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Chapter Text

Part One
The Missing Queen

***

When he opened the door, the light from within threw his shadow clear across the yard, and for just a moment Tyrion Lannister stood tall as a king.

Jon Snow

***

Tyrion (I)

On the night of his coronation, when the wine began to taste bitter and sleep refused to come to him, Tyrion promised himself he would try.

In truth, though Sansa—a shiver at the mere mention of her name—would have disapproved, he had been tipsy for much of it.
The events, yes. The crown of the Seven Kingdoms resting on his bedside table. And he was only Tyrion but he was also Tyrion Lannister, First of His Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.

He fucking needed more wine.

Wine, and allies. And that little voice in his head be silent, because it was wrong. “You’d make a good king,” it whispered. “You could make everything better. You could be the best.”

“Remember that it’s false, remember that the voice is wrong,” Tyrion kept telling himself. "Remember, you've failed every single person in the world."

***

Tyrion opened his eyes and the twinge in his back told him that he had definitely been sleeping on the floor. He stank and he forced himself to drag himself to the bathroom.

Then he looked up and saw that damn crown.

Him. The King. Fuck.

<Good morning, Your Grace->

<Who are you?> Tyrion had no idea how to deal with that.

The girl- very young, pretty, blonde- bowed. <Ally, Your Grace. Your personal maid.>

Tyrion's brain seemed to decide to assist him again. <You served Tommen?>

A nod. <Yes, Your Grace.>

He figured he had to accept it. He was the King, and therefore he had new servants. Especially since Podrick was supposedly halfway North by now. (A voice in his head told him, "Now you really have the power to knight that boy.")

Ally called for the bath, which was ready. Tyrion buried his thoughts of what had been and those who were gone and immersed himself in the water.

***

Varys and Pycelle—his Small Council, which had never been smaller—sat across from each other. The throne cast its shadow between them. Bronn entered double behind him and stood by the door.

<Your Grace,> Pycelle began.
Tyrion immediately raised a hand to stop him.
<I know the events of the last two days... have taken an unexpected turn, but our priority is to act on the Small Council immediately.>

<I agree.> Varys took a seat. <We need a Master of Coin immediately. Also, you dismissed Ser Meryn Trant->

<You should have cut off his head, instead,> Bronn snapped.

<The Night's Watch will make good use of him,> Tyrion cut in. <Continue, Lord Varys.>

<I was saying, Your Grace, that your Kingsguard is only half as strong, and only three of them are in King's Landing.>

<Ser Balon Swann has left for Dorne, presumably to retrieve my niece Myrcella, from what I understand.>

<Queen Cersei, in fact->

<She had a plan that involved one or more assassinations, I am sure.> Tyrion sighed. <We will send a raven immediately, and a messenger as soon as possible. Given the news that will soon be public, Myrcella must certainly be brought home, but we could do so without assassinations.>

<Yes, Your Grace.> Varys looked satisfied. <Then there is your brother Jaime. Fortunately, the accusations of incest have not spread, despite what happened with Queen Cersei.>

<Shouldn't you stop calling her Queen?>
Tyrion took a moment to think. He had to retrace the events.

***

Tommen was shaking as he looked at his mother and handed her a copy of the document she had brought him a few hours earlier.

It had been two hours together, and one had been just a long, painful cry. The second had been about the plan. For Margaery.

<What does this mean->

<You are accused of attempting to assassinate Queen Margaery. My wife.>

<Tommen, darling->

<I am your King! I am the King, not that anyone cares. And she is my wife. This... you can't do this. I can't believe you tried to have Margaery killed.>

Cersei had protested. Tommen wasn't even listening anymore.

<You will take the vows of septa. You will give up your role as Queen Mother.>

Cersei laughed, a mad, sad laugh. <I will not. I am your mother.>

<You will.> Tommen straightened his back. <Or I will never be free.>

Tommen looked just like that. A golden bird in a cage. (A lion?)

Across the castle, Tyrion raised his crossbow and killed his father.

***

At dawn, Cersei Lannister took vows and became a septa, loyal to the Stranger. They cut out her tongue and gave her a nun's robe.

At dawn, Tyrion had killed his father and a woman he thought he loved.

At dawn, Cersei had screamed, <I gave you everything, especially the father you deserved. You are mine! Jaime is mine! You are nothing without me!>

At dawn, Jaime had come in just in time to see his sister one last time and had not saved her.

And, also at dawn, someone told Cersei that her father was dead.

King Tommen Baratheon, First of His Name. <Everything is false except my name, is it not?>

At dawn, Tommen said he renounced. The marriage, Margaery, the crown, the kingdom.

As dawn broke, they began to wonder who would be the new King.

***

Tyrion would dream glimpses of those days over the years. Nightmares and dreams. Tommen crying outside his cell. Jaime, unaware of the plots, who loved him and had lied to him and Tysha's name on his lips. The prison door open. Tywin, his father, and his death. The masterless crown resting on the Iron Throne.

Jaime asking for his forgiveness. Who had not saved Cersei. One chance, perhaps the last.

<If Ser Jaime marries Lady Margaery->

<I will not. Not again.> Margaery wrapped an arm around Tommen's shoulders. <I will not do this again. I will annul my marriage to Tommen and marry no one else. Nor will I rule the Seven Kingdoms. I want to go home.>

He looked younger than ever. Her brother Loras looked at her for a moment before hugging her, brushing Tommen as well.

"You have to get them out of this mess," said the voice in his head. If only Tyrion had known how...
Instead he was there, waiting for someone to decide his fate. When he found not Varys but the guards waiting for him, he had thought it was over.

<Good, Ser Jaime->

<No. I am not a King. I am a Kingsguard.>

<My Lord> was the plea. <Someone must sit on the throne.>

<Not me. If I wanted the throne, I could have had it when I killed the Mad King. No throne. Ever.>

***

The small council gathered. Mace Tyrell, the Master of Ships, Varys, the Master of Whispers, Pycelle, the Grand Maester, and, reluctantly, Jaime, who was still the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.

A few whispered about Cersei's words. But no one said it out loud because there was always the possibility that Jaime Lannister would be the next King.

So they gathered and began to talk.
And then they looked at him. <Tyrion> Jaime began, <what if you...?>

<That's the stupidest idea I've ever heard, don't even finish that sentence,> he said.

<You were the King's Hand> Margaery said. <That's not such a crazy idea.>

<You're also Tommen Baratheon's only relative available. His uncle Stannis is a traitor and his uncle Jaime took vows,> Mace Tyrell said, not looking particularly pleased. <Not to mention what Lady Cersei said.>

Varys followed immediately. <You fought at the Blackwater, you have experience in warfare, you are a strategist, you understand government, and you have been Master of Coin in your time.>

<And I am a dwarf.>

Pycelle, who Tyrion knew did not like, sighed. <Yes, but your wife is Sansa Stark of Winterfell.>

<She is missing and, last I checked, accused of murder. In fact, I am accused of murder. I killed my father last night. Surely everyone else in the world->

<Lord Tyrion,> Varys said, <Ser Jaime and I are deeply convinced of your innocence. And Lady Cersei's charges do not stand in her absence unless Lord Tommen wishes to pursue them in her stead.>

The boy, who had been standing in the corner until then, gasped. <No, I…Mom…I trust Uncle Tyrion. I don't want to accuse him of anything.>

<Ser Jaime, I assume you don't either...?>

<No accusations, Tyrion didn't do it.>

<And the fight? Oberyn Martell?>

<In a way, Prince Oberyn won,> said Mace.

<In practice,> Margaery cut in, <You're either King, or Myrcella's regent.>

<Myrcella Waters is the product of->

<Don't you dare.> Tyrion glared at Mace. And the entire room stopped talking.

For a moment, Tyrion saw Sansa again. And realized that maybe he could do something with that. <If I accept, Sansa Stark is Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.>

Jaime gave him a strange look. Varys nodded.

"If I accept, maybe I can be better."

"If I accept, Myrcella and Tommen will have a real childhood. And I can protect them."

"And if I win the war..."

<I accept.>

***

The ceremony was short and quick, with a meager feast that was also short and quick. At least the wine was good.

<And I name you Tyrion Lannister, the First of His Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.>

***

<Surely the accusations against Ser Jaime will not spread. We misunderstood the Queen... Lady Cersei. Surely,> Mace said.

Hell, Tyrion hated that guy.

<I said I will not entertain assumptions against my brother or my nephews.>

<As you say, Your Grace.> Varys tried to calm the room. <So we leave Ser Jaime in charge of your Guard?>

At a nod, he continued. <Besides him, we have Ser Osmund Kettleblack->

<Who I don't like but trust Jaime to handle.>

<Ser Boros Blount->

<A barely capable idiot.>

<And Ser Loras Tyrell->

<Who is certainly not loyal to me but who I can at least appreciate.>

<So no changes. Or suggestions on any members you'd like->

<Podrick Payne. If anyone tracks him down, tell him I'll offer him a knighthood and a white cloak if he wants it.>

<Yes, Your Grace.>

<And make Bronn Master of Coin, I suppose.>

He could hear the reticence in the Spider's voice. <Your Grace?>

<Someone has to.>

***

Two weeks later, a raven arrived from Dorne.

They asked what had happened and if the rumors were true. Tyrion said that Cersei Lannister had taken vows, Tommen and Margaery were no longer King and Queen, and that Myrcella was expected home, with Prince Trystane if they still wanted to marry her now that she was third in line. He also offered the boy a place as Master of Laws, since one was still needed.

He had also written to the Citadel to ask for a new grand maester - he would pay gold for anyone other than Pycelle.

He also set a succession. If anything happened to him, Tommen would take the crown, then Myrcella. He named Jaime as their eventual regent.

***

They searched for Sansa. And they couldn't find her. Tyrion said to keep looking.

Petyr Baelish was also missing.

Then, more than three months late, they discovered that Lysa Arryn was dead.

***

Another month passed. Meetings, problems, and more problems.

Finally Myrcella returned and Trystane with her. She immediately went to find her mother at the sept. She returned in tears. She and Trystane were married less than two weeks later.

***

Margaery came to him one evening, a few days after the wedding.

<Your Grace?>

<Lady Margaery. Come in.>

They sat down across from each other, he with wine, she with tea. <My lady, what brings you here?>

<I was thinking of happiness, Your Grace. Your niece seems happy for the first time in a while.>

<Myrcella had a happy wedding, if perhaps premature,> Tyrion agreed. <You are here to talk about yours?>

She smiled and her smile seemed too bright, like a flower dipped in poison. <You are interested in my wedding, my King?>

<You said you did not want to be Queen, my lady.>

<I said I wanted to go home,> she replied. <But I admit I expected at least a try. You do not think that Loras among the Kingsguard of which he is not even the leader is enough. You need Highgarden.>

<For what war, may I ask? Stannis is gone from the Blackwater, and Robb Stark is dead.>

<And winter is coming, my King.>

Tyrion winced. Always the damned Starks, weren't they?
She noticed. <But you are a married man. To an assassin, it seems.>

<After all, she is my brother's sister, by marriage.> Tyrion smiled. <They can share the title of Kingslayer, Jaime wouldn't mind.>

Margaery studied him for a moment, then nodded. <Lady Sansa deserves to be happy, Your Grace.>

He didn't correct Sansa's title. He wasn't sure it mattered.

<She does.>

<Will she be happy with you?>

And Tyrion couldn't lie. Not to Margaery Tyrell, who looked at him like a reborn Olenna. <She won't be a happy wife. But she could be happy anyway.>

She nodded. <I told her that about you. That you wouldn't disrespect her. And I know Sansa, my King. She's not a murderer. Or a traitor. And she's stronger than she seems.>

<You look alike, you might say,> Tyrion said, and Margaery looked satisfied.

<If you swear to do what's best for her->

<I swear.>

<And to protect me, my brother, and my family.>

<Of course->

<No matter what I say,> Margaery added.

Tyrion studied her. She was looking at him but glancing at the crown and the goblet. <You know who killed Joffrey, don't you?>

<Yes.>

A thought crossed his mind. <Was it you?>

She shook her head, and Tyrion couldn't help but notice how beautiful she was.
<No, Your Grace.>

<Tyrion, Margaery. It's Tyrion.>

<It was my grandmother, Tyrion. And Peryr Baelish.>

***

They worked side by side to find evidence. They had to clear Sansa, frame Petyr, but avoid involving the Tyrells. And if Joffrey didn’t get full justice… well, he didn’t deserve it, did he?

One day, Margaery came to him with a bottle of wine and two goblets. The two of them had become an unlikely team, and she would almost certainly take Trystane’s place as Mistress of Laws when he returned to Dorne with Myrcella at the end of the month.

<Let me guess…> he said, studying her face. <Trouble?>

<I’m afraid so.>

<Sansa?>

<Actually, it’s Tommen.>

Chapter Text

You mew like a suckling babe. Princes aren't supposed to cry.

Joffrey Baratheon

***

Gendry (I)

The night Tyrion Lannister became king, Gendry was rowing.

Two nights later, he was in King's Landing, listening to horror stories about the twisted imp who killed Joffrey Baratheon and stole the throne from his nephew Tommen.

A week later, everything was great. Tyrion Lannister had "reallocated the funds", whatever that meant, and was suddenly the favorite person in Flea Bottom.

Gendry took it as a life lesson, just as Lady Margaery Tyrell was reading to children in the orphanage: rich people were strange people who were best avoided.

He rolled up his sleeves and continued to work.

***

A month later, he was back at the forge, though it wasn't the same one as when he left. He thought about Arya-Arry often. He wondered if she was happy. He hoped she was.

He wondered if she knew her sister was Queen.

***

They called her the Missing Queen, the mythical girl, beautiful, indeed very beautiful. With the voice of a nightingale and skin like porcelain. Her hair was silk, her cheeks were flowers. Sansa Stark became a song.

Gendry shrugged and went back to hammering. Sure, Sansa was beautiful but he continued to create swords and the sharp edge of the blade did not make him think of a lady.

***

It was when Princess Myrcella went shopping at the market escorted by Loras Tyrell and Osmund Kettleblack that Gendry realized two shocking things.

The first: he had never seen the princess wander around the city. Or walk. Or do anything other than sit on a raised platform. And, from the way she smiled and the way she moved, too fearful but also excited, curious, the princess had never been there either.

The second thing was a sneaky thought, a stab that struck him when he was almost asleep, while Myrcella's childish smile flashed in his head.

That was his sister.

***

He tried his best not to think about the slaughter of King Robert's bastard children, or Joffrey (technically his half-brother), or the prince and princess who seemed to have just taken up the habit of wandering around the city.

On the day of Lady Margaery and Prince Tommen's annulment, little cakes were handed out around the city. His was an apple cake, and it was delicious.

And Gendry didn't have to think about it. Because he didn't even know how to begin.

***

Every once in a while, Gendry would forget to finish a sword. Not one commissioned by some noble, of course. He was starting to get a lot of orders and was hoping to open his own business soon. No, Gendry would forget about the swords he made for display. He would tell himself he would finish them later and throw them on a shelf.

A few days later, he had buried the thought of that sword so far back in his head that it was as if it had never existed.
So he would go to the forge, create a new sword, complete it. He would take a second one, start working on it, but it was closing time. So off to the shelf. Except that on the shelf was the other sword, the forgotten one, which would inevitably fall and almost stab him.

"Serves you right, Gendry," he told himself. "Leaving things in a corner and forgetting about them will kill you one day."

He told himself he wouldn't do it again. And he always did.

***

One day, the door to his shop opened.

"Serves you right, Gendry," he thought to himself. His knees buckled and his head hung low.
<Your Highness.>

The shop owner, Karl, immediately began to talk about how honored he was. And Gendry couldn't find the strength to stand up.

"Serves you right, serves you right, serves you right! This is what happens when you come back to King's Landing."

The guard escorting him started talking to the owner and it was clear they already knew each other. Gendry struggled to calm down.

<Are you okay?> a thin voice asked. He couldn't help but flinch. "Fuck. Good thing I didn't mean to stand out."

He looked up to meet the emerald green eyes of Prince Tommen.
<C-Certainly, Your Highness. My prince?>

<They're both fine.> Tommen smiled. <You can get up if you want.>

Gendry stood up. Karl gave him a look that was a clear "Step aside."
He would have been delighted to do so, really. <With Your Grace's permission, I would return to my duties at the forge->

<You make weapons?> Though the question was asked in a perfectly polite tone, as one would expect from a man interested in business, the prince's eyes were alight with childlike curiosity.

<Yes, my prince.>

<May I look?>

He was the prince. And the heir to the throne. Of course Karl said he could look.

***

Prince Tommen wanted a weapon. <A sword. A light one.>

<Are you good with a sword, my prince?>

In every single other shop, the owner would have been taking care of the prince. Not him. Why was he taking care of it? Why wouldn't Karl stop chatting with that fucking guard like they were drinking buddies?

<Not really.> the boy looked away. <But it's a proper weapon.>

Gendry, not knowing what to say, remained silent and began examining the swords already prepared for sale.

<My older brother... he had a sword.>
The tone in which he said it was wrong in so many ways that Gendry almost dropped the blade. He looked at the prince. He was looking at the sword as if he were going to be disemboweled with it.

<What color do you prefer for the hilt, Your Highness?>

He seemed grateful that Gendry hadn't commented. <Red and gold. Lannister.>

He didn't say he was a Baratheon. Gendry didn't either. A little voice in his head asked, "Does he know he's your brother?"
The other asked, "You know he doesn't have a drop of Baratheon blood, remember the voices?"

<Excellent choice, my prince.>

He nodded. Gendry thought it was his duty. There they were, both acting. He with the prince's lines and Gendry with the blacksmith's.

<In addition to the sword, would you also like...>

<A scabbard?> the prince suggested.

Gendry forced himself not to smile. He knew Karl would smell his I-had-an-idea smile. <Another weapon, Your Highness.>

***

Gendry had seen many a low-ranking nobleman choose his first weapon. And he studied his physique, and his attitude. He glanced at Karl, still hidden in a conversation with the guard.

<Do he and Bronn know each other?>

Gendry looked back at the prince. <I suppose so, Your Highness.>

Then he motioned for the boy to follow him. And he suppressed the part of him that said it was a bad idea.

***

Few things embarrassed Gendry more than ordering the prince of the seven kingdoms, who was more or less but not quite his brother but also very much just a boy, to undress. He studied the boy's muscles, then had him dress and threw him a bow.

<Joffrey said...> Tommen trailed off, taking the bow with a bit of awkwardness. <I like decorations. My sister grew flowers like that. They are Dragon's Breath, right?>

<Yes, my prince.> Gendry wasn't sure, but in his defense, he had never studied botany. <I think so.>

It was clear that the boy wanted to say more. It was also clear that he was still thinking about his brother.

Joffrey Baratheon had given the order to kill him, and from Arya's accounts, he was not someone Gendry would have wanted to know. He imagined that Tommen had gotten the whole package of a horrible family. Except maybe his sister, Gendry supposed.

<Do you want to try shooting some arrows?>

<Yes! No, I...> Tommen hesitated. <A bow is a coward's weapon.>

He was looking down and looked like he was about to cry. And his fingers kept caressing the red flowers carved into the bow without realizing it.

<I think not so,> Gendry said. A moment later, he wondered if he could actually contradict a prince like that, but hey, it was done. Let the Seven help him or something.

Tommen looked from him to the arch. An emotion he couldn't read flashed across his face.

<Do you believe so?>

<I believe so.>

The words that followed were quick, almost pleading. <Teach me.>

***

Gendry didn't know how to use a bow. No way. He was a blacksmith! It was bad enough that he sold bows.

He made arrows. Or rather, arrowheads. And he assembled them. He could string and maintain a bow, but he certainly didn't know how to do more than shoot and hit a steady, close target.

He was definitely not trained to teach the royal prince how to shoot.

So, he wondered as Tommen formally invited him to the palace the next day, how on earth was he going to get out of this situation?

***

Gendry told himself over and over that he was an idiot, yes, but not a liar. He hadn't said he knew how to use a bow. He'd just said, "I'd like that," and the prince, in a rare display of his true age, had run off to find Ser Bronn to say he wanted to invite him to the palace. He hadn't let him finish his sentence! It hadn't been his fault.

