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Chapter Text

"I need some air," Myrcella said, as politely as she could manage. This royal feast the Starks were holding to welcome the royal family to Winterfell felt as if it was never going to end, and she'd had enough of sitting with her family for one night.

"They haven't even brought out the last course, Myrcella," her mother said, frowning at her. "You should stay until the meal is finished." She lowered her voice, making sure that only her daughter could hear her. "I don't know what it is with you, but don't think that I'm the only one who has noticed your odd behavior of late. You're acting as if you're some impatient child, but you are a woman grown now. You're the eldest child, and it's time for you to start acting like it again. Our hosts will look down on you if you don't mind your manners."

Myrcella glanced farther down the head table on the raised platform in Winterfell's Great Hall, where her father was seated, roaring with laughter and squeezing the arse of some serving woman. Her supposed father, at least, though Myrcella had known the truth for nearly a year now. She'd stumbled upon her mother together with her true father when they thought they were alone. Seeing her mother and 'uncle' Jaime together, kissing, groping and writhing had been shock enough, even before he'd spilled his seed on her mother's belly on her orders. Her mother had said then that he'd already given her three children, and she couldn't chance any more of them.

With that one comment, Myrcella's life had changed forever. For the last year, she'd known that she was living a lie. She was not Princess Myrcella Baratheon, eldest of Robert and Cersei's three children. She was Myrcella Waters, bastard. It didn't matter that no one else treated her any differently than they had before she'd learned the truth. She viewed herself differently, and she would never forgive any of them for it. Her mother had noticed her change in attitude, naturally, but Myrcella felt she was doing well simply by not exploding on all of them at any point in the last year.

"You may need to have this talk with father," Myrcella said, already getting up from her seat and walking away before her mother could say anything else. She knew there would be a scolding for that later, but it was worth it. She needed to get away.

She took several deep breaths upon escaping the oppressive Great Hall and making it into the open air. While she was breathing, she heard the voice of her Uncle Tyrion, the only older member of her family she didn't feel any disdain that needed to be concealed, speaking to Lord Eddard's bastard son about never forgetting what he was and making it his strength. Myrcella watched curiously as Jon Snow replied, and as she heard the poorly-hidden hurt and indignation in his voice, she felt like she was seeing a kindred spirit. Here was someone who could understand what she was going through.

Their situations weren't exactly the same, of course. He'd known who he was and had his whole life to come to terms with it, while the truth had been hidden from her and she only knew of her bastard status by accident. His conversation with Uncle Tyrion also revealed that he didn't know who his mother was, while Myrcella knew exactly who her mother had spread her legs for, hence her disgust. No, their circumstances weren't identical. But she still felt like Jon Snow could understand her feelings better than anyone else here in Winterfell with her, if only she could actually share the truth with him or anyone else.

She stayed out of sight when her uncle Tyrion left, and she got a good look at Jon's face for the first time. The moment she saw him, she felt a heat in her belly that she'd never experienced before. Despite it being new to her, she recognized it easily enough. She'd once heard her mother describe how she'd felt the first time she saw Prince Rhaegar. Myrcella thought her mother sounded silly then, talking about being mesmerized at a ingle glance, but she understood now. Upon truly seeing Lord Eddard's bastard for the first time, Myrcella was immediately smitten.

Her feet brought her to him before she had a chance to think about it, and she saw Jon's eyes widen in recognition before he hastily averted his eyes and bowed his head.

"Good evening, princess," he said respectfully. Myrcella hated it. She wasn't a princess; she was a bastard, like him. She didn't want him to bow his head. She wanted him to look right at her, and never look away.

"Please, there's no need for formality here," she said, trying to calm her racing heart. "I would ask you to call me Myrcella, at least when my mother isn't around to look at us both suspiciously for talking to each other. I would also like it if you'd look at me. It'll be tough for us to talk if you're staring at the ground the entire time."

Jon's eyes slowly rose. He looked hesitant at first, as if expecting a princess who was going to trap him and punish him for his disrespect. But when she just looked at him pleasantly, he relaxed. A smile slowly came to his face as they looked at each other, and Myrcella fell even deeper in love with her fellow bastard.

"Myrcella, then," he said. She smiled encouragingly and nodded. "I'm Jon."

"It's wonderful to meet you, Jon," she said.

--

Myrcella's head was spinning as she and Jon Snow finally parted for the evening. Their conversation had lasted longer than she could have hoped for. The longer they'd talked, the more he'd opened up to her, and the stronger her feelings for him became. It had been one of the best nights of her life. Certainly it had been the best since she'd learned who she really was.

The only part of the evening that made her heart seize up was him telling her that he was soon to leave Winterfell and become a man of the Night's Watch. It had been on the tip of her tongue to ask him to abandon those plans and spend his life by her side, but after speaking with him, she doubted he would budge once he'd made that decision.

She wasn't going to leave it at that, though. By the end of their conversation, she'd made an important decision. Jon Snow might become a man of the Night's Watch, and he might never know that she was a bastard like him. But before they parted and went about the rest of their lives, she was going to give him her maidenhood. She and her fellow bastard were going to create a memory they could both hold onto forever.

Chapter Text

Princess Myrcella had been trying to find the time for another talk with Jon Snow for two days, but there had never been an opening. Her mother had been keeping an annoying close watch over her since she'd walked out of the welcoming feast and had not returned, and any time she'd managed to pull away from the queen's eye, her little brother Tommen had always been there wanting to talk with her and play with her. Myrcella loved Tommen dearly. He was sweet, kind and caring; he was everything their older brother Joffrey was not. Joffrey was arrogant and cruel, full of himself beyond belief. Myrcella wondered how his confidence would suffer if he was to learn that he was a bastard. It would probably only make him even more violent and cruel, she decided, so it was for the best if he never learned the truth.

As much as she loved Tommen, she had come to feel only disappointment any time she'd seen him for the past two days, because seeing him meant that there would be no hope of speaking with Jon Snow alone and unnoticed. She obviously couldn't have anyone seeing her speaking with Ned Stark's bastard. Myrcella wasn't ashamed of her feelings for the young man, of course, but she knew that if anyone happened to see her speaking with him, word would find its way back to her mother. If that happened, her mother would keep such a close watch over her that there would be no chance of her getting him alone before the royal party left Winterfell, Jon prepared to go to the Wall and they never saw each other again.

Finally, in the early evening of the second day, an opportunity arose. Tommen was off playing with Bran Stark, the second of Ned Stark's three trueborn sons, who he'd formed a friendship with. Her mother had snuck off with Myrcella's father--her true father, that is--to perform unspeakable acts together, so she was not around to impede Myrcella's movements. Myrcella would normally curl her lips in disgust when she had reason to believe they were together, but this time she welcomed their disgraceful behavior, because it meant she was free to find Jon Snow and speak with him more. She wasn't going to try and persuade him to take her maidenhead yet. That was going to take more work before she believed she might be able to get him to agree. But she'd decided that she was going to share something else with him today; something very personal, which she'd shared with no one since she'd learned it.

It took some doing, particularly since she couldn't just come out and ask someone where he was, but she eventually found Jon practicing his archery. Fortuitously, he was alone. Myrcella smiled and cleared her throat gently, not wanting to take him by surprise.

Jon's eyes did widen when he saw her out of the corner of his eye. "Princess," he said, setting the bow aside carefully before turning to face her fully. "How can I be of service?" It was too formal for her liking, but at least he was looking at her instead of the ground like he had when she'd first started speaking to him.

"You can be of service by talking to me like a normal person," she chided him gently. "Remember what I said the last time we spoke? My mother still isn't around to watch us, so I want you to treat me and address me just as you did two nights ago."

