarden, and to recruit a standing army. She wanted Braavosi naval protection, too, following some devastating raids by the Ironborn on her Western coasts, and their seizure of Bear Island. To that end an envoy of the Sealord, Master Loredan, had accompanied him. With the exception of the Manderlys of White Harbour, the Northern lords disdained trade of any sort, overlooking the economic potential of this land. Well, the Braavosi would make good that mistake.

As the representative of a Head of State, his colleague dined with the Queen on High Table. Nestoris, as a mere banker, dined a third of the way down the Great Hall, just above the salt. He sipped his wine, a rather poor vintage, accompanying some very plain fare, rye bread and pies that were more vegetable than meat, and took stock of his surroundings.

Winterfell was a dismal place. A strong fortress no doubt, but grim, compared to the palaces of the South. The meal was served on trenchers and earthenware, the floor made of rude stone flags, and the candles of stinking tallow . A handful of rough tapestries adorned the walls. The people were no better. They belched, farted, gorged themselves on food and drink, and plainly considered hygiene to be the name of one of the local whores. He thought fondly of Sylvia, whose favours he had enjoyed often. Not perhaps, in the top flight of his city’s courtesans, but beautiful and accomplished enough to have had poems written in her honour, and duels to be fought by her admirers. He had slain a rival himself, a year previously. By contrast, the Northern women, unwashed, ignorant, slatternly, held no appeal. Apart from the Queen herself, who was truly beautiful, if cold, and had plainly picked up some civilised habits such as regular bathing, and using a fork at meals, in place of fingers. He wondered how she could stand this place. He spent the meal conversing with the man seated to his right, Maester Wolkan, one of the few men of culture in this hole. Afterwards, he talked with his colleague, in the guest chamber they both shared. It appeared the Queen had said little to him, other than formal pleasantries. Still, Loredan had formed a view. "She's not a fool, but she's desperate. And, very bitter towards her fellow Queens." That was all to the good.

They met Queen Sansa in her solar, the following morning. This was altogether more suitable for a monarch than the Great Hall, had been. The chamber was a large one, lined with silk tapestries, and carpeted with woollen rugs from Myr. A young noblewoman who the Queen introduced as Myranda Royce poured them all wine in silver goblets, the taste far superior to last night’s rotgut, before retiring discreetly. Maester Wolkan was present as well, along with a small, slim, grey-eyed woman, the Queen's sister, Lady Arya; a woman who was definitely unwelcome in Braavos, after fleeing the House of Black and White, and applying their teachings to settling personal scores. She stared at him, dead-eyed, a killer, who was known to enjoy playing with her food. That was another violation of the rules of the Faceless Men, who performed their contracts swiftly and almost painlessly.

"I must apologise for the poor quality of the banquet" began the Queen, "we are still living on army rations.”

”Your Grace, I have travelled as far as Mussovy on my country’s business. Believe me, I have endured far rougher accommodations”, replied Loredan, smoothly. The Queen smiled at the politeness.

Presently, all my resources are being devoted to raising an army to drive the Ironborn from my shores."

"But, not a navy, your Grace?" asked Loredan.

"Have you any idea of the cost of creating a navy from scratch, my lord?"

"A pretty good one. Perhaps, we may be able to be of assistance to you."

"For that, I am grateful. I take it you would not be here, were you unwilling to assist my kingdom."

"Your Grace is most observant. " Loredan turned to Tycho.

"I believe the Iron Bank could be of assistance to the extent of five million golden dragons, your Grace. " He and his companion both kept a poker face as he saw the Queen's jaw drop. "More than sufficient to establish a standing army, and to rebuild Winterfell in a style that befits a great Queen", continued Loredan.

“But, the interest…” began Sansa, “would not be exorbitant your Grace. Four per centum”, replied Tycho.

This time it was Arya Stark who spoke. "I doubt if I'm remembered kindly in your city. What has my sister done to deserve your generosity?"

Best to be blunt with this one. "You aren't remembered kindly, my lady. I would advise you never to set foot in Braavos again. And, it is my very clear understanding that the House of Black and White protects the Queen in Kings Landing."

"A tribade!" snapped Sansa. “Just like the Pirate Queen.”

"Indeed? Yet, married to your own brother, or is he your cousin?"

"The marriage is a joke. Someone fathered a child upon her, and she couldn't let it be raised a bastard. I suspect it was one of her own savages."

"A healthy girl, your Grace," commented Loredan, "and a true Targaryen in looks, ao I’m told. The Southern kingdom has an heir. So, for that matter, has the North.”

"Named after a woman of the lowest birth, who treated me with the utmost insolence!” Plainly, there was a history here, thought Tycho.

”I believe Missandei was dear to her.”

”We stray from the point”, remarked Arya.

“We do seek some small concessions”, remarked Loredan.

“And they are?”.

”When we retake Bear Island in the name of your Grace, we wish to lease it, and establish a naval base. We would maintain a permanent squadron there.”

”What of the Mormonts?” Asked Wolkan.

”We would of course restore their lands, but we must administer the island.”

”What else?” asked the Queen.

”The interest on the loan, even at a preferential rate, will be substantial” remarked Tycho. “Two hundred thousand dragons per annum. This far exceeds your annual revenues. We would happily accept payment in kind, however. The Wolfswood is a most valuable resource. There is pinewood and pitch; Amber, furs, and skins would likewise be acceptable in lieu of specie. We would expect to manage this forest, during the term of the loan.”

”You want me to give you the Wolfswood?”.

”A mortgage.”

”That’s no “small concession” remarked Wolkan.

”We must have some security for our loan, Ser.”

”We will make you no charge for our naval support, but we will wish to appoint our own advisors to your army and your Court.”

The Queen gave them a hard stare, then said “ So in effect, I am to become a vassal to Braavos?” Arya, he noticed, looked murderous.

“Not in the least”, replied Loredan. “Say, rather, a Friend and Ally.”

“Send them back to Braavos, your Grace”, said Arya vehemently. “Agree to this, and you’ll never get them off your back. You’d be better off bending the knee to that bitch in the South.”

”That will never happen, Arya! Good sers”, you have given me much to think over. You shall have my answer presently.” Tycho and his companion rose and bowed, before leaving the chamber.

Chapter Text

"Would you be so kind as to show our prisoner the instruments, Master Pike." He couldn't help it, but his bladder voided itself, then his bowels, soaking his Maester's robe. Oh Gods, oh Gods, he was going to die horribly now, all thanks to that vile bitch he'd rescued in a moment of madness! All because he'd seen her tits, and knew that he must have them for his own.

Daenerys Targaryen stood before him, holding a torch aloft, lighting up the Undercroft, at Dragonstone. The face of an angel, the soul of the blackest devil in the Seven Hells. As always, she was immaculate, not a hair out of place, dressed in her house colours of black and scarlet. Next to her stood his betrayer, the Gillyflower. Unlike the Queen, who stared down at him dispassionately, she was positively joyful. She revelled in his downfall. She had planned it for weeks, he now realised. Completing the trio was the torturer, Pike, a man with hideous facial burns from some accident in the past. He himself was tied into a chair, a desk in front of him, on which was placed a large wooden box. Pike lifted the lid, allowing Sam to see for himself the impressive array of blades, skewers, pliers, needles, little bottles of oil, and little bottles of acid, that it contained. This was the end, he knew.

"I'll give you one last chance" said the Queen. "Mistress Gillyflower has made a number of serious accusations against you. Would you like to repeat them for Master Samwell's benefit?"

Gilly gave a brief bow. "M' Lady, sorry, yer Grace. 'E took me to Oldtown to be 'is 'ore, while he was studying with the Maesters. One of the maesters, 'e taught me reading. Sam didn't like it one bit. But, 'e was looking for something in the library, an' he got me to look for it as well. An annulment, I think 'e called it. It showed Jon Snow was the son of Prince Rhaegar."

"My brother's son."

"Yes, yer Grace. "

"What did he want it for?"

"I think he thought Jon would reward 'im, if he could show 'im it."

"So then what happened?"

"''e fell out with the maesters. 'E told me we 'ad to leave fast, an' 'e stole a load of books, jus' like 'e stole 'is father's sword. 'E was always stealing things. We got on a ship that sailed North, then went back to Winterfell. Then you came, with an army."

"Go on."

"'E was very upset one night. 'E came in crying. 'E said 'e spoke to you in the library. An' you said you'd killed his father and brother. "

"Did he say why?"

"'E said they wouldn't bend the knee to you. An' you burned them alive for it. I didn't care. 'Is father was a right cunt, an' his brother weren't much better. They treated us like shit, when we went to their 'ome. "

"They were murdered"! shouted Sam, regretting it instantly, when Pike drove his fist into his midriff, leaving him puffing and blowing like a carp.

"Don't speak till you're spoken to, reptile", remarked the Queen, evenly.

"Pray continue, Gilly".

"After 'e stopped crying, 'e started shouting that e'd see you dead. 'E said you weren't the rightful Queen an' e'd tell Jon. E'd get Jon to kill you, and Jon would give 'im 'is reward. 'E said 'e wanted 'Orn 'Ill, and wanted to be freed from the Watch. The day after, he said e'd met Jon in the Crypt, and told 'im all about it."

"Thank you , Gilly. I believe you." Sam gave a strangled yelp of fear.

"Now Samwell, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way. You can make a full confession, and you'll be returned to serve at Castle Black, to the end of your days. Or we can go down the other path. Master Pike is extremely skilled at obtaining answers from unwilling subjects. He has probably forgotten more about the infliction of pain, than you and I will ever know." Sam began to sob. It was so unfair. He'd sent a raven to Dragonstone, from Winterfell, urging the Queen to allow him to inherit Horn Hill, reminding her of how he'd cured Ser Jorah Mormont's greyscale. That would surely weigh in the balance against the actions of his father and brother. She'd said herself "great service deserves great reward." She knew nothing about the conversation between him and Jon in the crypts. He'd heard Jon was being held prisoner on the island, but his old friend would never have betrayed him. It turned out, that Gilly would. As he had knelt before the Queen on her throne, as she heard his petition, Gilly had stepped forward and spilled the beans on him. He'd been placed under arrest, and now, brought to this place of torment

The injustice horrified him. He had been so good to her, gifting her with a silver thimble, on leaving her father's hovel. Then, he'd rescued her on his return, and taken her to Castle Black. There she'd been fed and sheltered. Yes, he'd expected regular sex from her in return, but that was no more than his due. He could never marry her of course, but he'd find her a place among his household servants.