Not that he could back out now. This was the prince. His will was law.

(Joffrey Baratheon had wanted him dead.)

Gendry ran his hands down his trousers, and said a little prayer.

<I am Gendry Waters. Prince Tommen has asked for me.>

"I am Gendry Waters. And my father was the King."

***

Gendry had thought it would be like his first sip of alcohol. Quick, burning, and then gone. Instead it was like savoring.

Tommen was... sweet. Like, the sweetest boy in the world. For the Seven's sake, he seemed to live for every little nod of approval.

And it was painfully clear that he admired Gendry. He looked at him all the time. And he would talk to him about flowers he had never seen or animals he would usually want to eat as if they were beautiful, adorable, to be admired and cuddled. Then his gaze would fade and he would touch a small scar on the back of his right hand, or rub his left arm. Or he would flinch at some noise or apologize and say he knew he had said too much.

<My brother said it was weak.>

<My mother said Lannisters don't care about such trivialities.>

<My father thought it was sissy nonsense.>

And Gendry hated Tommen's damned family so much.

***

Eventually, Tommen hired him as an assistant at the royal forge. Which was definitely better than teaching archery, because at least he knew how to use a forge. Plus the job paid... freaking well. Even though it was a stupid risk. Gendry was an idiot and he was attached. He agreed, telling himself it wasn't exactly like betraying Arya, especially since he didn't even know where she was and her sister was the Queen, so it was okay, right?

***

During his second week at the royal forge, Tommen—who had been dropping in at least three times a week, since <Uncle Tyrion lets me go out, it’s great, I’ve never been able to do that before!>—dragged him into the kitchen.

There was a red cat there, clearly pregnant.

<The cat will have kittens soon, Your Highness> said the head chef. He sounded almost frightened. Tommen was almost jumping on the spot with excitement. Yet not a hair was out of place. Gendry had no idea how he did it.

<Can't wait to see the kittens.>

<Me too> Gendry admitted. <Will you keep one?>

Tommen flinched. He looked at him, then at the sword strapped to his side. He looked away, and Gendry knew he was thinking of his family again.

<My prince? What name will you give your kitten?>

<I don't... I don't know> he murmured. At least he looked up again. <And you?>

<Arry.>

***

A little later, they were in the courtyard and Gendry was setting up targets for Tommen. The boy watched.

Given how quickly the prince had progressed in only two weeks of archery, Gendry couldn’t possibly understand how a proper weapons instructor would put a sword in his hands. Multiple times.

He told Tommen.

<I suppose… my uncle Jaime uses swords. He was the best swordsman in the world.>

Gendry did his best to focus on the targets. Of course, he couldn’t say, “They thought you’d inherit your father’s talent?” That would be cruel. And he’d probably lose his head. It wasn’t as if Tommen didn’t know that anyway.

Or, at least, Gendry supposed he did. He was playing a dangerous game of bloodlines and secrets that only became real when spoken of.

<When I was little, Joffrey cut open a cat because he wanted to see the kittens> he whispered at one point.

Gendry felt his grip on the target weaken. He took a deep breath, swallowed the nausea, adjusted the target.
Joffrey... something howled in pain in Gendry's mind.
<Did you think I would kill the cat?>

It was almost a confession. "Did you think I would be like your brother?"

<I hoped you wouldn't.>

"I hoped you were better than him."

Chapter Text

Margaery was different, though. Sweet and gentle, yet there was a little of her grandmother in her, too.

Sansa Stark

***

Margaery (I)

<One day, Margaery, you will be the Queen.>

That day had come, Margaery thought as Renly put his cloak on her shoulders.

A shadow, a corpse.

The day had not come.

***

<One day, Margaery, you will be the Queen.>

"This is the day," Margaery thought as Joffrey walked beside her. He was a cruel monster but she would be the most powerful woman in the Seven Kingdoms. She was not afraid of him.

A chalice, a corpse.

The day had not come.

***

<Do you still want to be the Queen, Margaery?>

She married Tommen and wriggled in the role she was born to play. Queen, Queen, Queen! Queen Margaery but at what cost?

She never touched the boy in the bridal chamber. “The heir can wait,” he told himself (he knew that wasn't true). She thought she understood, though it was entirely different, why Renly had never consummated their marriage.

<I, Tommen Baratheon, First of My Name, renounce the crown and my title as King of the Seven Kingdoms.>

***

<I want to go home,> she had said. And Loras had hugged her.

Margaery was born to power.
<One day, Margaery, you will be the Queen,> her grandmother had said.

That wasn't true, but that didn't matter. What mattered was the meaning behind the words. <One day, Margaery, you will be powerful.>

And that was true.

***

Margaery had been radiant the day Tommen became her ex-husband. People called her Queen of Widows, which she supposed was a veiled insult, but all she understood was that she was once again—and forever, this time—a queen. An immortal queen, like in the songs. She wished Sansa could see it.

***

<My lady.>

<My King.>

She saw Tyrion practically every day. At first, Loras had given her a strange look.

<That is not so,> Margaery said. <He is intelligent. I do not have to seduce intelligent men. My brains are enough.>

<I brought the plague maps to the city.> She handed him the papers and he nodded his thanks.

<Is it as we suspected?>

<They always spread from places near a body of water for at least forty years in a cyclical fashion.>

<Should I take this to the Grand Maester?>

She shook her head. <He's a useless man.>

<You are too blunt, Lady Margaery,> he said, even though he agreed with her.

<Perhaps,> she conceded. <But he is.>

He nodded. <We have also begun work on rebuilding the most ruined part of the sewer system.>

He passed the papers and she scanned them quickly.

<Study the laws especially, my lady.>

She knew what the King was trying to do. And he knew she knew. It was the kind of unsaid that would last long enough to calm Dorne a little.

<Any news of Qyburn?>

<Still on the run. I have sent Ser Balon Swann to look for him.>

<Ravens with your brother?>

<Ser Jaime is almost at Riverrun. Let us hope he has a quick victory.>

She knew full well that Jaime Lannister had left for more than one reason. She also knew that Tyrion would not tell her more.

<Well, let's move on to Petyr Baelish.>

***

At first, Margaery had told no one, least of all Loras. She remembered her grandmother's look. <The next one should be easier.>

Her grandmother loved her. "Sometimes love is poison in your husband's cup," Margaery supposed.

When Tyrion became King, he wrote her only a few lines.

Grandmother,

I inform you that the wedding between me and Tommen Baratheon will soon be annulled. The throne is held by King Tyrion Lannister, First of His Name.

In the face of the many unjust moments I have had recently, I am actually pleased with the way things are going. You of all people know that I am not easily prey to fleeting emotions.

I hope to speak to the King soon about the situation in Highgarden, as soon as the last of the problems related to the death of my beloved husband Joffrey are resolved.

Margaery

***

Her grandmother had answered her a few days later. It was easy to read between the lines of the reply.

<Petyr Baelish> Margaery said to the King.

"I will give you a stable kingdom," Margaery said to Sansa even though she couldn't hear her.

***

It had been a few days since her return when Myrcella shyly whispered something to her uncle.

They all dined together, as if by unspoken rule. She, Loras, Tommen, Myrcella, Tyrion, Bronn. And Jaime, until he left.

Her father had not been invited. Neither she nor Loras seemed upset.

<We have dinner with the family, Myrcella, hurry up and change> she had heard Tommen say a few nights before. Strange thought. "Family."
With the Lannisters?

Tommen was too young, Margaery had always known that.
Myrcella, on the other hand... that saintly girl was clearly too old for her years.

<Can I invite Trystane tomorrow?>

<Do you want him to join us?> Tyrion had asked her.

<If Your Highness->

<I am your uncle, Myrcella. That is not necessary.>

<If you agree> the princess said.

Myrcella was intelligent but in all eyes Lannister saw his mother. Tyrion, however, was in no way Cersei.

Of course Tyrion agreed.

***

Three nights later, Myrcella was talking about Dorne, something about gardens and walks, when Bronn mentioned a park on the other side of town.

<We should go,> Trystane suggested to his future wife.

Myrcella looked at Tyrion as if he were going to hit her.

Tyrion looked at her as if she had just stabbed him in the heart.

<You should go,> he confirmed.

***

<Cersei didn't let them out much, did she?> Margaery asked.

<Cersei didn't let them out.>

<Robert?>

He gave her a tired look. <Absent fathers are better than cruel fathers but absence is also cruel. They just seem kinder.>

***

The night before the end, Tommen was too close. He never cuddled first, always looked terrified whenever he sought another person's touch. But that day he was close.

Margaery was tired. She didn't ask.

***

The next evening, they took her to the throne room. And showed her Cersei's plans to kill her.

***

Another dawn (she would see more of them than Cersei Lannister, she had promised herself). Another dusk. They were still married, if only for a short time.

<Do you want me to tell you?> Tommen asked.

"You shouldn't offer truths so lightly," she wanted to say.
<Tell me,> she said instead.

***

The next morning, she awoke with Tommen's hair tickling her chest and his head on her shoulder.

<You've grown fond of him,> Loras told her.

<He's my husband, I love him,> she joked. Although, of course, Loras was a Tyrell and her grandmother had taught them both well.

***

Tyrion called his nephews to tell them that he had established the line of succession. Him, Tommen, Myrcella. Jaime as Regent, if that was what it took.

<And Lancel? Uncle Kevan?>

<Uncle Kevan will do what he must and rule Casterly Rock. If I have children with Lady Sansa in the future, then Tommen will be the next Lord of Casterly Rock. Lancel is next in line after Myrcella and Jaime.>

<You left out Kevan Lannister,> Loras commented.

Tyrion gave him a curious look.
<I did what I thought was right.>

<Of course, Your Highness.>

***

<You even put Janei in line for the throne,> Margaery said.

<And?>

<Lancel's little sister. Four years old. You're terrible.>

<I haven't gotten her a birthday present yet,> he said.

***

After Myrcella, it was inevitable that Tommen would want to go out too.

<Bronn, escort the prince. And get him a weapon, he should get back to training.>

***

Tommen had found a friend.

Margaery approached and watched Tommen swing a golden bow with red flowers.

He looked like a real prince. As he grew older, he might have looked like the protagonist of a song. Something soft moved in Margaery's chest.

<You need to lift that bow higher!>

The tone of the boy, who must have been a few years younger than her, was a little too casual. He was muscular, with dark hair and calloused hands. He adjusted Tommen's grip with the gentleness of a mother cradling her child.

<I hope I'm not interrupting.>

Tommen turned to look at her, lowering his weapon with an embarrassed look. The older boy had bowed and Margaery noticed smudges of oil on his shirt. At his side, a sword scabbard with a blade with an ornate hilt.

<Do we not know each other, my lord?>

His cheeks flushed slightly. <Not a lord, m'lady. I'm Gendry Waters. I work in the forges and assist the prince with his weapons.>

<I am Margaery Tyrell. And I do not recall ever seeing you before.>

<I liked him,> Tommen whispered. <Will you tell Uncle Tyrion?>

Margaery looked at him and knew that no, it was probably not necessary to tell the King. If Tommen wanted to train with a blacksmith, when six guards and Bronn were there, ready to intervene, she didn't see what the problem was.

<I do not think it is necessary. May I watch you train?>

She gave him her sweetest smile. And Tommen was too young to know better.

She watched him pull the bowstring and release it. Tommen had never done anything decent with a sword in his hand. But the arrow, even if only on the edge, stuck in the target.

***

<Tommen has started training with a bow.>

<With a bow?> Tyrion asked, raising an eyebrow.

<I think he has a talent for it.>

***

The next time, she was walking with Myrcella when they saw Tommen bent over on the lawn, Gendry sitting cross-legged next to him. He was pointing to a flower, then something written in the book he was holding.

<Who is he?> Myrcella asked.

<Gendry. He works as a blacksmith.>

Tommen said something else and Gendry gave a small laugh.

<He is kind to him,> Mycella said.

Margaery nodded.

<He looks like dad. When he was with Ned Stark.>

***

Margaery looked at Tyrion.

<Did something happen, my lady?>

<No, my King. Nothing.>

"Only Robert's potential true heir."

***

Gendry bounced around in her head.

<Loras?>

<Sister. Come in.>

Loras’s bedroom was like the one he had in his childhood in Highgarden. Fine silks and tinsel. It was comforting to know that her brother was still himself.

<Do you like it here?> she asked.

He hesitated. <It’s King’s Landing. It’s not bad.>

<That’s not what I meant.>

She lay down on the bed and Loras lay down beside her.
<Margaery,> he whispered, the way they did when they were children, when she had a nightmare and crawled into her brother’s bed.

They all said she was the smartest of them. But Loras had always been a little knight.

<I like it here. I like what it could be. Who I could be.>

<Without a crown,> Loras said.

She nodded.

<Then take it. Take what can be. You deserve to be happy more than anyone else in the world.>

Margaery thought of Sansa and it almost hurt. She saw Tommen, she saw Myrcella.
And Loras looking at Renly's dead body.

<I want you to be happy too, Loras.>

He was a knight and he knew what to say. <I am happy.>

<Loras.>

<There is nothing that makes me unhappy. And the new King is one I would not hate to serve. I could be the head of the Kingsguard someday. There is potential in that for happiness.>

That had seemed true. She squeezed Loras's hand. <What if I know of a threat?> she asked in a whisper.

<Pull them out,> he said, without hesitation.

She thought of Tommen smiling. Myrcella, who still called Robert Baratheon father, even though it was obvious she knew the truth.

"He is kind to him."

<I can't.>

<Then seduce them.>

***

Other women might have been offended by such an idea. Margaery thought it was brilliant. It would tie Gendry to her and Tommen would go on talking about flowers.

She found him where she had found him the other two times: with the prince.

<Gendry.>

<Lady Margaery.>

<Lady Margaery,> Tommen echoed. He was holding a cat. She was pregnant.

<What are you doing?>

<We are thinking of names for the kittens.>

***

The next time, she went to the forges. He saw her and came closer before bowing. He was sweating. It was hot as hell in there.

<Walk with me, Gendry.>

She knew her lips were full and she knew she was a little closer than she should have been. He nodded. They always did.

She led him into the gardens. And they chattered. Of Tommen: <He's really improving, he's trying so hard>. Of the King: <I'm from Flea Bottom, his reforms are blessed>. Of work. Of the canceled wedding and Myrcella's upcoming one. At the girl's name, Gendry had sighed a little, as if the very idea exasperated him.

"He knows. He knows who he is. Who he could be."

And she did her magic. She was close. Closer and closer. He was blushing.

And he had pulled back.

<M'lady... perhaps I should... we should... the forges...>

She saw beyond the surface. <What do you think of Tommen?> she asked point-blank.

<He's sweet,> he said. Then he seemed to realize he had been hasty. <I just think the prince is a person...>

She was looking at him as if he were prey (he was).

He couldn't lie to her, not when she was looking at him like that. She knew her power.

Gendry had just walked away.
<I think he deserves something nice in his life.>

"Oh, Loras. I can't seduce him."

***

For another week, she kept the secret. She waited for Myrcella's wedding. And waited a few more days.

She looked for wine. And went to the King.

***

<I thought Joffrey had killed them all.>

<Yes, so did I.>

<But he's alive.>

<Yes.>

<How?> Tyrion asked.

That was a dangerous question. They couldn't probe. They couldn't let on that they knew.

<What does he want?>

Margaery shrugged. <He seems to like Tommen.>

She saw a flash of pain in the King's eyes. <It sounds like the beginning of a tragic song, Lady Margaery.>

Chapter Text

We're not really people to you, are we? Just a million different ways to get what you want.

Gendry Waters

***

Tommen (I)

The worst thing about being a child is being too young.

As Gendry polished the last of his arrows—Tommen was still looking at the boy's hands as if he were working magic—he thought.

He wasn't stupid. He knew he should have taken a step back, maybe reread the essay he had to hand in to his tutor the following day. He shouldn't have grown fond of Gendry. If only Gendry hadn't been all the things Tommen wanted to be (good, kind, capable, strong, tall, and Baratheon-blooded) and all the things Joffrey had never been (gentle, patient, an older brother).

His father hadn't wanted to see him on his deathbed. He'd made little time for Joffrey, too.

"He broke what little was left," Myrcella had whispered.

He hadn't looked at her. They never looked at each other. Joffrey hated that they got along.

He hated everything about them. He hated having to share anything with them. But he would never do something permanent. After all, they were Lannisters. Family came first. And only the two of them and their mother were Joffrey's family.

His heart was racing too fast.

<Tommen?> Gendry called.

He shouldn't have let him call him by his name. Instead he was the one who asked. Because he wanted something that wasn't even real.

Gendry wasn't a Baratheon. And Tommen wasn't his brother.

<I was thinking. Sorry.>

<Homework?>

No. <Yes. Can I read you my essay?>

***

Myrcella was sitting next to where he usually trained. She was braiding flowers.

Loras was with her.
<My prince. And Lord...?>

<Not a lord. I'm Gendry Waters. I work in the forges. I help the prince with weapons.>

<Ser Loras Tyrell> introduced himself.

<Hello again, Gendry. Brother, will you stop for tea?>

At the word "brother," Gendry had jumped. It was written all over his face. Tommen just wanted to shake him, ask what he was doing. If he knew...

<Of course,> he said to Myrcella.

<It would be an honor,> Gendry said. He sat down next to him and looked at the flowers. <You are very skilled, princess.>

<Loras is a good teacher.>

Tommen could only think of Joffrey. How she would react to Loras Tyrell and the woven flowers.

Gendry studied Myrcella's movements. <You could do well with jewelery making, m'lady.>

Loras raised an eyebrow. Myrcella, on the other hand, looked at Tommen as if he were drowning.

"I know," he wanted to tell her.

<She could show you how to do it,> he said instead.

Gendry seemed delighted. Loras relaxed his shoulders slightly. And Myrcella explained with a sugary smile - Margaery's smile in the face of danger - and slightly shiny eyes.

***

He didn't think he could hide Gendry from his uncle or Varys. He knew it was a matter of time.

He squeezed time like a rope. It hurt, it was necessary. He stole every moment he could steal without crossing too many boundaries.

One day, they had just finished with the bow and Gendry was putting it away.
Tommen looked at the grass, which was barely moving in the wind. <I never asked you about your parents.>

That question could lead them down a dangerous path.
Gendry studied him for a moment— Tommen couldn't look him in the eye— then sighed.

<There's not much to say. My mother worked in a tavern. She died when I was little. I never knew my father.>

<Don't you know anything about him?>

<He's dead.>

His tone was so final. Tommen wanted to say that his father was dead too. It was true for the kingdom. And it was a little true for his heart.

Instead he said, <I wasn't very close to the King. The crown wasn't meant for me. And he didn't... I think he thought I was weak.>

<You're not weak.>
Gendry looked almost angry.

Tommen nodded. <I just said he thought so.>

<Everyone seems to think so,> Gendry said. And that was... he couldn't say that. Not out loud.

<I'm the Prince of the Seven Kingdoms,> he said.

Gendry reached out and smoothed a lock of his hair. He could feel the calluses brushing his forehead. The touch was gentle. <I know, Your Highness.>

Gendry was warm to the touch. Or maybe he'd been in the sun too long. Tommen instinctively reached for the hand, then froze.

<I...>

Gendry was also still. He slowly reached out, bringing his hand back to his hair.

<I'm not a stray cat, Gendry.>

Something passed over his face. <More like a lion, my prince?>

A minute later, he was hugging him. And he knew it would end badly.

***

Gendry's hugs were damned amazing. And Gendry never seemed upset when Tommen touched his arm. He just held out his arms.

It was unspoken that they shouldn't have. But Gendry - who read worse than Tommen - listened to him read his essays, or assisted him with his accounts. He was there during practice, even though he wasn't his instructor. He set up targets for him and Tommen brought snacks for two from the kitchens.

Sometimes, Myrcella was there. She hadn't asked him anything but when she was there, Loras and only Loras was with her, and they wove wreaths of flowers.