Jon's posture relaxed slightly. "Very well, Myrcella," he said, giving her a small smile that made her heart race. By the Seven, he was so handsome! "What would you ask of me?"

Everything, Myrcella thought, though she didn't say it. Instead, she took him by the hand, ignoring the way he flinched in surprise. "Come and speak with me," she said, leading him towards a more private area where she wouldn't need to worry about any prying eyes seeing the princess and the bastard on such friendly terms.

--

Their talk had been pleasant enough, but Jon had been noticeably more guarded this time around. He'd still been friendly, and called her Myrcella as she wanted him to, but he hadn't opened up the same way he had when they'd spoken the night of the feast. Perhaps the wine had loosened him up somewhat that night. She couldn't rely on wine again this time though. She would have to address this directly.

"Is something the matter, Jon?" she asked quietly. "Do you not enjoy my company?"

"Of course I do," he said, shaking his head. "You're so friendly and warm, Myrcella."

"Then what is it?" Myrcella pressed. "Why do you watch your words so?"

Jon bit his lip and sighed. "Why me?" he asked. "Why would a beautiful, sweet, caring princess spend her time seeking out a bastard? We're so different, you and I, and I cannot understand what value you see in my company."

"We're not nearly as different as you might think," she said. Jon looked dubious, but Myrcella had expected that. She knew how to convince him, and as it happened, she'd been planning to reveal just how similar they really were. "Can I share a secret with you, Jon?"

"Of course," he said easily, but she shook her head.

"This is not some small secret," she said seriously. "If it gets out, my life would be in danger. Can I trust you with my life, Jon Snow?"

He stared at her searchingly, as if making sure that she was serious, and then gave a slow nod. "You can, Myrcella," he declared.

"I'm a bastard too," she whispered. His eyes bulged and he started shaking his head immediately, but she reached out and took his hand in hers before he could consider getting up. "It's the truth. My mother has been having an affair for many years. I'm the product of that affair, and so are Joffrey and Tommen. All three of us are bastards, and the king would more than likely have our heads if he knew the truth."

Jon was silent for a very long time, and she feared that he was going to reject her now that he knew who she really was. But then he met her eyes. "Why me?" he whispered. "Why would you risk sharing this with me?"

Myrcella gave his hand a squeeze and licked her lips. "Because I trust you, Jon," she breathed. "Because I look at you, and I don't see a bastard to be scorned. I see Lord Eddard Stark's son, with all of his honor." She closed her eyes and kissed his cheek, hearing his gasp as her lips pressed against his cheek. "I see a man that I can trust with anything."

Chapter Text

Getting to this point still hadn't been easy, even after Myrcella had confided her secret in Jon, the one that likely would have taken her head if it had reached the king who mistakenly believed that he was her actual father. It had still taken some time after that for Myrcella to convince Jon that this was something she wanted to share with him, and that she was utterly certain of her decision. She'd understood his reluctance when he later confessed that he, just like her, remained a virgin.

That had been a surprise for her, as she had thought a young man like Jon would have taken a woman to bed by now. One of the pretty young castle maids surely would've slept with him easily enough, and failing that, he could have always gone to the brothel outside of Winterfell's gates like the Starks' ward Theon Greyjoy frequently did. But in confessing this truth to her, Jon had shown Myrcella the kind of man that he was. He had no wish to father a bastard of his own, and that was why he remained a virgin. It was also why he had initially been reluctant when Myrcella first invited him to bed.

She had been persistent, though, and they had grown closer with each passing day and each stolen moment they shared, and Jon now cared for her so much that he could no longer resist. He'd accepted that she truly did want this, that she wanted to give her first time to a man of her choosing, and that she had chosen him. She wanted him, he wanted her, and that was all that mattered. At last, they had found a time for just the two of them, while the men were off hunting and her mother was, well, her mother's activities did not bear thinking about during a time as precious as this.

Myrcella was fully bared in front of the young man she was smitten with, and he had spent several minutes kissing her body and whispering how beautiful she was. Now, her legs were spread and his cock was pressing against her, ready to enter her with only the slightest push. His dark grey eyes looked down into hers, silently waiting and giving her one last chance to change her mind. It had taken considerable convincing on her part for him to accept that she, someone who had lived her life as and was considered by the realm to be a princess, wanted to give her maidenhead to him, a man whose bastardry was known to all. She'd gotten this far, but he was still hesitating and waiting to see if she would decide she didn't want this after all.

"Please, Jon," she whispered. She stretched her hands out to cup his cheeks, and her fingers stroked the slight stubble on his face. "Do it. Show me what it's like to be with the man I love, at least for one night."

Jon could hear and see her sincerity, and she could see those same feelings reflected back at her from his eyes. Even when she left Winterfell and he went off to the Wall to join the Night's Watch, she wanted to have a memory of the bond she shared and the love she'd found with her fellow bastard. She wanted to remember this one night for the rest of her life. He took a deep breath, moved his hips forward and claimed the maidenhead of Princess Myrcella. Myrcella gasped and her eyes squeezed shut from the pain, but she wrapped her arms and legs around Jon before he could even consider pulling out of her.

"Just give me a moment," she whispered, holding onto him tightly. "It stings, but I know it will be worth it."

"How can you be sure?" he asked.

"Because it's you," she answered confidently, opening her eyes and looking up at his handsome face hovering above hers. She pulled him down into a kiss, and he started kissing her back after a moment. His lips were tentative at first, but it wasn't long before he was kissing her with just as much passion as she kissed him. Her feelings were not just hers alone. She would remember and cherish this night forever, and so would he.

The pain eventually faded, and she nodded up at Jon, encouraging him to continue. He began to move, and his thrusts were shallow and delicate at first thanks to his concern for her. But they both grew more comfortable with what they were doing as their bodies adjusted to this new and wonderful feeling of intimate connection, and they started moving together. Myrcella writhed beneath him, her hips rolling to meet his thrusts and add to their pleasure. This was one thing she had not been taught, not by her mothers or her tutors, and Myrcella was glad for it. She did what came naturally and what felt right, and she took pride in knowing that this was an experience she hadn't been prepared for. This was for her and for him alone.

"It's so good," she gasped, feeling the pressure growing in her belly as Jon's hips moved more confidently. He had learned quickly, and now his cock was pushing deep and hitting that special spot they'd discovered together with almost frightening consistency. "Oh, Jon! Jon, Jon, Jon!"

She pulled his head from her breasts so she could kiss him again, lest she shout her pleasure for all of Winterfell to hear. Myrcella was so lost in the blissful feeling that overtook her trembling body that she did not give proper consideration to what it meant when Jon's thrusts grew more frantic. But even if she had properly understood, she wouldn't have pulled away from him. If this was to be the one night she had with Jon Snow before they departed Winterfell, him north to the Wall and her south to King's Landing, she would be with him in every way.

Jon groaned into her mouth as he began to empty his seed inside of her, and Myrcella just tightened her grip around him and kissed him harder, wanting to remain connected with him for as long as she could.  

Chapter Text

Myrcella was more exhausted than she had ever been in her life, but her exhaustion could not remove the smile from her face. The tiny bundle that she held in her arms was worth all of the effort that it had taken for her to bring it into the world. It had also been worth all of the questions, the whispers, the stares and the outright mockery that she had endured once it had become impossible for her to hide her swollen belly.

