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Chapter Text

Almost 300 years ago, Aegon Targaryen invaded Westeros and united the Seven Kingdoms under one ruler. They defeated powerful and noble houses like House Gardener and House Lannister, and the Starks surrendered to avoid the destruction of their people. Aegon was then known as Aegon the Conqueror. Soon, Westeros belonged to the Targaryens. But they couldn’t have done it without one thing.

Dragons.

Those who didn’t believe they existed were quickly faced with the truth, right before a burning and painful death. Others surrendered, like the Starks. Aegon commanded his dragon, Balerion the Black Dread, to burn the swords taken from the conquest; melting them down to create the Iron Throne. A simple, flashy chair that great houses and rulers would fight over for centuries.

Besides the men and women, there were other beings that lived among or around the realms of men. Some believe that they are nothing but stories to entertain guests by the fire, others claim to have seen them personally. Beings like witches, shadowcats, white walkers, Children of the Forest, or even giants. Until the formation of the Seven Kingdoms, people didn’t believe dragons existed either. There is another creature that was born as a human, lives as a human, but with a unique aptitude. These people were called Shapeshifters, aptly named by their abilities to take the form of another creature, but only one. There is no way of telling when a shapeshifter will be born, or what they can become, but you can tell when someone is a shapeshifter by their unique hair coloring. Perhaps it’s one strand of blue, or red frames their face, redder than any ginger. Perhaps their ends turn yellow or purple. Any otherwise unnatural coloring of their hair is a telltale sign.

Because of their abilities, mankind placed great distrust in them. They say only one shapeshifter is born every generation, and few survive to adulthood since many parents or neighbors take action against raising what they assume would be a monster. Other parents, who grow attached to their child despite what they are, shave their heads to hide the sign, to give them a normal life. For those who survive, it’s become known that Shapeshifters are mainly horses, dogs, or cats. More powerful Shapeshifters could be basilisks, bears, or direwolves. There has never been a dragon shapeshifter, until one man. Rohar the Winged.

Without the dragons, the Targaryens would have lost their conquest of Westeros. But they didn’t always have the majestic beasts. 20 years before the invasion, that Shapeshifter approached Aegon’s father with a proposition.

A man draped in a dark cloak appears from the balcony of Lord Aerion Targaryen and his wife Lady Valaena Velaryon. A small newborn, Aegon, is asleep in his crib. The wind wafts through the open balcony as the father and mother stand at alert. Aerion quickly draws his sword as Valaena runs to her baby.

“Who are you?” Aerion demands. “How did you get in here??”

The cloaked and shadowed face turns towards the man, but Aerion still can’t see his face. “There were guards at your door, My Lord. My Lady.” The stranger answers. “But I found another way in.”

Aerion steadily walks in between the stranger and his wife and son. “What do you want?”

“You are Aerion Targaryen.” The stranger states more than asks. “And your son is Aegon.”

“What. do you want.” Aerion demands, taking a threatening step forward, but the man doesn’t budge.

The stranger slowly reaches up to the hood hiding his face and pulls it down. He’s a handsome man, with fair skin and ear-length wavy brown hair. His eyes are golden, almost glowing in the moonlight. Right behind his ears, however, the moon illuminates strands of green hair.

Aerion notices this and raises his sword higher. “You’re a Shapeshifter.” He states distrustfully.

The man smiles peacefully. “My name is Rohar, My Lord. And you have nothing to fear. I’m afraid storytellers like to create tales of my kind, but I assure you that they are false myths, and far from the truth.”

“They say Shapeshifters take the form of horses or pets.” Aerion begins, taking glances to make sure his family is still safe. “And when they let their guard down, they kill and eat the kids before disappearing.”

Rohar smiles humorously at the far-fetched story. “I promise you, I do not eat children. Or humans at all for that matter.”

“If that’s true, then what do you want?” Aerion demands again, the chilly breeze prickling at his skin.

“I have a gift to bestow upon your son for his name day.” Rohar states. “The child was born a few days ago, was he not? I apologize for being late, the winds were rather fierce.”

“You sailed here?” Valaena asks, speaking for the first time.

Rohar smiles at her, eyes squinting with friendliness. “Not quite.” He answers.

“If you think I’m letting you anywhere near my boy–”

Valaena interrupts him. “Aer. The Teller in the market told me of this. She prophesized that we shall see good fortune, and gifts will come our way. That it will change our lives. I assumed it was the healthy birth of Aegon. But perhaps…”

Aerion glances back at her, unsure. She looks at him, conflicted but hopeful as she finishes. “Perhaps this is also what she meant?”

As Aerion considers the possibility, Rohar speaks up again. “If it pleases you, My Lord, I can show you the gifts first, and you can decide if you’d like to keep them. I will not be offended if you do not.”

Aerion thinks about it for a few more moments before he sighs and lowers his sword, but stays between the stranger and his family. “Very well then. What do you have?”

Rohar gracefully walks towards a table, his back facing Aerion. It crosses his mind for a moment to slice the intruder down when he’s not looking, but that would be dishonorable. That, and his curiosity garnered the best of him. Rohar lifts his arms and a gust of black-ish grey smoke pours onto the table. The smoke clears as the man turns back around and steps back to present the gifts.

On the table sat three large eggs.

“What…” Aerion begins, brows furrowed at the large stones.

“Dragon eggs.” Rohar answers softly.

Aerion looks up at him, even more distrustful than before. “Dragons aren’t real. What are those really?”

Rohar smiles at him. “Your son is destined for greatness. These eggs must be born of fire. One for Aegon, and one for each of your daughters.”

Aerion and Valaena look at each other, confused. “We don’t have any more children.” Valaena replies.

“Not yet.” Rohar nods and walks back to the balcony.

Aerion walks after him, not satisfied. “I still do not believe you, Stranger. Dragons are not real, what are those?”

Rohar stands up on the balcony railing and turns back to him before bowing respectfully. “If that is what you wish to believe, My Lord.”

With that, the man’s figure wafts off the balcony in a quick drag of smoke before reforming in the air as a large, winged beast, flying towards the moon. Aerion and Valaena run to the balcony, baby Aegon still asleep in his mother’s arms as they gawk at the sight.

Since then, they set the dragon eggs in the fire, and they hatched as beautiful and small creatures. The parents had two more children, two daughters, as if the Shapeshifter predicted it. Named Visenya and Rhaenys, the three siblings raised and grew alongside their dragons. Visenya rode Vhagar, Rhaenys rode Meraxes. And Aegon, soon-to-be-conqueror, rode the largest in history. Balerion the Black Dread. There has only been that one recorded history of a Dragon Shapeshifter.

Until I was born.

And I’m much less ethereal.

Chapter Text

If a dragon was forced to choose where to grow up somewhere in Westeros, I guarantee they’d choose the Eyrie. The tall, peaking mountains, the greatly elevated castle of the Vale, the arched stone bridges, all of which are easy to duck under and fly around. That is, if I was allowed to. Which I was not.

If I’m not needed, I’m all but locked inside a small wing of the castle. And since I was only 6 years old, I was rarely ever needed. So there I stayed, left alone to entertain myself. This was Lysa Tully’s idea, of course, after she became Lysa Arryn, an arranged marriage between her and my father, Jon Arryn, that solidified the alliance between House Tully and House Arryn to assist Robert’s Rebellion.

It’s no secret that my step-mother doesn’t like me, but it’s probably more because I’m a reminder of my mother more than I am a Shapeshifter. The rest is just easy ammunition to throw insults at me when my father isn’t around. When he is, he comes to my defense. I don’t think he cares what I am, but still holds a small grudge against me for the loss of his wife. I was raised mainly by Septa Darna, who was more of a mother to me than a Septa. She didn’t care what abilities I had, she just saw me for what I was: a small baby, confused by the world around her. She told me the distrust in Shapeshifters as I grew, and taught me how to style my hair to hide the (U/C) strands behind my ears and under the rest of my hair.

“People are rooted in their beliefs.” She said before when I asked. “If they see someone where they believe danger resides, they will act as such. You must stay safe, Little Fire. Many people cannot be themselves. You just carry that burden heavier than others.”

But I could be myself with her. She was the only one in the castle that still looked at me with the same happiness, no matter if I was in the form of a human, or a dragon. In the wing of the castle I reside in, there sits one of the libraries. Tall bookshelves encased in the wall, stretches high above our heads until it hits the ceiling. A staircase leads to the second floor, made of intricate orange wood. After begging Septa Darna for ages, she finally agreed, albeit incredibly unsure. Although she’s aged, she manages to hold my small body up into her arms as she stands at the railing of the second floor library loft. By now, we’ve done this countless times.

“Are you ready, My Lady?” Septa Darna smiles at me.

“Yes!!” I answer excitedly.

With a grunt, she manages to toss me off the loft and lean over the railing to make sure I’m safe. No matter how many times I catch myself, she still worries that I’ll get hurt. Before I fall too far, my body wisps away in a streak of black-grey smoke before reforming as a juvenile dragon, hovering in the open space. As my wings push down air to keep me up, stray papers fly along the desks and ground below. At 6 years old, I’m about as big as a direwolf as a dragon. With darkened scales, there are highlights of (U/C) over my body and within my wings, the same color as my usually-hidden hair. Unlike the dragons that the Targaryens had, I still have four limbs as my wings stretch from my back.

Before I can fly back up to Septa Darna to beg her to do it again, the library door opens with a quick creak. Our heads snap towards the entrance to see my father walk in with shock on his face, then disappointment. I drop to the ground and turn back in another wisp of smoke.

“Sorry, Father.” I apologize as I look down.

“I told you, no shapeshifting in the castle.” Jon berates angrily.

“But…I’m always in the castle.” I protest sadly.

He replies quickly, almost expecting my answer. “Then I guess no shapeshifting.” He sighs and rubs his hand over his face. “What if someone saw you?”

Septa Darna quickly makes her way back down the stairs. “My Lord, it’s my fault. She’s just a child.”

Before Jon can say anything more, Septa Darna tries to change the topic. “Have you any news from King’s Landing? It’s been a fortnight since Robert Baratheon claimed the throne.”

This seems to distract him enough, and it brings him back to the reason he’s here now. “He’s named me Hand of the King. I’m leaving for King’s Landing at first light.”

“You’re leaving?” I look up, surprised. “I’m going to be here with Lysa?”

He smiles down at me and kneels to get to my level, placing a hand on my shoulder. “No, you’re coming with me.”

“To King’s Landing?” Septa Darna and I speak at once. Both of our words are filled with surprise, but mine are also filled with excitement, as hers are with worry.

“Yes.” Jon nods, answering both of us but smiling at me. “You’re to come with me to King’s Landing and live in the Red Keep. And in time, you will marry…” He stops and shakes his head, knowing at this age, I won’t fully understand what that means anyways. “We’ll speak about it when you’re older.”

I bounce up and down, looking up at basically my only friend. “Septa Darna can you believe it? I’m getting out of the castle!”

She stands behind me, placing both hands on my shoulders. “To go live in another one.” She looks up at Jon as he stands. “Are you sure this is the right decision?”

“Lysa will give me a male heir. If she doesn’t, (Y/N) will return when she’s old enough and become Lady of the Vale.” Jon answers before looking down at me. “Go. Pack your things.”

“Yes, Father!” I exclaim before running out of the library.

Septa Darna meets his gaze again. “She won’t if you marry her off first. Who knows what kind of people will be down there. What if they discover what she is and try to kill her? And who could you be possibly planning to marry her off to?”

“(Y/N) will be safe.” Jon replies.

Septa Darna lowers her gaze. “In King’s Landing?”

“Yes.” He answers sternly. “And as for marriage, Robert is soon to take a wife. There’s hope that the new Queen, whoever he chooses, will produce a male heir. If not, there could be suitors in Highgarden, maybe Casterly Rock. There are two Clegane boys living in King’s Landing right now, about her age. An alliance with Clegane Keep would be fruitful. They create reliable soldiers.”

“They create brutes and rapists!” Septa Darna protests. “I’m sure Darron Clegane raises his sons the same!”

Jon pinches the bridge of his nose, quickly getting annoyed. “Fine. Then no Cleganes. The first choice is a prince anyway.” He looks back up at the septa, nodding to the door for her to leave. “Go. Say your goodbyes. We leave tomorrow.”

I quickly packed up my things, as I did not have a lot. Just some clothes, a small doll of a dragon that Septa Darna made me, and a few coloring supplies. However, the coloring supplies didn’t get fully packed, and are instead spread across the ground as I scribble drawings onto a few pages. The door cracks open and I look up to see Septa Darna walking though.

“Septa!” I smile, standing up to show her my most recent drawing. She kneels down to look at it. “Look, it’s of King’s Landing. That’s me, that’s my father, and that’s you!”

She smiles and gently grabs the picture. “My dear, I’m not coming with you.”

“I know,” I smile. “But you can come and visit!”

Septa Darna lays the picture on the ground and pulls me into a hug. It lasts a few moments before she pulls back and holds my shoulders, looking me in the eye. “Remember what I said about people and shapeshifters?”

“People are rooted in their beliefs.” I cite from memory.

She nods. “You must not show what you really are. And always style your hair like I have taught you. You are (Y/N) Arryn, daughter of Jon Arryn. For your own safety, you are nothing else. Do you understand?”

I nod, determined to listen. She raises her hands and lays them on each side of my cheek before she finishes. “And whatever you do. Stay away from Cleganes.”

It’s been a very rainy ride to King’s Landing so far. I look away from the decorated wooden window pane to look at my father sitting across from me in the carriage. Before I can think of opening my mouth, my eyes catch Lysa, who sits next to him. However, she’s not looking at him. Instead, she’s glaring daggers at me, almost daring me to say anything. Defeated, I look back through the window in boredom, counting the trees that we pass.

Lysa looks me up and down out of the corner of my eye before he huffs. “Even six-years old, she still looks too much like Jeyne.” She spits out in distaste.

Jon glances up at me from his papers before looking back down. “She is her daughter.”

Lysa grumbles before sneering at me. “It’s a shame you didn’t meet me first. I would’ve given you a child; a son. Not a lowly shapeshifter.”

I close my eyes at her words, but it’s nothing I haven’t heard before. Gross, pathetic, a monster, dirty, and lowly shapeshifter wasn’t even the worst. The worst was when people blamed me for my mother dying at childbirth. I learned what the word ‘murderer’ meant before I learned much simpler things.

Jon’s head snaps up to his wife before peeking out of the windows. “Shut your mouth, woman!” He hisses. “I don’t care if you don’t like her, I will not have her get killed. As much as you hate it, she’s still my daughter.”

Lysa quickly backs down, but not before giving me a final glare. Jon continues, reiterating a previous conversation. “If you can give me an heir, you’ll never have to see each other again. And I will never have to hear complaints about you not being able to bite your tongue.”

Lysa looks away, angrily chewing the inside of her cheek. Any other words exchanged on the trip were few and far between. Finally, we break the treeline and head down the final stretch of the Kingsroad, the growing castle on the looming horizon.

Riding within the city walls, it goes without saying that King’s Landing is a stark contrast to living inside the Vale’s castle. There were more people on one street than I saw in a full day. Countless new smells drifted inside the carriage, including warm cinnamon bread, burning coal, bad perfumes, and more. The striking of iron indicated the smiths of Flea Bottom, or at least that’s what my father informed me when I looked around in alert confusion. We finally cross the short bridge to the large gates of the Red Keep before the carriage pulls to a stop. My father stands from his seat before leaning towards me, tucking a small bit of (U/C) behind my ear.

“Alright. Let’s go.” He states, gently grabbing my hand. He opens the door for me and I hop out, eyes scanning up the tall castle. It’s not like I haven’t seen one before, but this one looked different. Made out of clay and tan stone bricks rather than the grey stone and marble of the Eyrie.

“Not you.” My father’s voice gets my attention and I turn back to see him stopping Lysa from exiting.

“What do you mean?” She asks, surprised.

He nods to the driver and tosses him a sack of coins for his service as he explains. “They’ve only permitted the entrance of the Hand and my daughter. You will have a night’s stay at an inn here before you return to the Eyrie in the morning.”

“But I–”

“There he is!!” A boisterous voice erupts behind us, grabbing all of our attention. A brawny man with a cheerful face and brown beard stomps towards us with his arms out, smiling at my father. “Lord Jon Arryn of the Eyrie! Or should I say, Lord Hand!”

“Your Grace.” My father bows at the hips as I look up at the man with interest and curiosity. My father notices my lack of curtsy and nudges my shoulder with his hand. My eyes widen in realization before I quickly and poorly bow like he did instead of picking up parts of my dress and curtseying like a Lady would.

My father smiles, slightly embarrassed. “Apologies, your Grace. She’s still young.”

“No need to apologize.” The man laughs. “I’m still a stranger to the formalities of royalty.”

My father introduces me. “This is my daughter, (Y/N) Arryn.” He then looks down at me. “This is King Robert Baratheon.”

“Hello.” I greet the large man quietly.

My father leans down and whispers in my ear. “Your Grace.”

“Your Grace.” I finish quickly, earning a laugh from both the King and my father.

King Robert waves me off, gesturing to the side. “Go on now. Let me have a word with your father.”

I follow his gesture to see a handful of kids of various ages. Some girls my age are sitting in a circle, with fabric and needles. A large boy is fighting a handful of other young boys, each of them with a wooden sword, and the larger one is easily beating them all. Another boy is sitting on his own with his back to a hay bale, fidgeting with something in his hands.

“Keep ‘em in line for me, can you do that?” King Robert asks with a smile.

I look up at him, unsure, before I look at my father. He nods at me to go, and I slowly begin walking to these strangers. It’s an easy decision to stay away from the fighting boys, and instead gravitate towards the girls. The other boy looks up at me as I walk towards the group. I meet his gaze long enough to see him scan me up and down, no doubt just observing the newcomer before he looks back down. Now that I’m closer, I see a small wooden knight in his hands.

I slowly stop in front of the girls, who look up at my presence. “..Hi…” I greet, fidgeting with some fabric of my dress.

“Hello!” One greets. “What’s your name?”

“(Y/N) Arryn.” I answer, and the others look up in recognition. Behind me, even the lone boy looks up as he eavesdrops.

“You’re the Hand’s daughter!” Another girl states. “My name is Railey Baratheon, King Robert’s niece.”

“I’m Amarda.” The first one states, standing up to reach out her hand to formally shake. “Amarda Harker. My father is a chef in the Red Keep!”

I shake her hand as the last one introduces herself. “My name is Jaennis Slynt. My father is the head of the City Watch.”

“Do you know how to knit?” Jaennis asks, holding up her rough quilt. It seems she doesn’t either, but not too bad for a young child.

“No,” I smile sadly. “I was never taught.”

“What do you know how to do?” Railey asks rather bluntly.

“Um…” I think about it before getting an answer. “I like to draw. And I like to…” Fly. “Fight.”

Amarda looks at me, unsure. “You like to fight? Like a knight?”

I nod as I continue. “I wasn’t taught, I just watched the Knights of the Vale train, and I wanted to learn. I took a wooden sword and practiced on the bedposts in my room. Though I’m not that good.”

“What an odd thing for a lady to do.” Amarda wonders out loud, and my smile slightly falls.

“Is it?” I ask, worried I seem weird.

“Didn’t your mother teach you to knit or cook?” Railey asks.

“N-no…” I answer before I hear footsteps approach behind me.

“You fight?” A boy’s voice calls out.

The girls’ faces fall and look down as I turn around. The large boy who was fighting off the others peers down at me. He has chubby cheeks and angry grey-ish blue eyes and brown hair.

“Not really.” I answer honestly, unsure of how to speak to this boy. “My name is (Y/N) Arryn.”

“Beating you would be icing on the cake after beating all of these boys.” He states, taking a step forward.

“Leave her alone, Gregor.” Another boy’s voice calls past him. He turns around, following my own gaze, to see the other lone boy walking towards us.

“Why don’t you shut it, Sandor?” Gregor threatens, but the other boy doesn’t stop.

“That’s the Hand’s daughter, you daft oaf.” Sandor informs, stepping in between Gregor and I. “If you lay a finger on her, not even Father could save you.”

Gregor clenches his jaw before turning away abruptly and stomping towards the practice dummies again. I look at the boy in front of me as he turns around. He’s about my height, brown hair, and brown eyes.

“Ignore him.” He says, scanning over my face. “It’s what I do.”

I smile. “Thank you…”

“Sandor Clegane. That was my brother, Gregor.”

My smile fades slightly, and I hope he didn’t see it. “Clegane?”

He nods, looking at his feet like a shy boy. “My Father sent my brother and I to King’s Landing as a gift to Robert’s success. We are to train, and he says that if we train fast enough, we will become sworn shields to Robert’s future children.”

“That sounds…fun.” I try to politely say, but he sees through it.

He smiles at me. “I’m about as eager about it as you seem to be. My Father says the Red Keep is filled with rich cunts.”

I open my mouth in surprise at his language. “Wha-...what does that mean?”

Sandor smiles, showing his teeth as he shrugs. “I don’t know what it means, but that’s just what he used to say.”

I giggle and look down at his hand, still seeing the grey wooden knight in his hand. “I like your knight.” I say.

Sandor seems to remember he has it, and raises it up to look at it again with a blush. “I like your–...dress.” He stammers out.

“(Y/N)!” A voice belonging to my father calls out to me.

I look over to see him waving me on as King Robert barks orders to his men. I look back at Sandor sadly. “I have to go. But maybe we can see each other again?”

“We both live in the Red Keep, it’s likely.” He clears his throat and holds his hands behind his back formally. “My Lady.” He bows before turning to walk away.

I blink in surprise. That was the first time anyone’s ever bowed. Septa Darna basically raised me, and I’m still young, so there was no use to being formal like so. As I hurry back to my father, and he leads us through the Red Keep, I can’t help but think about Septa Darna. Specifically, how she warned me about the Cleganes. The other brother, Gregor, didn't seem friendly, but Sandor did. Maybe not all Cleganes are bad. After all, she used to say not all Shapeshifters are bad either.

Chapter Text

A few months living in King’s Landing, and Robert has chosen a new wife. A golden-haired lioness named Cersei Lannister, bringing that pompous family into bigger royalty than they already had. I don’t know anything about them, but Sandor says they’re pompous. I’ve seen Cersei Lannister before, and she smiles at me when she sees me. As the months went on, however, she seemed less and less happy and more hateful and bitter. Her brother, Jaime Lannister, was already living in King’s Landing. He was the one who killed Aerys Targaryen, The Mad King, and was named part of Robert’s Kingsguard. Their other brother, Tyrion Lannister, came with Cersei. A dwarf who I don’t think I’ve ever seen completely sober before.

I still lose my way around the castle. Then again, I’ve never had a whole castle to roam before. Even though certain parts are closed off for anyone other than council members or the royal family, it’s still a vastly huge difference from the wing of the Eyrie. However, I did stumble upon the training grounds. Day by day I would make an effort to walk down and watch the knights and Kingsguard train. Then afterwards, the new trainees would practice. This included Sandor, and unfortunately, his brother. I told my father about my interest in learning how to fight, but he said that it was “unbefitting for a lady”. I know he hoped that that would be the last of it, but I bring it up again whenever it fits into conversation. Still, I’ve been unsuccessful in swaying his decision, so I decided to take it into my own hands. I swiped a wooden practice sword from an angry brute and hid it in my room.

That’s where I am now, hitting and countering on my bedpost, trying to spin to create a fancier counter down on one knee, but failing miserably.

“You’re never going to kill anyone if you do it like that.”

I straighten up in surprise and turn at the voice, hiding my wooden sword behind my back. At the door, I don’t see my father or a guard, but Sandor.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, visibly relaxing.

Over the past few months, we’ve become good friends. However, he’s usually busy with training and preparing to become a sworn shield. When we happen to find each other with some free time, we like to chat or play games.

Sandor grins at me, his brown eyes twinkling in the morning sun. “I have been sent to guard you.” He states, standing upright with his hands behind his back. “As practice.” He finishes.

“Practice?” I echo, confused.

He shuts the door as he explains. “To prepare me to become a sworn shield. To get used to being aware of all of my surroundings and any possible threats. My father ordered my brother and I to protect someone for the day.”

“And he assigned you to me?” I ask, returning to my bedpost.

“Well, no…I chose you. I just saw it as another way to spend time together.” Sandor explains hesitantly, but covers it up with a smile. “I would say it looks like you don’t need it at all, but you’re doing it all wrong.”

I huff and shake my head. “And you’d be the expert?”

He smiles as he walks forward. “No, but I know more than you do. Your grip is too low, and your form is sloppy.”

“Sloppy?!” I turn to him offended, but smiling.

“At best.” He bites with a grin of his own.

“You are relieved of your duties.” I state before turning back, subconsciously adjusting my grip and thinking about my form.

“Here, try this.” Sandor suggests, grabbing the hilt of the fake sword and readjusting my grip the right way before making sure I don’t lean too far back. “Keep your feet under you or you’ll lose your balance.” He explains.

I jump forward and hit the sword against the post, before countering in my own little flourish. It’s bad and I still swayed a little, but I didn’t outright fall unsteady. Behind me I hear Sandor clap. I turn back with an embarrassed smile, but I still don’t want him to know that he actually helped.

“I would’ve gotten there eventually.” I state matter-of-factly.

“The enemy would’ve gotten there first, and you’d be dead.” He retorts.

I sigh and look down at the handle. “You’re the only one who doesn’t laugh in my face when I want to learn how to fight. Or tell me it’s too dangerous or odd for a ‘lady’.”

Sandor shrugs, and folds his hands behind his back again. “If women fought, armies would be twice the size.”

I smile and toss my practice sword on my bed, beckoning him to follow me towards a small food table. “Are you hungry?”

“I’m…not sure if I’m allowed to eat on the job.” Sandor answers hesitantly.

“Aren’t you supposed to guard me all day?” I ask, grabbing a piece of bread.

“Yes, My Lady.”

“Surely you’re supposed to eat at some point.” I reply, pulling out a chair for him before sitting in my own.

“Where did you get that sword anyway?” Sandor asks as he sits down. “I can’t imagine your father gave it to you.”

“He didn’t.” I smile. “I stole it.”

“From the training grounds?” Sandor grins.

“From…your brother.” I reply, and his smile fades. I quickly explain. “Gregor has dozens, he’d never even notice it was missing.”

Sandor leans forward. “You cannot let him find out, ever. He doesn’t like things being taken from him. If he sees you with it, tell him you got it from me.”

I look between his eyes, confused with his concern. Is Gregor really that bad?

“Okay.”

"Do you miss her?" Sandor asks, continuing his barrage of curious questions about my life as he lays back across my bed. The day has passed, and now the moon rises over King’s Landing.

"Every day." I nod, laying on my back alongside him, but the other way. "Septa Darna was the best. She called me 'Little Fire'."

"Why?"

"Because when her hands were cold, she'd grab onto mine. Mine were always warm. That, and...a few other reasons." I trail off.

“Is it cold in the Vale?” Sandor asks.

“Mm…sometimes.” I answer. “It gets pretty rainy. And it gets a bit drafty that high up as well.”

“High up?” Sandor asks. “So it’s true that the Eyrie sits on the highest mountain in the Vale?”

“I guess.” I answer again, reaching around the bed until I find the cluster of grapes. “Maybe not the highest mountain, but it’s very high up. And that’s why it’s drafty.”

“Eugh.” Sandor grimaces. “I hate that word.”

“Drafty?” I question.

“No, ‘mountain’.”

“Why do you hate the word ‘mountain’?” I ask, popping a grape in my mouth.

“That’s what my brother calls himself. ‘The Mountain’.” Sandor explains, and I can hear the distaste in his words.

“The Mountain?” I smile, sitting up. “He’s just a boy.” I laugh. “He’s a hill, at best. An ant hill.”

Sandor grins up at me. “Don’t let him hear you say that, I don’t want you to get flayed.”

I laugh and grab another grape, throwing it at him. He flinches as it bounces off his arm before finding the grape and throwing it back at me.

“And what about you?” I ask.

“What about me?” Sandor questions.

“What do you call yourself?”

He sighs and looks away. “I don’t call myself anything.”

“You lie!” I exclaim, nudging his knee with my hand. “I can tell you’re lying.”

Sandor sits up and shakes his head. “You’re going to laugh.”

“I’m not!” I promise.

“You are!” Sandor insists. “You’re laughing now!”

“No, I apologize, I was thinking about something I saw earlier. Go on, tell me.”

He rolls his eyes and sighs again. “I thought about calling myself The Hound.”

“The Hound?” I grin and he shakes his head. “But you’re more like a puppy.”

“I am not!” Sandor argues.

“You’re like a little puppy!” I repeat, laughing. Even he joins me. “Or like a bear, like a small baby bear.”

“Are you calling me a bloody Umber?” He questions and I tilt my head in confusion.

“An Umber?” I smile. “You mean a Mormont?”

“Ah,” He waves me off. “I don’t care enough to learn the damn Houses.”

“Well maybe you should.” I state.

He looks after me with a smile. “Do you even know your House sigil?”

“A white falcon, obviously.” I answer. “I’m an Arryn, how could you think I wouldn’t know my House’s sigil?”

His smile fades as he lets my words sink in. He looks down at his hands. “But you won’t always be.”

My smile fades with his, wondering what went wrong. “What do you mean?”

“My father says you are to be married when you get older. Then you’ll leave and your last name will change.”

“Married?” I repeat with slight disgust.

Sandor nods before he continues. “He says there will be many suitors for the Hand’s daughter if the King and Queen don’t produce a male heir.”

I scoff. “I don’t want to marry anyone. Especially not someone I don’t know.”

“What if you had a choice?” Sandor asks. “That you could pick anyone from Westeros?”

I sigh and fall back against my pillows. “I don’t know everyone in Westeros.” I begin. “But out of those I do know…”

I look down at him with a smile. “Why not you?”

“Me?” Sandor repeats with surprise. “Why me?”

“We get along well, don’t we?” I ask, sitting back up. “Everyday could be like today, where we talk and play games and eat snacks.”

He smiles, but it fades once again as looks down at his hands. “As a sworn shield, I’m not allowed to marry.”

“Oh…” I reply, disappointed at the thought. It returns me to reality, where I’ll be forced to live with someone I don’t know and probably won’t like or get along with.

“Is it true that there’s a dragon that lives in the Vale?” Sandor asks.

I look up, surprised. “Where did you hear that?”

He shrugs. “It’s just a tale. That a dragon lives among the mountains, and when people are sent through the Eyrie’s moon door, the beast eats them up.”

“Dragons are not beasts!” I insist, offended that he’d say that, and saddened that that’s what he thinks.

Sandor leans back, surprised at my response. “Seven Hells, I didn’t mean to offend you.”

I sigh and look down at my hands, embarrassed. “No, I’m sorry. I…just like dragons.”

“I can tell.” Sandor laughs. “So is it true then? That there’s still another dragon alive?”

“Not exactly.” I answer, unsure of how much I want to tell him, or if I even should.

“What does that mean?”

I groan to myself and look around, sure that someone is spying on me. “I can’t tell you. My Septa and my father told me not to tell anyone.”

Sandor leans forward, immediately interested. “Oh, come on! You have to tell me now!”

“I can’t!” I insist.

“You can, too.” He quickly responds. “We’re friends, I won’t tell anyone.”

It’s silent for a moment as I consider my options. “But what if I tell you and you don’t want to be friends anymore? Then you tell others, and then they kill me?”

“Kill you?” Sandor questions. “Bloody Hells, what are you hiding?”

“I need you to promise me, Sandor.” I beg. “Promise me on your life that you won’t tell a soul.”

Sandor looks at me for a moment before nodding. “...I promise I won't tell a soul.”

I take a deep breath and decide to show him rather than say it. I raise my hand and pull out a strand of (U/C) hair from behind my ear. He looks at it, more confused than surprised.

“Your hair.” He states. “It’s (U/C)? How did you get it (U/C)?”

“I-...I was born with it.” He blinks at me, still lost. I guess I’ll need to outright say it after all. “I’m…I’m a Shapeshifter.”

He tilts his head with a smile. “You are not. I was told that Shapeshifters were gross, hairy beasts that looked part animal, part human.”

“That’s not true.” I shake my head. “Well…I don’t know. Not for me at least. I’ve never met another Shapeshifter.”

Sandor looks at me suspiciously. “You’re really a Shifter?”

I nod as I tuck the strand of hair back away from prying eyes. He still looks at me as if I’m lying. “Then what can you turn into?”

“A dragon.” I state, and he laughs to my surprise.

“Now I know you’re lying.” Sandor exclaims. “There’s only been one Dragon Shapeshifter, and they say he tried to steal the first dragon eggs from the Targeryens. That was centuries ago, and last I checked, you are not centuries old.”

“Well last I checked, I was not a man either!” I argue. “I swear to you that I am one, I swear it! That's also why my septa called me Little Fire, I swear!”

“Then prove it.” Sandor suggests.

“I…I can’t. I was told not to.” I say sadly. “I don’t care if you don’t believe me, I just wanted to finally tell someone about it. To tell you.”

Sandor’s eyes scan my face, looking for any sign of deception or jokes. When he sees none, just a nervous girl, he sighs, “Okay, I believe you.”

“You do?” I ask, surprised.

“You’ve never lied to me before.” Sandor explains. “But at some point, I would like proof, Little Fire."

“Deal.” I smile widely. “I’ll find a way to show you.”

The only other person I could be myself around was Septa Darna. Warmth fills my chest as Sandor still smiles at me, even after I told him what I was. Maybe he doesn't believe me, or maybe he's waiting for proof. But in any case, he isn't looking at me differently. Knocks on the door break us from our conversation. It opens with a creak and reveals my father. He sees us, and smiles at Sandor. “Sworn shields typically stand guard by the door.”

Sandor shoots up from the foot of my bed and hurries forward. “Apologies, My Lord Hand.”

My father looks at me. “Did he do well guarding you for the day?”

“Yes.” I answer, subtly pushing my wooden sword under my pillow. “He did very well.”

“Good.” My father looks down at him. “That will be all for today, thank you.”

“My Lord Hand. My Lady.” Sandor bows at us both before leaving the room.

My father closes the door behind him before he walks towards me and sits on the bed, laying back with a sigh.

“Are you alright, Father?” I ask, looking down at his deflated form.

“Being the King’s Hand is difficult. Being King Robert’s Hand is nearly impossible.” He states tiredly.

“Father?”

“Yes?”

“Sandor told me that I’m to be married when I grow up.” I restate. “But what if I don’t like who I marry?”

He looks up at me. “People don’t get married because they like each other.”

“They should.” I argue.

“Aye, they should. I had that once, with your mother. But if the Queen produces an heir, you could get to know each other as you grow. There’s a great chance you’ll marry him. That way, you can stay here and be the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.”

My eyes narrow at the thought. “I heard that the royal family is a bunch of pompous cunts.”

My father’s tired eyes shoot open. “Where did you hear such language?”

“..Sandor told me. But he learned it from his father. What does it mean?”

“Nothing that a little girl should know. Or a little boy, for that matter.” My father answers, standing and pulling the covers back for me to crawl in. “You like that boy?”

“He’s my friend.”

“Aye, and the only friend I see you spending time with. Maybe if a prince isn’t born, you can marry him.” My father suggests.

“He told me sworn shields cannot marry.” I state, wrapping myself up in my blanket.

“I’m the Hand of the King, perhaps I can provide him with a different job.” He responds before he feels something hard under my pillow.

My stomach drops as I watch him pull out the wooden sword. He looks down at me with a smile. “And where did you get this?”

“...around.” I respond quietly.

He sighs. “You are persistent, I’ll give you that. But I don’t want my only child being slain on the battlefield.”

“Who says I’d be the one dying?” I respond with a smile.

My father laughs, and after a moment of hesitation, he slides the sword back under my pillow. “Sleep well.”

“Goodnight.”

I awake to the sound of chatter and quick steps in the hall outside my door. Worried that something is wrong, I push myself off my bed and hurry towards the door. Before I can reach it, it swings open, revealing my father.

“Father?” I ask, still drowsy from waking up seconds prior. “What’s happening?”

He sighs and kneels down, holding my shoulders. “It’s your friend, the Clegane brother.”

“Sandor?” I ask, immediately awake with worry. “What happened? Has he been hurt?”

As much as he wanted to say no, he couldn’t bring himself to lie. He nods and takes my hand, leading me down the stone halls. “He suffered a burn across his face. They say his bed caught on fire after he kept a candle on in his sleep.”

“Is he okay?” I ask.

“He’s awake, but the Maester’s say he’ll live with the wound for the rest of his life.” My father answers as he turns the last corner.

We reach a door, already cracked open with nurses and the Grand Maester on the other side. He pushes the door open and lets me in. I see a figure lying under the covers in his bed, and my father ushers the others out for a short while. Sandor’s head and shoulders poke out of the blanket covers. The right side of his face is wrapped up in soft fabric, and his one shown eye is closed.

“Sandor, are you okay?” I ask.

His eye opens and he looks towards me before trying to turn away. “Don’t look at me.”

“What happened?” I ask regardless.

“My brother.” He answers, shakiness clear in his voice. He turns his head back to me and I can see his eye tearing up, already red from previously crying. “He pushed my face into a brazier and held it there. My brother.”

I reach forward and place my hand on where his would be under the blanket. Tears fall out of his uncovered eye, and he winces at the pain on his burnt skin from contorting to cry, which only makes him want to cry more.

“All because I borrowed his wooden knight to play with, to make his and mine fight. It took three men to pull him away. And my father, he told everyone my bed caught on fire. My bed!” Sandor cries. “Not even a fool would believe that.”

“Sandor…” I say sadly.

“Now everyone looks at me like…like I’m something to be pitied. Like I’m a little burned monster. A scar so ugly people can’t look away from it.”

“I’m sure it’s not that bad.” I say, trying to be supportive. “And if it is, I won’t see you any differently.”

“They don’t know if I’m going to be able to keep my eye.” Sandor glares down at me. “And you say it’s not that bad?”

“I didn’t mean it like–”

“You look at me like that too.” He interrupts. “Like I’m less than I was. Poor, helpless, weak Sandor Clegane, scarred for life by his own brother. A freak."

“I don’t think you’re a–”

“Get out.” He demands, moving his hand away from mine under the covers.

“...Sando–”

“Get out!” He closes his eye. “Just…leave me alone.”

I look down in defeat. Hesitating for a moment, I wipe away my own tears before bowing as a way to say goodbye. “I wish you quick healing, Sandor. I’m sorry this happened to you.”

He doesn’t turn to look at me as I walk away, or as I give him one last look before I step outside the door. It wouldn’t surprise me if he didn’t look at me for years afterwards.

Chapter Text

Within the year, Queen Cersei birthed a baby boy. A little blond-haired stag named Joffrey Baratheon. Neither him nor the Queen was seen for a few weeks after the birth, but finally she presented her baby to the Red Keep. It seemed like her first genuine smile since her wedding. After a few years, Sandor was finally prepared enough to become Joffrey’s sworn shield, although he still trained on the side.

Soon after the incident with Sandor, my father finally relented and hired a personal instructor to teach me how to fight, and how to fight well. Official talk of a girl being trained never left the Red Keep, only chatter and rumors passed on by the traders or chefs. After his injury, Sandor was back on his feet in a matter of days. But I didn’t bother to visit him, nor did he bother to visit me. We would sometimes see each other during dinner in the dining halls, or when we attended larger meetings. It was a pattern, where we’d notice each other immediately but make it a point not to look at the other for the rest of the event, whatever it may be. Sometimes I would spare a glance at him, but most of the time he was either focused on whoever was talking or staring at a wall, waiting for permission to leave. It was incredibly rare that I’d catch him looking at me, but when I did, he’d either look away or continue with the eye contact for a few seconds, his bored but angry gaze silently telling me what he thinks about me. At first, I would glare at him back, hoping I could tell him what I think about him as efficiently as he does. As the years passed, I stopped caring. My eyes grew tired, empty. If our eyes ever met he could see that. He could see the grudge slowly disappear and become replaced with faded disappointment. Few words were passed between us; a simple ‘pardon me’ if he was in my way, or a low ‘My Lady’ when he left a room. Other than that, new residents of the Red Keep would assume we never knew each other or officially met.

Then I started training with the men. I was excelling in my own training, and my instructor had almost nothing left to teach me one-to-one. He said I now needed to learn how to fight alongside people, and against multiple opponents. I was happy to, and even happier when I learned that Gregor wasn’t allowed to train with the others anymore, due to killing many of them, either by accident or not. He stopped working to become a sworn shield, but still had a near passion for fighting and killing. Robert created a new position just for him, and named him “A Royal Sword”. In reality, it’s just a fancy term for a dog who would kill whoever the owner points at. A perfect job for the now Ser Gregor. Officially, Gregor is sworn to House Lannister and not House Baratheon, but Robert disregarded this difference because it was all the same to him.

As I trained with the knights and sometimes the Kingsguard, I would see Sandor more often. He rarely trained alongside others, but still came during and practiced on his own. It was only when a handful of the friendlier Kingsguard challenged me, and I picked them off one-by-one until only Ser Barristan and I were left that The Hound seemed to pay more attention to me.

Ser Barristan smiled at me and sheathed his sword. “Well done.”

“You’re not going to fight me?” I asked, hesitant to let down my guard.

“I’d rather word not get out that the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard was beaten by the Hand’s daughter.” He joked, walking towards the refreshments as his Kingsguard knights slowly stood.

I followed after him, a victorious pep in my step. “I was getting tired, you probably would have beaten me.”

“Maybe.” He replied. “But let’s end your training on a good note. Not everyone can take down part of the Kingsguard at once. Especially not…”

“Not what? A woman?” I challenged.

“Apologies, My Lady.” Ser Barristan smiled. “I did not mean to offend. It is still new to an old man like me to fight alongside a woman.” He gestured to his men, who were either leaving to get drunk or tending to their sore bruises. “But if all women fought like you, I see no reason to stop with one woman soldier.”

I smiled at him, silently wincing at my own soreness in my arm. “Thank you, Ser Barristan.”

“Rest well, My Lady.” He bowed before turning to leave.

Left alone, I finally let myself grab my sore shoulder, trying to rub out the pain. Hoping I can sleep it off, I reached forward to grab my water canteen. As I took a few gulps, I heard footsteps behind me.

“You better be careful, or those fucks will force you into the Kingsguard.” A voice spoke behind me.

I turned, curious of who it belonged to, but I nearly spit back into my canteen when I saw The Hound. He was taller, sprouted up much faster than I had or ever would. His burn scar was clear on his face, but it’s healed over the years. He let his hair grow out in an effort to cover it up, either that or he didn’t care enough to cut it. He started growing his beard out, but it’s still new. He wore black chainmail armor with layered shoulder pads that spread down his arm with spaulders, lames, rerebraces, and couters before connecting to his armored gloved hands. Even as a teen, you could tell that the armor only bulked him up slightly, and his strength is apparent underneath.

“Uh…” I began, not knowing what to say. “I don’t imagine I’d look good in golden armor. There’s no point in looking pretty if you’re just going to get it scratched up and bloody.”

I could barely see the corner of his mouth lift up in a smile before it faded away again, his tired and indifferent brown eyes looking into mine. He looked to the side of my head before raising his hand towards my face. I flinched slightly, not expecting the man to touch me after years of ignoring that the other exists. He retracted his hand with an expectant sigh before pointing to my ear.

“You might wanna cover that up.” He murmured, walking past me. “Before people see the (U/C).”

I looked after him as my stomach dropped, immediately unsheathing a dagger to use as an emergency mirror. Sure enough, (U/C) hair was clearly falling in front of my ear. Did Ser Barristan see? Did any of the Kingsguard? If there was a manhunt for me before the sun falls, I guess I’d know my answer.

“My Lady?”

I quickly fixed the rest of my hair to the best of my ability before turning with a polite smile at the incoming visitor. I bow my head in respect. “Ser Jaever.”

Jaever Umber is the great nephew of Lord Jon of House Umber in the North. He’s a stout boy, no older than I, but just a bit taller. His green eyes contrast well with his brown-orange hair. The other girls loved to swoon over him, and even attend training just to watch him. And while he eats it up with his charming smile, that didn’t seem to be enough for him. Either he wanted all of the attention, including mine, or he just wanted mine. Either way, he wasn’t getting what he wanted in the way that he wanted it.

“Not a Ser yet, My Lady.” He grinned, running his hand through his hair.

I smiled back, eyes landing on Sandor across the training square behind him as he gathered his things to leave. “Perhaps I’m trying to speak it into existence.” I replied, smiling back up at Jaever.

“Speak away, My Lady.” He nodded. “Perhaps it will give me a better chance at becoming one. I know of no one better to give me her good blessing.”

I gave a light laugh and shook my head. “You flatter me, but I can think of plenty others.”

“None quite like you.” He quickly replied, causing me to suspect he planned out this conversation beforehand.

I rested my hand on his shoulder before I passed. “I’ll be seeing you.”

“I hope so.” He stated after me.

With my back turned towards him, my smile fell as I sighed. As I walked past Sandor, he stood up straight with his things. We made eye contact as he looked down at me.

“There you go. Your pretty boy can wear the pretty golden armor for you.” He stated with disgust.

I furrowed my brows in confusion, but before I could question him, he had already left the training grounds.

And that was basically the only real conversation we had for a while, as pathetic as it was, but it was not the only time we were around each other. One night, after staying late to train on my own, I was late to the dining hall. The Hound’s broody persona warded off most guests, and since I was late, there was nowhere else to sit besides next to him. Not wanting to make a big deal out of it, I sat and hoped he would disregard me without looking up to know who it was. However, out of the corner of my eye, I could see him look up and scan me before returning to his meal. We ate in silence, except for him cursing under his breath when his mug ran out of wine. Finished with my meal, I pushed my half-empty mug towards him before I stood to leave.

At the next dinner, he sat next to me, even when we were both there relatively early and there were plenty of seats. Since then, a few times a week we’d sit next to each other, barely uttering any words besides a complaint from him, whether it be “I hate this fucking song.” or “The wine is shit today.” or me offering him some food from my plate that I didn’t feel like eating.

It was one dinner where I was late again and I walked in starving, and I looked up to see him move his sword off of the seat next to him, that I realized how deep the wordless re-blossoming friendship went. I thanked him as I sat and told him that he didn’t need to save a spot for me.

“Didn’t want to hear you complaining about eating in the halls, is all. And I wanted your wine.” He mumbles, remaining stoic and disinterested as if he didn’t intentionally save me a spot.

I laughed under my breath as I began to eat, but I didn’t notice that my laughter caused Sandor to feel nearly sick. A spark in his chest quickly turned into a sinking feeling before dropping right into his gut, though none of it showed on his face. We finished our dinners in silence like normal, and I gave him the rest of my wine like normal. But then the next day, he was nowhere to be found. He’s broody, but he’d never skip dinner. Even barely turned 20, he’s still a big man and he eats as much as he can, knowing he’ll burn it all off in a single training session.

I sat down, silently disappointed. Before I began eating, I placed my own sword next to me to save him a seat, just like he had before. Almost instantly I was joined by Jaever and his ever-growing flock of blushing women. Although part of me appreciated the slight conversation that Jaever and I would have in between the girls asking him countless questions, I still preferred the silent dinners with Sandor. All of our dinners were basically done, except for some of the girls’, who were too busy trying to scoot around the others to get close enough to hold Jaever’s arm besides eating. Sandor had still yet to enter, and I began to grow worried. Looking in my mug, nearly all of the wine was still there. I grabbed my sword and the wine before saying my goodnights to the others, my spot quickly being taken by another few girls.

I rolled my eyes as I took a sip of the wine, turning to back up into the door to open it with my ass since my hands were full. As I stepped away from the door and into the hall, I immediately spotted Sandor sitting on the ground with a bowl of soup from the dining hall.

“There you are!” I smiled, walking towards him.

He barely looked up, basically only getting to my feet before looking back down at his soup. “I was wondering where you went, I saved you a spot. Didn’t want to hear you complain about eating in the halls.” I recited the previous comment of his before squatting down and offering the mug. “And I brought you my wine, of course.”

He finally looked up at my hand and dropped his spoon in the bowl before reaching over and taking the mug, gulping it down all at once. I smiled and moved to sit against the wall beside him, laying my head back against the stone and closing my eyes. He glanced at me as he set the mug down, but ultimately returned to the rest of his supper.

“Why are you sitting out here?” I asked, my eyes still closed.

He hesitated for a moment, eyes scanning my face before speaking. “...Didn’t want to sit with you.”

I opened my eyes and glanced at him, surprised and hurt. “Did I do something?”

“No.” He replied, eating another spoonful. “So I decided to stop being a baby and go in there anyways. But then I saw you already had guests. So I got my food and left.”

“I still saved you a seat?” I suggested.

“You think I wanted to sit by you and your pretty boy?”

“My pretty boy?” I repeated. “Jaever isn’t my anyth–”

“Ah, so he has a name.” Sandor interrupted, tossing his empty bowl to the side.

“Everyone has a name.” I stated, sitting up. “What is your problem?”

Sandor got up with a grunt before walking off. Irritated, I got up and walked after him. “Sandor!”

“Will you shut your mouth?” He hissed over his shoulder. “You’re making a scene.”

“Then wait!” I followed him around a corner and grabbed his arm. He turned around and pulled his arm back before leaning down to me.

“We were friends for five seconds a lifetime ago.” He growled. “When are you going to move on?”

“Me?” I challenged, whispering for him now despite his words. “When you’re the one sulking around talking about ‘my pretty boy’, you’re telling me to move on when it’s so clear that you’re jealou–”

Sandor stepped  forward and put both hands on my shoulders before pressing me to the stone wall, not enough to hurt, but enough to shut me up. “We knew each other when we were children, what could I be jealous about?”

“You tell me.” I replied, venom lacing my words.

After a moment of thinking, he raised one of his hands up to reveal my hidden (U/C) hair. “You think he would keep your secret for so long? Or would he sell you out at a moment’s notice to become a knight? Or Lord Commander?”

I smacked his hand away and retucked my hair. “Then what’s stopping you, huh?” I retorted, leaning forward to regain some ground and hoping he couldn’t tell that my heart was racing. “This is the longest conversation we’ve had since we were kids, you hold no obligation towards me. Turn me in, reveal what I am. Get a sack of gold and then fuck off. If that’s what you desire then do it.”

He looked across my face, and it seemed like we were in this stalemate for hours, when it may have been only minutes. This close, and away from prying eyes, I cursed my face for blushing the way it did. If he noticed, he didn’t show it. Finally, he stepped back.

“I will never tell a soul.” He recounted the promise he made. Without another word, he turned and disappeared around the stone corner, leaving me to recollect my thoughts.

And that was the last conversation we had. Since then, we returned to the way it was before; avoiding eye contact during dinners or meetings, ignoring each other during training. Except now there weren’t any simple words either. No ‘pardon me’s’ from me. If he was in the way, I’d come back another time. No more ‘My Lady’s’ unless the formality was absolutely necessary. I hated the way things ended up. I hated that I loved seeing him but I couldn’t actually spend time with him anymore. I hated how my suppressed admiration for him grew as we did, as did my attraction for him when he went from a young man to a grown man. Unfortunately, even if he was interested, sworn shields still can’t marry or take interest. And while he became a grown man, I was becoming a grown woman. And no matter how skilled I was with a sword, I was still the Hand’s daughter, and still a strong pawn in marriage-alliances.

17 Years After Sandor’s Injury

After a long while of waiting, the door finally opens, revealing my father’s sorry smile. I uncross my legs and huff. “You call me up into the Tower of the Hand and you aren’t even here?”

“The Hand of the King has many responsibilities.” My father answers, shutting the door behind him.

I sigh and cross my arms over his desk, laying my chin on my arms while my fingers idly tap the wooden surface. “You might as well just call yourself the King if Robert’s too busy hunting and whoring.”

He sighs and pours two glasses of wine, handing one to me as he takes his seat with heavy relief. I sit up and take a sip before leaning back in my own chair.

“So what can I help you with, My Lord Hand?”

He scans my face, thoughts racing behind his eyes. I can tell he has something he wants to say. “What is it?” I ask, my question genuine.

He shakes himself out of it and smiles. “Something that’s long overdue. You are a highborn woman of 3-and-20.”