Margaery came four more times and was as polite as ever. The third time, Tommen had gotten too excited and his vision had gone blurry. He stumbled and Gendry instinctively caught him, wrapping him in a hug.

<Are you hurt? Should I send for the maester?>

<I'm fine->

<Let me see. It'll be fine.>

<I know, Gendry, it's not the end of me, calm down!>

Margaery had faked a slight cough. <Gendry, the prince will live, I'm sure of it. Breathe, you sound like you're having a heart attack.>

<Funny, Lady Margaery> he muttered. Then he gave her a fearful look. She laughed.

The next time, he took Loras with them and they went for a horseback ride.
Gendry didn't know how to ride. He could at least a little by the end of the afternoon.

***

<Tommen. Come in.>

<Uncle Tyrion> he said, bowing.

He looked at him as if he were truly concerned about him.
"There," he thought. "Now he'll say. About Gendry."

<Your mother wants to see you.>

***

He and his mother walked through the gatehouses of the Red Keep. Of course they met Margaery and Loras.

<Lady Cersei> greeted Margaery, always polite.

<Sister Cersei> Loras was just a little less so.

They walked on. He talked about his days, his studies, his bow. She couldn't speak, not anymore. She only made occasional nods between sentences.

He wondered if his mother hated him.

He didn't give her pen and paper and didn't ask.

***

They saw Myrcella, Trystane and Gendry in the little gazebo drinking tea.

Gendry said something and Trystane laughed. Myrcella put a hand to her mouth.

His mother was staring at the boy and Tommen knew what she was seeing.

Myrcella, everyone said, had her mother's beauty.

Gendry was his father's son.

Tommen took his mother away.

***

When she was about to leave, she handed him a slip of paper.

Tommen nodded. Cersei placed a kiss on his forehead.

"Do you hate me? Do you love me? I'll never be like you and I know you hate that I am not yours" he wanted to tell her.

***

Don't trust bastards. Never do that. He will betray you.

He must betray you to live.

***

Myrcella married. Tommen thought she was too young. Even though he had been younger.

Margaery put a hand on his shoulder. <Their marriage will be happy. They love each other.>

It seemed a good thought. She whispered it to his sister as he kissed her cheek. <You love each other and you will be happy.>

***

Gendry, for the first time, said no. More or less.

<Let's go to the kitchens and get->

<No.> He stopped. <I mean, yes, we can but...>
Gendry put a hand to the back of his neck. Then, from his pants pockets- didn't he have a single piece of clothing that wasn't stained?- he pulled out a package.

<Wedding present. Just a thought.>

They went to find Myrcella.

***

They found her under an apple tree, with Loras and Margaery.

Gendry bowed. <For you, princess.>

It was a crown of flowers. For a moment, Tommen wondered why Gendry had chosen flowers, despite the symbolism. He was so devoted to metal...

He looked closer. It was a crown of flowers. And every single flower was a jewel.

<Gendry> Myrcella's hands were shaking. <It's gorgeous.>

The next sentence slipped out. Tommen could understand it. It was so difficult.
<I love you, Gendry. Thank you!>

***

When Ally, the King's personal maid, said they were both summoned to the Throne Room, Tommen almost sighed with relief. He would have, if he hadn't been so terrified.

<Gendry...> he called, trying not to sound like the situation was serious.

<Tommen.> From the tone of his voice, Gendry already knew.

***

Ally was ahead of them. Gendry motioned for him to slow down.

Tommen took a breath. He had to do it now. This was the right time. He had to tell him...

<You know?> Gendry asked. <About my father?>

Too blunt. He always was. Like a hammer blow on an anvil.

<I know,> he admitted.

<Good,> Gendry said. He looked relieved. He had reached out and ruffled Tommen's hair.

***

<Sit down,> the King ordered. <Would you like some tea? Biscuits?>

Tommen shook his head. Gendry took the tea. He had once told him that everything in Flea Bottom that wasn’t wine or ale tasted horrible.

<Gendry Waters, if I understand correctly?>

<Yes, Your Grace.>

<King Robert’s bastard son.>

Gendry almost dropped his cup. He set it down delicately on the table, wiping away the spills with the edge of his sleeve. Tommen handed him a napkin.

<Well?> Tyrion asked.

<Perhaps, Your Grace.> Gendry looked up slightly. <I never knew my father.>

<You certainly look like him.>

A nod.

<Some might suggest that the king's bastard who wanders into the court when a new king sits on the throne is... dangerous.>

<That's not the case,> Gendry said.

<Gendry doesn't->

<Prince Tommen,> the other stopped him. The title was almost an order.

He turned to Gendry, surprised by his tone.
<I just wanted to... you're not dangerous.>

<I know,> Gendry said, his voice slightly softer. <So I'll take care of it, okay?>

He felt his uncle's gaze flicker from one to the other.
<You spend a lot of time with the crown prince, even though you claim to be no danger.>

Gendry pressed his lips into a thin line. <Tommen Baratheon is the best person I've ever met. That's why I do it.>

<Tommen Baratheon> Tyrion repeated.

<Don't you think our eyebrows look alike, Your Grace? In shape.>

They didn't. Not even a little. Not even under the influence of alcohol.

<They certainly do,> said Tyrion.

<Because we're brothers,> said Tommen.

Dangerous, reckless.

Gendry smiled and ruffled his hair. <Are we?>

Tommen didn't know what to make of the question. The truth was so close it almost hurt.
<Please?>

<Of course, Tommen. Yes.>

Gendry was a kind soul. And he was good with the unlikely.

***

He attended dinners.
On the day of his departure, Myrcella told him—loudly, in front of the Small Council—to take her old chamber if he wanted.

<That is unheard of> Mace Tyrell commented.

They gave him a smaller chamber, off the royal family area.

<Is that wise, my King?> Varys asked.

Tyrion looked at Tommen and sighed. <I don't think so. Older brothers are never wise things.>

***

The dynamic was strange. He still called him "Your Highness" and "my prince," but joked about their eyebrows—he swore they were identical—or ruffled his hair in public.

Tyrion watched them and worried. And he assigned Gendry a maester, too.

<Boy,> he called.

<Yes, Your Grace.>

<Please.>

<Of course, Your Grace.>

<Gendry.>

<My King. Everything will be fine, just leave this nonsense about the inheritance, the crown or whatever to me.>

***

One night, the storm outside became terrifying.
Tommen slipped out of bed. Usually, on nights like this he stayed in the royal library, unable to sleep. A Lannister didn't ask for help getting through a dark night. A Baratheon wasn't afraid of thunder.

He met Gendry halfway.

<Can't sleep?> he asked.

He held out his arms and Tommen was inside before he could answer.
<Were you coming to me?>

Gendry nodded. <New bed and a storm. Bad combination. I wanted to check that everything was okay.>

<Your ceiling at home leaks when it rains,> he reminded him.

Before he could reply, a clap of thunder made them both jump.
<And now?>

They looked at each other for a moment.

<Uncle Tyrion?>

Gendry nodded. <The King.>

***

There was a knock on the door. Tyrion sighed. Probably the lack of sleep was written on both their faces.
<Now the gods are laughing at me. Come in!>

***

<You know,> he said softly. <This story started with me crying in front of his cell.>

<Tell me.>

***

A little before it started, Tommen found the parchment open on his mother's desk. It shouldn't have been there. He had taken the wrong corner. It was pure instinct, looking for his mother.

He took the document. He read it. He read it again.

He burst into tears and hugged it to his chest.

Then, because he was the King, he calmed down, made himself presentable, and left.

***

He was alone. Alone, alone, alone.

Margaery Tyrell was Queen but she was not his queen.

His mother... she lived for herself, for the parts of them that were hers.

He had spoken to Uncle Jaime for more than five minutes maybe three times in his life. Truth or not, blood or not, Uncle Jaime was his uncle, and not one he was that fond of.

Myrcella, if only she had been there! He missed her like the air.

Loras Tyrell was out. He would kill his mother.

His grandfather... gave him the creeps. He always sent him to the library, so that he would make up for his uselessness with a sword with a passable knowledge of the realm.

With those thoughts in his head, Tommen went to sleep. And, just for that night, he allowed himself to breathe Margaery. Because he didn't know if he would have her next to him the following night.

***

Too young. Too inexperienced. Weak.

<Uncle Tyrion?>

<T-Tommen?> Tyrion looked around. The cell was gloomy and deserted except for the two of them. <Are you here alone? Are you all right?>

He couldn't answer.

<Damn, boy, sit down. It's all right->

<They'll kill you tomorrow.>

<Okay> Tyrion took a breath. <Okay. What are you doing here?>

He didn't want to cry. But he couldn't help it. His heart was in his ears again. It had been happening more and more lately.

<I have no one. No one else. They'll all betray me. It's the sensible thing to do.>

Tyrion reached out. <Tommen, come here.>
He grabbed his shoulder. Then his hand. <Breathe. And tell me what it is. I'm not dead yet.>

***

Tyrion didn't make a plan for his release. He just told Tommen what to do. And promised him that everything would be fine.

***

<And then you gave up the crown?> Gendry asked.

<It would have killed me. That piece of metal is dripping with blood.>

<Disgusting.>

Tyrion sighed. <That's true. And it's an hour before dawn. Could you sleep?>

<Yes, Your Majesty. We're sorry.>

Another sigh. <You can call me Tyrion, Gendry.>

<Yes, Uncle Tyrion.>

<Did you...? You know what, all right. Goodnight.>

<Goodnight, Uncle Tyrion.>

Tommen muttered something similar and leaned against his brother—his older brother, who wasn't Joffrey.

He heard Uncle Tyrion mutter something about doing it on purpose.

And he knew that today, he had gone to the right person.

Chapter Text

I have made kings and unmade them. Sansa Stark is my last chance for honor.

Jaime Lannister

***

Jaime (I)

The Blackfish was dead, Jaime was holding a baby, Roslin Frey was back in her husband's arms.

And Jaime had to write to Tyrion before everything went haywire.

<My Lord> Roslin- she was a beautiful girl, and her wedding night was a horrible gift- held out her arms. <Could I...?>

<Hold your son> he agreed. He put him back in his mother's arms, feeling at least a little bit calmer.

A look passed between him and Edmure Tully that was nothing or everything.

***

The truth was that Jaime hadn't told Edmure the truth about who sat on the Iron Throne. He couldn't tell him his niece was Queen because he couldn't hurt the Queen's cousin. And he needed to threaten that baby to take Riverrun without it being a massacre.

"You would never kill a child," a voice that sounded too much like Brienne's told him.

"You don't know what I would do. What I could do," he replied. But behind his eyelids he saw the bodies of Aegon and Rhaenys Targaryen.

He shook his head. The last thing he needed was to think about the Mad King, his death, Elia's, or Rickon and Brandon Stark's.

He wrote to Tyrion and waited for instructions.

***

Dear Jaime,

Things at the Red Keep are as they should be and you might think nothing has changed. Same servants, same cooks but a new King.

Tommen and Myrcella have a new older brother (named Gendry Waters). Margaery has been a great help to me and after Myrcella and Trystane left I appointed her as the new Mistress of Laws.

We have been chasing the rumors. The ones about Sansa and Baelish overlap but both seem to have faded.

Myrcella believes she can bring Dorne back to our side now that her marriage is secure, although Ellaria Sand has returned home and I'm concerned about her anger. She has had over a month to plan her revenge. Our niece, however, wanted to leave so badly that I could not deny her. I sent Ser Swann with her and Uncle Kevan will meet her halfway to escort her to Sunspear. I will not send him with her to the city, I wouldn't want to provoke the Martells.

Lancel is in command at Casterly Rock and I am thinking of sending Bronn to fear things under control. Margaery does not agree, she thinks that having my Master of Coin nearby is essential at this time.

I hope your siege is short,

Tyrion

***

Tyrion's letters were never encrypted. They had another way to ensure that only they could read them. The paper was very thin and they were sealed with a Lannister seal that only he and his brother had. Trying to remove the seal by force would tear the paper, which was too fragile. Jaime was not sure if it was 100% secure but he also knew that Tyrion always chose the best ravens and, above all, he did it to avoid making him strain with reading, for which he had never had an aptitude. (*)

The answer of the siege victory would come in five days or so. Jaime ordered the troops to rest and had himself assigned a room.

***

The Freys wanted to talk. Jaime had little to say. <Events and my father's choices for my brother's consort have made Sansa Stark Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. All you can do is hole up in the Twins and pray she doesn't want revenge for the Red Wedding. She has always been a reasonable woman.>

<The Lannisters worked with us to->

<Not me,> Jaime said. His voice was cold to his own ears. <Not Tyrion. Not Myrcella. Not Tommen.>

<And yet...>

<And yet, my lords, you should have known how I feel about killing a woman who cannot fight.>

He must not think of Elia Martell. Except on the days when it was really hard.

***

Tyrion,

Gendry should worry me more but I know you will handle it well. We both know I have not been suited to being a father in life. Tell the kids I wish them well as always.

I have searched for news of Brienne or the North but nothing.

I know my letters are always short but writing is a form of torture. Edmure's baby has a name now. He is called Hoster, like his grandfather.

Yours,

Jaime.

***

Edmure had sent for him from his cell.

<My niece Sansa is Queen.>

<She is.>

<The Imp->

<Your King, Tyrion Lannister.>

There was surrender in Edmure's eyes. <Him. Is he looking for her?>

<We all are. I swore it to his mother,> Jaime admitted.

<I am the Queen's uncle. I should->

<You are a traitor and a prisoner,> Jaime cut him off. <And I cannot swear that the Queen will not ask me to kill any remaining Freys, including your wife.>

For a moment, Edmure looked broken. Then there was a flash, a light that made him look like his sister. <She might even ask for your head.>

<Yes, she might.>

***

Dear Jaime,

Baelish seems to have fled to Essos. Alone. Margaery and I spend our afternoons looking at the map and wondering where she is.

She is almost a myth now. The Missing Queen.

Proposals have started coming in for me. And for Margaery. We both laughed as we turned them down. Her womanhood is a gift but a curse to me, because I would gladly make her my Hand.

Appoint Edmure's son Lord of Riverrun. That's the only thing that makes sense. His father and mother should be sent to Casterly Rock. Choose someone else to leave in charge.

Walter Frey is not blamed for the Red Wedding only because he doesn't have enough troops to send against him, and I don't think that will sound strange to you at all. (Seriously, only our father would have such a fucked up idea.)

Get Robb Stark's remains back. That would be the least I could do.

I have a piece of advice for the regency, if you think about it. Wasn't Robb Stark's squire a Frey? He might be more willing, and from what I hear, he wasn't there for the Red Wedding. Try to investigate.

Get some sleep, too. You've solved a big problem.

Tyrion

***

He sent for the boy who had been Robb's squire. His name was Olyvar Frey.

As he entered, he thought, "This boy will be trouble."
He was a boy of about twenty, yet he looked old, like someone who had lived through a thousand years of battle. As he bowed, he was also trembling with anger.

<Ser Jaime.>

<Olyvar Frey. I have some questions for you.>

<I would have some too, my Lord.>

Jaime raised an eyebrow. <Ask.>

<My sister Roslin. I want to know about her, and about my nephew.>

<He named him Hoster. That's part of why you're here. You remember me, I think?>

They had him tied to a post for a year. Yes, Olyvar remembered him. The guy didn't even bother to answer.

<And Robb Stark's sister is Queen?>

<Sansa Stark, now Lannister. Yes.>

<I would like to swear fealty to her.>

<She's missing.>

<I can swear fealty to her through a relative of hers. Aren't you brothers-in-law by marriage?>

He spat the word "marriage" like it was poison.

<For a Frey, boy, you look like a wolf.>

<Robb Stark was one,> Olyvar almost growled. <He was a formidable warrior.>

Jaime would never deny Robb Stark's skill; there was no point in doing so. <The King has ordered me to take his remains with us to Winterfell. To bury him.>

Olyvar nodded. <Yes. The Starks belong there.>

***

Tyrion,

I have appointed Olyvar. He is much more on the Stark side than ours but I'm not disgusted by just looking at him. Apologies in advance for any trouble he may cause.

Yours,

Jaime.

***

Lord Jaime,

The appointment of the regent of Riverrun was mine.

Walter Frey, Lord of the Twins

***

Lord Frey,

My brother the King told me to choose from the Freys whom I thought most suitable. And since you sent Olyvar with Robb Stark, you must have thought he would win the war and reward the boy. So you must have liked him. Or is it his contempt for the filth you did at your daughter's wedding that worries you?

Regards.

Jaime Lannister, brother of King Tyrion I, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.

***

Tyrion,

I almost certainly pissed Walter Frey off. Sorry. But he deserved it.

On the other hand, we're almost done flushing out the remaining rebels.

Yours,

Jaime.

***

Jaime,

The kids are fine. Myrcella is halfway to Dorne.

I agree with you on Olyvar's choice although we'll probably have to appease Walter Frey. I've already sent him some land as a gift. The Twins will be a problem but we'll have to put that off until after Sansa is found and the war is over.

Varys is still after Petyr Baelish.

I'll keep you posted,

Tyrion

***

Jaime,

Holy shit, brother. Be thankful I had enough foresight to think of Walter Frey. You're terrible.

I know he's a dick but we need him, for now.

Tyrion

***

<My Lord?>

<I prefer ser, Olyvar. Tell me.>

<There is a tall, blond woman in armor asking to->

<Where?>

***

Jaime walked up the stairs with a knot in the pit of his stomach that was growing tighter and tighter.

<Brienne.>

***

Tyrion,

I found Sansa. Or rather, Brienne did. You won't like it.

[...]

Jaime

***

<Podrick?>

<Guarding Winterfell.>

"We looked everywhere for her and she was home," Jaime thought.

***

<I must return!> Brienne protested. <You should come with me. She is Sansa Stark. You swore->

<I need my brother's answer.>

<You swore an oath. You gave your word to Catelyn Stark.>

He had seen her again and it was as if she had never left. Brienne, more of a knight than a woman. Except when she blushed.

In that moment, she was only the sword and the oath. The ancient idea of ​​a knight, a song incarnate.

<I will join you. I give you my word. And keep the sword.>

***

He walked her to the door. And there was something in Brienne's eyes.

<Is there anything else you need to tell me?>

She stared for a moment at the Stark sigil next to the Lannister one (Tyrion had ordered both to be used). <No.>

***

Jaime,

This is the third time I've tried to write this. I'm drunk. But before I drank I called the Council. I'm leaving everything in Margaery's hands. "Temporary Hand of the King" or something. We're coming.

I know you said Brienne isn't sure but if Sansa and I are over, then it's war and I can't, I refuse to go to war against her. I need to talk to her. And I know she would have wanted to talk to me. If she had known I was King.

Something's wrong. Hold your positions, I'm bringing the banners with me.

Tyrion

P.S. Tell me it's not a stupid mistake to entrust the capital to Margaery, the army to Loras, Tommen to Gendry.

***

Tyrion,

There are many things you are but never stupid. I'll leave directions to Olyvar on where to find me and Brienne. She's already gone but I'll catch up with her.

Yours,

Jaime

***

Jaime asked her, <Shouldn't I just go there and order them to show her? My brother is the King.>

Brienne sighed. <Jaime, what if he married her? What if I had to choose between Tyrion and Sansa?>

He had to fight back nausea. "Not another Elia Martell, not another Lyanna, not another Cersei. Not another woman who dies and starts a war."

It was only later that he realized that, in his head, Cersei had died on her wedding night. It was a telling thought, wasn't it?

***

They didn't talk, he and Brienne. They practiced swordplay.

And she was like a broken record. <You swore, you gave your word to Catelyn Stark.>

<Is this a reminder for you or for me?>

***

Jaime watched Podrick leave and head to the market.

<Brienne?>

<Let's fight.>

***

At night, they climbed to the roof, the three of them. The sky was always a little dark, with clouds and lines of stars. She had to help him up the first few times.

Podrick always fell asleep in the middle of the night. Brienne and he stayed there, some nights talking, some nights just waiting for a light on the tower.

Some nights, she talked about Tarth. Other nights, he told her about Tyrion's letters and the siege of Riverrun.