What did it matter to her that her mother took every opportunity to remind her that she had shamed her family and ruined her marriage prospects by getting pregnant before she was married or even betrothed, or that her brother Joffrey called her a whore right to her face? Her mother brought far greater shame to the family every time she took Myrcella’s uncle Jaime into her bed, and if there was anyone in the Seven Kingdoms that Myrcella loathed nearly as much as her mother, it was her brother Joffrey. Their opinions meant less than nothing to her, and if giving birth to a bastard of her own might prevent her from being married off to some arsehole for political purposes, so much the better. There was also the fact that holding her newborn son in her arms reminded her of the wonderful man she’d given herself to while in Winterfell. Being impregnated by her love had not been intentional, but she would never be upset that their time together had resulted in a child. Every time she looked at her son, she would be reminded of his father, and the special time they’d shared.

--

“He has the look of a Stark,” Myrcella’s mother said, pursing her lips. “Other than the eyes.” She looked at the babe’s dark indigo eyes, and a strange look crossed her face. “The eyes remind me of…” She drifted off, looking pensive for a moment, and then shook her head. “It’s no matter. The eyes aside, the rest of him screams House Stark.”

Myrcella had steadfastly refused to reveal who had impregnated her, and once she assured him that no man had taken her against her will, King Robert had been content not to ask any questions, much to her mother’s frustration. The boy resembled his father too much for it not to be noticed, though.

“And would that be such a bad thing?” Myrcella said flatly. “House Stark is as honorable as any of the great houses in Westeros.” More honorable than ours, mother.

“Honorable, indeed,” the queen said with a smirk. “You won’t be able to hide this, you know. I’m not the only one who will notice, and draw the obvious conclusions given how perfectly your pregnancy aligns with our trip to Winterfell. And however much he might love Eddard like a brother, your father will not be able to overlook the dishonor of the heir of Winterfell claiming your maidenhead and putting a bastard in your belly. I daresay that he will be forced to replace Lord Eddard as his hand.” She sounded positively giddy at the thought of the king no longer having Eddard around.

“Robb Stark is not the father,” Myrcella said, shaking her head.

“Oh?” her mother said, quirking an eyebrow. “And who is the father, then? Unless you finally tell us, the whispers will spread, the Stark resemblance will be noted, and your father will be unable to ignore it. If you don’t wish for your bastard to be the cause of a feud between Baratheon and Stark, your only choice is to come clean and tell us who is responsible for the royal bastard in your arms.”

--

“Jon?” Ned Stark said, looking stunned. “Jon is the father of your son, princess?”

“He is,” Myrcella said, before looking at her mother defiantly. “And I do not regret it. I will be happy if my son can become as honorable a man as his father.”

“Honorable,” her mother scoffed. “Is that what you call it when a bastard sullies a princess and spawns another bastard? You should have removed the bastard’s hands the first time he dared touch you.”

“He touched me, and deflowered me, because I asked him to,” Myrcella said. “Being with Jon was my doing, and if given the chance to go back in time, I would make the same choice I did in Winterfell.” She felt vindictive pleasure when she saw her mother’s lip curl in disgust.

“I suppose your poor judgment is a result of my failing as a mother,” she said quietly. “Still, it is the bastard you so happily sullied yourself with that will pay most dearly. I’m sure his head will look very honorable on a spike.”

“You swear to me that the boy did not force himself on you?” King Robert said, speaking for the first time since Myrcella had begun to explain.

“I swear it,” Myrcella said, nodding.

“You cannot be considering allowing the bastard to go unpunished,” her mother said heatedly. “Not even you—“

“Quiet,” the king said loudly, turning his head to look at Lord Stark. “Ned, the boy already left for the Wall before we departed Winterfell, did he not?”

“He did,” Lord Stark said. “He would surely have already sworn his vows to the Night’s Watch by now.”

“Then he is beyond my justice,” the king said. He looked at his wife sternly. “And yours as well. A man’s past crimes are absolved when he takes the black.”

“So you will do nothing, then?” the queen said, glaring at her husband. “You will not see that Lord Stark or his bastard answer for what they’ve done to your own daughter? And I suppose you’ll let Myrcella’s bastard be raised here in King’s Landing, right alongside the true princes and princesses that Joff and Tommen will one day give you?”

The king ignored his wife. He was looking at his friend, the man Myrcella knew he loved more than his actual brothers. “I talked to you of joining our houses by marrying my son to your daughter,” he said quietly. “Joffrey and Sansa might have quarreled too much for that to happen, but it seems that your son and my daughter took care of it for us without us knowing.”

“He is a bastard!” Myrcella’s mother snapped, outraged. “And so is his son!”

“He is a man of the Night’s Watch,” the king said, shaking his head. He looked at Myrcella, and the kind smile he gave her made her wish he really was her father. “And his son is no bastard. Let me know when you’ve chosen a name, daughter, and I will legitimize your son.”

“Jon,” Myrcella said right away. “His name is Jon.”

Chapter Text

Three years on, and much had changed in the realm while Jon Snow manned the Wall.

The entire realm had been shocked when the news of Prince Jon Baratheon’s birth spread like wildfire. Everyone at the Wall had been similarly shocked when they heard that their sworn brother Jon Snow had gotten the princess pregnant, but Jon doubted that any of them were as surprised as he had been. He’d thought that his brief time with Myrcella would remain a treasured memory shared only between the two of them. It was something he’d expected to be able to think back on privately when the freezing solitude of manning the Wall threatened to weigh him down; something to cheer him up. He hadn’t even known she was pregnant, but the news of his son’s birth and the fact that Myrcella had honored him in the naming of the child ensured that the entire realm knew just how lucky Jon Snow had been.

While Jon had obviously been busy at the Wall these last three years, he’d done his best to glean what knowledge he could of what was going on elsewhere in Westeros, and what was happening with his son and his love. Everyone had heard about King Robert dying while out hunting, of course. Jon knew that his father loved Robert like a brother, but he’d been very underwhelmed upon meeting the fat king. Still, the man had protected Myrcella and legitimized her son, even knowing that his father was a bastard. Jon would always feel indebted to Robert Baratheon for that, and was sorry to hear of his death.

Jon had taken a quick disliking to Joffrey upon meeting the arrogant prick, and some of the stories Myrcella shared about her brother’s cruelty only solidified that. Thus, Jon couldn’t say he was all that upset to hear that Joffrey had been poisoned on his wedding day. Both Myrcella and little Jon were surely safer in King’s Landing without Joffrey around.

Hearing about Stannis Baratheon preparing to assault King’s Landing had been a time of great nervousness for Jon. He’d been one of the few in the realm to know that Stannis was actually telling the truth about the illegitimacy of Queen Cersei’s children with King Robert, having heard it from Myrcella herself. But Jon hadn’t cared about any of that. He’d just wanted to hear that Myrcella and their son were safe.

The combined might of the Starks, Lannisters and Tyrells had fended off Stannis’ attempt to take King’s Landing, but poor King Tommen had not survived. Some of the sailors whispered that it had actually been Queen Cersei, driven mad from the grief of losing Joffrey and the fear of a bitter siege, who had killed Tommen herself, though Jon couldn’t be sure if that was true without hearing directly from someone who had actually been there. Tommen had been nice, if a bit too shy and timid to make for an effective ruler in Jon’s opinion. Whether he’d died in the fighting or by his mother’s hand, Tommen had deserved better.

With first Joffrey and now Tommen dead, the alliance led by Tywin Lannister, Eddard Stark and Mace Tyrell had declared that Jon Baratheon, the only child of Myrcella and thus the only male left in Robert’s line, would become king, with a council of advisors helping him to rule until he came of age. Hearing that his son would be the new king had brought mixed emotions for Jon. He was sure that Myrcella would do her best to raise their son to be a good and just man, and hopefully a good king as well. He knew Lord Tywin and Lord Mace only by reputation, but if Jon’s father was there to help advise his grandson as well, Jon’s son was going to have the best example of a good and just man that Jon could ask for. Still, the Iron Throne was not a comfortable seat, and Jon would have worried for his young son’s safety even if the previous three kings hadn’t all died one after the other in the last few years.