“Don’t…” I begin, and with a knowing smile he continues.

“You will need to marry.” My father states.

“No…” I complain.

“And Robert is already talking of a marriage to Joffre–”

“Joffrey is a bitch!” I complain. “Somehow even more so than his tight-faced mother. He’s cruel and evil, he torments animals for fun and I know you know that. There has to be someone better.”

My father sighs with a smile, his eyes tired. Being the hand for almost two decades does a lot on someone. “There is Ser Loras from Highgarden?”

I lower my gaze. “Ser Loras? I believe he’s already intertwined with one of the Baratheons, I wouldn’t think he’d see the need to marry an Arryn. Or a woman.” The last part was under my breath, but he hears it and chuckles.

“Lysa produced a male heir.” He begins, and I look away. “With Robin as Lord of the Vale and you marrying into a noble family, the Arryn’s may become as powerful as the Lannisters.”

I reach forward to grab my wine cup again. “I can’t say it’s been a goal of mine to be like the Lannisters.”

“No, but perhaps we can become as rich as them. Our people in the Vale will never go hungry.” My father wonders.

I sigh, massaging the bridge of my nose. “There has to be someone better than Joffrey Baratheon.”

My father’s eyes immediately seem distant, lost in thought. He looks down at a tome on his desk, ‘The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms’, troubled.

“But he’s not, is he?”

Confused, I lower my cup, trying to read my father’s face. “He’s not what? Sane?”

He looks up, immediately anxious as he looks at the door, then the window. He leans forward on the desk. “(Y/N), if something may happen to me, find someone you trust and show them this book.” He quickly says, gesturing the Lineage tome below him.

“What? If something happens to you– what are you talking about?”

“Just swear to me.” He pleads, scooting the large book towards me. “Give it to someone else and get as far away from the situation as possible.”

I scoff and push the book back. “I’m going to need more to go off than that.”

He groans to himself, and I can hear his foot tapping on the ground. He leans forward again, lowering his voice. “Joffrey, all of the children…they aren’t–”

Three knocks on the door surprise us both and we jolt. My father stands quickly and picks up the book before sliding it under his desk.

“You may enter!” My father calls.

The door opens and a familiar face steps through with a smile, but it never reaches his eyes.

“Lord Baelish.” My father greets.

“Apologies for interrupting, My Lord Hand. My Lady.” He nods to both of us. “May I have a moment alone with your father?”

I look back at my father cautiously, on edge because of the secret nature he’s exhibiting. He nods at me and I stand. I take one last sip of the wine before turning to leave, uttering a low “My Lord”, to Littlefinger as I pass by.

Littlefinger closes the door behind me before walking towards the desk. “My Lord Hand. My spies have told me that they’ve spotted you in the city. What surprised me more was that you visited my brothel. I am not one to judge, and if you ever need special–”

“It wasn’t anything of the sort.” Jon Arryn smiles. “I was told my wife, Lysa, was there. A prank, I’m afraid, as I did not know it was a brothel until I arrived.”

Lord Baelish smiles, nodding. “The youth always finds ways to entertain themselves.”

“That they do.” Jon clasps his hands together before walking towards the wine tray. “Would you like a cup?”

“You’re kind, thank you.” Lord Baelish nods as he takes a seat. Once he’s sure Jon’s back is turned, Baelish leans forward and pours a clear substance in Jon’s cup.

As I take the last step from the spiral staircase of the Tower of the Hand, I’m immediately met with a short blonde head, with a burly black chest behind him. I look down to see Joffrey smiling up at me. Behind him is The Hound, looking down at me with boredom, no doubt not enjoying who he’s been assigned to protect.

“My Lady.” Joffrey greets.

“My prince.” I bow my head. I don’t wear little dresses anymore, so I can’t curtsy the way a lady would. And I’m not a knight, so I don’t bow the way a man would. Instead, I just do it my own way. No one seems to mind, since my whole life could be defined as ‘doing it my own way’.

“Word is that we are to be married.” Joffrey states, smirking. “Since I am 6-and-10, and you are plenty old enough.”

“I’m only 3-and–” I stop myself and fake smile. “I have heard the same rumors.”

“Aren’t you excited?” He asks. “You would be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, rule by my side, and give me an heir.” He finishes as he looks me up and down.

I look up at The Hound, who looks away from Joffrey to look past us both after feeling my eyes on him. “It…sounds too good to be true.” I politely say. “But I-I’ve been holding off on the excitement until it’s more finalized. I wouldn’t want to get my hopes up.”

Joffrey continues, probably not even listening. “I would’ve hoped for a more lady-like bride, but you are still a princess, in a way. We can put you back in dresses. The Great Jon Arryn’s daughter, then Daughter of the Hand.” He continues, either not noticing or not caring about how awkward I feel. “And you still have made quite a name for yourself. The first woman to fight for the Crown. The first woman Royal Sword, the same position as The Mountain.”

I look up at Sandor instinctively, and he does the same to me. There are no women in the Kingsguard, there are typically no female knights, nor are there female sworn shields. I would’ve preferred to be Myrcella or Tommen’s sworn shield since they are actually good, but Cersei worried that the people would look down on them. Apparently having no bodyguard for her other children is better than the public opinion on having a female bodyguard. That left one probable job for me; A Royal Sword. The job that made me mentally call Gregor a dog that runs wherever the Crown points. And now that’s me too.

“It’s…an honor!” I chirp a lie, looking back down at the prince.

Joffrey follows my gaze and angrily looks back. “Is my dog bothering you?”

I shake my head and smile down at the wired brat. “No, My Prince.”

“He’s a bit ugly to look at, but he’s sworn to protect me and follow my orders.” Joffrey smiles and raises his elbow for me to take. I’m not dumb enough to hesitate to take it as he leads us down the hall, Sandor following behind.

“If you want him to dance, say the word and I’ll make it happen.” He laughs.

I give him an awkward smile and try to think of a way to get Sandor out of it. “I’m afraid dancing doesn’t entertain me.”

Joffrey looks over at me, interest piqued. “Oh? And what does, my future Queen?”

It takes everything in me not to openly grimace. Instead, my smile widens as I shrug. “Shows? Maybe a tournament but only when no one gets hurt too badly.”

Joffrey laughs, and it’s like metal scraping across stone. “But that’s the best part! When we marry, I will demand the biggest tournament Westeros has ever seen!”

I clear my throat, quickly being drained of dealing with this for this long. I can’t imagine how Sandor feels. “That would be lovely.”

Joffrey slows to a stop as we reach a crossroads. “For you, anything.” He turns towards me. “I must go now. A Prince has many responsibilities.” He reaches up and cups my face, and it feels like my skin is actively rejecting him. “Try not to miss me too much, My Queen.”

I smile, and I swear I feel like I’m going to tear up. “I will surely try.”

Satisfied, Joffrey steps back and glares at Sandor. “Come, dog.” He spits before walking away.

Sandor stays for another second, not wanting to follow him. In that time, I shudder and whisper where only he could hear it. “Brbruegh. I don’t know how you do it, I nearly retched.”

I hear a huff of laughter leave his nose, and look up to see a small smile before he turns to stride after the prince. I smile after him. I don’t care what Joffrey says, or what anyone says about Sandor behind his back. I don’t care about the burn, I still see him as the little boy who stood up for a stranger against his brother of all people. The same boy chose to guard me when we were kids just to spend time together. And the same man who’s kept my secret for almost two decades, even when we fell apart twice and generally avoided each other throughout our lives in the Red Keep. He’s just a human who was hardened at a young age and told he was ‘less than’ when his father protected Gregor. If he wasn’t also so damn stubborn maybe he could let down that guard around me.

I’m snapped out of my sleep as heavy, quick knocks rap against my door. Worried something happened, I blink myself out of my sleep and throw on a hooded cloak to hide my hair before opening the door. I’m more than surprised to see Sandor on the other side, looking down at me with regret and worry.

“What is it?” I ask, thinking that King’s Landing is getting attacked.

He hesitates for a moment, but only a short one. “Your father…”

Not even he could catch me in time before I’m brushing past him and sprinting down the hall. The hood falls from my head, but I don’t bother to cover myself back up. My only goal is to reach my father’s chambers.

“(Y/N)!” Sandor yells, running after me. He’s slower in general, being a bigger guy, but especially with his armor.

I finally turn the last corner and see my father’s door cracked. Before I get far, someone catches my arm and pulls me back.

“Let go!” I yell, hitting against Sandor’s chest.

“Quiet.” He whispers, pushing my hair back and pulling the hood over my head. He turns me and guides me quickly towards the door, a hand on my lower back.

I push the door open the rest of the way and see the Grand Maester along with a few nurses. They look towards us as Sandor waves them away. “Give her a moment.”

“M-My Lady,” Grand Maester Pycelle stammers. “We must…continue the watch over-over the Hand–”

“Give her a fucking moment alone with her father, you old fuck.” Sandor barks.

“Well!” Pycelle blinks, offended. “I’ll have a word with the King about this intrusion.”

“The King who’s known and loved that girl as if she was his own?” Sandor glares, leading him out of the door as the nurses hurry out. “Get out.”

As that goes on, I’ve walked towards my father and knelt by his bed. He’s bundled up in extra blankets, but his lips are tinted blue as if he’s freezing.

“Father…” I murmur, feeling the tears creep in my eyes.

Behind me, Sandor closes the door and stands guard in front of it, looking over sadly at us. I pull my hood down and rest my hand on my father’s. He cracks open his eyes and weakly looks over to smile at me.

“(Y/N)...” He then sees Sandor at the door behind me, and his eyes widen when he realizes my hair is completely down, long (U/C) strands on clear display. Before he can open his mouth to get him out, Sandor speaks up.

“I’ve known.” He assures. “I’ve never seen it, but she told me ages ago. I’ve never told anyone.”

My father looks unsure, but the fact that I’m not remotely worried about Sandor behind me sets his heart at ease. He smiles at Sandor. “Sworn shields typically stand guard by the door.”

Sandor nods. “I’m a slow learner, but I learn.”

Suddenly, my father erupts in a few raspy coughs. Blood trickles down his lip and I quickly grab a rag to gently wipe it off. He smiles weakly at me. “Do you…remember what I told you?”

My brows furrow in confusion before my stomach drops as my skin crawls. If something may happen to me.. he said.

“I will find who did this.” I say lowly.

“No…never mind me.” My father’s raspy voice mutters. “The tome is under my desk. Take it, give it to someone you trust, and never get involved again. I don’t want my first child to get killed.”

Tears fall down my cheek as I smile sadly. “Who says I’d be the one dying?”

He manages to laugh, before coughing again. I grasp his hand, needing more. “What’s in the book?”

My father sighs, looking between Sandor and I before ultimately pulling me closer to whisper. “The seed is strong.”

Knocks rap against the door again, and Pycelle’s voice can be heard on the other side. “Open the door, Hound! We must–”

“Shut it!” Sandor shouts back, hitting his fist against the wood.

“How do I know who to trust?” I ask quickly, knowing our time is running out.

“You won’t. Trust no one.” My father responds as Sandor walks up behind me, gently pulling my hair back and raising my hood. “Try to find someone who’s loyal to Robert, and only Robert out of everyone in this city.”

“Time’s up, Little Fire.” Sandor says, pulling me up to my feet.

“No! I’m not–” I pull myself out of his grasp and lean down, wrapping my father in a hug. My hood falls again in the action.

“It’s alright.” My father mumbles, hugging me back. He pulls me away and looks at my face before trailing his hand back to pull a bit of my hair forward, smiling at the Shapeshifter’s mark.

“I’ve always thought it was beautiful.” He says sadly, a tear falling down his own cheek.

I whimper in response, eyes squinting as tears fall. Sandor pulls me back against him and raises my hood up just as the door opens. He turns to glare at the Grand Maester.

“You must be a special kind of cold-hearted cunt to not let a daughter say goodbye to her father.” Sandor curses as the nurses hesitate to walk back in.

Pycelle ignores him and looks down at me, but I’ve long-since turned to cry in Sandor’s chest. “My Lady, I-I apologize but, but–”

“Shut the fuck up.” I hiss as Sandor leads me out of the room. I spare one last glance towards my father. I see him smiling at me just before the wall takes him out of view.

He passed away in his sleep that night. Sandor stayed with me in my room all night, not caring about the repercussions he’d face in the morning. We sat in front of my bed as I cried myself to sleep, and as I woke, I didn’t need anyone to tell me that my father was gone. I already knew; I could feel it. His absence. If I didn’t feel the steady breathing against me as I woke, I would’ve felt completely alone. I lift my head to see Sandor asleep with his head back against the foot of my bed. I push myself up, and his hand falls from my shoulder to my waist. The motion wakes him up and he takes a deep, slow breath as he looks down. We make eye contact, but nothing needs to be said. What could either of us even say? ‘Sorry for your loss’? ‘Anyway, wanna train later’?

My eyes are puffy from crying, but I’m reminded that I have a task to do. I push myself up and walk towards my mirror, already in the process of styling my hair to hide the mark. Satisfied, I turn and walk towards the door, grabbing my sword belt and strapping it to my waist on the way.

“Where’re you going?” Sandor asks, still dizzy in his mind from just waking up.

“Come with me if you want.” I state simply as I open the door.

As I walk down the stone hall, bright morning light peaks through the windows, almost blinding me each time I walk past one. It’s eerily silent. Even if it’s early in the morning, there are still bustling workers preparing breakfast or patrolling the halls, but there’s nothing today. The silence after a death is deafening. However, it makes it easy to hear Sandor stride after me. Once he catches up, he says nothing more, returning to our normal comfortable silence as he follows me through the castle.

He gets an idea of where we’re going when I open the door to the spiral staircase, leading to the Hand’s private workroom. It’s a long staircase, and my tired legs definitely think less of me as I reach the top. But as I push open the final door, another wave of grief hits my heart when my father isn’t sitting there at his desk. I push aside the feeling to walk around his desk, finding the tome in front of his chair.

Sandor looks at me in confusion as I pull out the large book and lay it on the desk. “Why would your father have you find that?”

I open the front cover, and there sits a key. It’s a small, bronze key, mainly used for drawers. I grab the small tool and look down at the desk, noticing that my father has one drawer with a lock. As I kneel and stick the key in, Sandor wanders off towards the wine cart, lifting the large flagon to sniff before taking a drink. Unlocked, I pull open the drawer, seeing only one item inside. A bundle of notes and parchments in my father’s handwriting, bound together in twine.

I grab the bundle and set it on the book before grabbing a few random scrolls and placing it in the drawer. If anyone comes looking, they’d assume random notes are less suspicious than absolutely nothing. No doubt they’d assume something is missing.

“Let’s go.” I announce lifting up the large tome with the bundle of papers sitting on top. 

“What is it?” He asks as he holds the door open for me. As I walk towards the door, both of us miss how a few loose papers slip from the bundle and fall to the ground. On the parchment is plenty of information about me.

“Hopefully something that will explain why my father died.” I respond, praying that we don’t pass anyone in the Tower, or anywhere for that matter.

Luck seemed to be on our side, or maybe the Gods pitied me after my loss, but we make it back to my chambers without running into anyone who would be questioning why The Hound and a Royal Sword is creeping around the castle with a boring book and a bundle of notes. Sandor closes the door behind us and I quickly sit down where we slept, placing the book in front of me. Sandor hesitates to join me.

“I wish I could help, but I must return to the prince.” He says, saying prince like it alone is an insult.

I look up at him, smiling. To his confusion, I stand up and walk towards him. “You’ve been more help than you could ever realize.” I mumble before pulling him into a hug, wrapping my arms around his neck.

He nearly stiffens, and his arms raise and lower behind me before deciding to hug me back. I pull back and look up at him. “If you get in trouble for abandoning your post, blame it on me. I can’t imagine I’m that important anymore with my father gone, but he wasn’t at the time.”

Sandor looks back and forth between my eyes, wishing he could know what to say to make me feel better. He doesn’t get the chance to try before I turn back and walk towards the book.

“My Lady.” He nods.

I scoff, looking up at him with a tired smile and shaking my head at the formality.

He smiles back, just as tired. “(Y/N).” He says, bidding goodbye before he opens the door and leaves, closing it behind him.

Left alone, I sit down in front of the book. I don’t know where to begin, so I grab the bundle of notes and cut through the thread before picking up the first piece of parchment.

Sandor pushes through the prince’s door, mentally prepared to hear his complaints. However, he was not prepared to see the King and Queen residing alongside the prince.

“Dog!” Joffrey screeches. “How dare you abandon your post!”

“Calm, my love.” Queen Cersei rubs his arm. “I’m sure The Hound has a good reason why he wasn’t able to do his one job.” She ends, sending a fake smile to him.

“I apologize, My Prince. My Queen.” Sandor recites, his regret not remotely reaching his eyes. Or his voice. It’s pretty clear he doesn’t care. “The Daughter of the Hand was distrau–.”

“That is no excuse to leave my son–” Cersei begins.

“Silence, Woman!” Robert shouts, and Cersei clenches her jaw in irritation. Robert looks at The Hound. “Is she alright?”

“She’s mourning, Your Grace.” Sandor replies.

“Perhaps I should pay her a visit.” Joffrey smirks.

“With all due respect, My Prince, I believe she’d like to be left alone.” Sandor reasons, knowing that I’m currently very busy, but he also doesn’t want Joffrey anywhere near me.

“But you can go see her?” Joffrey challenges him, offended.

“Will you quiet your mewling?” Robert asks rather impolitely.

After a moment, Sandor speaks up again. “I’ve known the Daughter of the Hand since she arrived. If she wishes for me to be there, I will be there. If she wishes for me to give her space, I will give her space. Whatever she wants.”

“You will do what we command.” Cersei states through gritted teeth. “You have sworn an oath to protect the prince, and if you refuse to do that, you will be tried for treason. I don’t care how long you’ve known her, or if she’s the Daughter of the Hand.”

“Not the Daughter of the Hand anymore.” Joffrey mutters, with a sly smirk.

Robert stands and slaps the back of Joffrey’s head. The child yelps and holds his head. “Show some respect, Brat! Jon Arryn was my friend. I love that girl like she’s my niece, and I will not have you disrespect either of them.” He looks down at Cersei. “And you can at least pretend to have a heart in that lanky body of yours.”

Robert looks back up at Sandor, who takes great and silent pleasure seeing both of them getting even a portion of what they deserve. “Sandor Clegane. I order you to look after her. Do as you said you would: whatever she wants.”

“Robert–” Cersei begins. “We must not let his lack of duty go unpunished.”

“He will be assigned to (Y/N) Arryn for a few days at the King’s command. Afterwards, he will return to his duties as Joffrey’s sworn shield. Until then, we’ll have extra guards outside Joffrey’s room. Will that loosen your twat?” Robert finishes, not giving her a moment to answer and nodding for Sandor to leave.

He does so happily, but only lets his smile be shown when the door fully closes behind him. However, the pleasure of seeing Joffrey and Cersei being scolded fades away when he’s returned to the present. He doesn’t know what the Crown will plan to do with (Y/N) now that her father’s gone, but as long as Robert has a say, Sandor is confident that she’ll be safe.

If not, he’ll get her out himself.

He knocks on the door to my chambers, but he doesn’t hear anything on the other side. Thinking I must be asleep, he slowly cracks the door open to check before standing guard at the door. When he looks in, I’m not in my bed, but instead at the foot where he left me. My knees are to my chest and my face is buried in my arms.

Sandor quickly pushes the door open to let himself in, shutting it before kneeling down to me. “Are you alright?”

I look up with teary red eyes, my shirt sleeves wet with the tears that have already fallen. “They ki..lled him.” I whimper, leaning forward to pull him in a tight hug as I cry.

“Who?” He asks as he hugs me back.

I quickly pull back and kick the large tome away from me. It slides a few feet across the ground. “The fucking Lannisters.” I hiss, venom dripping.

Sandor looks down to see the parchments that were in the bundle laid out in front of us. Some are about me and known information on Shapeshifters, some have writings of Robert’s recorded bastards from whores, some have information of the Lannisters with the words ‘The seed is strong’ underlined, and some have text detailing page numbers from the book. Sandor pulls the book back towards him, seeing the Baratheon page already opened.

Lord Lyonel Baratheon - Black of Hair

Lord Steffon Baratheon - Black of Hair

King Robert Baratheon - Black of Hair

Prince Joffrey Baratheon - Golden Haired

“They’re all bastards…” Sandor murmurs, looking over the page.

“Not just that.” I state, wiping the tears before grabbing another parchment and handing it to him. He reads over the page noting how Jon Arryn accidentally caught Cersei and Jaime. They demanded his silence or they’d have his head. My father accepted the bribe to make them believe he would stay silent.

“The perfect Golden Lions are sibling-fuckers.” I cry quietly, scared to speak too loudly.. “And they killed my father to hide it.”

Quickly after discovering it, we cut a long hole under my bed to hide the tome and the notes until I can figure out what to do with it. My grief has been set aside and replaced with anger.

“Jon Arryn was not a good man, he was a great man.” Robert begins his eulogy.

The next day, the King held a funeral for my father in the Sept of Baelor. There is a huge showing, and the decorations, candles, and offerings are beautiful. But I couldn’t even be brought to tears. The guests fill in the steps and outer ring of the Sept, while Robert stands at the highest spot behind a pedestal. The royal family lines up behind him, as do I, since I am the deceased’s family. It makes me sick to my stomach, standing next to the woman who murdered my father as he lays on the table at the center of the Sept.

“With his help, we defeated the Mad King and put an end to the Targaryen dynasty.” Robert continues. “I made him my Hand seventeen years ago because he was loyal, faithful, honest, and because he was my friend.”

“But he was more than just a friend. He was a father.” Robert states, turning back to look at me. At once, I could feel everyone’s eyes turn towards me as well, but the only thing that gave me comfort was feeling Sandor’s presence diagonally behind me. I look up at Robert, who has tears in his own eyes.

“None of us are hurting as much as his daughter. But I assure you, that this is still your home. You will always be welcome, as I consider you to be family. Would you like to say a few words?”

Anxiety sinks deep in my stomach, but so does anger. But not at Robert, so I swallow my hesitancy and walk up beside him before he takes a few steps back. I take a deep breath and look among the faces of people I don’t know. Not prepared to speak, I take a few seconds to think it through.

“Everything King Robert said about my father was true.” I begin shakily. “But the biggest truth was that he was a great man. That he was loyal, faithful, and honest. I wish I could fill the space he left, but no one can. We will never see his like again.”

I turn towards Robert. “I thank you for your generosity, Your Grace. I consider you to be family as well.”

He waves me away as a tear falls down his face before we walk towards each other to embrace the other in a hug. The crowd aw’s behind us, and many of them wipe tears of their own. I open my eyes, and while I feel Sandor and the royal family looking at me, I stare straight at Cersei. The corners of her mouth twitches, getting tired from holding that fake, tight smile on for so long. Maybe as Sandor and I grew, I wasn’t able to communicate with my eyes, but I eventually learned. I’m telling her everything I think about her, and she understands every unspoken word, especially one:

You.

It took everything in me to not kill every Lannister in that Sept. I checked my own rage when I saw Tommen and Myrcella crying for my father. He was always sweet to them and gave them candies that Cersei normally wouldn’t allow. Then, I wanted to kill every Lannister but those two.

Once the funeral concluded, I was one of the first to leave. I headed straight into the closest pub to the Sept, Sandor close on my heels due to his temporary duties to me. I downed a drink whole before ordering another one. As the barkeep handed me the drink, caution laced across his face, I run my hands through my hair. Sandor sits next to me, one foot hiked up on the stool’s step as his arm rests on the counter.

“You’re going to need more than one to feel better.” Sandor informs, looking around the pub to make sure no one is a threat.

“I don’t want to feel better.” I reply, grabbing the new mug. “I want to avenge my father.”

“You and I handle our grief the same way.” Another voice calls out.

Both Sandor and I turn to see Tyrion Lannister walking towards us, a polite smile on his face, but his eyes hold sympathetic sadness. The last thing I want to see right now is another fucking Lannister.

“Except I’m afraid I handle my grief every day.” He jokes. “Whores are typically my favorite, but you can’t go wrong with losing yourself at the bottom of a mug. Both is best.”

I take my eyes away from him before glancing at Sandor as I turn back to the bar. “I don’t take whores.”

“Oh, they’re the best.” Tyrion says as he climbs up on the seat next to me. “They’re paid to like you.”

“I don’t need to pay people to like me. I don’t care if they do or not.” I reply bitterly.

“Coming from someone who people naturally like.” He responds, ordering his own drink.

“What do you want?” I cut to the chase quickly.

“I regret that we haven’t talked much. I’ve been living in the Red Keep almost as long as you have, but I’ve been too busy to actually get to know you.” Tyrion explains.

“Too busy ‘handling your grief’?” I question, looking over at him.

“Precisely.” He smiles, but it fades with understanding. “How are you doing?”

I glare at him. “My father died yesterday and I never knew my mother. My whole life I’ve been half of who I was and my closest friend–” I gesture to Sandor behind me. “--this is the longest time we’ve spent together in seventeen years.”

Tyrion smacks his lips. “So not well.”

“Nope.” I answer, taking a long drink.

Tyrion looks up at me, hesitating to ask. “You never knew your mother?”

“Nope.” I answer again. “She died having me.”

“...My mother did as well.” Tyrion’s words cause me to look down at him in surprise. His next words continue to surprise me.

“I know it’s strange to mourn someone you never knew. Other than my brother, my family blames me, and actively prays for my downfall because of it. I know there are rumors of the Imp just being a drunk and a whoremongerer, and ehh they’re mostly right. But I am also very skilled in conversation. If you ever need someone to talk to about anything, let me know.”

With that, he holds my wrist supportively before slipping off the stool and leaving. I turn back to Sandor, confused and conflicted. He shrugs and lifts up his own drink. “I’d say he’s the best Lannister, but that’s like saying one shit is less rank than another.”

I smile at that and raise my own cup to my lips. “He would be the best Lannister if he didn’t talk so much.”

As we drink, I mentally check off another one. Kill every Lannister except Myrcella, Tommen, and Tyrion.

A few days pass and Sandor is forced to return to Joffrey’s side. As surprising as it is, there is a shred of good news to come out of my father’s passing. I’m no longer the Daughter of the Hand, and instead simply a guest of the Red Keep and A Royal Sword. Because of the title change, I’m not discussed to marry a random prince, and I’m immensely pleased that talk of Joffrey and I marrying has been silenced completely. I resumed my training, and although I was a bit rusty at first, my muscle memory quickly kicked back in. This training is only for anointed Knights, and a few of the slower or weaker men stay back to fight with other trainees until they’re ready. My grief and anger fueled my attacks, dropping opponents with a few quick moves. I may not be as strong as many of the men, but for a lot of them, I’m smaller. That makes me a quicker, and of course, smaller target. Training is cut short suddenly when the Kingsguard stride in. But it looks like they’re there for official business as they line up to let the Lord Commander pass.

He finds me in the crowd and walks towards me, the Knights stepping to the side. “(Y/N) Arryn.”

“Ser Barristan?” I cautiously greet. “What’s happening?”

“Your presence is desired in the throne room.” He recites before smiling at me. “I was just sent to collect you, I’m sure it’s nothing of great importance.”

That reassures me slightly, and I nod before following him back down the line of Kingsguard, sheathing my sword. The now Ser Jaever peeks out and nods to the Lord Commander as if to ask me what’s happening. I simply shrug and follow Barristan out of the training grounds.

“Has something happened?” I ask in concern after a few minutes of silence. The only thing accompanying us is the many footsteps of the Kingsguard.

Ser Barristan stops at the closed throne room door before turning to smile at me, his eyes wrinkled with age. “Just…be yourself, My Lady.”

With that he pushes the door open with one arm, nodding at me to go inside. I step through and my stomach flips with unease when I see King Robert sitting on the Iron Throne, Cersei sitting next to him, and the golden bastards sitting on the other side of Robert. Behind Joffrey’s chair, Sandor stands, who’s brow furrows upon my entry. It seems he’s just as confused as I am. At the end of the children, Lord Baelish and Lord Varys stand. On the other side of Cersei stands Jaime, with a hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword. Standing a few steps down from him is The Mountain.

Ser Barristan places a gentle hand on my back and leads me forward before we stop a few strides in front of the last step to the throne. He nods at me before walking to stand to the side, and the Kingsguard line the rest of the room.

Confused and gravely concerned, I stand there, ten people staring down at me from the elevated plane alone. That’s not even accounting for the numerous Kingsguard around me.

“Don’t fret, my dear.” Robert’s voice calls out. “I’m sure you’re wondering why Ser Barristan brought you here.”

A huff a nervous laugh and look upon their faces. “Since when did you become a mind reader, Your Grace?”

He smiles and I continue, hoping I can charm my way out of whatever this is. “Do you want me to dance, but the Kingsguard will slay me if I’m not good enough?”

“You were always funny.” Cersei states, but there’s no sign of humor in her face, only malice and hatred.

The feeling is mutual, however, and I look away from her before my sour face is apparent to the other occupants of the throne room.

“Your Grace, if I may quickly chime in…” Lord Varys begins, earning a nod from the King. Varys turns back towards me before continuing. “My dear, I never got the chance to tell you how sorry I was about your father’s passing. Neither of you deserved that.”

“Thank you, Lord Varys, you’re very kind.” I smile, but it’s clear I’m still incredibly anxious with why I’m here.

“Yes…it’s very sad.” Cersei begins, and my heart churns with contempt. “Except, after his death, there was tell that Jon Arryn had information that he intended to use against the Crown as blackmail.”

Robert rolls his eyes. “I’m telling you, he didn’t. Your sources are incorrect.”

Cersei continues. “It appears so, because earlier today I had Lord Baelish search his study for such information.”

I look at Littlefinger as his name is mentioned, but his eyes have been glued on me since I walked in.

“However, he found nothing of the information we believed he had.” Cersei finishes. “Had your father ever confided in you about his work?”

I tear my gaze away from Littlefinger to look back at the bitch, knowing exactly what information she’s worried about getting out, and knowing the bold lie she tells about only learning about it after his death. I keep my gaze fixed on her, fighting the urge to look at Jaime or their bastard children for fear that it will give my knowledge away.

“I’m afraid not, My Queen.” I smile sadly, putting on a good act. “My father liked to keep his work separate from his family. Being Hand was his honor, however it did prove to be stressful at times.”

“I’m sure it did.” Cersei replies coldly, but she continues her obviously pre-planned speech with a newfound energy and a sigh. “However, Lord Baelish did find other information in his study that was arguably more interesting.”

At this, Lord Baelish’s flat smile grew and he walked forward to present Cersei with a few stray parchments.

She shifts through them as he returns to his previous spot. “It seems to be only a few parchments out of the rest. No doubt he has it hidden away, perhaps with the blackmail. And since you do not know where it is, it will thankfully collect dust until it crumbles to time.”

Robert looks disinterested with the notes as Cersei looks up at me with a lip-filled smile and hateful eyes. I clear my throat and shift nervously. “May I ask what it is?”

“Oh, would you like to see?” Cersei asks cockily. “But of course! Ser Gregor, please hand her her father’s notes.”

My eyes immediately snap to The Mountain, whose footsteps are heavy with each step as he approaches the Queen before taking the notes out of her hand and walking towards me. I subconsciously take a step back as the armored man walks nearer. I meet Sandor’s gaze, who already has a hand gripping the handle of his sword. However, Gregor simply offers the pages to me.

I slowly reach forward and take hold of them with a hand before trying to pull them back, but they don’t budge. The Mountain’s grip on the pages is apparent as the paper crinkles under his thick and dirty fingers. As I look up at him, unsure, he finally lets go before turning to walk back to his previous position. All just a show to make sure I know that he’s a danger, as if anyone needs reminding of that.

I release a breath I didn’t know I was holding and smooth out the papers before reading through. My stomach immediately sinks when I recognize the pages to be similar to the ones currently hiding within my mattress. They were mainly about Shapeshifters, but there were still some about me. I was confused when there wasn't as much about me, but now I know why; They’re all here. I missed some, and they found it. Information about me when I was born, how the next morning there was a baby dragon in the crib. Everything from how the smoke looked when I changed form, to my hair, to how my mind was still intact as a dragon, able to understand just as much, just unable to talk outside of the beast’s usual sounds.

“It’s all about you.” Cersei comments, and if I wasn’t too sickened with the situation, I would’ve heard the smile on her face.

“Enough of this.” Robert demands, standing up. “Leave the girl alone.”

“She’s not a girl.” Cersei insists, turning to me with the same malice. “We know what you are. You’re a Shapeshifter.”

My breathing picks up, too stunned to look away from the words to recognize my panic. The secret I’ve been told to keep since I was old enough to understand, the secret my father took to his grave, all of it ruined because I dropped a few papers.

“Ser Gregor, take her hair down so we can see.” Cersei demands.

Immediately, Gregor steps forward, and immediately Robert yells at him to stop. I drop the pages and raise a hand up, taking a few steps back as my other hand rests on my sword.

“Stay away from me!” My voice cracks and shakes with panic and fear.

Out of the corner of my eye, Sandor is already halfway towards me, only stopping when Gregor stopped on the King’s command. Gregor glares at Sandor, smiling at him under his helmet, silently recognizing his little brother’s weakness.

Cersei stands and walks to her husband’s side, trying to grab his hand. “My love, she’s a Shapeshifter.”

Robert steps back and pulls her hand away from her. “I know what she bloody is. You think Jon Arryn didn’t tell me everything? I told you, he was my friend, and he was honest.”

Cersei stands back, shocked, almost as shocked as I am. “You knew?” She asks, unknowingly for the both of us.

He turns away from her and smiles down at me. “My dear, I considered you family knowing what you were, and I still do. I only ask that you be yourself from now on. You don’t have to hide who you really are, not unless you want to.”

Too shocked to say anything or fully process what’s happening, I barely manage to nod as Gregor makes his way back to Cersei’s side, but Sandor stays where he is. Robert smiles, happy to have me accept. He moves to sit back on the Iron Throne as Cersei sits in her seat, unhappy with the foiled plan of humiliating me.

“The Targaryens had dragons to help them rule and keep the peace.” Robert begins. “I say the Baratheons have one of their own!! Here’s to The Dragon!” He cheers, and the surrounding Kingsguard cheer in unison, lifting their swords with each chant.

Their cheers fill the large room as my gaze falls on Sandor still on the ground level with me. He looks back at me, sympathy in his eyes. A silent statement pops up between us. We should leave. Then knowing that that’s an unlikely scenario, a question replaces it. What do we do now? That’s the only thing that crosses my mind as the chants continue and Robert barks orders for a feast.

“The Dragon!”

“The Dragon!”

“The Dragon!”

“The Dragon!”

Chapter Text

The next day, with my dazed permission, Robert organized a royal announcement and allowed the Red Keep’s gates to be open to receive thousands of the citizens of King’s Landing. Standing atop a taller ledge for the announcement, is King Robert, Cersei, Joffrey, Sandor and I, as well as the members of the small council. I have my hooded cloak over my head, hiding my unstyled hair underneath. As the large crowd quiets down, Robert begins his planned announcement.

“My people of King’s Landing! Hear me, for I have news that will change our lives as we know it. The Gods play their games with us, and in doing so, we have lost a great man. You all knew Jon Arryn, even if it was just by name. He was my Hand, my friend. I thought of the man as a damn father. A man of duty and honor. His loss weighs heavy on us all.”

“His daughter, (Y/N) Arryn, stands as a testament to the strength of his like. She is no ordinary maiden, as you all may know. She’s a fighter, an honorable Royal Sword, and I would trust her with my life. But there is more to her than meets the eye. The Gods have marked her with a gift. She is a Shapeshifter.”

The crowd’s gasps and murmurs fill the square below us as Robert turns and nods at me with a supportive smile on his face. I take a deep breath before raising my hands and pulling my hood down. My unstyled hair, as well as the colorful mark, can be seen. Although the citizens are too far below to actually see it clearly, everyone around me besides Sandor is seeing it for the first time. Feeling everyone’s gaze on me, it makes me want to shrivel away. I feel a gentle hand on my lower back for comfort, and I don’t need to look to know who it is.

“Storytellers have lied when discussing the evils of Shapeshifters.” Robert continues, turning back to his people. “As (Y/N) is pure of heart, and she fights for the Crown. She fights for you all. I’ve known her since she was a girl, and I would stake my own life for even one of you to see her as I do. Some may call it sorcery; others may call it divine favor. I believe in the latter, as the beast she can Shift into is none other than a dragon.”

The crowd erupts in a second wave of gasps and louder murmurs, and at this moment, I can only look at the forest-filled horizons beyond the city walls, wondering what Septa Darna or my father would think of this. Of me.

King Robert continues. “And I can think of no other form more befitting for her, as she is brave, protective, and loyal. She has sworn her loyalty to the Crown and to the good of the realm. Let us not descend into superstition. It’s known that the Targaryens ruled with dragons of their own, but those were wild creatures, barely tamed and fueled by instincts and hunger. Regardless of what form she takes, (Y/N) is still (Y/N). Let us instead honor her as both an Arryn of the Vale and a child touched by powers beyond our ken. The dragons kept the Targaryens on the throne over the centuries. And now, we have one of our own!!”

The crowd cheers, and I wish I could feel relief or a sense of belonging, but I just don’t.

“Together, we shall face whatever challenges the Gods place before us!” Robert finishes, and the crowd cheers even louder.

That night Robert held a feast in my honor. The occupants of the Red Keep were already told of my abilities before the public announcement, and to my surprise, there were more people than I thought that already knew. Robert and my father had confided in one other in case I needed protection. Ser Barristan knew, and he was one of the ones that convinced my instructor to train me to fight. Lord Varys also knew, but he’s the Master of Whisperers so of course he knew. My childhood handmaiden knew as well, but only because she accidentally entered while I was asleep and saw my hair down. My father paid her to stay quiet, and she happily took the money, even if she knew I wasn’t a threat.

But now, everyone knows. By now ravens have made their way to nearby towns, and soon they’ll reach farther towns like Dorne and Winterfell as well. As the Red Keep’s patrons and Knights feast loudly below, I can’t take my mind away from the Vale. When the raven reaches the Eyrie, if it hasn’t already, what will they think? What will Septa Darna think of me? She and I have been in touch, and she knows that I’m a Royal Sword, but how will she react when all of Westeros knows what I am?

A cheer erupts from a grouped of men at a table below and the men raise their spilling mugs before chugging it down messily.

“They’re toasting you.” Sandor states beside me.

I’ve been so lost in thought, I nearly forgot where I was. Robert and his ‘family’ sit at the head of the room at their long table. Two other long tables stretch across the left and right side of the dining hall for special seating for council members, the Lord Commander, and higher ranking soldiers like Sandor and I.

“Robert told them to.” I respond quietly, looking down at my untouched food. “If he decided I was dangerous and the first man to bring him my head would get 100 silver stags, they’d all be drawing their swords.”

“Seems like I’d be the one to get the prize then.” He jokes since he’s sitting the closest to me, offering a small smile. “But I think they’d want more than 100 stags to go toe-to-toe with ‘The Dragon’.”

“Is that really what they’re calling me?” I ask, managing to smile.

He takes a long gulp of his wine and I rest my hand in my palm. “The Hound, The Dragon, and The Mountain protect the throne and the Queen’s bastard children. I’d say it’s the beginning of a bad joke, but that seems to be the end of it.”

“That it is.” Sandor murmurs before leaning back in his seat, his finished plate on the table in front of him. “How long has it been since you shifted anyway?”

I move my plate towards him and sit back as he mentally shrugs and starts eating. “Seventeen years.” I say honestly. “Since before I came to King’s Landing.”

He looks over at me with a mouth full of food, surprised. “You sure you even remember how?”

I sigh, tracing my finger over the ornate patterns engraved in the table’s edge. “I suppose we’ll find out. I’m to patrol the city walls and Blackwater Bay from the sky every other night.”

A few quick footsteps run up to the front of our table. We look up to see Myrcella and Tommen eagerly smiling at me.

“Hello,” I say politely.

“Does it hurt?” Tommen asks immediately. “To shapeshift?”

I shake my head, reaching my fork forward to pick off a bit of chicken from Sandor since it’s my own plate anyways. “No, no pain. From what I remember, your stomach feels like you’re falling for a second, then you’re something else.”

“Can you breathe fire?” Myrcella excitedly asks, both of their curiosity peaking.

“I can.” I smile, starting to exaggerate the stories to appease their childlike wonder. “Although it’s not as hot as a real dragon’s fire, I once sneezed and accidentally melted the dinner table! We almost ate ash that night.”

They giggle and look at each other before looking back at me. “How fast can you fly?” Tommen asks.

I haven’t really flown much at all, since I was not allowed to in the Vale. Still, I don’t want to disappoint these children. “Very fast. Not even the rain can catch me. One time, I flew so high I almost touched the moon. But it was very cold up there, so I decided to fly back down.”

They awe at the stories, just as I happen to look up. Queen Cersei catches my gaze, whose eyes are fixed on me and her children. She looks more relaxed than normal, no doubt having a glass or two of wine in her system, but she’s still unhappy to see me, and even more so to see her children so taken by me.

“Go on back to your mother.” I say politely. “I’ll tell you more stories another time.”

They nod and scurry back to the royal family’s table. I glance over to see Sandor lost in thought, softly smiling in my general direction as his eyes absentmindedly land on the table in front of me. Before I can strike up another conversation, someone else walks up to the table.

“The Dragon!”

Both Sandor and I look up at the new guest, and Sandor’s face falls.

“Ser Jaever.” I greet with a polite smile.

He’s grown up as well. His hair has darkened slightly, a wavy strand falling over his forehead. His defined jawline is covered by his stubble, and his green eyes deepened in color as well, twinkling in the torchlight. His golden armor lays across his chest and limbs as the white cloak lined with gold drapes over his shoulder and down his back. The golden Kingsguard helmet is secured under his arm as he smiles at me with that charming smile that worries happily married husbands.

“I knew there was something special about you, My Lady.” He begins. “But I didn’t know how deep it was rooted.”

“Some may say it's special, others say I was cursed.” I half-joke, eyes wandering the feast beyond him.

“The first Dragon Shapeshifter in centuries since Rohar the Winged. If that’s not special then nothing is.” Jaever grins before leaning forward and reaching to run his hand down my hair as it lays over my shoulder.

“It’s quite beautiful.” He compliments before standing up straight. “It’s a shame you had it hidden for so long.”

“Thank you, Ser.” I offer him a tight smile.

He nods, eyes solely focused on me. “Would you be interested in joining me on a walk sometime? The roses in the garden are beginning to sprout, and I just know you’d look lovely amongst them, Flower.”

Beside me, Sandor nearly spits his wine back into his mug and I clear my throat to hide my laugh. Fortunately or unfortunately, Jaever sees my smile as his success.

“That’s so kind of you, Ser Jaever. But I’m afraid that I have new duties as The Dragon. Perhaps when I’m more situated with my new role, I’ll see if I have spare time.” I decline as politely as I can.

He masks his disappointment with an accepting smile. “Do let me know. My Lady.” He bows before turning to leave.

I rest my head in my hand and sigh. Beside me, Sandor hesitates to speak up. “My dinner nearly shot back up.”

I tuck my chin towards my shoulder and laugh before sighing and resting forward on my elbows to massage my temples. “Seven Hells.”

This earns myself a chuckle from him, which unknowingly to him sends butterflies through my chest.

“You do look nice with your hair down.” He compliments before focusing back on the rest of his food, hoping I don’t make too big a deal about his words.

It surprises me, but I look down at my hair, flustered. “Thank you.”

The next day a Kingsguard was at my door. Happy that I didn’t have to style my hair, I opened the door with a smile. The Knight’s stoic face stayed professional as he addressed me.

“King Robert requests your presence.”

I nod and step out as the Kingsguard gives me room. I gesture for him to lead the way after closing the door behind me. “Hopefully it’s better than last time.” I joke.

He says nothing and leads me through the stone halls. It’s more lively than it was before, as servants are still scrambling around to clean all the plates and mugs from the night before, and the chefs are quickly working to prepare breakfast. Finally, we approach the door to Robert’s chambers. Another guard stands in front of the doorframe, and only as we walk closer do I recognize it to be Jaime fucking Lannister.

“My Lady.” The guard that brought me bows before turning to leave.

Jaime turns towards my presence and smiles politely as he nods. “My Lady. I imagine I’m in the long line of people that have been too busy to offer you my condolences. Your father’s passing was a shock to us all–”

“Mhm.” I say, walking past him to push open Robert’s door.

It was either that or I subtly tell him what I know by giving him a hint of a threat. It’s my greatest desire right now to watch his face slowly realize that I know, and he’s in danger. His, and Cersei’s of course. However, I swallow that desire to bide my time and follow my father’s last wishes.

On the other side of the door, Robert sits at a large round table that displays a model of King’s Landing. Beside him, Grand Maester Pycelle is hunched over talking to him.

“--end the raven to Winterfell at once.” Robert orders before they both look up at my entrance.

Robert smiles at me while Pycelle bows. “Your Grace.” He then walks towards the door, stopping in front of me. “My Lady, I’m so terribly sorry I was not able to save your fath–”

“Don’t talk to me.” I walk past him, still holding a grudge from the night my father passed.

Robert’s smile widens and Pycelle sighs, uttering a small, “My Lady.”, before leaving.

I stand with my hands behind my back, waiting for instruction. Robert shakes his head. “I remember when my niece, Railey, passed. I got tired of hearing everyone’s condolences pretty quickly as well, as if it was their fault she went down to Flea Bottom and caught the Bloody Flux. Died right after her mother, poor girl.”

“The Gods always take the good ones, don’t they?” I state more than ask.

“Yes, they do.” Robert agrees, gesturing for me to sit. I do so, and he continues. “I trusted your father, that much is well-known. And now that trust rests upon your shoulders.”

My eyebrows raise in surprise. “Are you…making me your Hand?”

He laughs, shaking his head. “No, of course not. You’re The Dragon. You can’t be cooped up in a room dealing with the shifty bastards in the small council.”

I look down at the word. Why didn’t my father just tell me to tell Robert about Cersei and Jaime? About the children he thinks are his? For a second, I fully intend on telling him but then I remember my father’s reasoning. He wants me to get as far away from the situation as possible. But that was before my secret was revealed, what more can they do? Kill me? I can fight, and if they outnumber me, I can fly away.

“But I do need your advice.” Robert continues. “A childhood friend of mine lives in the North. He’s the Lord of Winterfell, and I want to know what you think about making him my new Hand.”

“Eddard Stark?” I ask, and he nods. “Doesn’t the wolf have a pack of children? Why would he want to leave?”

Robert gives me a light shrug. “Because I will ask him to.”

I smile as he continues. “Ned Stark fought my rebellion with me. Rhaegar Targaryen took my beloved, Lyanna. In doing so, he also took Ned’s sister. Jon Arryn had you when he was older. Before that, he basically raised Eddard and I as his wards.” Robert grins at me. “In a way, I’m like your brother, just older and fatter!” He laughs.

I grin, laughing silently at his energy before he finishes. “So what do you think? Eddard Stark, Hand of the King?”

I look absentmindedly at the scale model of King’s Landing. “A Stark is a powerful name, having one in King’s Landing in such power would be beneficial.” I think out loud. “And he has sons. The eldest…Robb? There will still be a Lord of Winterfell. Stark being here could tie the Crown and the North together.”

Then something connects in my head. Find someone loyal to Robert, and only Robert out of everyone in this city.

“He’s loyal to you?” I ask cautiously. “You say he’d come simply if you asked?”

Robert nods. “He’s my unrelated brother.”

I smile, knowing if Robert trusts him, then he’s someone I can trust with such secrets. “I think he’s a great choice.”

Robert claps his hands together and stands. “Haven’t seen the fuck in 9 years.” He laughs, no doubt excited. “The Grand Maester is sending a raven to Winterfell to alert the wolves of our arrival. Forget winter, King Robert is coming’!!!” He laughs.

I grin at his excitement as he continues, already gathering his things. “Our convoy will leave at first light. It will take a month of riding to reach Winterfell on the Kingsroad.”

My smile falls, quickly replaced with confusion. “Our?”

Robert turns and grins with a nod. “Oh you’re coming with me, doll. What better way to make a statement if King Robert Baratheon rides up the Kingsroad with a dragon!”

He laughs as he continues to grab his sword. Suddenly he stops and glances back at me. “It will also impress Ned.”

I smile and stand up. “I will go pack my things then.” I state.

“Yes, yes, go on. I will see you at first light, don’t forget!” He calls over his shoulder.

“Your Grace.” I bow my head, immediately hearing him groan at the formality.

“Ahh, enough of that. Go on, girl.”

I breathe out a laugh and leave. As the door closes, I see Jaime standing in the corner of my eye. He smiles at me when I turn to look at him.

“Winterfell, huh?” He smiles, and if he wasn’t a Lannister and, you know, fucking his sister, and also killed my father, I might have found him attractive.

“Your job is to protect him.” I state coldly. “Not eavesdrop.”

He nods his head to the side. “You’re not a very pleasant conversationalist, are you?”

Don’t kill him, (Y/N) . Instead, I tilt my head to the side and smile. “When I was younger, someone once told me that the Lannisters were rich pompous cunts. I’m pleased to know he was incorrect.” I finish, narrowing my eyes. “You’re not rich.”

Jaime silently sighs, and I only know he did when his shoulders drooped with it. He takes another breath and smiles. “He sounds like a very honorable man.” He notes sarcastically.

I turn and walk away, calling over my shoulder. “More honorable than you, Kingslayer.”

Then next morning I stopped by the kitchens to grab some bread to eat on the Kingsroad. Not wanting the whole convoy to wait on me, I quickly made my way down to the stable square where only about half the men were getting ready. The wagons and carriages were prepared first, and considering many of the soldiers coming with us aren’t here yet, I realized I’m still a bit early.

To pass the time, I start preparing my horse. A beautiful brown brindled mare I named Zaldr. She has a white crescent shape between her eyes that resembles a moon. She pays me no mind, too busy eating her fill of hay to care as I strap the saddle over her back. I don’t know who will be coming to Winterfell, but part of me can’t deny that I hope Sandor will. However, if Sandor goes, that means Joffrey is going too. That, I could do without.

It’s warm for an early morning. Unfortunately it rained over the night, meaning we will suffer the humidity until we ride north. I step back after tightening the last strap and wipe my brow. By now, all of the travelling party is here. A large portion of the guards and knights came at once, presumably leaving breakfast at the same time. I scan the yard to see Robert watching a stablehand check the wheels on an ornate red carriage. I pat my horse before walking over, picking up pace to cross as a few knights ride past on their own horses.

“Your Grace.” I greet politely.

Robert looks up when I approach and smiles. “Good to see you up and early!” He exclaims.

“A long ride ahead of us.” I note, and he nods. “How big is this convoy?”

“Ah, about thirty good men. Cersei demanded a carriage, uh…Jaime will ride with us. Tyrion has his own carriage, filled with wine of course. Joffrey says he wants to ride, but I’ll give him about an hour before he’s huddled in with his mother and one of the Kingsguard will have to lead his horse.”

“Joffrey’s coming?” I ask, interest piqued.

“Aye.” Robert nods again. “Ned’s got a girl, just a bit younger than ‘im. Thinking about proposin’ a marriage between them to further the alliance between the North and the Crown, so I wanted them to meet.”

At first I was too pleased to hear that The Hound will be accompanying us all, but then my mood turned sour when I processed the rest of his words. Daughter of a family friend or not, no person should be subjected to Joffrey. Especially not a little girl. I’m older than him by seven years and I can’t stand to hear his voice.

“Euh, the rain has turned the dirt muddy.” A voice behind us complains, and we turn to see Cersei usher us out of her way as she climbs into the carriage before closing the door behind her.

Robert and I look at each other with a shared amused, but annoyed expression. A knight rushes up to Robert’s side, nearly startling him to death.

“Seven Hells, warn me before you rush up on me like that. I nearly took your head off.” Robert warns, hand on his chest.

Something catches the corner of my eye, and I glance over to see Sandor climbing onto his horse. As he situates himself on the saddle, he places his custom-forged helmet on the horn. He turns his head and scans the yard before his eyes land on mine. I’m snapped back to my surroundings when the knight speaks.