Riding fast—as Tyrion's army was surely doing, if he knew his brother—they would be there in less than two weeks.

He looked back at the tower and tried to convince Brienne (and himself) that they were not breaking their oath.

***

<Lady Brienne! Ser Jaime! Lady Brienne!>

<Podrick, breathe. What's going on?>

<John Snow is Lord Commander of the Night's Watch!>

<What?> Jaime said.

<And Stannis Baratheon is there. Fighting wildlings!>

<What?> Jaime wondered if it would be a blade or a reckless act by a Stark that would kill him.

***

Tyrion dismounted looking like a broken man.

<Our troops are behind the hill. We will attack tomorrow.>

Jaime nodded.

<You will not try to negotiate, Your Grace?> Brienne asked.

<No.>

***

He saw Podrick waddling beside Tyrion like a puppy worried about being scolded. <Your Majesty->

<Tyrion, Pod. It's nice to see you.>

<Is it?>

<Gendry said if I kept talking about you he'd end up hugging you without even introducing himself when you meet.>

<Who is Gendry, my Lord?>

<Tyrion> corrected him again. <And, more or less, he's Tommen's brother.>

<More or less?>

<More or less.>

***

During dinner in the King's tent—Tyrion had insisted they rejoin the army and Jaime take command of the troops—his brother jumped up.

<Tyrion?>

<I almost forgot!> He ran a hand over his face. <Lady Brienne, would you lend me your sword?>

Confused, Brienne handed Oathkeeper to the King.

<Pod, would you kneel?>

***

<Lord Tyrion, thank you, this is->

<Really, it's nothing, Pod.>

<No, this is wonderful, thank you, thank you very much!>

<Ser Podrick, that's not necessary.>

The boy smiled proudly. <Ser.>

<That was the whole point,> Tyrion clarified.

Pod looked at Brienne. <Now it's her turn?>

***

Brienne—not Ser Brienne, whatever Podrick was suggesting—cleared her throat.

<Please,> Tyrion said. He had a goblet in his hand, and had refilled it a couple of times already. <Stay.>

He had dismissed Podrick, ordering him to rest after the battle. Jaime refrained from saying that he and Brienne were acting more like parents than bosses with the boy.

<My King, there is a matter I wish to be clear about.>

Tyrion poured her some wine. <Is it about the Queen?>

Brienne refused with a nod. <I do not drink before a fight, Your Grace. And yes, it is about Lady Sansa. As you know, Ser Jaime and I have given our word of honor to Lady Catelyn Stark.>

Tyrion nodded. Brienne continued.

<I have sworn to protect her.>

Tyrion nodded again.

<From everyone, Your Grace. By whoever she wants to be defended.>

<Me too, I guess you're trying to say.>

Brienne nodded. <Whoever.>

Tyrion looked at his brother. <And you?>

And Jaime looked at her, this strange woman who, in the dim light and the flickering firelight, seemed to have stepped out of a song. She looked like a true knight.

<Sansa Stark is my last chance at honor.>

It wasn't an answer. Tyrion smiled sadly. <Mine too, I think.>

***

In the morning, two hours before the assault was to begin, a messenger said Stannis's forces were half a day from Winterfell.

Chapter Text

No one can protect me. No one can protect anyone.

Sansa Stark

***

Jamie (II)

Stannis had chosen, if possible, the worst and best time to arrive at Winterfell.

<We will wait,> Tyrion announced.

<No,> Brienne turned toward the armory. <Podrick, my armor.>

<Lady Brienne->

<Stannis Baratheon must die. Lady Sansa must be saved.>

<Brienne,> Jamie tempted. She was pure fire, pure skill as she strapped her sword to her hip. And he couldn’t bear to see her dead. <If we wait for him to storm the castle, we’ll have a chance to->

<Sansa’s life is worth more than your victory. You made->

<I made one oath,> Jamie preceded her. <And you made two. To Lady Stark and Renly Baratheon. Which one are you fulfilling now?>

Brienne looked into his eyes and, watching his gaze soften, for a moment she thought he would give in. But there wasn’t much softness in Brienne. <Both. I’ll go alone if I have to. I will stop Stannis before the assault.>

He gave his brother an apologetic look. <Then let me come with you.>

***

He was a terrible commander. Tyrion took him aside to remind him.

<Jamie, at least make it useful.>

<I sense you don't approve,> he told him.

<Don’t approve?> Tyrion repeated. <That's not exactly true.>

He poured himself some wine. He offered him a cup, which Jamie waved away.
<You are lighter when you are with her. I approve that.>

<Lighter?>

<Do not be skeptical> Tyrion rolled his eyes. <I’m not our father. Do what you think is right. But also, if it's not too much trouble, try to win the war.>

<Sarcasm has always been your thing,> he replied. <I'll do my best. Me and my "lightness.">

***

They took Podrick with them. Tyrion insisted.
Brienne too.

While Podrick led the way, they followed close behind. <I hope Sansa doesn't mind that you and Tyrion have a son.>

<It's not funny,> Brienne clarified. <And Ser Podrick is an... efficient companion.>

<Then why does he still squire to you, if he's a knight?>

Brienne looked away and stammered something.

He decided to offer her a way out. <Sure, riding is more comfortable. Although I could almost miss our romantic walks in the forests.>

She blushed and he smiled, satisfied.

***

Somehow, things had gone terribly wrong. Worse than terribly wrong. There was a little girl on a fucking pyre that was about to burn.

Jamie froze. Brienne didn't. Brienne gave her horse a shake and rode toward the girl, sword drawn and pointed at Stannis's throat.

Stannis gave the order just as Brienne charged.

The flames rose.

Jamie saw him. Aerys. The pyres. The fire beneath the city.

(He hadn't told anyone, not even Tyrion.)

He saw the fires. And people screaming, being destroyed by the flames.

In the back of his mind, Brienne screamed for help.

He was fifteen again. His sword was soaked in blood. He was sitting on the Iron Throne.

Ned Stark called him Kingslayer.

Arthur Dayne, his eyes shining with pride, said to him, <Kneel>.

Prince Raeghar had left him alone to defend the palace.

Rhaenys Targaryen held her cat under her arm, called him Ser Jamie, picked flowers. She lay in a Lannister cloak, covered in blood, dead.

Brandon Stark choked on his own blood.

He wore the white cloak, next to the greatest warriors alive.

Rickard Stark burned in the flames, because he had to win against the fire to be innocent in the eyes of the gods.

Cersei married Robert and her skin was covered in bruises. At night, she called Jamie "mine."

Rhaella Targaryen wept alone in her chambers. Her womb had begun to grow.

<Burn them all!>

For hours. Hours. Hours.

A sword, a falling body.

Kingslayer.

Burn them all.

***

When he came to, he had Brienne's arms around him. <Stop, Jamie! By the grace of the seven heavens, stop!>

When he came to, Brienne was holding him tightly and it was the only thing that kept him from collapsing.

A little further away, most of the opposing army had surrendered.

Stannis lay on the ground, his throat slit. Oathkeeper was confiscated in the dirt beside his body.

Leaning over him, Selyne Baratheon, a shadow of her former self.

And then his eyes fell on her. On the last, true Baratheon.
She bowed, her arms and legs covered in light burns. She was pale. Her voice, after an initial tremor, steadied. <I am Princess Shireen Baratheon, sole heir of Stannis Baratheon. And you saved my life.>

***

Tyrion had Stannis's army wait outside the camp, assigned a tent to Shireen and Selyne, as befitted noble prisoners. And he had summoned the girl, not her mother.

She had told them everything about what had happened at Castle Black, about the wildlings and Jon Snow, about Melisandre.

<She ran when she saw Lady Brienne.>

<You surrender? On behalf of your army? And on behalf of your mother?>

Shireen hesitated, as if she had just realized she had an army. <Can I make a condition?>

<You're not exactly in a position to ask for favors,> Tyrion pointed out. <But if it's reasonable, I'll think about it.>

<I want to be with Ser Davos. Not with my mother. Ser Davos would never have allowed anything to happen to me. That's why the Red Woman had him sent back. Please write to him. If I tell him to kneel, he will.>

Tyrion looked hesitant. Both were trying to process the threat of the undead. <For now, you will stay in your tent with your mother. If your troops fight with us to retake Winterfell, and if we win, then I will write to Davos.>

"Also because, if Jon Snow really is Lord Commander and White Walkers exist, we will still have to deal with him at some point" Jamie reflected. "It would probably be useful to have Sansa with us."

***

<My L-King, there is movement within the castle,> Podrick announced. <The soldiers are pouring over the walls.>

Tyrion leapt to his feet. <We must go. Lady Brienne...>

<I'm coming with you.>

<No.> Tyrion squared his shoulders and for a moment, even Jamie felt intimidated. <You killed Stannis Baratheon, and now you have a responsibility to Lady Shireen and her mother. You have my word of honor, and Jamie's: we will find Sansa Stark and deliver her to you. And she will decide whether or not to follow me to King's Landing. But we cannot allow the Boltons to get their hands on a Baratheon.>

For a long moment, Brienne tightened her grip on the hilt of her sword. And Jamie wondered if he was going to stop a regicide for a change.

Then she pulled out Oathkeeper and handed it to Jamie. <You will find Sansa Stark,> she told him, like a prophecy.

<And I will protect her with my life,> he replied.

She smiled. And Jamie reminded himself that since he had terrible taste in women, it was no wonder he found her more beautiful than ever.

***

Flames rose around him for the second time in less than a day. "You will die today," a voice in his head said.

"Maybe, but I'll find her first."

He cut through soldiers like butter, and he felt almost like himself again, as complete as he had been before. The boy Arthur Dayne had knighted.

He had just given the order to advance when he heard the words he had feared most.

<Sansa, Sansa, no, please, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Sansa->

Jamie tossed someone aside- Lannister? Bolton?- and followed the male voice, scratchy, weak and desperate, that kept repeating, like a prayer, Sansa Stark's name.

He was a dirty, shaking guy. He held Sansa's hand in his and cried, calling her over and over.
<We have to go, Sansa, please, Sansa, he'll kill us. He'll tear us apart, Sansa, he... Sansa, Sansa, Sansa.>

He was terrified. He was marked everywhere, on every visible piece of flesh. And it was clear that he wanted to run. But he didn't let go of her hand.

"He'll die for her," Jamie thought. "This boy will die with her name on his lips."

He couldn't call that devotion. Or love. It just sounded like desperation. Somehow, the guy reminded him of himself.

He saw him. <No, please, don't take us back to him, kill me instead, leave her alone, she->

<I'm Jamie Lannister. I promised her mother Catelyn that I would protect this girl with my life.>

Finally, he stopped covering her with his body. She was as beautiful as she had always been. She was also covered in blood, so much, too much blood. And her skin was all bruises, hand marks, cuts and scars.

He had promised to protect her.

And then he understood. He had seen three births in his life and he had to understand that.

Sansa Stark was giving birth to a child. At that moment. And the birth was killing her.

Jamie only screamed for Podrick to hold his ground and that was his last coherent thought. Then he was there, pushing, pressing into Sansa's womb, and Sansa was Cersei, and she was Rahella, and she was her mother Joanna and she was Elia and the sea of ​​blood was growing bigger and bigger.

She was screaming and crying and begging to die and Jamie wanted to be the one who died.

<Push, Sansa.>

<Please, Sansa, please, we have to go.>

She was missing strands of hair. She was too thin, too pale. Jamie was bruising her and pushing and then he had reached between her legs and a cry had broken the silence.

A faint cry, barely more than a whimper.

<Please, please, please...>

Sansa was barely breathing.

The guy with her kept crying and asking for forgiveness. Pleas and prayers but there were no gods in Winterfell anymore.

<Sansa Stark> Jamie called.

And she, a perfect echo of her mother: <Give me your word.>

***

They called her Sansa Stark, the Missing Queen. And Jamie looked at the baby and wondered if he had just killed the girl he was supposed to protect, if Catelyn Stark would want him to choose differently, if Tyrion would forgive him for the two burdens he was about to put on him, if Podrick could hold out long enough.

The baby was crying. Too small, too thin, too fragile. Wrapped in a Lannister cloak and covered in blood.

He would have died rather than have another Elia but it was no use. His life was no use and Sansa Stark lay in a bed of red and snow.

He saw Tyrion and saw himself reflected in his eyes. "I'm sorry," he should have said.

Instead he handed him the baby, forced him into his brother's arms and said, <He's your son.>

He didn't wait for her reaction. He turned, his hands still clammy and covered in red, and walked back to her.

End part one

Chapter Text

Part Two
The King's Road

***

You can't kill me, I'm part of you now.

Ramsay Snow

Your words will disappear. Your house will disappear. Your name will disappear. All memory of you will disappear.

Sansa Stark

***

Theon (I)

They had taken Sansa's baby. The baby of...

He still held Sansa's in his hands. The two missing fingers, the pain of the grazed wounds, the smell of ash in the air, all of it ricocheted in his head. <Reek> called him Ramsay.

Sansa was dying. And he should have gone. But there was nothing in the world for him, except her. He had to stay. She was Sansa Stark, he had been Theon Greyjoy, and what was left of him belonged to her.

The other boy, the one with Jaime Lannister, had covered her with a cloak and taken her head in his lap. Theon had watched him vomit while Sansa cried and begged but he had straightened when Jaime Lannister had ordered them to be protected. Both of them.

She was awake and she wasn't. He was waiting for Ramsay to appear at every corner.

Then someone came, and it was Jaime Lannister, with a blonde girl in tow.

<This is Ally, King Tyrion's maid. She can sew. You can try to do something for the Queen, right?>

<She's going to die anyway, might as well try.>

The other boy was still holding her head up and the girl - Ally, who was a trick, a deception, an illusion - looked at him. <You have to let her go, if you want me to help her.>

"It's a trick, I know, please, let her go. Please, not Sansa," he wanted to say. But his head hurt, everything hurt, and he felt like he was dying.

A hand rested on his shoulder. The touch was gentler than usual. It still hurt.

Pain, pain, pain. Blue eyes in his thoughts, and they weren't a girl's. Had he ever been anything but pain?

<Come on, boy. Let her work.>

***

He woke and for a moment he thought he was dreaming. He was in Winterfell, in the room that had been Sansa's. The bed was Sansa's. She was wearing soft pajamas against her skin.

The illusion quickly fell. Something had changed. His wounds itched but were wrapped in clean bandages. The walls were smeared with crusted blood.

There was a warm body next to his and Reek squeezed his eyes shut. The clothes were nothing. Nothing was worth anything if it was Ramsay. He could feel his fingers clawing at his skin, tearing it.

Hair brushing his chin. He risked a glance and saw red.

Sansa.

He sat up and her head fell to his thigh. He winced at the pain. Everything hurt. Everything was pain.

<Your name is Theon Greyjoy. Last surviving son of Balon Greyjoy, Lord of the Iron Islands> Sansa had told him. And he had to breathe.

Slowly, as if he might break everything, he put a hand in her hair. And she seemed to stiffen for a moment before she began to breathe again.

It was her. It was Sansa. She was alive.

His eyes flickered to the girl, to the clean wounds, to the swollen lip, to the paleness of her face.

Her chest rose and fell.

"Robb, you would be so proud of her. She is metal, as you were, and we are just wet paper."
He closed his eyes and went back into the darkness.

***

When he woke, it was because of the light. Someone had just drawn the curtains. Instinctively, he wrapped his body around Sansa, even though it obviously wouldn't help, Ramsay-

<You're awake. Are you, my Queen?>

It was Ally. The girl who had... saved Sansa, probably. He loosened his grip slightly.

<Theon?> Sansa's voice was a whisper, barely a sound. <Theon?>

<Sansa.> Her voice was hoarse. Her throat was sore from screaming.
He squeezed her hand—squeezing hurt—and she clung even harder. Pain, pain, pain. Sansa was alive. He was Theon.

<Where is... where is he?> Sansa asked. <Where are we? Theon, where is he?>

She was screaming now. She was crying. Ally came closer, showing her palms. <My Queen, you are almost dead, please, you must calm down. The baby->

<Where is Ramsay?>

Realization dawned on the maid's face.
<In a cell, rotting, Your Grace. The execution will be tomorrow at dawn.>

<In prison?> Sansa repeated. She laughed bitterly. <You cannot put him in prison. He cannot be stopped. Only killed. Or you can be killed by him.>

Theon squeezed her hand again to say he agreed.

Ally looked at them both and shook her head. <Do you know where you are, my Queen?>

<Queen in the North?> Sansa asked. <Did my brother send you? Jon?>

The hope in her voice surprised him. It was so bright. She was alive, Theon remembered. "Living people are not made of pain. Living people can hope."

Looking into her bright eyes, Theon almost fooled himself into thinking it was true. That Jon was going to come in, cut off his head, and save Sansa. Jon would protect her. And he would die knowing that, at least this time, he had managed to do something good.

Then he thought of the blood and the snow. <Lannister> he said.

Ally studied him for a moment. <Yes. I serve King Tyrion Lannister, First of His Name. You have called many times for Lord Theon, Your Grace, and the King has had him brought to your room. You have been asleep for two days and we have only just managed to get you to drink some water. Do you think you can both eat something?>

Theon was about to tell her not to trust her when he looked at her face and saw that something had changed. That fragile hope still lingered.

<King Tyrion Lannister?>

<Yes, Your Grace.>

<Is Tyrion here?>

<Yes, Your Grace.>

She touched her lap, then went pale. <I...>

She didn't finish the sentence. She doubled over and vomited.

***

Sansa woke three hours later. He had been beside her since she fell asleep, after Ally had dabbed her face and cleaned the floor.

They were alone. <Sansa?>

<Theon.>

He gave her a minute to process the situation.

<Do you think this is true?> she asked quickly. <The Lannisters. Tyrion.>

<You were married to him,> he remembered. <He was...>

She shook her head. <Tyrion was kind. And reasonable. Just... do you think the baby is okay?>

Theon didn't know. The son of... him. He had trouble even thinking of that name.

He felt Sansa's hand find his. <I remember very little. We jumped. The ice moat... Was Jaime Lannister there?>

Theon nodded. <And a boy.>
He gave her the description and saw that it made sense to her. <He looks like Podrick Payne. He served Tyrion. And then...>

He froze. Then he took a deep breath. <Theon?>

<Sansa?>

<What if he dies?>

***

Ally was back again, with food and water. She left them and went out quietly, probably afraid of provoking another backlash.

<He must die. For what he did to us.>

Theon shook his head. <I deserved this.>

<No. Shut up.> Sansa clung to him. <Please, Theon. I only have you.>

<Jon->

<Jon should hate me for the way I treated him. Bran and Rickon->

Both names were like poisoned arrows stuck in his heart.

<They're somewhere, maybe dead. Robb is dead. Arya is missing. My parents are dead. I have sired a bastard and my marriage to Tyrion is off. I have only you. I need you to live.>

She brushed her hair back and there she was: Sansa Stark of Winterfell, beautiful, absolutely regal. She had always been beautiful. Theon didn't tell her she was, though. Her beauty was broken, almost monstrous. The color of her bruises matched her eyes.

<I am yours. As long as I live.>

<Then live. And help me kill him.>

***

Standing up was hard for both of them. They drank water, they ate, and that was hard too. Walking up the stairs, not being noticed. All of that was hard.

Then he stopped.

<You can't see him,> Sansa realized. <You can't, right?>

She had become smarter. That was cruel too.

He waited and she vanished like a wolf in the night.

***

Beautiful, divine. With her skirts smooth and her hair coiffed. She came back to him and smiled like a true lady.

<He's dead, Theon. Eaten by his own dogs.>

A murderous widow, a wolf with her mouth dripping with blood. Theon loved Sansa Stark but that love wasn't love, it was despair.

He grabbed her hand and told her. <I love you even if it's only despair.>

She squeezed him back and clung to him. The magic was broken. The dogs howled and growled as, a few feet away, they reduced Ramsay Snow to a pile of bones.

He kissed her in her hair, Robb's sister. And he thought of him. He had loved Robb Stark and it had not been a desperate love. He was supposed to die with him but he was alive and he had promised Sansa that he would be hers.

<Let's get your baby> he told her, even though it was almost a question.