But of all of the news that had made it all the way up to the Wall since Jon had been here, nothing could compare to this one. His sworn brothers had given him some odd looks in the last few years, but they had been openly staring at him and muttering to each other ever since this latest story hit the Wall. Jon understood their looks, because this latest news was going to shake Westeros to its core. It sounded too absurd to be true; it sounded more like something out of one of Old Nan’s stories. But the tale just kept coming in from various sources, and while the telling differed slightly in each, all agreed on one thing. Jon hadn’t known what to make of it, and still didn’t. But after even his sister Arya had written him to say that their father confirmed it was true, Jon couldn’t pretend that the impossible tale wasn’t real.

Jon Baratheon, the son that Jon had never met, had hatched a healthy dragon.

Chapter Text

“You wished to speak with me privately, Lord Stark?” It was a formal phrase, but there was genuine warmth in Princess Myrcella’s voice as she said it. Her eyes were kind as she greeted Ned in his quarters in the Red Keep.

“I did, my lady,” he said, giving her a small but equally genuine smile in return. Myrcella did not smile so easily at everyone; as a sister who had lost two brothers and the mother to a young king, she was understandably cautious around many. But Ned knew that he had earned her trust by now through the service he had given and continued to give in teaching Jon how to be a good man and a just king. Some of the young king’s tutors and advisors had obvious self-interest motivating them in advancing their own houses, but for Ned, the boy was family and he treated him accordingly. The realm believed Ned to be the boy’s grandsire, and while that wasn’t quite true, it didn’t stop him from considering Jon as such. Myrcella saw the love that Ned had for her son, so she was not on her guard around him the way she was around others who hadn’t fully earned her trust. “Have a seat, if you please. I believe this is going to take some time, and I want you to be comfortable.”

“Thank you, Eddard.” She sat down in the chair across from him, which he had already pulled out for her. “Jon seemed healthy and happy when he returned from his lesson this morning, so I assume you didn’t ask to speak with me because something went wrong.”

“No,” Ned shook his head. “Jon performed as ably in his lessons as I have come to expect from him.” Myrcella smiled, likely because she knew that Ned would not have said this if it had been flattery. Jon was taking to his training with his various instructors. Whether learning how to rule from Ned, taking up arms in the training yard with Barristan Selmy and the Kingslayer or receiving broader knowledge from Grand Maester Pycelle and Tyrion Lannister, Jon was picking it all up readily. Myrcella was very proud of her son, and Eddard believed that she had good reason to be.

“I am pleased to hear it,” Myrcella said. “It pleases me even more to hear it from you.” She smiled. “Nothing would make me happier as a mother than if Jon can become as good and just a man as his father and his grandfather.” Ned glanced down briefly, thinking of Jon Snow at the Wall, and all the things that had not been said.

“That actually brings me to the purpose of why I asked you to meet me in private,” Ned said. “It is time that we discuss the truth of Jon’s parentage.”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Myrcella said. She frowned, and there was wariness and caution behind her expression now that Ned had not seen towards him in at least a year, if not more. “I assure you that I did not lie when I told King Robe—when I told my father that Jon Snow is the father of my son. He is the one and only man I have ever been with, so there is no other who could be the father.”

“Peace, Myrcella,” Eddard said quietly, holding a hand up. “I apologize for misspeaking. I have never once doubted that Jon fathered your son, and I do not doubt it now. I meant to say that, given what has happened with the young king recently, I believe it is time you know the truth about Jon Snow’s parentage.” Myrcella looked surprised at that briefly before her expression became merely curious.

“I see,” she said slowly, but it was apparent that she didn’t see at all. “It was my understanding that not even Jon knows who his mother was.”

“He did not, and still does not,” Ned said, closing his eyes briefly and hearing his sister’s voice in his head.

Promise me, Ned.

“Then why now?” Myrcella asked. “What does the name of Jon’s mother have to do with us here and now?”

“Everything,” Eddard said honestly. At seeing Myrcella’s blank look, he got to the point. “Have you not questioned why that dragon bonded with Jon?” The entire realm was shocked when that dragon hatched out of what we believed was a fossilized egg. But the hatchling bonding with the young king had been at least as effective at getting the more ambitious lords who might have sought to undermine his rule in line as any measures the alliance of Ned, Tywin, Mace Tyrell might have taken.

“My father was named king after the end of the rebellion because he had some Targaryen blood in his line,” Myrcella said. “Your Stark blood, the blood of the North and the old gods, helped bring back whatever embers remained of the Targaryen magic. Is it not so?” This was the same explanation that most of the realm seemed to have settled on. It wasn’t a bad justification, but only if you did not have all of the facts.

“No,” Ned said, shaking his head. “That is not the truth of things, Myrcella. You don’t need to look far back at all in your son’s lineage to find Targaryen blood. He got that from his grandsire.” Myrcella stared at him like he’d grown a second head, but Ned ignored her while collecting his thoughts. He was about to break the promise he’d made to his sister on her bed of blood, just before the light left her eyes. He had kept that promise for all these years, even after Robert had gone to the grave, and his wrath with him. But now, he would break it at last, for the good of the boy that was his grandson, at least in his heart.

“Jon does have the blood of the Starks, but it’s not my blood. It’s the blood of my sister Lyanna.”

Myrcella gasped audibly, and her hand flew to her mouth. She knew her history, so she didn’t need to be told any more to understand. Ned said it anyway.

“Just before she died, I promised my sister that I would raise Jon as my own. It was the only way to protect him from Robert. Not even our friendship would have kept the babe safe had Robert known that he was the son of Lyanna and Rhaegar Targaryen.”

Chapter Text

“Very good, Jon,” Jaime said, nodding his head in approval at the swing Jon Baratheon, First of His Name, had just taken. It really had been a good sword swing, but Jaime’s student did not appear satisfied.

“I can do better,” the young king said, shaking his head and looking determined. Jaime smiled.

“Show me, then,” he said. Jon nodded, took a deep breath, and swung his arm through the air in a follow-up swing that was indeed stronger and more accurate than his first had been. “Well done. You are making steady progress.”

“It’s because of you, Jaime,” Jon said, giving Jaime the affable smile that so easily won the hearts of his subjects. “You’re a good teacher.”

“You honor me more than I deserve,” Jaime said, bowing.

He meant it. Jaime Lannister had been a failure as a Kingsguard, a son, a brother and a father. It was too late for him to right the many wrongs he’d made as a younger man. The best that he could do was teach Jon how to handle a blade and hope that the tutelage he received from wiser men, like Eddard Stark and Jaime’s father Tywin, would help him know who to point it at and also when to sheathe it and show mercy.

Until he took his last breath, Jaime would regret not being able to stand at Rhaegar’s side and protect him or protect his family. He’d slain the Mad King and stopped him from burning King’s Landing down, but the last of Rhaegar’s legacy died that day regardless. Or so Jaime had believed, until recently.

After the young king had hatched his dragon, Jaime’s sister Cersei had come to him in private and shared the revelation she’d had about the parentage of Jon Snow, the king’s father. Between Jon Baratheon’s dark indigo eyes and the recent hatching of the dragon, his connection to the Targaryens was striking. Cersei’s theory that the boy had secretly been the child of Rhaegar and Lyanna Stark, who Eddard had raised as his bastard to protect him from the rage of Robert Baratheon, put all of the pieces together neatly. The instant she’d said it to him, Jaime had been certain that his sister was correct. The young king, Jaime’s grandson, was also the grandson of Rhaegar.