“Apologies, Your Grace.” The knight bows. “The convoy is ready to leave when you are.”

Robert nods and waves him off before looking at me and taking a deep breath to prepare, causing me to raise a brow in suspicion.

“Hear my proposal…” He begins, and I smile, knowing my hunch was right. “And you can refuse or smack me if you feel like it. Preferably not in the public eye.”

“Go on?” I smirk, tilting my head to the side tiredly.

“You show the people of King’s Landing who’s protecting them from the sky.” Robert suggests cautiously. “I’ve heard talk that some doubt what you are because they haven’t seen proof.”

“And if they doubt me, they doubt your word.” I finish his thought for him. “And if they doubt your word, they doubt their King.”

Robert smiles apologetically. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t also curious. But you’re my family, and I wouldn’t want you to feel…” He sighs. “I just know how important it was for you to keep such a secret, and for so long.”

I gently grab his wrist and smile. “It’s okay, I’ll do it. I’d also be lying if I said I wasn’t curious about what I look like. It’s been seventeen years.”

He smiles widely as I walk him to his horse. A stablehand pulls up a wooden crate for him to use as a stool, and he climbs up on the saddle. “Let us ride out into the city first.” Robert requests, looking down to me. “I want to hear my people’s awe. And I wish to laugh at the ones that doubted you.”

“I as well.” I smile and nod.

He nods to my horse across the yard. “Give your horse to The Hound. He’ll lead her until you’re back on the ground.”

I glance back, seeing the guards start to form up in pairs behind me. Even Joffrey has perched on his horse with that weasily face. Behind him, Sandor looks ahead with boredom.

I look back up at Robert. “I’ll just ask a guard to take her, I don’t want to be a bother.”

“You’re no bother to him?” Robert states, patting his impatient stallion. He then looks down at me, curious and smiling. “You really don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?” I ask, completely lost.

He ignores me and looks up. “Hound!”

My heart skips with embarrassment as I turn to see Sandor looking at the King and I at the mention of his name. Robert continues, calling across the yard. “Take the girl’s horse for a mile or two, won’t you?”

In an instant, Sandor spurs his horse to run ahead and stop beside Zaldr, who now stands alone as everyone else is basically ready. He turns his horse to reach down and unhitch her before leading her back into formation.

Robert smiles down at me. “See?” He asks as he spurs his horse on. “He’d do anything for you.”

I scoff and laugh it off, knowing he’s surely exaggerating. He’s too busy now to call after, as he’s barking orders again. “Ready, men? First stop will be at the Antler’s crossroads! Make sure you piss before then!”

He begins leading the troops and they file out after him. The carriage next to me suddenly rolls forward, Jaime Lannister riding after it.  The knights leave an open space for them to smoothly flow into the convoy. The next squad of knights ride through, followed by Joffrey. As he passes he looks down at me curiously, which is new for him. Behind him Sandor rides as he leads my horse. His eyes meet mine, but we’re forced to look away as his horse continues past me. I’m sure he’s wondering why he has my horse, and why they’re leaving without me, and how I’m going to get my horse if they’re leaving without me.

As the convoy makes their way out of the Red Keep, I walk back up the staircase until I reach the same high stone ledge where Robert first announced what I was. To say I’m nervous is an understatement. I have no idea what to expect. Will I just be the same size as I was the last time? No bigger than a direwolf? Nevermind all that, will I even be able to shapeshift after so long? I’m hoping my muscle memory kicks in, just like it did when I returned to my training.

I’ve stalled long enough. By now, Robert and his men will be halfway through King’s Landing. I take a deep breath before walking away from the ledge, not intending on falling off. The wind breezes by, blowing my hair behind my shoulders. My heart thuds against my chest, but I soon realize that I’m not just nervous, I’m excited. I flex my fingers, tightening them into a fist before shaking them out. Seventeen years since I last called upon this part of myself, I wouldn’t be surprised if it rejects me entirely.

I close my eyes, scanning my brain for any memories. I wasn’t able to fly free in the Vale, and this also excites me. Here I am, being asked to fly over millions of people’s heads. Robert wants me to be seen. Whether it’s for his own image, or my own well-being, or a little bit of both, it’s still different from what I’ve been hearing all my life. The memories I do have, I latch onto, even if they feel distant. Like a story told by someone else. Like me telling exaggerated stories to Myrcella and Tommen.

I open my eyes. Those are not the thoughts that I should be thinking, and I have no choice but to try. Imagine the embarrassment if I don’t and end up borrowing a horse to catch up to the convoy? Robert’s waiting for me, Sandor might be wondering where I am. But as I look across the horizon and into the sky, I feel something else. Like the world itself was calling to me.

It cleanses me of any doubt and in an instant I feel weightless. My body feels as though it were unraveling, threads of smoke and shadow peeling my body away from itself. It didn’t hurt, and instead felt exactly how I recalled. Like all of my being is falling at once, like my very essence was being rewritten as I become the wisp of smoke. I remember this feeling. I missed it. All of this happens in a few short seconds before the smoke zips off the ledge and into the air.

Then I feel everything I felt before, but backwards. My body forms, much larger than before. My senses sharpened, my heart surged. Wings stretch out of my back, vast and leathery, catching the wind with ease as they lift me through the air. My new skin: as impenetrable as iron, but pliable like leather. It’s still darkened, and (U/C) still highlights over my wingspan and scales. My heart beats excitedly as I realize that I’ve succeeded. I’ve clearly grown much larger than what I was seventeen years ago. A roar built in my chest—a sound I’ve never before made due to strict rules in the Eyrie—and erupted into the sky, announcing to the world that I’m here. That I’m finally here.

But at this moment, it announced to the people below that I’m real. I soar over the buildings, each beat of my wings keeping me from the ground. Each beat blowing citizens’ hair like a breeze. The freedom, the strength—it was all there, waiting for me to finally claim it.

I look down to see Robert’s convoy slow, directing most—if not all—their attention to the skies. It humors me to see Robert’s awed face, knowing his intention of watching his people make the same expression has been lost on him in his own stunned state. My eyes follow the convoy down to see even Cersei had stepped out into the streets to see with her own eyes. Behind the carriage, Jaime had completely turned his horse around to gaze up into the sky. Anger flashes through me for a moment, as I hope fear flashed through theirs. If they didn’t regret killing my father before, I’m sure they do now.

I don’t allow myself to dwell on it, as I see Joffrey next, who’s clear and frantic excitement both concerns and sickens me. It wouldn’t surprise me if he thinks he has a new toy to terrorize innocent people with. Unfortunately for him…no. Behind him, Sandor is smiling up widely at me. He raises his Hound helmet with his free hand, either as a way to cheer or wave, I can’t tell. Tyrion stepped out of his own carriage to gawk into the sky, and I realize then that he’s the only Lannister present that I’m happy to show off too instead of inciting fear. Amongst the entire convoy, the crowds are still, the stillest King’s Landing has ever been. Their faces displayed with a mixture of awe and terror at the living myth reborn, even if I wasn’t a full-blooded dragon, soaring about their tiled roofs and stone walls.

Why stop there? I wondered to myself. The power surged within me, a fiery core that’s nestled deep in my chest, awaiting instruction. I open my mouth as the heat simmers in my throat, creating a glow that brightens as the raw, untamed energy impatiently waits to be unleashed. With a deep inhale, I draw the fire from my core, through my throat, and out into the open air. The blaze erupts, not low enough to damage the city, just to show off. The controlled burst of golden-red flames streak across the sky, illuminating the city below in its brilliance. The citizens and convoy both gasp, the final trick snapping them out of their initial daze. The people of King’s Landing cheer wildly as the flames dissipate in the cool air, leaving only a faint shimmer of heat and the lingering scent of smoke. I let out a roar again, with a deep, resonant growl. A sound that rippled across the city like both a challenge and a promise. A promise to keep innocent people safe, and a challenge to any who will threaten them.

Below, the people of King’s Landing erupt into chaos and cheers. Even the Kingsguard forget their professionalism and draw their swords, cheering into the sky. King Robert joins them, laughing as he yells in delight. I fold my wings, allowing gravity to pull me closer to the buildings before I open them again, setting a quick breeze over the crowd. I circle around the sky as the convoy regathers themselves and sets off out of the city. I follow them out, and as we venture further away, the sounds of the Capitol fade.

After a few hours of travelling, I see the convoy pull to a stop. I glide down happily and wisp to smoke before I reach the ground, landing on my regular two feet before the smoke disperses. I look at my shaking hands as I catch my breath, overly ecstatic with this new feeling coursing through my veins with each pump of my heart.

“AHAHA!!” Robert’s hearty laughter erupts and gains my attention as he quickly walks towards me with his arms spread.

I’m nearly bouncing out of my armor as I hurry forward to meet him. He lifts me up in a hug and twirls me around before setting me down. He smacks my shoulder with the back of his hand. “You are a legend!!”

I’m still unable to stay still. “I can’t believe I could do that my whole life and didn’t!!” I exclaim, a wide smile on my face.

Robert pulls me past him by my shoulder and pats me on the back. “They will sing songs about you as long as there are people to sing ‘em!” He laughs, guiding me towards the convoy as the servants begin to make camp.

He raises his arms to call out to his men. “Have you ever felt safer?!?!”

The men laugh and yell “NO!!” as they raise their swords.

“Have you ever felt prouder to serve fat, old Robert Baratheon!?!” The King questions.

“NO!!”

“Well remember that if any of you fucks try to betray me!!” Robert finishes with a laugh, patting me on my back once more as his men laugh as well.

Robert turns to me and grasps my shoulder, beaming at me. I smile back, still eager, but beginning to relax.

“I’m proud of you.” He states, and I smile wider.

With that, he pats my shoulder one last time before walking towards the forming tents to point out flaws or yell at squires. I immediately hurry off to the hitched horses, looking for one man in particular. Suddenly, he steps into my path.

“Quite a spectacle!!” Joffrey exclaims.

I barely glance at him and continue searching around with my eyes. “Thanks–”  I try to step around him but he steps back in my way.

“Targaryen children were gifted dragons for their name day, and they rode them whenever they liked.” Joffrey retells. “I think it’s fitting if you were to–”

“I’m sorry, but I’m not a pet.” I politely say before moving to step past him. “My Prince.”

I only get a few steps before he quickly runs back in front of me. “You’re right! I am the Prince, and I demand–”

“Joffrey!” Cersei’s voice calls as she hurries over to us, a nervous laugh spilling from her lips as she grabs his arm and pulls him away. “Joffrey, she has duties and cannot entertain you, you silly fool.”

Cersei looks up at me, her best smile on her face. “Apologies, My Lady. I’m afraid we all got a bit excited after seeing that impressive display. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

I could consume this for the rest of my days. Cersei Lannister is trying to flatter her way onto my good side. I play along and smile. “Of course! I, myself, have never experienced anything like that. I cannot blame a child for being thrilled.”

“I am not a–”

Cersei cuts him off. “Thank you. And…I’d just like to apologize for how I’ve acted towards you. It’s clear I’ve greatly misjudged your character. When I discovered you were a Shapeshifter, I worried only for the sake of my children.”

This is amazing. “It’s perfectly okay, My Queen. I will not criticize a mother for looking after her cubs.”

With that, I nod a farewell. “My Queen. My Prince.” As I turn to walk away, my smile grows. Bitch.

I finish making my way to the hitched horses, and see Zaldr tied to a post alongside Sandor’s horse, but Sandor is nowhere to be found. Zaldr lifts her head when she sees me and nudges the air towards me, prompting me to walk forward and rub over her nose and face. I pet down her neck and look over the empty saddle.

“Sorry, girl.” I apologize, rubbing over her mane. “I’ll ride you next time.”

Something bumps against the back of my arm and I glance back to see Sandor’s horse nudging me. I turn and pet his nose, noticing just how big he is. He’s a large heavy courser, with a coat of brown so dark it’s basically black. He stands tall, stoic, and proud; a very brawny and muscular horse. He’s definitely seen combat, but one wouldn’t be able to tell. It appears the Hound cares greatly for his horse.

“Yeah, you’re definitely Sandor’s.” I smile, petting down his neck.

“Can’t imagine you’ll be needing a horse anymore.” A familiar voice speaks behind me, and I turn around to see Sandor smiling.

“It’s good to have options.” I grin, a hand still resting on his horse.

He nods towards him, walking forward to unstrap the saddle. “He’s mean to other people.”

I turn and do the same to Zaldr, smiling. “Perhaps he’s trying to stay in my good graces. He wouldn’t be the only one.”

“What do you mean by that?” He asks behind me, both of us busy with our tasks.

“Cersei basically begged for my forgiveness. Only after saying how impressive I was.” I snicker, lifting the heavy saddle off.

I hear him chuckle behind me. “Wish I could’ve seen that.”

I set my saddle over a fallen log and sit beside it. Sandor does the same and sits next to me, pulling a flask from his belt and taking a sip. After a few seconds, he offers it to me. I smile and try to ignore the flutter as I take a sip, but I immediately retract from the flask and cough in surprise.

“Bloody Hells!” I exclaim, hearing his laughter as he takes back the flask from my outstretched hand. “What is that?!”

“Vodka.” He answers, taking another sip before chuckling again. “It’ll grow on you.”

“It will not!” I laugh in surprise. “I nearly died!”

He turns to look at me, humor in his eyes. “You can breathe fire but you can’t handle a sip of vodka? I think I found The Dragon’s weakness.”

He raises the flask to my face and I giggle as I push his arm away. “Good luck getting me to drink anything ever again.”

Our laughter subsides and he sighs, looking at our horses as they eat the surrounding grass they can reach. “She’s a beauty. Strong and valiant for a mare. I see why you get along.”

I breathe a laugh and smile at my horse in admiration as he continues. “What’s her name?” He asks, raising the flask to take another sip.

“Zaldr.” I answer, and I see him look at me curiously.

“What’s that mean?”

“It’s short for Zaldrīzes.”

“...and what’s that mean?”

I smile and look over at him. “It’s Old Valyrian. It means ‘dragon’.”

He smiles and offers the flask again. “You just wanted to get caught, didn’t you?”

I scoff and take the flask, cautiously sniffing at the strong fumes. “No one on this side of the Narrow Sea knows Old Valyrian.” I remind him before taking a sip. It burns, but at least I expected it this time.

He takes it back when I hand it to him, smiling at my wincing face. “But you do?”

I clear my throat, partially regretting taking another sip. “Septa Darna taught me when I was younger. The first dragons came from Valyria, so she taught herself first to understand me better.”

Sandor looks at me, surprised. “You really know the whole language?”

I smile, proud to show off yet another little trick that no one other than my Septa and my Father knew about. “Kessa. Yes.”

He nods, impressed. “Is there any other talent I should know about?”

I pretend to think about it, looking up at the pink sky. “I believe I’m all out.”

He hums, and we sit in silence for a few moments before my gaze falls on his horse. “He’s a handsome brute.” I note, gesturing to the courser. “What’s his name?”

“Stranger.” Sandor answers. “Don’t ask me what is in Valyrian.”

“Issaros.” I reply with an innocent smile and tired eyes, rolling the ‘R’ to further the accent.

He breathes a laugh through his nose and shakes his head. “Well, aren't you impressive?” He asks sarcastically, but he means it.

“Stranger?” I ask, grinning at him. “The God of death and the unknown?”

“That’s the one.” Sandor replies, looking down at me.

“Well, aren’t you mysterious?” I mock, and he scoffs as he looks up at the darkening sky.

“They’re right here, you twat.” Robert’s voice approaches us. We turn and stand at the King’s presence, who’s already irritated with some of his men.

“A squire named Lancel Lannister, Cersei’s nitwit cousin, forgot a few of the tents and bed mats. Lancel Lannister, if either of you wanted to rid me of him.” Robert grumbles. “Some of my men have to double up. I would order you both not to complain, but I doubt very much that you will.”

I furrow my brows in confusion, but it seems to click for Sandor, who visibly swallows his immediate nerves, only to be replaced with more. “What do you mean?” I ask as Robert turns to walk away.

He stops and halfway turns back, looking between our faces. “You’re sharing a tent.” He explains before turning to stomp back. “And a mat!” He calls out over his shoulder.

“Oh.” I realize, silencing the spark in my gut before mentally shrugging and taking a few steps forward. “Alright.”

“I can sleep outside.” Sandor offers, but he’s already made up his mind.

“Absolutely not.” I refuse, turning back to him. “Look at the sky on the horizon, it’s going to rain. I’ll not let you catch a cold. Besides, it’s not like we haven’t slept together before. A-As in–” I sigh and wave it off, walking towards the tents so he can’t see my blush. “You know what I mean.”

He clears his throat and takes another few sips of his flask before screwing the top back on and following me. After asking a few men, they pointed us to our tent. By the time we pushed aside the door flap, the rain had already slightly begun. Inside the Baratheon-black tent a single small lantern sits at the center of the floor. To the side lays a medium bed mat with a few pillows and a blanket. Happy that the rain started after the tents were put up, I sit down on the dry ground and begin to take off parts of my armor. It mainly consists of lames, the sectioned plates that allow for free movement. They slide off the rest of my arm with ease, and I lay them on the ground before stretching out my arms. Nearby, Sandor sits in front of the bed mat, struggling to untie a knot on his shoulder. He has much more complicated armor than I do, with multiple different sections to take off. I smile at his frustrated grumbles.

“Do you need help?” I ask.

His eyes look over at me as he continues to fidget with the string. “I get it eventually. Or I just sleep in the damn thing.”

I chuckle and push myself to stand before walking over and kneeling next to him. He sighs and looks to the side, allowing me to untie the twine. It comes loose and I shuffle around him to untie the other one while he pulls the first off his arm. As I’m done with the second one, I scoot back on the bed mat and organize the pillows, which were just thrown to the mat for efficiency purposes. He shreds himself of his armor and finally pulls the chainmail chestplate over his head before tossing it to the pile.

He glances back at me, wringing his hands together as his elbow rests on his raised knee. “Why don’t you have as much armor?”

I turn and smile at him cockily. “Because no one hits me.”

He scoffs and looks at the lantern, scooting it further away with his foot. “You can take the mat.” He murmurs. “The dirt is dry here.”

I sigh and turn towards him. “If that’s what you want then fine, but don’t think I’d be uncomfortable sleeping next to you. It’s not like you were there when my father died or anything.”

Sandor smiles at the light before giving in and turning towards the mat as I lie down. I open the cover for him and he shuffles forward, his large frame temporarily blocking the lantern light and covering me in a shadow. He lays down and drapes the blanket over us both. I subconsciously scoot closer in the cool air. I have my hands tucked to my neck and under my cheek, but it’s clear that Sandor has no idea where to put his.

My eyes stay closed as a smile. “You will not get flayed if your hand touches me.”

A short moment passes before he grunts. “Go to sleep.”

My smile widens, and an even shorter moment passes before I feel his hand hesitantly rest on my waist. The butterflies I feel fuel me to shift closer and lay a hand on his side. As if it was an instinct for us both, we pull each other close. His large arm rests along my back while mine drapes over his side. It’s peaceful, and partly awkward, but obviously neither of us wants to move. It’s not awkward because it’s uncomfortable. It’s simply because it’s new. This close, I can feel his heart beat rather quickly, or perhaps it’s mine. After a moment, I raise my hand to lay on his shoulder, immediately noticing the muscle.

I feel around his arm and exhale a laugh through my nose. “Fuck,”

“What?” Sandor asks, curious as to why I’m feeling his arm.

“You hardly need the armor to bulk you up.” I grin into his chest. “It’s all still here.”

He’ll never admit it, but his chest tightens along with his grip on me, unknowingly partially flexing his arm to do so and furthering my point. “Go to sleep.” He says again with a smile.

“Ēdrugon.” I say in Old Valyrian. “That’s ‘sleep’.”

“If you say so.” Sandor yawns out.

I awake to natural chatter outside. I slowly blink my tired eyes, noticing the black sheet of the tent in front of me. As I stretch my legs out, I feel something tighten around my waist. Curious, I look down to see Sandor’s arm trapping me, his shirt sleeve slightly rolled up in his sleep and showing off his forearm. Not only that, but his other arm stretches under my head, replacing the pillows above it. It’s enough to convince me to stay, so I return to my previous position and close my eyes.

He stirs in his sleep, and his belt nudges against me. I think nothing of it until I remember that he took off his belt with his armor last night. Heat blossoms in my face and I turn my head back to see if he’s awake. I can barely see, as his face is mostly buried in both my hair and the pillows, but his faint snore is enough to go off of. I look forward again and contemplate what to do. I know this is common for men, so it has nothing to do with me…does it?

Sandor stirs again before stretching. His arm shifts to wrap more around my waist as his other arm bends at the elbow to hold me closer to him. In this tight cradle, I can’t help but shift slightly to make it comfortable for the both of us. In doing so, I accidentally rub against morning hardness. A small grunt escapes his throat and he takes a deep breath as he wakes. I close my eyes to feign sleep as his slowly blink open, taking his time to process where we are. He then processes his own state and lightly jolts in surprise before slowly removing his arms from me, trying not to wake me. I pretend to stir in my sleep and stretch before turning around and seeing him facing the unlit lantern.

“Morning.” I greet tiredly.

“Morning.” He replies over his shoulder as he puts his armor back on. “We’ll be moving again soon, you might want to get ready and eat something.”

I nod and sit up with a yawn. “Need help with your armor?”

“No.” He quickly refuses, but I smile because I know why.

“Okay,” I shrug, standing up with a full body stretch before walking over to grab my own armor. “Thought you needed help earlier too, but you were asleep so I couldn't ask.” I say as I slide on my boots and step out of the tent.

I don’t know what fueled me to be so bold, perhaps my fatigue clouded my judgement. But I quickly realized that I didn’t care, and I wanted to open that door, even if it was simple jokes. I still worried that perhaps it crossed a line for him, but my worries were forgotten when he sat next to me on a fallen log while we ate our soup in comfortable silence and small talk, like him asking what ‘soup’ was in Old Valyrian.

That day we rode together, him on Stranger and me on Zaldr, and that night we slept the same. It was a nice routine, and each night we bundled more and held each other to keep the other warm in the northern cold. Grass turned to snow, and blue skies turned grey, and soon enough we saw the walls of Winterfell.

Chapter Text

The northern air is crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine and the cold bite of snow. As the convoy rides through the entrance of Winterfell, it’s as if we’ve stepped into a living tapestry of grandeur and the famous northern stoicism. As we rode through the nearby town, the pedestrians lined up to watch the dozens of knights. Riding past the patrons of the Winterfell castle is no different as the steady hoofbeats of our horses announce our presence before we are seen to the eye. The occasional bark of a hound or shouted command from a guard, Kingsguard or Northman, pierces through the otherwise wordless arrival.

As a way to convey professionalism, many of our faces are hidden. The Kingsguard, as well as Jaime, have their golden helmets over their heads. Sandor is wearing his Hound helmet, and I have my hood up, as well as a cloth scarf over my mouth. While the primary purpose is to hide our personal identity, appearing as a stoic soldier to protect the King, it’s also helping ward off the cold bite of the North.

The towering grey walls of the castle loom high over our heads, a testament to the North’s rugged resilience, and the Godswood can be seen peeking over one of the walls. The banners of House Stark flutter in the cool wind, their direwolf sigil proudly presenting itself. The people of Winterfell gather along the road as we pass, their expressions a mix of awe, curiosity, and cautious respect. Children scramble past their parents and neighbors to keep up with our convoy, not wanting to miss a single thing.

We ride under another passing, finding the main courtyard which is lined with The King’s receivers. At the head of them all is the Wolf and his family. As we ride in, the stablehands rush to assist us with our horses. Through my cloak and scarf, I scan the crowd and see the famous Starks for the first time. The first I recognize is Eddard. Tall and rugged, he wears a weathered face that displays years of responsibility and hardship. His reddish-brown hair is held back, but strands fall down the side of his face, the ends just barely meeting his fur-lined attire of the North.

Next to him stands who I assume to be his wife, Catelyn Stark. I recall how she is the sister of Lysa, both of them being Tullys before their subsequent marriages. I initially grew doubtful of her, assuming she behaved and presented herself similar to her unhinged sister, but King Robert put my worries to rest with his assurances. She stands poised and elegant, holding her gloves hands together in front of her. Her auburn hair frames her face, which is laced with both strength and compassion. Robert says she’s a proud and hard woman, but she isn’t too proud to show love. She wears a dignified gown, also lined with warming pelts. Next to her stands a very short boy with light brown hair. Arguably the youngest of the pups, he holds a shy demeanor, dressed in simple but warm northern clothing.

On the other side of Eddard stands a handsome boy, and while I don’t know all of the wolf pups’ names, I assume this to be the eldest, Robb Stark. He has his mother’s hair, although a bit darker. He holds a confident posture, but kind eyes. His clothing is warm and practical, and the Young Wolf carries himself with pride and a clear eagerness to prove himself. On the other side of him stands the eldest daughter, Sansa. I only know her name from Robert’s rare talk of the possibility of marriage. She’s dressed like a proper young lady with long red hair—the color she inherited mainly from her father. She wears a finely embroidered gown, and the white colors cause her to stick out from her darkened-clad family. Her eyes light up—as does her smile—when she sees Prince Joffrey. He returns her admiration, although for her it seems to be a longing for love and royalty. For him, it seems to be a longing for a toy, for power.

Next to her stands another young girl, who clearly seems to be exuding a “stark” contrast to her sister. Her dark hair is slightly unkempt, the neat styling holding her hair back jostled with her movement, and clothing much more practical than decorative. She looks every bit the tomboy, with a mischievous and excited glint in her eye. The last boy, the same height and age of the younger girl, is bright-eyed and curious. He’s dressed neatly, but still practically, perfectly befitting a boy who is adventurous, but still proper as a high-born child.

I highly doubt he’s another Stark child, but my eyes naturally gravitate towards a very large man in a light grey robe. He has dark grey hair and a beard that lightens at the ends. He’s nearly as big as The Mountain, but he seems much less life-threatening. As our horses slow to a stop, I can hear the younger sister excitedly whisper to whoever is listening.

“That’s the Hound!” She eagerly but quietly says and her sister shushes her. The younger girl then sees me, our eyes meeting. She squints in confusion, attempting to recognize who I am in the arriving party, but fails to do so with only my eyes being presented.

Sandor reaches up and pulls apart the mouth of his Hound helmet, revealing his face to the people as the jaws open. I pat my horse as Cersei’s carriage rolls in. I look over to meet Sandor’s gaze, and following his lead, I raise my hand to pull the scarf down, followed only by my hood.

The little girl’s gasp gains my attention and I look back over to see her grasping the life out of her brother’s arm, pulling and pushing him back and forth. “That’s her!!” She whisper-yells. I smile at her excitement, pride blossoming in my chest, which only makes the young girl more excited. “She’s the Dragon!”

Sansa looks over and firmly hits her sister’s arm with the back of her hand before refolding them in front of her. “Would you be quiet?!” Sansa whispers, not wanting to be embarrassed in front of the Prince.

The carriage rolls to a stop and behind it, King Robert strides past. At once, Eddard begins to kneel, followed by his family, and then followed by his surrounding people. The walking Kingsguard themselves kneel, and every horse rider bows our heads–all except Joffrey, of course. A Baratheon servant rushes up to place the box-step for King Robert as he fixes his sleeve. He looks at Eddard sternly and swings his leg over to dismount his purebred stallion. He immediately steps off the box, and quickly strides over towards the kneeling Wolf. One might assume that the King was irate, but I know better. He slows to a stop and looks down at the back of Eddard’s head. Robert gazes forward boredly as his hand silently gestures for him to stand. At his command, Eddard rises to his feet, and his people follow.

They stare at each other for a short moment before Eddard bows his head in respect. “Your Grace.”

Robert tilts his head forward slightly, eyes narrowing. He subtly looks him up and down. “You’ve got fat.”

A silent moment passes before Eddard’s eyes cautiously look down to Robert’s clear belly, and nods down to it. After a few more seconds of tense silence, Robert’s laughing wheeze erupts, planting a hearty laughter in Ned Stark as well. They step forward and embrace each other in a firm hug, patting each other’s back. They withdraw and Robert pats his shoulder before moving onto his next greeting.

He steps towards Catelyn with a raised arm. “Caaat!” He smiles before they give each other a hug.

“Your Grace.” She greets in the embrace, and Robert returns to Ned.

“Nine years. Why haven’t I seen you?” Robert asks. “Where the hell have you been?”

“Guarding the North for you, Your Grace.” Ned smiles. “Winterfell is yours.”

Behind them, handmaidens file out of the red carriage. Cersei is last to step out, scanning the environment as if the air itself is a contagious disease. The younger sister looks around before looking to Sansa.

“Where’s the Imp?” She asks curiously.

Sansa glares down at her. “Will you shut up?”

“Who have we here?” Robert asks, stepping down the line to nod to the heir of Winterfell. “You must be Robb.”

Robb Stark nods and reaches forward to shake his hand. Robert then steps in front of Sansa. “My, you’re a pretty one.”

He leans in front of the youngest daughter, who has already gained my own favor. “Your name is?” Robert asks.

“Arya.” The girl responds, seemingly not intimidated by a King’s presence.

He nods and steps to the last pup of the line. Arya immediately looks away and meets my gaze, smiling at me. I smile and nod to greet her from afar, and she grins at the special acknowledgement. Robert smiles at her brother.

“Ooh, show us your muscles.”

The boy grins and raises his arm to flex, and Robert laughs again, impressed. “You’ll be a soldier!”

Among the Kingsguard, a soldier slips from his horse before removing his helmet, revealing his wavy golden hair. Arya comments to her surroundings. “That’s Jaime Lannister, the Queen’s twin brother!”

“Would you please shut up?” Sansa urges as Cersei walks her way towards the lineup.

She looks around, seemingly mentally preparing for interactions with people she sees as below her. She stops in front of Ned and lifts her hand. He complies and holds her hand, leaning down to kiss it.

“My Queen.” He greets, and she slaps on that fake smile.

“My Queen.” Catelyn adds her own formal greeting before curtseying.

“Take me to the crypt.” Robert requests. “I want to pay my respects.”

Cersei folds her hands in front of her. “We’ve been riding for a month, my love. Surely the dead can wait.”

He ignores her and nods to his brother-figure. “Ned.”

With that, he turns and walks away from the crowd. Ned looks back at Cersei before turning to follow the King. Left alone, Cersei looks among the faces. Arya looks back up at Sansa, a question of hers still waiting to be answered. “...where’s the Imp?”

Cersei hears this and sends a look Arya’s way before turning to walk towards Jaime. “Where is our brother?”

I clear my throat. “My Queen, if I may.” I begin, and I feel the crowd’s eyes on me. “I believe he has ordered his carriage to stop at a brothel.”

She smiles at me tightly, but I know it’s not directed at me. “Already?”

I nod and she turns towards Jaime. “Go find the little beast.”

Jaime nods and walks off as Catelyn takes a few steps towards us. “My Queen, you are welcome anywhere in Winterfell. The West Barracks have been prepared for your knights and servants. We are preparing a feast tonight to celebrate your arrival.”

Cersei smiles at her and puts on one of her more convincing smiles. “Thank you, My Lady. You’re as generous as my husband described.” Cersei nods to Ser Barristan, who nods to his men, relieving us.

We immediately dismount our horses, our sore muscles eagerly awaiting permission. I pat Zaldr’s neck and shoo off the stablehand that asks to help before leading her to a trough of water. Sandor walks alongside me, already in a bad mood.

“Not so bad.” He says sarcastically. “If it wasn’t cold as tits and smelled of pig shit.”

I smile and begin unstrapping the saddle. “It’s not even winter yet. It will be loads colder then.”

He grunts. “Then I’m getting as far away from here as possible when winter comes.”

I lay the saddle over a hitching post and look around the courtyard. “I’ve never been this far north before.”

“Me neither. And I don’t intend to again.” Sandor responds dryly, taking his helmet off. He glances at me as he begins taking Stranger’s saddle off. “You ever even seen snow before?”

I nod and take a brush from the saddle’s satchel before brushing Zaldr down. “The Eyrie is elevated on the mountains, high enough to snow. I would play with it in the courtyard.”

He turns to look at me, but his eyes land on something behind me. He nods in that direction. “Looks like you’ve got a fan.”

I follow his gaze to see the young sister, Arya, shrink back behind a wooden cart. I smile at her curiosity and call out to her. “Hello!”

She peeks back out and smiles, slowly walking forward. She seems solely focused on me, and I’m convinced she doesn’t even notice The Hound is there. “Is it true you can Shapeshift?” She asks immediately. “A raven sent word that you flew right out of King’s Landing.”

“That’s true.” I smile, and she takes another eager step closer.

“Is it true that you’re a Royal Sword? That you fight?”

I lightly gesture to myself. “I don’t believe I’m dressed like a handmaiden.”

She laughs under her breath, scanning my armor. “Cool…” She seems to remember something and she looks up at me excitedly. “Do you want to see my direwolf?”

My eyebrows furrow in confusion and interest. “Your direwolf?”

She nods, happy to have me curious. In an instant she hurries forward and grabs my hand before pulling me along the courtyard. I glance back at Sandor to wave, but he was already shaking his head with a subtly amused smile.

She leads me through the stables before stopping in front of a barred door and opening it. “About a month ago, my family found a litter of direwolf pups. Since our sigil is a direwolf, my brother convinced my father to let each of us keep one.”

We step through, seeing iron bars lined along the left and right wall. We stop in front of the first kennel in the hall, and a small white and grey direwolf wakes up before eagerly running towards Arya, its tail wagging.

Arya unlocks and opens the door, and the pup hops up on its hind legs to get closer to her. She kneels down and tries to block as the direwolf attempts to lick her face. Arya looks up at me. “I named her Nymeria.”

I blink myself out of my surprise and kneel down to pet the pup. “I didn’t know direwolves came this far south.”

She nods in agreement. “My father says it was a sign; that they came south for us!”

“There you are, girl.” Robert’s voice gets our attention. Standing on the other side of the gate is Robert and Ned. Robert looks away from me to Arya. “That’s quite a companion you have there.”

“Yes, she is!” Arya states happily.

“Take care of her and she’ll take care of you.” Robert advises before nodding away. “Go on now, I wanna introduce your father to The Dragon.”

Arya looks to her father, who nods. She sighs and stands up before hurrying out of the kennels, Nymeria close behind her. I stand and dust off my knees before stepping outside.

“My Lord.” I greet Eddard. “I’ve heard great things about you.”

Ned smiles, nodding. “And I of you.” He clears his throat and sadness replaces his eyes. “I would like to offer you my condolences. Jon Arryn was a great man, and no doubt a great father.”

I smile sadly. “You as well. You and Robert knew him longer than I have. Robert says he basically raised you two.”

Robert grins, patting my back. “Although he was much tougher on us.” He laughs, lightening the mood.

Eddard nods to the kennels before the three of us walk away. “Arya’s already smitten with you. Cat tries so hard to make her more ladylike, and here you come riding across Arya’s wide eyes. The first female fighter for the Crown. A Royal Sword.” He smiles. “Goodbye dresses for Arya.”

“Aye,” Robert laughs. “And she’ll take you down in a heartbeat, even in your prime.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “He flatters me, but I’m afraid he over-exaggerates.”

We slow to a stop and Ned smiles at me. “Perhaps, but I don’t think I could beat a dragon.”

I smile bashfully before two young men walk forward. The first one, dressed in a black outfit with a tan and grey pelt keeping him warm, seems to be Robb’s age. He has medium, curly black hair. His face seems round and kind, but still holds strong bones and a decent jawline. Alongside him, about the same age, is a lean boy with brown-red hair. His clothing is well-made, but not as fine as the Starks’. He looks confident, but in his youth it conveys more similarly to arrogance. Still, he seems eager to impress and prove himself.

The black-haired one greets us. “Your Grace.” He then looks at me with his deep brown eyes. “My Lady.”

He then turns to Ned. “The horses are being cared for. We will still have plenty of provisions after their stay.”

Ned nods. “Thank you.” He then turns to me and smiles, patting the young man on the back and pushing him forward a step. “My Lady, this is my bastard, Jon Snow.”

I smile as a greeting for looking up at Ned, surprised. He nods at me knowingly. “Named after Jon Arryn.”

My smile widens as a pang of sadness strikes my heart again. I look over Jon’s face kindly and look back up at his father. “He’s prettier than my father.” I joke. Ned laughs, as does Robert.

Jon scoffs as he laughs but shakes his head as Ned pats his back. “That he is!”

He then gestures for the other boy to step forward. “This is Theon Greyjoy, my ward.”

“My Lady.” Theon greets with a confident smirk.

Ned looks back over to Robert and I, smiling. “I hope you enjoy your stay here. A feast will be at nightfall; give you a taste of the North.”

With that, Ned turns to leave. Jon and Theon disperse as well after formally addressing us to leave. Robert sighs and I look at him patiently. “He’s considering the position.” He announces.

“To be your Hand?” I ask, and he nods.

“If he goes, his daughters would go as well. The eldest will marry Joffrey and we’ll finally join our houses.” Robert explains.

I already feel a sickness just imagining the strife that anyone will have to go through if they’re married to Joffrey. I remind myself that Joffrey has no real claim to the throne, and this is all temporary until I find I can trust Ned with the truth. Robert does, but I don’t know Ned yet. Not really. If I find that I can’t trust him, I’ll find someone else.

 “You know where you’ll be staying?” Robert asks, breaking me out of my thoughts.

I half-nod, half-shrug. “Somewhere in the West Barracks.”

“Good.” Robert nods, beginning to walk off. “I’ll see you at the feast!”

Feasts never really pleased me. The food is usually good, the music is sometimes decent, but the energy seemed so artificial. Those were the King’s Landing feasts. The Winterfell feasts harboured a great energy as laughter and companionship fill the air. The Great Hall, with its stone walls and roaring hearths, brought to warmth by the roaring fireplace. The flickering light matches the torches and chandeliers lining the walls and ceiling, casting comfortable golden hues over the room.

The air is thick with the mingled scents of roasted meats, rich wine, and freshly baked bread. Clinking goblets and lively conversation fills the hall, merriment apparent on everyone’s faces. Except Cersei’s, of course, who is sat at the head table. The Great Hall is smaller than the one at King’s Landing, so among the rows of wooden tables I sit. It’s different from having a special table for council members and soldiers, but I don’t mind. I despise understanding Cersei, but it seems her distaste is more than deserved. I follow her gaze to see Robert dancing in the middle of the active crowd, arms wrapped around a whore.

Beside Cersei, Catelyn sits and sees the same display as Robert kisses the other woman with easy lust. Sandor sits across from me, digging into his own plate. He grunts when someone bumps into his back.

“And I thought there were too many damn people in King’s Landing.” He grumbles, returning to his food.

I swallow a bite of my food and shrug. “There’s less people here, but they’re happier than the ones in King’s Landing.”

“It looks like being happy makes a man a nuisance.” He retorts before taking a drink.

“Is that why you’re always so broody?” I grin. “Because you don’t want to be a nuisance?”

He looks up at me mid-chew. “It seems you’ve got the pick of the litter here, why don’t you pick one of them if you don’t like broodiness.” He challenges, but I know it’s light-hearted.

I tilt my head slightly in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Sandor looks at me like I’m playing dumb. When he realizes I’m actually confused, he huffs a laugh and shakes his head before cutting into more of his food. “You’re lost, Little Fire.”

Irritated, I sigh and lightly kick his leg under the table. “Tell me.”

He takes a bite and looks over at me, giving in. “You were too busy watching the Stark girl marvel at you to notice the heir looking at you. The bastard was behind the line of true borns, so you couldn’t see him looking at you either. Shit, even the ward eyes you like the boy wants another notch on his belt.”

I scoff and squint at him in disbelief. “You see all of that with your helmet on and I see none of it? I don’t believe you.”

Sandor shrugs and returns to his meal. “Fine then, see if I care.”

I reason in my head. “I spoke in the crowd; I told the Queen where Tyrion was. Everyone was looking at me then.’

He says nothing, but shakes his head as he chews. I narrow my eyes, coming up with another reason. “My hair bears the Shapeshifter’s mark. If they were looking at me, then that’s why.”

Sandor sits back, stretching out his filling stomach as he reaches to grab his mug of wine, eyes scanning over me. “Aye, but it wasn’t your hair they were looking at.” He finishes with a nod. “It was what’s under it.”

I look down to see my hair falling over my shoulders before stopping at my chest. I look up at him, humorously disgusted. “You’re rancid.”

He chuckles and continues eating. “I’m a man. I know what boys think.”

I hum and cross my arms, leaning forward on the table. “And what do men think?”

Sandor’s eyes look up at my face before scanning me up and down. He looks back at his food and takes a bite before looking away. “Nothing that a Lady would want to know.”

I hum again, pretending to understand. “And what about A Royal Sword? Would she want to know?”

He looks back at me, caution in his eyes, but a slight hint of curiosity and something more. Before he can say anything else, a hand rests on my shoulder, and nearly the rest of the person as well.

“There she is~~!!” Robert sings, clearly heavily intoxicated. “Scoot, scoot on the King’s orders, damn you.” He says as he wheezes with laughter.

I move down the bench a bit and he ungracefully plops down next to me before wrapping his arm around my shoulder and pulling me in. He smells of wine and chicken, and his cheeks are more flustered than normal with the inebriation. Robert smiles at Sandor, pointing his finger at me while the rest of the hand holds his mug.

“This one,” He begins, resting against me. “Where would I be without this one? One of the few–*burp*--peop-ple that kept me sane over the ye–years…”

He pulls me close again and nods to Sandor. “She’s good.” He mumbles, then looks down to me. “You’re good.”

I smile awkwardly but I’m not uncomfortable. Robert laughs, his wheeze easily becoming contagious. He looks back up to Sandor with delight as he shakes my shoulder. “Isn’t she good?”

He doesn’t give Sandor time to answer before he speaks again. “Even before all the dragons and the swords and the oaths.” Robert waves his mug around, with each enunciation. “She’s–*burp*--she’s…” He trails off, taking more interest in the feast around us as Sandor and I share a glance. “She’s just good.” Robert finishes.

He then pats my shoulder as he stands unsteadily. I raise my hand to help disway him from falling and he smiles down at me, resting his hand at the top of my head. “Thank you, my dear!” He says benevolently.

Robert looks down at Sandor. “Hold onto the good ones, Hound!” He announces. “They’re a rare breed in an evil world. Now if you’ll excuse me…”

He wanders off, finding the same woman as before and wrapping her up in his arms. Sandor turns back towards the table. “I can think of no other woman luckier than her.” He says sarcastically, taking the last few bites of his dinner.

I lay my hands on the table and push myself up. “I think I’m retiring for the night.” I state with a laugh.

As I step out of the bench seating, I smile down at him. “I’ve chosen a room at the south corner of the West Barracks if you wish to ‘hold onto the good ones’.”

I wait to see his reaction, his eyes looking up to mine with surprise and that glint from before. I push my wine mug towards him once again and walk away. It takes a surprisingly large amount of effort to push my way through the active feast, but as I finally step towards the doorway to leave, I nearly bump into an entering man. He’s handsome, about Ned’s age. He has sharp, angular features and dark hair, just barely streaked with a touch of gray that’s tied back neatly.

“Pardon me, My Lady.” He apologizes before getting a look at me.

“No, I’m sorry.” I quickly say.

He blinks, noticing my hair before smiling. “So it’s true then? The Dragon is not only real, but has come to Winterfell?”

“Apparently so.” I smile politely. “I go where The King asks, and he asked me to join him on his task to get a new Hand.”

“Hand?” He questions. “And he’s chosen my brother? Perhaps the world is ending after all.”

I grin at his jest, but before I answer, I notice his black garb. “If it is, I thank you for your service to the Wall. It seems this feast has attracted the Night’s Watch as well.” He smiles at the recognition and I continue. “Eddard Stark is your brother?”

“Aye.” He nods. “Benjen Stark. Pleased to make your acquaintance, My Lady.”

I bow my head to him before gesturing behind me. “Eddard is in there, drinking with everyone else.”

“Thank you.” He smiles before bowing his head formally. “My Lady.”

He walks past me and I take this chance to leave. Instantly as I step outside, I’m met with a frigid breeze of the North at night. I’m also met with grunts and thumps of a sword. I walk further into the courtyard to see Jon practicing against a sack dummy tied to a post. I stop and watch him for a few seconds, recognizing his attacks to be frustrated.

“It’s easy when they’re not fighting back.” I say to announce my presence.

He stops his actions to turn at the voice, his panting breath clear in the cold air. He nods, shaking out the strain in one of his hands. “My Lady.”

“Enough of that.” I smile, walking around the fence to approach him. “You’re very good.”

He nods at me, still partially out of breath. “Thank you.”

“Why aren’t you inside?” I ask curiously.

He clears his throat. “Lady Stark thought it might insult the royal family to seat a bastard in their midst.”

My smile falls at his words. Ironic, because the biggest bastard of all the bastards is sitting right next to his lioness mother.

“How unfair.” I state, and he covers his own disappointment with a smile.

“I’m used to it.” He assures.

I hum and raise my hand, silently asking for his sword. Curious, he places the handle in my palm and I grasp it, walking past him to observe the blade and get a feel for the weight. It’s much heavier than mine.

“I was hidden away for the first six years of my life.” I recall, and his eyes follow me in interest. “People outside the Eyrie weren’t even sure if Jon Arryn had a daughter.”

I turn back towards him. “Until he brought me to King’s Landing. I was to be a Lady; some object to marry off. But I didn’t want that. Neither did my father, really. He stalled for me until his dying breath. And afterwards, I wasn’t in a position to be desired. Not that I complained, of course.”

I turn towards the dummy, preparing to strike. “I wanted a different life before all that. I practically forced my way into training, and when I finally proved myself…” I swing his large sword through. It doesn’t just slice the head off the dummy; but cuts through the thick wooden post holding it up as well.

Jon’s eyes widen as the post thicker than his arm falls to the ground. I turn and smile at him proudly. “That’s when they stopped doubting me.”

“How did you do that?” He asks as I hand him his sword back.

“There is power in strength.” I note. “But there is also power in technique. The strongest man couldn’t cut through the thickest tree without it. I am not particularly strong.”

“But you have the technique.” Jon smiles, impressed. “I see why Arya likes you. The way you tell your story, I would’ve thought you were talking about her. She’s not interested in being a Lady. She practices on her own when no one is looking; whether it be a sword or a bow.”

“That’s where I started.” I grin, finding my fondness for the girl to be growing. “I stole a wooden sword and beat my bedpost.”

Jon scoffs, a charming grin across his face. “Don’t let her hear you say that. She’ll be keeping us up all night.”

I laugh softly as I rest my elbow on a fence. “And what about you, Jon Snow?”

He shrugs and walks towards me, sheathing his sword before leaning back against the fence with me. “I want to fight for something, something with honor. Something…” He sighs. “I want to belong. I don’t belong here, Lady Stark makes that clear. I want to join my Uncle Benjen in the Night’s Watch.”

“Dangerous and cold.” I note.

“I can deal with the cold.” He assures.

“And the danger?” I ask. “The volunteers are honorable. But the rapists and murderers, I have a hard time finding their honor.”

“I want to protect people.” Jon finishes, looking me in the eyes. “Guarding the wall from the wildlings is the only thing I can see myself doing.”

I nod and relent, standing up straight. “Then I wish you good fortune, Jon. The Wall seems more honorable than parts of the Crown anyway. One day I may decide to join you up there.”

He smiles widely. “We’d be lucky to have you. As long as you don’t melt it.”

I breathe a laugh through my nose and bow my head. “Goodnight.”

“My Lady.” He nods.

As I step away, the wooden door opens once more, gaining both of our attention. Robb walks out, ushering Arya ahead of him, and Jon chuckles at her annoyed face. “What did she do?”

“Flung food at Sansa.” Robb laughs, and Arya sees me. “Mother silently demanded that I bring her to bed.”

“Wait!” Arya pleads, tearing her eyes away from mine to look up at her eldest brother. “Can I stay out here?”

“No, time for bed.” Robb refuses, walking her forward. He smiles at me as he passes. “My Lady.”

Jon walks to stand next to me as we watch the two retreat. “I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that she often gets in trouble.”

“No, you do not.” I smile before walking towards the West Barracks.

I don’t recall when I fell asleep, but I awake to the morning light shining on my face. My eyes squint at the brightness as I crack them open. I grimace at the discomfort and turn around, only to see Sandor fast asleep on the other side of the bed. He lays on his back, an arm thrown over his head while the other rests over his chest. My smile widens when I notice that only one of his arms is free of armor, and the other, as well as his chainmail chest, is still on his person. It crosses my mind that he was struggling with the string again, but didn’t want to wake me up to ask for help. I giggle to myself imagining how often this happens to him, sleeping with half of his armor on, or all of it. I lift my hand up to place it over his on his torso, but before I can, a horn blows outside the paned window.

The bloody horn started getting on my nerves on the third day of travel, but still it persists to wake us even during our stay at Winterfell. It blows again and I sit up straight.

“I will kill that man.”

“That man did die.” Sandor states groggily, waking up seconds ago. “He died shitting himself and that’s the new horn-blower, remember?”

“He got what was coming to him.” I say angrily, and the horn blows again. “And that man is next.”

We strapped on our armor and swiftly made our way into the courtyard. A handful of the Kingsguard stands in line as Robert and Eddard talk at the center. Robert sees me over Stark’s shoulder and waves me over. I turn and nod to Sandor, who returns the gesture as he heads off to partake in his own morning routine. I slow to a stop beside them and Ned turns to greet me.

“Sleep well, My Lady?” He asks.

“Surprisingly warm for the North.” I nod and they smile. I turn to the King and grin. “How are you still standing?”

He laughs heartily. “I’ve been drinking my weight since before you were born. I’ll drop nearly unconscious and spring up at first light like nothing happened.”

“A talent I never acquired.” Ned jokes.

“Perhaps you’ll learn, ay?” He begins, patting Ned’s arm. “King’s Landing has plenty of wine.”

I look to the Lord with surprise. “You agreed?”

“Aye.” He nods. “I hope I can do the job as well as your father.”

“They’re quite the shoes to fill.” I smile supportively. “But if you're half as decent as Robert raves about, you’ll do just fine.”

Robert scoffs and waves me off. “Don’t embarrass me. Go get your horse, girl. We’re going for a hunt.”

“Ran out of animals to kill around King’s Landing, have you?” I question, grinning at him as a servant leads his horse to him.

He laughs as he pulls himself up to sit upon the saddle. Behind me, Ned mounts his own stallion. “More of a challenge up here.”

“I see.” I nod at him before turning to leave. “Your Grace. My Lord.”

Before I prepare my horse, I make my way to Sandor across the courtyard. He sits on a bench eating jerky next to Tyrion, who’s barely keeping his eyes open.

Tyrion clears his throat when I approach and sits up straight on the bench. “My Lady.”

“My Lord.” I greet. A hand resting casually on the hilt of my sword, I turn to Sandor. “We have a new Hand, and we’re going on a hunt. I suspect we’ll leave for the Kingsroad tonight or in the morning.”

“Excellent.” Tyrion exclaims. While his voice seems energetic and authentic, his eyes are clearly tired and worn, and his face pale with sickness.

“Rough night?” I ask, smiling down at him. “You may have drank more than you thought.”

He drops the act and leans back against the wooden wall, closing his eyes. “If I get through this without squirting from one end or the other, it’ll be a miracle.”

I grimace at the visual but laugh. “Perhaps you should sit this one out. We wouldn’t want you to retch and scare off the game.”

Tyrion takes a deep breath. “No? No, I believe I–” He begins to sit up, but immediately winces before leaning back again. “I will be ready shortly, I just need to breathe.”

Sandor looks over at him as he rolls up the rest of his jerky. “Didn’t pick you for a hunter.”

“I’m the greatest in the land!” Tyrion insists. “My spear never misses.”

Sandor stands, adjusting his belt. “It’s not hunting if you pay for it.”

Tyrion nods as he begins to stand up with him, but takes a shaky breath and sits back down. “You know, I may sit this one out after all.”

“If you insist.” I chuckle as Sandor and I turn to walk towards our horses together.