"Well, we're waiting." He looked up, hoping to see a trace of pity in his tormentors, but there was none. He took a deep breath.

"Your Grace, I confess, I committed treason" he said at last.

"Go on."

"I was angry, your Grace. I didn't see at the time, my brother and father were evil men, who deserved the justice they received from you. I told Jon about his parentage, because I wanted him to strike at you. I am a traitor, and all I can ask is for your Grace's mercy."

"Very well. I told you that your service deserved a reward. I shan't inflict the full horrors of a traitor's death upon you. You will return to the Nights Watch, and there you will regain your honour. But, I will want first to ensure that you will never foresake your vows again." Relief surged through him. He wasn't going to die! When he got back to Castle Black, well, he'd think of making good his escape.

"Thank you, your Grace. I'll swear any vow you want from me."

It turned out, it hadn't been a vow she wanted from him. It was his cock and balls. He had been given milk of the poppy, before being gelded by one of her surgeons. Upon recovery, he had been shipped back to the Wall, where now he must remain until death, he reflected bitterly for the hundredth time, as he emptied the new Lord Commander's chamber pot. His fat pink mast, his pride and joy, was gone forever, while Gilly served the Queen as her whore. She had made a point of telling him the pair were now lovers, before his departure. "She gives me orgasms Sam, I bets you don't even know what that is."

He heard a group of new recruits reciting the vows, in the courtyard:

Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post. I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the shield that guards the realms of men. I pledge my life and honour to the Night's Watch, for this night and all the nights to come."

He must pledge his life to the Watch, father no children, and win no glory. But, he had no honour left to offer them, condemned as a criminal, a traitor, and a coward. He could only exist in his own private hell.

Chapter Text

“He loves your breasts as much as I do”, remarked the Queen, smiling, as Gilly suckled her child. She had named her son Aemon, after the kindly old man who had befriended her at the Wall. The Queen’s daughter and heir, Missandei, lay fast asleep in her cot. Ornela, one of the Queen's Dothraki handmaidens, giggled at the slight crudeness. Both women had given birth without too much difficulty. Her other son, she had renamed Edd, after the commander of the Nights Watch, who had perished in an effort to save Piggy, during the Long Night. Gods, he ought to have let the fat swine take his chances! The Dead wouldn't have killed him, in any case, for they just wouldn't want him among their number. Piggy was Aemon's father, but she would never let the boy know that.

"I'm glad you named him after my Great Uncle. I never met him, but my all accounts, he was a good man."

"'E was. The nicest man at the Wall. I thought Jon was nice too, though. Turns out, you can make mistakes." She saw the Queen's mouth set tight at the mention of her husband's name. He had been allowed to see Missandei, after she was born, but Daenerys had made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that he would be playing no role in her upbringing.

"There was a Prince Aemon. They called him "the dragon knight", the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. He was brave and chivalrous. He did everything he could to protect his sister Queen Naerys from her depraved husband, King Aegon. By all accounts, he was even more revolting than Tarly. "

"I didn't think that's possible. Well...there was my own fucking father, I suppose." Daenerys gave a sound of disgust. She'd told the Queen about the filthy old pervert, how he took his daughters and granddaughters to wife.

"Come to think of, they say King Aegon fucked his own daughter. Gave the pox to her, too," remarked Daenerys.

"For the Gods' sake!" exclaimed Ornela. "Among my people, such men are burned; abominations". She rose, and poured wine for the Queen and Gilly. Daenerys sighed with pleasure as she sipped from the goblet.

"It's such a pleasure to drink wine again. Pour one for yourself." Ornela did so. The Queen smiled nastily.

"I've had word from the capital. The Imp has breathed his last. I ordered what was left of him to be fed to pigs."

"Thank the Gods!", exclaimed Gilly; Ornela nodded vigorously.

"I warned your Grace", said the latter, "he meant no good to you."

"You were right. I curse myself for all the mistakes I made. The worst was making that traitor my Hand."

"I've 'eard he was selling you out, to 'is own brother and sister", commented Gilly.

"I thought he was just incompetent. But, I can see that makes no sense. People may have hated him, but they say he ran the capital effectively, before Stannis attacked it. And, he came up with the plan to burn his fleet with wildfire. No, he wasn't making mistakes. He proved that at the end, when he tried to save his brother and sister, and then persuaded to Jon to kill me. "

"Well, he had time to reflect on his own errors, stuck in a cage, and then chained to a post", remarked Ornela.

"Nobody cries for the wicked", said Gilly. "I 'eard the crowds was pelting 'im with shit, and offal, before 'e died." They all laughed at that. Eventually, when Aemon was satisified, she handed the babe to Ornela, who placed him in a crib, next to Missandei's.

"Well, your Grace, my lady, I have duties to attend to", said Ornela, looking archly at the pair of them. She rose, curtsied, and left the chamber. Gilly walked over to the couch on which the Queen was sitting, and joined her, wrapping her arms round her, as the two began kissing each other passionately. "Oh Gods, Dany, I wants to see you naked!", she blurted out, eventually. Daenerys grinned, gently disengaging herself from Gilly's grasp, and then stood up. "As M'Lady commands", she replied, before commencing a most erotic strip tease, something she could only have learned in some Eastern brothel. She had shocked Gilly with some of the things that she said took place in such establishments in Meereen. Finally, quite naked, the Queen knelt before Gilly, lifting her skirts, and pulling down her smallclothes. Then, she started pleasuring her with her mouth and fingers. Within a very short while, Gilly was seeing stars.

"Gods, Gilly, how I've missed this", said Daenerys, when they had finished. They had refrained from making love, for some weeks after giving birth.

"I fell in love you, with the moment I met you", said Gilly. The Queen giggled.

"Do you remember the look on Tarly's face in the throne room? He wanted Horn Hill, and then you stepped forward and said he was a traitor. How long had you been planning that?"

"The moment 'e said 'e'd got a letter from your scribe, asking 'im to come to Dragonstone, and make 'is case. I knew I 'ad 'im, then. I 'ated 'im. I've always 'ated 'im. 'E thought I belonged to 'im, ever since 'e came to my father's keep. When we was running away from the White Walkers, 'e wanted to give Edd away to them, but I wouldn't let 'im. 'E thought they'd let us go free, if we gave them a boy. When we got back to the Wall, e' said 'e'd killed one of them, but it was all a lie. I kept my mouth shut, but I should of spoken up, told them all what a dirty coward 'e was. Then I 'ad to pleasure 'im, whenever 'e wanted, and e' was a filthy bastard, like my father. I doesn't want to talk about the things 'e wanted from me, when we was alone together."

"If I'd known all this, I'd probably have let Master Pike have some fun with him. Still, I can't think of a much worse punishment than sending him back to the Wall, without his cock and balls. May he enjoy many years of misery up there!"

"I'll drink to that!" said Gilly fervently. She poured more wine for the pair of them, before settling herself on her lover's lap, neither of them wearing a stitch, and yet, perfectly content.

Chapter Text

The Kingsguard frisked Jon expertly, before nodding him through to the Queen’s solar. What kind of woman has her husband searched, before he comes into her presence? he reflected bitterly. One who was nearly murdered by you was the obvious answer to that question.

For the sake of his daughter, the Princess Missandei, he had endured the farce of their wedding, his wife's sarcastic comments, and his permanent exile from his home at Winterfell. Still, he had at least been given some work to do, as Prince of Dragonstone. He tried disputes among the locals, most of whom seemed to spend their time borrowing money they never intended to repay, stealing each others' land, and seducing each others' wives. Daenerys had even allowed him to play a part in rebuilding the city which the pair of them had destroyed. He had paid it several visits, under discreet guard, enduring the sullen stares of the survivors. He had also seen what was left of Tyrion Lannister. A pile of bones, with a few scraps of withered skin, and tufts of yellow hair, still chained to a stake; even now, the locals pelted the remains with shit. His wife's mood hadn't softened. A sellsword, Bronn Stokeworth, had raised a rebellion in the Reach, claiming to have been promised Highgarden. A flying column of Dothraki had broken the rebels, impaled the survivors, and had captured the Pretender. Chained to one of their horses, he had been forced to walk all the way back to Kings Landing, before being burned alive before the mob. Cersei's officials were still being hunted down by the Queen's agents, before being quartered, burned, or impaled.

The idealistic young queen who had flown to his rescue beyond the Wall, and loved him on the voyage from Dragonstone to White Harbour was dead. He had murdered her, after all. In her place was a bitter, ruthless, cynical woman.

You made her like this. You, your family, her advisors. We all did.

Jon entered the drawing room, where Daenerys was waiting for him. She had shed the weight she gained during her pregnancy, looking radiant. She had furnished the chamber tastefully, in their house colours. It had a fine view of the sea, hundreds of feet below. With her was her dear companion, Lady Gillyflower, formerly Sam Tarly's paramour. She had risen high in the world indeed. That was a strange friendship. He noticed that both women had daggers strapped to their waist.

Daenerys rose, then began the conversation. "So, Jon, you requested a meeting."

"It concerns Missandei. I am as much her parent as you are. It is only right that I play a part in her upbringing."

"I see. How old will she be, when you tell her you tried to murder her in my womb?" He grimaced.

"I see no benefit in telling her what took place between us. Even if she knows her parents are estranged, she doesn't have to know about that".

"So honourable, that you couldn't lie to Cersei, but you'll lie to your own family." Every conversation they held in private ran along the same lines. He sighed,

"Daenerys, this gets us nowhere, I know that our love has vanished..."

"It never existed Jon, not on your side. You wanted an army, and I had an army. And, if you got me to open my legs for you, well, you have the same needs as any man. More fool me. You, Tyrion, Varys, your family, you all had your own reasons to use me, and then discard me."

"That's not how it was..."

"Really? So why did you lie to your vassals about the reason you bent the knee to me? I never made you give up your crown!"

"You know as well as I do. I didn't realise just how much they'd hate my decision. I couldn't have them rebel when we needed them to fight the Dead. You kept quiet too."

"You betrayed me Jon. You shunned me, and left your people to revile me. We were fighting for your homeland and we were treated with contempt. Until Lady Gilly told me, I'd no idea that Sam tried to turn you against me. A loyal subject would tell his Queen that, let alone, a man who claimed to be in love with her."

"We've gone over this before, Daenerys. Yes, I behaved appallingly. I was focused on fighting the Dead, nothing else. "

"Then you revealed your parentage to your family. You knew what Sansa did with that information!"

"I swore her to secrecy."