She nodded. <And we go to J->

<Sansa?>

***

They stood there, the snow beginning to fall, the sun almost setting, and the dogs growling.

Tyrion Lannister looked at Sansa as if he were terrified. It lasted only a moment, then he straightened and came to. He had a baby in his arms.

It was that baby, wasn't it? Sansa's. And his.

<Sansa?> Tyrion repeated.

<Tyrion.> She was shaking in his arms but still had her head up.

<He is->

<Our son,> Tyrion said. And for a moment Theon felt reassured, before he realized what the man had said. "Their... what?"

Sansa had also gone from fear to confusion. <We have never->

<We have,> Tyrion hushed her. <We will talk about this in a moment. First: what is happening? Why are the dogs making such a racket?>

A couple of guards passed by and saw them, but at Tyrion's nod, they continued on.

Sansa must have seen something in her ex-husband's eyes because her voice became solemn. <I killed him. Ramsay Snow.>

Tyrion looked from the kennel to the cell a couple of times. <I see.>
The silence stretched for a few moments. <I suppose I could offer you a cup of wine to celebrate, my Queen?>

***

He led them to Rickon's room, one of the few that was 100% intact. There was a table that hadn't been there before, and the bed was gone. <Call my brother, Lady Brienne, and Podrick,> he ordered the guard. <And tell Ally to bring something to eat and some milk for the baby.>

He motioned them to take their places. Sansa sat stiffly, staring straight ahead. Theon had to fight the urge to throw himself under the table. Instead he awkwardly stepped beside her. Tyrion dragged a chair across from them and sat down, cradling the baby slightly.

<How do you feel?> he asked.
Which, Theon supposed, was kind. It wasn't as if he didn't trust Sansa's judgment but he kept thinking about Robb, and his death, and Winterfell.

<I don’t know. It depends. Are we prisoners?>

<You are Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. No, you are not prisoners.>

That was enough. Sansa got to her feet and picked him up. <You have always been kind, Tyrion. I thank you. You can give me the baby now. Let’s go. To Jon.>

Tyrion looked at her as if she had gone mad, then as if she had just stabbed him. <You can’t go to Jon, Sansa.>

<You said->

<Jon Snow is dead. The crow came this morning.>

"I only have you," she had told him. It had just become true.

***

A tall, blonde, armored woman entered and immediately lunged at Tyrion.
<She's crying!>

<I told her about Jon,> he said wearily.

<Couldn't you wait?> she replied.

<She wanted to leave. She still has to heal.>

The woman looked at Sansa, then at him. <I am Brienne of Tarth, I served Lady Catelyn. Queen Sansa, if you like, I would offer you my service again.>

Sansa looked up. Her eyes were red, her face streaked with tears. <Would you like to? Even if...>

<I would.>

He felt their hands join again. <I accept.>

***

When Jaime Lannister entered, he went straight to Tyrion and reached out to take the baby.
<Hello, dear> he greeted.

<Jaime, leave the prince alone> Brienne scolded.

Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, ignored her and made a funny face at the baby, who smiled and let out a small laugh.
Brienne sighed as if this were the most infuriating sight in the world.

<The prince?>
It was Sansa who had spoken. <Tyrion. I don't understand.>

Theon could feel the atmosphere changing. <My lady... Sansa. If I'm King, and we're married, that makes you Queen. And it makes our children princes.>

He knew Sansa was confused. He was too.
<Tyrion... we have no children.>

<I have a very real one in my arms,> Jaime replied. <But, hey, little one, did you hear your mother? You're imaginary.>

<Ser Jaime,> the boy- Podrick- said sorrowfully. <Lady Sansa has been awake for a few hours.>

<Awake for a few hours, a husband-killer, her hair done like a true Queen. She'll be fine.>

<I...>

<Sansa,> Tyrion continued. <Here are the facts. We last saw each other at King Joffrey's feast, when he died at the hands of Petyr Baelish.>

She nodded and he continued.
<You were about two weeks in the Eyrie, then here. And the Purple Wedding, as it's called, was about eight and a half months ago. Now, there are two options. The annulment of our marriage was done illegitimately, the baby is mine, he's the Prince of the Seven Kingdoms and the heir to the Throne. Either he's a Snow and must die or I must disown you. They'd swarm over you like vultures. So, thankfully, the baby is mine.>

Sansa gasped. <Tyrion->

<Sansa, please.>

<But...> She hesitated and seemed, for the first time, the girl she was and not the mythical woman she often seemed. <You're going to raise a child that's not yours?>

Theon, for the first time in a while, thought back to Winterfell as it had been. To Catelyn Stark and Jon Snow.

Catelyn had hated Jon. Every breath he'd taken. Robb loved the people his mother hated only for who they were and not what they were like. Him and Jon Snow.

<I will,> Tyrion said. He looked at the baby in his brother's arms and there was only sweetness in his gaze. Theon wondered if Sansa felt the same dizziness as he did, if she wondered why the gods had to be so cruel.

Sansa’s son, who should have been a Snow, and Tyrion, who looked at him as if he were a miracle.

Jon was dead. Catelyn was dead.

<I will be your Queen,> Sansa said. For the first time in a long time, she seemed at peace.

Chapter Text

"I know I am not the sort of husband young girls dream of, Sansa,” he said softly, “but neither am I Joffrey."

Tyrion Lannister

***

Tyron (II)

<You are Theon Greyjoy.>

<If I am Queen, then Theon must be safe,> Sansa said before he could even answer.

Tyrion nodded. It hadn’t been an accusation. Two days ago, when they’d finally found a maester and tried to put Sansa to sleep with a potion, she kept waking up screaming. And she called, begging to see Theon. He had no intention of separating them. He wasn’t bloody Ramsay Snow.

Brienne had told Sansa that if she wanted to leave, today or any other day, she could just ask. She and Podrick had gone to check on the kennels.

Jaime had nodded to Theon and Sansa. <So, my Queen? What do we do?>

<What do we do?> Sansa repeated.

He had handed the baby—they should start thinking of a name—to Tyrion. <I pushed Brandon Stark off a tower, I think it's time to have a conversation.>

Theon leapt to his feet. And Sansa slumped in her chair.

<You could have waited, Jaime.>

He shrugged. He had never been a planner.

<He had the idea. For the baby,> Tyrion said.

For the first time, she reached out for him. Tyrion handed her their son and couldn't help but notice how beautiful they were together.

He looked just like her. He had his mother's blue eyes and her delicate nose. It was hard to guess the rest when he was so young. His hair was black, typical of the North. He was, in fact, the picture of a perfect Lord of Winterfell.

<He's... so cute,> Sansa murmured. <He doesn't look like him. He won't, right?>

<He won't,> Tyrion promised. <We will not teach him cruelty.>

Theon, beside her, leaned in a little.

<Oh...>

Sansa looked back at Jaime. <I would have died without you.>

<Probably.>

<And so would he. And maybe Theon.>

<Yes and maybe> he agreed.

<You swore an oath to my mother.>

Jaime straightened his shoulders. <I did. I had to bring you back to her. I cannot do it, but I will protect you as best I can.>

Sansa looked at her son, then back at Jaime. Her eyes were bright, her voice frail. <We are a kind of family now. The gods are cruel.>

<They tend to be,> he told her. <They pit love and duty against each other, and use our honor against us. I know that better than anyone.>

She was tired. Tyrion knew she had to be. Months of captivity and pain and a child growing in her womb.

<Why did you do it? Bran?>

<For love.> Jaime took a few steps toward her. <Out of desperation. I have always belonged to Cersei and that was the only option. It wasn't personal. Cersei... makes things complicated.>

He wondered if Jaime was actually trying to explain the truth to Sansa. It seemed like he was. But it was impossible. How could he think he could make her understand? Cersei only loved what belonged to her and to belong, people lost themselves. And only those who had loved Cersei could understand.

<I loved Joffrey,> Sansa said, as if she had read Tyrion's mind. <I did. And I was willing to lie for him, to have my sister punished. Then Lady died and something in me broke.>

<I have loved her all my life,> Jaime replied. <And I feel like I have no right to breathe if she won't let me. But I swore to your mother that I would find you.>

Sansa sighed as if the whole world was on her shoulders. The baby in her arms stirred a little. Tyrion knew that Jaime, more than the sword, had offered her his life.

He bit his lip to keep from speaking. He kept concentrating on his breathing and their looks to keep himself from thinking. Because if he started to think he couldn't escape the question and he didn't want to know, he refused to ask himself who to choose between his brother and the mother of his child.

<I love my brother,> Sansa said.

Jaime nodded.

<I love this boy too. Maybe I shouldn't. But I love him. He's mine and I want him to be happy someday. I want him to call someone kind 'father.' And I want him to have his own family.>
She looked at Jaime. <You'll love him. Because he's your nephew.>

<You don't have to ask> Jaime shrugged. <It's already happened. He makes it easy.>

She turned to Theon. Not a tear on her face. She was a broken glass that a gust of wind would shatter and yet she was metal, as immovable as a mountain. <Will you be the godfather?>

***

The next morning, he found Sansa in the kitchen with Ally and Theon at her heels. The boy cradled the baby and the maid assisted the Queen with breakfast.

<Your Grace!>

<All right, no formalities. I just want some warm bread. Good morning, Theon, my lady.>

<Tyrion> Sansa bowed slightly. <I have longed to speak to you. Will you have breakfast with me?>

He agreed quickly. Theon gave him a long look before leaving the room with Ally and the baby still in his arms.

<He worries about me,> Sansa said. Rest had reduced the bags under her eyes at least a little but she was still very pale.

Tyrion nodded. <There... there's no reason, you know? I still think the same things I thought on our wedding night.>

She smiled gratefully. <And the baby?>

<Our son,> he corrected her. <We should probably find a name for him.>

<We should,> Sansa said. Her lips were parted, as if considering a question.

<Ask,> Tyrion suggested.

She sat down, her dress spreading around her like petals. <You... you seem fond of him. It's strange. I mean... my mother and my brother didn't have a good relationship. I keep thinking about them. Now that Jon...>

He motioned for her to stop. <Yes. Well, it's Jaime's fault. In general, most problems are his fault.>

<What did he do?> At least that joke had made her smile.

<He almost threw him into my arms.> Tyrion smiled slightly. <In the middle of a battlefield. He shouted, "It's your son." Then he turned and disappeared gods only know where.>

<He did what?>

<Yes, he's an idiot.> He took a bite of bread. It wasn't bad. <He meant well. Except that, in the chaos, I wasn't exactly clear-headed. I was worried about you, about him, about the siege, and you're my wife. My brain said, "Oh no, Sansa's giving birth and she's alone, that's horrible!" The baby was crying. Also, since the only non-vulgar song I know by heart is "The Rains of Castamere," I sang that to him. Very embarrassing. Then he fell asleep, he was adorable and... I don't know. What was I supposed to do? He was small and crying and it seemed perfectly logical that we would have children, people had been talking about heirs around me for days.>
He looked at her. She had her hand over her mouth.
<Um, don't laugh. This isn't funny.>

<I'm not laughing!> said Sansa, who was laughing. <And then?>

<Jaime came back and said they didn't know how bad you were, and we carried you in. I sat there for a few minutes and I think I was struck by the light. I looked at Jaime and tried to point to the baby. I asked him "Is it mine?" so confused I had to ask again. He had to explain his idea to me. It was... disappointing of me. I'm usually the one who makes up the plans.>

He looked at Sansa, who was still laughing to herself.

<Still,> he admitted, hoping his voice didn’t betray his seriousness. <It was hard not to be fond of him at that point. He was mine now. You can’t stop loving a child after they’ve put him in your arms and he’s yours.>

Sansa smiled at him. He couldn’t read her expression, not like he used to. <Then I’m glad Jaime did.>

***

To the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch,

We inform you that the war commonly known as the War of the Five Kings is over. Stannis Baratheon is dead, Roose Bolton is without allies, Ramsay Snow is dead.

We have received word that the former Lord Commander, Jon Snow, brother of the Queen, has passed away. Lady Sansa and I will travel to the Wall to assess the threat of the White Walkers and bid him our final farewells.

Theon Greyjoy, heir to the Iron Islands, and Shireen Baratheon, only daughter of Stannis Baratheon, are with us at Winterfell.

Please provide accommodation for the royal family, Lady Baratheon and Lord Greyjoy, and space for their entourage (approximately 60 people).

By order of Tyrion Lannister, First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, husband of Sansa Lannister née Stark, Warden of the North

***

<Are we leaving?> Theon repeated. <Me too?>

<What happened between you and House Stark is Lady Sansa's business. If you have her support, then you're welcome. And she may need support.>

He didn't say, "You two still sleep together every night." He didn't even say, "Only you and I have ever really known Jon, besides her, and I've had weeks and you've had years. You should be there."

He said, <Then, I think you should... say goodbye to him for the last time.>

He saw him nod and swallowed the urge to touch him. It wouldn't help.

Maybe Tyrion was a little heartbroken for the Lord Commander. Maybe he liked Jon Snow. Maybe he thought he could stop with the funerals.

***

He summoned Jaime before he left. <We'll take Brienne but not you with us.>

His brother shrugged. <Okay. Why?>

<You need to track down Roose Bolton. And there’s still the situation with Balon Greyjoy. Talk to Theon, perhaps.>

<Theon?>

<He’s my son’s godfather, I can’t call him “Lord.”>

A nod. <That makes sense. I’ll send ravens to Castle Black if I need to. This is from Varys, by the way.>
He threw the letter on the table, patted him on the shoulder, and left.

***

To Tyrion Lannister, First of His Name,

Your Grace, I inform you that Petyr Baelish has been tracked down near Harrenhal. Loras Tyrell has left the capital and hopes to find him, arrest him, and bring him back to King's Landing.

You will also be pleased to hear that Lady Margaery is doing an excellent job, governing the kingdom with considerable wisdom, although from the many letters she sends you, I suspect she does so with your council as well.

Yours,

Varys, Master of Whispers

***

<Is Margaery the Hand of the King?>

Tyrion handed the letter to Sansa, allowing her to read. <She does. She can handle it.>

A look passed over the Queen's face. <Is there... an understanding between you two?>

<No, my lady> Tyrion smiled. <We are good friends. And it is curious that our greatest bond is our mutual concern for your happiness.>

<Margaery is a good friend> Sansa looked touched.

<She is.>

Fingers touched his hand. <And you too.>

***

Pain and blood in the night. The maester came and went from Lady Sansa's chambers.

<She will recover,> he said. <But it might be difficult to have more pregnancies.>

<There is no rush,> Tyrion said. <Don't worry about heirs that don't even exist yet. Only think of the Queen's health.>

"And may she not suffer the same fate as my mother," he prayed silently.

***

The preparations were almost complete when news arrived from Dorne. Tyrion read and rushed to write a reply, while the horses were being saddled outside.

***

Dear Uncle,

Trystane and I have returned home, even if the atmosphere is tense. There is grief for the loss of Prince Oberyn and curiosity for your coronation. I hope that by the time these words reach you, Aunt Sansa has been found and is well.

Trystane's father, Prince Doran, and his mother seem willing to talk, but they also believe it is you who should come here, to offer your condolences for the passing of Prince Oberyn.

The prince's daughters and his partner, Ellaria Sand, are calling for blood. We need your diplomatic skills, uncle, but I will stall for as long as I can.

I wish you all the best,

Myrcella Martell née Baratheon

***

To the noble House of Martell,

With great delay, I write to you again. I trust that the remains of Prince Oberyn have arrived safely, escorted by my niece Myrcella and her husband. I again offer my sincere condolences on his passing and assure you that House Lannister is doing everything in its power to ensure that the murderer of my nephew Joffrey, Petyr Baelish, who is indirectly responsible for the death of Prince Oberyn, is arrested and tried for his crimes.

I would have come to Sunspear myself, so that the Martells and Lannisters could celebrate their new marriage, but darker matters required my attention. I inform you that the usurper Stannis Baratheon is dead.

I am at Winterfell, departing for the Wall, where I hope to find only snow and not the horror whispered of. My wife, Queen Sansa, has spent eight months in horrific captivity and has just given birth to our son. Her condition does not allow her to travel easily, and sadly, her brother, the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, has also passed away in recent days. I imagine my letter will follow shortly after the one from Castle Black.

I hope my words have found you in good health and that we may see each other soon.

Tyrion Lannister, First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, husband of Sansa Lannister née Stark, Warden of the North

***

<Are you absolutely certain you can travel, my lady?>

<Yes, Brienne.> Sansa pushed her copper hair back from her face. Some color had returned to her cheeks in the last two days. <I must go. For Jon.>

<If you are sure.> Tyrion entered the carriage beside her. He held the baby in his arms. <I suppose we can leave.>

Chapter Text

But you're not a monster. I know this. I know this because I've seen it. You've always loved your children. More than yourself, more than Jaime, more than anything. I beg you. If not for yourself, then for your child. Your reign is over, but that doesn't mean your life has to end. It doesn't mean your baby has to die.

Tyrion Lannister to Cersei Lannister

***

Gendry (II)

Gendry was calm. Everything was fine, right? Even though the King was gone somewhere up north and Loras was off to sort out the mess with Baelish. And Myrcella had to prevent a war with Dorne. And Margaery had to run the whole kingdom. Not to mention the tiny problem of the girl with dragons in the east.

And Cersei Lannister looked at him like he was the worst piece of shit on the road.

But it was fine. Maybe. Probably.

<Are you thinking we're all going to die again?> Tommen asked.

<Not all of us,> Gendry muttered. "I'd at least get you out of here," he promised himself.

Tommen took his hand and dragged him toward the gardens. The child's wrist was so thin that he could easily hold it in one hand. <We're not on the Small Council. It's none of our business.>

Gendry nodded at the boy's smile. And he helped Tommen climb up to the tunnel.

Here's the thing: If anyone knew that King Robert's bastard was eavesdropping on the Small Council, they would almost certainly have accused him of treason and hanged him. Even though Gendry wasn't betraying anyone. Except a little Tommen and the Lannisters, by withholding the truth about Arya. And a little Arya, by living with the Lannisters.

"You have a knack for getting yourself into situations, don't you?" he said to himself.

He sat down—the space was tight—and Tommen pressed himself against him. <Do you hear?>

A nod. <Do you see?>

<Yes.>

The point, Gendry mused as the Small Council took its seats, was that things in his life were bound to go wrong now. And maybe everyone would hate him in the end. But until then, he would do the best he could with what he had: a little brother, a hammer, and a forge.

***

<Ser Loras has found him,> Varys announced.

<He should be tried in Dorne. It would help appease them,> Margaery said. <And it would allow Loras to return here as soon as possible.>

<I understand that you miss your brother, Lady Margaery,> Pycelle said. <But Ser Loras's role->

<It's not nostalgia. But the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard is needed, and Loras is Ser Jamie's replacement. We have the prince to defend.>

Gendry felt Tommen flinch.

<Everything is fine> he told him. <Listen.>

<I've heard whispers,> Varys said. <They say Sansa Stark has had a son. They say it's the King's.>

<Is that possible?> Mace asked. <If she's trying to deceive the King->

<Queen Sansa is not a liar,> Margaery interrupted. <And it should be possible. The timing matches. In that case, I expect a letter from the King soon.>

"Arya," he thought, "there's another child with wolf blood."

<I thought so too> Varys agreed. <Now, Lord Bronn, did you have any news about the end-of-war reconstruction funds?>

***

They would sneak into meetings. Apparently, Tommen had been doing this since shortly before he gave up the crown. Lately, he had been bringing Gendry with him. The empty palace filled him with anguish.

Gendry, on the other hand, did his best to be as present as possible. Margaery was busy and Cersei had been visiting her son at least twice a week since the King's departure.

They walked and Tommen told her about his days. Gendry didn't trust her.

***

Cersei gave him a look that was a clear, "Oh, no, it's you again." Tommen smiled and motioned for him to sit down.

<We were talking about my homework. I read all my essays to Gendry.>

***

<I talked about this book with Gendry.>

***

<I've been practicing doing that with Gendry.>

***

<You know, mother, I think I could ask Gendry.>

***

Cersei grabbed his wrist. Gendry looked around: of course they were alone. He cursed under his breath.