A few stablehands meet us in the middle, leading our saddled horses to us. “Oh,” I say, partly surprised. Not even the stablehands at King’s Landing would do that for anyone other than the royal family.

A young boy around Sansa’s age hands me my reins. “Hello, what’s your name?” I ask as I take the reins from him.

“Art.” He says nervously, but excitedly.

“Thank you, Art.” I smile. “That was very kind of you.”

His nerves wash away, and it’s clear on his face. He bows with a small, “My Lady”, and runs back to the stables with the other boy who brought Stranger. I pet down Zaldr’s neck before hoisting myself up on her saddle. To my side, Sandor is already on his, looking at me curiously.

“What?” I ask. “I’m just being nice.”

He nods. “You are good, aren’t you?”

I smile at him as the ward, Theon walks past with a pair of gloves. He hands them to Eddard, who thanks him before Theon walks past again. His eyes meet mine and he smiles, prompting me to return the gesture with a nod.

“You look nice today, My Lady.” He nods. “I wish you luck on the hunt.”

“Thank you, Theon.” I reply as I put my own gloves on.

I feel Sandor’s eyes on me and I look over in time to see him shake his head as he grabs his reins. “Told you.” He states confidently.

I roll my eyes as we line our horses up with the hunting party. “That is also called being nice.”

He looks over at me. “There’s a difference between being nice just to be nice, you, and being nice to get something out of it, him.”

I grin and lean forward to pet Zaldr. “And what about when you’re nice to me?”

Sandor glances over again and sighs. “I’m not nice.”

“Says you.” I scoff and look forward, hearing Robert and Ned’s conversation as they line up in front of us.

They pull back their reins and their horses stop. Robert grins at his lifelong friend. “Are you as good with a spear as you used to be?”

Ned smiles and shakes his head. “No. But I’m still better than you.”

Robert grins and chuckles, his understanding showing through as he sighs. “I know what I’m putting you through. Thank you for saying yes.”

Ned looks up, eyes trailing off as he becomes lost in thought. It’s clear part of him doubts his decision, and I wonder for a moment what made him agree. Robert notices his hesitation as well. “I only ask you because I need you.”

He looks straight at him, his words coming from his heart. “You’re a loyal friend. You hear me? A loyal friend.” Robert finishes. “One of the only ones I got left.”

Ned nods. “I hope I’ll serve you well.”

“You will.” Robert assures. His words assure me as well. If I need to find someone to trust with Cersei and Jaime’s secret, anyone vouching for Eddard Stark is helpful in resting my own worries. “And I’ll make sure you don’t look so fucking grim all the time.” Robert finishes with a laugh.

Ned chuckles as Robert leads the hunting party. “Come on, boys! Let’s go kill some boar!!”

Joffrey rides behind them, followed by Sandor and I. I don’t know who else is coming, but I do see Robb Stark and the Night’s Watchman, Benjen, chatting and laughing as they follow us on horseback, as well as plenty of Kingsguard and Northmen on foot. I personally never understood why so many people are required to go hunt one boar. It seemed like such a large amount would announce our presence and scare the game away.

My thoughts were immediately validated, as we’ve been out nearly all day without a single sighting of a boar. The hunting party has set up camp to warm up temporarily until we make our way back to Winterfell. A few fires are kindled, the heat radiating off of them melting the surrounding snow and turning the dirt underneath to mud. The warmth is a tempting enough reprieve, as the men gather around despite the mud to rub their hands together and bask in the orange glow.

The firelight dances across weary and red faces, illuminating the fur-lined cloaks still dusted with snow, and reflecting off the steel weapons that found no action today. Despite the chill, there’s a quiet camaraderie among the dozen or so. Some lose themselves in conversation or stories, while others sit in thoughtful silence. Sandor finds himself sitting away from the fire, preferring the frigid temperatures rather than sitting too close to the biting flames. I sit back against my horse as she lays on the ground, legs folded underneath her and to the side. In my hands sits a chunky piece of wood, currently being chipped away and carved to look like a poor excuse of a wolf. Other failed attempts are tossed to the snow in front of me, but this appears to be the best so far. I plan to give it to Arya when it’s finished, but not if it looks like the damn boar we never found, which it does. Before I can try to fix it, I carve too quickly and the ear falls off.

I groan, tossing it to the pile of rejects. “Seven Hells!” I exclaim, irritated.

It gains the attention of the nearest fireplace occupants, which just so happen to be filled with the Starks. As I reach to my side to grab another short log—because I made sure to have backups, expecting myself to fail a number of times—Robb calls out to me.

“Why don’t you join us, My Lady?” He asks. “Perhaps you’ll carve better in the fire’s light.”

I look over, decently surprised. “Are…are you sure I’m able?”

Ned’s back is towards me, but he turns to look at me. “Why wouldn’t you be able to?”

I shrug, turning the wood in my hand. “Other than Robert, the royal family doesn’t particularly want anything to do with Sworn Shields or Royal Swords if we aren’t doing our duty.” I think for a moment as they look at my face. “Although that may just be Cersei.”

Ned chuckles and nods for me to join them. “I am not Our Queen, I assure you.”

I smile and push myself to stand. “Thank the Gods.” I mumble under my breath, but he hears and laughs as I sit next to him on the fallen log.

“I can’t say I’ve heard a servant of the Crown talk badly about the Crown.” He notes as I start carving again. It’s already proving to be much easier.

“A day in King’s Landing, you will.” I counter. “It’s mainly looks, because everyone seems to have their own damn spies. You say the wrong thing, and everyone will know before the conversation is over.”

“Besides,” I continue. “It’s not the Crown I’ll talk badly about. It’s Cersei.”

He huffs a laugh, nodding as he looks back at the fire. “I can understand that.”

“What are you carving, My Lady?” Robb Stark asks, leaning forward on his knees.

“Failing to carve.” I correct, smiling at him. “It’s supposed to be a direwolf.” I hold up the work in progress. “Do direwolves look like mules?”

Robb grins. “I’m afraid not, My Lady, but it’s coming along. Try pushing the blade away from you with your thumb.”

I mentally shrug and take his advice, finding it to be much easier than before. I smile up at him. “Well aren’t you a smart one?”

He grins at me, and it seems Eddard Stark creates handsome boys. Between Robb and Jon, I can tell they’ll grow to be headturners. They’re just a handful of years younger than I, but I believe my interest lies somewhere else. But my interest is still around the topic of wolves…or hounds.

“The Night’s Watch calls you ‘The Falcon That Breathes Fire’.” Benjen states, getting my attention.

“Do they?” I ask, smiling at him before returning to my carving. “Fitting, I suppose.”

“Although Jon just calls you impressive.” He continues, and I smile at him curiously. “He told me about you finishing the practice dummy. Poor boy was probably beating at the sack for the better part of an hour. You took his kill.” Benjen grins, nodding at me before drinking from his flask.

“What’s the point of learning a skill if you can’t show it off?” I counter, and he chuckles.

“Blasted boar.” Robert grumbles as he approaches us, warming his hands in front of the fire. “I didn’t know it would be this much of a challenge.”

“Winter is coming, Your Grace.” Ned reminds. “The animals like the cold even less than you do.”

“Bahh.” Robert dismisses his words as he sits on the other side of me, wrapping his arm around my shoulder and pulling me in. “Why don’t you burn the boar from above? The fucking thing will already be cooked, we’d just pull the meat right off and eat it.”

“It’ll be cooked,” I agree. “and so will the forest surrounding it.”

“Ahhh,” He waves me off next. “It’ll give the beast a choice. Die by my spear, or die by The Dragon’s breath!” He finishes with a laugh.

I laugh and lean away from him. “More like die from your breath! Is wine the only thing you consume?”

This makes him laugh harder as he lets me go, patting me on the back before looking around me at Ned. “She’s sharp with her tongue, isn’t she? Reminds me of Cat when she was younger.”

“Reminds me of Cat now.” Ned adds, and they share a laugh together.

Robb leans forward to try and catch my gaze. When he succeeds, he gestures to the spot next to him. “Those two will be talking your ear off. You might as well sit over here.”

I need little to no convincing as the two men immediately begin reminiscing over past stories, and I stand to walk past the fire and sit next to Robb.

“You ever met a Shapeshifter before?” I ask when he looks at me.

“As a matter of fact, I have.” He says, and this surprises me as he continues. “I was pretty young though. It was a traveler from Stony Shore—an eagle. Although he was much larger than normal eagles, and his feathers were laced with red.”

“Sounds graceful.” I note, smiling at him.

“He wasn’t.” Robb laughs. “He wasn’t a very gifted lander. Nor did he take to the sky with grace.” I laugh with him before he looks over at me. “And you?”

“Still getting used to it.” I say, returning to my carving. “I’ve only flown a few times on the way to Winterfell, and those were the first times in seventeen years.”

He seems surprised, or maybe a bit confused, so I explain it to him. “No one knew what I was, and I was told to keep it a secret.”

He chuckles. “Forget secrets, if I could do that I’d be showing it off every chance I got.”

I smile as I focus on the forming wolf in my hands. “I agree. However, not everyone enjoys Shapeshifters, and a dragon is a rather large target.”

He hums, and I decide to turn the conversation to him. “With your father as Hand, that would make you the Lord of Winterfell. How are you feeling?”

Robb takes a breath, but before he can answer, Benjen cuts it. “He’s practically shitting himself.”

Benjen and I snicker as Robb reaches down to grab snow and throw it at his uncle. Benjen laughs as he tries to shield his face. Robb sighs before he continues. “I will do my best to uphold my father’s honor. He’s been teaching me all my life; I believe I’m ready. I just hope the people will accept the change. It’s not just Winterfell; House Stark has countless banners pledged to my father, and I will have to safeguard them all.”

“Do you believe you’ll be able to?” I ask, looking up from my wolf.

Robb nods. “Then you will.” I finish, offering him a supportive smile.

His smile widens, but before he can reply, Robert stands and clasps his hands together. “All right.” He announces. “Let’s get these sorry excuses for hunters home. The boars are laughing at us from the trees, the fuckers.”

Ned agrees before Robert walks off to begin ordering his men. I look down at the carving in my hands. It’s not perfect, but if someone were to guess what it is after just seeing it, it’s likely they’d assume it’s a wolf.

“How does it look?” I ask, showing it off to Robb.

“Like a direwolf.” He replies, smiling as we stand. “Well done.”

“Thank you.” I smile before stepping away. I quickly remember the formality and stumble before turning back to him and nodding. “My Lord.”

He grins and nods. “My Lady.”

With that, I turn and walk around the fire to approach Zaldr. “Come on, get up.” I usher, and although she complains, she pushes herself to her feet.

Everything I brought is either on my person or on Zaldr. Deciding to let the men pack up for their Lord and King, I hoist myself on my horse and lean forward, resting my head on my crossed arms. She doesn’t seem to mind, as she leans down and nudges snow to the side to search for grass.

“Don’t fall asleep.” Someone calls, and I look up to see Benjen atop his own horse, the hunting party forming behind him. “Or you’ll wake up and your mare will have taken you far away.”

I stretch out my arms, shaking the feeling back into them. “It’s much more peaceful in the North, in a way.”

“Winter is coming.” Benjen counters, spurring his horse on. “It won’t be peaceful much longer.”

I spur Zaldr to get into the group as well, and soon we’re retracing our steps. It should only be an hour or two travel to Winterfell, and the promise of good food and warm beds fuel us to hasten our pace.

Sandor rides up behind me. “How was your little chat with the Young Wolf?” He tries to ask casually, but it clearly has bitter undertones.

I look back as he rides up alongside me. “Warm. Why weren’t you sitting by the fire?”

“You know why.” He replies as he looks away.

“I know.” I smile, understanding. “But weren’t you cold?”

“Maybe I’ll find some pretty number in a large fur-pelted coat to cozy up to.” Sandor retorts, nodding towards the front where Robb rides alongside his father and the King. “Looks like that one is already taken.”

I shake my head, silently enjoying his reaction to me simply being friendly. I pull out the carving from Zaldr’s satchel. “Look.”

Sandor glances over before his eyes flick to my face. “Is that for him?”

I shake my head, looking down at my small creation. “For the girl, Arya.”

“Oh, then it’s very good.” Sandor compliments, looking ahead.

I look over at him suspiciously. “And if it was for her brother?”

He smiles, shaking his head. “Then it’s awful.”

I laugh, placing it back in the satchel and making sure it won’t break. “You’re impossible.” I say as I giggle.

Sandor meets my gaze and we share a smile. He looks down at my horse as he gets an idea. “Why don’t you give the Stark girl a show?”

A horn blows on the castle walls, indicating our return. The first of the riders stride through the gates, consisting of Robert, Robb, Ned, and Benjen. Joffren rides in next, and then Sandor, who's leading Zaldr behind him. Arya runs out of a door, eyes looking over their faces. Confusion litters across her face when she sees my empty saddle, but I’m nowhere to be found.

The air is pierced with a deep, resonant roar that echoes over the stone castle walls, scaring the crows from the Maester’s tower. Patrons that weren’t expecting it duck as their heads snap towards the sky. The returning riders smile, looking up as they ride though the courtyard. Arya’s eyes frantically scan the pale, overcast clouds, heart beating excitedly in her chest.

Moments later, I emerge from the clouds, wings beating as I fly towards the walls of Winterfell. As I descend, I tilt up right before I hit the barbican entry, flapping my wings to slow me down. The action does little to tame the chill, as a large gust of icy wind is sent into the courtyard before I land on the top of the wall. As I look across the shocked and unshocked faces, I find Arya in the crowd and a much smaller call emanates from my chest before I jump down into the courtyard.

My wings slow my descent as I land in the yard, sending another chilly breeze over the ground. She subconsciously walks towards me, and I lower my head as she becomes an arm’s reach away. Smoke curls lazily from my nostrils as Arya scans across my scaled face. She extends her hand, her palm brushing against my leathered skin. I huff, blowing a warm gust of air that tousled Arya’s hair, making her giggle as the onlookers start clambering with their own excitement. I step back, and she watches in unyielding curiosity as the dragon’s body disperses into smoke before shrinking and reforming as myself. She smiles at me, speechless.

“Good luck getting five feet away from her, now.” Robb jokes as he and Ned walk towards us.

Arya looks towards them excitedly. “Did you see??”

Ned grins, toying with her. “See what?”

Arya laughs and runs forward, punching at her father that no doubt feels like being hit with pillows at her age. He lifts her up and she shrieks in laughter as he turns her upside down. Robb and I watch with smiles on our faces while Jon walls up to us, speechless himself.

“That was…” He begins, and I smile at him. “I guess it’s true.”

I feign offense. “Have I given you any reason to doubt me?”

Jon smiles and shakes his head. “None at all, My Lady.”

His smile falls as he seems to remember something. Robb and I notice, but before we can ask, Catelyn bursts through a door with tears running down her red face. Ned’s face immediately falls and he sets Arya down to take his wife in his arms.

“What’s happened?” Ned asks, gravely concerned.

Behind us, Cersei quickly walks up to Robert. “Hello, my love. How did the hunt go?” She asks, trying to ignore the scene at the center of the square, or perhaps distract Robert from it.

“Bad.” Robert says simply, most of his attention set on the same scene. His concern grows and he walks away from her to approach the ever-growing group.

“Bran–” Catelyn whimpers, tears streaming down her face.

Robb steps forward, trying to console his mother with his father, as well as get the information out of her. Robert joins them, a hand rubbing over her shoulder.

Arya steps back to join Jon and I. “What happened?” I quietly ask.

She looks up at me. “Bran fell from one of the towers.” She explains, worry clear in her eyes. “He hasn’t woken up.”

My heart sinks at the information. I couldn’t imagine how Lady Stark feels right now. I look up at Jon and he nods sadly, confirming it to be true.

I knock on the wooden door, hearing a sniffle and a small ‘come in’. At the permission, I crack the door open to see Lady Catelyn sitting on a chair next to a bed. In the bed, Bran lays still, his eyes closed and peaceful. I look back to his mother, who’s barely keeping the tears away.

“My Lady.” I greet, quiet and respectful. “I apologize for intruding. I…I don’t even know what to say. Surely nothing that you haven’t heard already.”

She smiles sadly and looks down, tears dripping to her lap. “You’d be right.” She tries to laugh, her voice tight.

I walk forward. “The Gods and I aren’t that familiar with each other, but I will pray for him.”

She’s silent, no doubt trying to keep herself from crying. I reach into my cloak and pull out the wolf I carved. “Will you give him this?” I ask. I can always carve Arya another one on the way to King’s Landing. “When he wakes up.”

Catelyn looks up to see the small wooden wolf. It seems to spark slight joy in her heart and she laughs through the tears as she reaches forward. “Did you do this?” She asks.

I lightly laugh with her. “Apologies, I’m afraid I’m not that good.”

“No.” She says as she looks down at it, raising a handkerchief to dry her tears. “It’s lovely. He will love it. Thank you.”

She sets it on his bedside table, and it manages to stand on its own. Her smile fades when her eyes land on him again. She sighs, shaking her head. “I told him to quit climbing.”

“I’m still new to knowing your family.” I begin, resting my hand on her shoulder. “But it seems he inherited that from his father.”

She laughs again, smiling up at me. It makes me feel good to lessen her pain, even if it’s just a bit, and only for a small second. “You’d be right. He never listens to me either.”

Catelyn looks towards the door as another walks in. I follow her gaze to see Cersei stride in. Catelyn stands and greets her. “Your Grace.”

Cersei raises her hand. “Please.” She says, telling her that she doesn’t need to keep up the formality in such a grave situation.

Catelyn looks down at herself, embarrassed. “I…would have dressed, Your Grace.”

“This is your home. I’m your guest.” Cersei says, walking forward to look at the boy from the other side of the bed as Catelyn slowly sits back down.

“Handsome one, isn’t he?” Cersei comments. She then looks up at me and smiles.

I take the hint and smile at Catelyn. “My Lady. Your Grace.”

I don’t like the idea of leaving the wicked bitch in the room with Catelyn, but I leave anyway, closing the door behind me.

Sandor boredly rests his hand on the fence as Joffrey leans over, grinning down at the sight laid before them. Tyrion is asleep, laying amongst the many cattle dogs who are alert, hoping for a treat. Joffrey finds a pebble and throws it at Tyrion’s head. His face scrunches as he slowly wakes, and he processes where he is even slower. It’s when another pebble hits his arm that he squints ahead to see his company.

“Better-looking bitches than you’re used to, Uncle.” Joffrey remarks as Tyrion unsteadily stands, angrily shaking hay off his hand, and wiping what he prays is his own saliva off his cheek and not a dog’s.

“My mother’s been looking for you.” Joffrey states as The Hound watches Tyrion fully come-to. “We ride for King’s Landing today.”

Tyrion nods and points a tired, lazy finger at him. “Before you go, you will call on Lord and Lady Stark and offer your sympathies.”

Joffrey’s brow furrows as Tyrion walks towards the wooden gate. “What good will my sympathies do them?”

Tyrion steps through and looks up at him as Sandor scans the courtyard, subconsciously searching for me as he chews jerky.

“None.” Tyrion states. “But it is expected of you. Your absence has already been noted.”

“The boy means nothing to me.” Joffrey explains, resting his hands on his extravagant, but greatly unused sword. “And I can’t stand the wailing of women.” He finishes, glancing back at Sandor for support. Sandor looks down at him with the same expression he always has when he’s around Joffrey.

As Joffrey turns back around, he’s met with Tyrion’s fast hand slapping him across the face. Joffrey gasps and yelps at the pain. Sandor’s expression barely changes, only a slight raise of his brows and the smallest smirk when he thinks about how I’d react when hearing about the Prince getting slapped.

Joffrey whimpers as he stands back up, and Tyrion warns him. “One word and I’ll hit you again.”

Joffrey steps forward angrily. “I’m telling Mothe–!!”

Tyrion slaps him across the other cheek, earning another unmanly yelp. Tyrion smiles at him. “Go! Tell her. But first you will go to Lord and Lady Stark.” He begins. “And you will fall on your knees in front of them and tell them how very sorry you are, that you are at their service and that all your prayers are with them. Do you understand?”

Joffrey shakes his head, irate. “You can’t–”

He’s cut off by a third slap across the first cheek. Joffrey whines as he looks back at Tyrion. “Do you understand?” Tyrion repeats.

Joffrey is silent, subconsciously blinking repeatedly to process what happened as well as regather himself. Without another word, he walks away. Sandor watches him go, and continues to as he talks to Tyrion.

“The Prince will remember that.” He warns.

“I hope so.” Tyrion states. “If he forgets, be a good dog and remind him.”

Sandor looks down at him as he walks away, the dwarf already snapped back to normal. “Ah. Time for breakfast!” He smiles.

As Tyrion opens the closest door, I step out. “Oh, pardon me, My Lady.”

“My Lord.” I greet naturally, stepping past him to walk into the courtyard.

My eyes scan the grounds and meet Sandor’s to the right. He nods at me to come over, and I happily comply. I open my mouth to greet him, but immediately get distracted by the cattle dogs he’s standing by.

“We–” I stop myself to smile, kneeling down to pet the eager dogs. “Hello!! We’re heading back to King’s Landing today.” I finish.

“I know.” He replies as I stand to look at him. He looks down at me, a small smile barely hinted at the corner of his lip. I can tell he has something to say, especially when he quickly scans our surroundings.

“The Imp slapped the Prince.” He says quietly.

I gasp and instinctively raise my hand to hold his arm. He smiles down at me, his prediction of my reaction accurate. “Three times.” He finishes.

I cover my open mouth as I laugh silently and giddily. “You’re joking–” Sandor’s smile widens, taking more pleasure in seeing me laugh than seeing Joffrey get slapped.

Zaldr huffs as I brush down her fur, her breath visible in the northern air. “I know.” I murmur. “We’ll be out of the cold soon.”

“I’ll be even further into the cold.” A voice calls behind me, and I glance back with a default smile before it turns genuine upon seeing Jon.

“Oh, really?” I question. “How so?”

“My Uncle Benjen is bringing me north with him. To Castle Black.” Jon states. “I’m to be a Night’s Watchman when I’m ready.”

I turn to him fully. “Good on you for doing what you want.” He smiles and nods, and that’s when I see the uniquely thin sword in his belt. “It’s a bit big, are you sure you don’t want a smaller one?”

He looks confused until I gesture to the sword, and he laughs as he pulls it out. “No, I have one. This is for Arya.”

“Ah.” I nod, smiling widely. “That makes more sense.”

“Tyrion Lannister is coming with us.” Jon states, and I furrow my brow in confusion.

“The Tyrion I know wouldn’t be interested in fighting in the cold. Or fighting at all for that matter.” I respond, tilting my head.

Jon smiles. “I believe he said he wanted to piss off the top of The Wall.”

I laugh and smack my lips. “That does sound like Tyrion. Maybe you’ll make a soldier out of him for his return to King’s Landing.”

We look at each other calmly and I rest a hand on Zaldr as I sigh. “If you’re to take the black, I’m not sure if we’ll see each other again.”

He nods. “Unless you join us up there. I don’t think the wildlings have a dragon on their side.”

I grin and bow my head respectfully. “Until then, Jon Snow.”

He bows his head in return. “Until then. It was a pleasure to meet you, My Lady.”

“You as well.” I finish, and he turns to walk away.

I turn back to Zaldr and hoist myself up onto the saddle before getting comfortable. I pull the reins to the side and she strides proudly towards the gathering travel party. Robb walks towards me, with Theon and the youngest son, Rickon, walking alongside him. Theon’s holding a folded pelt in his hands. I slow my horse and smile at their faces.

“You carry yourself with pride, Young Wolf.” I state. “Lordship is already suiting you well.”

“You are welcome at Winterfell at any time.” Robb nods up at me. “You have friends in the North.”

“A priceless honor.” I reply before nodding to Rickon “Take care of your mother. She needs you.”

Rickon smiles and nods in determination. I look to the last face and nod to Theon. He steps forward and raises the pelt to me. I reach down and take it as he explains. “It’s a wolf pelt, My Lady. To remember your time here.”

I set the pelt over my lap, my gloved hand tracing over the soft fur. “Thank you, Theon. I will carry it with me as I travel as a reminder to be as resilient and loyal as you all.”

“Ride out, men!” Robert’s voice calls, announcing the start of the journey home.

I smile down at them one last time as Zaldr naturally follows the flow of travel. “I’ll miss you all!” I say as I wave, heart slightly pinching as they wave back.

“Take care of my sisters!!” Robb calls out after me.

I grin and call back. “I will!!!”

Starting off down the road, I spur Zaldr to ride ahead, passing troops over Kingsguard and Northmen alike as I reach the front of the convoy. I direct my mare to slow alongside Sandor, who glances over at my presence and lightly smiles.

Part of him thinks about saying another comment or two about the wolf, half-wolf, and Greyjoy, but he doesn’t bother. We’re going back to King’s Landing now. Although it’s a shit city, it’s less of a shit city with her there with him. And that’s where she’ll be: there with him. Although he’d be lying if he wasn’t more than eager for the month of nightly camping along the Kingsroad. He silently hopes that the new accompanying Northmen only brought tents and mats for their own men, so he’d be “forced” to share with her again.

His hopes are answered that night as she falls asleep tucked into his side, his arm resting under her neck and along her back. He hates how his heart flips even if she were to move even slightly, or sigh in her sleep. He despises himself for allowing himself to feel like this. This soft. This weak. This smitten. He mentally criticizes himself, silencing his thoughts and telling himself that there was no use to hope. The girl can’t go into a single town without turning a few heads, all of which are more handsome and unscarred, more lively, and more charming. She was in Winterfell for three minutes before those three took a liking to her. 

Part of him thinks about pushing her away, to create space and avoid her to make it easier to deny how he feels. He sighs as he remembers that he tried that for seventeen years and nothing has changed. During an argument in the middle of their absence from one another, he challenged her to move on. But it was him all along. Seventeen years. If he hasn’t moved on, he knows he never will. He dismisses her jokes and flirty comments to simply be part of her character, intentionally ignoring how she doesn't say such things with anyone else. He knows that she couldn’t actually take a liking to him. He’s been nothing but cold and rude to her for those seventeen years, and it’s not like he’s handsome enough for her to overlook that.

Then she shifts in her sleep again. Her arm stretches out across his chest and hugs him tightly, and all of those thoughts disappear. They’ll return again, he knows this, but for now they’re absent. Without hesitation, he raises his other hand to rest on hers. He thinks back to that Jaever fuck. To the Young Wolf, the Stark bastard, and the Greyjoy ward.

“Heh, ‘Nice’. Yeah right.” He thought bitterly. He knows how they were looking at her.

He knows, because that’s how he looks at her.

Chapter Text

“Father?” I called out cautiously, watching as a few heads in the street turned towards me curiously, wondering why an 8-year-old girl is left unsupervised. I had wandered off from my father during an errand in the city, although I didn’t mean to; I was simply curious. When I turned around, I had no idea where I was.

A woman stepped forward and smiled at my nervous face. “Hello, little one. Are you lost?”

“I don’t know where my father is.” I replied quietly.

She nodded and looked around before leaning down to my level. “What does he look like?” She asked, and I told her.

“He’s the Hand of the King.” I added, and her eyes widened in recognition.

“Oh, sweet girl.” She gently grabbed my hand and began walking me down the street. “I’ll help you find him. Come.”

We took a few turns, walking down a handful of streets, but still hadn’t found my father. Then a man walked up behind us and placed his hand on the woman’s shoulder. She turned around and smiled at him politely. I looked up at him, his golden armor reflecting off the sun. His helmet was tucked under one of his arms. I recognized his face, but I never really interacted with him; Ser Prestan Trant, a Kingsguard. I trained with his son, Meryn.

“My Lady.” He nodded to me before smiling charmingly at the woman. “It seems little (Y/N) has run off again. I thank you for looking after her. If you’ll allow me, I’ll return her to her father.”

The woman ‘oh-ed’ at recognizing the Kingsguard armor, and nodded before smiling down at me. “He’ll bring you to your father, dear.”

Ser Prestan Trant offered his hand to me and I smiled at the woman. “Thank you!” I happily said before taking the guard’s hand.

He nodded at the woman and thanked her once more before turning to walk me away. Eager to see my father again, I trusted the man to do his duty. As time passed on, I began to wonder how far I trailed for it to be taking this long.

I looked up at the guard with a giggly smile. “I think we may both be lost now.”

Ser Prestan said nothing and turned another corner to a dark alley. I looked back at the receding light of the street in confusion. He took another turn, getting deeper into the inner maze of the city. He finally stopped by a few crates and looked down at me.

“No, little falcon.” He grinned, setting his golden helmet on one of the crates. “I know exactly where we are.”

I looked around, confused and slightly uncomfortable. “Where’s my father?”

“I don’t know.” Ser Prestan replied, leaning down to lift me up by my armpits and sitting me on another crate. “Probably back at the Red Keep.”

I fidgeted with my hands nervously. I know of this man, but I don’t know him. “He wouldn’t leave me?”

“He would.” Ser Prestan countered impatiently. “But don’t worry, I’ll take care of you now.”

Before I could reply, I watched as his hands rested on my shoulders before trailing down the sides of my arms. His eyes scanned over my small body before his fingers glided over my chest. I leaned back, raising my hands in front of me.

“Please stop,” I requested, not knowing what he’s doing, but knowing I don’t like it.

He lightly grabbed my wrists before pulling them apart and grabbing my sides, trailing his much larger hands over my hips and thighs. I tried to scoot back out of his reach, but he grabbed under my knees and pulled me back towards him.

“Ser!” I exclaimed, feeling tears prick my eyes. “Plea–”

He clamped a hand over my mouth, becoming much more aggressive. “You want to see your father again, girl?” He angrily panted out.

I couldn’t answer, but looked at him with fear in my eyes as tears trickled down my face and over his hand. “Then stay quiet.” He continued, lifting up my shirt with his free hand and grabbing over my chest.

I cried into his hand as I tried to push and kick him away, but he was much stronger than an 8-year-old girl. He pulled me close to him, basically forcing my arms to hold him. Without hesitating, I trailed my hand down his side, but he mistook it for consent.

“Good.” He praised.

My hand grasped his dagger and quickly unsheathed it before planting it into the back of his neck. To my surprise, my fear fueled my strength, and the end of the long blade poked out of the front and sliced a small part of my cheek.

He grunted in surprise, looking down at me with anger, fear, and everything in between. I let go of the dagger in fear and pushed him away. His blood left his throat in steady spills and squirts with every few fearful heartbeats, and if I wasn’t focused on getting away from him, I would’ve cared more when his blood got on me. He dropped to his knees before falling against the front of the crate to die.

Hours passed, or maybe it was a few minutes, before another soldier ran around the corner and saw me curled up on the crate crying.

“She’s over here!!” He called as he ran towards me. “My Lady, are you–” He then saw Ser Prestan face down on the floor, his own dagger sticking out of his neck. The guard tore his gaze away from him and hesitated to lay his hand on my shaking shoulder. “Are you alright?”

I flinched at his touch and scrambled away, grabbing Trant’s helmet and throwing it at him. It bounced off his chest plate before he raised his hands and took off his own helmet. “My-My Lady, it’s alright!” He assured, taking a few steps back and keeping his hands where I could see him. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

I blinked away my endless tears to see a familiar face; a face I already knew well and trusted.

Ser Barristan.

I burst further into tears and reached out for him. He quickly walked forward and pulled me into a hug before lifting me up, and he swore he could feel how tight I was holding him even with all his armor. He rubbed my back as I cried, looking over my shoulder to look at his fallen knight. He didn’t need an explanation to know what had happened, and although he was glad Prestan Trant got what was coming to him, he wished I was never in that position to deliver that deserved justice.

Another group turned the corner, and I heard my father’s voice. “(Y/N)!!”

I looked up to see him and a few other Kingsguard run towards us, their footsteps audible in the echoing alley. Ser Barristan turned to hand me over as I reached for my father, who took me tightly in his arms as I cried harder. He pulled back to look over my face, seeing small drops of blood fall out of the slight cut, just to join the already smudged stain of red on my cheek.

That was the first man I killed. And here I sit, sharpening the same valyrian steel dagger once belonging to Prestan Trant. I took it for myself as a reminder of the evils, and a reminder to survive. The cut across my cheek has healed to a thin, faint line. I like it. While the dagger reminds me to survive, the cut reminds me that I did.

The convoy had come to a halt near a small hill that smoothly rose from the vast, grassy plains. We’ve long since cleared the snowy lands of the North and are expected to reach King’s Landing tomorrow. King Robert only ordered a break to relieve himself, allowing time for us to do the same or tend to our horses. The hill is accompanied by a sparse treeline, the bushy leaves providing shade from the sun when the dusted clouds do not.

We suffered slight discomfort in the North, a sour mix of our own southern-to-middle-Westeros attire and the prickling cold. It seems as though now it is the Northmen’s turn to feel such discomfort, many packing away their fur coats and padded pants, and still sweating in the unfamiliar climate.

A line of Kingsguard stand watchful as their King, his companions, and most of the Northmen rest in the moment of tranquility. Robert and I sit on two stools; the King chatting my ear off joyfully while I nod and utter small agreements as I sharpen my dagger. He isn’t sitting on his horse, so it isn’t surprising that he holds a goblet of wine in his hand while he tells me stories of his lost love, Lyanna Stark, and the tales of old battles during his Rebellion. Lyanna, pledged to marry Robert, was taken by Rhaegar Targaryen. Anger and regret fills Robert’s heart as he retells how she was raped by the man, and then killed. It’s a grim story, even if it isn’t the first time I’ve heard it. The first time was when I was just a bit older than Myrcella, and a drunken Robert rambled bits and pieces of the story to my father and I in the Tower of the Hand. After he left to go to sleep, my father explained the full story when I asked.

“Ahhh, you should’ve seen the way his eyes grew!” Robert laughs, reiterating his favorite kill during his rebellion. “I watched as he realized my sword stuck him through!”

I don’t mind hearing the otherwise gory details, it’s nothing I haven’t seen firsthand before. Training with the knights and Kingsguard, there was no shortage of injuries and accidents, so I wasn’t a stranger to blood even before I killed Prestan Trant. I’ve since broken off to adapt and fight my own way. The logic was sound in my head; as I don’t want my enemies to recognize any move and catch me off guard. It’s also what shot me up the ranks in the Crown’s soldiers. However, my experience does not end in the training grounds and that one murder in self-defense. When I was 13, a squadron was sent down to River Row to break up a bar fight. The violent drunkards didn’t see us—heavily armored, armed, and trained soldiers—as a threat and attacked. Three out of the six violent men fell by my sword.

I’ve also ran errands throughout the city on my own and just happened to stumble across rapers or wife/child beaters in the act. Some may call it unhinged or rash, but I get the victim away before killing the assaulter, no trial. Ser Barristan lectured my actions, but the people didn’t seem to mind. They admired me, in a cautious way. Their praise, paired with the noticeable decrease of rape and violences cases, prompted King Robert to shrug and unofficially allow me to continue using my own judgement. He knows the loosened rein would never lead to me running rampant through the streets on a killing spree.

I started keeping count of my kills. Not for pride or contest, but for myself. A private tally, each number representing a story, a face, and a moment where my sword or dagger stuck. No matter how foul the person was, or what side they fought for, or how they may have deserved it, it’s still a life. And each one leaves an indelible mark on the soul. After my first few kills in that bar, and every other death for a few months, I found trouble sleeping. I felt the whisper of their final breath, or the gurgle of blood leaking through their fingers over their open throats in the silence of my nights. Prestan Trant was the first. The attackers in the bar made 4. Since then, the number has risen to 424 people; made up of attackers in the city and caravan ambushers or murderers throughout Westeros. I’m not proud of the number, but I need to remind myself what it cost to allow me to still be here. Each kill took more and more from me, and before long, I became desensitized to the loss. I could see the same happen to Sandor as we aged, although his broodiness is clear on his face nearly at all times. It was our duty—our duty to the Crown.

It hasn’t been spoken, but the silent open-ended dilemma between him and I lingers. ‘The Crown” stops at Robert. He’s specifically who we swore our allegiance to anyway—A Royal Sword for Robert and a Sworn Shield for Robert’s son. That is where the dilemma begins; We are not loyal to the Lannisters. Sandor’s technically a free man, since he cannot be sworn to Joffrey Baratheon if he’s actually a Lannister with no claim to the throne or any royalty. However, I am still sworn to the King. Part of me grows concerned for when word of the bastard lions gets out; Will Sandor swear his allegiance to the King again once when we rid the Red Keep of the golden-haired fucks? Or will he leave? Will we become estranged once more?

“Hey–” Robert waves a hand in my line of vision and I startle, looking up at him with an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, what were you saying?”

Robert chuckles. “Head still in Winterfell, ay? I saw how the Stark heir was lookin’ at you by the fire.” He grins, before mocking Robb. “Oh, come sit over here, let me keep you warmm muah mmua–” He pretends to kiss his goblet as if he was Robb and I was the goblet.

“That’s quite enough.” I laugh, embarrassed. “I was only thinking about our return to King’s Landing.”

Robert’s eyes squint in humor as he smiles at me. “I know, dear, you don’t like wolves. You like hounds.” He wheezes when he sees my eyes widen in shock before I look around.

“Would you shut it?” I whisper sternly, which only makes him laugh more.

A Kingsguard strides towards us, his footsteps turning our heads as he approaches. He stops in front of us and bows before pulling a small scroll from behind him and handing it to the King.

“There was a rider in the night, Your Grace.”

Robert nods and takes the message before the guard turns to walk away. He unravels the scroll and we sit in silence as he reads, his face falling more and more stern with each word. I’m curious, but I don’t intrude as he lowers the message and stares into the grass in concentration. To my surprise, he lifts the message for me to take. Happy to feed my curiosity, I grab it and read over the lettering.

“Your Grace,

My spies over the Narrow Sea bring concerning news. Daenerys Targaryen and her brother Viserys live. They’ve found refuge in Pentos and she has been wed to Khal Drogo, a Dothraki horselord, in return for his army. Viserys intends to use it to retake the Iron Throne. I will relay more information when my spies provide it.

-Lord Varys”

I lower the note and look up at Robert, who’s already watching for my reaction. “Well?” He asks. “Is that as much of a threat as it seems to be?”

I sigh and hand the scroll back to him. “I don’t know, Your Grace. The Dothraki have never sailed across the Narrow Sea before, I don’t expect they will because a stranger pushed his sister into some savage leader’s arms.” I scan over the hillside and nod to Ned, who sits on his own seat. “You have a Hand again.” I remind. “See what he says.”

“Alright.” Robert agrees, grunting to get up. “Come with me. You two are the only ones I trust.”

I nod and stand up, sheathing my sword. As we walk through the lush grass, I see Sandor walk along the trees before stopping and leaning his shoulder against the bark, hooking his thumbs under his weapon belt. He looks at me with his normal, unreadable expression. I subtly raise my hand for him to give me a moment as Robert and I approach Ned.

“This is country!” Robert happily announces as he sits across from Ned. “I’ve half a mind to leave them all behind and keep going.”

Ned nods at him with a smile. “I’ve half a mind to go with you.” He looks up at me standing. “My Lady.”

“My Lord Hand.” I greet.

Ned chuckles. “Still getting used to that.”

Robert leans forward on the table, grinning at his friend. “What do you say you and me go on the Kingsroad, swords at our sides, a couple of tavern wenches to warm our beds?”

Ned smiles at him, but it’s tired. He shakes his head as he looks away. Robert groans. “You’re too hard on yourself. You always have been. I swear if I weren’t your King, you’d have hit me already.”

“The worst thing about your coronation,” Ned begins smugly. “I’ll never get to hit you again.”

Robert smiles, but it fades as he pulls out the scroll. “Trust me, that’s not the worst thing.”

Ned looks between the extended letter and Robert before reaching forward to take it. After reading the same message, Robert rolls the scroll back up. “Daenerys Targaryen has wed some Dothraki horselord. What of it?” He tosses the letter on the table. “Should we send her a wedding gift?”

“A knife, perhaps.” Robert suggests angrily. “A good, sharp one. And a bold man to wield it.”

“She’s little more than a child.” Ned reasons, surprised at his friend’s words. “As old as Robb.”

“And soon enough that child will spread her legs and start breedin’.” Robert warns.

Ned scoffs in disbelief. “Tell me we’re not speaking of this.”

Robert narrows his eyes. “Oh, it’s unspeakable to you? What her father did to your family…THAT was unspeakable. What Rhaegar Targaryen did to your sister…the woman I loved. I’ll kill every Targaryen I get my hands on.”

“But you can’t get your hands on this one, can you?” Ned counters before looking up at me. “I pray you’re the voice of reason.”

My gaze flicks down to the half-rolled scroll on the table as I speak. “I don’t know if it will be a threat later, but I will not stand for killing a child.”

“You will if I command it!” Robert snaps, hitting the table. I slowly look down at him, a mixture of surprise and irritation over my face. He sighs and rubs his face before continuing. “There are still those in the Seven Kingdoms who call me Usurper. If the Targaryen boy crosses with a Dothraki horde at his back, the scum will join him.”

“He will not cross!” Ned insists. “And if by chance he does, we’ll throw him back into the sea. And we have her!” He gestures up to me. “A dragon! I doubt their wooden ships will be able to float across the bay if they’re blown to splinters!”

Robert looks between us, barely put at ease. “There’s a war coming, Ned. I don’t know when, I don’t know who we’ll be fighting, but it’s coming.”

He then looks up at me. “Tell Barristan to get the men ready. We’ll head to the Inn at Antler’s Crossroads and arrive at King’s Landing tomorrow.”

I take a deep breath and formally bow my head. “Your Grace.” I say tensely after his previous display of the power dynamic.

As I walk towards the line of Kingsguard, Sandor pushes off the tree to join me. We stride in silence for a few seconds as he looks over at me. “Your face is pinched, Little Fire. First time someone more powerful talked down to you like you're a mutt with a sword?”

“No.” I answer, scanning the grounds for Barristan. “He wants to send an assassin to kill a child on the other side of the Narrow Sea.”

He looks down at me, surprised although it doesn’t show on his face. “Did it look at him the wrong way?”

“She’s the Mad King’s daughter, Daenerys Targaryen.”

Sandor thinks for a moment. “You sure you should be telling me?”

“I don’t care.” I reply honestly before continuing. “Her brother married her off to the Dothraki in return for their army to retake the Iron Throne. Robert wants to kill her before that happens.”

Sandor shrugs. “Makes sense to me.”

Shocked, I look up at him as we slow to a stop. “She’s a child.”

“Then it will be a mercy.” Sandor counters, eyes scanning my face before he continues. “A quick death, or a lifetime of being fucked by savages.” He takes a step forward, looking straight down at me. “What would you choose?”

I stand my ground, looking back up at him. “...I would burn them all.”

He chuckles shortly, nodding his head as he backs up. “If she’s like you, then we’ll have to worry about her. Not the Dothraki.”

The Dothraki horde is sprawled out into camps, scattered across the plains in a chaotic yet harmonious hive. The sun is setting over The Flatlands, basking the sand and rocks in a pink and orange hue. Bloodriders chat amongst themselves, either sharpening their khopeshes, eating, or fucking their women.

Inside one one of the tents, a few women lounge around another. At the center is a young woman of 7-and-10, but she still carries herself with beauty and resilience. Her silver hair, as white and pure as snow, falls over her shoulders and back. Strands are braided and styled by her servants, and her blue-green eyes hold curiosity, although it’s accompanied by caution and uncertainty. Her servants are kind to her, and she is kind to them. They tend to her, combing through her hair and sewing clothes worthy of the Khaleesi she’s become.

However, the weight of the new role bears heavily on her shoulders. She’s no longer the frightened girl who was sold to Khal Drogo. During her time with him, and with the advice from her servants, she’s grown to like her husband.

Daenerys turns her head to one of her servants, Irri. “You’re sure that it’s true?”

“Yes, Khaleesi.” Irri smiles. “Messenger say, ‘half-dragon live in the other world’.”

“And by half-dragon, you mean a Shapeshifter?” Daenerys questions, doubting the authenticity.

Irri nods. “Some say Dragon Shapeshifters is bigger legend than dragons.”

Jhiqui, another servant, smiles. “I hear, Dragon Shapeshifter gifted first eggs to Targaryen long ago. Three beautiful eggs.”

Daenerys shakes her head. “No. The Shapeshifter tried to steal the eggs from my ancestors. My brother told me that story; it’s been passed down my bloodline.”

The third servant, Doreah, nods. “Yes, Khaleesi.”

Daenerys thinks for a moment. “But they’re not a real dragon?”

“No.” Irri answers. “But she can still fly and breathe fire like one. Skin hard as rock, arrows can’t hurt.”

“She?” Daenarys thinks. Then she hears the descriptions and turns, suspecting her to be exaggerating for storytelling purposes. “How do you know that?”

“It is known.” Irri assures.

She thinks for a moment again before accepting it. “Have you ever seen a dragon? A real one.”

“Real dragon gone, Khaleesi.” Irri reminds her.

“Everywhere?” Daenerys asks. “Even in the East?”

“No dragon. Brave men kill them. It is known.”

“It is known.” Jhiqui adds.

Doreah, who’s more fluent in the common tongue, looks up from her sewing with a smile. “A trader from Qarth told me that dragons come from the moon.”

Daenerys smiles, intrigued. “The moon?”

“He told me the moon was an egg, Khaleesi, that once there were two moons in the sky. But one wandered too close to the sun and it cracked from the heat. Out of it poured a thousand, thousand dragons and they drank the sun’s fire.”

The others giggle, entertained by the story. “Moon is no egg.” Issi states. “Moon is goddess—wife of sun. It is known.”

Jhiqui nods. “It is known.”

Daenerys sighs, thinking back on the conversation. She’s a Targaryen, she has the blood of the dragon. There was only one other Dragon Shapeshifter, a man who she was told tried to steal the first eggs from her ancestors. Now there’s another, a woman across the Narrow Sea. For a short moment, envy flicks through Daenerys’s heart. But it’s quickly overthrown by curiosity. Are the stories even true? Does the Shapeshifter exist or is it a tale to scare her brother and keep him from reclaiming the throne?

Are dragons really gone?

Nestled against the backdrop of rocky and rolling hills alike, the Inn at the Crossroads stands, eager to accommodate any and all visitors. The owners doubled down on that goal when the King himself stomped through and rented out all the rooms for his men. Unfortunately, the inn was just too small, and a few tents were hitched outside to temporarily house the others. The inn itself is built of stone and wood, both of which are weathered, but standing strong.

It’s just after midday, the sun hanging lower in the sky, but not enough to turn the sky’s colors warm. Although I’m eager to be done with the constant travel and riding, the destination we’re going isn’t exactly calling my name. I’ve gone on trips before for the King. Each time I see the beautiful fields, forests, and waters of the country. And each time I return to King’s Landing, which has no fields or forests. It has water, if you count the brown muck and waste that flows through Flea Bottom.

However, I do look forward to sleeping in an actual bed after a month of traveling. Except that reprieve is always instantly met with a pang of sadness when I remember that in King’s Landing, Sandor has his own chambers as well. Never once have I found myself wondering when the next long journey would be, but here I am, wanting another tiring trip just to feel and be closer to him.

As I sit on a bench outside the Inn, dismissing myself from the rambunctious men inside, I let my mind wander. I second guess myself easily, and it’s no different when it comes to The Hound. Was he jealous? Or is he simply a protective friend? Years ago when we became estranged…again…he said that our friendship when we were young was short-lived and I needed to move on. At the time, I thought he was simply projecting his own feelings. But as the years went on, I began to believe that he was uncomfortable with me. I tried to deny my feelings and do as he requested, but I’ve made no progress seeing him differently in seventeen years. In fact, my attraction and admiration for him grew as we did. I sigh to myself when I realize yet again that I’m fucked. I’ve fallen for a man who either doesn’t love or doesn’t let himself. And if he did, why would he want me? I’m not a perfect Lady who wears pretty dresses daily. And I’m a Shapeshifter. Am I a freak to him?

I look up at footsteps and see Arya and another boy running down the dirt road, wooden swords in their hands. I smile at the sight, seeing myself in the girl. Down the wall to my left, a door pushes open and Sansa steps out with her direwolf, Lady. They’ve grown slightly in the travel, as direwolves grow fairly quickly, but she and Nymeria are still no taller than a grown dog and they’re still just pups.

Sansa turns and sees me. I offer her a smile, which she nervously returns before she begins to walk away. In doing so, she nearly bumps into the Crown’s executioner, Ser Ilyn Payne. His presence is unsettling, and that’s putting it nicely. The man gave me literal nightmares when I was younger. He’s a gaunt, hollow-cheeked man with a pale face. Clad in dark clothing, he stares silently at Sansa with cold, wide eyes that bore into hers.

Sansa quickly attempts to cover her shock. “Pardon me, Ser.”

He says nothing, and he does not move. He simply continues looking at her with a threateningly ghastly expression. Before she can step around him, and before I can move to stand and help her, another figure steps out of the door behind her. He’s much larger, and by his height and dark armor alone I know who it is. While my stomach flutters at seeing him, it’s clear on Sansa’s face that her stomach drops.

“Do I frighten you so much, girl?” Sandor asks, intentionally feeding his intimidating presence. He points at Ilyn Payne still behind her. “Or is it him there making you shake?”

She glances back, speechless and nervous as he continues. “He frightens me too. Look at that face. Scarier than me and he hasn’t been scarred like I have.”

Sanda turns back to Ilyn Payne. “I’m s-sorry if I offended you, Ser.”

Again he says nothing, but looks over her head to glare at The Hound before leaving. Sansa cautiously looks at him. “Why won’t he speak to me?”

“The Mad King had his tongue ripped out with hot pincers, although I wonder how the current royalty would fare with little birds not following orders.” Sandor warns before nodding towards where the mute man disappeared. “Still, he hasn’t been very talkative these last 20 years.”

Joffrey strides past me to approach her, and before she can reply he calls out to her happily. “He speaks damn well with his sword though. Ser Ilyn Payne, the King’s Justice!”

Sansa looks at him, confused. She sees me sitting on the bench a few strides behind him, listening into the conversation shamelessly. That’s when Sandor sees me as well, and we make eye contact as Joffrey clarifies.

“The Royal Executioner.”

Sansa looks down timidly, visibly uncomfortable but too nice and afraid to say anything. Lady stands by her feet, her direwolf being her only source of comfort. Joffrey notices her discomfort and leans towards her.

“What is it, sweet lady? Does the Hound frighten you?” He looks up at Sandor, irritated. “Away with you, Dog! You’re scaring my lady.”

Sandor bows his head and steps away from them, his eyes meeting mine again before he walks over and sits next to me with a sigh. Joffrey’s not completely satisfied with the distance, but decides to let it go as he turns back to Sansa.

“I don’t like to see you upset.” Joffrey says quietly. I’m reminded how it felt to be on the receiving end of his ‘kindness’ and my skin crawls. To my surprise and concern, Sansa seems to be enjoying it. “The sun is shining, come walk with me.” Joffrey requests.

Sansa smiles and looks down to her direwolf. “Stay, Lady.”

The pup sits as Sansa takes Joffrey’s offered arm, allowing him to lead her away from the inn. I shake my head, tearing my gaze away from them. “At least I don’t have to suffer that anymore.” I mutter. “But I don’t want her to either.”

“She’ll get used to it if she wants to be the Queen.” The Hound responds, just as disturbed.

I lower my voice. “She won’t be a Queen if she marries him. Just a poor girl who unknowingly married a bastard.” I whisper the last word for extra measure not to be heard.

Sandor looks down at me. Even when we’re sitting, he’s still a head taller. “You think you can count on the Stark yet?”

“I think so. I’ll see how he does in King’s Landing before deciding.” I explain before asking him hesitantly. “Why were you toying with her?”

He looks off for a few moments before he answers. “I don’t want her to trust any of us.” He starts. “I don’t want the Stark girls to feel at home with us or at King’s Landing.”