"Why make her swear, Jon, if you trusted her. You knew what she'd do! You knew!" Her voice rose, and Jon could hear the anger as she spoke. Gilly gently stroked the Queen's hair and neck, then rested her hand on her shoulder, as she calmed. He saw Daenerys instinctively reach up to clasp her friend's hand. And then, it became shockingly clear what lay between them. He couldn't help blurting out:

"Do you do it to insult me?" Taking your own lady in waiting as your paramour?" Daenerys went white, before saying "Gilly, please leave us. I must speak in private," She left the room.

"Don't flatter yourself, you bastard. You mean nothing to me. For the rest of our lives, you will mean nothing to me! Gilly is a hundred times the person you will ever be! Yes, I love her. And, no doubt you think I'm a slut, because of it. But, then you've always treated me as a slut. Your family treated me as your whore, never as their Queen. "A foreign whore you doesn't know her place" was the expression, I believe. "

"That was Cersei!"

"And, now Cersei's heir is Queen in the North. And busy selling out her people to the Iron Bank, from all I've heard!" Jon sighed again.

"Sansa is unfit to rule. I don't think either of us is in any doubt about that. She'll be overthrown sooner or later. I could rule the North in your name. We'd only have to meet rarely. And, you could explain to Missandei why her father was so often absent."

Daenerys sneered. "You?" I'd sooner give Winterfell to Gilly's father, if he still lived. You'd raise a revolt the moment you were out of my sight."

"Look. Even if you see me as an enemy - and you have every reason to - I'm not going to usurp our daughter! I want her to rule in your place one day, to ride Drogon, and yes, to govern Winterfell, too. I would never take that from her!"

"Get out now!" the Queen commanded. He rose and left. Yet a couple of days later, he received a note, confirming he could meet with their daughter, once a week, supervised by Lady Gillyflower. It was a small victory, but better that than a defeat.

Chapter Text

Arya felt sick. She'd felt sick, honestly, ever since her sister took her loan from the Iron Bank. She and Wolkan had warned her sister, over again; the Iron Bank would have its due. And so they had. Bear Island had been leased to the Braavosi; vast supplies of timber had been taken from the Wolfswood to supply their war fleet. New taxes had been imposed on a bankrupt North, to cover the interest on five million dragons, but still, it was not enough. So, after a lengthy argument, Queen Sansa had granted a monopoly of trade from White Harbour to Braavos, in return for having a quarter of the debt written off. Lord Wyman Manderly had been most unhappy about this, and in turn, he had been compensated with lands forfeited from the Boltons.

Still, Winterfell was being rebuilt to rival Highgarden in the South. And, the Queen had her army of sellswords, officered by the Braavosi, which was now being put to work, beyond what remained of the Wall. Silver and iron ore had been discovered, close to where Hardhome once stood. Sansa had thought they could be exploited to the benefit of the North. The problem was, the Free Folk, and others thought the same. Therefore, they had to be removed. The Queen had marched North with six thousand men, a Braavosi naval squadron accompanying them along the way. Arya rode with her sister. For the first time in her life, Arya had found out that soldiers commanded by the Starks were just as brutal as Lannister men, or the soldiers of the Dragon Queen. Livestock had been seized, settlements burned, women raped, as they marched North, and any who protested had been hanged on the spot. "I believe they call it war, Arya", had been her sister's response, when she had protested.

She watched intently as punishment was exacted on the luckless inhabitants of yet another village, perhaps fifty miles from Hardhome. "You are merciful, your Grace" commented Tycho Nestoris, as she rode up to join her sister. Merciful! The adult males of the village had attempted resistance, and naturally, they had been executed. The women and children stood in a huddle, downcast, as their homes were burnt by the soldiers. The livestock had already been rounded up. "Your grandfather, Lord Hoster Tully; he would have executed every inhabitant." He would, but Sansa might just as well have done. The women and children would now starve, without the means to support themselves. Sensing her thoughts, the banker remarked to her casually, "I'm afraid you have to break a few eggs, to make an omlette". He laughed, evidently considering it a witticism. Arya just scowled in response.

She turned her horse, and rode away, closing her ears to the muttered curses of the villagers. "Let them hate me, so long as they fear me", she remembered her sister saying, when they last argued. She winced to remember describing her as "the smartest person I know." How could she not realise, she was turning the North into a colony of Braavos? Even if this campaign was successful, she'd little doubt that the Braavosi would take the lion's share of the profits from Hardhome. A terrible, forbidden, thought floated into her mind.

Daenerys Targaryen would rule the North better than my sister does.

You could get your tongue ripped out for expressing such a sentiment in public. The Braavosi had helped her sister establish a network of informers, and agents, to report on any signs of sedition among the Northern population. Excluding Southern ships from White Harbour had inevitably attracted retaliation. The South was closed to Northern merchants, who had no choice now, but to sell to Braavos on worse terms than the Southrons had offered. Along with the rising taxes, and resentment at Braavosi arrogance, the goodwill her sister had enjoyed upon her accession had largely disappeared. What would Jon think, she wondered? They corresponded occasionally. The Dragon Queen had borne him a daughter, although she knew that there was no love lost between them. How could there have been, after Jon had tried to murder her. She had thought of killing Daenerys herself, after the destruction of Kings Landing, only to be warned in no uncertain terms, by the House of Black and White, that she was under their protection. She'd also been warned never to return to Braavos, where her conduct had been resented.

She hadn't been happy to learn that Sansa had broken Jon's confidence, after giving him an oath in the Godswood. It had led to an ugly murder attempt by Lord Varys, and to his execution in turn. If she were honest, it had played a part in the destruction of the city. "I did what I had to do, Arya, you know that. She might have killed Jon, had his identity remained a secret." Liar. She'd been trying to force a conflict between Daenerys and Jon, and Daenerys and her advisors. Her sister never ceased to scheme and plot.

Maester Wolkan rode up to join her. He had made no secret of his distaste for this adventure, although the rules of his Order bound him to serve Queen Sansa, to the best of his ability. "Work of the brave Northern freedom fighters", he commented, nodding in the direction of the village, which was now ablaze.

"I wouldn't let my sister hear you say that."

"First the Boltons, now Queen Sansa. Just my luck to be given the worst assignment in the Seven Kingdoms". Really, did the man have a death wish? Maesters had been tortured and executed for less, in the past, and she suspected her sister would have few qualms about doing likewise. Still, his frankness deserved a response.

"You never heard it from me. The North may have had worse rulers. Just, not many. I doubt if my sister's rule will endure. When she's overthrown, you and I will be the first to get strung up. In your shoes, I'd take a ship to the Summer Isles, and never return."

"And you, my lady? What will you do?" She sighed.

"Family is family. I suppose I'll just have to go down with the ship"

Would she, she reflected later? Or could she flee to Jon in Dragonstone? Would the Dragon Queen just execute her? She was trapped, she realised, between the frying pan and the fire.

Chapter Text

Oh Gods, Tycho Nestoris suspected he was well and truly fucked to the balls, as they liked to put it in his home city; a place he desperately wished he was in, right now, but which he thought he would never see again. He should have seen the warning signs. Hundreds of Queen Sansa's soldiers had been killed in the fighting at Hardhome. They'd seized the mines, and only then had they realised, that a large garrison had to be maintained in order to protect the workers from the vengeful wildlings. Then they had to ship the iron and silver out across hundreds of miles of sea, and supply the garrison and miners by the same means. The Iron Bank and Queen Sansa alike were losing money hand over fist on the venture. His last interview with her had turned decidedly frosty.

All of which was by the by. Currently, he was locked in a small cell in a warehouse, in White Harbour, awaiting judgement. Gods, why hadn't he just sailed back to his homeland when he had the chance? The trouble had begun a week previously. A couple of Braavosi sailors had raped a young woman of the city. Thanks to the treaty in place with Queen Sansa, his fellow countrymen were exempt from local justice, and could only be tried by their own judges. It had become clear, on his return from Hardhome, just how unpopular the Braavosi had made themselves with the locals. And, so he had urged his colleagues to make an example of the pair, to quieten the situation. Instead, they'd simply branded the woman a liar, and let the men return to their ship. It had been the spark that had lit the bonfire. Egged on by her family, angry crowds had gathered outside the walls of the Braavosi quarter. The mob had started throwing brickbats. Messages had been sent to the city's lord, Wyman Manderly, demanding he suppress the troublemakers. He'd responded that the Braavosi had made their bed and now they could lie in it. Some hotheads on his side had shot at the rioters with crossbows. The upshot was the natives had stormed the foreign quarter, led, he had no doubt, by Manderly's own soldiers. His people would send a war fleet to burn the city, but that would be very cold comfort for him. Before long, he'd be riding a pole, if he couldn't escape. He'd seen it done to others, those who were weren't hanged, burned, or beheaded. He'd been captured and flung into this cell. The only surprise had been that he wasn't torn apart on the spot. His gaoler, a surly pock-marked brute, with shaven head, named Inch, threw him a heel of stale bread twice a day, and gave him a cup of brackish water. When he'd asked for a bucket to relieve himself, he'd been told to use the corner of his cell. Unsurprisingly, both he and the cell now stank to wake the dead.

He wondered if the Queen was behind the unrest. She was one cold-hearted bitch. And, she was very unpopular with her subjects. It would be like her to try and deflect that unpopularity onto the Braavosi. Winterfell was hundreds of miles inland, safe from any form of retaliation that the Braavosi could deliver. The truth of the old adage that if you owe your bank a thousand, you're in trouble, but if you owe the bank a million, the bank's in trouble, had never been more apparent. What would they do, if she simply refused to pay what she owed?

His thoughts turned to Sylvia, one of his few good memories. How would she react when she heard of his death? No doubt she would bear up bravely, and find another patron. She was still lovely, in her mid-twenties. No, before long, another man would be enjoying her charms, and the pleasures of her bed. He hoped she would remember him fondly at least. Could he take his own life? One of his city's philosophers had once written "the road to freedom lies through any vein in your body." Many religions held suicide to be a sin, but he had never been a religious man. Old Valyria had many tales of men who had taken their own lives, to atone for defeat in war or politics, and women who had done so to avoid dishonour. How to do it? There was a complete absence of sharp objects in his cell, but perhaps he could hang himself, or even dash his head against the wall.

He heard key turn in the lock to his cell, and the door opened. There stood Inch, grinning, with a couple of cronies. The man had a piece of black iron in his hand. Was he about to set about him?

"This is my Lady Lu, " he commented, holding up the iron. "She mayn't look like much, but when she's 'eated up red hot, and touching yer cock and balls, she'll 'ave yer screaming fer yer mother". The three of them all chuckled, no doubt anticipating the torture to come. "Yer to come with us. " One of them pinioned his hands behind his back, while the other snapped tight a pair of manacles. "Move it."