<Lady Cersei->

She pushed a note into his hand. Follow me.

He didn't really have a choice.

***

They sat down at a table. She had some papers beside her. Gendry couldn't take his eyes off her. She was clearly Tommen's mother; she looked like a queen even in septa robes. Her hair was a shade lighter than Tommen's, and the sun made it look like gold threads. She looked just like he imagined Myrcella would look when she was growing up. The thought hurt him.

You spend a lot of time with my son.

<Yes.>

Does the "king" know?

<King Tyrion knows. So does Lady Margaery.>

That obviously wasn't the answer she wanted.

If he's going to fuck that whore, he might as well marry her instead of naming her Hand.

Gendry sighed. <The King is faithful to his wife. They've been rumored to have a baby.>

There was pain on the face of the one who had been Queen. And Tommen will never be King.

Gendry didn't know how to answer.

And neither do you.

<That's better, I don't have the attitude.>

***

Tommen found him shortly after. He was leafing through a book - he had decided to take advantage of his new life to improve in that field - and Lady Cersei was apparently praying.

<Mother, Gendry.>

<My prince.> He closed the book and showed it to the boy.

<So you listen to me when I advise you what to read> he said smiling. <Do you like it?>

Tommen was smiling more and more often. And Gendry would have damned himself before crushing a child's hopes. Perhaps the prince was a little too fond of botany, animals and history, all things Gendry had never wanted to delve into, but he certainly wouldn't have said so. <It's really... nice?>

Gendry was a mediocre liar. Tommen seemed pleased but it was clear that Cersei had read the lie in his face.

She took her son by the arm and listened to him talk about his day. Though Gendry could have sworn he saw the faintest hint of tenderness this time, when Tommen had mentioned him.

***

You will never have the Iron Throne.

<Yes, I think it's implicit in my birth condition.>

Cersei arched her perfect eyebrow. Gendry often thought she was too beautiful, so much so that it was irritating. Without the jewels and frills, she was still clearly noble. She was Cersei Lannister. No one could doubt that.

Don't you dare answer me, bastard.

<I apologize, Lady Cersei. I didn't mean to.>

A look of fire passed between them. Yes, she didn't like him. Considering he was living proof of her husband's betrayal, he supposed that wasn't strange.

Considering Tommen, Myrcella, and Joffrey existed, perhaps she was also a hypocrite.

***

He asked it at breakfast, though he could already imagine the answer. <Tommen?>

<Umh> he muttered, stifling a yawn. He was poking his eggs with his fork.

<If King Tyrion had a son, you won't be the next King.>

He straightened his back. He was so good at becoming formal quickly, at putting on the mask of a golden prince. His smile, though, was still the same. <True. At least we'll have some company, right?>

He was leaning toward him, his voice a whisper. <Crowns destroy everything. It's just as well.>

****

<Hey, Gendry!>

Tommen had cobwebs in his hair. And his clothes were clean and his face was perfectly washed.

He laughed. <You're getting good at not letting on that you've intruded.>

The boy grimaced. It was those moments, when Gendry was all too aware of his age, that hurt his heart. <Did something give me away?>

He simply removed the cobweb and ran a hand through the boy's hair.

<Just so you know,> Tommen said as he tried to restore dignity to his hair, <Lord Mace told me to be careful of you in a super-conspiratorial tone. "I would never insinuate this, my prince, but there could be the remote possibility that the King your father betrayed Lady Cersei and fathered a bastard. And, as we know, they are treacherous and evil by nature!">

Gendry raised an eyebrow and Tommen bit his lip. As soon as their eyes met, they both went into fits of uncontrolled giggling.

***

<We should make some pins,> Tommen said a few days later.

Gendry knew that tone. <No.>

<You didn’t even hear my idea!> he protested.

<And you sound like a naughty child, my prince.>

Tommen snorted. <Come on, Gendry. Please?>

Everyone said Tommen was weak but he was just a child. Children shouldn’t fight with all their might. Weak, whiny, childish. Gendry had another word for the prince: young. Tommen was a child and children had always been weak. They died first and needed someone to take care of them. Weakness was just another name for childhood.

Gendry, on the other hand, should have been stronger. <Okay, tell me.>

Just as Cersei entered the castle gates, too far away to hear, Tommen broke into the most Lannister-like smile of victory he could muster. <Two B pins. Three, actually. Myrcella should have one too.>

<B for Baratheon?> he asked. That would be a terrible idea.

<B for Bastard, Gendry. Even if that’s between the three of us.>

His breath caught in his throat. <Tommen. By the Seven Gods, are you mad?>

He laughed. And Gendry knew he would give him that pin. Because, after all, Tommen had a claim to his own.

It was still a better sign of family than Stannis. Stannis had almost killed him. Tommen seemed to be looking for new ways to kill himself and make him have a heart attack.

Lady Cersei looked at him looking more resigned than angry that day.

***

<Lady Margaery, did you send for me?>

Margaery Tyrell was wearing a beautiful green dress with gold roses. She looked like a real princess but Gendry knew she was no song girl. She was the Hand of the King.

<Yes. Sit down, have some tea. And tell me about Tommen.>

He remained standing. And she inclined her head slightly. <Is there a problem?>

<With all due respect, m'lady, I am not a spy. And I do not report on the prince.>

She studied him for a moment, her perfect red lips curling slightly. And she laughed. It was like cool water on a summer's day. And he pretended not to notice that, just for a moment, her eyes had been dark.
<Good, Gendry. I am glad of your loyalty, even if it makes you rather useless.>

***

Dear nephew,

We have just left Winterfell, though I believe this letter will reach you by the time we reach the Wall. Lacking an official name, we haven't been able to announce it yet but know that you have a male cousin. Lady Sansa's health after giving birth has not been perfect but the maester assures that she will be fine.

<He certainly left out the worst details> Tommen commented.

Your cousin, Lady Shireen, is with us and I am thinking of bringing her back to King's Landing. We will return soon.

I hope you are well and that your days are peaceful.

Uncle Tyrion

Gendry looked at Tommen.

<He did not write to me often before either> Tommen admitted. <It was obvious that he preferred me and Myrcella to... to Joffrey but he was only the uncle who gave the best birthday presents. Uncle Jamie only gives me swords, scabbards and tales of knights.>

Gendry nodded as he considered. <But he confirmed that there is a baby. They have trouble with the name.>

<I think it's because he was conceived close to the time of Joffrey's death. Then Uncle Tyrion was in jail and Aunt Sansa was on the run. I doubt he knew.>

<Don't say "on the run," she scolded as she did the math and confirmed Tommen's theory. <You'll make it sound like she had a hand in your brother's death.>

<Joffrey's,> Tommen corrected. Gendry nodded.

Tommen leaned into him. <Mother says I'm with you too much. That I'm boring you.>

<Good to hear she's backed down on the throne speech,> Gendry said as he put a hand around Tommen's shoulders.

Tommen lowered his voice. <Am I boring you?>

<Yes, I hate having a family, I had so much fun alone in Flea Bottom.>

Gendry didn't think he could ever explain to Tommen how much he had changed things. How much Stannis had hurt him and how quickly the orphan boy Gendry had been had latched onto the idea of ​​a brother.

He received a shove and a plaintive whimper. <Don't be unfair!> Tommen protested. <You would have been the most famous blacksmith in the world anyway.>

Tommen looked so sure. Gendry laughed and ruffled his brother's hair.

***

<You keep ruining my hair!>

<They're soft,> Gendry protested. <It's affection.>

Tommen continued to comb his hair in front of the mirror. He pretended to be annoyed but smiled. <Your love is the enemy of formal introductions.>

***

That time, Cersei met them halfway. You will not take my son to Flea Bottom. I'll kill you first.

Gendry glanced over his shoulder. Tommen was talking to Ser Boros Blount. <We will be escorted. And it was his idea. He wants to see where I grew up. Don't worry, we will avoid the brothels.>

Cersei's expression changed. She wrote and Gendry couldn't help but notice that her hands were shaking. I will lose him. I will see him buried in a golden shroud.

He flinched and almost dropped the note.
"I always knew," he thought. "I always knew the real difference between me and Tommen was that his mother had loved him more than should be possible."

<I will precede him to the grave,> he promised her. He wondered if that was what knights felt when they swore fealty to the King: warmth. <They will kill me before him.>

Perhaps it was her strange gift for reading him. Perhaps it was the realization that she no longer had any power to stop them. Cersei bowed her head and let them go, looking like a mother sending her son off to war.

***

He was in the forge when a servant informed him that "Sister Cersei" wanted to see him. Tommen had wandered Flea Bottom with him for three hours. They had said goodbye to Karl, Gendry had bought food from his childhood stalls. Then they had gone home and he had realized that "home" had become a huge palace.

<Lady Cers->

She interrupted him and pressed a piece of paper into his hands. It was a longer text than usual.

I was in love with Robert, a long time ago.

He looked up but the woman was looking at the horizon. Feeling a pang in his heart, he went back to reading.

"I'm going to meet my father," a stupid part of him said. "This is the first time anyone has actually spoken to me about him."

I wanted to be Queen and I thought I would marry Rhaegar. He died and I was promised to a war hero. He was glorious, strong, virile. I was young and in love. I had loved someone else-

Gendry couldn't believe she actually wrote that.

-but I thought it might be over. I had sworn to myself that I would give my husband a chance, that I would be devoted to him, a good wife. I was born to rule and I never wanted to do it alone. Women are given few paths to glory and I was born to be Queen.

On our wedding night he was drunk, sad, bitter. And in love with Lyanna Stark. I knew I had lost all hope of a happy marriage the day Lyanna died and Robert won the war. But I would not have wished for his death, or done anything mean, if he had been an honorable man.

Robert Baratheon was not an honorable man. He beat me, humiliated me, raped me. He fathered dozens of bastards and mocked me in front of the court, treated as an object, a prize, a burden. He was not with me on my battlefield, when I gave birth to my children. He enjoyed giving Jamie the worst assignments with the sole fault of being my brother.

I hated him. And I endured, as a Queen does. I endured it and I did it for the three children I gave birth to. My children, my blood, my heirs. Mine and no one else's. Robert certainly never even tried to be a good father to them. He didn't even ask about Myrcella and Tommen on his deathbed.

You look like him.

It was a fucking stab in the heart. Wasn't that the worst insult he'd ever been given? The words bounced around his head like so many arrows with sharp points.

Gendry knew Cersei was ruthless. But he would rather choose to be like someone ruthless for love than a man who hadn't been able to love anyone for nearly two decades.

He took a deep breath. The truth was the truth and it wasn't meant to be kind. Nothing in King's Landing was kind. He went back to reading.

You do. You have his hair, his eyes, his jaw, and the way he moves his eyebrows. The same shoulders and I can read through you like I read him.

There's something in your eyes when you look at Tommen. I never saw it in him when he looked at him.

I would have killed you with my own hands if I were still Queen. You shouldn't breathe the same air as my son. I've bled all my life for that man, how dare you force his blood on me again?

I know this is my anger. I know you might think I'm heartless. I'm not: Tommen and Myrcella are my heart. Joffrey was my heart. And now I have to look at a monster with a crown and hope he likes my children enough.

There was only one good thing about Robert, and that was Ned Stark. He loved that man like he was supposed to love his brothers. Ned was his heart. The brother he chose. And he was loyal to him until his dying breath.

So I guess I only have you. Only you between Tommen and the world. And if he is the brother you chose, then I must hope you are your father's son.

Don't you dare disappoint me, Gendry Waters. Not because I can stop you. Just because no one can stop you.

I know Tommen will die. But I don't want to see it happen.

The paper fell from his hand. He could feel Cersei step forward but he couldn't meet her gaze. He couldn't.

He turned and ran, fast as a deer in the snow.

***

<Gendry?>

Hit on the door. He hugged a pillow to his chest. He had cried. Then he had slept. He woke up and cried some more.

You look like him.

<Gendry? I haven't seen you all day. Did something happen?>

Tommen looked worried sick. <Are you mad? You don't have to talk to me, just tell me everything's okay. Was it my mother?>

The last thing he wanted to do was think about Cersei.

<Gendry, please.> Tommen was crying. Gendry could hear his voice cracking. <You missed dinner and breakfast. At least eat something. I can call a maester if you want.>

He wasn't hungry, actually. All he wanted to do was cry.

"King's Blood", she had called him. "Was it worth anything, Melisandre?" he wanted to ask the woman.

He thought back to Davos. And like a bolt of lightning, the thought of Arya struck him.

There was only one good thing about Robert, and that was Ned Stark.

He wondered what Arya's father thought about that. If he felt that the responsibility of being a moral compass was a burden or a gift. If he loved Robert like a brother in return.

<Okay. I guess I'll stop by... later. I love you. And, well... see you later.>

Gendry was on his feet and he didn't know how. It had been a reaction to Tommen before it had been to his words. Something in him screamed like a wounded animal. He opened the door. He felt the mask of politeness shatter.

<Our father was a prick, wasn't he?>

Something flashed in Tommen's eyes. For a moment, he remembered that the boy who loved flowers and books had been the King. He had ruled all Seven Kingdoms, spent his life drinking tea with the most powerful and noble people in the world.

Tommen's arms tightened around Gendry's waist. <Mother said: "Lions don't fear deer".>

The grip was gentle.
<I'm not a lion, Tommen.>

He nodded. And squeezed a little more.

Tea with nobles and heroes but none of them were Tommen's brothers. None of them knew that Tommen wanted a cat or that he could weave flower crowns. None of them had seen that boy cry with joy the first time he hit a target.

Gendry felt a tear roll down his cheek. <I love you too, okay?>

Chapter Text

It's dangerous being free, but most come to like the taste o' it.

Ygritte

***

Jon (I)

What happened was Jon had to hang a boy and he hated it.

What happened before was just a series of stabs, pain and death.

Robb was dead. Arya, probably. Most likely Rickon and Bran too. Catelyn was dead. And his father Ned too. But no, of course he couldn't stay dead. Of course the Lord of Light had plans for him.

Was it absurd to say he was tired? That he wanted to go home?

Yes, he had left Edd in charge. Yes, he was determined to go south and look for Sansa, wherever she was. Arya, if she was still alive. And return to his family, while he still had one. He was dead to the Watch. He was done.

Davos was determined to go with him to look for Shireen. Malisandre had said she was in the hands of the Lannisters, the Lannisters who had killed his father and whose banners adorned the towers of Winterfell. <He was with Jaime Lannister, a young knight, and a blonde woman in armor.>

To make matters worse, Tyrion Lannister, whom his sister Sansa had been forced to marry, was King. And Sansa herself was missing.

He had given Satin a long hug goodbye, written to Sam, and was taking a last look at his room when Dolorous Edd came up to him, almost running. It wasn't like him.
<It's from King Tyrion Lannister,> he said. <For the Lord Commander.>

<You are the Lord Commander. Whatever he wants->

<Read it,> he said, tossing it into his hand. <At once.>

To the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch,

You are hereby informed that the war commonly known as the War of the Five Kings is over. Stannis Baratheon is dead, Roose Bolton is without allies, Ramsay Snow is dead.

Ramsay was... dead? The war over? Well, he could rejoice in the first news, even if he had heard the second too many times to believe it.

News has reached us of the passing of the former Lord Commander Jon Snow, the Queen's brother. Lady Sansa and I will travel to the Wall to assess the threat of the White Walkers and bid him farewell.

It occurred to him that he had once liked Tyrion. More than any other Lannister. Tyrion had helped him. He might have understood the threat of the White Walkers. And Sansa... Sansa thought he was dead. She had to be destroyed. She had no one left.

Theon Greyjoy, heir to the Iron Islands, and Shireen Baratheon, only daughter of Stannis Baratheon are with us at Winterfell.

"No one? No one except that traitor," Jon corrected himself. All affection for Tyrion vanished. How could he force Sansa to travel with... him?

He took a deep breath. He must not be hasty.

Please arrange for the royal family, Lady Baratheon and Lord Greyjoy, and space for their entourage (about 40 people).

He could have had a manure pile prepared for "Lord Greyjoy", at most.

<Advise Davos that they are bringing Shireen here.>

By order of Tyrion Lannister, First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, husband of Sansa Lannister née Stark, Warden of the North.

He stared at the letter for a long time, wondering what the right thing to do was.

"Sansa Lannister."

***

Finally, he and Davos took horses. He had to deal with Theon now, before he fell back under the jurisdiction of the Night's Watch. And he wanted to see Sansa again.

They left the next morning. And they rode, with little rest, for a week before they found them.

Jon saw her from afar. Sansa. She was walking beside her... husband, Tyrion, while the entire retinue seemed to be walking at a crawl. Theon was with her, holding a baby who couldn't have been more than a few weeks old. Beside him, a tall, blond woman in armor. He assumed she was the one Melisandre had spoken of.

<Shireen,> Davos said. He could see the wrinkles on her forehead relax with relief.

<Do you see her?>

<Behind the royal carriage, speaking to the young knight.>

For a moment, neither of them moved. Tyrion said something and Sansa smiled. She had her arm on Theon's shoulder.

<I don't understand> Jon muttered. <He betrayed Robb.>

Davos slapped him hard on the back. <Don't you dare run away, Jon Snow. Go to her. You don't know what happened to her but she's your sister. She deserves the benefit of the doubt, don't you think?>

***

They walked down the hill, careful not to run on the steep terrain. The blonde woman saw them first. And immediately warned the others.

He could see the royal retinue hesitating, Tyrion motioning to stop and let them get closer. He looked... genuinely happy. He probably thought he was dead too.

Before he could finish the thought, Sansa lunged towards them. Jon dismounted, took a step forward and was running.

Sansa, the one who called him "stepbrother". Sansa, who had made him an older brother. Sansa, the perfect Lady who now ran through the grass, not caring if she stained her skirt.

He saw the bruises under her dress, felt her too thin against his skin. <Jon. Jon, thank the gods. They told us you were dead.>
Then Sansa had started to cry. And he had held her and promised her everything would be okay.

***

<So, repeating: you confirm that Bran and Rickon are alive but you don't know where they are and therefore it doesn't even mean that they are truly alive.>

<More or less> Tyrion confirmed.

<They have two direwolves> Theon said softly. They were sitting on the grass, on a blanket. Theon had his knees to his chest and Sansa was leaning almost entirely against him, except for her hand, still clasped in Jon's. Tyrion, however, had the baby.

<Our son> Sansa had said. And Jon had done what any older brother would do and drawn his sword. <He forced you to->

<No!> Sansa had covered her husband with her body. <Jon, I swear, Tyrion has never disrespected me. Please.>

Jon had put away his sword. And he was looking at him, that tiny thing that was Sansa's. His nephew.
<He's beautiful.>

<You said that three times> Sansa said. She seemed to find his inability to look away from the baby amusing.

<I’ll say it a fourth time,> Tyrion said. <He’s beautiful.>

Even though Jon hadn’t imagined it, it was obvious that Tyrion was a good father. He seemed devoted to his son like few mothers. When he got upset, he would get up and walk with the baby to calm him.

<You must rest, my lady,> said the woman who had introduced herself as “Brienne of Tarth, sworn sword of Lady Sansa.”

<They’ve had a rough few months, she and Theon,> Tyrion said, which was an understatement for what he could see on both of their skin.

He nodded. The baby gurgled in his direction, and Jon found himself smiling at him. Sansa moved a hand to smooth the baby’s hair, and he saw a large bruise covering half of her wrist.

<You’re absolutely sure you killed him, right? Because I want to kill him, the bastard.>

<He's dead,> Theon said. His voice was still faint and he barely seemed to believe it himself.

<He is,> Sansa agreed. <By the way, Jon, I think it's your turn. What's going on at Castle Black?>

***

<You're dead,> Tyrion repeated. He sounded pissed.

<Don't say it like it was my choice.>

<Only a Stark could, really,> he muttered.