I open my mouth to question it, but I immediately understand before I can get a word out. It embarrasses me that I didn’t think of it sooner. King’s Landing is no place for young highborn girls when the Lannisters are there. Or in general for that matter. My own father was murdered, and Sansa’s husband-to-be is psychotic. Even some in the Red Keep are…questionable. Lord Baelish carries himself with a slimy warning. The fucking Mountain can just walk around where he pleases, and I’d rather die fighting him than allow him anywhere near Sansa or Arya. And the Queen obviously cannot be trusted. Immediately, my next thought is wondering how I could get the Stark girls out of King’s Landing, alliance be damned.

“Your father was right.” Sandor states, leaning back to dig through his side pocket. “No one’s to be trusted.”

I idly watch as he pulls out a folded bag. I hum to myself, lost in thought as he eats from the deer jerky inside. “That’s not always true.”

He glances down to me as he chews and I meet his gaze. It only takes a few short moments to understand each other, but hesitate to speak it out loud for fear of jinxing it. I can trust him, and he can trust me. Both are known and clear between us, for the most part.

We’re different. He’s gruff, brutal, and cynical. He’s always been blunt and honest to those he isn’t forced to serve, mainly motivated by self-preservation and his hidden sense of justice. But we’re similar. I’m not afraid to tell the truth, but I’m gentler about my wording. I’m cynical as well, as my whole life I was told how hated Shapeshifters were, and my experience with the abuse of power in the Crown leads me to doubt all honor. Yet I’m hopeful that there is good in this world. The Crown is rotten, but even though Robert has his flaws, he’s good. I’m protective over the vulnerable, and loyal to those who deserve and earn it. Neither of us care about societal expectations, I more than him. I made it clear that I was to live authentically as myself, even if it meant I was to be judged or misunderstood. Most of all, we both despise uptight, selfish, and hypocritical scum. That’s understood between us as well, fueling our mutual hatred for the Lannisters and any other man or woman, lowborn or highborn, who looks down on others.

We’re similar, but different. What is a moon, without the sun? A clear night sky, without a single star? A beginning, without an end?

A sword, without a shield?

They are different, but they go together. We are different, but we go together.

“Mother!!!”

A scream brings our attention to the road, where Joffrey is unsteadily running over the hill, grasping his wrist as he gasps and whimpers. I recognize how it can be seen as cruel to enjoy a child’s pain, but I still force myself to hide the humor in my face when the little brat shoulders the Inn’s door open. Sandor scoffs and shakes his head, looking back down at his jerky. Sansa runs up the hill next, lifting her dress to allow her feet to bring her after her prince quicker. We watch in silence as she hurries through the door next.

Neither of us say anything, not interested enough to ask or theorize what happened. I smile and change the subject. “Part of me is wondering when the next trip will be. I’d rather live in tents between destinations than King’s Landing.”

“In King’s Landing, you’ll have your own bed again.” He states, wrapping his jerky again and burying it in his pocket.

I feel a bit embarrassed at the comment. I worry that perhaps he’s looking forward to having his own chambers, while I am disappointed. Preserving my pride, I play it off. “I imagine it will feel odd after nearly two months of you as company.”

“Seems we brought the wrong Stark children back with us.” Sandor replies gruffly. “If we brought the heir and the bastard, you’d have company.”

“I don’t want them.” I reply impulsively, without thinking. I quickly recover with a joke. “Too pretty for me, I’m afraid.”

He looks down at me as I toy with a pebble with my boot. “And your Kingsguard boy? I imagine you’d be happy to see him again.”

I roll my eyes. “Jaever has plenty of options, but I’m not one of them.” I then grin as I look up to meet Sandor’s gaze. “Is your favorite hobby keeping up with my love life?”

Our gaze locked, and although we’ve learned to generally communicate warnings or irritations silently, I have no idea what’s going on behind his eyes. He holds that same caution and humor, but there’s still that hint of something else. As I try to understand him in these short seconds, he’s experiencing the same challenge. Although immediately after trying to read my thoughts, he quickly got lost and focused solely on my eyes. His stomach flips when he looks back and forth between my eyes, and from this heightened angle, they are wide to look up at him.

Fuck, He curses to himself. She looks innocent, pure of heart even though he knows what she’s capable of. She’s still pure to him. Too pure for him; too sweet. He doesn’t want to ruin that glint in her eyes. His heart twists when he remembers what she’s been through; a lifetime of hiding, the loss of her father, forcing to work for his murderers. He heard about what happened with Ser Prestan Trant, and he will always hate himself for not checking on her afterwards. He was just too ashamed of distancing himself. Every night for a while after, he’d stay awake imagining all the ways he’d kill the raping bastard if Sandor had gotten the chance. He was 12 when he killed his first man, and it was in battle. (Y/N) was 8, and it was only to preserve herself. Now here she is, sitting next to him like the purest form of good there is. Her beautiful (E/C) eyes, her rosy cheeks, her–...is she blushing? It’s not cold out. Hope dares to spark in Sandor’s heart that maybe she does feel the same, but he’s brought out of his thoughts as the Inn door bursts open.

Our heads snap to the intrusion to see Ned frantically looking around. He sees us and steps forward. “Where’s Arya? Have you seen her?”

I look down the path. “I saw her run off with the butcher’s boy, down that way.”

He nods and calls out to his men as they rush down the path. Joffrey stomps out of the inn next, still holding his arm. He sees The Hound as his mother hurries after him.

“DOG!!” Joffrey screeches. “Go find the butcher’s boy, NOW!!”

Sandor and I stand, realizing that what happened earlier is much more serious than we thought. Sandor nods and walks over to Stranger. “Where has he gone?”

Joffrey nods down the same path. “He ran off like a bitch! Bring him back to me or kill him for all I care!”

Sandor hoists himself up onto Stranger, our eyes temporarily meeting one last time before he rides off. Joffrey then turns to me, anger in his eyes.

“What happened?” I ask as Robert and a few other men walk out, along with Sansa.

“She–!” Joffrey begins, thinking through his answer. “T-They attacked me!! And then the Stark bitch set her direwolf on me!!” He finishes gesturing to his arm.

“Arya?” I question, which only angers him more.

“YES, ARYA!!!” He yells before Cersei leads him back inside.

“Bloody Hells.” Robert grunts before nodding to me. “Come inside, we’ll get this mess sorted out.”

Inside, it’s quite cramped. Joffrey’s wounds were…not wounds. A small bite mark from the direwolf pup and a bit of swelling. There was no blood, and only small bruises where the teeth grabbed hold. No doubt his dignity and pride hurts more than his arm, fueling his endless ranting. The inn is dimly lit by flickering candlelight and the orange glow of the hearth’s fire. When Joffrey is finally silenced, the atmosphere is still tense.

A Lannister guard pushes through the door and approaches the King and Queen. “Your Grace. There’s no sign of the boy, but the girl has been found.”

Before Robert can reply, Cersei beats him to it. “Bring her to me immediately.”

The guard bows and turns to leave. I look over to the Queen, who seems to be expecting me to say something. “Shouldn’t she be brought to her father?” I ask.

She smiles at me, that bitchy smile that holds no friendliness and all malice. “My son was attacked by that girl and her dirty dog. She will be brought back to me at once. Unless you have something to say about it.”

Perhaps she was expecting a ‘no, Your Grace, I apologize’, but she got nothing. I merely turn away, not intending on giving her the time of day. Time passes and the door opens once more. Arya steps in, accompanied by two guards.

“You!!” Joffrey begins, but Robert cuts him off.

“Silence, child!” He begins, frustrated. “We will not speak of it until her father is present.”

“Robert, she–”

“Cersei.” Robert cuts her off sternly, and she clenches her jaw in anger.

Arya is walked in front of them, but I stand and wave off the guards before kneeling down to her. I hold the sides of her arms, scanning her for injuries. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?” I ask quietly.

She shakes her head, and Joffrey is irate. “Who cares if she’s hurt!?”

“I do.” I bite, surprising him with my response.

“You will not speak to the Prince in such a way.” Cersei hisses.

I stand, partially stepping between Arya and her as I glare at her. “...the Prince?” I challenge, and by the way her jaw clenches again as her fingers anxiously pick at the seat, I realize I may have made a mistake. She knows. She knows that I know, or at least that I suspect it.

The door bursts open and all our attention turns to see Ned stepping through the onlookers. As he breaks through the last line of men, Arya runs to hug him.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!!” She rushes out.

He kneels down and looks her over as I have. “Are you hurt?”

“No.” She assures, and he pulls her into a hug.

“It’s all right.” He promises as I step back to my previous position. Ned stands, looking at Robert. “What is the meaning of this? Why was my daughter not brought to me at once?”

Cersei and I lock eyes before she turns back to Ned. “How dare you speak to your King in that manner?”

“Quiet, woman.” Robert hushes her. “Sorry, Ned. I never meant to frighten the girl. But we need to get this business done quickly.”

“Your girl and that butcher’s boy attacked my son.” Cersei begins. “That animal of hers nearly tore his arm off.”

“That’s not true!!” Arya protests. “She just…bit him a little. He was hurting Mycah! He was attacking me!”

Cersei shakes her head, glaring at the girl. “Joff told us what happened. You and that boy beat him with clubs while you set your wolf on him.”

“That’s not what happened!!!” Arya yells.

“Yes it is!!” Joffrey yells back. “They all attacked me and she threw my sword in the river!”

“Liar!!!!” Arya shouts.

“SHUT UP!!!”

“Enough!!” Robert cuts through their argument. “He tells me one thing, she tells me another. Seven Hells! What am I to make of this? Where’s your other daughter, Ned?”

“In bed, asleep.” Ned replies, not actually sure.

“She’s not.” Cersei states, seeing the red-haired girl in the crowd. “Sansa, come here, darling.”

All eyes search for her in the crowd and the nearest men step aside to let her through. She hesitantly walks ahead and stops beside her father and sister, clearly nervous.

“Now, child, tell me what happened.” Robert requests softly. “Tell it all and tell it true. It’s a great crime to lie to a King.”

Without meaning to, my eyes flick to Cersei. Hers do the same to me, and my stomach drops at the second mistake. Shit. She definitely knows.

“I-I don’t know. I don’t remember. Everything happened so fast, I didn’t see.” Sansa says.

“Liar!!” Arya angrily shouts before she begins hitting her sister. “Liar, liar, liar!!”

“Arya!” Sansa calls, trying to get her to stop.

“Stop it! Arya!” Ned demands, pulling them apart. “That’s enough of that! Stop!”

Cersei smirks slightly. “She’s as wild as that animal of hers.” She says maliciously. “I want her punished.”

Robert rolls his eyes in annoyance. “What would you have me do, whip her through the streets? Damn it, children fight! It’s over.”

Cersei angrily looks at her husband. “Joffrey will bear these scars for the rest of his life.”

“With all due respect, My Queen.” Annoyance and hatred spilling from my tongue. “It was a pup. If Joffrey is to become a valiant and brave King, he will surely bear more cuts and bruises than a small bite.”

Robert nods, satisfied. “Agreed.” He states, much to Cersei’s annoyance. He then turns to Joffrey. “You let that little girl disarm you? You deserve that mark.” Robert finally turns to Ned. “See to it that your daughter is disciplined. I’ll do the same with my son.”

“Gladly, Your Grace.”

Cersei huffs, greatly unsatisfied. “And what of the direwolf? What of the beast that savaged your son?”

“We found no trace of the direwolf, Your Grace.” A nearby guard tells.

Robert looks at Arya, believing her more than Joffrey. “Take care of the wolf, and she’ll take care of you, ay?” He recites, and Arya smiles. “That wee pup was protecting her owner. If it’s gone, then that’s punishment enough.”

“No.” Cersei refuses. “That’s not enough. We have another wolf…”

Ned looks between them. “You can’t mean it.”

Robert sighs. “A direwolf shouldn’t be a pet. Get her a dog, she’ll be happier for it.”

“He…doesn’t mean Lady, does he?” Sansa realizes, before turning to Cersei angrily. “No, no, not Lady! Lady didn’t bite anyone! She’s good!”

“Lady wasn’t there!!” Arya insists. “You leave her alone!!”

“For fuck’s sake, Robert was right. Children fight!” I step forward in disbelief. “Joffrey’s ‘wounds’ will heal and you can always buy him a new sword! Sansa’s direwolf didn’t do anything and Arya’s was protecting her! You have no good reason to kill either of them!”

“Hold your tongue, Sword.” Cersei bites. “You forget yourself.”

Sansa grabs her father’s arm. “Stop them! Don’t let them do it, please!! It wasn’t Lady!!”

Ned hesitates as he looks at Robert. “Is this your command…Your Grace?”

Robert looks away from me, then back at Ned. He sighs as he stands and waves him off, walking away with the open ended decision.

Cersei smirks. “Where is the beast?”

“Chained up outside, Your Grace.” A guard informs.

She nods at the executioner. “Ser Ilyn, do me the honor.”

“No!” Ned quickly stops him, and we look at him expectantly. “If it must be done, then I will do it myself.”

“No!” Sansa cries.

Cersei looks at him suspiciously, tapping her nail on the arm of her chair. “Is this some trick?”

“The wolf is of the North. She deserves better than a butcher.” Ned states before turning to leave. Sansa cries in her Septa’s arms as Arya glares at Joffrey.

The crowd chats to themselves, the entertainment over. As Arya and Sansa are led to their rooms, I follow their father’s path. As I pull the door open I’m met with the nice breeze of fresh and cool nightly air, greatly contrasting the heated arguments inside. Cricket chirps greet me as I step through the doorway and walk around the back of the Inn, hoping to stop Ned from killing the poor pup.

I see Ned crouched, his back facing me. He stands, and my stomach falls as I expect to see Lady lying motionless on the ground. However, confusion and relief floods my heart when the light pup runs off into the treeline, free of her chains.

Ned turns and sees me. Fear strikes him until he recognizes my face in the moonlight. He sighs as he walks towards me, placing the chain in my hand. “We buried her, you and I.” He smiles, making sure I keep the story straight. “Under the maple tree around back.”

I smile and nod, happy to see his honor show. Perhaps he can be trusted after all. We turn to part ways; him intending on disturbing the dirt under the maple tree to make the lie more convincing, and I intending on heading to bed. We both only get a few steps before we hear a horse’s whine. Looking back, I’m pleased to see Sandor leading Stranger. However, both Ned and I’s eyes land on the body thrown over the back of the horse.

“...The butcher’s boy.” Ned recognizes, his heart dropping. “...you rode him down?”

The Hound looks at me before staring ahead as he walks. “He ran. Not very fast…”

We stare after him as he recedes. Ned’s face holds a solemn look before he sighs and leaves to dig in the dirt. I, on the other hand, am shocked. Sandor’s killed more than I have, and he’s even put a swift end to a crazed woman when she ran at him with a knife. He’s never killed a child before…until now, I suppose.

I walk after Sandor in disbelief after he disappears around the front of the Inn. I find him just as he lifts the boy over his shoulder and sets him down by the hay shack. I’m nearly speechless as I walk towards him.

He turns and sees me, mumbling to me as he passes to return to Stranger. “It’s late. You should get some rest before tomorrow.”

“I–...” I turn away from the boy before walking after Sandor again. “What happened?” I ask, hoping for a better explanation that makes me feel better.

He says nothing as he unstraps the saddle from Stranger. His silence worries me more than an answer, and I press on. “Sandor, what happened?”

“I brought him back.” He states gruffly, grunting as he lifts the saddle up and sets it on the hitch.

“You killed him.” I state, trying to make myself believe it. “He was just a child!” I exclaim, thinking back to his comment on Daenerys. Makes sense to me. He’d really kill a child?

He looks around, making sure we’re alone before looking at me cynically. “You really think I killed that boy?”

I toss my hands up. “That’s what you said! Or…you didn’t say that you didn’t!!”

Sandor looks away from me to walk towards the Inn. I follow after him, giving one last glance at the poor boy before we step inside. He ducks to enter, and the scattered crowd naturally parts to allow the large man through. I’m not even sure they saw me behind his broad figure until we walked past. Finally we stand next to each other in front of the King and Queen.

“The boy?” Cersei asks.

“Out front.” Sandor answers in a gravelly and tired voice.

“Good.” She nods, realizing he’s dead. She then looks at me. “And the beast?”

“Out back. In the dirt under the maple tree.” I state in a low voice.

My patience is wearing thin with her. At least returning to King’s Landing will mean there’s ample room to get away from her. Robert’s gaze catches my eyes, and the slightest nod is directed at him. He seems to understand the truth and smiles, subtly but happily relaxing in the life of the direwolf pup.

“Excellent.” She smirks, happy to get some of what she wanted. “You are dismissed.”

We nod before turning, the crowd now parting for me as I lead us up the stairs and to our assigned room. I close the door behind us, and he stands at the center of the room, waiting for me to pry.

“Talk.” I demand, knowing he was waiting for it.

Sandor sighs as he begins to unstrap his weapon belt. He sits on the bed as he fidgets with the strings on his armor. He quickly gives up and looks up at me. “You mind helping?”

I cross my arms. “Depends on what you say.”

He sighs again and explains as he attempts again to untie the string. “I found the boy a ways down the road. I called out to him, told him I was bringing him back. He took one look at me, and when he realized The Hound was after him, the kid broke out into a sprint.”

I shift on my feet, nervous about what he’s going to say next. Sandor gets one of the strings untied and switches to the other. “I rode after him so I wouldn’t lose him. I told him that I wasn’t going to harm him, that I only wanted to bring him back to talk. He looked back at me and tripped. Banged his head against a rock, and he didn’t move again afterwards.”

My heart pinches at the thought. The poor boy was probably terrified. I know there’s more to the story than Joffrey says, and if the boy ran, he clearly thought his life was in danger. And when he saw The Hound riding after him, he surely thought he was done for.

I sigh and walk over, sitting next to Sandor on the bed and shoo-ing his hand away to allow me to untie the last string on his shoulder. I’m relieved to hear that he didn’t actually kill the boy firsthand. His scary presence may have led to the boy’s fear, which led to his death, but Sandor himself didn’t intentionally ride him down. With the string untied, I rest my hand on his leg and kiss the armor on his shoulder.

“You’re a good man.” I smile before standing and walking to my belongings in the room.

Sandor sits in surprise, still feeling the whispers of my touch on his leg. His eyes, however, are glued to his shoulder plate, which still has the mark of my kiss on the steel, beside the reflection of the flickering candles.

He doesn’t want to go back to King’s Landing. He doesn’t want to stay with these people. He wants her. He wants to leave with her, to ride off on Stranger and Zaldr and never come back. Fuck Joffrey, fuck the crown, fuck his brother. Fuck everything. Everything except for her. 

Though he wouldn’t be opposed to something similar with her, as he tears his gaze away from his armor to watch her shed herself of her own in front of a mirror. He sighs and shakes himself out of it before ridding himself of the untied steel.

She doesn’t want that. He thinks.

But he wasn’t aware that she could see him in the mirror, staring at the kiss and then eyeing her body, sending butterflies and longing through her stomach and heart.

Chapter Text

Spirits among the traveling party were gravely mixed. Many Kingsguard were happy to be home, and many Northmen were curious to see what the Capitol is like. The day was heavy for me, and not just because it means I’ll no longer have an excuse to be around Sandor. I don’t want to be here. I was only here for my father, and now he’s gone. I care for Robert as if he was part of my family, but he’s not what’s keeping me here. I respect loyalty and honor, and I don’t want to be without Sandor, but those aren’t the only things that’s keeping me at King’s Landing of all places. I still crave revenge for my father’s death. I cannot leave this place as long as Cersei sits in power.

The day is heavy with the scent of the sea, indicating our approach to Blackwater Bay. However, that’s not the only tell to let the convoy know we’re near, as the city walls are in sight, and the Red Keep looms above them like a crimson shadow against the pale sky. I ride behind the royal carriage, close enough to hear the creak of the gilded wheels and the clop of hooves on the cobblestone as the convoy pierces the main gates. They were wide open to welcome us home, although it doesn’t feel like home to me, and really it never did. In this place, smiles hide daggers, and promises hide lies. A tense shadow seems to hang over the Stark girls’ carriage. Sansa’s been looming since the believed death of her direwolf, and her eyes are now scanning the crowd through the detailed window nervously. Arya, on the other hand, watches with curiosity, her neck preening to see every possible detail of the city as the carriage passes.

Riding next to the Queen’s carriage is Jaime, who looks more than confident atop his horse. He glances back at me to offer a smirk, his golden hair catching the light. Worry crosses my heart as I reciprocate the gesture, wondering if he and the Queen have talked about suspecting my knowledge of their affair.

We finally reach the courtyard of the Red Keep, and the tired convoy comes to a halt. The King’s voice booms as he orders his men around, most of which dismount their horses or leave the carriages to stretch their legs. I stay mounted, my hand resting on my sword hilt, watching as the men, women, and famously-named children take in their surroundings. I smile as the Stark girls’ necks crane to look up at the towering Red Keep. My features slowly fall and turn to worry when I remember: This is King’s Landing. And nothing good ever stayed good here for long. They either leave or turn rotten.

“Don’t look so sour.”

I look up to see Sandor walking towards me after hitching his own horse by the stables. I huff down at him, shaking my head as I continue to scan the yard. Off to the side, I see the new Hand already being drawn away to his duties. “Coming from you.” I remark, looking back down at him.

He places his hand on Zaldr’s nose, who immediately enjoys the affection. “We’re home. In the King’s eyes, you should be happy.”

Dismounting my horse, I drop in front of him as I reply disappointedly. “This place doesn’t feel like home.”

“No, it doesn’t.” He agrees, walking with me as I lead Zaldr to the stables. “I imagine you miss the Eyrie.”

“That didn’t feel like home either.” I answer as we reach the hitching post. If it were anyone else, I’d feel self-conscious for being too gloomy or somber, but it’s Sandor. He’s the king of grumpiness and ill-tempered sarcasm.

Sandor thinks to himself for a moment before responding. “The Clegane Keep isn’t known for being welcoming.”

“Septa Darna warned me that the Clegane Keep makes brutists and rapists.” I comment, feeding Zaldr a treat.

“Another reason why my father always preferred my brother.” Sandor retorts, mood dropping at the thought of it. Being back here means that we’ll see The Mountain again, which isn’t particularly the highlight of our days.

With that upsetting reminder, I sigh while we make our way towards the many steps to the Red Keep. “It appears we need to find our homes.”

“You seemed to do alright in Winterfell.” Sandor begins, and I roll my eyes. How many nights have we spent lying alongside each other, and he still nags me about the possible crush of younger men?

“I swear to the Old Gods and The New, you bring up any of those Starks one more time–”

“I wasn’t.” He interrupts, subtly smiling. “You just seemed happier there.”

I think about it for a short moment as we climb the stairs. “I felt happier there.” I agree as we step apart from each other temporarily to let a guard walk down the steps between us. “But anything is better than King’s Landing and a castle where I was hidden for years.”

Sandor sighs to himself as he contemplates. He knows how he feels, and he has a hunch that she may feel the same. Unfortunately, that terrifies him more than rejection. The fear of losing her to battle, or maybe to be murdered like her father? He can’t use the excuse that she can’t handle herself, or that she’s something to be tainted. This damned fucking city has already done a number on her. Yet he admires that she’s still strong.

“Why don’t you go live up there? You’ll keep the fire going easily enough. You’re already loved there, and I don’t just mean the Stark boys.”

I smile at the thought. It’s cold, sure, but no one there is cold-hearted. We slow to a stop at one of the many ledges that give reprieve from the endless fucking stairs, and look out into the city of countless homes. “But what about you?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “You don’t want to live with me.”

I turn to look at him, but his gaze stays straight. “I’ve been living with you, all our lives.”

“In a giant castle of cunts where we would barely see each other even if we weren’t estranged. Winterfell is smaller, you’d be forced to see me.”

“And that’s a bad thing?” I challenge, prompting him to finally look at me. “Sandor, you’re basically the only friend I have, and I–...just…I think we…”

A few moments pass, but I can’t find the words to say anything, the fear of rejection settling in deep. It’s clear he’s at least attracted to me, but is that all he wants? Or does he feel what I feel and long for something more?

Unbeknownst to me, Sandor buries the hope that sparks in his heart along with any thoughts of what could be. He mentally shrugs them all off as he turns to walk away. “You can fly, I don’t know why you bother with these damn stairs.”

I close my eyes and sigh as I think to myself.

Damn it.

I hadn’t even made my way to my own room before someone had called my name. My pace slows as I close my eyes and sigh, but as I turn around, a cordial smile plants on my face. At the end of the hall, a Kingsguard makes his way towards me.

“You’re back!” The helmeted man greets as he approaches.

He stops in front of me and I slightly tilt my head. “I am…and you are?”

“Oh–, wait sorry.” He quickly apologizes before lifting his hands and removing his golden helmet. It’s ‘my pretty boy’, who grins upon my recognition as he threads his fingers through his previously flattened hair.

“Ah!” I smile and nod. “Ser Jaever, it’s nice to see you again.”

He sticks his helmet under his arm, resting his free hand on his sword’s hilt. “And it’s nice to be seen by you, My Lady. How was the journey?”

“Long.” I partially joke. It was long, but I didn’t mind it.

“Two months on the Kingsroad and a few days in the snow of Winterfell, you’re probably exhausted.” Ser Jaever responds. “I heard you and a few others had to share tents. I can’t imagine The Hound was the best of company.”

I tilt my head in slight confusion and attitude, reshifting on my feet. “He was quite pleasant. Many people believe him to be dangerous…and they’re right. But only to those who deserve it.”

Jaever’s smile falters, but only slightly. “I always believed he was just a dog that growled at whomever the Crown pointed. And that’s why they called him The Hound?”

I shift again, crossing my arms. “Sandor named himself The Hound.”

He quickly looks across my face, slowly developing a theory as to why he’s never succeeded in capturing my attention. “Did he?”

“Yes.” I nod before confirming his thoughts. “He told me when we were little. Dogs are loyal, but Hounds are fierce, and Sandor is both. I’d fight beside him any day, in any battle.” He thinks for a moment, but before he can press on further, I change the topic. “It is good to see you again, Jaever. It’s good to know that King’s Landing still houses a few friendly faces.”

That seems to be enough for him, and his charming smile is spread out across his face once more. His eyes widen as he seems to remember something. “Oh–! I nearly forgot. The new Hand of the King wishes to see you in the Tower.”

I furrow my brows in confusion, but mainly I’d just like to retire to my room. “Does he? What for?”

“He didn’t say, My Lady.” Ser Jaever smiles apologetically.

I sigh, pushing away the thoughts of rest for another time as I nod to Jaever. As we walked down the hall, I never noticed The Hound himself standing around the corner behind us, accidentally approaching our conversation, but shamelessly listening in. To say he was surprised to hear me talk kindly about him to Ser Jaever would be an understatement. He half expected to hear me shit talk him behind his back, unknowingly revealing to him that the care I show him is all a farce. He sighs to himself as he walks back the way he came, lost in thought as he traverses the stone halls.

It was strange, bringing myself to the Tower of the Hand and knowing that my father wouldn’t be on the other side of the door. I take a deep breath before knocking.

“Come in.” Ned’s gruff voice calls through the wood.

I push the door open and smile. “My Lord Hand.”

“My Lady.” He greets as I close the door behind me. “Or do they just call you The Dragon?”

“(Y/N) is fine.” I nod. “After my father’s death and swearing my allegiance to Robert, I don’t imagine I’m a Lady anymore.”

“Very well.” Ned nods, gesturing to the seat in front of the desk. “Have a seat, (Y/N).”

I comply and sit down, glancing out of the balcony window at the grey sky. “How have your girls settled in?”

“All right so far.” He grins. “Sansa always had a yearning for the finer things in life, but now I have a hard time keeping an eye on Arya in such a big place.”

“I imagine if she was in a carriage, you’d still have a hard time controlling her.”

He chuckles at the thought, “You’d be right. But I called you up here for advice.” He begins, getting my attention.

“What can I help you with?” I ask curiously.

“When we hunted back in the North, you said that everyone seemed to have their own spies.” Ned recalls, looking at me seriously. “Who can I trust?”

I sit back in the chair. “No one.” I answer simply. “Everyone serves their own agenda, whether they admit it or not.”

“You’re Jon Arryn’s daughter.” Ned states cautiously. “I can trust you, can’t I?”

I smile at him and shrug. “Of course you can. But am I telling the truth? How do you know I’m not a spy? I’ve lived here for most of my life, I’ve learned how to lie.”

“Are you a spy?” Ned asks, trying to see through my guise.

“I’m not.” I smile warmly. “I fight for what’s right. But everyone does. Everyone fights for what they believe is right, yet it’s still different. Who’s to say my idea of what’s right is the same as yours?”

Ned sighs, sitting back against his own chair. “I think I want to go back to Winterfell.”

“As do I.” I agree, and he looks back at me as I look away, contemplating my words before I continue. “The people here, they aren’t loyal to Robert. They’re loyal to whoever sits on that throne and fills their pockets.”

“You said you swore your allegiance to Robert.” He counters, and I nod.

“I did. And I may be the only one in this castle other than you who has.”

“So I can trust you.” He decides.

“You can.” I nod. “But can I trust you?”

His eyes scan my face, realizing that he will be tested. That he has been tested. And that I have yet to decide if he passed or not.

I clear my throat, changing the subject. “I hear there’s to be a tourney.”

His face is replaced with annoyance and stress, and it’s only the first day of being Hand. “Did you know that the Crown is six million in debt?”

I blink in surprise. “I didn’t think the debt was that large. Baelish is a shitty Master of Coin.” I mumble before looking at him apologetically. “Apologies, My Lord Hand.”

He chuckles. “I’m from the North, you think I care about profanity?”

I smile at him. “I guess not. How much will the tournament further that debt?”

“I don’t want there to be a tournament.” Ned says bitterly. “But the other council members are insisting.”

I chew the inside of my cheek before thinking of an analogy. “Have you ever been on the sea, Stark?”

“I have.” He nods, wondering why I’m asking. “But not for long.”

“Imagine you and Lady Stark were to set out to sea with Arya, Bran, and Rickon.” I begin, and he nods to show he’s following along. “It’s not a large ship, and soon you discover a leak. You and Catelyn investigate further, and you find that there’s almost no way to stop the leak. It will slowly sink the ship, and your children are in danger. You decide not to tell them, because you don’t want them to worry or panic. You and Catelyn can’t think of a way out if the children are scared.”

“What does this have to do with a royal tournament?” Ned asks.

I answer by continuing the story. “A few weeks pass, and the children start to suspect. ‘Why is the waterline closer?’ ‘How come there’s a puddle in the hull?’ They can’t know, or they’ll panic. So Catelyn starts entertaining them with stories and games, distracting them from the problem while you come up with a solution.”

Ned looks down at his desk, connecting the dots.

“The people of King’s Landing need a distraction, or they’ll focus on the problems. I told you that you could trust me, so believe me when I say that the Crown has a lot of problems.” I finish, proudly wrapping up my analogy, although I’m no Lord Varys.

Ned looks up at me, humor in his eyes. “You should be the Hand.”

I scoff, standing up. “Oh, Gods no. That’s why I agreed with Robert when he spoke of yanking you out of the snow.” I joke as I walk back towards the door.

He chuckles as I open the door, but he calls out to me before I can leave. “Thank you for your council, My Lady.”

I turn and smile at him. “It’s the best you’ll find here.” His grin widens as I turn to leave.

Just over a week later, the jousting arena is nearly packed. The wooden stands lining the trodden path are filled with spectators, from nobles in their finest attire to common folk cheering from the sides. Across from them sits another wooden stand, filled with Red Keep residents, a special sun-protected place for the royalty, and their guards. The atmosphere is lively, as the excitement from one person bounces off of another, then another. Banners of the volunteering knights wave in the sky as the sounds of the trumpets signify the matches are set to begin soon.

Under the royal coverage, the King and Queen sit at the center. To the side sits Joffrey, clad in velvety red and a smug face. I stand beside the King’s seat at his request. A few paces to the side, Sandor stands with me, present to keep an eye on Joffrey. My eyes scan the noble crowd before seeing Sansa sitting among other young ladies of the Red Keep. Doubt raises in my mind when I see Baelish walk over to sit next to her, glancing at me before he sits. Arya isn’t present, as she was more interested in practicing her own sparring with Syrio, a man who agreed to teach her how to fight by “dancing” over the past few days. Ned sits beside Robert, and he seems just as displeased with this tournament as he was when we last talked.

Another trumpet sounds, directing our attention back to the action. The announcer, a middle-aged man in silver armor, steps up as the crowd quiets down.

“For the first match! We present Ser Kegan of House Thaller, and Ser Patryck of House Smith!”

The crowd cheers as the two knights in gleaming armor ride their horses on either side of the fence, raising their House banners proudly above them. After handing the banner to their squires, they each approach the stands, asking for a Lady’s favor.

Finally they line up on opposite ends and sides of the fence, and the crowd goes quite once more. They lower their lances ahead of them and drop their helmets’ masks. The trumpet blows again, setting them off into a quick ride. They ride fast, and their lances soon collide with the others’ armor. The match is over quickly as Ser Kegan is knocked from his horse, and Ser Patryck barely manages to hold on. The crowd cheers for the winner, who proceeds further on the bracket.

This goes on for a few hours. Normally it would get old and less exciting as the matches went on. However as the matches progressed, more well-known and tougher knights jousted, fueling the interest to stay present. That, and people were starting to get injured, whether it be knocked unconscious or broken bones.

The announcer raises his wooden bullhorn once more. “Next, we have a few Kingsguard!! Ser Adian of House Taner, and Ser Jaever of House Umber!!”

My eyes flick over in surprise, and sure enough, Jaever sits atop his beige horse at the end of the trodden path. To my side, Sandor subtly sneaks glances at my face as Jaever and the other jouster rides along the path. I don’t notice, and instead look upon Jaever’s trot with worry. People were starting to get hurt, and although he’s a flirty dunce, I don’t want to see him in pain.

Ser Adian slows his horse in front of the noble Lady’s, smiling at one in particular. “I ask Lady Elna Penrose for her favor.”

Lady Penrose giggles, standing up with her favor and hurrying to the fence to rest it on his lance. The way they smile at each other, it’s clear they are already an item. He nods to her and rides off just in time for Jaever to approach. His blushing fans cheer louder as he approaches, and although he smiles at them, his gaze looks past them. My stomach drops when he nods at me.

“I ask Lady (Y/N) Arryn for her favor.”

The crowd turns towards me, even the King and Queen, and I stand in shock. A blush covers my cheeks, but it’s out of embarrassment of being put on the spot in everyone’s eyes. I look around to see Robert grinning at me, and I take a nervous step forward.

“I don’t have a favor…” I whisper to him.

He nods and pats himself down before deciding to rip off a part of his sleeve and handing it to me. “Oh my Gods.” I laugh, and the surrounding spectators chuckle as well.

Wanting to get everyone’s eyes off of me as quickly as possible, I walk towards the wooden fence. I can feel his fans look at me much more judgemental than the others, but I pay it no mind as I stand before him.

“I will have your head for this.” I mumble to him, and he chuckles. I reach forward to place the ‘favor’ on his lance, and I can’t help but laugh at how ridiculous it looks. “I’m sorry!” I laugh, embarrassed at the lack of actual favor.

“It’s perfect.” Ser Jaever smiles as he turns his horse. “As are you.” With that, he spurs his horse to run back down to the starting position.

The crowd awe’s, but I shake my head before making my way back to Robert’s side. “Let’s hope he wins.” Robert jokes, lightly hitting my arm as I pass. “He’ll spoil you with those 40,000 gold dragons.”

“I have no need for that.” I respond before smiling. “Besides, it’s really your favor he has. Perhaps he’ll spoil you.”

Robert barks a laugh at that as the trumpet sounds again, spurring the competitors into action. The lances hit each opponent, but doesn’t knock them off. Both riders stop at the end and turn around, preparing to rush each other. Their horses’ hooves clop against the dirt, anticipation fueling my heartbeats as they near each other again. As their lances clash against their armor once more, Ser Adian falls from his horse before landing against the dirt with a thud. Ser Jaever still struggles to hold on, however, as he’s partly off the side of his horse. With his stallion’s shaky trots, he can’t find a decent enough grip to pull himself up and he falls, disqualifying them both.

“Damn it.” Robert slaps his leg before looking back at me humorously. “I was wantin’ to get spoiled.”

The announcer brings our attention to the final round. “Since both knights were disqualified, neither will battle the winner of our next match. Therefore, our next match is our final!!” The crowd cheers, wondering who it will be. “Who will win the Champion’s Purse?! Please welcome our first finalist, Ser Loras Tyrell!!!”

Clapping and cheers erupt as The Knight of Flowers rides through the path, dressed in silver armor with golden trims, and sitting atop a pure white mare. He holds a perfect red rose in his hand before he slows his horse in front of the Lady’s. Reaching his hand out, he offers it to Sansa.

She smiles as she takes it. “Thank you, Ser.”

He nods back happily. “I ask for your favor, My Lady.”

Sansa eagerly nods and retrieves a small cloth bracelet before standing to set it atop his lance. “I wish you good fortune, Ser.” She says before sitting back down.

He smiles at her before turning to ride away, sending a special glance towards another in the crowd. I follow his gaze to see Renly smiling at him.

“And please welcome our last finalist, Ser Gregor Clegane!! The Mountain!!!” The announcer exclaims. The crowd cheers, but my stomach drops once more.

At the other side of the jousting path, Gregor stomps towards his large black warhorse. Dressed in thick silver armor, he roughly mounts his stallion before yanking the lance out of a helper’s hand. I’ve been lucky enough not to see him after we returned to King’s Landing, and a quick glance at Sandor’s contempt-filled gaze towards his brother tells me that he doesn’t enjoy his luck running out either. He glances back at me, and a silent message is clear between us.

Loras is dead.

However, the Knight of Flowers seems to believe otherwise, as his demeanor is calm and confident atop his own horse. Gregor, by contrast, angrily pulls his helmet over his head. As the contestants prepare themselves, I happen to hear a small snippet of a conversation between Littlefinger and Sansa.

“He’s going to die.” Sansa states sadly as she seems to come to the same conclusion as us.

“No.” Baelish denies, nodding towards Loras when she looks at him questioningly. “His mare is in heat.”

I look back up to see if it’s true, but I can’t tell one way or the other. However, Gregor’s stallion is clearly agitated, which only makes his rider more angry. A second before the trumpets are blown, Gregor starts early and roughly spurs his horse ahead. Loras charges as well, both of them lowering their lances. As they approach each other, it’s clear that Gregor’s horse is greatly affected by the mare’s presence and slows down. This distraction allows Loras to land a clean, decisive hit on The Mountain’s shoulder, knocking him from his horse in a shocking result.

The crowd erupts in ecstatic and surprised cheers, and more people are standing to applaud rather than sitting. As most of the spectators watch as Loras does victory laps around the arena, Sandor and I know to keep an eye on Gregor.

And for good reason too, as The Mountain’s fuming humiliation fuels his rage, and he refuses to accept the outcome. He throws his helmet down and draws his massive sword, walking towards his still-agitated horse before swinging the sharp steel through, decapitating the stallion in a horrifying display that shocks the crowd. He turns, sword still bloody as he stalks towards an unsuspecting Loras. He reaches a hand up and pulls Loras off his white mare and throws him to the ground. As Loras tries to stand, The Mountain swings his sword down and narrowly misses. Loras is smaller and quicker on his feet, and he’s relying on that factor to keep him alive because he knows he’ll never win hand-to-hand combat against The Mountain. However, each miss only pisses Gregor off more and the crowd watches in shock as he attacks. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Sandor quickly walk forward and down the steps before drawing his own sword. Just before Gregor can land a fatal blow on Loras, Sandor’s sword blocks it before parrying it away.

Loras backs off, as Gregor is content enough to redirect his rage to his brother. He attacks again, and Sandor blocks each swing before countering with his own. The brutal, impromptu sword fight in the middle of the arena sets everyone on edge. Sandor matches Gregor blow for blow, re-showcasing his own skill and courage.

“Stop them..” Robert slowly snaps out of his own shock. He turns back to me, frantic for the tournament to not get ruined. “Stop them!!”

My heart flips, but I obey his command and quickly walk forward. I take a deep breath as I step onto the dirt, finally drawing my own sword and approaching the dueling brothers. Sandor swings through, his sword clashing with Gregor’s armor and stumbling him back towards me. I take this chance to attack, swinging at the armor on his legs. His knee buckles and he almost falls forward, but I grab the back collar of his armor and pull him roughly down. Gregor lands on his back and the crowd gasps. It was then that either of the brothers realized that I was part of this now. Gregor swings his sword along the ground, intending to cut through my feet. I jump over the path of the blade and walk back.

Sandor grabs my shoulder and pulls me behind him, both of us backing away, but we’re also prepared as The Mountain pushes himself to stand. He looks at both of us for just a second before he charges ahead, not intending to stop until we die, or he dies. His large sword swings through again, but Sandor parries it away once more.

“Stop this now!!!” Robert yells.

We fully intended on obeying, but we know that Gregor wouldn’t. He dodges Sandor’s sword before grabbing his little brother’s arm and pulling him towards the ground on the other side of him. With Sandor out of the way, Gregor stomps towards me. I run towards him as he swings his sword diagonally down. Before it hits, I slide underneath the deadly blade, just narrowly missing a few inches away from my face before I stand up behind Gregor. He spins around, hoping his sword would happen to come into contact with me as he does. I wasn’t expecting it, and he would’ve struck me down right then and there if the steel didn’t clang against another. Sandor pushes back against Gregor’s sword, therefore pushing him back as well.

“STOP THIS MADNESS IN THE NAME OF YOUR KING!!!” Robert stands up and angrily commands.

Sandor immediately turns to plant his sword in the dirt, kneeling behind it and dipping his head. I’m about to do the same until I see The Mountain walking forward, more pissed off than ever. He’s only focused on Sandor, and swings his sword across, intending on decapitating his brother from behind. I step forward and hold my sword behind Sandor, bracing as Gregor’s larger sword clangs against it, the echo ringing in our ears.

We stay that way in a stalemate until Robert calls out again. “Ser Gregor Clegane, you are dismissed.”

Gregor steps back and looks at me, then his standing brother, then the King. Irate, he angrily throws his sword to the ground before storming off. From the stands, everyone seems to relax. Even Joffrey looks relieved. Loras nervously walks back over before reaching out to us.

“I-I owe you both my life.” He looks between us as we catch our breath. “Thank you, My Lady. Thank you, Ser.”

“I’m no Ser.” Sandor says gruffly.

I smile and nod at Loras, still panting either from exhaustion or fear, or both. “Glad you’re alright, Ser.”

Loras smiles and steps in between us, grabbing each of our hands and lifting them high into the air with his own. The crowd erupts in cheers for the winner—or I suppose the three winners. Sansa eagerly claps, happy to see Ser Loras unharmed, but not nearly as much as Renly is.

That night, it doesn’t surprise me when sleep refuses to come. During the fight, Sandor and I were defending ourselves and trying to simply stop him. Gregor, on the other hand, was only out for blood. Any moment could’ve been my last, or Sandor’s. One wrong step and Gregor would’ve sliced us through. It shocks me that Gregor’s display of savagery hasn’t earned him a lifelong banishment, but then again, it doesn’t shock me at all.

The adrenaline of the fight keeps me awake, and I’ve long since abandoned hope of sleep. Now I stand on the balcony of my room, watching the many candlelights flicker in the many homes below the Red Keep. I wonder to myself what would’ve happened if I didn’t step in. Would one of the Cleganes have been killed? Did I make it worse? Make Gregor angrier? I can’t help but think back to Sandor as well. I stepped in, but on the King’s orders. Sandor stepped in automatically to defend Loras against his brother. Despite his own reputation as a brutal killer, that display made him stand out for his reluctant heroism.

And we protected each other. He pulled me away and blocked my death, and in return, I blocked his. It makes me feel good to fight with him, to have someone you can trust with your life. After the tournament, Sandor happily split the winnings with Loras, though I refused. There was a feast for the winner and runner-up, but I didn’t attend. Instead, I let myself have some much needed independence in the comfort of my room.

The moon has long-since risen in the sky, alerting me that finding company somewhere in the castle at this hour would be rude. However, someone else didn’t come to that same conclusion, as a few light knocks sound on the other side of my door.

Curious, I leave the balcony to investigate. I put my own worries at ease, reasoning that if it were Gregor, he would’ve simply sent the door from its hinges. Happy to have anyone else but Gregor, I pull the door open to receive the late-night guest.

I’m partially surprised to see Sandor himself, looking down at me with his own surprise.

“Didn’t know you’d be awake.” He mutters.

“Then why come?” I ask, stepping aside to wordlessly invite him in.

He hesitates, but ultimately strides past as I close the door behind him. “Didn’t feel like sleeping.” He replies, watching as I move to sit against the foot of my bed.

“We’re alike then.” I smile at him.

He scoffs and waves for me to scoot as he sits next to me. “Then Gods help you.”

I lightly laugh, reshifting in my own comfort when the bed dips as he sits. We stay in comfortable silence together in the small candlelight of my room. Perhaps it was my silent fatigue creeping up on me, or feeling grateful that we’re still alive, or maybe I’m just tired of dancing around this wall. I sigh and let my head lightly fall on his shoulder.

“I’m glad you still have your head.” I mutter, closing my eyes.

He glances down at me, and with a tired sigh, a small smile tugs at his lips. He allows himself to indulge in these rare moments of peace, allowing himself the luxury of good company.

I open my eyes and subtly glance up at him, only to see him staring off at something insignificant in my room, utterly lost in thought. But he still seems…calm. More than ‘calm’ and boredly waiting for uptight pricks to stop talking around him. He seems content. I open my mouth to say something, but another knock on the door surprises us out of our otherwise pleasant moment.

He looks down at me, confused. “You expectin’ company?”

I shake my head as I stand. “I wasn’t expecting either of you.” I mumble as I walk towards the door. I turn to him before I open the door and nod to a black table with glasses and a flagon. “Wine’s over there if you want some.”

He immediately finds it and stands from the bed to grab it. I turn back to the door and pull it open. My eyes widen in surprise when I see the rock in my boot I just can’t seem to get out.

“Ser Jaever? What are you up to so late at night?” I ask, and he smiles apologetically.

“Apologies, My Lady.” Jaever begins. “I hope I didn’t wake you. I just wanted to check in to see how you were. You didn’t come to the feast, I was afraid of the possibility that you got injured.”

I smile at him. “Still have all my blood.”

He grins, instinctively looking over me. “Glad to hear it. I…” He trails off, and I realize that he’s looking behind me.

I turn to follow his gaze, and I see Sandor standing tall in my room, drinking the wine straight from the flagon. Not only that, but he looks straight at Jaever the whole time, as if he was silently challenging him. He lowers the flagon, licking his lips before shrugging with his eyebrows as he puts the lid back over the wine.

I turn back to Jaever with a smile, unable to hide it. Rubbing my temple, I smile at him apologetically. “Quite um…stressful, after a fight with The Mountain.”

“I…imagine.” Jaever responds, smiling tightly. “Well I…I won’t keep you awake any longer. Get all the rest you need; the Red Keep isn’t nearly as pretty without my favorite refreshed Lady.”

“Oh, I’m your favorite, that’s nice.” I smile at him as I close the door. “Goodnight, Ser.”

The door closes and I roll my head back before walking towards Sandor. “Surely you saved some of my wine for me?”

He nods and pushes a glass towards me on the table. I smile and grab it, happily taking a long sip as he walks back to sit at the edge of my bed. He sits with a sigh, looking over me as I drink.

“You should be nicer to him.” Sandor jokes. “You gave him your favor.”

I breathe a laugh through my nose as I place my glass back on the table. “I gave him Robert’s favor.” I remind before turning towards him. “And how should I be nicer to him? Should I call him back and offer him some wine?”

Sandor looks away, becoming familiar with the feeling he gets when my eyes are on him. “Not enough for him.”

I grin and lean back to see how much of the wine is left. “Not enough wine?”

“No.” He answers, and I glance back at him. “Wine wouldn’t be enough for him. He would want more from you.”

Again, perhaps it was my tired mind, or maybe the wine is already setting in, but I push off the table to slowly walk towards Sandor. “And what would he want?” I ask, my tone low but soft.

He doesn’t try to hide it as his eyes look over my body, at the way my hips sway as I walk closer towards him. He tells himself to look away, but he can’t even complete the thought before he becomes aware that he’ll ignore his own advice. I stop in front of him and reach for his shoulder, untying the strings once again.

He glances between my hands and my face, his heart jump-starting. “What are you doing?”

“I assume you’re sleeping here.” I begin, glancing down to his face before refocusing. “I don’t mind. I don’t want to be alone with a crazed and angry Mountain on the loose.”

Sandor takes a deep breath and looks past me, wondering if he’d be able to drink some more wine to calm his nerves. He’s brought out of his thoughts as my voice breaks the silence.

“You never answered me.” I recall, finishing up untying the last string on his other shoulder.

“What?” He asks, looking up at me as he begins to pull the armor off.

“What more would Ser Jaever want?” I remind, looking over his face. I hope my confidence masks my own nerves, though I’m sure he could hear my heart beating.

Sandor looks me up and down before looking away, putting all his focus on removing his armor. I take a step back to allow him more space. “You know what.” He replies begrudgingly.

“Tell me.” I request as he pulls the chainmail chestplate over his head.

Chapter Text

“What more would Ser Jaever want?” I remind, looking over his face. I hope my confidence masks my own nerves, though I’m sure he could hear my heart beating.

Sandor looks me up and down before looking away, putting all his focus on removing his armor. I take a step back to allow him more space. “You know what.” He replies begrudgingly.

“Tell me.” I request as he pulls the chainmail chestplate over his head.

He lets it fall to the ground as he sighs before looking up at me. Although I can tell in his eyes that the sigh was not made out of annoyance or boredom, but as a way to subconsciously calm down and prepare.

“He’d want to take you.” Sandor replies, knowing that I won’t let this go until he answers. “He wants all of you. He’s had his eyes on you for years. You could beat him in a fight, I’m sure he’d feel self-pride for taking you in his bed.”

“Hm.” I hum to myself, retaking a step towards him. “And how would you know?”

“Arrogant prick doesn’t just want most young women’s attention. He wants yours too. He looks and talks to you like you’re the only woman in the world.” Sandor says bluntly, leaning forward to try to stand.

I stop him, keeping him seated in front of me. He looks up at me in surprise and caution as I reach down to grab his hands. I step forward, finding a place to stand between his legs as I rest his own hands on my waist.

“Would he want to do this?” I ask, and it pierces through Sandor’s heart when he hears the innocence in my tone.

He looks down at his hands on my waist, feeling the warmth through the fabric. It seems no different to the times we’d sleep next to each other in the tents on the Kingsroad, but it’s actually completely different. Before we were assigned to share, and were comfortable enough to be close. But now, he doesn’t have to be here. In her room, late at night, while everyone else is sleeping. And she doesn’t have to stand there, standing right in front of him, placing his hands on her waist. He tries not to think too much of it, telling himself that she’s just teasing him again.

“I’m sure he would.” Sandor responds, realizing then that his throat is dry with nerves.

I smile softly at him.  “And what about…” I trail off, slowly but gently dragging his hands up my sides and towards my chest. Before his hands get too close, he stops, grabbing onto the sides of my torso.

“What are you doing?” He asks softly, unsure of what’s prompting me to be so bold.

I let go of his hands before cupping the sides of his face gently, leaning forward to answer him. “...What we both want.”

Goosebumps trail over my skin as I feel his hands glide back down to my waist. His eyes scan over my own face, mouth slightly parted as his shaky and nervous breaths escape. Part of him is tempted to let go and stand, to walk away before he does something wrong to make me hate him. The other part of him screams at the first, calling him a number of profanities as he refocuses on my soft thumb ghosting along his cheek.

That’s when he notices my eyes flick down to his lips. He feels a jolt of anxiety shoot through his body at the thought. The thoughts that he buried and ignored nearly every time he looked at her throughout the years. He lets his own eyes fall to my lips, taking in how soft they look, how much he yearns to know how they feel. He wants to. Gods, he wants to. He’s not a religious man, and his knees have never hit the floor in such a scenario, but he would pray to every cruel, kind, or uptight God for this moment to keep going. Our eyes meet again, and it’s clear to both of us. All our lives, even when we were nothing but an awkward presence in a room, we’ve wanted this.