"Where are we going?" he managed to ask. Inch responded by casually hitting him in the face. He staggered. It had felt as if someone had struck him with a frying pan.

They emerged from the warehouse, and he blinked in the sunlight. Looking around, he could see the devastation that had been inflicted on the Braavosi quarter. The few buildings that had not been burned to the ground, had plainly been ransacked. But, he was to see a lot worse than that. They led him through the the city. Passers-by jeered at him, but his guards made clear he wasn't to be harmed. No doubt, far more dreadful punishment awaited him. He guessed he was being led to New Castle, Lord Manderly's seat of power. They entered a large square, and there, he was greeted by a row of iron stakes. Each one had the blackened remains of a dead body still chained to it. No doubt, countrymen of his, burned alive by these savages! He couldn't help it, but sank to his knees and retched. Only to get a kick in the ribs from Inch, and to be dragged to his feet. They climbed up hill, eventually reaching the gate to the castle. Resigned to death, he limped on, up to the Great Hall.

And there Lord Manderly awaited him on a dais. "Lord Lamprey", they called him, a grossly fat man, but not to be underestimated. He stared down at Tycho, piggy eyes hidden in great rolls of fat. Then he popped a pastry into his mouth, and took a swig from a goblet of wine, before speaking.

"Your people have made yourself unwelcome in this city, in this country. Over a thousand have been put to death, during the past week. You yourself are among the worst. " What could he say to that? He racked his brains, desperately trying to think of something.

"My advisors have been debating what to do with you. Some favour quartering, others burning, and still others, impalement. As a true man of the North, I myself would prefer to remove your skin, piece by piece, over the course of several days." For the Gods sake, this was worse even than he imagined! Lord Manderly hesitated, savouring the moment.

"But, it's always wise to leave a survivor or two. Go back to your city, and don't return. Tell them what happened, when your countrymen exhausted the patience of my people. Tell them what will happen, should they return." Relief flooded him.

"And tell them too, we hold more than fifteen hundred of your women and children as hostages. Whatever you may think, we aren't savages. They'll be kept safe, unless you think to send a war fleet to our shores in revenge. Then, I can assure you, we will return them to their families. Piece, by piece. The North remembers, Nestoris."

As he was led down to the docks, all he could think was he'd spend the rest of his life sacrificing to every God in his city, for giving him this chance. It was, he knew, quite undeserved.

Chapter Text

“Your sister has fled the North, for the Vale”, began Daenerys, without preamble. “The Gods know who’s in charge up there now. Apparently, Lord Manderly has proclaimed himself King, as has Lord Umber. There’s even a pretender, claiming to be Domeric Bolton.” She had summoned him to the Chamber of the Painted Table. Grey Worm, Lady Gillyflower, and Lord Yohn Royce, were present. The Dothraki handmaiden, Ornela, served them wine and pastries.

Jon knew some of this. He’d heard of the riots at White Harbour, followed by the Braavosi trade embargo. Revolts had broken out across the North. Sansa had struggled to contain them, and now, plainly, she’d had enough. Word had been sent by raven that she'd fled the North, although he was unsure where she'd gone to.

”Where is she now?”

"Gulltown, your Highness" replied Royce. "She arrived by ship, a month ago. She currently resides with the Arryns of that city. An unwelcome guest." Over the past two years, Jon's life had become a good deal more bearable. His wife's hatred for him had mostly subsided towards indifference. The fact that she had taken another woman as her paramour had ceased to bother him, particularly. Neither of them flaunted their relationship publicly. Nor did she object to his own occasional liaisons with ladies of the Court. And their daughter was delightful. Missandei was the spitting image of her mother, a true Targaryen beauty, silver-haired and purple-eyed. She seemed fond of her father, although he wondered for how long that would remain the case. One day, Daenerys would surely tell the girl of her father's treason. And, he would give his own side of the story. But, sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.

"Is Arya with her?" he asked.

"No one knows where she's gone" replied Royce.

"The Queen who Lost the North", mocked Daenerys, "just like her brothers were the Kings Who Lost the North. It seems that the talent pool has run dry among the current generation of Starks. Not that Lord Eddard was any better." Anger flared in Jon. Daenerys' barbs had grown rare now, but they still hurt.

"Curse me and Sansa as much as you like. Robb doesn't deserve it, nor my father!"

"But, he was never your father, was he? Certainly not a good father to you. He sent you off to the Wall to die, so his fat friend could rest safe on the Iron Throne. He wanted Sansa to marry the heir to the throne, so his own grandson would rule in time. And, he wanted you out of the way. Your claim would have threatened his own line. He wanted you to meet the wrong end of a wildling's axe, just so long as he avoided the taint of kinslaying." When put like that, it all sounded horribly plausible. Daenerys smiled with the fixed malice of a goat.

"He wasn't that kind of man, your Grace. He saved my life. He saved yours, too!"

"Did he now? I still came within a hair's-breadth of being poisoned. He still served the Usurper. It's no thanks to him that I'm still above ground! Yet, the Gods favour me, it seems. Stark, Baratheon, Bolton, Lannister. Traitors every one, and where are they now? Dead or disgraced!"

"Your Grace", commented Royce, gently. "I followed my liege, when he rose against your father. May the Gods rest King Aerys' soul, yet he was in the grip of a madness. Your Grace has pardoned my own House, and House Arryn. Most generously. His Highness is not to blame for the actions of his House. You awarded Storms End to Lord Gendry, not holding him to blame for the actions of his father." Daenerys fell silent, brooding over this.

"There is little point in raking over the past", the Queen finally acknowledged. "I digress. The issue remains. What do we do about Sansa?"

"Return her to the North to face justice, your Grace", remarked Gilly. Grey Worm nodded with approval.

"Your Grace, they would subject her to torment, perhaps rape", replied Jon.

"She brought her own fate on herself", Grey Worm responded.

"I have no love for the woman" said the Queen, eventually. "I would happily do as you suggest. Or put her to death myself. Perhaps I ought to have done so at Winterfell, years ago. She is treacherous, spiteful, scheming and selfish ... yet, she is an anointed Queen. However unworthy, I cannot let her suffer the fate that she merits. Perhaps I should have her tongue removed, and commit her to the Silent Sisters." Jon snorted in disgust.

" A joke, husband mine."

"A very sour one."

"So many are. Please leave us", she said to the others. "I need to speak with my husband. " They left them alone, together. "Would to the Gods, I had never met your family! Still, I suppose there was too much bad blood between our Houses. My father did wrong them, I can't deny it. They say he was mad, yet everything I've heard of him suggests he wasn't much better, when sane. His best friend was Lord Tywin. He made him his Hand, after learning he'd drowned hundreds of women and children at Castamere. Then he molested the man's wife. For all I know, he raped her, as well. He tore out Lady Darklyn's private parts with red hot pincers, before burning what remained of her alive, with her family. No doubt, you think I'm no different." Jon said nothing.

"Well, that's comment enough. You and your family decided I was my father come again. And so, they needed to get their retaliation in first. And, in their eyes, I proved them right, the day the city fell. How many died? Tens of thousands. I did what any commander would have done, when a city rejected quarter, but I was always going to be judged by my father... No, there's no point blaming others", she mused. "I failed, according to the standards I had set myself. I slaughtered innocents. It was wrong. "

"I failed you, too. I turned my back on you, when you needed support. I can see that. I lost control of my army. They ran amok. I ought to have known their mood. They came for vengeance. And then I let the Imp talk me into ... murdering you." It was hard to admit that truth. "Perhaps the pair of us have been cursed by the Gods."

"Did we ever love one another, or were we just deluding ourselves?"

"We were at war. Feelings and emotions are heightened. We thought we were in love, certainly."

"In the eyes of the world, we have it all. Queen of the Six Kingdoms, and Prince Consort. With a lovely daughter, adored by the Realm. We can at least try to ensure that she is happy. We don't have to tell her the whole truth of the past."

"That's generous of you ... Daenerys?" It was the first time in ages he had called her by her name. She smiled.

"As to your sister, I suppose I must give her sanctuary. But, only upon condition she accepts that her political career is over. I can't have her plotting a comeback. I have not the slightest idea who will emerge on top in the North, but I'm not going to get embroiled in a war with them."

"That's fair. You'll have to keep her confined to some castle, under close guard."

"And, if she insists on plotting? What then?"

What about your sisters? They'll never bend the knee. The argument that the Imp had used, to persuade him to commit murder, after the city fell. He wouldn't make the same mistake again.

"If she rejects this last chance, if she commits treason again... then yes, she must die."

Chapter Text

"Trapped in this hellhole, at the mercy of a demented tribade”, muttered Sansa angrily.

"I wouldn't call it a hellhole", replied Arya. She had known much worse on her travels. She'd fled the North as her sister's government collapsed, before rejoining her in exile in the Vale. On the Dragon Queen's orders, they, and the remaining members of Sansa's household had been confined to the Eyrie, the summer residence of the lords of the Vale. In fact, the place was enchantingly beautiful, with breathtaking views across the Vale. It was a great deal more comfortable than Winterfell, too. She could happily reside here, were it not for the fact she had to share it with Sansa.

”I have very bad memories of this place, Arya. Stuck with that filthy creature, Baelish. I had to kiss him like a lover; and “accidentally”, he’d brush his hand against my breasts and my buttocks. And that other vile creature, Sweetrobin. He wanted to suckle from me, or else have me suck his cock, the little pervert!” It did sound unpleasant, thought Arya. Still, their rooms were well appointed, the castle had a fine library, and ample food and wine. They were breaking their fast alone together, with bread, cheese, and ale.

"I wouldn't call Queen Daenerys names, either, if I were you. Who knows who might be listening in?"

"It's the truth, Arya, she and that wildling slut, the one who betrayed Tarly. They spend their nights up each others' quims. Her marriage to Jon is a sham." This was a constant refrain of her sister's, and there was real venom in her voice, enough to make her ask.

"Are you jealous?"

”Jealous? What are you implying?” Sansa had blushed bright red. “You think I want to couple with the Targaryen whore?”

”Well, you were very close to Margaery Tyrell, and she had an eye for the ladies, so I've been told. They say, she and her ladies in waiting loved to play musical beds. I’ve heard they used to call her “silver-tongued Margaery.” Arya cackled with glee.