Cersei hadn’t come to him with her belief because she wished to use it against young Jon, of course. Despite her initial reaction to the boy, or more to the point, her reaction to Myrcella getting herself impregnated before marriage, Cersei had come around quickly. He may not have come along in the ‘proper’ manner, but he was her grandson. She had softened towards the child even while Joffrey and Tommen still lived; in fact, one of the few times Jaime had ever seen Cersei confront Joffrey was when the then-king had been taunting Myrcella and her son several months after his birth. Joffrey had been so shocked at his mother placing herself between him and his nephew, both figuratively and in a literal sense, that he had almost entirely avoided both Myrcella and her son for the remainder of his life, which had abruptly ended by poisoning on his wedding day.

If Cersei had already softened on Jon and treated him with kindness while her two sons were still alive, she had become fiercely protective of him once Joffrey and Tommen were gone. He was all that Cersei had left; he was her last chance, and Jaime had no doubt that his sister would willingly offer up her own life to protect her grandson, should such a sacrifice ever be necessary.

Jaime felt no less protective of him. He had failed Rhaegar, and he had failed his father, his sister, his sons and even his daughter, who yet lived but kept him at arm’s length. But he would not fail Jon Baratheon. Rhaegar was years gone, but Jaime would do his part to make sure that his legacy lived on and thrived in his young grandson.

“Jaime? Is something wrong?”

Jaime blinked and saw his young charge looking up at him, confused. He must have been staring off into nothing as he got lost in his thoughts. Jaime shook his head, smiled and ruffled the young king’s hair with his hand.

“Nothing, Your Grace,” he said. Jon batted his hand away and stared up at him with narrowed eyes, which was exactly the reaction Jaime had expected. He was a child, but he didn’t like being treated as one while in the training yard. And he liked being called Your Grace even less. The annoyed look young Jon shot him reminded Jaime of Jon’s aunt Arya Stark any time someone referred to her as a lady. Jaime grinned at the look, and several of Lord Stark’s men who were there in the training yard with them laughed.

“Don’t call me that,” Jon said, shaking his head. “You’re my uncle, Jaime. I don’t want you calling me Your Grace.” Jaime smiled again. The boy would never know their true relation, and that was just fine with Jaime. Jon did not need to suffer for his failures.

“As you like, Jon,” Jaime said. “Would you like to go again?”

Chapter Text

“You speak truly,” Daenerys Targaryen, the Mother of Dragons, whispered. The blonde who stood before her nodded her head and licked her lips. The woman’s nervousness was obvious, but she look into Daenerys’ eyes all the same.

“We do,” Myrcella, the Queen Mother, said while making eye contact with the Breaker of Chains.

Daenerys wanted to deny it. She had spent so long believing that she was the last dragon; that it was up to her to restore the Targaryens to their rightful place and retake the throne that had been taken from them by Robert Baratheon the Usurper. When news had reached her across the sea that Jon Baratheon, the young king who had been thrust into the position after both of Robert’s sons died, had hatched a dragon, Daenerys had been furious. The thought that the grandson of the usurper had somehow hatched a dragon had only made her more determined to make her way to Westeros and King’s Landing once she had finished in Essos. A grandson of Robert Baratheon had even less right to ride a dragon than he had to sit the Iron Throne, and she had vowed to herself that she and her three dragons would strike down the young pretender one day.

When the young king, along with his mother and Eddard Stark, asked that she come to Dragonstone under a flag of peace, Daenerys hadn’t known what to expect. They had been true to their word about not assembling a serious fighting force there. Members of the Kingsguard were there, and some personal attendants and members of Lord Stark’s household guard, but Dragonstone was so lightly defended that even with King Jon’s rapidly growing dragon there, Daenerys and her three dragons could have ended the line of the usurper in very little time. Before she’d spoken a word to any of them, she was already confident that they had not invited her here for any sort of treachery. The only question was why, and what they wanted to speak with her about. And now she knew.

“I raised my sister’s son as my own, claiming him as my bastard to protect him from Robert’s wrath,” Eddard said. “I swore I’d take it to my grave. But then young Jon hatched his dragon.”

Daenerys turned her attention to the Lord of Winterfell, whose face was not nearly as cold as it had been in her nightmares. She had grown up on Viserys’ stories of the enemies who had betrayed their family, stolen their throne and chased the two of them into exile, and Eddard Stark had played a not insignificant role in those stories. Daenerys had always pictured this man as the cold villain who had served as the usurper’s right hand in breaking the Targaryens, but now she saw the true Eddard Stark. He had taken her brother Rhaegar’s son and claimed him as his own. He had protected a Targaryen babe, a Targaryen prince, from the usurper’s knives. Even if he had done it out of love for his sister rather than loyalty to the Targaryens, Daenerys could not look at this man and see an enemy. Not now.

She couldn’t argue against the story they were telling her. Some in her position might have preferred to avert their eyes and refuse to accept the truth. After all, even if he had a dragon, she had three, and they were older and larger too. She could take the throne from him. In her heart, she truly believed that they could not stop her if she moved to take it.

But the moment she’d been introduced to young King Jon, and saw those indigo eyes looking at her, Dany’s breath had gotten caught in her throat. She hadn’t seen a usurper. She’d felt a bond with him at once, and now she knew why.

“I’m not alone,” she said softly. She closed her eyes, lest they see her tears.

--

“You don’t need to kneel to me,” the young king said, shaking his head. “Not you. You’re family.”

“I am.” Daenerys’ smile was so wide that she felt like her face might get permanently stuck in this position. She seemed to be smiling like this a lot since she’d accepted the invitation to meet at Dragonstone. “I won’t bend my knee, then, if you’d rather I remain standing.” She bowed her head slightly. “But I still swear to recognize you as my king. You are my brother Rhaegar’s grandson; the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. I offer my fealty and support to you.”

“And your friendship, too, I hope,” King Jon said. “I’ve liked getting to know you, Daenerys.”

“And I you,” Daenerys said, still smiling at him. She’d come to Dragonstone expecting to refuse whatever peaceful overtures she was offered and assert that nothing short of the pretender abdicating his throne would stop their two sides from eventually warring with each other. But here at Dragonstone, she’d found something more important to her than any throne could ever be. She’d found family. She’d found home.

She’d already believed that Eddard and Myrcella spoke truly about Jon’s true lineage, and spending time with her nephew had allowed a bond to grow quickly between them. After the fortnight she’d spent here, she felt very protective of her brother’s grandson.

To the side, Myrcella was smiling broadly too. Daenerys met her eyes, and a warm look passed between the two women. The more Daenerys had bonded with her nephew, the closer she and the boy’s mother had gotten as well. Myrcella would do anything to protect Jon, and Daenerys felt the same way. The women were connected by that shared determination.

Daenerys shared a nod with Lord Stark, who smiled slightly as well. Their families had opposed each other, but now she knew the truth behind what her father had done to his father and brother. Understanding why he’d rebelled, and appreciating all he’d done to protect Jon’s father, Daenerys had learned to let go of her old hatred for Lord Stark, just as she’d let go of any desire to sit the Iron Throne.

The Mother of Dragons was not the last dragon, to her great joy. She would never be queen, but she would never be alone without family again either, and that was a trade Daenerys was more than happy with.

Chapter Text

Jon Snow felt every pair of eyes present stare at him in fascination even before he stood to address the crowd assembled in Harrenhal’s Hall of a Hundred Hearths. This was nothing new, especially not in the years since old King Robert had legitimized his son. Jon had been the bastard who'd fathered a prince, and then that prince became a boy king after Robert and both of his sons died. Then the realm, and Jon himself, learned that he was actually the son of Rhaegar Targaryen, which had earned him plenty more stares. And now, Jon Snow, Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, was the reason why all the lord of Westeros big and small had been summoned to Harrenhal by order of King Jon Baratheon, First of His Name. Of course everyone was waiting to hear him speak. He’d claimed that the dead prepared to march on the Wall, and these lords had been summoned here from every corner of Westeros to hear him speak.