I lean forward, closing the gap between us and finally connecting our lips. His hands grip my sides just a little harder, firmly pulling me close. I set my knee on the mattress between his legs, lifting myself forward as I push him back on the bed, not once breaking the kiss. I crawl the rest of the way, shifting my knees on either side of him to straddle his lap. My heart skips a beat when I feel his hands glide over the small of my back and pull me in closer. I feel my chest flutter when I process the scene. Sandor Clegane. “The Hound”. A giant, untouchable, brutish killer with a dangerous reputation that sets fear into the hearts of people across Westeros. And here he lays under my touch.

He trails a hand down to my ass, giving it a squeeze and revelling in the moan I emit into the kiss. He wants to drown himself in my scent, my taste, my touch. I take my lips away from his and kiss along his cheek, trailing my way down to his neck. I can hear his breathing catch as I suck a hickey into his skin, and he plants his hands back to my hips.

“Are…Are you sure you want this?” He asks cautiously.

I answer him by biting down on his neck, smiling when his hands tighten against my hips at the mixture of pain and pleasure. I glide my hips around, feeling the result of his body reacting to my touch. He barely stifles a guttural groan at the sensation. He mentally curses himself, curses me, for making him feel so fucking weak.

“Do you?” I ask, my voice a breathy whisper by his ear.

Sandor answers me by moving to sit back up. I sit proudly on his lap, lips red from kissing. He looks into my eyes, scanning me as I return the gesture. He nods without a word, his eyes dropping low to look at where my legs spread to wrap around him, only being blocked by our clothing. Unhappy with the barrier, he tugs at my shirt.

“Take this off.” He demands, and I instantly grab the hem of the top before pulling it over my head.

When I toss my shirt to the side, I see him in the process of taking his off as well, just much less efficiently. I smile as he finally rids himself of his undershirt before he fully takes in the sight in front of him. He’s never acted so fast before, his hand raising to grasp at one of my breasts while his other finds a place behind my head, pulling me into another deep kiss. He leans back, turning as he pulls me back with him before setting me on the soft covers. He gets a good look at me in this new position, and his hands trail over the soft skin of my breasts, down my stomach, over my hips, and back up my sides. He pats the side of my ass before pushing himself up to stand, untying his own pants.

“Those too.” He demands again, his gruff voice sending sparks through my heart and right between my legs.

I sit up and pull down my own pants, lifting my ass off the bed to help before tossing them to the side. In an instant he’s back over me, and I lose myself in his deep kiss. The pressure between us is almost unbearable. The weight of years and years of longing falling off our shoulders as our tongues fight. I feel his hands trail back down to my hips before gripping firmly and pulling me flush against him. Desperate to touch and explore, he breaks away from this kiss just to trail down my own neck. I feel his hand trail between my legs, and I wrap my arms over his shoulders to prepare. A high sigh escapes my lips when his fingers find my wet arousal, immediately sliding one in and curling it inside me. I moan and squirm around, desperate for more.

He groans into my neck as he adds another finger, feeling my nails drag across his back. He trails his lips to the shell of my ear.

“Tell me I can have you.” He demands, his voice low and needy. It’s stated as a demand, but it’s clear he’s waiting for permission. Part of him still believes I’ll push him away, play it off as a joke. It wouldn’t surprise him. The Gods play their tricks and he always felt like he was their favorite toy.

“You can have me..” I pant, moving my hips with his fingers. “All of me.”

Sandor’s mind nearly goes blank. The only thing he can think of is how badly he wants her. He knows how much he needs her, and he doesn’t have to hide it anymore. Although he’s aware he was doing a pretty shit job at hiding it in the first place.

He pulls his hand away from my core and raises his head to look into my needy and lustful eyes. He leans down, and I close my eyes expecting a kiss. But his lips softly brush against my own, and I open my eyes as he speaks.

“You’re going to regret that, Little Fire.” He warns.

His words send another spark through me, but it furthers my disheveled, lust-filled state. He is a dangerous man, and although I know he’d never harm me, it’s thrilling to be under him. My smile fuels him and he kisses me again, but slowly this time. He reaches between us as he lines himself up with me. As he begins to push in, he holds himself up to get a better view. He stretches me so painfully good, I bite my wrist to stop from announcing my pleasure to the entire Red Keep. He watches me, eyes flicking over my face, to my chest, to where we connect more and more. He takes notice of every small gasp, every wrinkle of my brow, how I remove my wrist from my teeth and bury my fingers in my hair to focus, every blink of my eyes, every clench of my muscles over his cock. He wants to commit all of it to memory, to forever remember this moment. He wants to see as he breaks me, as he makes me his. It would be the second most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. The first being the love of his life in general.

I reach down to press on my stomach, feeling the fullness of him inside me. He groans at the sight before kissing me again, a little more desperately. I wrap my legs around him fully as he begins to thrust, trying to be gentle but not knowing how much longer he can wait. He kisses my neck again as he picks up his pace. I arch my neck to the side, offering more space for him as I moan.

After a hard thrust that moves my entire body, I gasp. “Fuck–! Sandor…” I groan, arching my back.

He takes that opportunity to grab onto one of my breasts again, kneading the flesh while his other hand grips my hips for leverage to pull me in. He grinds his hips down, hand moving from my breast to grip around my neck. Not enough to hurt, but enough to send a chill down my spine.

“Say it again.” He demands against my lips, though his own voice is shaky with pleasure. “Say my name, Little Fire.”

“Sandor~” I comply, wrapping my arms tighter around his shoulders.

“Yeah? And who’s fucking you?” He continues, making his thumb just barely press further into the side of my throat.

“Y-You are!” I gasp, feeling the knot of pleasure in my stomach build up. “Sandor…Sandor I can’t–, I’m close…”

He feels a shiver run down his back. He wants to see her like this, he needs to hear her, to feel as she unravels from his doing. That her mind is going foggy for him. Not the Kingsguard prick, not either of the Stark spawns, not the ward, not any of the men in and out of the Red Keep that give here a double-take. But for him. The scarred, brutish, hated, and feared dog of the Crown. Out of all her options, she chose him. The thought alone nearly finishes him, but he wants to watch her come undone first.

“Cum for me.” He growls, sitting up to grab both sides of my hips and roughly plow into me. My breasts bounce with his actions, and I end up needing to bite my hand again to hide my noises. My other hand grasps around his wrist, my head laying back in the midst of the pleasure. Finally, the cord in my stomach unravels, my eyes rolling back and my teeth nearly piercing my skin. He leans down, kissing at my collarbone and neck as he helps me through my high.

Slowly, I catch my breath before I pull him to face me and press my lips against his. I pull all of him in, needing him closer, and he happily obliges. He’s so lost in the kiss, in the feeling of me wrapped around him, the feeling of being inside me, that he barely registers it when I move to sit up and turn us over. I break the kiss to push him flat against the bed, straddling his waist and realigning him with me.

His hands flock back to my waist as I move above him, feeling him slide in and out at my purposeful tortuous pace. He has to hold back a moan of his own when I drop quickly and suddenly, and the way his hands grip my waist tighter, I can tell that he’s getting close himself. I decide to put him out of his misery, and immediately set to work. I ride him, circling my hips around and allowing him to raise me up and down his cock.

I lay my hands over his, watching his eyes as he looks over my body in wonder. His cloudly gaze flicks between my breasts, my waist, and wear my connect underneath me. His own pace picks up, chasing his release by thrusting up to meet me as I bounce. My hands plant on his chest for stability as my legs begin to shake from the second wave of pleasure.

He looks up at me and we make eye contact, his eyes dark and his breath shallow. I lean down and pull his face into mine, our lips clashing together once more. That seemed to snap the final thread, and his large arms wrap around my back and waist as he releases inside me, moaning into my lips. I slowly circle my hips, helping him ride out his high just as he did with me. Finally I lay against him, letting my head fall on his chest and hearing his heart beat rapidly.

He sighs with relief, a hand idly resting over the small of my back. Exhaustion quickly crept up on me, as I finally feel sleep knocking on my door. I try to push it away just for a little bit longer.

Chapter Text

“So?” I ask as I let my finger mindlessly trace his chest and collarbone.

He glances down at me the best he can, although he’s limited as my head is under his chin. “I’m still…wrapping my head around it.” He admits.

Curious, I stop tracing. “What do you mean?” I ask, hoping he doesn’t regret it.

“Don’t know why you’d want that.” He explains, too lost in the haze to care about hiding his thoughts. “With me.”

I sit up to look down at him. He looks up at me with a soft smile. “Who else?” I counter and he nearly rolls his eyes.

“You don’t have a lack of men that take interest in you.”

“And I have not taken an interest in any of them.” I reply, smiling down at him. “Except for one.”

He shakes his head and looks off in the room. “They’re knights and Lords, (Y/N).” Sandor begins. “I can’t give you a castle, I can’t give you a last name that doesn’t put people on edge. Even if it didn’t, a sworn shield can’t marry.”

“Joffrey isn’t a prince.” I remind. “Let’s just leave.”

Sandor looks up at me, lightly surprised by my words but not letting himself put hope into them. “You’ve sworn your loyalty to the King. And even if he permits you to leave, I don’t want to be the reason you left the Stark girls. You’d never forgive yourself.”

We stay in a small silence, lost in thought as I think it through. I sigh and lay back down on his chest. “We can get them out. Maybe I can convince Eddard.”

I smile as Sandor rests his hands on my back once more. “You think you can trust him?”

“The only person I trust is you.” I admit, closing my eyes as sleep starts to take hold. “But I think Stark may be the best chance we got.”

“Your mother was a dumb whore with a fat ass. Did you know that?”

The first words Ned hears as he steps through the King’s door. On the other side, Robert stands atop a stool while a skinny blonde squire, Lancel Lannister, dressed in red tries to fit his old armor over his…changed body.

“It’s too small, Your Grace. It won’t go.” The squire protests cautiously.

Robert looks up at the new visitor and smiles when he sees his old friend. “Look at this idiot!” Robert gestures to the squire. “One ball and no brains. He can’t even put a man’s armor on his properly.”

“You’re too fat for your armor.” Ned says bluntly.

“Fat? Fat, is it?” Robert challenges, stepping off the stool. “Is that how you speak to your King?”

Ned gives Robert a look that says ‘Well, it’s the truth’. After a moment, they both start laughing. Lancel starts to nervously laugh too, but Robert shoots a look down at him. “That was funny, is it?”

Lancel’s face falls. “No, Your Grace.” He shakes his head nervously.

“No?” Robert challenges again. “You don’t like the Hand’s joke?”

The squire looks like he’s at a loss for words, mouth open enough to catch flies as he looks to Ned for help.

“You’re torturing the poor boy.” Ned chuckles.

“You heard the Hand. The King’s too fat for this armor!” Robert waves him away. “Go find the breastplate stretcher, now!”

Lancel quickly leaves the room like a dog with his tail tucked. Robert and Ned share a small laugh as the door shuts behind him.

“The breastplate stretcher?” Ned questions as Robert pours two goblets of wine.

“How long before he figures it out?” Robert laughs.

Ned takes a seat. “Maybe you should have one invented.”

“All right, all right.” Robert mumbles, walking over with the wine. “But you saw me on the battlefield. I was a beast! Royalty made me fat.”

“Royalty?” Ned counters. “Or you?”

Robert smiles and hands him the wine. “Drink.”

“I’m not thirsty.”

“Drink.” Robert says again. “Your King commands it.”

Ned sighs, taking the goblet and drinking as Robert sits next to him. “Gods. Too fat for my armor…” Robert mumbles.

“Your squire…a Lannister boy?” Ned asks.

“Mmm. A bloody idiot.” Robert bites. “But Cersei insisted. I have Jon Arryn to thank for her. ‘Cersei Lannister will make a good match’, he told me. ‘You’ll need her father on your side.’ I thought being King meant I could do whatever I wanted.”

Ned’s quiet for a moment, lost in thought until he begins to pry. “Jon Arryn, he died of natural causes?”

“That’s what Pycelle says.” Robert replies. “Something just took him in the night. It’s a shame, a true shame.”

“When we were his wards…” Ned begins suspiciously. “How many times have you ever seen him get sick?”

Robert thinks about it and chuckles. “None? And he would tell us to toughen up when we sneezed.” He jokes as Ned’s suspicions are furthered. “Was never that tough on (Y/N). Though she could probably kill us both.”

Before Ned can reply, a Kingsguard opens the chamber doors and bows. “Your Grace. My Lord Hand.” He then nods to Ned. “The Dragon wishes to see you.”

Robert chuckles. “Speak of her and she appears.”

“Where is she?” Ned asks.

“She awaits in the Tower of the Hand.” The guard answers.

The warm sun spills through the window of the Tower, basking me in light as I wait patiently, scanning the city idly. The skies are clear, aside from a few stray clouds, and even from up here I can hear the bustle of the city. Every step through the Red Keep, every step of the Tower’s stairs, I began to regret this decision. What if it’s not the right one? What if I can’t actually trust Ned?

Before I can back out, the door opens behind me. I turn to see Ned find me and smile. “My Lord Hand.” I sigh.

“Don’t look too excited.” Ned jokes, closing the door behind him as we take our respective seats. “You called me here.”

“I did…” I begin hesitantly.

“Why?”

“My father…” I start, knowing there’s no backing out now. “He was killed.”

Ned’s eyes widen, trying to see the joke. “Jon was a man of peace.” He reasons. “He was Hand for seventeen years — seventeen good years. Why kill him?”

“Because he started asking questions.” I answer, laying my hand on the large tome that sits on his desk.

He seems to see it for the first time and reads the title. “The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms.” He recites rather uninterestedly.

“I know, a bustling read.” I joke, leaning down to pick up the bundle of notes. “But this–” I announce, plopping the papers on the book. “...is much more interesting.”

He watches as I pull out my dagger and cut through the top twine and gesture for him to go ahead. Cautiously, he reaches out to take the first paper off the top and read it through. The first journal entry Jon Arryn made when he accidentally discovered Cersei and Jaime’s affair, and the bribe he pretended to accept. Ned looks up at me in surprise before he takes the next paper, then the next. Detailing that not only is the Queen having an affair with her own brother, but none of Robert’s children are his.

Ned places the papers down and sits back, not needing to read any more to understand as he looks at me. I release a breath I didn’t know I was holding and continue the bad news.

“Also in those papers are a documented list of all of Robert’s bastards. Paxtan Waters in Cobbler’s Square, Gendry Rivers on the Street of Steel, Laycie Waters in River Row, even a little baby in one of Littlefinger’s brothels. Each and every one of them has a greater claim to the throne than any of Cersei’s children.” I recap. “And those are just a few from Robert’s whoring.”

Ned seems to be taking it all in as I deliver the last bad news. “My father was murdered.” I state as Ned looks away. “Because of what he knew. He told me to find someone who’s truly loyal to Robert and trust him with this sensitive information.”

Ned looks back over the papers. “And why haven’t you told me sooner? I’ve been Hand for months.”

“I didn’t know if I could trust you.” I answer. “My father knew you, but I didn’t.”

He sighs and rubs his face. “Just another thing to deal with.”

I sit back and cross my leg. “What else is happening?” I ask curiously.

He rests his hand on the desk as he answers. “Someone tried to murder Bran in his bed.”

My eyes widen in shock. “What? Is he–”

“He’s alive.” Ned assures. “His wolf killed the assassin..” He then looks at me, figuring that he didn’t have to hide his own information anymore. “You want to know why I accepted the position of Hand?”

“Why?”

“Because Catelyn and I got a raven in the night. It was from her sister, Lysa, saying that she believed Jon Arryn was murdered.”

“I’ve known Lysa for most of my life, and that’s the first time we’ve agreed on anything.” I partially joke.

“She’s not…all there, so we thought it was just her crazed belief.” Ned continues. “But I still believed Robert was in danger. It’s easier for me to look after him if I’m living in the same castle.”

I nod, subconsciously gazing down at the papers in front of us as he continues. “It seems all the Lannisters are just as filthy. Catelyn was here, in King’s Landing, with the assassin’s blade. Baelish said it belonged to him, but that he sold it to Tyrion Lannister.”

“You think Tyrion Lannister tried to have Bran murdered?” I ask.

“Do you?” Ned counters.

“No.” I firmly shake my head. “I’m less fond of Lannisters than you are, but Tyrion isn’t a murderer.”

“He would not hold the knife himself. But would he pay an assassin to?”

“I don’t believe he would.” I say again.

Ned sighs, looking away. “Either way, on his way back from The Wall, he must’ve visited Winterfell again. Catelyn took him and a group of men to bring the Imp to her sister.”

“He’s in the Eyrie?” I question, and he nods.

“A raven arrived from the Vale. I’d assume he’s being held prisoner, if he hasn’t already been thrown through the moon door.” Ned estimates.

I bit the inside of my lip. “Another thing to deal with.” I agree.

A few knocks on the door gain our attention. We share a look before quickly gathering the papers, and he obeys when I whisper for him to hide them under his desk.

“Come in.” Ned announces as we sit down normally.

Another guard pushes through the door and nods at him. “My Lord Hand. A small council meeting has been called.”

“All right.” Ned nods, standing up. “I’ll be right there.”

“The King also requests Lady Arryn’s presence.” The guard informs.

I glance back a little surprised. “The King’s attending a council meeting?”

The guard firmly nods. “They await your arrivals.”

“Thank you, Ser.” Ned says as he walks around the desk. The guard steps outside as he looks down at me. “Is the tome safe here?”

“Probably not.” I remark, stepping towards the door.

It proved to be difficult to keep up with Ned’s worried strides. As we traversed through the castle, he seemed to feel his nerves grow with each step. The Hound is larger and taller, but even he doesn’t walk with much eagerness or vitality if he has the option. Finally, we push through the doors to the small council, seeing the waiting patrons look up at our arrival.

To the sides sit the Master of Coin, Lord Petyr Baelish, and the Master of Whisperers, Lord Varys. The Lord Commander, Ser Barristan Selmy sits at the end of the table, and Grand Maester Pycelle. Renly Baratheon, the King’s brother and the Master of Laws sits next to Robert. Other than the Hand’s chair, one other chair is empty, as Robert’s other brother Stannis Baratheon, the Master of Ships, is positioned at Dragonstone. Robert sits at the middle of the table, looking up sternly at our cautious faces.

“What is it?” Ned asks nervously. “Is it my wife?”

“No, My Lord Hand.” Varys assures. “Lady Stark is still in the Vale with her step-mother.” He finishes, nodding towards me.

I mentally grimace. I never considered Lysa to be anything to me, and I don’t like it when people do so. Even when by law, it’s correct.

“Then what is the urgency–” Ned begins.

“The whore is pregnant.” Robert says gruffly and angrily.

My stomach falls as I worry about who he’s talking about. Even if he knew about Sandor and I, surely he wouldn’t be upset? He teased me about it for ages.

“...Who?” I ask, and a glance up to Ned tells me that he’s just as confused.

“Daenerys Targaryen, My Lady.” Varys answers. Part of me is relieved the heat is off me, but another part of me is filled with confliction as Robert gauges my reaction. It’s silent as Robert waits for either of us to speak. After all, we were the two, and the only two, that advised against enacting violence.

Robert’s glare at Ned tells him of his next plan. “...You’re speaking of murdering a child.” Ned states slowly.

“I warned you this would happen. BOTH of you.” Robert exclaims. “But you didn’t care to hear. Well, hear it now. I want ‘em dead, mother and child both. And that fool, Viserys as well. Is that plain enough for you? Do you understand? I want them all dead.”

“You will dishonor yourself forever if you do this.” Ned warns.

“Honor?!” Robert barks, infuriated. “I’ve got Seven Kingdoms to rule! One King, Seven Kingdoms!! Do you think honor keeps them in line? Do you think it’s honor that’s keeping the peace?? It’s fear!! Fear and blood!!”

“Then we’re no better than the Mad King.” I state boldly.

Robert looks towards me and points his finger at me. “Careful, girl.” He warns. “Careful now.”

Ned brings the King’s attention back to him. “You want to assassinate a girl because the Spider heard a rumor?”

“No rumor, My Lord.” Varys assures. “The princess is with child.”

“Based on who’s information?” I ask in contempt. “Someone who knows they’d get a reward if they whisper the right thing?”

“Ser Jorah Mormont.” He answers. “He is serving as adviser to the Targaryens.”

Ned scoffs derisively. “Mormont? You bring us the whispers of a traitor half a world away and call it fact?”

Littlefinger shakes his head, finally finding a way to weasel himself into the conversation. “Jorah Mormont’s a slaver, not a traitor. Small difference, I know, to an honorable man.”

I glare at him. “I imagine you often look to others to know what’s honorable.”

He smiles at me, which only angers me further. Ned takes a step towards the King to protest. “He broke the law, betrayed his family, fled our land. We commit murder on the word of this man?”

“And if he’s right?” Robert challenges. “If she has a son? A Targaryen at the head of a Dothraki army…what then?”

“The Narrow Sea still lies between us.” I remind. “Once the Dothraki teach their horses to run on water, that’s the day I will feel fear. Even if they acquire ships, that’s the day I’ll fly over the water and burn their fleet.”

Robert scoffs, throwing his hands up as he looks between us. “Do nothing?! That’s your wise advice? Do nothing till our enemies are on our shores? And then maybe you can destroy them?” He looks around the other faces at the table. “You’re my council. Counsel!! Speak sense to these honorable fools!”

Varys turns towards us apologetically. “I understand your misgivings, truly I do. It is a terrible thing we must consider, a vile thing. Yet, we who presume to rule must sometimes do vile things for the good of the realm. Should the Gods grant Daenerys a son, the realm will bleed.”

“You more than most need to grow a pair and stand up to the King.” I bite.

Varys looks down at the table. “My Lady… ” He sighs.

“I bear this girl no ill will…” Pycelle begins. “But should the Dothraki invade, how many innocents will die? How many towns will burn–”

Ned interrupts him. “They have blades, and even their arrows can’t pierce a dragon’s skin. Even in the smallest possibility that they cross the Narrow Sea, (Y/N) will–”

“I will not take that risk!” Robert exclaims. “And even if she can, she can’t keep watch of all the shores of Westeros at all times.”

“Precisely.” Pycelle agrees. “Perhaps Lady Arryn can protect King’s Landing, but the savage army may dock elsewhere. Is it not wiser, kinder even, that she should die now so that tens of thousands might live?”

“We should have had them both killed years ago.” Renly mumbles.

Littlefinger reaches for his wine. “When you find yourself in bed with an ugly woman, best close your eyes, get it over with.” He advises. “Cut her throat. Be done with it.”

I glare at him further as he drinks. “...I hate you.” I state bluntly, and I can see his eyes squint with a smile over the tilting wine glass.

Ned looks over their faces in discomfort and disappointment. He then speaks directly to Robert, who seems to be waiting for him to say more. “I followed you into war – twice, without doubts, without second thoughts. But I will not follow you now. The Robert I grew up with didn’t tremble at the shadow of an unborn child.”

Robert stays quiet, not looking away from Ned’s eyes as he states with an air of finality. “She dies.”

“...Then I will have no part in it.” Ned replies.

“You’re the King’s Hand, Lord Stark.” Robert reminds. “You’ll do as I command or I’ll find me a Hand who will.”

Ned stays silent for a short moment before reaching up to rip the Hand’s pin from his chest, and tossing it on the table. “And good luck to him.” Ned retorts. “I thought you were a better man.”

Robert stands, enraged. “OUT!! Out, damn you!! I’m done with you!!”

Ned turns and leaves as Robert yells after him. “Go! Run back to Winterfell! I’ll have your head on a spike! I’ll put it there myself, you fool!! You think you’re too good for this? Too proud and honorable?!! This is a war!!”

Ned has been long gone, and the King finally quiets down. I look up at him with my own disappointment before turning to leave myself.

“Don’t you dare.” Robert stops me, but I don’t turn back around. “You swore an oath. You swore your allegiance to me and me alone.” He reminds. “If you leave, it will be treason.”

I slowly turn back, looking into his eyes. “I’m not leaving. I have sworn my loyalty and my sword.” I agree. “But if you do this…you’re no family of mine.”

He says nothing as I turn back around and leave in silence.

As dirty and cramped the whole of King’s Landing is, Flea Bottom suffers the worst of it. The streets are almost as gritty as the people, and are filled with borderline chaos and crumbling buildings. The air is thick with strong stenches and coal. I follow behind Ned Stark, who navigates the crowd with slight difficulty. Sandor follows behind me, volunteering to come along after I told Ned that he knew of the affairs on both sides of the Crown. Next to Ned walks a few of his trusted men he brought with him from Winterfell.

Robert is out of the city, gone off a hunt with a handful of people. I bit my tongue when I heard, but it seems like he just has the itch to kill sometimes. If he can’t kill Daenerys Targeryen immediately, he’ll work off his anger by killing some animals off in the forests.

“I don’t know why you feel the need for further proof.” I call out to Ned over the busy sounds.

He glances back as he walks. “I believe it. I just want to see for myself.”

A man in patched clothes walks towards me as we maneuver the crowd. He lifts up a few necklaces. “Hello, My Lady! I think you’d look dazzling with one of my–”

Sandor raises his arm between the salesman and I before pressuring the man to back up as we continue down the busy street. Finally, we find the clanging forge. Ned steps up to the table where an older man is hammering away at a piece of armor. He looks up at his and his men’s presence, then sees Sandor and I behind him. If he wasn’t already sweating from the work and burning fire, he’d surely sweat now. No unannounced visit from two of the most deadly soldiers to the Crown puts one’s heart at ease.

“My Lord Hand.” The smith greets. “Something I can help you with?”

Ned smiles politely. “Just here to ask some questions. What’s your name?”

“Tobho Mott.” He answers. “The best smith in Flea Bottom.”

Ned nods, looking around at the hanging pieces for sale. “I can see that. Your work sells itself.”

Sandor idly walks towards a nearby table and picks up a knife to observe. Mott looks over at him, then at myself rather unsure. Ned notices his caution and waves us off. “They mean no harm. They’re only to accompany me. We’re actually here because of her father.” Ned begins, getting the smith’s attention. “We heard that he visited this forge before he fell sick. Did he visit often?”

“The former Hand did call on me, My Lord, several times.” Tobho Mott nods. “I regret to say he did not honor me with his patronage.”

“What did Lord Arryn want?” Ned asks.

Tobho nods behind him. “He always came to see the boy.”

Ned looks over his shoulder, but only sees a figure in the darkness. “I’d like to see him as well.”

“As you wish, My Lord.” The smith looks back. “Gendry!”

The boy looks up and places down his hammer before walking over, looking over our faces. He’s tall for a young boy, and his work at the forge has earned him a muscular figure. His face is smudged with soot, but he has dark hair and piercing blue eyes, similar to Robert. He doesn’t seem intimidated or even worried. He gives us more of a look that says ‘now what?’

“Here he is.” Tobho announces. “Strong for his age. He works hard.” He looks at the boy. “Show the Hand the helmet you made, lad.”

Gendry looks at us once more before giving in and turning back to retrieve the helmet. In a few seconds, he returns and hands it to Ned. It’s a pure steel helm in the shape of a bull, complete with long horns that stretch out in the front.

“This is fine work.” Ned compliments.

“It’s not for sale.” Gendry speaks sternly, already tired of our presence.

Tobho Mott quickly looks at him. “Boy, this is the King’s Hand! If his lordship wants the helmet–”

“I made it for me.” Gendry interrupts.

The smith looks at Ned apologetically. “Forgive him, My Lord.”

Ned smiles, handing the helmet back to Gendry. “There’s nothing to forgive. When Lord Arryn came to visit you, what would you talk about?”

Gendry shrugs, looking back up at us when Sandor walks over to show me his new knife. “He just asked me questions is all, My Lord.”

“What kind of questions?” Ned presses.

“About my work at first.” Gendry continues, his curiosity peaking. “If I was being treated well, if I liked it here. But then he started asking me about my mother.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“She died when I was little.” He answers. “She had yellow hair, and she’d sing to me sometimes.”

Ned glances back at me at the thought. Cersei has yellow hair, but her kids are still blonde. ‘The seed is strong’. We knew Cersei and Jaime were having their affair, but it could’ve still been possible that the princes or princess were Robert’s. Until now, of course, because Gendry has his black hair.

Ned turns back and leans forward. “Look at me.” He demands, and Gendry leans back slightly as he looks at Ned with furrowed brows. Now, he gets a much clearer look at Gendry’s eyes, which seem to be a direct copy of Robert’s.

He nods and stands up straight, nodding at him. “Get back to work, lad.” Gendry happily turns to leave and Ned looks at the smith. “If the day ever comes when that boy’d rather wield a sword than forge one, you send him to me.”

With that, Ned turns and walks down the street. Sandor plops a bag of coins on the smith’s table as payment for his knife and follows after us.

“And that’s the oldest?” Ned asks me as we make our way out of Flea Bottom.

“Of Robert’s bastards? I believe so.”

“And the youngest?”

I try to think back on the papers. “A whore’s baby at a brothel in The Hook.”

And here we stand, guarding the door to Littlefinger’s favorite brothel while Ned and his men speak to the mother inside. The sun has disappeared behind the clouds, but it’s still high in the sky. Kids run across the small square as they play, a few leaving when they hear their parents call for them.

I push off the side of the wall before walking past the door to stand next to Sandor on the other side. He glances down at me before returning to his partially-attentive state.

“She’s pregnant.” I mumble where only he could hear me. “The Targaryen.”

Sandor is quiet for a moment as he thinks. “King gave you a slap on the wrist for disagreeing with him, did he?”

“Ned turned in his badge.” I inform. “And I told the King I’d be nothing more than his Sword if he goes through with it.”

He looks down at me again. “If Stark isn’t the Hand, he’ll leave with the girls.”

I meet his gaze, and hope is nurtured between us. Maybe this could be a good thing. We could actually leave this shitty city and be happy somewhere. Just then, the remaining kids in the square run away as a group of horses ride through, armored knights sitting atop each one. At the head of them all is Jaime Lannister.

He smirks down at us. “The Dragon and The Hound.” He begins. “Now what could be the reason why you two are guarding a brothel door? I can’t imagine Littlefinger’s whores are bringing him that much money to hire royal soldiers.”

I don’t think either of us know what to say, but either way, we stay silent. It seems what Jaime was looking for was a reaction, so when he gets none, his smile becomes strained. “My Lady, why don’t you go along and fetch Eddard Stark. Hound, you return to your master like a good dog.”

We stay where we are for a moment before looking at each other. Sandor seems to have already made up his mind, as have I. I turn and open the brothel door before stepping inside as Sandor turns back to Jaime.

“The Prince has dismissed me for the day.” He says.

Jaime chuckles. “If that’s true, then you are to await further command. What if my nephew needs you, but here you are, with Lady Arryn at a brothel? What would the Queen think if she found that you abandoned your duties to break the rules of a Sworn Shield?”

Sandor chuckles himself as he looks away before glancing back, a thumb hooked over his belt while his other hand rests on his sword. “...Your ‘nephew’?”

Jaime’s smirk slowly falls, but before he can say more, the brothel door opens once more. Ned steps out, followed closely by me and his men. Jaime’s grin returns and he slides off his horse.

“Such a small pack of wolves.” He says mockingly.

One of Stark’s men, Jory, steps forward as Jaime walks towards them. “Stay back, Ser! This is the Hand of the King!”

“Was the Hand of the King.” Jaime corrects. “Now I’m not sure what he is. Lord of somewhere very far away.”

Littlefinger exits the brothel next, looking over at the scene. “What’s the meaning of this Lannister?”

“Go back inside where it’s safe.” Jaime suggests before turning back to Ned. “I’m looking for my brother. You remember my brother, don’t you, Lord Stark? Blonde hair, sharp tongue, short man.”

“I remember him well.” Ned nods.

Jaime smiles. “It seems he had some trouble on the road. You wouldn’t know what happened to him, would you?”

Ned shifts on his feet as he lies to protect his wife. “He was taken at my command to answer for his crimes.”

Jaime’s jaw clenches before he abruptly draws his sword. At once the Stark men draw theirs, as do I. The rest of Jaime Lannister’s men draw theirs, and we stand in a stalemate. Besides Sandor, Ned is the only one who hasn’t drawn his weapon.

Littlefinger quickly walks away. “My Lords! I’ll bring the City Watch!” He announces before departing.

Jaime clicks his tongue. “Come, Stark. I’d rather you die sword in hand.”

Jory steps forward. “If you threaten my Lord again–”

“Threaten?” Jaime questions. “As in, ‘I’m going to open your Lord from balls to brains and see what Starks are made of’?”

Ned stands tall. “You kill me, your brother’s a dead man.”

Jaime nods, taking a few steps back. “You’re right.” He glances snack at his men. “Take him alive, kill his men.”

Before anyone can react, Jaime’s men attack. An arrow flies forward before planting in Jory’s eye, and he drops to the ground. Another guard throws a spear as another Northman runs forward, burying the spear into his chest. Enraged, Ned draws his sword and charges Jaime. Their swords clang against each other as they fight. Sandor and I are uncharacteristically hesitant, not knowing how to thread our way through this confrontation. The remaining Stark men, Tomard and Kormed, are quickly overwhelmed with guards.

I clench my teeth and stab my sword into the ground before my being unravels like before, wafting away in smoke before growing in a flurry. The men separate and back up at the sight, and finally the smoke disperses to reveal myself. I look down at the men angrily before roaring, a guttural sound that shakes the ground this closely. They seem to understand the warning as Jaime backs up, smiling at me.

A growl leaves my chest as he sheathes his sword. “Very impressive.” He fakes a compliment. “However, now you’ve threatened a member of the Kingsguard. Therefore you have threatened the King.”

Sandor finally speaks up. “And you tried to kill his friend after killing two of his men. I’m sure King Robert would dislike murder more than threats.”

Jaime lowers his gaze at him. “And you’ve abandoned the–”

I cut him off with another growl, lowering my head as I step forward. Jaime subconsciously takes a step back before looking at the lifeless men on the ground. He reasons in his head before he turns around and mounts his horse.

“My brother, Lord Stark.” Jaime reminds as he gathers the reigns. “We want him back.”

He turns and rides away, his men following after him either on foot or on horseback. Finally left alone, Ned tosses his sword to the ground before kneeling at the nearest man he lost. I watch as he lays a hand on his chest.

“I’ve known these men for years.” Ned comments sadly.

Hearing that, guilt fills my heart and I fade away, reforming as myself before walking near him. “I’m so sorry, Ned. Maybe I shouldn’t have involved you in this.”

“No.” Ned stands. “I needed to know, to help Robert.”

Behind us, Littlefinger returns with the City Watch behind him. It’s then that I notice a red dampness on Ned’s arm. “You’re hurt.” I state.

He looks at me confused before I gesture to his arm. He sighs and mentally shrugs it off. “A scratch.” He comments as he walks towards the City Watch.

The City Watch helped move the bodies of Stark’s men. As the three of us finally make it back through the gates of the Red Keep, Renly Baratheon runs up to us frantically. After the brush of combat, I nearly draw my sword before I recognize the face.

“Ned!!” He shouts, slowing when he reaches us.

“What is it?” Ned asks, scanning over him for any tell or injuries.

“It’s Robert.” Renly responds, catching his breath. “We were hunting – a boar, and he…”

“Take me to him.” Ned demands.

Guilt fills my heart with each step it took to get to the King’s Chambers. The last time I saw him, I basically told him I disowned him. I lost my father nearly a year prior, I can’t lose whatever Robert is too. An older brother? An uncle? Either way, he’s family. I hate that I said otherwise.

Renly finally pushes through the door and the three of us file in. On the other side of the room lies Robert in his bed, who looks over at our entrance. Beside him sits Joffrey, Cersei, and Grand Maester Pycelle.

Robert smiles at Joffrey as we approach. “Go on, boy. You don’t want to see this.”

Very reluctantly, Joffrey pulls himself away. He walks past Sandor, who looks at me with confliction. He learned at a very young age to show nothing on his face, but I can read his eyes. I glance away from Robert to nod at him, and he reluctantly turns to follow after Joffrey.

“My fault…” Robert grins, his face pale. He laughs weakly. “Too much wine. Missed my thrust.”

Ned steps forward and gently lifts up the blanket, revealing a massive bloody gash across Robert’s torso. I close my eyes and look away, not wanting to believe that this may kill him.

“It stinks.” Robert groans as Ned lowers the blanket again. “It stinks like death. Don’t think I can’t smell it.”

Cersei and I glance at each other before both of us share a look with Ned. Robert laughs to himself again. “I paid the bastard back, Ned. I drove my knife right through his brain. You ask them if I didn’t. Ask them!!”

He coughs a few times, a few drops of blood rolling down his lip. It sends a jolt of unease through me at the similar memory of my father, and I take a shaky breath as I step back, looking away.

“I want the funeral feast to be the biggest the Kingdoms ever saw. And I want everyone to taste the boar that got me.” Robert laughs weakly. He then glances around. “Now leave us, the lot of you. I need to talk to these two.”

Cersei leans forward, smiling. “Robert, my sweet–”

“Out, all of you!” Robert commands.

He coughs again as the others leave. Cersei hesitates, giving me a concerned and tense stare as she passes. I return it, not looking away until she takes her eyes from mine to leave. The door finally closes behind them, leaving the three of us alone. Ned walks forward to sit at Robert’s bedside.

“You damned fool.” He insults sadly.

“Ahh.” Robert waves his words off before he looks at me. “I hope I wasn’t too much of a burden to you, dear.”

I close my eyes and softly shake my head. Smiling when I open them again, a tear escapes. “Of course you were.” I joke and he laughs weakly. “But you’re my family. You’re supposed to be a burden.”

He smiles and a few tears stream down his face before dampening the pillow under his head. He opens his hand next to him, prompting me to kneel by his bed and take it. We hold tearful eye contact for a moment more before he looks at Ned.

“You,” He nods. “Paper and ink on the table, write down what I say.” Ned quickly grabs the items and begins writing as Robert begins. “In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, first off…you know how it goes, fill in the damn titles. I hereby command Eddard of House Stark–titles, titles–to serve as Lord Regent and Protector of the Realm upon my death to rule in my stead, until my son Joffrey comes of age.”

Ned hesitates and we share a glance before he continues writing. I look at the paper as he writes ‘until my rightful heir comes of age’ instead. Robert takes his hand from mine to reach for the paper.

“Give it over.” He demands, and Ned hands him the paper and pen. Robert doesn’t see the change, and signs his signature at the bottom of the page before handing it back. “Give it to the council after I’m dead. At least they’ll say I did this right, this one thing. You’ll rule now.” Robert laughs. “You’ll hate it worse than I did, but you’ll do it well.”

He then looks between us and sighs. “The girl–Daenerys.” He begins. “You were right. Varys, Littlefinger, my brother—all worthless. I trusted you two to tell me when I’m wrong and you did. Not one of them told me ‘no’ except you two.” He coughs again, before finishing. “Let her live. Stop it, if it’s not too late.”

Ned nods, silently happy to see the Robert he knew again. “I will.”

“And my son…” Robert continues. “Help him, Ned. Make him better than me.”

Ned glances at me before answering, choosing his words carefully. “I’ll…I’ll do everything I can to honor your memory.”

“My memory?” Robert repeats, laughing freely. “King Robert Baratheon, murdered by a pig…”

We watch sadly as he laughs at himself. The action causes pain to shoot through his chest and he winces. “Give…Give me something for the pain and let me die.”

Ned dips his head, closing his eyes to prepare as he stands. He nods at Robert one last time before turning to leave. Robert glances back down at me.

He coughs again. “I thought of you as my own, you know.”

I push myself up to sit in the seat Ned left, laying my hand on Robert’s shoulder. “I know.”

He smiles at me. “But you weren’t happy here.” He begins. “You stayed for your father, then you stayed for me, knowing I’d permit your leave if you asked. What will you do when I’m gone?”

I want to leave. I want to protect the Stark girls, but now they’ll stay if Ned is the Lord Regent. I want to leave with Sandor, go anywhere. I want to avenge my father.

“I don’t know.” I admit, and he chuckles.

“Then follow my advice one last time.” He begins. “Get out of King’s Landing. You’re good…this damn city kills good.”

I look down, lost in thought before he continues. “Take The Hound with you.” He chuckles softly. “They’ll find a new Sworn Shield. In the name of Robert of House Baratheon, and all those damn titles, I hereby relieve Sandor Clegane of his duties.”

I smile at him sadly, allowing him to extend this gesture even though Sandor is free under the technicality of Joffrey’s true father.

“Now go.” Robert commands, waving me off. “I don’t want you to see me any worse than I already am.”

I close the door behind me and wipe my tears, seeing the gathering on the other side of the door. Ned, Renly, Varys, Barristan, and Pycelle look up at my arrival, and Ned nods to the Grand Maester.

“Give him milk of the poppy.” He orders.

Pycelle nods and reenters Robert’s chambers. Renly hurries in after him to see his brother again. Ser Barristan stands off to the side, his face distraught.

“He was reeling from the wine.” Barristan begins. “He commanded us to step aside, but…I failed him…”

Ned shakes his head. “No man could have protected him from himself.”

Varys thinks out loud. “I wonder, Ser Barristan, who gave the King this wine?”

“His squire.” He answers. “From the King’s own skin.”

Ned looks at him suspiciously. “His squire…the Lannister boy?”

Barristan nods, confused as to why it matters. Varys hums to himself. “Such a dutiful boy to make sure his Grace did not lack refreshment. I do hope the poor lad does not blame himself.”

Varys then looks at me, and I mentally sigh. Of course he knows about the Lannisters as well, and of course he knows that we know. Ned turns towards him. “His Grace has had a change of heart concerning Daenerys Targaryen. Whatever arrangements you made, unmake them. At once.”

Varys looks saddened at the outcome. “I’m afraid those birds have flown. The girl is likely dead already.”

Ned takes a moment before sighing and looking over at me. “Walk with me, (Y/N).”

I nod and follow his lead, more guilt filling my chest as we walk away from our dying friend. It’s silent as we make our way up to the Tower of the Hand, unsure of who could be listening. He closes the door behind me as we enter the room.

He steps around his desk and grabs the tome and papers. “Wherever you had these before, put them there now.” He commands, and I nod.

He grabs a spare piece of paper and starts writing on it. “What are you doing?” I ask lowly, drained.

“Writing a letter to Stannis Baratheon in Dragonstone.” He replies as he writes. “He’s next in the bloodline since none of Cersei’s children are his.”

“Okay..” I sigh, gliding my hand over the papers at the end of his desk. “What about the oldest bastard, Gendry?”

“I think people would sooner follow Robert’s full-blooded brother than a bastard.” Ned counters.

We stay there for a while, discussing our options, or if we even have any. I admitted my preference for him to take his daughters and go back to Winterfell, and I wasn’t surprised when he agreed. But he seems to be as entangled in the situation as I am, glued by our loyalty to Robert.

The door knocks a few hours later, and Ned calls for the visitor to enter after hiding the delicate information once more. The door opens and Renly steps in with a heavy aura.

“What is it?” I ask, already knowing what happened.

“King Robert has passed.” He states, our hearts dropping at the news.

A respectful moment of silence passes before Renly speaks again. “He named you Protector of the Realm?”

“He did.” Ned nods.

“She won’t care.” Renly replies with contempt. “Give me an hour and I can put a hundred swords at your command.”

“...and what should I do with a hundred swords?” Ned asks.

“Strike!” Renly urges as if it were obvious. “Tonight, while the castle sleeps. We must get Joffrey away from his mother and into our custody. Robert is gone, it’s nearly too late. Cersei will grasp on and she won’t let go if we give her the chance!”

“What about Stannis?” I ask.

Renly looks down at me. “Saving the Seven Kingdoms from Cersei and delivering them to Stannis? You have odd notions about protecting the realm.”

Ned looks at him, frustrated. “Stannis is your older brother.”

“This isn’t about the bloody line of succession!” Renly urges. “That didn’t matter when you rebelled against the Mad King; it shouldn’t matter now!”

Ned stands, looking down at Renly. “Robert’s body isn’t even cold, and you’re already battling for the throne?”

“I’m moving just as fast as our enemies are.” Renly insists.

“I will not dishonor Robert’s last hours by shedding blood in his halls and dragging frightened children from their beds.” Ned says with finality. “Now leave us, Lord Baratheon. I have work to do.”

Agitated, Renly leaves. Ned stops him as he calls out. “One of my men, Tomard, will be guarding the stairs. Send him up, will you?”

Renly looks away and continues to descend the stairs. Ned sighs and sits back down, finishing his letter to Stannis. “We should’ve told him.” He states.

“I agree.” I begin. “But it was mercy for Robert. To let him die without the horrid news worsening his mood and darkening his final hours.”

He hums before the door opens once more. Ned stands up as Tomard steps in, rolling the finished letter before handing it to his man. He doesn’t let go of the paper as Tomard grabs it. “You will sail to Dragonstone tonight. You will place this in the hand of Stannis Baratheon. Not his steward, not his Captain of the Guard, and not his wife. Only Stannis himself.”

Tomard nods. “Yes, My Lord.”

Ned finally lets go and pats his shoulder. “Go.”

Tomard bows before leaving. He almost closes the door behind him until another approaches. Ned Stark’s other man, Kormed.

“What is it?” Ned asks as Kormed bows.

“I…King Joffrey and the Queen Regent request your presence in the Throne Room.” He recites.

“King Joffrey?” Ned questions as I stand.

Kormed nods. “They’ve taken the throne, My Lord.”

Ned internally groans and ushers us out as he follows us. “Gather the men.”

“Aye, My Lord.” Kormed nods as he leads us down the stairs.

“The men?” I question, glancing back at Ned.

Ned nods. “Renly and I unknowingly came to the same conclusion. I need men to secure the throne away from her. The rest of my Northmen and the City Watch should do that job.”

“How did you acquire control of the City Watch?” I question again as we push through the Tower’s door and walk through the halls.

“Petyr Baelish.”

“Baelish?”

“He’s loyal to my wife. He promised her that he would help me.” Ned explains.

I sigh, hoping he’s right. “Littlefinger is only loyal to himself.”

We thread through the Red Keep in tense silence before seeing a large gathering of men in the hall outside the throne room’s doors. The head of the City Watch, Janos Slynt, stands alongside his men and the remaining Northmen.

Littlefinger is there as well, and steps forward to greet Ned. “All is accomplished; the City Watch is yours.” Beside him, Varys nods as confirmation.

“We stand behind you, Lord Stark,” Janos promises.

“Good.” Ned takes a breath. “Is Lord Renly joining us?”

Varys shakes his head. “I fear Lord Renly has left the city. He recently rode through the old gate with Ser Loras Tyrell and some 50 retainers, last seen galloping South in some haste.”

Ned sighs. “All right. Let’s get this over with.”

He turns and pushes the doors open. I walk beside Ned as the rest of the men filter in behind us. Littlefinger walks on the other side of Ned, strangely not shying away from the possibility of combat.

At the end of the hall, Joffrey sits smugly on the throne that’s far too big for him. Even if he fit the throne’s size, he’d never look like he belonged there. Cersei sits in her usual spot beside the throne. Next to her, Jaime stands proudly. On the other side of the throne, Sandor stands at attention, wearing his open Hound helmet. We make eye contact, and caution flashes over both our faces as we approach. Last time something like this occurred, it was revealed I was a Shapeshifter.

Kingsguard knights and Lannister soldiers line the throne room, and Barristan Selmy stands at the foot of the steps. A royal steward steps forward to announce who sits in front of us.

“All hail His Grace, Joffrey of Houses Baratheon and Lannister, the First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.”

Our procession finally stands at the center of the throne room, and Cersei smiles down at me. “Lady Arryn, darling, you’re right on time. Please, join us.”

I’m about to protest before I feel a hand on my shoulder. I look over to see Ned smile at me and nod. It strikes me as odd to split up now, but I obey hesitantly. It’s silent as I walk forward and up the steps to the throne before standing on the other side of Sandor, cautiously watching everyone’s faces.

Satisfied, Joffrey makes his first order. “I command the council to make all necessary arrangements for my coronation. I wish to be crowned within the fortnight. Today I shall accept oaths of fealty from my loyal councilors.”

Ned and Cersei meet each other's eyes for a brief moment, then he looks at me. He digs a hand in his pocket before pulling out Robert’s last decree.

“Ser Barristan.” Ned begins, handing it to him. “I believe no man here could ever question your honor.”

Barristan steps forward and grabs the scroll, looking it over. “King Robert’s seal…unbroken.” He opens it and unravels the paper, reading it through before summarizing the words. “Lord Eddard Stark is herein named Protector of the Realm, to rule as Regent until the heir come of age.”

Joffrey’s brow furrows and he looks to his mother for an explanation. Cersei stands, an unhappy smile stretched across her lopsided lips as she walks forward. “May I see that letter, Ser Barristan?”

Barristan nods and walks up the steps before handing it to Cersei. She merely glances at it before smiling condescendingly. “Protector of the Realm. Is this meant to be your shield, Lord Stark? A piece of paper?”

She then turns the letter to the side and rips it apart, then again, then again. Barriston looks at her, startled. “Those were the King’s words.”

“We have a new King now.” Cersei turns to Ned. “Lord Eddard, when we last spoke you offered me some counsel. Allow me to return the courtesy; bend the knee, My Lord. Bend the knee and swear your loyalty to my son and we shall allow you to live out your days in the gray waste you call home.”

Ned shakes his head. “Your son has no claim to the throne.”

Cersei scoffs as Joffrey sits up, incensed. “Liar!!”

“You condemn yourself with your own mouth, Lord Stark.” Cersei announces, turning to the Lord Commander. “Ser Barristan, seize this traitor.”

Barristan hesitates, but advances nonetheless. The Northmen serving Ned draw their swords and move forward, but Ned stops them.

“Ser Barristan is a good man, a loyal man. Do him no harm.” He commands.

Barristan seemingly backs off, further conflicted in this confrontation. Cersei grins, chuckling behind her teeth. “You think he stands alone?”

Beside me, Sandor draws his sword at the threat, his eyes avoiding mine and focused solely on Ned. I look up at him and take a step back, feeling confused and betrayed.

“What ar–”

“Kill him!!!” Joffrey shouts angrily. “Kill all of them, I command it!!”

I turn at the sound of countless swords being drawn as the Lannister guards and Kingsguard ready themselves against the Northmen and City Watch. Ned turns to the Janos. “Commander! Take the Queen and her children into custody. Escort them back to the royal apartments and keep them there, under guard!”

“Men of the Watch!!” Janos shouts, and they draw their own swords and spears, pointing them up at Cersei and Joffrey.

Barristan looks forlorn, loyalty and honor splitting him in two. I turn back to The Hound, placing my hand on his wrist. He shakes his wrist free and takes a step forward, ready to fight Stark’s men.

I walk forward and look at him while the others talk and threaten each other back and forth. “Sandor, what are you–”

“Step aside.” He demands lowly, finally looking down at me.

“I want no bloodshed.” Ned announces. “Tell your men to lay down their swords. No one needs to die.”

Anger fills me, fueled by betrayal and heartbreak. I push him against him with that anger, and behind me, Cersei makes brief eye contact with Janos.

“Now!” Janos exclaims.

At once, the City Watch suddenly turn on Ned, attacking and killing every Northman that serves him. I turn in shock and move to run forward, a hand on my sword. The Hound quickly reaches towards me and grabs my wrist and pulls me back before I got in Joffrey or the Queen’s line of sight. I turn towards him angrily, but he sheathes his sword and covers my mouth before I can say anything.

"Quiet, Little Fire, or they'll kill you too." He whispers.

I glance back at the ambush to see Ned try to draw his sword, but he’s stopped as someone comes up behind him and holds a knife to his throat, the same knife that tried to murder Bran.

“I did warn you not to trust me.” Littlefinger grins.

Chapter Text

My knuckles scream at me to stop, but I do no such thing. They beat against the stone walls to vent out my frustration, my anger, my mourning, and my hate. Each hit echoes through the dank walls, reminding me that I’m truly alone. The cells beneath the Red Keep are often referred to as the ‘black cells’, since the best of them along the side of the castle have only two tiny windows, no bigger than a fist, for light to pour in. Most have no natural light, but rely on torches that most guards don’t bother to replace.