"I never disgraced myself with Margaery Tyrell", replied Sansa with some warmth. "I know that she and her ladies were ... unchaste. But not I. Only bawds take pleasure from the act of bodily union, so Mother always told me. I can assure you, I derived no joy from my marriage to the Beast of Bolton, but nor will I ever defile myself with another woman. " Well, Arya was well aware that some of the Braavosi courtesans she'd enountered had female lovers, but best not to mention that, nor her own night of passion with Gendry Baratheon, at Winterfell, as they waited for the Dead.

"So what do you think the Dragon Queen wants with us?"

"She's written to me. She has not the slightest intention of helping me regain my throne. She says she will grant us asylum, provided we play no further part in political life. She also says I must never set foot outside the Eyrie in the Summer, nor Runestone in the winter, where the Royces have agreed to host us, without her permission. In effect, we are her prisoners."

"There are worse prisons. Have you heard anything from Jon? I'd like to see him again. He's the father of our niece."

"Do you really believe that? I've no doubt the real father of that little beast is one of her savages!"

"Sansa, just for once, try to be less bitter and resentful. The people of the North were ready to tear you limb from limb. You got away. At least you’ll get to live in comfort, for the rest of your life.”

”The rest of my life! Up till the point she decides to have me murdered in private, or butchered before a mob. She knows I’m a threat to her rule. My claim to the Iron Throne is superior to hers!” Arya groaned inwardly.

”I’m sorry to have to say this Sansa, but you’re nobody now.“ She saw her sister go white. "You're no threat to her. That's why she's letting you live. And what's your claim to the Iron Throne? That father betrothed you to Joffrey? A bastard, don't forget."

"Jon is the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, but he doesn't want it. And I am Jon's heir."

"That's not how it works Sansa, and you know it. She gained the throne by right of conquest. Just the same way our family gained the North. Until you threw it away!"

"You little bitch! Is this how you show loyalty to your family? I was betrayed. The North is mine, and one day, I shall take it back!"

"Let's be frank Sansa. You were an appalling ruler, handing over your kingdom to Braavos because you wanted their money. You attacked the Free Folk, without cause. I don't blame the North for rising up against you, not in the slightest. Try and be grateful for the fact that you are nobody, and that right now, you're guarded from all the thousands of people who'd love to see your head spiked above the North Gate!

A moment later, she felt Sansa's ale flung in her face. Furious, her sister got up and stalked out of the room. No doubt, she'd spend the rest of the day sulking, as she did so often, now. She wiped her face with a cloth. "The smartest person I know", she'd once called her sister. She must have been an idiot to believe such a thing. It had become very wearying to have to listen to her sister blaming everyone but herself for her predicament, the treacherous Northmen, Daenerys Targaryen, Jon, the Braavosi. Either that, or having to listen to endless tirades about the Queen's sexual depravity, or Jon's being a bastard, and thus, treacherous by nature. Even a castle was too small to want to share it with Sansa. She resolved to try and make her peace with the Dragon Queen, and find another place to reside in. If she had to spend much more time with Sansa, she might just walk out of the Moon Door.

Chapter Text

"It so grieves me, your Grace, to see you in such straits". Your Grace! It was so nice to hear those words, from such a dear friend. Mya Stone might only be a mule-driver by trade, but she was a King's daughter. She was serving as Sansa's companion, just about her only real friend left, now. She and Arya were still barely on speaking terms, and the small number of courtiers who had fled with her from the North plainly wished to be somewhere else. Sooner or later, the assassins would be coming from her, sent by the Dragonwhore, and then her body would be thrown through the Moon Door. They might not even bother to kill her before sending her flying. She would not just submit meekly to the slaughter, however.

The pair were alone in her chamber. She felt it safe to talk freely with her, as with no one else.

"What do the lords and smallfolk of the Vale say of me?"

"They drink secret toasts in Your Grace's honour. Behind closed doors, they sing ballads of the fair young Queen, cruelly driven from her native land, and now imprisoned by a tyrant. They hate the whore of Dragonstone. They groan under heavy taxes and oppression. There are even tales ..." and here Mya lowered her voice to a whisper "that she is depraved. That she does things that I could not even mention, for shame."

"Those tales are true enough. Daenerys Targaryen is wed to Jon Snow, yet still, she couples with a wilding slut, the Gillyflower. They say, that savage was her own father's whore, before she became the paramour of Master Samwell Tarly. Then, she betrayed him and seduced the Queen. In her jealousy, she had Tarly gelded, and sent back to the Wall. Ugh! As for the Queen, she was her own brother's concubine, prior to wedding a barbarian. Even afterwards, the pair continued their affair. Khal Drogo slew Viserys because he could not endure being made a cuckold, and later, she murdered him in turn. In Meereen, she coupled with men and women alike, while her court looked on, applauding her. She is depraved, you're right, but worse, she feels no shame in it.” Mya shuddered.

”The peoples of Essos have filthy habits, your Grace. They are corrupted by luxury, and have become perverted. You, your Grace, are pure, and you understand our ways. Our people should be governed by one of their own kind.” They should! But, it was suicidal to move against the Queen.

"But what to do, Mya? She has a dragon. It is savage, with a taste for human flesh. They say she feeds people who have offended her to the vile beast, while she looks on, gratifying her eyes with the spectacle of their suffering. If anyone were to make a move against her, they'd be burned to ashes, or devoured. "

"Dragons can be slain, your Grace. The one they called Rhaegal, he was brought down at Dragonstone. And there are tales about the maesters, that they poisoned the Targaryens' dragons, hundreds of years ago. Perhaps the Maesters of Oldtown would do so again. You could approach Wolkan?"

"I trust him not! No, I must be patient. "

"Your standing in the Vale could only be enhanced, were you to wed young Robyn Arryn." The thought made Sansa sick to the stomach. The boy was sickly and simple. He would expect her to fellate him, into a state of semi-tumescence, and no doubt, would engage in other perversions with her. On the other hand, perhaps that was the price of a crown. But, there might be others...

"My Uncle, Edmure Tully, rules the Riverlands. His wife is a weasel, of House Frey. He cannot surely endure to be wed to such a one. Perhaps he could be persuaded to set him aside, in my favour. I know that the Prince of Dorne, Mors Martell, is unwed. He would be a suitable husband. Lord Arryn, well, maybe, but I do not have happy memories of my time with him. "

Mya thought for a moment. Then, "Arryn has an heir, a cousin, Ser Harold Hardyng. He is a comely young man. Were Lord Robert to die untimely, well he would be lord of the Vale." Were he to die untimely! Well, Sweetrobin might well not have long to live, and perhaps there were ways of hastening his end.

"Does the young lord still take sweetsleep for his shakes?" Mya nodded.

"Then I must befriend him. I am, after all, living in his castle. Will you bear messages for me?"

"Or course, your Grace", replied the other. She smiled, "I had no idea that your Grace had such concern for the wellbeing of the young lord."

"Oh, you may rest assured that the wellbeing of Lord Arryn is at the forefront of my mind. Please bear him a letter from me. I shall tell him that I would welcome his suit, and that if the Queen's Grace were to grant us permission, I would gladly wed him. I shall remind him that I am confined to the Eyrie, but would be most honoured, were he to visit." Mya smiled again, then remarked,

"And, I expect you would like me to bear another letter to Ser Harrold". The young woman was quick-witted. She could rise high in Sansa's service.

"We understand each other, I think. "

"It occurs to me, your Grace, that a wedding is valid, whether or not the Queen grants her permission to it. All it requires, is a willing septon to perform the rites. " That was certainly true, and yet;

"One step at a time Mya. There will come a time, when I can strike at the Queen's Grace. But, let us see first how dear Sweetrobin fares".

Sansa felt good, for the first time in months, after Mya had left. The fool strikes without thinking, and she had made many mistakes. But the wise woman? She smiles, and simpers, and curtsies. And then she strikes!

Chapter Text

"My lord forgets himself!" cried Mya, freeing herself from Sweetrobin's grasp. The young Lord of the Vale had expressed interest in wedding his cousin, Lady Sansa, and had come to the Eyrie. Sansa had flirted with him, while making clear to Mya, in private, that she found the very notion of being alone in the bedchamber with him, a repulsive one.

"He wants me to suck his little cock, even before we are wed", complained the former Queen in the North. "I've let him take some liberties, but certainly not that, I can assure you." It turned out, she'd let the little pervert suckle on her breasts, while he played with himself.

"Not that you ever will be wed to him", Mya had replied. Sansa nodded, before commenting "Quite so." Lord Arryn had been accompanied by his Maester, Colemon. He still suffered from the shakes, and even at the age of eighteen, acted like a boy half his age, save in one respect. He had the raging libido of most young lordlings. "When I'm wed to Sansa, you'll be my whore", he'd proclaimed to her, when they were alone together. She'd been making his bed, when he entered the chamber, and made increasingly offensive suggestions to her. Finally, he'd lunged at her, clearly planning to rape her on the spot. She wanted to kill the little snot, but that would have been tactless. "I'll make you fly - through the Moon Door!" he'd screamed at her, as she escaped. "Don't make threats you can't carry out, my lord!" she'd snapped, before exiting the room. For that at least, she must be grateful to Daenerys Targaryen. The Queen had passed a law, which abolished capital punishment, save in cases of murder, treason, or enslavement. And even then, such cases were now tried by royal judges, not by the lords. Kill her for resisting rape, and it would be young Sweetrobin who would be heading for the noose, although as a lord, he'd have the privilege of being hanged with one made of silk. The incident fortified her resolve that the boy could not remain above ground for much longer.

"He makes me sick to the stomach", she remarked to Sansa afterward. "We are at one on that point", replied her friend. "But, we must be patient. How is dear Ser Harrold, by the way?"

"Looking forward to coming into his inheritance, he told me, and also looking forward to his wedding to the beauty, with hair like beaten copper. His words, your Grace." She had borne messages to the young heir to the Vale from her mistress, and had found him receptive. A comely man, he'd fucked her, the night she arrived at Ironoaks, the castle of his guardian, Lady Waynwood. He already had two bastards to his name, so he was plainly experienced in the bedchamber. She'd found the experience an enjoyable one, although she'd made sure to take a draft of moon tea, afterwards.

"Colemon thinks that Lord Arryn behaves better, in my presence. He has allowed me to minister sweetsleep to him."

"Won't that make things look a bit too obvious?"

"So I thought. Fortunately, we have a pair of catspaws."

"Might I know who, your Grace?"

"The first is Maester Wolkan. I told Colemon that I was no expert on such matters, but that Wolkan should prepare the draft. He has a great deal more experience than Coleman."

"But, he would never hurt the young lord. He's far too honourable!"