<I'm a Snow->

He rolled his eyes. <Give me time to get a pen and paper and we'll fix this. I'm the King of the Seven Kingdoms.>

Jon swayed. Sansa turned to Tyrion, then smiled. <I could do that, if you'd rather.>

<You want->

<I was horrible to you,> Sansa said, putting her hand on his. <You deserved better. I'll do better.>

Jon hugged her again. It was what he'd always wanted, but it wasn't worth it. Not when Sansa looked this fragile. He kissed her forehead, hoping she'd understand that he'd forgiven her ages ago. And he remained a Snow.
<It's about what I've accomplished. Who I am,> he explained. She told him he was her brother and she loved him.

***

When they rejoined the others, Davos had his arm around Shireen. <Lady Shireen and I have spoken of this. I would swear fealty to you, Your Grace. As long as I remain in Lady Baratheon’s service.>

<She must renounce her claim to the throne.>

Shireen nodded. <I will. In writing, so that all who are loyal to the Baratheons understand to lay down their weapons.>

<You will come to stay at the Red Keep until you come of age. Then I will decide whether to return Dragonstone to you,> Tyrion told her. Then, in a gentler voice, <Your cousin Tommen is there. You can study with him. You will not be alone.>

***

They had stopped at a small inn. Sansa and Tyrion had retired upstairs to put the still-unnamed baby to sleep.

Lady Brienne had gone off with Shireen. <Women's things,> they had said. Davos had taken the opportunity to go and have a quiet glass of wine.

<I will go, my lords,> Ser Podrick said. <With your permission.>

So that left the two of them. Theon and Jon. And a space exactly the size of a person between them.

Neither spoke, but it was obvious what they were thinking.

"Robb."

***

In the morning, he found Brienne with the baby in the kitchen. Theon was at the stove.
<Lord Jon, good morning.>

<Good morning, Lady Brienne.>

The baby made a whimpering sound and Theon moved toward him.
Unlike the day before, Jon stopped to look at him. He had dark circles under his eyes and far too many new scars. Much of his hair had gone gray before its time. <Change.>

He and Brienne switched, and Theon began to rock the baby while she scrambled eggs.

<Are you good with children?>

<None of us are good, except Tyrion. In fact, he holds him most of the time. Sansa sings, sometimes, but only sad songs. Luckily he seems to like them.>

<Probably His Grace's fault,> Brienne added. She had brought out some plates.

Theon seemed to agree. For a moment, Jon saw the hateful boy he had been. His brother's best friend. <You have to sing something and your first thought is "The Rains of Castamere". Only a Lannister...>

At the word "Lannister", the baby boy waved his hands.
<He's learning,> Jon said, surprised. Tully eyes, Northern hair, and a lion's last name.

Theon hesitated. He could hear the fear in his voice. <He does.>

Brienne set the plates on the table. The eggs smelled great. <You two must clear this up before Jaime enters the scene, or it will be a disaster, my Lords.>

Jon looked at her, surprised by the boldness of the comment.

<I think Lady Sansa would appreciate it.>

***

Tyrion rode alongside him on a white horse.
<King Tyrion, Lord Commander Snow. It’s a strange world.>

The memory of the blades piercing his skin made him raise a hand to his chest. <I’m no longer Lord Commander.>

Tyrion grimaced. <But?>

Jon thought about it. <I have a nephew. And he’s your son. It’s a strange world.>
And again: <I’ve done some terrible things. I feel like I should do better.>

<I killed my father and got a crown.>

<I should do better anyway.>

Tyrion sighed. <Make up with Theon. His expression at the mention of Robb Stark is as devastated as yours.>

He refrained from snapping at him. <Do you and Brienne have an agreement or something?>

<Always, especially if it's about making fun of Jamie.>

Jon could have said something bad about Jamie Lannister. But he didn't. Instead, he tried to remember happier times, when he and Tyrion were just two bastards, one by birth and one by looks. When the world had been at peace. They were friends then.

<You want to talk about your father?>

Tyrion just shook his head. Instead, he told him about King's Landing, about Myrcella, Tommen and Gendry. Also about Margaery and Loras, then made jokes about Brienne and Jamie, who were "almost as obvious as Loras and Renly in the old days".

Jon laughed. And wondered how long it had been since the last time.

***

They were near the Last Hearth when a group bearing the Umber banner approached.

<We have a gift for you, Your Grace.>

Tyrion followed with ten guards and Brienne in tow.

Jon moved closer to Sansa and they waited.

***

Podrick walked away, saying he had to investigate. He returned shortly, his face dark. <I think the King may be in trouble.>

<Why?> Sansa asked anxiously. She had put a hand in the baby's hair protectively.

<The Umbers were allies of the Boltons. Varys sent a raven to Castle Black for the King and one to all the nearby castles.>

<Jon> Sansa pleaded. He didn't even let her finish her sentence.
<Come, Ser Podrick. Let's save the King.>

***

The King was doing well. Brienne was terrifying and unstoppable.

Jon joined the soldiers anyway, throwing a man from his horse and riding alongside Tyrion. <The Umbers are with the Boltons.>

<Thanks, I guessed that, Snow.>

He no longer saw Podrick. And there were only a few Umber soldiers left. He swung Longclaw and lunged forward.

He found himself back to back with Brienne. <You fight well, my lady.>

<Thank you, Lord Snow.> She made an arc and rolled the head of one of the last remaining soldiers away. <You too.>

"I'd like you to meet my little sister," he thought. And didn't say it.

***

When they entered, Lord Bolton and Lord Umber were tied up and unconscious. Podrick, who was guarding both of them, breathed a sigh of relief as they entered.

<Where is Theon?> Jon asked.

Podrick pointed sadly to a dark corner, where Theon had wrapped his arms around his chest and was shaking.

<What's going on?> Tyrion had asked in a low voice.

Theon barely looked up. <Rickon Stark is alive.>

***

It had been years since Jon had seen Rickon. Tyrion almost ordered him to go.

<I'll take care of Theon,> he promised softly. <I'll take care of Bolton.>

He saw Brienne unsheath her blade. Jon left them behind him and began to climb the stairs.

***

There was a dead woman, a direwolf with a blood-red mouth, a dismembered man in armor.
And no Rickon.

The wolf advanced, and Jon could barely recognize Shaggydog. He was large, and he snarled. Jon whistled, suddenly needing Ghost at his side.

He still couldn't see Rickon.

He noticed that the wolf was wrapped protectively around the woman's body.
Realizing that the direwolf didn't recognize him, he stepped forward and held out his palms. <I'm Jon. Jon Snow. Ned Stark was my father. Rickon is my brother. And you are Ghost's brother. Do you remember him? Ghost?>

He heard a rustling sound, like metal against fabric. And found the blade of a dagger pressing into his back. A high-pitched voice said something in a language Jon barely knew.

He understood only snatches. Brother, home.

<Rickon?> he asked.

<Are you...> The voice sounded like a foreigner's; it had the wrong cadence. <Are you Jon?>

<Yes. Rickon, lower your dagger.>

<Lannister banners.> He had said the last word like a snarl. He added something in the Free Folk tongue. It sounded like an insult even though Jon didn't know the words.

<Sansa... do you remember Sansa?>

A murmur. He knew that word. Yes.

<She married a Lannister. Tyrion. They forced her but he's... kind to her. They have a son and they're happy, or trying to. And the people who killed our father and Robb are dead, or imprisoned, or will be dead soon. Because believe me, Rickon, the Starks aren't done with the Freys. But we can't kill anyone with Lannister blood. Our nephew is a Lannister, too. Sansa's son.>

He felt the rustling and the pressure on his back disappear. He turned but Rickon was gone too.

<Jon?>

Next to the wolf, a curly-haired boy knelt beside the dead woman. His hand was in Shaggydog's fur and he was moving in circles. He couldn't see his face, only his head turned toward the body.

<Who is she?>

<Osha.> Then he said something in the other language. The Old Tongue, one of the languages ​​spoken by the Free Folk. The tongue of Osha.
Mother.

Jon thought that was cruel. The brother without a mother and the brother who had to bury two.

<I'm so sorry, Rickon. I'm sorry.>

He said something else.

<I'm sorry. I don't understand. I don't speak it much.>

The wolf growled as if it had smelled his intention to come closer. Ghost, Jon thought, was taking his time.

<Easy, Shaggydog.> Rickon held out a hand and the direwolf licked it. <I said I’ll live. That’s the least I can do.>

Jon started to smile and he looked at him as if he were a danger, a stranger, yet another enemy.
He was a child but there was something too adult in his gaze.
<If you’re my brother, then you don’t have to worry. I’ll stick around. Bury Osha and move on. I won’t be far away.>

Chapter Text

Children are a battle of a different sort. A battle without banners or warhorns, but no less fierce. Carrying a child, bringing it into the world... your mother will have told you of the pain... As hard as birth can be, Brienne, what comes after is even harder.

Catelyn Stark

***

Sansa (I)

Sansa Stark of Winterfell, Sansa Lannister of Casterly Rock, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, Sansa the Vanished, the Red Wolf. The Warden of the North. She often wondered what she had become.

For the first few weeks, she had shared a room with Theon and only him. Tyrion had made sure it happened without being noticed. And he had cared for the baby while she screamed and cried and Ramsay Snow continued to hold her in phantom fingers.

"I killed him," she repeated to herself.
<I killed him, he's dead,> she said to Theon. He told her it was true, kissed her hair - as Robb would have done - and then clasped their shaking hands.

Thinking about Robb hurt them all. Her, Theon, Jon. Yet she could read it in their eyes, in the places they unconsciously left free, in the spaces between their horses. Robb, Robb, Robb. How would they live in a world without him?

Jon had returned with Shaggydog in tow and a dead woman in his arms. And he had said that Rickon was "around there somewhere."

<I saw him,> he swore to her. <But he's more Rickon than Lord Stark. We're his family but we have to get him back. You have to give him time. You need it too.>

They buried Osha. Tyrion gave her the royal blessing. He was kind, as always. Tyrion Lannister, who was always kind, always drunk, always scathing.

At the Wall, they also executed Smalljon Umber. Unlike Bolton, who they had buried quickly, they had a funeral for him, to appease House Umber. Tyrion had a full week, and he and Jon went in and out of the Gift to settle matters with the Wildlings.

Everyone kept asking the baby's name.
And she couldn't do it.

She had once thought she would name her children after heroes in songs. Like Florian.

"Life is not a song, sweetling," Petyr Baelish's voice whispered in her head. "You may learn that one day to your sorrow."

She had even thought about calling him Eddard, or Robb, or Bran. All three names were stabs. She didn't want to hear "Ned Lannister" or "Robb Lannister" as long as she lived. Even though it was Tyrion's last name, and even though Tyrion was perhaps one of three men in the world she trusted.

Besides, she couldn't call him Robb. That would kill Theon. She didn't think anyone could grieve for her brother more than she or Jon, except that Theon seemed to be dead. Dead, broken, burned to ashes. Sansa still had Jon, Theon, and Tyrion. And the baby. She had had a father and mother who loved her. She had found another brother, even if she hadn't seen him yet.

Theon's father was trash. He had lived like a hostage in Winterfell. Robb was Theon's only person.
"It's his fault he lost him," a voice told her.
Sansa couldn't blame him.

When they left Winterfell, she found him standing in front of Robb's room, staring at it as if it were on fire.
<I loved him,> he told her. <I love him.>

She hadn't said "me too". She felt they were talking about different things. But she didn't name her son Robb out of kindness to them both.

Calling him Bran seemed like an ill omen. She had to believe her brother was alive and well.

If it had been a girl, she would have wanted to name her Catelyn. Somehow, that name was less painful than Eddard. But she had given birth to a prince (a bastard).

She would have to talk to Jon about the true birth of the child. What held her back was her brother's possible reaction and the idea of ​​Catelyn Stark's ghost. Tyrion would raise that child as his own and love him, it was so painfully obvious and Sansa couldn't give Jon tangible proof of how he could be loved. She didn't want to choose between the brother she had just reunited with and the mother she had buried.

For the same reasons, she didn't name him Jon.

<Still thinking about the name, my lady?> Tyrion held out his arms and Sansa handed him the baby. As Tyrion sat up and the baby reached out to him, she took a moment to massage her aching arms.

<Every choice feels wrong.>

Tyrion nodded, noticing something on her face. <Go and rest. You’ve been watching the baby all day.>

<No, he was with Theon most of the morning. Jon took him for a walk after lunch. And now he’s with you. I should show up, everyone thinks I’m some kind of ghost. And I’m fine.>

<The maester told you to rest.>

<I’m fine,> she insisted. <That’s ridiculous. He’s almost a month and a half old and I haven’t been able to name him.>

Tyrion sighed. <You’ve been busy, my lady. With little things like not dying, finding two of your brothers, the Boltons, the Umbers, the White Walkers. And don’t think I don’t know you wrote to Margaery about Baelish. You’re doing a lot. The right name will come.>

Sansa felt the emotion rising. <Tyrion...>

<I hope this isn't a name suggestion.>

She couldn't help it. It was just something about Tyrion, the way he spoke. She laughed. <Was it necessary?>

He shrugged.
She walked over to him, sitting down next to him. She reached out and the baby squeezed her finger.

Every day she was surprised at how perfect he was.

<I can't choose badly. He deserves something beautiful, with meaning. Something happy. I want to have a good story for him when he asks me about his name.>

<In that sense,> Tyrion admitted, <I'm glad you didn't name him after your father. You could have, of course, but it would have been painful when he came to ask me about the grandfather with whom he shared the name.>

<Would he ask you?> Sansa asked amused, ignoring the deeper, more painful meaning behind what Tyrion had said.

<Brienne says Jamie told her I'm his favorite parent.>

She leaned down to the boy, lightly tickling his tummy. <Traitor,> she murmured.

She wouldn't have minded if he had preferred Tyrion, she mused. She wouldn't have minded if, as he grew up, he went to him, calling him "dad" and asking for help with his studies.

Their baby.

<Tyrion,> she said, suddenly inspired, <what would you call him?>

He blinked. <I? I don't have many happy names to suggest. Certainly not after his grandfather.>

<I wouldn't name my son Tywin even if I was threatened with death,> Sansa agreed.

He smiled. <Well, I haven't felt enough love for any of my family to want to pass on their name. Except Jamie, of course. But I wouldn't stand another Jamie Lannister. He'd hold it against me until the end of time or something.>

<No, not Jamie,> Sansa agreed. <Even though it's your best suggestion so far.>

Tyrion looked away for a moment, and Sansa knew that look well enough by now to know when he was thinking.

<Maybe I've found a solution,> he told her.

***

Jon entered looking his most confused.

<You summoned me?>

Tyrion, still holding the baby, nodded.
<We have the name!> Sansa said. <We wanted to tell you before anyone else. You and Theon, actually. He's the godfather, he should know.>

<You promised me tears, Sansa,> Theon said, sitting a few feet away by the fireplace. He had been cold ever since they'd run away. She felt it too, as if her bones were dead and cold.

She shook the thought away. <Yeah, well, if I can make Jon cry, you won't be arguing about the godfather thing anymore. Especially since we just decided that Jon will be the other godfather.>

<You- what?> Jon looked emotional enough already. Sansa knew it would be an easy win.

Tyrion shrugged. <Nothing against Theon here, but I prefer someone vaguely responsible on the godfather list. And it was between you, Jamie, and Podrick.>

<I beat Podrick?>

Tyrion shrugged. <He's young.>

<So do I,> Jon protested vaguely, though Sansa knew her brother was an old soul. Behind her, she thought she heard a rustling.

<It doesn't matter. Do you want to know the name or not?>

Jon sighed. <Not "Jon", I hope?>

<Jon Lannister?> Tyrion waved a hand. <Nah.>

He gave her an amused look and looked back at Jon. <Jolyon Lannister,> he said.

There was confusion on Jon's face. <It's... Well, it's very nice but why->

<Sansa> Tyrion called. <Explain.>

She took a seat across from her brother and next to Tyrion. She ran a hand through the baby’s dark hair as she spoke.

<I was kind of desperate with the name. I had considered... naming him after dad but it didn't seem right. I also thought of Florian, like in the song I loved but it just didn’t work. So I asked Tyrion. And he said something about how the only person in his family whose name he wanted passed down was his brother Jamie.>

Jon nodded. He didn’t like Jamie Lannister but he was Tyrion’s brother. And Sansa hadn’t told him about what had happened to Bran yet.

There were a lot of things she didn’t talk about. Her poor appetite, the pain, her near inability to breastfeed the baby... Sansa was full of secrets. Jon, though, was still her brother, even if he didn’t know her anymore.

<Of course, we wouldn’t have named him Jamie,> Tyrion said.

<No, we wouldn’t have. But Tyrion thought about it and said something curious. Tyrion and I both have brothers we love> he said studying Jon's face. <And they both have names starting with J.>

Jon gasped. He looked from her, to Tyrion, to the baby. And he put a hand to his face.

<I told you he would cry,> Sansa said to Theon.

<I’m not crying,> Jon muttered, his voice thin. He ran a hand over his face. <I just, I mean… I love you too, little sister. So much.>

Sansa laughed and wrapped her arms around Jon’s chest. He hugged her back and buried his face in her shoulder. Sansa could feel her dress becoming damp.
Jon was shaking in her arms. Sansa felt a little unsteady, too. The name made him real, she supposed. This was her father’s first grandson, this was Robb’s first nephew. Jolyon was Stark blood and was born in Winterfell. Now that he had a name, he seemed more like a miracle, more like a real life, born and growing and breathing. One day that boy would talk, run, probably learn to use a sword. He would call her “mom.” He was real.

<Jon is crying> Tyrion confirmed. <Do you want to hold your nephew, Jon?>

Her brother looked up slightly and let her go slowly.

Then he quickly wrapped Tyrion and the baby in his arms. He scooped him up and rocked him lightly. <I’m going for a walk with my godson. See you later.>

They watched him leave. Tyrion touched his arms, confused. <Did he hug me?>

Sansa watched him wipe his eyes and look at the dampness on his sleeve as if he couldn’t explain it.

Theon was laughing. It was the first time in so long, and Sansa could almost see Robb’s ghost laughing beside him. <He also stole your baby.>

***

To Lady Margaery Tyrell, Hand of the King, and to the Small Council,

We are pleased to announce that Prince Jolyon Lannister of the houses Lannister and Stark has been born and is healthy. The celebratory banquet will be held two weeks after our return to the capital.

Tyrion, First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Sansa Lannister nee Stark, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Warden of the North

***

<Isn't Rickon the Warden of the North now?> Ser Davos asked.

Sansa shrugged. <He's young,> she said, her eyes following Shaggydog and Ghost as they played in the snow. <And elusive.>

<You'll meet him,> Jon said. <I saw him this morning, warmed him some milk.>

Sansa found the whole situation absurd. Rickon's meals were disappearing, his pillow was found in a different part of the castle every morning. And only Jon seemed to meet him.

<I'd like to introduce him to his nephew,> she said. She was trying not to make too much of her little brother's absence. <I don't know why he won't see me.>

<I think,> Jon said, following her gaze, <it has something to do with your mother.>

***

Tyrion,

Strange choice of name that I won't pretend to understand. Congratulations to  you both and everything. I was supposed to meet you halfway to Dorne but I think we'll have to take a detour: the Iron Islands are electing a new King. I need Theon.

Yours,

Jamie

***

<I'll go with him,> Sansa said quickly.

<No,> Theon protested. <You need to rest. And you have a son. And you're Queen. This problem is my business.>

<Becoming king is a problem?> Tyrion asked.

<I won't be king,> he said. <Yara should be queen. I'll support her. And I'll convince her to kneel and help us with the White Walker problem.>

Jon looked impressed. Sansa could tell; she hadn't seen Theon so sure in ages. <Are you sure?>

Theo nodded. <I have to do it. I have to.>

***

<You will join us in Dorne,> Tyrion said as he handed him a scroll and a couple of letters for Jamie. He handed him another envelope, more finely crafted. <For Yara.>

Theon nodded. <I'll do my best.>

Sansa hugged him. Their hands were both cold, her fingertips running over the jagged edges of scars similar to hers. <I know. I will miss you like air.>

She saw his eyes become teary. <You are the worst,> he murmured before holding her. He did it slowly, as if she (or he) might shatter.