They didn’t bother to shackle me, only took my belongings and brought me here. The air is damp and thick, and as I beat my frustration on the rough stone, the scent of iron from my blood replaces the dustiness of the cells. The cell is too small to shapeshift. As soon as I would, I’d easily be crushed in the tiny room and hall, and then Cersei would add another dragon skull underneath the Red Keep. I tried to bash and kick through the iron bars, but the darkness easily made me miss more times than I’d like to admit. That only fueled my anguish further. It’s hard to miss a whole wall in front of you.

Footsteps approach my cell from the hall outside, and I look over to see the glow of a torch grow in size and intensity. I turn and hold my aching hands when none other than Jaime Lannister stops on the other side of my bars.

He smiles at me, but he seems to actually feel somewhat bad. “My Lady.” He greets. “You’re looking radiant tonight.”

“Go fuck yourself.” I bite, but still walk forward to enjoy the light after being left in darkness for so long. My cell has those small windows, but it’s nighttime anyway.

“You’re only here for questioning.” Jaime assures. “We’re not stupid enough to kill the only Dragon Shapeshifter the world has seen in 300 years.”

I lean back against the wall and slide down to the floor. “You’re stupid enough to kill whoever you want.” I remark tiredly.

He sighs and sits against the wall next to me, handing me something through the bars. I look up to see a roll of bandages in his open palm. Stubbornness tries to make me refuse, but my hands sting with each beat of my heart. Against my better judgement, I take it from his hand.

“Thank you..” I say softly, my voice breaking.

He’s silent as I begin wrapping my hands and knuckles, wincing when it hurts more than other times. After a moment, he speaks up. “How long have you known?”

“Known what?” I ask bitterly.

I don’t see, but he rolls his eyes. “About me and Cersei. I know you know.”

I begin to tear up, the anger and adrenaline washing off my shoulders. “I-..I don’t even care!” I reply, hating myself as the tears start to flow. “I don’t care who sits on the throne anymore, Robert is dead.”

Jaime turns to glance at me. “You don’t care that Cersei’s children are my own?”

“No,” I begin, turning to rest my bandaged hands on the bars. “I think it’s gross, but I don’t care enough to fight and spill blood for selfish cunts on either side.”

He huffs a laugh through his nose. “Then why pursue us? Threaten us?”

I lean down as I lift my hand to my forehead. “You killed my father.” I breathe out pathetically.

The statement alone seems to catch Jaime by surprise. He lowers his head to catch my gaze. “What?...No, I–..we didn’t?”

I sit up straight, glaring at him through my tears. “Yes you did. He caught you and Cersei. You offered him a bribe to say nothing, but you killed him anyway.”

Jaime leans the torch against the wall as he shakes his head, genuine confusion laced across his face. “(Y/N), I assure you that I did no such thing. We are not murderers. Cersei herself wants Eddard Stark to simply bend the knee and confess to the crimes she lays out before him and she’ll let him return to Winterfell.”

“You are murderers.” I insist. “You killed my father and you also killed the Mad King, who you swore your life to protect.”

Jaime tightens his jaw and sighs, sitting back against the wall. “...You cared about Robert?” He asks.

I nod, and he continues. “If he ordered you to kill Daenerys Targaryen, would you do it?” I’m silent, and that’s enough of an answer for him. “And if he ordered you to murder countless people in the city, if he laughed as they burned from your fire, would you not go back on your oath?”

I hug my knees to myself, feeling the sting of tears leave my eyes. “...You still killed my father.”

Jaime’s silent as he thinks of a way to finally prove himself. “I am not a good man.” He begins, smiling as I scoff at the ‘news’. “But I swear on my life. On my father’s life, on the Lannister name, on Cersei’s life, and our children’s lives, that I had nothing to do with your father’s death. He was a good man.”

We sit in silence for a few moments. In that time, he himself realizes who’s at fault. He really didn’t have anything to do with it, but he knows that Cersei did. He knows in his gut. She clearly had help from someone, but she was the mastermind.

“Then who did?” I ask weakly.

“...I don’t know.” Jaime lies, then turns back to me, his eyes genuine. “We don’t want to spill senseless blood. If you swear to remain quiet about Cersei’s children, you’re free to go. You can stay here, or fly off into the sunset, that’s up to you.”

He stands up, taking the keys out of his pocket. “We’re not your allies, but we’re not your enemies either. And who knows, maybe someday we could be allies.”

I look up at him, conflicted. Since my father died, I believed they killed him. Maybe that was too easy of an answer, or maybe he’s lying. Either way, I’ll find out nothing else if I’m rotting away in a cell.

I nod, slowly rising to my feet. “Please…get me out of here.”

“Is this really fucking necessary?” I hiss out as Jaime leads me through the throne room. The next day, he said he was going to bring me in front of Joffrey and the Queen to say a few quick promises. The asshole put a sack over my head just for showmanship, but the idiot didn’t bother to tie my hands or anything. In fact, he gave me back all my armor and weapons, it seems he just wanted to put a bag over my head.

“No, I suppose not.” He chuckles before taking the sack off. I’m nearly blinded by the morning sun peeking through the hall’s windows.

“Seven fucking–” I curse, trying to see. I look around, squinty eyed and blinking as I take in my surroundings.

“I just thought it would be funny.” Jaime finishes.

I follow his voice beside me and see him grinning down at me. I sidekick my foot into his shin in retaliation. “You’re a dick.” I bite. He laughs, his armored leg feeling nothing but the pressure.

“Ser Jaime.” The Queen Regent’s voice calls, and I look forward with my still pained vision. “Why is she not in shackles?”

Jaime steps forward, resting his hand on my shoulder. I shrug it off as I rub my eyes, but he places it back on. “She’s no harm, we talked it through. I bring her here before you to clear up any misunderstandings between the two of you.”

I open my eyes again as my vision fully adapts. Sitting at the throne is Joffrey, just like before. And just like before, Cersei sits beside him. And also just like before, unfortunately, Sandor stands behind Joffrey. My stomach drops when I see him. His Hound helmet is tucked under his arm as he faces forward, but his eyes look down at me.

“Very well, then.” Cersei nods at me. “Proceed.”

I look back at Jaime, annoyed, and he nods at me as well. I sigh and look forward. “My…Queen Regent. I would like to formally apologize for how I’ve acted. I was fueled by my mourning of my father, and that led me to believe you had something to do with his death. Any other…problems…you may have thought that I had with you, I assure you…I don’t care enough to do anything about it.” I glance at Sandor, whose eyes are still on mine. “Not anymore.”

She nods, satisfied as I continue. “And Joffrey, My King, I wish you the best of the best during your benevolent reign over the Seven Kingdoms. May all seven of the Gods favor you and all that.”

Joffrey grins and leans forward. “Very good, I’m glad we resolved this.” He grins. “Pledge yourself to me.”

I blink in surprise as I still. “Pardon?”

“Oh, I believe I ordered you to pledge yourself and your sword to me.” Joffrey restates.

Instinctively, my eyes land on Sandor’s. He subtly shakes his head for me not to, but it only fills me with anger. He got what he wanted from me, and now he wants me to leave? I glance at Cersei, and even she seems unsure of her son’s actions. Clearly she doesn’t want to test my limits, but before she can interfere, I speak up.

“Your Grace, there’s no need.” I assure. “I was pledged to your father, and thereby pledged to his son.”

Cersei meets my gaze again, and she easily recognizes the loophole. However, she knows that she can’t say anything without the risk of me exposing the truth.

“...Good.” Joffrey nods, sitting back in his chair. “You are dismissed. Resume your normal duties.”

I bow my head. “At once, Your Grace.”

Jaime nods at Cersei before he follows me to leave. I push the door open and glance back to look at Jaime after we enter the hall. “You have bad taste in women.” I insult.

He chuckles but plays it off. “I can always toss you back into the cell.”

“Good luck getting a hold of me, I have my eyes peeled now.” I remark.

“You’ve lived here for most of your life.” He counters. “If you haven’t learned to always have your eyes peeled by now, you never will.”

I slow to a stop and look at him, changing the topic to the question that’s been pressing me. “What happened to Ned?”

He shifts on his feet. “He’s also being held in a cell. But he’s a much more well-behaved prisoner.”

I cross my arms, looking down the empty hall. “What are you saying he did?”

“Treason.” Jaime answers. “...and plotting to murder Joffrey to take the throne.”

My heart drops as I look at him. “...You’ve killed him.”

Jaime shakes his head. “He’s still alive–”

“Not if you charge him with that.” I interrupt. “Just cover it up. Say he left when he quit before Robert died, which he did.”

He sighs. “It’s not that simple.”

“You said you weren’t murderers.” I remark. “Yet you’ve basically condemned him to death.”

“Cersei doesn’t want him dead.” Jaime assures. “She knows how important his name is.”

“And how honorable will the Stark name be if you besmirch it with these false charges?” I challenge. “Convince her to let him g–”

The doors to the throne room open and we look to see The Hound walk out. He scans the hall before he sees us. His eyes meet mine as he walks towards us.

“I’ll speak to you later.” I mumble to Jaime as I turn and walk the other way.

Sandor sighs as he slows to a stop by him. They both watch me go as Jaime comments smugly. “We like to choose the feisty ones, don’t we?”

Sandor glances down as Jaime smiles up at him. The Hound mentally shakes his head before following after me. I’ve long since disappeared within the halls of the Red Keep, but he has an idea as to where I could’ve gone. He walks silently, passing by the odd handmaiden or steward before he makes it to my chambers.

He takes a deep breath before raising his hand to knock. He hears nothing, but as he raises his hand to knock again, a voice calls out.

“Who is it.” I ask rather unfriendly-like.

Sandor opens his mouth to speak, but stops himself. He knows I’ll never answer if I know it’s him. Instead, he just knocks again.

“For fuck’s sake.” He hears me mumble to myself as I walk towards the door.

It swings open and I see him. My face contorts in annoyance before I move to slam the door shut. He quickly holds his hand up and pushes through easily.

“Get out.” I order, pointing to the door.

He shakes his head and silently walks towards my wine table. He lifts up the flagon and a mug before he begins to pour himself a nice cup. Enraged, I pull a blade out of my calf-strap and fling it towards the mug. It buries itself into the side, just barely missing his hand, but that was my intention. Wine leaks out of the new crack and he sets it on the table in annoyance.

“It’s childish to waste perfectly good wine.” Sandor comments.

“Get out.” I order again.

He ignores me again and takes in the…new decorations that I’ve added to my chambers. The wooden bed posts are beaten and gashed, and my sword is still firmly lodged into one of them to accompany the other scars it made. My valyrian steel dagger is plunged into the bed.

“Like what you’ve done to the place.” Sandor remarks.

I quickly walk towards him as my anger increases. “You are not welcome here, Hound. Get out!”

He looks down at me and scoffs. “So I’m ‘Hound’ to you too now, is that it?”

I push against his chest again. “You traitor!” I shove again and he rolls his eyes, letting me get my frustration out. “You lied to me! All this time, you lied to me! You betrayed Ned! You betrayed me!”

He catches my wrists and leans down to my height, looking me in the eyes. “I didn’t betray you, Little Fire. I did what I did for you.” I try to pull my wrists away, and he lets go but holds onto the sides of my arms. “Jon Arryn told you to trust someone with that information and get as far away from it as possible, but you stayed involved. I kept you from getting thrown into the cell with Ned.”

I try to pull away again, but his grip is tight. “I was thrown into a cell!”

“For a night!” He insists, annoyed. “I meant that you’re not up next to get executed.”

I pull my wrists free and shove him away before I step back from him. “I could’ve stopped them. Stark’s men, good men are dead now. And you stopped me, then let them throw me in the black cells!”

Sandor shakes his head. “I didn’t know they were going to. I’m the one that convinced Jaime Lannister to talk to you. Which brought you your freedom, if you forgot.”

I’m silent, letting myself think for a moment. Eventually I turn and walk towards my bed, pulling the dagger out of the mattress and sitting down, twisting the blade between my fingers silently.

It makes him uncomfortable. For so long, we’ve been content and comfortable in our shared silences, but now, it makes him anxious. He wants her to understand. He wants her to know that he’d rather keep serving bastards and cunts who are wrongfully on the throne than lose her.

“(Y/N)--”

“Get out.” I say softer this time.

Grief strikes through his heart as he hesitates, trying to figure out what to do. Not wanting to anger me further, he makes his way to my door.

“My Lady.” He says before he begins to depart.

“I’m not a Lady.” I correct, and he glances back. I’m zoned out on the floor, my dagger still in my hands. “And I’m not yours. I’m just The Dragon, just as you are The Hound.”

Sandor lowers his gaze towards the floor, unfamiliar with the tight pinching in his chest, and not liking it at all. Finally he turns and leaves, closing the door behind him.

It’s been days, and each time I tried to visit Ned, I’ve been denied. What’s worse is that I rarely see Sansa, and Arya has gone missing entirely. After word got out about Ned Stark’s “treason”, the Red Keep has kept a very close eye on Sansa, especially because she’s the only Stark sister they still have their hands on.

I haven’t been included in any meetings or high priority decisions, since Robert usually brought me in on those or confided in me himself. Cersei, however, doesn’t see the same need to do so. I can’t say I mind, though, since now my days are basically completely open and I don’t have to see her or her brat son. In a strange turn of events, the most time I spend with a single person outside of training is Lord Varys. It appears, or at least he says, that he was unaware of Ned’s ambush as well. However, he’s able to go and visit him. Therefore every now and then, Varys is kind enough to update me on Ned’s state, making sure he’s fed, hydrated, and that everything’s as decent as they can be in the pitch black cells.

My frustration and confusion clouds my mind. I’ve gotten no closer to finding out who killed my father, and Lord Varys just speaks in riddles or says nothing when I ask. Not a minute goes by that I don’t wonder what I’m still doing in King’s Landing. Besides stressing myself out thinking about it, I take out my frustration as I train.

That’s where I am now, knocking down experienced knights as if they were still new trainees themselves. Sandor watches from the side, pretending to be busy with something. I noticed him right away when I first resumed my training a few days ago, but I’ve since convinced my mind to not notice him at all. Lord Varys steps up behind him, watching with him until I’m available.

Another knight charges at me with a raised shield and a pointed spear. I quickly turn and slice my sword through the spear, dropping the head of the weapon. I raise my foot and stand on the broken end, planting the wood to the ground. The man stumbles and lowers his shield in the process of trying to catch himself. I take this opportunity to clock him across the face with my sword in hand, the hilt delivering the extra damage. He falls to the ground as I hear another yell as he charges. He raises his sword high above his head, but before he reaches me I tear the shield out of the last knight’s grip before blocking the attack. I push against his sword for a little more ground before I whack him back. His armor causes him to lose balance more than anything, and he falls. I quickly straddle his legs before slamming the edge of the shield on his armored chest over and over again. His armor is thick enough to where he won’t get injured or bloody, but it definitely knocks the wind out of his lungs, perhaps earning him some bruising as well. I glance back as a third knight runs towards me, and I fling to shield towards him, knocking him down as well before I rush to attack another.

“Bloody Hells.” Sandor murmurs to himself.

Varys hums contently. “The Hells hath no fury like a woman scorned.”

They watch as the remaining knights drop their swords to admit defeat. I look around, disappointed. “What? You’re not even going to try?”

I sigh as I ignore them, wringing out the soreness in my arms. I look up as Lord Varys approaches me and I offer him a warm smile. “Hello, Spider.”

“Hello, Dragon.” He greets, still bowing respectfully. “I have news about Lord Stark.”

I nod, curiosity piqued as I lead him to the side of the training grounds where we could get at least some privacy. He looks at me before continuing. “There will be no trial. He’s to admit to the charges and Cersei will allow him to be sent to The Wall to serve on the Night’s Watch. He refused of course, but he’ll have time to think about it.”

“How long does he have?” I ask.

“5 days time.” Varys answers. “However, My Lady, I advise against wandering the Red Keep cells tonight during dinner. I hear there are to be less guards on duty, and you wouldn’t want to run into anyone sneaking around.”

I smile at him, knowing I’m the one that will be ‘sneaking around’. “Understood, Lord Varys.”

He bows once more before turning to leave. Deciding to call it a day, I sheathe my sword and take a step to leave. Unfortunately, as I turn, I see a face I’ve somewhat been trying to avoid. Though I suppose it’s not his face, but the armor he’s wearing. Ser Jaever smiles at me sadly as he approaches.

“My Lady.” He says quietly as he bows.

“...Apologies, but I’m needed elsewhere.” I begin, taking a step around him.

“(Y/N).” He calls, and I stop. “Can I please say something?”

I take a deep breath before turning around. He seems actually forlorn and conflicted, which is something I’ve never seen on his face before. Behind him, I see Sandor fixing part of his armor. His gaze flicks up to mine before immediately looking back down, and I know that he’s listening.

“Go ahead.” I nod to Jaever.

“Thank you.” He sighs before beginning. “I–...I just wanted to say that I was not on duty when you and Ned were taken. If I was, then I would’ve said something on behalf of you both.”

I cross my arms, not believing it. “You can say anything, doesn’t make it true. You wear the Kingsguard colors. If it meant you survived, you would have done the same as them.”

Jaever shakes his head and immediately reaches back and rips the cloak from his back. “House Umber is one of Stark’s bannermen.” He begins, tossing it to the ground. “I was loyal to the Starks long before I held a sword.”

I scan his face, looking for any trace of deception. Perhaps I see what I want to see, or I’ve grown desperate for someone to trust. I sigh and rub my hand over my forehead. “It all happened so fast.”

Jaever nods sadly. “I’m sorry that happened to you.” He comments, looking down at the cloak he dropped. “I wish I never swore my life to the Kingsguard. I don’t want to serve those without honor.”

I follow his gaze, looking down at the cloak as well. Kingsguard soldiers are sworn for life, unless they are dismissed by the King. Even then, it’s considered to be dishonorable. A thought crosses my mind when I realize that the bloodline’s loophole could possibly apply to him as well since the Lannisters are not true Crown royalty.

“King Robert is dead.” I begin slowly, wondering if I should include him. The deal was that I stay quiet about Cersei’s children and we’d live in peace, more or less. However, I hesitate on letting another in on the secret. The first man I trusted was Sandor, and he helped toss the second man I trusted into a cell.

Jaever glaces up at me confused. “Yes, but I’m still sworn to the Crown. Now Joffrey is King?” He replies, surprised that I don’t seem to understand the oath.

I shake my head and glance around. Other than Jaever and I, there are a few knights dueling at the center, and Sandor is still sitting to the side. It’s clear he’s been eavesdropping, but now he doesn’t try to hide it. I meet his gaze and he shakes his head again, silently telling me not to speak of it.

As much as I don’t want to listen to him, I give in and sigh, looking back at Jaever. “I know. I’m just…I don’t want to be here anymore either.”

Jaever smiles and plays it off as a joke, holding his arm out for me to walk ahead of him. “Perhaps we should just run away and become outlaws.”

I scoff, walking alongside him. “You have no idea how close I am to doing that.” I glance at Sandor as I pass, bitterness overwhelming my heart and clouding my judgement. “There’s nothing here for me anymore.”

The dining hall’s spirits are almost as dull and tasteless as the food now. It wasn’t always the most lively time of day; I always thought it felt superficial and tense. I didn’t know how good I had it before Robert died. Now Joffrey sits in the King’s seat at the head of the hall. Beside him sits Cersei. Jaime has gone to help Tywin Lannister in the Riverlands fight for Tyrion’s return. That’s not public information, Varys was just kind enough to tell me. With Robert, there seemed to still be joy accompanying the clinking goblets and chatter. Now no one bothers to do much other than eat as the Lannisters condescendingly watch over us like vultures. Any conversations are spoken with gentle tones, aside from a few who still manage to get drunk. Even the food seems hollow, or perhaps my state of mind has dulled my taste.

I sit across from Jaever, who has become the closest thing I have to a friend other than Varys. I was not surprised when a couple women came over to sit a few feet down the long table, but I was surprised when Jaever didn’t feed into their glances or giggles. We’re silent as we eat, only offering a few words and short-lived conversations. I hate it. I hate that I feel guilty for spending time with someone and sitting in a comfortable silence if that someone isn’t Sandor. Then I argue with myself for feeling that way, because he’s the one that went behind my back.

“Are you alright?”

A sickening feeling grows in the pit of my stomach. Why couldn’t he just tell me to step away and not get involved? Why couldn’t we have just acted sooner before Cersei took the throne? Why did I ever tell Ned in the first place? Now he’s imprisoned, Arya is nowhere to be found, Sansa is constantly on edge and panicked, and Sandor betrayed me.

“(Y/N)?”

I blink out of my thoughts and look up to see Jaever watching me with concern. “...what?” I ask, lost.

“Are you alright?” He repeats. “You…haven’t really moved at all.”

He gestures to me and I look down to see my wrists resting on the edge of the table with a piece of silverware in each hand. I lift up my wrists to see a pressure mark where they’ve been pushed against the table’s edge for however long.

I lay my silverware on my plate and rub out my wrists as I stand. “I’m not hungry.”

Jaever opens his mouth to call after me, but stops himself as he decides to give me space. As I thread through the tables to exit the hall, I don’t notice the many eyes on me. Some are from lions, one is from a hound, but another is from a wolf. I push open the door and step out into the cool hall. I barely get a chance to take a breath before I hear the door open again.

“...My Lady?”

It’s a girl’s voice, and I turn around curiously. Surprise strikes through me when I see Sansa Stark, looking nervous and fidgety.

“Sansa..” I greet softly. “My Lady.”

She steps forward cautiously and fidgets with her hands as she works up the courage to speak to me. “Do you…Is my father okay?”

“I…Lord Varys assures that he’s alright.” I smile sadly. “I plan to visit him soon. Should I bring him a message?”

She seems to light up at the news, and opens her mouth to reply. However, a shadow passes back over her face as she returns to her timid state. “..N-No, thank you. I’d just like to know if he’s alright.”

I nod at her warmly. “I will let you know.”

She smiles tightly and bows her head before returning to the dining hall. As she pulls the door open, she jolts in surprise before lowering her head.

“Pardon me, Ser…” She says timidly as she backs up.

A figure ducks his head to walk through the door, and stands to reveal The Hound. He looks down at her in annoyance. “I’m no Ser.”

“Let her pass.” I command, and he looks up to see me. Even more annoyed, he steps to the side as she scurries past him. He keeps his eyes trained on mine as the door naturally closes behind him. I subtly shake my head. “I just can’t seem to avoid you, can I?”

He shrugs with his eyes and walks towards me. “It’d be easier for you if I wasn’t following you.”

I watch him as he stops in front of me, trying to ignore the butterflies I feel in his presence and reminding myself of his lies. “That it would. Good day, Ser.” I say, turning to walk down the hall.

I hear his sigh before his footsteps follow me. I glance back as I walk and sure enough, he’s just a few strides behind me.

“Have you nothing else to do?” I call over my shoulder.

“Nothing else worth my time.” He responds gruffly.

I turn a corner sharply, but stop and turn around. As he rounds the corner, he wasn’t expecting me to be right there and bumps into me.

“That’s not my problem.” I counter, watching as his eyes scan over my face.

He’s silent for a moment before he finds the words. “As long as you’re the one I’m following, it is your problem.”

I scoff and walk away. “Then find someone else to follow.”

He steps forward and grabs my wrist, pulling me back to face him. I glare at him, trying to ignore the goosebumps I feel as his hands trail to my arms.

He shakes his head before he speaks. “Why can’t you understand?” He asks. “They would have killed you too. Maybe you could have escaped but then I wouldn’t…” He trails off. “Why haven’t you left? You have your freedom. I’d wager that the same reason you’re staying is why I betrayed you.”

I step back away from him, letting his arms fall back to his sides. “I am loyal to Robert.” I state. “And I’m loyal to those who are loyal to him. I’m not leaving until Ned and his daughters are safe.” I fight back tears as I continue. “Then I’ll ask to return to Winterfell with them. I wish you happiness here in King’s Landing, Sandor.”

I turn and walk down the hall, letting the tears flow freely. He calls after me. “How can I be?” He begins, and I slow to a stop, not turning back. “If you’ll be in Winterfell.”

He watches me as I hesitate to go, but eventually I continue walking before disappearing into another hall.

The other wing of the black cells is somehow much sadder than the one I was held in. Mine was along the side of the cliff the Red Keep was built on, which allowed for those small windows. They alone allowed fresh air and some semblance of light to filter in. This wing of cells is at the center of the cliff, completely devoid of natural light and fresh air. Only one guard stood in front of the door, who happily accepted a bribe to let me through.

I walk along the dark halls lined with cells, a torch in my hand. The guard stops in front of one cell before pulling out a ring of jangling keys and unlocking the door. He holds it open and gestures for me to walk in. I hesitate, but ultimately step into the mostly barren room. I can’t see much, even with the torch, but against a wall I can see Ned sitting on the floor.

As I approach him, he barely picks his head up. “Didn’t think I’d see you again, Lord Varys.” He mumbles, his voice gravelly.

“I’ve been called many things.” I begin, and he picks his head up at the new voice. “But that probably hurt the most.” I joke, and he scoffs.

“He told me you were released.” Ned states as I squat next to him. “They didn’t hurt you, did they?”

I shake my head, handing him a canteen of cold water. He takes it graciously as I speak. “Hurt myself more. Nearly punched my way through the stone wall to escape.”

Ned laughs as he drinks before lowering it and catching his breath. “I believe it.”

“Varys told me he made sure you had food and water?”

He nods, taking another drink before responding. “He does. He visits once a day, though I can’t tell the difference between day and night here. Any more than that would be suspicious.”

I pull out a satchel and hand it to him. He takes it curiously before opening it, his mouth nearly dropping in excitement when he sees plenty of bread, cakes, fruit, and more water.

“You sure you weren’t sent by The Mother herself?” Ned asks.

I smile and shake my head, moving to sit next to him as he eats a piece of bread. “I don’t think the Gods like me very much.”

He hums as he washes down his bite with some more water. “But you’re alright though? Cersei doesn’t want your head?” I begin to shake my head ‘No’, then think about it and shrug. He chuckles and sighs. “Good. Looks like The Hound actually followed orders.”

My smile falls as my brow furrows, confusion lacing across my face as I turn my head to look at him. “What?”

He meets my gaze and nods. “He told me Jon Arryn’s last orders for you. If the last thing I do is make sure his daughter isn’t pursued by the Crown, then I bring honor to his name.”

I shake my head, not believing it. “You knew about the ambush?”

He quickly shakes his head. “No. But I told Sandor Clegane to make sure if things go sideways, you wouldn’t be kneeling beside me.”

I’m lost in thought, confliction filling my chest right alongside guilt for being rude to Sandor this past week. I accepted that he was just protecting me long ago, but I still held a grudge against him for betraying Ned. But he didn’t even do that.

“But it seems I won’t be kneeling either.” Ned continues, bringing my attention back to him. “They’ll just let me get killed by wildlings beyond The Wall.”

“...You’re going to admit to the charges?” I question.

He nods. “And bring shame to my House. I just want to be alive to see my family. Varys told me that Robb has called upon Stark’s bannermen to fight for my release. If I don’t admit to the false charges, they’ll kill me, and they’ll kill him as well.”

I shake my head, watching the fire flicker at the end of my torch. “...None of you deserve that.”

“What has happened to my daughters?” Ned asks. “I want to know if Varys was telling the truth.”

I glance at him, not wanting to confirm the bad news. “Sansa’s under tight supervision, but she’s still in the Red Keep.”

“And Arya?”

“No one’s seen her.” I admit sadly.

“Good.” Ned nods, and I look at him in confusion. “She has a better chance being a stray kid in King’s Landing than she does being my daughter in the Red Keep.”

I slowly understand, leaning back against the wall with him as I sigh. “At least at The Wall you’ll see Jon again. That father-son duo will be deadly.”

He laughs through his nose, but his humor fades away. A few moments of silence passes before he finally works up the courage. “(Y/N), I need to tell you something.”

I glance over at him. “What is it?”

He takes a breath before he begins. “Jon…” Ned hesitates. “He isn’t my son.”

“He’s adopted?” I question, surprised.

“In a way.” Ned nods. “He’s my nephew.”

I blink, trying to work my head around it. “...Benjen?”

“Lyanna.” Ned corrects. “...He’s never been a bastard.” Before I can question it, he looks at me seriously. “If you ever see him again, tell Jon. Tell only Jon. No one else.”

I slowly nod, still trying to understand. “I will.” Satisfied, he sighs and takes another drink of water. I look down, uneasy. “The last time someone told me important information, he died.” I begin, and he looks at me. “...Don’t die, Ned.”

“I don’t plan to.” Ned smiles. “I intend on telling the boy myself. But just in case.”

I stretch out my legs in front of me. “Who’s his father?” I ask curiously.

Ned hesitates for a brief moment. He was expecting this question, but he still wasn’t fully prepared to have to answer.

“I don’t know.” Ned lies, but then he turns to me, not knowing if he'll have another chance to say it. "Jon Arryn was a great man. It only makes sense that he'd raise such an honorable daughter. A fighter."

I smile at the compliment, shaking my head. He smiles at me, watching the torchlight flicker over my face. "..You look so much like your mother."

My smile falters as I try to sigh the heavy emotions away. He laughs to himself, looking back at the darkness surrounding us. "Jeyne Rocye nearly skinned Robert and I a number of times. We messed around too much." He chuckles. "Letting the hounds out as a distraction to take her freshly baked pies, throwing rocks out of the moon door. She threatened to throw us down there if we didn't stop. But she would smile each time she threatened us, so we saw that as an invitation to keep being problems."

"I...wish I could've known her." I smile sadly.

Ned turns back to me, his own sadness and fear flickering in his eyes. "She would've loved you." Tears well up in my eyes and I look away as one falls. "You would've been a spoiled little thing." Ned chuckles.

I sniffle and wipe away my tears as I stand, leaning the torch against the wall for him to keep, knowing how awful the darkness can be. "Maybe someday I'll visit The Wall and you can tell me more stories about her."

He nods, smiling up at me. "It would be my honor."

I sigh, hesitating to leave. "I don't know if I'll be able to visit again. I only managed tonight because there was less security."

Ned glances at the gate. "Then I guess we'll meet when I confess my crimes. Next you see me, I'll be shipped off to the North."

I chuckle slightly, turning to leave. "Probably for the best. The South doesn't seem to agree with you."

"Thank you for the food and water." He calls after me.

"Of course, Ned." I smile at him, even though this far away from the torch, he probably can't see.

“It appears Tyrion has demanded trial-by-combat in the Eyrie, and a sellsword fought for him and won.” Varys explains to me in the gardens a few days later. “He’s since bought his life once more when a Hill Tribe attacked them both, and they arrived at Tywin’s army this morning.”

“And Robb?” I ask, looking around us to make sure no one is listening.

“He and his mother stand on the other side of The Twins with his Northern army.” Varys answers. “It appears that they can’t figure out a way to persuade Walder Frey to permit their crossing. Tywin’s forces march north, pressuring the Starks to act. The Young Wolf is eager to march south and free his father.”

“And rightfully so.” I remark. “Ned has two days to make up his mind. I don’t think Robb will want to save a headless man, he’ll want to avenge him.”

Varys hums to himself. “I personally have never met the boy. Do you think he has a chance of succeeding?”

I turn to him as we stop in front of my chambers. “People around here are motivated by money, but money runs out. The North is motivated by honor. Honor never runs out.”

“Unless they are offered enough money.” Varys counters.

I turn towards him confrontationally. “Do you have a particular yearning for gold, Lord Varys?”

“Me?” He asks before shaking his head. “No. My loyalty lies within the people. I only want what’s good for the realm.”

“And you think Joffrey and Cersei are making their decisions for the realm?” I challenge.

Varys sighs, smiling tightly at me before bowing. “Sleep well, my dear.”

“Sleep well.” I respond, grabbing the handle of my door as he leaves.

I hesitate to open the door, and let my hand rest there as I watch Varys disappear around the corner. Glancing around, I see the coast is clear and walk away from my chambers in swift silence.

Sandor sits on the side of his own bed, fidgeting with the last string of his armor as a warm fire burns in his hearth. His chambers are much less dazzling than the Daughter of the Hand’s, but he didn’t care. He didn’t have a yearning for the finer things in life.

“Fuuck!” He growls. After some time of failing at untying the strap, he clenches his hand into a fist and pushes himself up angrily before kicking a small table to its side.

Just his luck. He found the one person in this entire fucking world that he gives a shit about and somehow he let it all fall to ruin. He blames himself, but it’s what he deserves. He’s unworthy of love, he’s unworthy of her. He’s cursed the Gods since her first glare. He always knew they liked to fuck with him, but giving him her and then taking her away, that’s cruel even for the Gods. Part of him feels slight relief under the anguish. It’s his fault for allowing himself to be vulnerable, to let her seep through his armor like he wasn’t wearing any at all. He’s pissed at himself for letting his guard down, for being weak. He’s nothing but The Hound, a dog. Then why does he still love her, even though he doesn’t want to admit it? He tries to make himself hate her. Why the fuck can’t she just understand? Why did she…why is she…she’s just–

Sandor sighs and sits back down on his bed, resting his head in his hands. He’s lost her. He’s lost the one good thing he had, the one thing in this world that made him feel human. He’s ruined her. King’s Landing didn’t ruin her, it made her stronger, more resilient. It was him. Part of him wishes that Jon Arryn was never named Hand. That she was happily discovered and lived freely in the Vale, and they never met. Or that she did come here, but they never became friends in the first place. He’d have nothing, but she would be happy. Happy without him.

A few knocks brings him out of his thoughts and he lifts his head up, staring daggers at the door.

“Fuck off.” He calls gruffly.

A few seconds pass before the guest knocks again, over and over and over and over again. Sandor gets up angrily, figuring that the asshole will never stop until he opens the door. He wonders who it could be, and he figures it may just be a young Lord or Lady of the Red Keep, or maybe a squire who’d like to test his luck.

He pulls open the door angrily. “What the fuck do you–......”

He meets my gaze and his stomach drops just as quick as his anger does. His eyes scan over me as I shift awkwardly on my feet. “What are you…doing here?” He asks, stunned.

I scratch the back of my head as I notice the warm glow of a fire behind him. “Um…have you got a fire burning?”

Sandor barely glances back before he returns his gaze to me. “...Yeah?”

I nod and wave him aside. “Well, let me in then, it’s cold.”

In a confused trance, he steps to the side and holds the door open for me. Part of him thinks he’s completely lost it and he’s seeing things. But as he closes the door and turns to me, and I’m still visibly there, he begins to believe my presence.

I stand, my arms hugged to my chest as I nod to the table he kicked over. “Like what you’ve done to the place.”

He seems to blink himself out of his confused state and steps towards me. “You’ve been avoiding me for over a week. Why are you here now?”

I avoid his gaze, looking at the space on the floor in front of my feet. “I spoke to Ned. A few days ago.”

Sandor takes another few steps towards me. “And what did he say?”

I hesitate, knowing that he knows, but he just wants to hear me say it. “That…he gave you orders to make sure I didn’t get myself killed.”

He stops in front of me and I look up at him. He’s smiling down at my cockily, but his eyes are soft. “And what did I do?”

I sigh, scoffing when I see his shoulder armor messily tied. Reaching up to untie it, I answer him. “Stopped me from getting myself killed.”

He breathes a laugh through his nose as he pulls the armor off his arm, tossing it to the ground. Before he can say anything else, I step forward, quickly and firmly hugging his torso. He immediately hugs me back, his previous thoughts completely lost on him. My heart does laps as I feel him against me once more. His scent of earthy warmth, the faint hint of leather and steel from his armor lingering on his clothes and clashing with his natural musk. Part of him once again thinks his mind may be playing tricks on him. But the smell of my hair, the warmth of my body against his, the feeling of my arms around him, the pounding of my heartbeat against his chest, he knows it’s me. He’d know me blind, without even the slightest hint of doubt. We move to his bed and pull each other close. He wraps me fully into his arms, letting his chin rest on the top of my head as I’m all but buried into his chest.

“I thought you’d hate me forever.” He partially jokes, his voice quiet. His arms subconsciously tighten their hold around me, as if to reassure himself that I really am there, or to make sure I don’t go anywhere again.

I hold him tighter as well and nestle in closer. “I never hated you.”

Sandor pulls back his head and looks down at me. I feel his eyes on me and I look up, meeting his gaze once more. Maybe we could still get out. Ned takes the black, Sansa and Arya return to Winterfell with Robb, and Sandor and I can go wherever we want. Maybe Winterfell, maybe somewhere in the Reach. I never felt at home in the Vale, and it’s not surprising that I don’t consider King’s Landing to be home either. I was released from the black cells, but in this shitty city, there are prisoners on both sides of the bars. It sounds cheesy, but I feel at home here, with Sandor, in his arms. Anywhere would be home with him.

Just preferably not King’s Landing.

Chapter Text

It’s the morning of Ned’s “trial”. He’s scheduled to stand in front of the people at noon to confess to his crimes or suffer the consequences. Varys sits across from me at breakfast, although neither of us has touched our food.

“I visited Stark last night.” Varys begins, his tone quiet. I look up at the statement, my attention easily acquired. “He fully agreed to lying and taking the black. He cares not for his own life, he just wants his family to be safe.”

I sigh, looking down at the table. “Sounds like Ned. But that doesn’t put my nerves at ease at all.”

“No, I expect not.” Varys responds. “Sansa dropped to her knees this morning and pleaded with Joffrey for her father’s life. I imagine he’ll want to make her happy.”

I look up at him, slightly confused. “Are they still to marry? Since her father is a ‘traitor’?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know, My Lady. But if he won’t listen to Sansa, he’ll listen to his mother. I’ve said before that she doesn’t wish for Ned Stark to lose his head. She hasn’t changed her mind about that.”

It’s silent as a sickness forms in my stomach. “...And if he doesn’t listen?”

Varys sighs, uncertainty laced in his eyes. “Then…I advise you to look away.”

I shift on my seat, pushing my untouched food away. “Can I talk to him?”

“I’m afraid not, my dear.” Varys says apologetically. “Since it is the morning of, plenty of guards are situated by his cell.”

My knee bounces anxiously as I shake my head in disbelief. “So we do nothing and just wait?”

He smiles at me, taking a hand out of his sleeve and resting it on mine. “You’re focused on the worst possible scenario, My Lady. There are plenty of others that could occur.”

I don’t break from his gaze, slightly annoyed he’s not as concerned as I am. “If he dies, Robb will fight for revenge. The North will be fueled by the loss of Eddard Stark. Honor may be bought from weaker men, but revenge? Hate? There’s no amount of gold that Tywin Lannister can throw at that to save him.”

Varys sighs, nodding. “It seems that that’s true. A raven came in the knight: Robb Stark has taken Jaime Lannister prisoner, right under his father’s nose.”

I sit up straight, a spark of hope lighting in my heart. “It’s a stalemate.”

“Indeed.” Varys agrees. “Tywin wouldn’t risk advancing his forces farther and risk the death of his heir. Cersei Lannister doesn’t want Ned to be killed for the same reason.”

I scoff, mentally smiling at the Lannister’s struggle. “To think, this could all be resolved if Ned Stark were set free.”

“I’m afraid not.” Varys corrects. “The War of Five Kings doesn’t seem to want to end.”

“Five Kings?” I question.

He nods. “Robb Stark’s men have crowned him the King in the North. Balon Greyjoy has attempted advances to take the North as Stark marches South. Stannis Baratheon sits at Dragonstone, accepting help from fanatics of the Lord of Light to take control of Robert’s throne. Renly Baratheon has married Margaery Tyrell to form a wealthy alliance to support his own claim to the throne. Then of course, there’s Joffrey.”

I blink in the information, slightly annoyed. “It’d be nice to sit in on a small council meeting. Seems a lot is happening.”

Varys smiles. “Oh, there is. I can’t imagine why Cersei doesn’t want you there.” He says sarcastically.

I shake my head. “Thank you for your transparency with this information.”

“Of course, my dear.” Varys nods, then remembers something else. “Oh, there is another thing. It seems Viserys Targaryen finally got his crown.”

I furrow my brow, worry hinting behind my head. “He’s leading the Dothraki?”

“Not exactly.” Varys smirks. “My bird tells me that Khal Drogo poured melted gold over his face. Apparently, Daenerys has grown into a strong-spirited woman.”

“Your bird, Jorah Mormont?” I ask, and Varys nods. “Good for her.” I shrug, sitting back. “The throne was Viserys’s goal. Maybe she’s happy over there.”

“Actually, soon after Viserys dropped to the ground faceless, Khal Drogo announced to his tribe that they were going to sail across the Narrow Sea so his and Daenerys’s son can, ‘mount the world’.”

I take it in for a few moments before sighing and dipping my head. I stand from the table, reprioritizing my worries. “I’m going to focus on today first.”

“Wise decision, My Lady.” Varys stands with me, bowing. “I will see you at Ned’s confession.”

It’s mere hours before Ned’s confession. The people are already filing into the Sept of Baelor’s square to get good views, happy to wait there for these few hours to secure their spot. Since I can’t visit Ned, I decided to kill time and my nerves by training. However, as I step through one of the many surrounding doors to the training grounds, the sound of combat already fills my ears. That’s not unique, as it’s rare for the training grounds to be completely empty during the day. What I was not expecting was to see Ser Jaever and Sandor sparring off.

Other knights and Kingsguards are off to the sides, watching the duel. The clink of armor and the sharp rings of steel fills the air as the two face off. Sandor, dressed in his usual dark and heavy armor, wields his massive longsword. He swings at Jaever with ease, and I’m left wondering what occurred to have them fight like this. Jaever, covered in his golden armor, is smaller and quicker, able to dodge the heavy blows of Sandor’s blade. I stand confused as to why the Kingsguard knight doesn’t have a shield, but then I see it on the ground with a giant gash nearly splitting it in two.

Sandor swings again, the blade clashing against Jaever’s as he blocks. They back away from each other, preparing to attack again.

“You fight like a dancer.” Sandor remarks. “This isn’t a tourney.”

“And you fight like a butcher.” Jaever counters before rushing forward.

He steps to the side as Sandor swings, and delivers his own blow to Sandor’s arm, Jaever’s sword clanging against the steel and lightly denting his armor.

Sandor grins down to him darkly. “Finally, you’re not boring me.”

He retaliates by hitting Jaever’s sword out of his hand and kicking him back in the chest. Jaever falls back by scrambles to his feet, grabbing his damaged shield, preferring anything rather than nothing. Sandor strides forward, sending his sword in a downward strike. Jaever narrowly dodges as he rolls to the side. Sandor’s sword sticks into the ground, allowing Jaever time to run back and retrieve his own lost sword. They turn towards each other again, and they’re about to continue before I call out.

“Enough!” I exclaim, a smile on my face. “We need knights, not corpses.”

Both combatants look over at me, breathing heavily with fatigue. Sandor looks back at Jaever. “Not bad for a preppy tin can.”

Jaever catches his own breath and nods respectfully, though his pride is clearly bruised. Sandor turns and walks towards me, sheathing his sword. I smile as he approaches.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t hurt his pretty face too much.” He mutters, fixing his armored glove.

I grin, mocking him. “Aww, you think he’s pretty?”

He looks at me in disgust and shakes his head as I giggle. Annoyed, he changes the topic. “How are you feeling about Ned?”

My smile fades, quickly being replaced with a fake one as I shrug. “I’m nervous.”

“Imagine how he feels.” Sandor counters.

I hum to myself. “You’re right.” I then look up at him, annoyed. “Did you know that Cersei dismissed Ser Barristan?”

He nods, disinterested. “Aye. Guess she wants her brother to be Lord Commander.”

“He’s not commanding any forces as Robb Stark’s prisoner.” I retort, and Sandor looks surprised.

“He’s a prisoner?” He asks.

I nod, confirming it. “Last night.”

He thinks it through before shrugging, chuckling with a grunt as he checks to see the dent on his armor. “We’re all prisoners.”

“You’re right again.” I remark, sitting on one of the benches with a sigh. He walks over and sits next to me, pulling a flask out of his belt and taking a swig. I look up at him hopefully. “But…we don’t have to be.”

He glances down for a moment, lost in thought before he hands me his flask. “What about your father’s murderer?”

“I’ll find him.” I assure myself. “I just can’t stand being here any longer.”

Sandor hums in agreement, watching as I take a sip and smiling when I grimace. “And the Starks?”

I sigh, contemplating over my options. “Varys says Ned will take the black. The Crown has no need for the girls, and will hopefully send them back to Winterfell to appease Robb in return for Jaime.”

“Not wise to rely on hope.” He comments gruffly.

“But I do.” I counter, looking up at him as he meets my gaze. “And I hope then, we can leave.”

His eyes scan my face, worry laced across his features. “...Me too.”

The yard in front of the steps to the Sept of Baelor is filled nearly to the brim with spectators. On the steps stands Joffrey, and Cersei is beside him. Sansa is a little ways down on the other side of Cersei, followed by a few guards. Sandor and I are situated beside them, accompanied by another few guards, including Ser Jaever. On the other side of Joffrey, Ser Ilyn Payne wears his executioner's hood, only his wide and angry eyes able to be seen. Finishing up the line on the other side stands Gregor with another few Kingsguard.

The chatter of the crowd is deafening. Ned should be here any second, and each second that passes fuels my nerves tenfold. Joffrey stands proud, youthful arrogance on display as he wears the golden crown that looks foreign on him. His posture is restless, eager to get on with it. Cersei holds her composure, but she’s calm. I can tell she believes she has already won, and she’s right, in a way. Sansa’s face is paler than normal with anxiety. She wrings her hands, her lips silently whispering prayers for her father’s safety. A few figures step up the side stairs, and all our heads snap towards the guests. Instead of Ned and the guards accompanying him, Varys and Baelish walk up, smiling in greeting as they situate themselves in the line. Varys stands between me and another guard, leaning back to whisper to me.

“He’ll confess. It’s the only way and he knows it.”

I say nothing, my nerves keeping me silent and tightening my jaw as I scan the crowd for anything, or anyone. To my shock, I see a small figure climbing up on the pedestal of a statue, barely peeking out to reveal herself.

“Arya…” I think, and a wave of nausea washes over me.

“Where is he?” Joffrey complains, turning to his mother. “I won’t wait all day.”

Cersei grabs his arm, rubbing gently. “Patience, my love. You will see justice done.”

Suddenly, the crowd’s murmurs grow louder as their attention turns to the same side steps. The sound of chains brings my attention away from the missing girl to see Ned Stark walk over shamefully before the guards push him to go faster. The crowd’s reactions are mixed, some throwing insults and calling him a traitor, while others are silent as small whispers of prayer leave their lips for his safety.

Ned stands before the crowd, pale and battered from his time in the pure darkness of the cells. His shoulders are weighed down by chains and the burden of what he’s about to do. He naturally, but slowly and nervously turns towards us, looking at Sansa before he’s forcefully faced forward. His eyes are fixed ahead, trying to ignore the jeering faces in the crowd.

Joffrey raises his hand to quiet the crowd, and Ned takes a deep, shaky breath. “...I…am Eddard Stark. Lord of Winterfell. And Hand of the King…”

He turns back to us again, eyes finding his daughter’s. She nods at him, and he continues, facing the crowd. “I come before you to confess my treason in the sight of Gods and Men.”

The crowd gasps, erupting in angry murmurs and doubtful whispers. “I betrayed the faith of my King and the trust of my friend, Robert.” Ned continues. “I swore to protect and defend his children, but before his blood was cold I plotted to murder his son…and seize the Throne for myself.”

The crowd yells angrily, and even those who were praying for him look up in disbelief and betrayal. Someone throws a canteen at Ned, who stumbles back in his weakened state. A guard catches him before pushing him back forward. My hand subconsciously gravitates to the hilt of my sword, but Sandor seemed to notice it before I did and grabbed my wrist. I look back at him in confusion and meet his gaze. He nods down to my hand and shakes his head ‘no’.

Ned takes another deep breath and continues, bringing my attention back to him. “Let the High Septon and Baelor the Blessed bear witness to what I say: Joffrey Baratheon…is the one true heir to the Iron Throne, by the Grace of all his Gods, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.”

The crowd still chats among themselves, but quiet down as the Grand Maester steps forward. “As we sin…so do we suffer.” Pycelle begins. “This man has confessed his crimes in sight of Gods and Men. The Gods are just, but Baelor taught us that they can also be merciful.” He turns to Joffrey slowly, his old age on display as he shuffles. “What is to be done with this traitor, Your Grace?”

The crowd yells their opinion, and their words of bloody murder send fear through my being. Joffrey raises his hand to silence them again before he begins, stepping forward.

“My mother wishes me to let Lord Eddard Stark join the Night’s Watch. Stripped of all titles and powers, he would serve the realm in permanent exile.” He then gestures to Sansa. “And my Lady Sansa has begged mercy for her father.”

He’s silent as he smiles at her, thinking for a moment before he turns back to the crowd. “But they have the soft hearts of women. As long as I am your King, treason shall never go unpunished.” His words make even Cersei’s face fall as we all realize with each second what he’s doing. Joffrey turns to Illyn Payne, grinning. “Ser Ilyn, bring me his head!”

The crowd erupts in cheers. Cersei hurries forward and grabs Joffrey’s arm, trying to reason with him. Varys quickly leaves my side to try to convince Joffrey otherwise as well. Sansa screams, tears already falling down her face as she tries to run for her father, but a guard holds her back.

“No, please, stop!!!” She wails.

Ned’s face falls, fear planting itself deep into his entire being as a guard roughly pushes him to his knees. My attention snaps to the statue Arya was sitting at, but she’s nowhere to be found.

“Joffrey, PLEASE!!!” Sansa begs.

Ned shakes as he glances back at Sansa for the last time. Cersei and Varys have given up on convincing Joffrey to change his mind, and look forward in shock, discomfort, worry, and dread. I realize that I’m standing there in shock, and snap out of it as I walk forward, drawing my sword. Sandor quickly steps forward and grabs my wrist again, pulling me back.

“Please.” He begs quietly, but I try to get out of his grip anyway. As I try to yank away, he grabs onto me from behind, holding my arms close to my sides, similar to Sansa. My sword drops from my hand, clattering on the ground and drawing a few gazes towards us.

“Let GO of me!!” I yell, frantically trying to break free.

Ned slowly leans forward, presenting his neck in his dazed state as Ilyn Payne steps forward, drawing his sword. Sandor is partially pulled away from me, and in the movement I glance back to see Jaever push me the rest of the way out of Sandor’s grip.

“Go!!” He shouts before Sandor pushes him back.

Without hesitating, I run forward and draw my valyrian steel dagger. Ned closes his eyes, muttering a few prayers under his breath as he prepares for what’s to come. But who could prepare for this? The only thoughts running through his head are that of his family.

Ilyn Payne raises his sword high above his head, but just before he brings it down, a blade sticks out the front of his hooded throat and through the cloth. The crowd collectively gasps before silence hovers throughout the packed yard. Ilyn Payne lowers his arms to his sides, dropping his sword to the ground as his body falls limp. I pull back my dagger back as he lands in front of Ned, who’s utterly still at the situation, not understanding what’s happening in his dazed mind. His eyes look over Ilyn Payne’s wide eyes as the light leaves them, blood drenching the cloak covering his face and leaking out onto the stone beneath him.

Without a second to spare, I stab my blade down onto the chains holding Ned’s wrists and forcefully pull him to his feet. Just then, the spectators seem to snap out of it. The crowd erupts in rage and betrayal as Joffrey shrieks orders.

“KILL HER!!!” He screams, throwing his arms towards us, looking at all his men. “KILL THEM BOTH!! NOWW!!!” He sends an irate glare to Sandor, his 'trusted' shield. "DOG!!! KILL HER!!!"

Sandor doesn't move, and instead watches as I grab Ilyn Payne’s sword and shove it into Ned’s hands, who's still wearing the shackles over his wrists. “Get ready to fight.” I order, and he quickly tries to recuperate, raising the sword as we turn back to the approaching guards.