"Not willingly, no. Do you remember Lady Olenna Tyrell?" Mya had to rack her brains.

"She died at Highgarden, didn't she?"

"Quite so. She murdered Joffrey Baratheon, while framing me, and the Imp of Lannister for the deed. She gave me an amethyst hairnet. One of the amethysts was a fake. In fact, it was a capsule of poison, called the Strangler. She removed it from my hairnet, and placed it in Joffrey's wine. It choked him to death in front of us. A horrid sight". Mya thought quickly. A sennight ago had been the name day of Lady Arya. Sansa had gifted her a hairnet made of opals, which she had brought when she fled the North. So, she was to be the other catspaw!

"A poison like the Strangler would be far too obvious of course. The Tyrells wanted to send a message. Widow's Blood, however, will shut down a man's bowels, and cause him to drown in his own poisons", remarked the other coolly. "Death appears natural enough. It should be possible to introduce it into the sweetsleep that Wolkan ministers to the young lord. His death would be in both of our interests, wouldn't you agree?" Oh Gods, what manner of woman was she serving? She was willing to murder her own cousin, and then frame her own sister for the deed. Mya wondered if she could back out of this. Sansa seemed to read her thoughts.

"You have been a good friend to me, Mya, and you shall be well rewarded when I am Lady of the Vale. It is nothing short of disgraceful that a natural daughter of Robert Baratheon should be expected to work as a menial servant. But ... you might consider it in your interests to reveal what you know, in order to obtain a reward. I can assure you, that would be quite fatal to you. You have borne messages between myself and Ser Harrold, who, as you know, is looking forward to becoming the next lord of the Vale, and understands, in general terms, if not specifically, what is going to occur. In the eyes of the world, you would be considered an accomplice, and you would only be condemning yourself. We are bound together, in this, you and I." She was, she realised.

It came as no surprise, a couple of weeks later, when Lord Arryn's condition took a turn for the worse. "His bowels have ceased to function, the poor lad", lamented Colemon, to her, at breakfast.

"Oh, how dreadful!" Mya replied. "Is there nothing we can do? "

"Wolkan and I are purging him. We have tried a syrup, made of figs and prunes, but without success so far. The boy drifts in and out of consciousness. Lady Sansa and her sister are in constant attendance upon him. Poor lady, she is distraught. She has lost so much, and now this, her sweetheart is gravely ill, and she weeps for him constantly."

Cersei Lannister had told her father that she would murder her, if he ever dared bring Mya to court. The wicked queen had perished in the Red Keep, yet now she was reborn in the Vale, she realised.

Chapter Text

While these events were unfolding in the Vale, Daenerys flew to the East. Relations had improved sufficiently, between her and Jon, that she could leave him as President of a Regency Council, comprising Yohn Royce, Gilly, Edmure Tully, and Arianne Martell, Princess of Dorne. It was almost eight years, since she had left Meereen. She remained, nominally, the city state's Queen, although she had made it clear to the councillors, that they were now entirely self-governing. She had left Daario in charge of the Second Sons, while Missandei's brother, Marsalen, commanded the standing army which she had recruited among the freedmen. Messages had come from Meereen that the last remaining slave power of any note in the region, New Ghis, was preparing to attack. Meereen had financed her campaign to win the Seven Kingdoms, and she would now repay her debt to them. She took her daughter, Missandei. How the girl had squealed with excitement, as they had taken off, her silver hair streaming in the wind. She would surely fly Drogon, when Daenerys passed.

They flew first to Braavos, where huge crowds turned out to welcome them. There they spent three days, as guests of the Sea Lord. She had agreed to repay Cersei's debt to the Iron Bank, by instalments, upon condition that the Braavosi kept open the shipping lanes, between the Seven Kingdoms, and the Bay of Dragons, an arrangement that had benefitted all parties. Tactfully, she refrained from discussing the fiasco that had resulted from the city's intervention in the North. She had no idea yet, who would emerge as its new King, but whoever it was, he would be no friend of Braavos. From there, she flew to Lorath, also a free city. Then they flew along the Northern coast, finally crossing into what was once the Kingdom of Sarnor, destroyed centuries ago by the Dothraki. There, she altered her course for Meereen, flying South East across the Dothraki Sea. Many of them had returned home, after the conquest of Westeros, carrying rich spoils. She would fly on, to Vaes Dothrak, to present her daughter to the Dosh Khaleen, but for now, Meereen was the priority.

Years ago, as a terrified child bride, she had still marvelled at the beauty of the grasslands. At several points they landed, to rest Drogon. She carried weapons, but Drogon was their protector. She washed herself, with her daughter, in the streams that abounded in the region, before walking with her, among the tall, fragrant, grasses, finally telling her the history of her life. She omitted the rapes, and the other less savoury details.

"But, you and father don't love each other", the girl had finally replied, as they sat together, sharing the flatbread, wine, and cured meat she had brought with her. That was an acute observation, for a girl so young. Once, she had savoured the prospect of telling Missandei that Jon had tried to murder her in the womb. But, now, she realised she couldn't let the girl grow up hating her father, or perhaps, hating her, once he'd told her of the burning of Kings Landing. A child should not be used as a weapon by her parents, against one another.

"Sometimes, kings and queens marry for reasons of politics, not for love. Your father is a great warrior, who also has a claim to the Iron Throne. He is my older brother’s son. It made sense for us to unite our claims." The truth but certainly not, the whole truth. "I hope you'll marry a man that you love. But, you will be queen one day, and maybe, you'll have to marry someone you scarcely know, to keep the peace, because it will be your duty to keep the Realm free of war."

"Do you love Lady Gillyflower? I do." Now, that was an awkward question. Gilly was almost a second mother to her daughter, as well as being her own paramour. "Gilly is my dearest friend, and a very clever advisor." That's all that her daughter needed to know for now.

"She was used as a whore. I don't know what it is, but it's something bad".

"That's not a word you should know. Who said that?"

”Lady Hightower. I overheard her.” She made a mental note to dismiss the woman from her court.

They arrived at Meereen, three weeks after she had left the Seven Kingdoms, much faster than news of her return might reach the slavers. She was welcomed at the Great Pyramid, by Daario and Marsalen, as well as by leading councillors, and a Braavosi, named Forel, who commanded a naval squadron, which was stationed at the city. Daario, to her surprise, was now married. Marsalen was greatly moved by her naming her daughter after his sister. A banquet was thrown in her honour. It was an odd feeling, to be somewhere that was familiar, but also, very strange now.

The following day, she took her daughter on a walkabout through the city. She was well-guarded, as vast crowds mobbed her and her daughter. Drogon rested in Daznak's Pit, where carcasses of sheep and goats were brought for him to feast upon. She was embarassed to see that a vast golden statue had been erected to her, in the Plaza of Pride, but pleased to see a smaller (and far more tasteful) staute in honour of Missandei. The city had grown in her absence, benefitting from trade with the West. What liars the slavers had been, to claim that the city would collapse without their trade. Olives were once again growing in great groves around the city, and coffee, spices, corn, vines, and tomatoes, were grown on estates along the banks of the Skahazadhan river. Copper and salt were big exports, as well. A handful of the old noble families still remained in being, but most of the new business class were freedmen. As in most of the world, vast numbers of the Meereenese smallfolk lived in poverty, but the city was in far better shape now, then when she had first come to it, more than a decade ago. It disgusted her that the slavers wished to put all this to an end.

"Yunkai behaves itself", Marsalen told her over dinner, that night. The Old Blood maintained a precarious hold on the city, backed up by sellswords, but had been forced to give up slavery. Astapor, Tolos, and Mantarys were likewise free. Volantis, she knew, remained a slave state, along with Lys, Myr, and Tyrosh, but having received a bloody nose at her hands, had shown no inclination to return to the Bay.

"New Ghis is different", explained Daario. “They don't rely on sellswords. Every citizen has to serve for three years in their army, and then they join the Reserves, until they reach the age of sixty. That gives them a lot of soldiers. They've conquered much of the shore, opposite their islands.” Well, justice would surely now come for them.

"Qarth has lent them ships", remarked Forel. “We've had word just in, from one of the frigates. They've put in to the Isle of Cedars." A strange place. It had once been heavily populated, so she understood, but overwhlemed by floods, when Valyria was destroyed. No one had ever resettled it, viewing it as a place of ill omen. "We were planning to attack them with fireships."

"I've a mind to destroy them from the air. But, a lucky shot could bring me down, so keep your plan in place. And guard my daughter. She is the heir to the Seven Kingdoms." Three days later, she had flown from the city. As she flew, so she changed her mind. Instead of making for the Isle of Cedars, she flew overland, for three days, resting Drogon in out of the way places. She would cut the head off the snake. On the morning of the third day, she rose before dawn, then once again, consulted the map she had brought with her. She flew straight for the island city itself. At midday, she reached it, before proceeding systematically to burn its fortifications and artillery from the air. A handful of bolts came her way, but after years of growth, Drogon's hide was like thrice-forged steel. She herself wore armour. She swept along the city's walls, lightly enough defended now, burning the guards, or driving them to leap screaming to their deaths. Then, she set about destroying the districts of the wealthy. She was aware, uncomfortably, that slaves would die, but she hoped to deal the masters a lesson never to be forgotten. This was not Kings Landing, where she had been driven by griefy and fury to lash out. This was cold, deliberate, incineration. With most of the army and navy absent, there was very little to stop her. She could fly at not much more than roof height, picking her targets with accuracy, burning palaces, temples, places of commerce, and the great public buildings. With much of the city now ablaze, she turned her attention to the port, destroying one ship, after another. Scores of ships she burned, but she allowed a few to escape. Let them speed to the Isle of Cedars and Qarth, and tell the rest that death had come to their city. By the time she turned back, in late afternoon, the harbour was choked with the wrecks of ships, and much of the city was nothing but a smoking ruin.

When she returned to Meereen, she shocked the rest into silence, when she told them what she had done. She would remain there for another two months, before leaving for Vaes Dothrak. As she had expected, the invasion never materialised.

Chapter Text

Lord Robyn was laid to rest with his ancestors in the Eyrie. Sansa wept copious tears for him, wearing a black dress and matching veil. Ser Harold Hardyng had supported her in her grief, and now he held her hand, as the Septons said prayers for the deceased Lord of the Vale. She had suggested he be cremated, but it appeared that the custom of the Arryns was to be placed in a tomb. She liked it not. Although few had suspected that the dear lad's death had been unnatural, she knew there were skilled maesters who could detect poisons in cadavers, when instructed to perform an autopsy. Among the suspicious few, she feared, was Wolkan, who had tended the young man in his final days. Oh, he had not *said* anything, but she had caught him, glancing at her, and Arya, staring longer than he really ought. Colemon, on the other hand, was convinced the boy's death was a natural one.