He knew that tales would not be enough here, no matter whose blood ran through his veins or who'd fathered the king. He and his son had exchanged letters over the years, and he'd been in contact with Myrcella, too. His request for aid when Mance Rayder prepared to match on the Wall had been answered by enough men to hold the Wall. The Night's Watch had even been provided with some help in rebuilding some of the keeps along the Wall, strengthening its defenses. But even the trust that his son, Myrcella, and Lord Eddard, the man he still thought of as his true father even now, could only go so far. To receive the kind of commitment he and the Night's Watch needed to face this threat, he had to prove that these were no mere stories.

“Thank you for coming," he said, clearing his throat and fighting his awkwardness. He was used to addressing men of the Night's Watch and the free folk, not lords of Westeros. He had to resist trying to give orders and speak from a position of authority, knowing that men like this would not take it well. "You've all heard the stories from the Wall. I'm sure you have your doubts." There was some light muttering and even some smirks from the more skeptical lords, but no one was too openly disrespectful. Jon had a feeling that had a lot more to do with the king and the queen mother than it did with any respect given to him as Lord Commander. He knew how most of the realm felt about the Night’s Watch even now. He also didn’t care. He had his duty, and he was here to carry it out.

“I won’t waste your time trying to convince you with words,” Jon said. “Words would never be enough for you to believe the reality of what we’re dealing with, and I’ve never been great at fancy speeches anyway. That’s why we’ve brought proof with us from deep in the North.”

Jon lifted his right hand into the air, and several of his sworn brothers of the Night's Watch brought in the crate which contained a wight they'd managed to capture and bring south, at significant risk to themselves. Both the Watch and the free folk had lost men to capture the wight, and Jon would see to it that they had not laid down their lives for nothing. He waited for his men to surround the crate and draw their weapons, and then he nodded.

“Open the crate.”

--

There were cries and screams as the upper half of the wight attempted to crawl on the floor. Everyone had seen it cut in two, and still it moved. Some of these lords didn’t want to believe what their eyes were telling them, but Jon knew that the point had been made beyond all doubt. He pulled out the dragonglass dagger he carried with him and used it to destroy the wight, ending its struggle for good.

“As you can see, these are not just tales,” he said, looking around the hall, at the assembled lords, his son, Myrcella and everyone else who gave him their undivided attention. “The dead really do walk, and soon, they’ll march on the Wall. The Night’s Watch stands ready to defend the realm, but we cannot stand alone. If we’re going to win this war between the living and the dead, we need your support.”

“You’ll have it,” a voice said. Jon, along with everyone else, looked towards the highest seat in the hall, where his son the king sat. “I have seen the truth with my own eyes, and I won’t run from it. The throne will give the Night’s Watch whatever help it needs to win this fight, Lord Commander.”

“As will House Stark, and the North,” Eddard Stark said, speaking up as soon as the king had pledged the throne’s support. The lords of the other great northern houses agreed, and everyone else followed suit. With Tywin Lannister and Mace Tyrell also pledging the support of their houses, every other lord in Westeros practically tripped over themselves to not be the last to add their name and their house to the call. Everyone had seen the wight move even after being cut in half, and with the king and the biggest lords confirming that they’d seen it and pledging their support against the armies of the dead, no one failed to follow.

The dead would march, but the living would be ready.

--

Reuniting with his Stark family, and meeting his Aunt Daenerys, was wonderful. But above all, he had been waiting to see what his son would do in this, their first meeting in person. He’d behaved like a proper king throughout the council, but how would Jon Baratheon treat Jon Snow in person?

After Daenerys stepped back, Jon saw the king and his queen mother standing side by side at a distance, watching him now that their obligations were done. Seeing his son and Myrcella there made Jon think back to Maester Aemon’s words to him years earlier, about honor and duty against a woman’s love and holding a newborn son in his arms. Jon had sworn his vows to the Night’s Watch, but in this moment he was more keenly aware than ever of what he’d given up.

Myrcella smiled tearfully at him, and Jon was struck by her beauty. She looked even more beautiful now than she had the night they’d made love. Then he looked to his son beside her. He’d been so impressive in standing as king and leading the pledges of support, but he looked like a nervous young boy now. Myrcella whispered something into his ear, and then King Jon ran into his father’s arms. Jon caught the boy and hugged him tightly, closing his eyes so as not to fall to pieces, hold on and never let go. He’d sworn his vows to the Night’s Watch, but he could not deny the emotion that raced through him as he hugged his son for the first time.

He opened his eyes after a few seconds when he felt a hand on his side. It was Myrcella, and she was biting her lip as if unsure whether her touch was welcome or not. Jon immediately brought his left arm around her and pulled her into the hug. He rested his chin on top of her golden hair, embracing his son and the only woman he’d ever loved.

Jon opened his mouth to speak as his eyes met Myrcella’s, but what could he even say? He didn’t have the faintest idea on how to express everything he was feeling. Luckily, it didn’t matter. Myrcella smiled at him, leaned up slightly and kissed him.

Chapter Text

The kiss they’d shared after the council had been nice, but Myrcella was glad to be kissing Jon in the privacy of the chambers Lord Whent had given her during her stay in Harrenhal. Almost every notable lord in Westeros, not to mention her son, had been there in the Hall of a Hundred Hearths, and the meeting of the young king and his father had naturally attracted plenty of attention. However much Myrcella might have wished to throw herself at Jon the moment she saw him again after so many years, it would have been unbecoming of the queen mother to behave in such a way in front of her people.

No one was around to see them now, though, so Myrcella was free to kiss Jon deeply, slide her tongue into his mouth and rub the bare skin of his stomach on her way down to grab his cock. He groaned into her mouth when she took his member in her hand. Jon also followed her example, moving his hands from her back, grabbing her arsecheeks with both hands and squeezing hard.

Myrcella had been concerned that Jon might reject her advances. He was every bit the son of Eddard Stark, no matter what his actual lineage was, and he possessed that same sense of honor and duty that she had observed in Lord Stark over the years, the honor that the Lord of Winterfell was passing on to the young king. Myrcella was familiar with the vows that the men of the Night's Watch swore. They swore to take no wives and father no children. Jon's son and namesake had been conceived prior to him going to the Wall, and obviously, he couldn't have broken vows he had yet to swear. Technically, he wasn't breaking his vows right now; he'd vowed not to marry or father children, but the vows said nothing about celibacy. But she couldn't be sure that the Lord Commander would see it that way. When she'd kissed him for the first time in seven years, she’d feared that he might push her away.

Rather than pushing her away, Jon pulled her closer. They'd helped each other out of their clothes moments ago, and now they left the pile of clothing behind on the floor as Jon put his arms around her waist, lifted her up, and carried her over to her bed, continuing to kiss her during their walk across the room. Myrcella kept her arms and legs around him as he put her down on her back and moved above her, but she moved her right arm down so she could grab his cock and guide it between her legs, leaving no room for ambiguity about what she wanted from him. It had been seven years since their one unforgettable night together in Winterfell, the night that had changed the entire course of her life, and she needed him inside of her as badly as she'd ever needed anything.