I meet Varys’s gaze. He seems conflicted; happy that we may still have a fighting chance, but unhappy with the spur of the moment change. It crosses my mind if he thinks this could be ‘for the good of the realm’, since he was openly wishing for Ned’s life to be spared. But as the guards approach us, drawing their swords, I don’t let myself get too lost in thought. Even Gregor steps forward, seemingly happy to finally fight me or the famous Eddard Stark. Yet, seeing him immediately brings my attention to Sandor. He stands in slight shock, but mostly disappointment. Jaever stands next to him before he runs ahead, pushing past the other guards and approaching us. Ned steps forward to attack but I pull him back. He glances at me, confused, his spiking adrenaline panicking him. But when Jaever turns to face the others with us and draws his own sword, he seems to understand.

“We’re not getting out of here alive.” Ned murmurs as the Kingsguard circles us, backing us up against the roaring crowd.

I glance back, realizing how little space we have now. “Yes we are.” I state, then glance back at Sandor. I point my dagger at him, then move it towards Sansa, who’s watching the scene with terror, distress, and slight hope. My message is clear: Get her out.

The second I watch his eyes even partially understand, I turn to face the crowd and sheathe my dagger. Even in the moments of high stress, I trust my being to help us. My body dissipates into whispering smoke, and the Kingsguard stops their approach to watch, unsure of how they want to proceed. The crowd’s anger turns to a mixture of awe and fear as they back up. My smoke grows as it ascends into the air, creating the only thing that could get us out of this mess.

The smoke falls over my new body as I hover in the air, my leathery wings beating down breezes of air before I drop to land in the space the crowd makes as they scatter away from the creature of destruction. I turn towards the ‘Crown’ and its Kingsguard, opening my mouth to roar, a ground-shaking reverberation that causes them to falter in their steps.

Joffrey’s face twists in fear and anger before stomping forward and pushing his men ahead. “KILL IT! KILL IT!!!”

They hesitate at first, but slowly walk forward to at least kill Jaever and Ned. I raise my head, a guttural echo growing as the back of my mouth begins to glow with the promise of flames. Ned and Jaever jump off the ledge and onto the square with me just as I release the fire, the heat spewing from my throat to create a wall of the heated orange glow. The rest of the Kingsguard steps back, and Cersei pulls Joffrey away as Ilyn Payne’s body burns to a crisp, leaving only bones. Sandor steps back a lot more, and guilt temporarily washes over me at spewing flames so close to him. I turn my attention back to the problem at hand and look at Ned and Jaever next to me, lowering myself to the ground.

Happy with the silent invitation, Ned and Jaever climb onto my back shakily as a line of guards retrieve their bows and arrows. They fire at will, releasing countless arrows at me, but each one bounces off my scales. I glance back to see a line of guards behind me, emptying their own quivers. With a sweep of my tail, I knock them all down. I quickly recognize that the people on my back are much less armored, and with a powerful leap, my wings pull us into the sky, scattering dirt and stray papers on the ground below.

Joffrey’s face is red with rage as we hover above them all, but my attention isn’t on him. My attention lies on Sandor as I look down at him for perhaps the last time. Grief pinches my heart, as does slight regret. But I know I couldn’t stand by while Ned is killed, for something he didn’t do, no less.

Tearing my gaze away, I turn in the air and fly away, ignoring the little arrows that bounce off my stomach and chest as we cross over the walls of King’s Landing. It hurts me, but I ignore Ned’s muffled calls about going back for his daughters. I’ll explain as much as I can to him when we land, wherever that will be. Somewhere safe, hopefully. Although it goes without saying now that we are enemies of the Crown, and there will surely be bounties on our heads. Where could we go that’s safe?

I decide to land in the Isle of Faces, an island that sits in the middle of God’s Eye just below Harrenhal. It’s a sacred place, so there will be less people living there so as to not affect the forest of Godswood trees. I glide down to a clearing, my wings beating steadily to slow the descent as I land with a thump of each of my feet. I lower myself to the ground further to allow them to get off. They seem to understand as I feel them climb from my back and walk unsteadily on the ground.

In the span of a few seconds, my body wisps away again before I reform as myself again, looking at their faces sadly and just as stressed.

“My daughters…” Ned begins, walking towards me. “We have to go back for them.”

I look down, shaking my head. “They will kill us.”

“I don’t care!” Ned persists. “We have to–”

“Ned, I don’t believe they will harm a hair on Sansa’s head.” I begin, and he stops to listen. “Robb is still fighting Tywin’s army, and they have Jaime Lannister as prisoner. Even when he hears of your escape, he’ll still want the return of his sisters. I believe Tywin is sure to accept a trade for Jaime in return for Sansa. If they harm her, Jaime is as good as dead.”

“And Arya?” Ned questions, still worried sick, and rightfully so.

“I saw her.” I explain. “In the square. She was on a statue watching. Before everything happened, she vanished. Without you there, I don’t imagine she sees the need to stay there. She’d want to search for you. They already don’t know where she is, she could easily slip through the city walls with a trading convoy.”

“That’s a lot of guessing.” Ned counters. “And how can you be so sure Sansa will be alright?”

I glance at Jaever, who’s been quietly watching our conversation from the side. “I asked Sandor Clegane to get her out.”

“The Hound?” Ned persists in disbelief. “The bloody Hound? The Crown’s famed killer? You trusted the bastard’s dog to protect my daughter?”

I narrow my gaze at him. “You trusted him to keep me away from the situation with Cersei and Jaime’s bastards and he did.”

“That’s because he’s loyal to you, not me.”

“So you’ve proven my point then!” I retort, also letting my stress fuel my frustration. “He’ll get her out because I asked him to!”

Ned sighs, stressfully pinching the bridge of his nose. “Then what did he say?”

I shift on my feet. “He didn’t…really say anything. It was more of a…look.”

Ned looks up at me, stunned and annoyed. “....a look.”

I nod, cracking my knuckles to self-soothe. “Yes, when we were getting surrounded, I looked at him and pointed to Sansa, and he seemed to understand.”

He takes a moment to process before he walks towards me. “Let me get this straight. You believe that Arya is safe and will leave King’s Landing without getting caught, and will be perfectly fine on her own in Westeros. Sansa will be safe because my son has Jaime Lannister, and just in case she isn’t, you’ve asked The Hound…with a look… to get her out, but you’re not worried about the suspicion of a massive, notorious, and brutal killer walking around the city with Sansa Stark of Winterfell?”

“Yes!” I insist and he scoffs in disbelief, turning to walk away. I step forward, challenging him. “I saved your life!!”

He paces back and forth as I continue. “You think they’d be better off if they saw your head roll along the ground?! Sansa wouldn’t have her worth as Daughter of the Hand anymore, just like I didn’t! Except she doesn’t have fighting to keep her importance! She’d either be killed or abused as Joffrey’s whore!”

Ned turns back around and stomps towards me, daring me to say another word. “And what’s the difference now!?”

I take a breath and calm down. “Because now Sandor will get her out before either of those happen.”

He stands up straight, trying to take a breath. “You swear on your life.”

“I swear on my life.” I agree, looking him in the eyes.

Ned stares at me for a few more moments, waiting for any lapse or hint of doubt in my gaze. When he sees none, he turns around, groaning in stress. He gestures towards Jaever, overwhelmed. “And you? Who are you?”

Jaever bows respectfully. “Ser Jaever, My Lord, or–...I suppose it’s just Jaever now. My great uncle is Greatjon Umber.” Ned turns completely at the familiar name, and Jaever continues, kneeling in front of him. “I serve as your bannerman, My Lord. I am loyal to the Starks.”

Ned looks over him, nodding although his heart is still spiked at the escape. “All right, get up lad.” Jaever scrambles to his feet and they both turn to me. Ned shrugs dramatically. “You’re the great escape artist. What do we do now?”

I blink in surprise and look around the clearing before meeting their gazes again. I sigh, not wanting to say it, but knowing it’s the best chance we have. “We split up. They’ll be looking for the three of us.”

“Split up?” Jaever questions, stepping towards me. “But what if–”

“It’s the only way we won’t get caught so easily.” I reason, then gesture to him. “Your great uncle is serving Robb Stark right now. If you returned, having helped Ned escape, you’ll be treated as a hero.”

He seems to relax, but still doesn’t like the idea of splitting up. “I’ll try to dye my hair. People know me by the Shapeshifter’s mark more than anything. Without it, I’m no one.”

“They expect me to return to Winterfell.” Ned thinks out loud. “If I go back, my family will be in danger.”

I nod in agreement, before deciding to push it to tomorrow. “You’ll have time to think about it. We’ll camp here and leave in the morning. After that, we don’t know each other and we never have.”

The three of us glance around each other’s faces, agreeing with the plan so far. It was easy to start a camp, seeing as how we may have been the only ones on this island this time of year. We didn’t have any materials for a tent, but did find a large cut in a rocky cliff that can serve as cover for the night. It was easy for me to start a fire, and for the past few hours, we’ve been sitting in silence. Jaever has long since fallen asleep, having folded his cloak to use as a pillow. Ned and I have silently understood our mutual struggles with sleeping, and sit by the fire to think.

“Thank you.” Ned says suddenly, breaking the long streak of silence. I look up at him as he continues. “For saving my life.”

I nod and smile. “Of course. I…I already lost my father and Robert. And…I didn’t want Sansa or Arya to feel what I felt when my father died.”

We refix our gaze on the flames, easily becoming entranced by the flickering colors, guiding our thoughts back over the lands and city walls we came from. After another few short minutes, Ned doesn’t look up from the fire as he asks.

“Are you certain that the Clegane will take Sansa away from that place?”

I think back on Sandor, my heart pinching. I miss him. We were supposed to leave the city together. I wish I had time to just take them all. Ned, Jaever, Sandor, Sansa, and find Arya in the crowd again, take them all away from King’s Landing. Sandor already wanted to leave, but it was unspoken that while I was there for a number of reasons, he was there for me. If I’m not there, he’ll leave. And because I asked him, he’ll bring Sansa with him.

“I’m certain.”

Chapter Text

I wake slowly, remembering where I am when I feel the discomfort of the rock floor. I open my eyes, glancing around to make sure no one has been taken or killed in their sleep. Jaever is sprawled out, now using his cloak as a blanket since the fire went out in the night. Ned is already awake, sitting on a rock outside of the landscape cover.

I push myself up and stretch out the sores of sleeping on such a hard surface. A faint chill lingers in the air, mingling with the scent of moss and damp soil. I stand before walking over to a still-sleeping Jaever and nudging him with my foot. He stirs slightly, shifting to get comfortable again. I smile tiredly but mischievously as I push him a lot harder, rolling him to his side. He jolts awake and looks around frantically.

“What?! Wha–” He then sees me standing over him and sighs, letting himself fall back to the ground.

“Wake up, Jaever.” I nod behind me. “Let’s go.”

I don’t give him time to answer and instead walk out of the rocky coverage. Stepping out into the morning sun, I can see the island more clearly than I did last night. The island itself is lush with flora and ancient Godswood trees. I’ve never seen so many in one place before. Their pale bark stands strong, and their blood-red leaves wave as the breeze passes through.

I walk up next to Ned, who doesn’t look up to know of my presence. “No point in hanging about.” He begins, standing up. “We need to get moving now.”

Jaever yawns, walking behind us. “We’re on an island in the middle of God’s Eye. Even if they suspect we’d be here, it will still take them a long while to sail across the water.”

“And when they do, we’ll be long gone.” I add on, and Ned nods in agreement.

He sighs, but is ultimately eager to see his family again up North. “Fine. Well, we don’t have any belongings to collect, so go ahead and fly us out of here.”

I shake my head sadly, looking down at the ground. “That would be easier, but we’d be spotted. We don’t want anyone having any hint as to where we went, not even a direction.”

Jaever looks between Ned and I, confused. “Then how are we leaving the island?”

Ned tucks Ilyn Payne’s sword into his belt, since he doesn’t have his own gear anymore. “There are docks scattered around the shoreline for travelers who visit to pray. We’ll each take a boat and disappear.”

“Do you know where the closest one is?” I ask.

“No, but we’ll run into one eventually.” He begins, turning to walk away and waving for us to follow him. “Come, the sooner we leave the sooner we get farther away from Cersei’s reach.”

Jaever and I follow after him, and I glance at his shiny, reflective, golden armor. “You might want to drop your armor.”

He looks at me, then at himself, then sighs when he knows I’m right. He doesn’t hesitate because he wants to be a Kingsguard anymore, he hesitates because he doesn’t want to be vulnerable. Still, as we walk, he begins to relieve himself of the heavy steel. 

A few hours pass and we finally reach one of the docks Ned mentioned. It’s a small boathouse that seems completely empty. Just to be safe, I put my hood over my hair and Ned removes anything with his direwolf sigil showing. Jaever has long since abandoned his armor, so we slowly begin to walk towards the boathouse.

We see and hear nothing as we approach, and even less so when Ned knocks on the boathouse door. Taking a deep breath, he pushes open the door and steps in. There are no lanterns burning, so we have to rely on our vision to slowly adapt to the faint darkness. When they do, we see that small rowboats are hung along the walls. There are two water docks in the floor that connect to God’s Eye outside, only being blocked off by a sliding wooden door partially in the water.

We make quick work, opening the docking doors to allow our future boats to exit onto the water, as well as allowing more natural light in. Ned and Jaever grab the boats before gently dropping them into the water.

“All right, boy.” Ned gestures for Jaever to get in. “You first.”

Jaever looks between us, uneasy. “Already? We’re all splitting off after rejecting death, just like that?”

“Yes.” Ned nods. “It’s for our own safety.”

Jaever sighs, swallowing his nerves of being alone after what happened in King’s Landing. He takes a deep breath and turns towards me abruptly, grabbing my hands.

“Lady Arryn…(Y/N)...I need to tell you something.” He begins. “I’ve always…I’ve always liked you. You took my interest the first time I saw you in the training grounds when we were kids.”

I smile, chuckling softly. “Jaever, I know.”

He blinks, surprised. “You…know?”

I nod and Ned scoffs. “Seven Hells, even I knew.” Jaever turns towards him, surprised. Ned continues, "The whole city knew after the Hand's Tourney."

“Oh…” Jaever thinks, standing up straight. He shrugs it off and smiles at me, leaning down to kiss me on the cheek. “We’ll meet again, My Lady!”

I mentally roll my eyes and smile as he clambers without grace into his boat. “I’m sure we will.”

“Come on, lad.” Ned mumbles, offering Jaever a few oars to paddle himself out.

As Jaever rows himself out into the water, he calls back to us. “Goodbye, My Lord! Goodbye, Lady Arryn! It was great not dying with you!”

We wave after him, watching until his figure disappears into the distance. Then, with a quiet sigh, we turn our attention to my boat, lowering carefully in the water. Ned’s is still waiting in the other docking station, prepared to leave.

“Where will you go?” I ask, breaking the quiet.

Ned hesitates, his gaze dropping to the boat as though the answer might be hidden there. “...I don’t know.” He admits, his voice low.

I cross my arms and scoff, not believing it. “You’re Eddard Stark. You have a plan for everything.” He looks up at me, his expression a mix of amusement and weariness as I press on. “Maybe things don’t always go according to plan, but you always have one to start.”

A faint chuckle escapes him, and he scratches the back of his neck. “I’m going to find Robb and Catelyn,” He says finally. “Let them know I’m alive and try to convince them to end their part in the war.”

I nod, mulling over his words. “I think I’ll stop by as well. Hopefully they’re still at The Twins.” I pause, considering the risks. “But we should still travel separately. Less chance of drawing attention.”

“Agreed.” Ned’s expression darkens as he looks out over the water. “We can’t stay with them, though. The Crown wants our heads. The closer we are to them, the more danger we bring.”

“I know.” I reply softly, the weight of the truth sinking in, along with the consequences of our actions. “Where will you go after?”

He stops, deciding not to tell me. “I’m not going to be holed up in some cottage.”

“No, that doesn’t sound like you.” I smile at that, nodding.

A small, wry smile tugs at his lips as he returns my gaze. “We may see each other at The Twins, then.” He tilts his head at me, as though he was studying me. “Tell me…are you more like my sister or my niece?”

I shrug, grinning at him. “Never could figure that out with Robert either. We just knew each other as family.”

He smiles softly, holding out his hand for me to shake. “Then you are my family as well.”

I take his hand, expecting a firm shake, but he surprises me by pulling me into a hug. I don’t hesitate to return the embrace.

“Stay safe.” He orders as he steps back.

“You too.”

With a final nod, we part ways as we climb our way into our boats, the water stirring with our movement. As we row out of the boathouse, feeling the warmth of the sun on our faces, he calls out to me one last time.

“Thank you again for saving my life!” He shouts as our boats drift apart.

“I’m sure it won’t be the last time!” I reply my rebuttal, and I hear him laugh.

As I row, I can’t help but wonder: Where the hell am I going to go after The Twins? If Sandor–, no… when Sandor leaves with Sansa, where would he go to find me? Would he try to or would he just deliver Sansa to her family? Would he look for me after?

It just so happens that Joffrey’s nameday has arrived, and what better way to work out his own frustrations than by holding another tournament? He happily watches as man after man is killed on the castle walls, sitting smugly on his chair, dressed in regal gold and crimson attire. Sansa sits next to him, unhappy to still be named his future wife, but doing the best she can to hide those inner feelings.

It’s been about a week since Ned, Jaever, and I escaped death and imprisonment, and Sandor has been more aggravated than normal, and that’s saying something. He was happy to partake in the nameday tournament, crushing his opponents with the same rage he wishes to deliver onto Joffrey, Gregor, Cersei, Jaime, Tywin, any fucker who contributed to the shitty way things have ended up, he imagines his opponents are them.

He wears his Hound helmet over his head, a shield in one hand and a mace in the other. His opponent wields the same weapon and protection. Sandor still looms over him as they both swing, their weapons clashing against each other. Sandor pushes the contact down before lifting his shield up and punching it down on his opponent. He backs up as the man tries to regain his footing, but Sandor brings his mace down with all his weight. His opponent blocks with his shield, but the blow still knocks him unsteady. Sandor swipes across again, the metal gliding across the top of the knight’s shield once more as he backs up fearfully. The knight swings his own mace across, but Sandor steps back in time to dodge the blow. He swings again, knocking the shield out of the opponent’s grip. Left with only his mace, the opponent attacks to try and gain footing, his back against the half wall. It hits the Hound helmet, and if it wasn’t there, Sandor would’ve been injured. Growing angrier with even the slightest damage being brought onto him, Sandor counters with another heavy swing, knocking the mace out of the knight's hand as well as cutting through the opponent’s neck. He falls to the ground far below motionless, and the crowd cheers.

Joffrey stands to step up to the ledge overlooking them all. “Well struck.” He mumbles before calling out across the space the knight fell into. “Well struck, Dog!”

Sandor drops his bloody mace to the ground before taking off his helmet to catch his breath. Done with his fight, he walks up the steps to stand next to Joffrey’s tent.

“Who’s next?” Joffrey asks, his voice carrying over the crowd.

The herald steps forward, his tone loud and formal. “Lothor Brune, freerider in the service of Lord Baelish!” The man strides confidently onto the fighting space, adjusting his helmet as the crowd murmurs. The herald continues, “And Ser Dontos the Red of House Hollard!”

A beat of silence follows, but nothing happens. The crowd looks around for the absent knight in confusion. The herald calls out louder. “Ser Dontos the Red of House Hollard!!!”

Finally, a disheveled figure stumbles down the steps near Joffrey’s pavilion. “Here I am!” Ser Dontos calls out, his voice slurred and awkward. “Here I am– Oh!” He drops his helmet and hunches over to pick it up. “Sorry, Your Grace.” He chuckles. “My deepest apologies.”

His face is flushed and he sways on his feet. Joffrey notices this and squints at him. “Are you drunk?”

Ser Dontos stutters. “No, uh no, Your Grace. I had–I had two cups of wine.”

“Two cups?” Joffrey repeats, his tone mocking. Dontos nods hesitantly. Joffrey steps forward, a cruel smile curling his lips. “That’s not much at all. Here, have some more!”

“Are…you sure, Your Grace?”

“Yes.” Joffrey smiles. “To celebrate my nameday. Ser Meryn, help Ser Dontos celebrate my nameday. See to it that he drinks his fill.”

Ser Meryn Trant walks over with a few other Kingsguard. They roughly grab Ser Dontos and force him on his knees. One of the Kingsguard knights keeps Dontos down as another grabs a funnel and forces it into his mouth. Ser Meryn holds a barrel of wine up, and pours the entirety of it down the funnel, choking Ser Dontos as he struggles and sputters.

“You can’t!!” Sansa pleads in discomfort

Joffrey looks at her, his smile fading. “What did you say?...Did you say I can’t?”

Sansa quickly recovers. “I only meant…it would be bad luck to kill a man on your nameday.”

Joffrey scoffs, shifting in his chair as his lip curls in disdain. “What kind of stupid peasant’s superstition…”

Sandor leans in to agree for Sansa’s safety, his gravelly voice cutting through the tension. “The girl is right. What a man sows on his nameday, he reaps all year.”

Joffrey hesitates, his gaze flicking between Sansa and The Hound. Finally, he exhales sharply and waves his hand. “Fine. Take him away. I’ll have him killed tomorrow, the fool.”

The guards lower the barrel and remove the funnel before pushing Ser Dontos to his knees. He coughs and vomits most of the wine up.

Sansa turns back to Joffrey, her voice soft but calculated. “He is. A fool – you’re so clever to see it. He’ll make a much better fool than a knight. He doesn’t deserve the mercy of a quick death.”

Joffrey looks at her, interest piqued as he turns back to the drunk man. “Did you hear My Lady, Ser Dontos? From this day, you shall be my new fool.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Ser Dontos pants as he stands and bows. “And you, My Lady, thank you.”

Sandor glances down at Sansa while the new fool is taken away. He’s angry with me. He understands, and my actions didn’t exactly surprise him, but he’s still angry with me. He supposes it’s retribution for his own betrayal, and now he’s stuck in King’s Landing, tasked with getting Sansa out to safety. It would be easier if she wasn’t guarded all the fucking time. He knows this poor girl doesn’t deserve to be in the viper’s nest known as the Red Keep, but he’s distanced himself from caring enough that in another life, he’d stand by and let her suffer. But he promised me. I ground him in a way he’s otherwise unaccustomed to. I’m both a burden and a lifeline to him, and whatever he needs to do to see me again, in this case escaping with Sansa, he’ll do it. He’s just waiting for the right moment. He doesn’t want to be here any longer than he has to, but he knows that rushing through the Red Keep could get them both killed. But Gods, he just wants to leave and see me again. He doesn’t want or need others, but he knows that he both wants and needs me.

Ughhhhhhhhh I miss Zaldr. I briefly wonder if Sandor will bring her with him if he does leave King’s Landing. I haven’t had the heart to steal a horse from innocent family homes I pass by, so for the past 9 days, I’ve been travelling on foot. Being so high up on the hierarchy of Crown soldiers, I still have plenty of coins on me. After some internal deliberation, I decided to spend them only on food when I happen across the odd tavern. For the past few days, I’ve been walking alongside the flowing Green Fork, which will lead me right to The Twins. Varys said that Robb Stark and his army sits on the other side, trying to come up with an agreement to pass. Or at least they did last week…I shove aside the worrisome thoughts and press on, eager to hopefully be welcomed in.

Something whizzes right past my head and I stop, nerves spiked. Turning towards the object, I spot an arrow embedded in the trunk of a tree. My hand instinctively goes to the hilt of my dagger, my only weapon since losing my sword during the escape with Ned and Jaever. My attention quickly turns to where it came from and I’m met with the sight of a few men walking towards me. One of them has the bow that shot the arrow.

“That’s a pretty dagger you got there.” One of the men remarks.

The voice belongs to a man with thin, short hair. He has a light brown beard over his face and a cloth eyepatch. He wears practical, worn leather armor and a tattered cloak over his neck.

“Yeah, that’s why I have it.” I reply sharply, gripping the handle tighter. The men chuckle at my words. They can’t see my face or my hair underneath the cloak, but I can see them.

Another man steps forward, propping his boot on a rock as he studies me, resting his hand on his knee. This one has longer hair, brownish red, but he’s still balding atop his forehead. He also has a beard, slightly streaked with grey, and he wears a tattered priestly robe with some stray pieces of leather armor as well.

“And who might you be?” He asks, his tone casual and probing.

“No one.” I respond curtly, stepping back to make sure they don’t surround me.

He chuckles, pulling a flask out of his belt. “No one? Sounds like you're from Braavos then.”

“Never been,” I begin, taking another cautious step back. “If you’ll excuse me...”

I turn to leave, but come face-to-face with the archer. His bow is drawn, an arrow nocked and ready, pointing straight at my face. He’s younger than the others, with short, curly hair and a confident smirk. He wears practical armor like the others as well, suited for mobility and stealth as an archer.

I glare up at him past his arrowhead. “I don’t think you should pull it back unless you intend to release it.”

He smirks wider and turns the bow slightly, releasing the arrow. It whistles past my head and embeds itself in the tree right where the first arrow hit. I don’t flinch, but my jaw tightens.

The eyepatch man chuckles, shaking his head. “Come now, Anguy. No wonder you have a hard time making friends.”

I glance back at the others, irritation bubbling beneath the surface. “Will you let me leave?” I ask, my tone clipped.

The balding man shrugs, spreading his hands. “We’re just getting to know you.”

“I don’t want to get to know you.” I counter, already weighing my odds if this comes to a fight. I think I have good odds.

He smiles, undeterred. “My name is Thoros.” He then gestures to the archer. “That there is Anguy, and this…” He gestures behind him to the man with the eyepatch. “Is Beric.”

“Charmed.” I say without a hint of genuinity.

It’s silent for a moment before Thoros chuckles. “It’s rude not to introduce yourself in return.”

“You don’t want to know who I am.” I warn, but he doesn’t seem to care.

“If I didn’t, then I wouldn’t be asking.” He reasons, gesturing around to his friends. “Look, my sword is sheathed, his sword is sheathed, we’re all friendly.”

I gesture behind me to the archer. “He shot an arrow. By my head.” I begin. “Twice.”

Anguy laughs, slinging his bow over his shoulder as he walks past me. “Just trying to get your attention.”

“See?” Thoros asks, sitting down on the boulder. “We mean no harm. We’re just making sure you don’t either.”

I watch as the third man, Beric, casually sits down on the rock with them. “...And how do you know I don’t mean any harm?” I ask, still on edge.

Thoros smiles knowingly. “Something tells me if you wanted us dead, we’d already be.” He nods, gesturing for me to sit.

His confidence confuses me. I hesitate, but it has been 9 days since my last real interaction with people, and I’ve had more ridiculous company in my life…against my better judgement, I lower my dagger and sit.

“So what’s your name?” Beric asks.

After a moment of deliberation, I reach up and pull down my cloak. Their postures straighten when they see the Shapeshifter’s mark. “(Y/N) Arryn.” I answer, watching their reactions closely.

“The Dragon…” Thoros mumbles, looking at me in awe. I lean back, his reverence surprising me. I was expecting fear, maybe a fight? I was not expecting…worship?

“You were chosen by the Lord of Light.” He continues, and things start to click for me, albeit really slow.

“The Lord of Light?” I repeat, wondering where I heard that before.

“There are two Gods in this world.” Beric explains. “The God of Darkness, and the God of Light.”

“Oh…” I slowly realize, the pieces clicking together slowly. “Are you the fanatics helping Stannis claim the throne?”

Beric shakes his head. “No, that’s The Red Woman. A priestess for the Lord of Light. We serve the same God, but we are a part of something else.”

“And that is?” I ask, unsure of how safe I feel around fire worshippers. Although as a fire breather, I may be alright.

“The Brotherhood Without Banners.” Beric answers. “We are dedicated to protecting the smallfolk and fighting for justice when Westeros knights fail.”

“Noble…” I comment skeptically, but their actions speak louder than words. “Then why did you fire arrows at me and approach me like common thieves”

Thoros shrugs before taking a drink out of his flask. “Because we were going to rob you.”

I blink at him, surprised at his bluntness. “Then you’re not so noble, are you?”

Beric quickly interjects. “We steal from the rich to help us help the people of Westeros. We saw that valyrian steel dagger of yours and figured you had enough to share.”

“So are you going to try to steal from me?” I question, ready to fight.

“No.” Beric laughs. “Even if you were as vile as the others in King’s Landing, we would never try to fight a dragon.” He smiles at me. “You’re the only soldier we hear in King’s Landing that actually does good—ridding the streets of abusers and rapists, saving Eddard Stark from execution.” He notes.

I sit up straight at the information. “You know about that?”

“Aye.” He nods. “Us and everyone in Westeros.”

I look across their faces, hesitant to ask. “Is there anything else that’s…newsworthy?”

“That’s right, you’ve been on the run.” Thoros remembers. “Well…Tyrion Lannister has returned to King’s Landing, um…Myrcella Lannister is being sent off to Dorne to marry in a few weeks…Robb Stark’s forces are up at the Twins…”

“That’s where I’m headed.” I cut in.

They look at me curiously. “Why?” Beric asks.

“I…I don’t really know where else to go.” I answer honestly.

“Why don’t you stay with us?” Beric suggests. “We could use your help. We have the same goal. To serve the Lord of Light and help those who need it.”

“Help those who need it maybe.” I counter before shaking it off. “Have you heard anything of Sansa Stark? Or Arya? Or even…The Hound?”

Beric shakes his head. “No, My Lady. Should we be on the lookout?”

“No.” I say quickly, not knowing if Sansa or Sandor would be someone they’d try to rob for being more well-off. “I was just wondering.”

“So will you stay with us?” Anguy asks, fletching some more arrows.

I glance at him, unsure. “Maybe. I’d still like to visit the Stark forces first. Where shall I find you if I return?”

Thoros hums, taking another swig from his flask. “Oh, we move around. Just come around the caves of the Riverlands and sound the signal, we’ll find you.”

“The signal?” I ask, wondering if I’m missing something..

He nods and brings his fingers to his lips, whistling in a high note, a low note, then a middle note. I raise my own fingers, attempting to make the same whistle. He grins as I somewhat succeed. “There you go. One of our men will come at the noise. Tell them who you are and our names, and he’ll bring you to us.”

“All right…” I begin, standing up and dusting my cloak off. “Well…thank you for not…robbing me.” I send a look down at Anguy. “Or shooting me.”

“Wait,” Beric stands with me. “Take one of our horses.”

I look up at him in surprise, but I’m hopeful. “You’d lend me one?”

“Of course.” He nods, gesturing for me to follow him. Thoros and Anguy stand with us. “We don’t have many, but consider it a way to ensure your return.”

Just a few days later, I reach The Twins. It’s much faster on horseback, and although this grey stallion is nice, I still miss Zaldr. I named this one Nudho, which is just ‘grey’ in Old Valyrian, but no one needs to know that. They can think it’s more clever than that. It’s nighttime as I approach the torch-lit camp, and countless stars hang high in the black sky. It’s beautiful, but I think the direwolf sigils on the Stark banners are a much more welcoming sight. As I near the line of tents, a few guards hurry forward, hands resting on the hilts of their swords. Their expressions through their helmet are wary, but not quite hostile yet.

“Who goes there?” One of them demands.

“I’m a friend.” I answer, pulling down my hood. “Can you bring me to the Starks?”

The guards exchange a hesitant glance, but they remain curious. It’s too dark to see my hair, but they still feel a sense of ease in my presence. The other nods and gestures for me to dismount. I do so, and begin to walk towards them.

“Your sword stays here.” The first one orders.

I raise my hands. “I have no sword.”

They look at me suspiciously, but when the second one lowers his torch towards me, they see upon further inspection that my sheathe is empty.

The second one nods. “Follow me.”

The first guard walks past me, taking Nudho’s reins and following us into the maze of tents. The path to Robb Stark’s tent winds through soldiers and camps alike. Their conversations are mainly joyous as they eat by their fires. Some glance up as we pass, their faces marked with either weariness, curiosity, or indifference. Finally, the guard leads me to a larger tent at the heart of the camp, its entrance flanked by two more guards on either side of the entrance. They straighten at our approach, and the guard leading me nods at them. They step to the side and pull back the tent flaps. The guard walks in, and I’m close behind him.

“Your Grace.” The guard speaks, but I can’t see around him. “A rider in the night.”

He then steps to the side, revealing me to the patrons of the tent. There’s a square table set up in the center of the tent with pawns and battle plans. On each side of the table stand a few men. Some I recognize like Greatjon Umber and Roose Bolton, others I don’t. At the head of the table stands a few people that the sight of them stretches a wide smile across my face.

Robb Stark stands up straight from leaning on his hands on the table, his stern expression melting away as he recognizes me. A broad grin makes its way onto his own face as he ushers his men and advisors out of the way to approach me. I walk forward to meet him as he wraps me up in a tight hug. Behind us, Catelyn Stark hurries forward and places her hand on my shoulder. Robb and I pull away and I turn towards her. She quickly hugs me next, tears pricking her eyes. Robb nods at his advisors and they turn to leave the tent, leaving the three of us alone.

“Oh, thank the Gods.” Catelyn mumbles in the hug.

We pull away and I smile widely at them. Robb himself has grown and matured since I last saw him. He wears a dark stubble across his jaw, and his curly hair has darkened slightly. He’s also grown a bit taller. Before I say anything else, I hurry out. “Ned, he’s–”

“Alive!” Catelyn nods, taking my face softly into her hands. “Because of you.” She pulls me down and kisses my forehead.

I look between them as she pulls away. “Have you heard from a raven?”

“And straight from the source.” Robb says warmly. “My father found his way here a few days ago. Told us everything that happened. Jaever Umber was here as well before he was sent back North to the Last Hearth.”

I laugh lightly. “We were meant to split up, but it seems we all found our way here eventually. Is Ned still here?”

Robb shakes his head. “No, he left the morning after he arrived. He didn’t want Tywin Lannister to have any additional reason to fight us. He didn’t tell us where he was going, but he promised he’d stay in touch until his presence with us wouldn’t be a danger to Sansa and Arya in King’s Landing.”

Catelyn rests both her hands on my arm, nervously waiting to ask. “Tell me, my dear. Do you really trust The Hound to look after Sansa?”

I lay my hand on hers and nod. “I do.”

Robb rests his hand on my shoulder, concern riddled across his face. “We have been told that Stannis intends to take King’s Landing soon. Will she be out before then?”

Stannis’s battle plans are news to me, and I try to reason in my head before admitting to him. “I...I don’t know.”

Catelyn stands up straight, a new wave of determination washed over her. “Then it’s settled.” She states.

Robb looks up at her, realizing her words as he shakes his head. “Mother, no. I don’t want you in the middle of it.”

“Like Sansa is?” Catelyn counters, and Robb looks away. “You sent Theon to bargain with Balon Greyjoy, I’m the only one who can do this.”

“What’s happening?” I ask, completely lost.

Catelyn looks at me. “I’m going to ride to the Stormlands to try and broker a peace between Renly and Stannis Baratheon. If they work together, hopefully Stannis won’t attack King’s Landing with Sansa in it.”

“Mother, please.” Robb insists. “At least wait until the morning.”

She steps back, her mind made up. “No. There’s no time. I’ll leave tonight.”

“Moth–”

“You must stay focused on Tywin Lannister.” Catelyn interrupts. “We have Ned…” She continues, reaching over to grab my hand. “But we still need your sisters.”

Robb shifts on his feet, taking a deep breath. His shoulders are tense as if preparing for an argument, but he knows better. He knows he can’t argue with her; he gets his own stubbornness from her. Reluctantly, he nods, accepting her decision. She smiles softly and pulls him into a hug, which he returns. She quickly pulls away and grabs my hand in a quick but meaningful squeeze once more before turning to swiftly leave the tent.

For a moment, the air hands heavy with silent thoughts. Robb turns to me, his jaw tight.. “We have Jaime Lannister.”

I allow myself a small, knowing smile.. “I know.”

He exhales sharply through his nose, a hint of amusement breaking his worry. But his expression quickly hardens again as his thoughts shift. “And what of Arya?”

My own smiles fades, replaced with determination. “I’ll find her.” I vow.

“You’re not staying?” Robb questions, worry laced across his brow.

I shake my head. “No. It’s dangerous for me to be here as well.”

“But…where will you go?”

I smile at him. “Everywhere, if that’s what it takes. I’ll search until I find Arya.”

He huffs a laugh at me, but admires the bravado. “You’re as stubborn as ever.” He chuckles. After a moment of conflict, he sighs and shakes his head. “Very well. Is there anything we can give you? You saved my father—name your price, and it’s yours.”

I chew the inside of my lip, thinking of what I could need. “A sword?”

Before Robb can respond, a bark in the tent nearly sends me out of my skin. I turn in alarm at the source to see Robb’s direwolf, his golden eyes locked on mine. He’s much larger than they were when I last saw them, nearly full-grown.

“Seven Hells!” I exclaim and Robb laughs.

“Ah, Grey Wind wouldn’t hurt a fly.” Robb chuckles, petting the giant wolf as he trots towards us to sniff at my hand. He pauses, his grin turning mischievous. “Unless I told him to.”

I cautiously lift my hand. Grey Wind sniffs it a bit more before I pet over his head. His fur is thick, perfectly accustomed to the snow above and below The Wall.

“He’s grown.” I mutter, kneeling down to pet down the large wolf’s mane. Grey Wind licks my other hand, happy to receive the affection.

Robb smiles, clearly proud. “They all have. Come on.” He gestures for me to follow him, leading me out of the tent. “Let’s get you that sword.”

I found Jaime Lannister fairly quickly, as his cage is well guarded. I nod at the guards as I approach, and they happily take a brief break. Jaime sits on the ground, his back against one of the cage walls. His eyes are closed, but he still shifts in discomfort. For a moment, I simply watch him. Even in his current state, there’s an undeniable air of arrogance about him, as though he believes the world still owes him respect.

“How are you enjoying your stay?” I ask, finally breaking the silence. Mocking and unnecessary, but I couldn’t help myself.

His eyes open and he looks over at me, squinting in the darkness before he recognizes me. Confused, he tilts his head as a silent question pops into the air.

“What are you doing here?” He asks, his voice rough with the weariness of captivity. His gaze flickers briefly to the side to notice that the guards are gone

I openly shrug and move to sit against his back, the cage wall separating us. “I saved Ned Stark’s head. Your son didn’t like that.”

Jaime scoffs, the sound bitter and familiar. “I could make him forgive you. I got you out of a cage once, you think you can get me out of this one? We could go back to King’s Landing, you could see your Hound, I can see my sister…we’d both win.”

“I don’t want to go back to King’s Landing.” I reply, the thought of returning instantly repulsing me. “And Sandor’s coming to me.”

Jaime’s eyes narrowed. “Is he?” Jaime challenges, hoping to find a way to convince me to let him out. I can hear the challenge in his words. “Who was the dog loyal to first, you or Joffrey? I imagine he’s loyal to whoever holds his leash, but…wouldn’t that be Joffrey?”

His words sink harder than I’d like to admit, and for a brief moment doubt crept in. But then I realized that that’s exactly what he intended. I shake my head, steadying myself. “For Sandor to be a sworn shield to royalty, Joffrey will have to be royalty. But he’s not, is he?”

“The people don’t know that.” Jaime counters, his confidence unshaken. “If The Hound were to leave, he’d be wanted for treason.”

“Except for one thing.” I begin, and he’s silent, allowing me to continue. “Some of Robert’s last words to me were officially releasing Sandor of his duties, whether Joffrey is his trueborn son or not.”

There is a pause, and Jaime’s silence is telling. I could nearly hear the wheels turning in his head, and it gives me great joy to see him in this uncertain position for once.

“Then why is he still there?” He finally asks, his voice low.

I stand up, walking around the cage to look him in his face. “Sandor will bring Sansa with him. I’m going to find Arya. When Cersei’s dainty hands can’t reach anyone of importance to us, what use will we have of you?”

Jaime’s discomfort is palpable now, though he tries to mask it with a veneer of arrogance. “I’m skilled in a whole matter of things.”

I shake my head, my eyes never leaving his. “I would contemplate joining our side, if I were you.”

He glances around in disbelief. “And fight against the woman I love? My children?”

“I want no harm to come to Tommen or Myrcella; they are good and pure, despite their shitty parents.” I remark. “And is it love or perversion that attaches you to Cersei?”

Jaime can’t seem to answer, but in that, I found my answer. His silence speaks louder than words. I sigh, my patience thinning.

“I don’t like you.” I begin, the honesty in my voice cutting through the tension. “But there may be good in you.”

With that, I turn back and walk away, the soft crunch of grass with each step fading away as I leave. I nod to the guards once more and they return to his cage.

It’s a warm, sunlit day in King’s Landing, although spirits are low as Myrcella’s boat drifts off into the bay. She cries and waves to her family, fearing the change that awaits her and her future husband in Dorne. Cersei cries into her handkerchief, standing alongside Tommen and Tyrion. Joffrey stands beside Tommen, and Sansa regretfully stands beside him. Sandor is nearby, utterly disinterested in this farewell.

“May the Seven guide the princess of her journey.” An announcer exclaims. “May the Mother give her health. May the Crone give her wisdom. May the Warrior give her courage. May the…”

Sandor zones out as he eavesdrops on another conversation nearby. Tommen is crying to himself, and Joffrey scolds him.

“You sound like a little cat mewling for his mother.” He states in disgust. “Princes don’t cry.”

“I saw you cry.” Sansa says lowly, feeling herself becoming numb from his mental torture. Sandor glances down at her comment, knowing that Joffrey wouldn't like that.

He snaps his head towards her. “Did you say something, My Lady?”

“My little brother cried when I left Winterfell.” She offers.

“So?”

“It seems a normal thing.”

Joffrey turns to face her completely. “Is your little brother a prince?”

“No.” She says simply.

“Not really relevant then, is it?” Joffrey counters, turning to walk back up the steps. “Come, Dog.” He waves Sandor on. 

At the “King’s” command, the farewell procession is wrapped up before the noblemen and women make their way back through the city. The people, however, have mixed feelings about seeing Joffrey smugly walk through the slums, looking down on them condescendingly.

“Hail Joffrey!” A supporter calls.

“Hail to the King!”

“Seven blessings on you, Your Grace.”

However, not everyone is happy with their ruler. The people are hungry, they have tattered clothing, their children are starving. Watching these well-fed and cocky royalty walk by dressed in sequins and clean clothes angers them.

“Murderer!!”

“Bastard!!”

Joffrey sends frantic looks at whoever doesn’t support him, but Cersei urges him to keep going.

“All hail the King!”

“He’s no King.”

“He’s a bastard!!”

Joffrey stops and turns around, wanting to see who dares to insult him like that. A guard grabs his arm, gently pulling him forward. “We’re in a hurry, Your Grace.”

A man on his knees reaches forward and grabs Joffrey’s hand. “Please, Your Grace, we’re hungry.”

Joffrey yanks his hand away in disgust, mumbling “Freak” under his breath. The people hear it, and are immediately set off in anger and offense. The crowd calls out to him, throwing insults as well as objects.

“Get the prince back to the Keep now.” A guard commands. The others obey, and cover Joffrey as they hurry on. Sandor takes the lead, and only stupid men are willing to stand before him, and they don’t stand for long.

Some old and moldy bread flies across the street before hitting Joffrey’s face. He stumbles, stunned, and looks around. “Who threw that!? I want the man who threw that!!” The guards grab hold of him again and pull him through the roaring crowd. “Find who did that and bring him to me!!”

“Hold them back!” A guard barks as the crowd pushes against them. Many guards are also lined up to protect the Ladies as they run along behind the prince, including Sansa.

“Just kill them!!” Joffrey orders, his tone shrieking. “Kill them all!!!”

Finally Joffrey is pushed through the Red Keep’s doors. Tyrion grabs his arm and pulls him further in. “What are you doing?!” Joffrey demands. “I want these people executed!!”

Sandor watches from the side as Tyrion responds. “And they want the same for you.” He then looks around, seeing that the doors to the Red Keep are now closed. “Where’s Sansa?”

Sandor’s head snaps up, eyes automatically scanning the room, but he doesn’t see her either. In an instant, he pushes through a side door to find her. Civilians are banging on the front door, and Joffrey throws his arm towards them.

“Traitors!!!” He shouts, his voice irate and panicked. “I’ll have all their heads!!”

“You blind, bloody fool!” Tyrion insults as he paces back and forth.

“You can’t insult me.” Joffrey says tightly as he shakes his head.

Tyrion looks up at him before walking forward. “We’ve had vicious Kings and we’ve had idiot Kinds, but I don’t know if we’ve ever been cursed with a vicious idiot for a King.”

“You can’t–”

“I can. I am.” Tyrion corrects.

“THEY ATTACKED ME!!” Joffrey persists.

“They threw bread at you, so you decided to kill them all? They’re starving, you fool! All because of a war you started.”

“YOU’RE TALKING TO A KING!!!”

Tyrion acts quickly, slapping him across the face and earning a weak little yelp. “And now I’ve struck a King. Did my hand fall from my wrist?”

He turns to see Meryn Trant walking towards them. “Where is the Stark girl?” Tyrion asks.

“Let them have her.” Joffrey bites, still holding his face.

“If she dies, you’ll never get your Uncle Jaime back. You owe him quite a bit, you know.” Tyrion reminds.

Sansa, barefoot and breathless, stumbles through the chaos, her heart pounding in her chest like a war drum. She has been separated from the others, and has abandoned her shoes to run quicker away from a few pursuing men. The cobblestones beneath her feet are cold and unforgiving. She eventually found her way to the stables, a hall of stone and hay laid out before her as she continues to flee. Her dress trips her up, and she falls to the ground. The palms of her hands are cut on the rough stone beneath the hay. Panic surges through her as she tries to scramble back up to her feet, but the men reach her, grabbing at her arms and legs as she screams for help.

“You ever been fucked, little girl?” One asks, pulling her dress up while the others try to keep her still.

“No!!! No, please!!!” Sansa begs, tears streaming down her face.

Before anything more can happen, the shing of a sword is heard just before the blade pokes out of the man’s chest. He stills and looks down at the steel, coated in his own blood. It’s pulled out of him as an armored hand grabs his shoulder and pushes him to the side, revealing Sandor. The other men stand and try to attack him, but he makes quick work as his blade slices through their arms, their throats, and chests. He sheathes his sword as the men lay motionless around him, their blood staining the hay and stone.

He reaches his hand down. “You’re all right now, little bird. You’re all right.”

Sansa, trembling and tear-streaked, hesitates only for a moment before grasping his hand. His grip is firm, and he steadily pulls her to her feet with ease. Before she can fully regain her balance, he sweeps her up over his shoulder like a sack of grain. She winces, but her fear of The Hound is overshadowed by relief.

He strides back towards the Red Keep, his boots heavy against the cobblestone. His dark eyes scan every shadowed corner, every window and alleyway. The shouting of the riot still echoes faintly in the distance, but the path he took to get here should still be clear. He reaches the side door, the same one he has exited earlier, and pushes it open with his free hand. Inside, a few startled handmaidens freeze at the sight of Sansa’s disheveled state, but quickly rush forward as Sandor lowers her to her feet.

“The little bird’s bleeding,” Sandor remarks as the handmaidens surround her, their soft voices a stark contrast to the chaos she narrowly escaped. “Someone take her back to her cage, see to that cut.”

Tyrion approaches him as the handmaidens usher Sansa away, his expression a mixture of gratitude and caution. “Well done, Clegane.” He says, his voice measured but sincere.

Sandor turns to him, his sharp gaze raking over the smaller man. He shakes his head, “I didn’t do it for you.”

Tyrion watches him for a moment as Sandor turns to leave. He assumes, correctly in part, that Sandor acted for Sansa’s sake. But it’s clear to Tyrion that there’s something more, something deeper that fueled Sandor’s actions.

I wake with a jolt as guards bark orders outside my tent. The urgency in their tones cuts through the morning fog of sleep like a blade. Worried something happened, I strap on my armor and weapon belts before stepping out into the chaos. Soldiers run past, their faces grim as they hurry to their next task. I immediately make my way to Robb’s tent, and as I push through the entrance, he looks up to see me. His expression is grim and angry.

“Theon Greyjoy has taken Winterfell.” He states, his voice low and venomous, each word laced with barely restrained fury. “In his father’s name.” He grabs his knife and plants it into the table. “That traitorous urchin!!”

The words hit me like a hammer to the chest. I didn’t know Theon well, but I didn’t suspect he’d ever do something like this. “He took Winterfell?” I echo, my voice tinged with disbelief.

Robb’s jaw tightens, and he looks away for a moment, his hands gripping the edges of the table to steady himself. “Bran and Rickon are now his prisoners.” He mutters, the anger in his voice barely masking the pain beneath. “His brothers. My parents thought of him as their own. I thought of him as my own brother. And he betrays me…”

His words trail off, and for a moment, the only sound is the distant clamor of the camp outside. I lower my gaze, trying to process the gravity of the situation. “I can help.” I offer, my voice firm despite the knot tightening in my chest. “I can ride north with your men and–”

“No.” Robb refuses, immediate and sharp. His eyes meet mine, and they burn with a fierce determination. “I need you to find Arya, she’s your main focus. We’ll deal with that traitorous scum.”

I look up at him, concerned and unsure. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Robb nods, walking around the table towards me. “Theon’s stunt is just a desperate grab for attention. But Arya…she’s out there, alone. Vulnerable. She needs you.”

“Okay.” I nod, the weight of the task settling on my shoulders. “I know of a few people who may be able to help me find her. I’ll leave at once.”

He nods and rests his hand on my shoulder. His eyes meet mine once more, and for a moment, the anger softens. It’s replaced by a deep, genuine gratitude. “Thank you. For everything you’ve done. We will be forever in your debt.”

“There’s no debt.” I refuse, turning to leave the tent. “I’m just doing what’s right.”

Riding through the seemingly endless expanse of the Riverlands, I realize that I have no idea where to begin my search for the Brotherhood. Thoros said to wander around the caves, but there are caves everywhere. More than once, I’ve stopped and whistled the signal Thoros gave me. Each time I wait, listening for any response and watching for any movement. I can’t help but feel ridiculous, perched on my replacement horse, whistling into the air every now and then until my lips ache. If someone saw me, they’d think I’d gone mad.

I press on nonetheless, and eventually the sun sets, basking the lush forest in a warm, orange hue. I try again, the whistle leaving my lips with barely a hint of confidence. Nudho shifts underneath me, as if he too is growing impatient with my efforts. I sigh in defeat as I slump in the saddle. I suppose I’ll just camp somewhere and try again in the morning. Just as I nudge Nudho forward, a faint sound bounces off the trees. A whistle, the same whistle I've been praying to hear for hours.

I freeze, my heart skipping a beat. The reply is distant, but unmistakable. I purse my lips again and send the signal, just to be sure I haven’t hallucinated in my tired mind. They reply again, this time closer, and even Nudho’s ears flip up in interest.

In an instant I spur Nudho on, trying to follow the direction. I see some movement behind a particularly dense cluster of trees and I slow my stallion.

“...Hello?” I call out, steady and cautiously.

Two men step out, different from the ones I met before. They immediately seem less hostile than when I first met the others as well; clearly, announcing myself with their own call has helped.

One nods at me, his expression curious. “Greetings.”

“Are you part of the Brotherhood?” I ask eagerly.

They exchange a quick glance, and then the first one nods. “We are.”

“Yes! Finally.” I sigh in relief. “I’ve been looking for you nearly all day.” I pull down my cloak and smile at them. “I’m (Y/N) Arryn. I met Thoros, Beric, and Anguy a few weeks ago. Could you bring me to them?”

Recognition sparks in their eyes, and the second man breaks into a wide grin. “Aye, they told us about you! We’re happy to have you joining us!”

“Well, I–...yeah, me too.” I decide not to correct them.

As we travel, the men introduce themselves as Brack and Marlyon, and to my surprise, their camp isn’t far from where I found them. Less than an hour’s ride later, we arrived at the entrance to a cave nestled deep within the woods. The path is narrow, perfect for privacy and ambush. The latter of which I briefly worry about, but I’m confident enough in myself to get out of that possible situation. They lead Nudho and I to the rest of their horses, and I find that there aren't many, just like Beric said. Brack said they don’t “have the creativity to name the horses”, so Nudho will stick with him. The entrance to the cave is lit up with torches, trusting the surrounding forest to hide their location.

“This way.” Marlyon motions for me to follow.