"He was always destined to die young", had said the Arryns' maester, sighing. "A sickly, simple-minded lad, from the very start of his life. So sad an end to this illustrious family. The old lord died untimely, his dear wife committed suicide in her grief, and his nephew was murdered by the Mad King. And now this." Well, Sansa knew full well who was responsible for the deaths of Lord and Lady Arryn. She had condemned Petyr Baelish for it, at Winterfell, all those years ago, before ordering his execution. There was no need to correct Colemon on this point.

"And so passes the young Lord Arryn, so aptly called "Sweetrobin", by his people who loved him well. May the Father judge him justly, and the Mother, in her kindness, receive him into her bosom, and may the Seven welcome him into the Kingdom of Heaven with his parents", intoned the Septon who was delivering the sermon." Sansa felt no regrets at having hastened his end, if anything, she'd been performing a public service, like destroying a nest of rats or wasps. And, for the first time, last night, Ser Harold had fucked her, in her own bedchamber. Both Mya, and Randa Royce, had assured her he was a skilled lover, and so it had proved. She’d had no idea that a man could use his tongue to such good effect. He'd awoken a hunger in her she had never experienced before, certainly not with the Beast of Bolton, or the wretched Imp. She looked forward to the delights he'd promised her, later tonight. As soon as it was decent, they would wed, and then she'd be Lady of the Vale.

”I shall of course, require permission, to wed you, now that I am the Lord of the Vale”, he remarked to her, in bed, that evening. “But, it should be a formality. Your brother presides over a Regency Council, in the absence of the Queen’s Grace. Colemon has sent sent him a raven, informing him of the situation. Of course, I shall have to perform homage.”

”But not for the North.” She had suggested he reconquer it. The notion of kingship had appealed to him, greatly.

”Certainly not my love. The Vale can muster, what, thirty thousand men? Can any of the Northern pretenders field one tenth that number?” It seemed unlikely. King and Queen in the North, and Lord and Lady of the Vale. Step by step, the pair of them would claw their way to the top. In due course, she'd reveal to him what she knew of Daenerys Targaryens' sexual depravity, persuade him that to allow such a monstrosity to remain in power was to affront the Gods themselves. But, she could be patient.

The days following were pleasant ones. Technically, she remained almost a prisoner at the Eyrie, yet it was widely known that the Vale's new Lord planned to wed her, and surely, this would be permitted by her own brother. Yes, the future looked promising for Sansa Stark, and there was no shortage of highborn folk eager to curry favour with her. Nor did the martial Lords of the Vale find the notion of reconquering the North repellent. Many dreamed, in fact, of gaining fresh estates.

She was surprised when they received word from Dragonstone that Prince Jon would be sailing to Gulltown, and had summoned them all to meet him there. She had expected that they would be asked to perform homage at Dragonstone, yet her cousin had said it was past time to meet his wife's subjects. And that was passing strange. She knew their marriage to be a sham, and the Queen to be a slave to perverted lust. It would be intriguing, nonetheless, so they set off in some state, a retinue of more than four hundred knights, ladies, gentlemen and servants accompanying them. It did her heart good to ride at the head of the cavalcade, tossing silver coins from time to time to members of the smallfolk who stared aghast at such a host, as they worked in the fields. She was a Lady, of high birth, and would soon be more, a Queen once again. No longer a Queen regnant, but she could set her sights lower, and share power with her husband, who continued to fuck her senseless each night. There was no need for her to take moon tea, when they were soon to be married.

When they arrived at Gulltown, they found that Jon was staying in the manse of Lady Arryn of Gulltown, a distant relative of Sweetrobin's. Immediately, they went to pay their respects. As they knelt before the Prince Consort, a bronze circlet on his head, she couldn't help thinking he had matured. There was a hardness about him, quite lacking in the naive boy she'd bent to her will, all those years ago. He bade them rose, then asked them to state their business, before the other lords.

"Your Grace, I have come to perform homage for the Vale, as its Lord," said Ser Harold. "And, to request your Grace's permission to wed your fair cousin, Lady Sansa, rightful Queen in the North." Jon nodded.

"Your claim to the Vale, Ser Harold, none may dispute. As to granting consent to the wedding, that may prove ... premature." Sansa frowned. What was this about? "Lord Royce. May I have your views on the matter? The aged lord stepped forward. He had accompanied Jon from Dragonstone.

"Lady Stark, there are issues that concern me. You will recall, no doubt, that you condemned to death that wretched creature, Lord Baelish, of cursed memory, for the murder of your aunt, Lady Lysa. Yet, forgive me, Lady Sansa, did you not assure me, and others present, that her death was suicide? It would appear to me that either, you perjured yourself, before us all, or else, you condemned the man on a false charge, at Winterfell. Tell it true, which was it?"

Sansa felt her blood run cold, but she rallied swiftly. "I condemned him justly. He was guilty of the murder of my aunt, and I witnessed him do it."

"So why lie to us then, Lady Sansa, when you could have told us all the truth, and brought this creature to justice?"

"I ... I was young and frightened, my lords and ladies, and he held me in his power. He ... made me perform unnatural acts on his person ", she was able to manufacture tears at will, a useful skill, "and .. I was desperately afraid of him. "

"Quite so. You have our sympathy." She heard a young woman speak up. It was the Queen's whore, the wildling Gilly. "But, there's a pattern, here, isn't there? According to his Grace, you swore an oath in the Godswood at Winterfell, not to reveal his Grace's parentage. Then, you broke that oath, didn't you?"

"I ... again, was frightened. What is this? Am I on trial here? Don't I have the right to defend yourself?"

"No one is on trial here, Lady Sansa. The question is whether you should be permitted to wed the new Lord of the Vale. He is entitled to know what manner of woman he will be marrying", said Jon. There was little trace of sympathy in his expression. "Now tell it true. On the eve of the battle to regain Winterfell, you refrained from telling me that you were in communication with Lord Baelish about sending men to assist us. Lord Royce was astonished to learn that this information was withheld from me. He assumed that I must have known and made my plans accordingly. Good men perished, who might have lived had you disclosed this."

"Jon, I saved you" Sansa replied, beginning to feel real fear now.

"Nonsense, Lady Sansa", remarked Royce. "You nearly lost the battle, through your actions. I would hang any man of mine who withheld information of such import from me."

"You're planning to hang me, Jon, is that it?" cried Sansa.

"Not yet, Lady Sansa," responded Gilly. "But, we think an investigation is warranted into the death of the late Lord of the Vale. Every death among the members of House Arryn has benefitted one person, namely yourself. We consider this most troubling."

"Lady Sansa" said Jon. "Before any wedding may take place between you, and Lord Harold, it is essential that we establish that there was no foul play involved in the demise of the late Lord Arryn. It is fortunate indeed that his body has been entombed. We have summoned Grand Maester Marwyn to examine his corpse, to determine whether or not he died as a result of natural causes. We shall journey to the Eyrie, to conduct the inquest. You have a record of duplicity and of acting in bad faith. You are not accused of his death, but you shall accompany us, and abide the outcome."

Keep calm, Sansa, keep calm. She had planted the hairnet on Arya, a woman who had poisoned the entirety of House Frey. Yes, even if Marwyn established that murder had taken place, she had her scapegoat. The knowledge was like a warm bath.

Chapter Text

The lords of the Vale were gathered in the Great Hall of the Eyrie. Stone statues of previous generations of Arryns stood glaring down at the assembled congregation. Arya glanced at her sister, who stared back, impassively, as the Grand Maester, Marwyn, entered. Her sister stood beside her betrothed, Ser Harrold Hardyng, and her companion Mya Stone, looking quite composed. Jon sat on the dais, where generations of Arryns had held court. Lady Gillyflower, the queen's paramour, and Lord Yohn Royce, stood before her brother - or cousin, she supposed. How strange that Daenerys Targaryen should prefer another woman in her bed, to Jon. Well - not so strange - Jon had attempted to slay her, after the massacre at Kings Landing. Yet, she trusted him enough to make him the head of a Regency council in her absence. Back at Gulltown, Jon had told her that relations between the two had gradually improved in recent years, although they would never return to what they had been. She felt nothing but shame, now, at the way she had echoed her sister's loathing for the Queen at Winterfell, and then urged Jon to kill her, in the aftermath of the fight for Kings Landing. What had she been thinking? Had she befriended and supported Daenerys, she and Jon would have enjoyed a successful marriage, and the Starks would still have been ruling Winterfell and the North. Or would they? No, Sansa would still have fucked everything up.

Marwyn spoke. "I have performed an autopsy upon the late Lord Arryn, in the presence of my colleagues, Maester Colemon, and Maester Wolkan. It is my very sad duty to report, that our conclusion is that the late Lord was indeed poisoned, by means of the poison that is termed, Widow's Blood. This poison has the effect of terminating the defecatory process, so that eventually, the victim's organs shut down. Whoever performed this deed showed an exceptional lack of mercy, for it is a most unpleasant death, prolonged over the course of seveal days." She heard Sansa gasp, and then bow her head, sobbing.

"There seems little doubt that Lord Robin was murdered" said Jon. "The question is, who would have perpetrated such a vile deed? Fortunately, we know exactly who was living at the Eyrie, at the time he fell ill. Each and every one of them will be questioned, and none shall be permitted to leave, until the investigation has been concluded. It is with regret, Lady Sansa, that I must, for now, deny you permission to wed Ser Harrold Hardyng."

"Your Grace, it is inconcievable that my betrothed, your own sweet cousin, could have perpetrated such a crime", said Ser Harrold, with passion. "Why, she loved that young man dearly."

"It would grieve me mightily, were Lady Sansa guilty of such a heinous act, yet, she must be interviewed with the rest," replied Jon.

"There is one among us, who is familiar with the poisoner's art", remarked Mya Stone, nodding grimly at Arya. "Few among us will mourn the deaths of House Weasel, so many years ago, yet we know who performed the deed." Arya opened her mouth to protest her innocence, but Gillyflower spoke up, before she could do so.

"Lady Arya will be questioned with the rest, let there be no doubt of that. But, we are not, today, conducting a trial."

She was confined to her chamber, other than being allowed out for exercise, under guard. The questioning was carried out by Marywn, Royce, and Gillyflower. Her record as a poisoner was indeed raised more than once, and Gillyflower put it to her, that she was simply her sister's tame killer.