Jon wanted her and needed her just as much; his first thrust was quick and frantic, and so was every thrust that followed. He'd broken their kiss as he looked down and focused on penetrating her, and Myrcella gasped at the feeling of a cock pushing into her for the first time in seven years. Everything about her life had changed since their one night together in Winterfell, but this was every bit as good as he remembered it being. There had been some in her circle who had tried to talk her into marrying and producing more children and potential heirs in case something happened to her son, but no one had been in a position to force her, and Myrcella wouldn't hear of it. She'd never been given a reason to regret that decision despite her seven years without him, and she knew beyond all doubt now that it had been the right decision. Feeling Jon moving within her and seeing his handsome face looking down at her as they made love for the first time in seven years felt right to her in a way that she was convinced it never could with anyone else.

Jon knew her. He knew her deepest secrets; he knew who she really was. She'd bared herself to him during their time in Winterfell as she would never have bared herself to any other man, and her fellow bastard had kissed her, made love to her, and told her and showed her how beautiful he thought she was. Things had changed so much since then. Their night of passion had produced a son. She was the queen's mother, and he was the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, and it turned out that Jon wasn't even a bastard at all. But some things hadn't changed at all. There was the look in his eyes while he thrust back and forth inside of her and the immense pleasure that spread through her body as she made love with the man she'd chosen to place her trust in and give her body to. She hadn't realized just how important that decision would be back then, but she'd chosen well.

"Myrcella!" Jon groaned after several wonderful minutes of thrusting that had served to prove to Myrcella that her memories of their night in Winterfell and the pleasure they'd shared were accurate. "I won't—I can't—"

"Do it!" she said through a moan. She put her arms around his neck again and pulled his head down so they could kiss as their bodies moved to a reunion they'd both waited seven years for. He moaned into her mouth as his seed rushed into her, and Myrcella's fingers ran through his hair, holding on desperately to the only man she would ever love.

She would continue holding onto him, and not just because the pleasure that filled her at the end was better than anything she’d felt in seven years. Jon was her love and the father of her son, and Lord Commander or not, she had a claim on him, too. Soon enough, the lords of Westeros would provide him with the army he required, and the Lord Commander would lead that army to the Wall to fight the dead in defense of the living. But until that army had been assembled and was ready to march north, Myrcella would press her claim and spend every day in the arms and the bed of the man she loved.

Chapter Text

Cersei managed not to cry as she watched her daughter Myrcella and her grandson Jon with the father he’d been named in honor of, but it was a close thing. Theirs was a reunion that had been years in the making, and it made Cersei’s heart feel light to see it. Her daughter had been so brave and so strong for her son, but the relief and contentment Cersei could see on her face was long overdue, in her opinion. Myrcella had more than earned every bit of happiness she could find.

Cersei had been angry and frightened when her daughter's pregnancy was first revealed, and she refused to tell her who was responsible. She was angry at the thought that someone might have either taken her daughter by force or manipulated his way into her bedchamber, and absolutely terrified of what might happen to Myrcella's reputation. But another part of her had secretly been pleased with the idea of her daughter having a bastard since it meant that she might not be married off to some man who wouldn't appreciate her and sent far away from her family for a strategic alliance. That, in turn, made Cersei even angrier with herself, and she took it out on everyone around her, Myrcella included.

She had been a bundle of anger, fear, and confusion throughout Myrcella's pregnancy and childbirth, trying not to show weakness to anyone even as her hands grew clammy and she felt sick to her stomach. The moment she first laid eyes on her grandson, she’d adored him. But just as quickly as she felt the bond begin to form, she fought against it. She’d quickly pushed for Robert to punish House Stark, partially because Eddard Stark had been a constant source of concern for her back then. She hadn’t liked how much Robert depended on him, and she was downright terrified of the possibility that Lord Stark could reveal to Robert who the true father of Myrcella, Joffrey, and Tommen was. Had Robert learned the truth, his wrath would have been inescapable. Her death would have been assured, but it was the thought of the heads of her three children on spikes that she would gladly have fought a war against the North to prevent.

It had never come to that. If Lord Stark ever uncovered the truth between her and Jaime, he’d never spoken of it to her, either before Robert’s death or after it. These days, she and Eddard shared a common cause, if nothing else. They were both committed to the health, happiness, and upbringing of their young king and also his mother by extension. Friend of Robert or not, she welcomed anyone who had the best interests of Jon and Myrcella at heart.

Cersei had lost much in the last several years. First, she’d lost Joffrey, poisoned on his wedding day, and with the culprit never having been caught. Then, Tommen was killed during Stannis Baratheon's siege of King's Landing. The loss of both her sons, one after the other, had broken something inside of Cersei, nearly driving her mad. From that day on, her sole purpose in life had been protecting sweet Myrcella and her son with everything she had, up to and including her own life.

She and Myrcella had not always remained close. They had argued frequently around the time of the royal trip to Winterfell and afterward as well. But after Myrcella saw her genuine protectiveness for her child against all potential threats, including even Joffrey, she softened toward her mother and gave her a chance to regain her trust. Cersei had continued to do whatever she could for both her and Jon in all the years since, and her daughter now relaxed around her and trusted that she was there to support them with whatever they needed.

Fate worked in strange ways, Cersei found. She'd once believed that she was destined to marry Rhaegar Targaryen, become his queen, and give birth to Targaryen princes, princesses, and kings. That hadn't happened. Rhaegar was married off to Elia Martell instead, while Cersei got stuck with Robert after he caved in Rhaegar's chest on the Trident. But all these many years later, her daughter fell in love with, gave her maidenhead to, and was impregnated by Rhaegar's son, not even knowing that the blood of the dragon ran in his veins. Cersei was never meant to be Rhaegar's queen after all, and likely would have lost her life long ago if she had been chosen by his father the Mad King rather than Elia. But she was the grandmother to Rhaegar's grandson, the young king who she adored so much. A part of Rhaegar had ended up with a part of her after all. It wasn't at all what Cersei had dreamed of as a young girl, but she would fight to protect Myrcella, Jon, and their family with everything she had.

She may never have become a Targaryen princess, but she was a proud grandmother and a member of House Lannister. If anyone or anything threatened her only surviving child or her beloved grandson, they would hear Cersei roar.

Chapter Text

Jon

The army of the dead was vast, and the Night King’s ability to add to its ranks with each fallen man made battling against it even more daunting.

But a dragon’s fire stopped the dead as surely as it did the living, and Daenerys Targaryen, Jon’s aunt by birth, brought three grown dragons to the Wall with her. With Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion there to burn a path through the army of the dead, Jon continued his pursuit, doing everything he could to reach the Night King. Daenerys had tried to burn the leader of the army with dragonfire from atop Drogon, but the Night King had resisted the attempt. The only hope was for Jon to get close and hope that his Valyrian steel sword would be more effective.

--

Sandor

Sandor obeyed Lord Tywin's strategic orders to protect the flank of one of the dragons, which were the most effective weapons their army had against this foe. The dragonglass blade he'd been given didn't feel right in his hands, but at least it made the dead cunts stay down. Hacking them down from this side also meant that he didn't have to look at the dragon's fire, even if he could feel its heat in the air. It was the best he could hope for.

After cutting down a few more of the White Walkers who’d been trying to attack the dragon, Sandor saw that his brother the Mountain, who had been given similar orders, was surrounded by no less than ten White Walkers, all of them focused on bringing their larger foe down. Gregor fought a few of them off, but even a mountain of a man like him couldn’t get them all. Sandor would have had to abandon his post and ignore his lord’s orders to try and reach him. They may both bear the Clegane name, but Sandor felt no inner conflict as he watched the group of White Walkers topple the Mountain.

“Cunt,” the Hound said, before looking away from his dying brother and swinging his dragonglass blade at the next enemy to get close.

--

Oberyn

Oberyn Martell, the Red Viper of Dorne, had agreed to lead Dorne’s fiercest fighters to the far north to do battle against the dead. He was no fool; he recognized that the threat posed by the army of the dead needed to be stopped at the Wall. If the combined efforts of the Westeros army didn’t stop them there, the entire realm was likely to be overrun, Dorne included.