"No one mourned Baelish, but you opened his throat for him, on your sister's orders, all those years ago. And, let's be honest, nobody truly mourned Sweetrobin. Everyone we've spoken to knew him as a little shit, and a pervert. But, murder is murder. " Arya vehemently denied any involvement in the boy's death. Well, she was innocent. Then, Marywn confronted her over the amethyst hairnet, taken when her room was searched.

"This is a crystal of widow's blood", he commented, holding the purple crystal up to her. "See how it resembles the amethysts in your hairnet. There is an amethyst missing. This would fit neatly into the slot..." he showed how it would. Oh Gods, a coincidence, or had Sansa been attempting to frame her? Sansa was many things, but was she truly, a kinslayer?

"It was a nameday present, from my sister." By the Stranger, it sounded lame, and might even serve to implicate her further, if her sister was under suspicion.

Arya knew she was fucked, when orders came to place her in one of the sky cells. The floor did not have a slope, thank the Gods, and she was given a thick blanket and pillow, but the wind was freezing, and sleet blew in to the cell, from time to time. She remained there for a day and a half, wondering if she should just get it over with, and jump to her death. She was shivering in the cold, wondering if they would just freeze her to death. Or else, stop feeding her. For an entire day, she stayed awake, fretting, until exhaustion kicked in. She was wakened from semi-consciousness, in the small hours of the morning, by the sound of the cell door being opened. Gilly stood in the entrance, holding a torch, and staring at her grimly, with a group of guards.

"You are summoned to the Great Hall," was all that the woman would tell her. She set off, wondering if she was heading towards her execution. Various lords and ladies had been roused to hear the proceedings. In the middle of the hall, stood Mya Stone, shaking like a leaf. It seemed she'd been subjected to the same treatment as Arya.

"The sky cells, I am told, will always break the guilty", remarked Jon, sitting on his dais. "Repeat your confession, before those gathered here. " Both Sansa, and Ser Harrold had been brought under guard.

"Spare me, your Grace, I did as I was bidden," cried Mya.

"Repeat your confession", commanded Jon.

"I had no part in the murder. She", pointing at Sansa, "she persuaded me to bear messages to Ser Harrold".

"And, what did those messages say?"

"That she intended, to bring about the young Lord's death, and in return, would Ser Harrold marry her?" There were cries of horror and outrage, around the hall.

”A lie, a palpable lie,” sneered Sansa. Ser Harold was furiously shaking his head.

”And, what did Ser Harold say?”

”Forgive me, I lay with Ser Harold. And he bade me assure Sansa he would make her Lady of the Vale, were she to perform the deed.”

”So, how was the murder performed?”

”Lady Sansa told me that she would poison the young lord, from a poison crystal she took from Lady Arya’s hairnet.” Arya felt sick.

”You conniving whore,” screamed an old lady, who Arya recognised as Anya Waynwood. Jon held up his hand.

”Peace, Lady Waynwood! Now, Mya, tell it true, what prompted you to act as you did? To breach your duty to your liege lord?”

Mya swallowed. “He tried, more than once to force himself upon me.” There was more uproar.

”Would it even be rape, with a woman of her type?” opined one lordling. "Throw her through the Moon Door!"

"Be silent, all of you!' roared Jon, "I shall clear this Hall. You are here to bear witness to a confession. However, it is with regret that I must state that there is strong evidence that the late Lord Robin did indeed, force himself upon serving women, and others. I should remind you all that the Queen's Grace treats this as a most serious crime, even if other monarchs did not."

"This is all a wretched tissue of lies Jo-, Your Grace", cried Sansa.

"Whether it is or not, shall be for the Queen's Grace to determine. You, Ser Harrold, and Mya, shall return with us to Dragonstone, and there you shall await her Grace's judgement. What is not in any way in dispute, is that you and Ser Harold planned to wage war against the North, without the Queen's permission. That is treason, as you well knew."

"I am the rightful Queen in the North! I sought only to regain what was mine by rights."

"You are Queen of nowhere. You have been granted refuge in this land, and already, you have abused that privilege."

"And what of me, Your Grace?" asked Arya.

"We are satisfied of your innocence, and the innocence of the rest of those who were present at the Eyrie." Her heart soared, and then it sank, as she thought of the likely fate that awaited her sister. If she was truly guilty of poisoning and treason, she might be burned at the stake.

"May I accompany you to Dragonstone, your Grace?" Jon nodded. Perhaps Sansa could be committed to the Silent Sisters. At this point, she was sure it was the only way that her life might be saved.

Chapter Text

Daenerys returned to Dragonstone, with Missandei, from the East, to face a perfect storm. The Lord of the Vale, and Lady Sansa, were strongly suspected of having murdered the young Lord Arryn. Worse, they’d attempted to wage war against the North, an act which could only be viewed as treason.

And then, Gilly made a most peculiar suggestion to her, as they lay in bed together, the morning after she had come back.

“What if, the Gods forbid, Missandei were to perish? You’d need another heir?”

“Well, she won’t.”

“But, you can’t know that? You’ve given this Realm years of peace. But, if there’s no heir, all the lords and ladies will go back to war.”

“Well, I suppose Jon’s in the line of succession.”

“And, if he dies before you do, what then?”

“You have a point. But, there’s nothing I can do. Children aren’t created by magic.”

“No, you’d need to lie with Jon.” She sat bolt upright.

“For the Gods sake, Gilly! You know our marriage is only for show!” The thought of coupling with Jon Snow horrified her.

”Lots of highborn ladies have to bear children to men they don’t love.”

”Leaving side my own feelings, Gilly, and I think you know what they are, what about Jon’s? He finds me physically repulsive. He made that plain enough, all those years ago. In his eyes, I’m a whore. Even more so, because of what takes place between you and me. Not even I would force a man who’s disgusted by me, into my bed.”

"I think he's had the chance to reconsider things. Things seem a lot better between the two of you, these days. Why else would you have made him your Regent?"

"I accept that Jon is capable, and yes, relations have improved between us, if nothing else, for the sake of Missandei. I don't want her to grow up to hate her father. Once I did. Once, I longed to tell her how he used me, and tried to murder me. But, she doesn't deserve that, I can see it now. But, to sleep with him ...? And, what do you think? You'd hate it surely?"

"I doubt if you're the first highborn wife whose taken another woman as a lover. There's only one way of making children, and you need more children, to secure your rule. You can make marriage alliances, as well."

Gilly had become very wise, she realised. No doubt, she always had been shrewd, she had to have been, to survive her monstrous upbringing, but it was not until she'd learned to read that she'd reached her potential. She was right. Both Rhaena and Rhaenyra had been lovers of women, yet they had also borne children. Her own nature was twisted, she understood that. Whether it was in her blood, or due to the things her first husband had made her do, she could not say. That need not alter matters. Like the most skilled of whores, she had feigned delight at every filthy act Khal Drogo had made her perform, and Jon was a kinder man than that brute, at least.

"And, have you spoken to Jon about this?"

"No, but I'm prepared to do so. " She thought again.

If Jon is willing, and I want it to be made absolutely clear that there is no compulsion on his part, then, yes, I shall lie with him."

A strange beginning to the day, she thought, as she entered the Great Hall, to deliver judgement upon the three traitors, Ser Harrold Hardyng, Lady Sansa Stark, and Mya Stone, who were led under guard. She sat on a dais with her husband. Gilly, Arya Stark, Yohn Royce and others were present. She had discussed her plans with both Jon, and Gilly, the night before, to which they had agreed.

"Mya Stone. You have, by your own confession, plotted the murder of your liege lord, Lord Robyn Arryn. That makes you a confessed traitor. Ser Harrold, and Lady Sansa, I have grave suspicions that you murdered the young lord in an especially cruel fashion. I could place you on trial for that crime, but frankly, there is no need. The pair of you plotted to wage war on the North, without seeking the permission, either of myself, or of Prince Jon. That makes you guilty of treason. A charge of murder would be superfluous.

"You are, I have no doubt, well aware of the sentence for treason. For a man, to drawn to his place of execution on a hurdle. There, to be hanged by the neck, for a short period, and then gelded, disembowelled, quartered, and beheaded. That is the sentence to which you are condemned." She saw Ser Harrold go white with shock, and start forward, but his guards held him back.

"For a woman, the sentence is to be drawn to her place of execution, and her tongue removed with pincers. And there to be burned to ashes. That is the sentence to which you are both condemned." Mya gave a little shriek, before falling to her knees, imploring mercy. Lady Sansa remained defiant.

"In your case, Mya, I believe there are mitigating factors. I am satisfied that Lord Robyn committed grave offences towards you. You may therefore opt to join the religious order of your choice, but should you ever leave that order, your sentence will be carried out in full. For you Ser Harold, and you, Lady Sansa, there are no mitigating factors, save your birth, and in the case of the latter, kinship to my husband." She couldn't help catching Gilly's eye, and seeing her give a little grin. She nodded at Ser Harrold, "You are granted the option to take the Black, and to serve Master Samwell Tarly, at Eastwatch. You, Lady Sansa, will spend the rest of your life in confinement at Gaston Grey". There were few creature comforts to be had, on the Dornish prison island. "In the event that either of you should escape, your sentences will be carried out forthwith."

As Dany and Jon rose to leave the Hall, she saw Sansa quite deliberately, spit on the ground, at the foot of the dais. Arya Stark turned to her sister, before saying "an idiot to the last, I see. Thank all the Seven that your life has been spared." Arya herself would be permitted to live where she pleased, in her Realm.

A week later, Daenerys gingerly entered Jon's bedchamber. It appeared he was agreeable to Gilly's proposal. But, she had to know for certain. He was already naked, waiting for her.

"You may refuse this, and I assure you, it will make no difference to us, Jon."

"I've wanted this for years, Daenerys. I thought, quite rightly, you'd never give me a second chance."

"You'll have to share me with Gilly, I'm afraid."

"Better that than with another man." That surprised her, but she could see the logic. She undressed swiftly. There'd be no elaborate strip tease, nor playing the whore. They lay down together, and began kissing. She'd forgotten how much she'd enjoyed it with him, all those years ago. She enjoyed it even more as he kissed and sucked on her breasts. By the time he dipped his head between her thighs, she realised it felt very good indeed. Gilly liked to do the same of course, but she really couldn't decide who was better at it.

When it was over, and he'd spent himself inside her, she found herself kissing him, and curling up in his arms. It really had been a lot better than she'd been fearing. The bards would say they had wed for love. Nonsense, but they had found a certain contentment, and that was surely enough for any married couple.