That being said, if an opportunity to claim his vengeance on Tywin Lannister and his dogs had presented itself during the battle, Oberyn was prepared to take it. Only Doran’s insistence had kept him from taking action years ago, but Oberyn’s thirst for vengeance would never die as long as Tywin Lannister still drew breath. If he’d earned a beheading for driving his spear through the back of King Jon’s alleged great-grandsire at the end of the battle, Oberyn would have accepted that fate with a smile on his face, regardless of what Doran wanted or ordered.

Fate worked in strange ways, though. While Oberyn hadn't been close enough to see the Mountain toppled, he'd heard the commotion of more men being ordered to take Gregor Clegane's place in the formation. The dog who'd raped and murdered his sweet sister Elia and killed her children was dead. Oberyn would have preferred to drive his spear through Ser Gregor's chest after getting him to confess to his crimes, but at least the dog was dead.

He never got a chance to think about taking his vengeance on Lord Tywin after the battle, either, because fate saw to it that the next time the Red Viper saw the man he knew had ordered the death of his sister and her children, Lord Tywin was already a corpse.

--

Jaime

Jaime didn’t have time to grieve the death of his father, who had jumped in front of Jaime and taken a killing blow from the Night King to give him time to recover. Any hesitation now could get Jaime killed and make his father dying to protect him meaningless. He picked himself up, gripped his Valyrian steel sword tight, and rallied the men of Casterly Rock to his side as he regrouped and went to try again.

--

Jon

Between the dragon’s fire, the determined men and the cache of dragonglass weapons that they’d prepared for this battle, the side of the living was pushing through the army of the dead. But Jon knew that this battle would never be over unless they killed the Night King himself. He could see his foe there, trying to throw spears and bring down Drogon, forcing Daenerys to turn her dragon through the air and break off from providing the supporting fire. That just meant Jon and the men beside him would have to cut their way through.

Their forward march was not without casualty, but Jon pushed on through the screams of the dying. Those men were laying down their lives to try and end this war and protect their homes and loved ones, and Jon was prepared to do the same. If he had to die to end this here and now, and if his death meant that his Stark father, brothers and sisters, his brothers from the Night's Watch, the love of his life Myrcella, and his son and namesake Jon got to live, Lord Commander Jon Snow would die without regret.

Jon watched as Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers, battled with the Night King, had his blows repelled, and got his throat slashed open. Loras Tyrell was a more skilled fighter than him, Jon had no doubt, but he felt no fear as he pushed through a gap and swung Longclaw with a shout.

Was it skill or determination that allowed Jon to get close and strike the fateful blow? Or had it simply been a lucky strike amid the chaos of a dragon flying overhead and men screaming, shouting, and hacking from all sides?

For Jon, it didn’t matter why he and Longclaw succeeded where Drogon, Loras, Roose Bolton, Jaime Lannister and others had failed. He wasn’t interested in glory or songs. The Night King fell, and the war between the living and the dead was over.

Chapter Text

The Baratheon cloak had never truly belonged to her, because she had never been Robert Baratheon’s daughter in truth. It felt wrong to don it as her maiden’s cloak, and she was relieved when Lord Eddard removed it from her shoulders. Robert Baratheon had not been a perfect man, by any means, but he’d believed her to be his daughter and tried to be kind to her. He’d also protected and legitimized her son, and she would always love him for that. She doubted Lord Eddard could sense her guilt at what felt like one final affront to Robert’s memory, but his comforting smile helped settle her nerves regardless. King Robert was long-dead, and though Myrcella’s actual father served her son capably as his teacher, he kept his distance from her, as he should. Eddard, who was always so kind to her son and had looked after him all these years, had been a fine choice to stand in for the role of father in her marriage ceremony and remove her maiden’s cloak.

Myrcella was no maiden, of course. Her son had already celebrated his seventh nameday, and though her belly did not protrude much yet, his younger brother or sister was coming, too. Any dreams she’d had as a young girl about what her wedding day might be like had been forgotten long ago, perhaps as early as her discovery that she was not actually Robert Baratheon’s daughter. She hadn’t missed such childish dreams over all the years that had passed since, and had long believed that she would never take a husband or have any more children. There was only one man she would choose to marry, and she’d believed he was the one man she could never have. He’d sworn his vows and become a man of the Night’s Watch, and though they had only known Jon Snow for a brief time in Winterfell before their paths took them in different directions, she knew he was a man who honored his word.

But Jon’s vows had been fulfilled. With the final defeat of the dead and the triumph of the living, the Night’s Watch had carried out what the realm now knew to be its purpose for existence. All of its sworn brothers were released from their oaths in the aftermath of the war, and any crimes they’d committed prior to being sent to the Wall were washed away. A small force made up mostly of Northmen and the old free folk would continue to watch over the Wall just in case, but any brother who wished to lay down his sword and pursue a different life in Westeros was free to do so.

The dreams of a young girl returned to life as Myrcella felt Jon replace her maiden’s cloak with that of House Targaryen, and watched him come to stand in front of her and take her hands in his, a broad smile on his face. Jon did not often smile, but when she’d seen such a happy expression on his face, she or their son were nearly always the reason for it. Myrcella saw that handsome smile, and she felt like a young girl again, giggling with her friends about their future weddings and marriages to handsome and heroic men. Her path to get here had been a strange one, but she was finally going to have everything she could have ever hoped for as a young woman yet to be jaded by the realities of her true parentage.

Jon was hers, and she was his.

--

“With this kiss, I pledge my love, and take you for my lord and husband,” Myrcella said, smiling at Jon, scarcely able to believe she was actually saying these words after all these years.

“With this kiss, I pledge my love, and take you for my lady and wife,” Jon said. He put his left hand on her shoulder, leaned in and kissed her lips. Myrcella closed her eyes and kissed him back passionately, though he pulled back before they could get carried away and forget that this was not the time nor the place for them to kiss and touch each other as they pleased.

The septon recited his final words, declaring them man and wife, one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever, but Myrcella wasn’t listening. In her mind and in her heart, she’d already made this commitment to Jon years earlier, long before she’d known he would be released from his vows to the Night’s Watch and free to marry her and be with her.

This wedding ceremony in King’s Landing was just formalizing it for all the realm to see and hear. Still, Myrcella couldn’t deny that kissing Jon after declaring her love for him in front of everyone feeling his hand on her belly briefly, and hearing their son cheering loudest of all, made her happier than she’d ever known she could be.

--

Dancing with Jon as husband and wife had been enjoyable, but Myrcella liked this dance even better.

It wasn’t often that a husband and wife danced with their first child at their wedding, and while she was pregnant with their second, too. But Myrcella wasn’t bothered that she’d done things in an unusual order. She had her first son, the bright, kind young man who cared for his family and his people so much, and would grow to one day become a fine king who did not need any guidance or protection, holding her left hand. And holding her right was the man who had changed her life forever during her brief stay in Winterfell. She’d fallen in love with him all those years ago, and never loved another. He’d given her the greatest gift of her life in their son, and she’d thought that would be the only thing of his she would be able to hold onto.

But now he was there, holding her hand, smiling, laughing and dancing with her. His duties at the Wall were over. He was going to serve their son as his Master of Laws, but more importantly to Myrcella, he was going to share her bed as her husband and the father of her children. For years, she’d been able to hold onto only his memory to warm her bed at night. But now, she would get to spend hopefully every night for the rest of her life sleeping in his arms, happy, protected, cherished, and loved.

To think that her seeking kinship and understanding with her fellow bastard (or so she, and even he, believed) all those years ago would lead all the way to this!

The End