Letting go was like cutting off an arm. The thought of not having him by her side tonight took her breath away. All she thought about was Ramsay. But Ramsay was dead, and Theon had to go.

He approached Jon, hesitantly. His brother sighed and handed him Jolyon. Theon held it for a moment before handing it back and stepping back.

He was about to mount when Jon spoke. <Greyjoy?>

<Snow?>

<Robb would want you to live. Don't disappoint him again.>

***

Sansa walked Theon out the door, then through the gate.

<We'll say goodbye here. Stay safe,> she said. Somehow, she had managed not to cry.

He nodded. <You too->

<I think it's my turn, you've said goodbye enough!>

She almost screamed. Sansa and Theon turned as one body toward... snow. Just snow and trees.

<Here,> the voice repeated from the trees. Then, almost in annoyance, <Wow, you guys are terrible at this. The North will kill you.>

She saw something—someone—swing from a branch and then drop to a comfortable crouch in the snow. He got back to his feet and ran a hand over the fur coat he was wearing. His hair was braided with twigs, berries, and flowers.

Eyes identical to hers and reddish hair. He couldn't have been more than ten years old.

<Rickon Stark> Theon whispered.

<Oh, don't say it in that way> and he said something in another language. <It's not like you killed me or anything.>

<Rickon> Sansa called him. He... <You're alive.>

<Yes> the boy said annoyed. <Jon told you ages ago. And Theon too.>

She gasped. <I know but... seeing you is different.>

<You're a terrible observer> he replied as he took a couple of steps closer. <Otherwise we'd see each other every day.>
He looked at Theon. <And you? Nothing to say?>

<I'm... I'm so sorry->

<Ugh> Rickon leaned against a tree trunk, pressed down and was on a branch in an instant. <Yes, I know. Super-sorry. You're a> another incomprehensible word <and I should kill you. But Sansa forgave you so you're on probation. Don't die in horrible ways so I can decide if I want to kill you.>

Theon blinked. <Sansa hasn't forgiven me.>
He didn't seem at all concerned by the death threat. Not that it was a surprise.

Rickon stood on the branch.

<Be careful->

<You're not Osha, leave me alone> he hushed her with a hint of anger. <And I never fell, unlike Bran. And tell the Greyjoy idiot that you forgave him.>

<I didn't->

<You did.> He looked at her and for a moment, for no apparent reason, he reminded her of their father. Calm and immovable as a rock. Then the wild side that made him seem part of the forest itself resurfaced and he climbed a little higher. <You just don't want to admit it. But you can. You don't owe me anything, Sansa. You don't know me. I don't know you either.>

Theon looked from one to the other. His voice shook. <I... won't die.>

Rickon nodded. <Good.>
He leapt again and landed next to them. He didn't even reach the height of her breasts. So young and with such a ferocious light in his eyes. <You owe me, Greyjoy.>

<I would like to meet you,> Sansa tried to tell him. Despite the threats and acrobatics and unknown languages, the boy had her eyes.

He looked at her as if surprised. <Okay. I'll show myself, since you can't find me.>

He looked at Theon again. He didn't meet his gaze.

<Look at me,> Rickon said.

Theon only did so for a few seconds before shaking his head.

<I don't like torturing injured animals. We'll talk when you get back. Get out of my way, Greyjoy. Do better with your sister. Because you've been a terrible big brother to us.>

Then he looked at Sansa. And he must have read something in her face because he reached out to her as if she were a wounded kitten. <Let's go back inside. Weren't you supposed to introduce me to my nephew?>

Chapter Text

My name is Arya Stark. I want you to know that. The last thing you're ever going to see is a Stark, smiling down at you, as you die.

Arya Stark

***

Margaery (II)

<Has she... stopped?>

Varys nodded. <Yes, my lady. Any movement of Lady Cersei, visits from still-loyal nobles, etc... has stopped.>

Margaery Tyrell paced the room, thinking. <And why, pray tell, would Cersei Lannister, the most ambitious and unscrupulous woman in Westeros, choose to limit herself?>

<I have no idea, my lady, nor can I read her mind to find out.>

Margaery clutched a goose feather in her hands. <I had plans to thwart her.>

<I know,> Varys said.

<They wouldn't have worked. She's unstoppable.>

<It's likely, my lady.>

<So...?>

The Spider motioned her to the window. Lady Cersei and Tommen were praying together in the courtyard. Gendry joined them, and a maid brought them tea.

<Gendry?>

<She seems to tolerate the boy now. Perhaps Prince Tommen has worn her down. He certainly adores his half-brother.>

Margaery sighed. "Who are you, Gendry Waters, to appease Cersei Lannister? Kings, lords, and knights have failed."

***

She went to Tommen that night, just before dinner. She found him bent over an essay. <My prince? May I come in?>

<Lady Margaery!> He stood up and kissed her hand perfectly. Even in his room, even intent on his studies, Tommen Baratheon was perfect, flawless, a prince of songs. It was innate in him, as in Sansa Stark. Margaery found it almost annoying: she had studied everything about her appearance, had learned to sharpen her character like a blade, had studied to achieve that perfection.
Sansa and Tommen, on the other hand, seemed born for royalty.

<I wanted to talk to you about your mother... and Gendry.>

<Yes, the plan worked> Tommen said with a faint smile.

<The plan?>

She saw him shrug. <I call it the "Gendry Effect". Anyone who knows him ends up loving him.>

<I don't think->

<You know him. Do you like him?>

Margaery rolled her eyes. <Of course, but->

<I know him and I like him. Uncle Tyrion knows him and he likes him. Everyone likes Gendry. That's just the way he is.>

<You can't have been made to be liked by people,> Margaery protested. <There's always someone who doesn't like you.>

<Name me one person. One.>

Margaery thought about it. And she left the prince's chamber burning with defeat.

***

Your Grace,

My congratulations on the birth of the little prince. Loras is escorting Baelish to Dorne for the trial, where I hope you will join them to judge.

Also, the pressing problem called Cersei Lannister seems to have subsided. I am not sure that the threat is gone and I will remain alert.
As to why Lady Cersei might step back, I can think of nothing. Perhaps you will smile that your nephew Tommen has declared it to be the "Gendry Effect."

I hope the Queen and little Jolyon are well and that I can meet them soon. Send my love to the Queen and remind her that if she needs a break, Highgarden will always welcome her.

Yours,

Margaery Tyrell, Hand of the King

***

Margaery,

We have finally left the Wall behind us. It has been heartbreaking to part with Jon again, even though it had to happen. Theon Greyjoy and Jaime Lannister have left the port and should be arriving in Pyke soon.

I confess that, sadly, I cannot nurse Jolyon as much as I would like. The maester says that the shortage of milk is due to my months of captivity and has advised me to eat more. Some days, the smell of food nauseates me and I can barely eat. Other days, I almost feel like the Sansa I once was.

You are the only one I can talk to about this. There are few women in my life and the one next to me seems so devoted to the sword that it would almost be an insult to ask her about motherly matters. These days, I miss my mother so much it hurts.

I have spoken to my brother Rickon. He is a stranger, I understand. He even speaks a language that is not my own. I wonder if it is a crime to take him with me to Dorne and King's Landing, away from the forests. But I cannot leave him here: Jon has a war to fight and Winterfell to rule in my name.

Ser Davos has promised to return in time for the coming battle but will personally escort Shireen to King's Landing. If all goes well, we will meet Ser Jaime and Theon at Lannisport, where we will find ships to Dorne ready.

Tyrion thinks Tommen could be a useful witness. Myrcella, on the other hand, was not there. I am afraid, however, to gather the entire royal family in Sunspear. What do you think?

I love the North but I admit I miss the color of the grass.

I hope you are well.
With love,

Sansa

***

Margaery stood and glared at her father. <If I may have your attention... it's Baelish.>

<The sooner we kill him, the sooner we can think about the bitch with the dragons> Bronn took a sip of wine. <What’s the problem? He was captured.>

<The trial,> Varys said. <I suppose that’s the problem.>

Margaery nodded. <Queen Sansa has expressed her concern. Prince Tommen is one of the witnesses as well as the Queen, the King is one of the judges and will also have to testify. I myself will have to be there. It’s a trial for regicide, and the royal family is not popular in Dorne.>

<You were the one who wanted the trial there,> her father said smugly.

<It was the only hope to appease the Martells, Lord Tyrell.> Varys spoke in her defense as always. Bronn was animated only by money and battles and her father was unbearable. She knew that his place on the Small Council was just a sop to avoid a new war but, if she had not been a Tyrell of Highgarden herself, she would have expelled him already.

<Prince Doran is reasonable,> Margaery said. <Ellaria Sand worries me.>

<A bastard,> Bronn said. <How much damage can she do?>

<Prince Oberyn's partner.> Varys looked tired. <And she can be deadly. She and her Sand Snakes. We must tread carefully.>

***

<Lady Tyrell?>

One of the maids handed her an envelope.

You will not send Tommen to Dorne.

She did not need to ask the sender. She sighed and went to find Tommen.

***

She found him with Gendry. For a moment, she stood there watching the scene: the two boys each had a kitten in their arms and a third was curled up on Tommen's head like a soft crown. Two were red and one was brown.

<Lady Margaery!> Tommen gave her a polite smile, as if the situation were ordinary. <According to the cook, the kittens are old enough and don't need their mother anymore. Gendry and I will each take one.>

She couldn't help but smile. Tommen was cuddling the kitten in his hands. A female. Margaery noticed that she was identical to the one on her head except for the four white paws. Also, that had to be a male.
Gendry's brown one was also a female and was licking the boy's hand. Gendry looked surprised, as if he was trying to figure out how the kitten had gotten there.

<They're adorable> she admitted. <But, my prince, there are details about Baelish's trial that might require->

<Are you saying I'm going to Dorne? To Mycella? I could bring her the third kitten. The others are dead and these three are the last ones left.>

Tommen looked like... a child, told he could go visit his sister. She held back a resigned sigh.
<Your mother disapproves,> she said.

He shrugged. <Maybe Gendry can convince her. I don't need her permission, though, do I?>

Gendry rolled his eyes. And Margaery wondered again what had happened with Cersei. He seemed more focused on the kitten than terrified at the thought of having an entire conversation with the former Queen Mother.

<No, just the King's. And you have that. But that could be dangerous. Your mother, on this occasion, is not entirely wrong.>

She looked like a mother herself, damn it. She had been married to that child. Why was she the adult now?

Tommen put his new friend down and crouched down beside her. <Then bring Gendry. He'll defend me.>

<I'm not a warrior,> he protested. Then he seemed to think better of it. <But I'll accompany you anyway, you'll end up in a ditch.>

<Rude,> Tommen muttered.

Margaery looked from one to the other. And she was convinced that Dorne was the only option.

***

To Margaery Tyrell, Hand of the King,

Pyke is no longer your business. I will accompany my brother to Lannisport and swear fealty to the King and Queen, after which I will return to rule the Iron Islands as their Lady.

Yara Greyjoy, Queen of the Salt Throne, Lady of the Iron Islands

P.S. I used Jaime Lannister's sword to cut off my uncle Euron's head. In case you were wondering.

***

Leaving the city to Bronn and Varys worried her a great deal. Especially leaving the Spider as the King's Hand in her absence. Her only consolation was news from Ser Davos, who was escorting Lady Shireen overland and was almost there.

She and the prince arrived first in Lannisport, a day earlier than agreed. Tommen clutched the cage with the only kitten in the litter. He and Gendry had left their two new cubs at home, and it was clear that the boy was already missing his cat, Meleys.

The rooms had been arranged for them inside the ship, not in Casterly Rock, as was traditional, to save time. The threat of dragons (and White Walkers, according to the King) was looming, and time was precious. Lord Kevan said that was what happened when a woman was in charge: only drama.

She and Tommen each had their own cabin. The King and Queen shared another. She was asked how she wanted to accommodate the rest of the party. She arranged a single room for Rickon Stark, assuming no one would want to share a room with a direwolf. The last single room was for Lady Brienne, she couldn't put an unmarried lady in a room with a man. She paired the Kingsguard and soldiers in rooms with camp beds. There was a double that she assumed would have room for Ser Jaime, the King's brother.

<Gendry, can I put you in Jaime Lannister's room?>

<Um->

<Great, you're with him.>

***

Her main problem was Theon Greyjoy. She could have thrown him into one of the servants' cabins, set aside for the occasion, but she knew the Queen preferred to have him close by. She didn't know if they were lovers (in which case, good for Sansa) or something else, but she had been asked for a single room as soon as Yara Greyjoy had stepped off her ship.

Or rather, Yara had looked at her, sneered, and said, out loud, <Oh, I didn't know the King dated such beautiful women. Are you married, Lady Margery?>

Then, only after she had offered her a drink, she had said, <My brother must have a single room. Mandatory.>

She had thought of exchanging Lady Brienne for a separate servants' room, but she was Sansa's sworn sword. Shouldn't she have been with her?

Yara was very close. <So this is actually the trial for your husband's death?>

<Ex-husband,> Margery clarified. <Then I married again but it was annulled.>

<Three husbands!> Yara looked delighted. <Wonderful. And tell me, were they good to you?>

She felt her legs buckle a little as the ironwoman whispered, <I would have been good to you, Margaery.>

***

She found herself kissing Yara Greyjoy, Lady of the Iron Islands. She had asked her out for an evening drink and her hand had slid to her hip. Margaery had felt herself blush. Maybe it was the alcohol.

<I might go back to the Continent more often if all the girls are as pretty as you.>

Margaery wanted to say, "I'm not pretty. I'm perfect. I was born to be queen." But she didn't want the crown and Yara was close by, easy to get.

She didn't protest when she felt the girl's hand tugging at the laces of her dress.

***

She woke to a knock on the door.

<Lady Margaery?> It was Gendry. Why was he looking for her on Yara's ship?

<Not a boyfriend, I hope,> Yara muttered into the pillow. She had a hand on her breast. Blinking, Margaery took in Yara's room, her sheets, their naked bodies.

<Lady Margaery, the King is here. Shall I wait for you on the dock? Okay, of course, I'll wait for you on the dock.>

***

<Gendry->

<No need, m'lady.> The boy shrugged. <I'm not a spy.>

He had said something similar to her once before. She gave in under his serious gaze. <You're right. Just a simple check.>

There was a small smile on Gendry's face. <Of course, Lady Margaery.>

***

Tyrion summoned her to the captain's cabin. While he told of the journey north, Lady Sansa cradled Jolyon.

<He is beautiful, my Queen.>

The Queen glared at her. <It's Sansa, Margaery. We are friends.>

Were they? They probably were. She reached out, picked up the baby, and cradled him.

At that moment, Ser Jaime flung open the door, followed by a tired Theon Greyjoy.

They had clearly come running, judging by Theon's labored breathing.

<Sansa, read this!> Jaime placed the letter in the Queen's arms as if it were the key to happiness. It had already been opened and was headed "To Sansa Stark, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms."

<Jaime->

<Yes, Tyrion, I'm glad you're alive, my nephew is growing up well, she's the Queen and I owe her respect and everything you want. Read!>

Sansa raised an eyebrow and turned to Theon. <What's going on?>

Theon looked like someone who had just eaten his first decent meal after days of fasting. <You'll like it, Sansa. Read.>

***

Queen Sansa,

Most of the men of House Frey were poisoned at a feast at the Twins. My father Walder Frey was found dead, his throat slit and his face torn off and left there in a pool of blood.

<Is there a need for such gory details?> Margaery asked. She spoke softly so as not to frighten Jolyon.

She heard a rustling behind her and almost screamed in fright.

<Yes. Sansa, go ahead> said Rickon Stark.

My stepmother Kitty Frey, one of the few survivors (perhaps because she's a woman but more likely because she's innocent), gave only one explanation: "The North remembers and Winter has come to House Frey".

I inform you, my lady, that while I mourn my lost relatives, a part of me feels it is just compensation. No murderer, no clue. A Faceless Man has destroyed the Freys.

My Queen, Robb Stark has been avenged. The Red Wedding has been avenged.

Yours,

Olyvar Frey, Regent of Riverrun, former squire to Robb Stark

Sansa looked up. Her hands were shaking. <Who->

Jaime smiled, a dark smile. <I don't know, my Queen.>

Margaery almost felt sick. <Why should you be so happy, Lannister?>

<Because someone has given the Stark prince the greatest birth gift possible. And few people in the world use "Winter is coming" so deliberately.>

Finally, Margaery understood why Theon was glowing with ill-concealed joy. That was the work of a Stark. But Bran could not walk, Rickon was with them, Jon was at Winterfell.

<Arya,> Sansa said. And the name was like a spell: it made her smile instantly.

Chapter Text

"They hate being caged."

"You would too, if you could fly."

Sam Tarly and Jon Snow

***

Tommen (II)

He was going crazy. The journey to Dorne had started out without much of a hitch. There had been some sort of problem with the rooms that had led Brienne and Lord Rickon to share theirs, but it couldn’t have been a big deal. Lord Rickon didn’t “use rooms.” He went where he wanted. At least, that’s what Tommen had understood. He hadn’t met the other boy once.

He had seen his direwolf, though: a large, dark, scary animal. Tommen had been curious about it, but Uncle Tyrion had told him to stay away and not look for trouble. He had continued to watch it, though. He wanted to know what its fur felt like. Besides, while Myrcella’s kitten was good company, he missed Meleys.

The first day at sea had been smooth. Calm seas, favorable winds. He was looking forward to seeing his sister again, and that took some of the edge off the travel anxiety.

He had finally met Sansa Stark. Tommen remembered her from her time at the Red Keep, of course, but she had grown and changed. He didn’t know how to explain it. She seemed older, more unapproachable. Gendry had looked at her as if he were terrified.

He had bowed. He had called her <Queen Sansa>. She had smiled. And taken her leave.

That afternoon, Uncle Tyrion had called him in to introduce the new prince.

<Your Highness? May I come in?>

<Tommen, come. This is Jolyon.>

The baby was more Stark than Lannister, Tommen thought. Dark hair and the same eyes as Sansa. He was tiny, and he wondered if all babies were that small.

Tyrion motioned for him to sit beside him.

<There’s something we need to discuss, Tommen.>

He had nodded. Uncle Tyrion had lightly tickled the prince's chin, making him gurgle happily.

<He's cute,> Tommen said, feeling the corners of his mouth turn up.

His uncle looked surprised. <I think so too> he said with a faint smile. <Do you want to try holding him?>

Tommen nodded. The baby was warm and squirming a little. It was strange. He had never held anyone before. He wondered if his mother had felt that way when she first held him. Maybe this was different. This baby was part of the family, but it wasn't Tommen's. It was Uncle Tyrion and Lady Sansa's.

Tyrion looked at them both for a moment. He looked touched, and at the same time, he looked a little sad.
<I wanted to... talk to you about the succession. About the Throne.>

<Gendry told me about it too,> Tommen said. <He said Jo is the next King.>

<Jo?> asked Uncle Tyrion. He was smiling as if Tommen had made a joke.

<Jo> he looked at him slightly. <I thought you wouldn't mind.>

<What?>

<Nicknames. Mother hates them. But he's not my mother's son.>

<He isn't. And that's true, I like the way Jo sounds.> Uncle Tyrion had spoken hastily, almost as if he were worried about something.

For a while, Tommen just wiggled his fingers near the boy and watched as he tried to grab them.
<What did you want to know about the succession, Uncle?>

<Do you want to be King?> The question was asked in a voice devoid of emotion.

<Jo is the Crown Prince.>

Tyrion sighed. <Answer the question, Tommen.>

He looked down at the boy in his arms. He thought of Joffrey and Gendry and his mother, who had wanted him to be King so badly. He thought of the cries, of the stairs that led up to the throne.
"It would have killed me," he had told Gendry, speaking of the crown. "That piece of metal is dripping with blood."

<It depends,> he said. <I can be a prince under a good king. Or I can be king in place of a bad prince.>

Tyrion put a hand on his shoulder. <You are wise beyond your years. That's not necessarily a compliment, I suppose, but it's a virtue.> His gaze became resolute. <I won't raise a Joffrey, Tommen.>

<So I won't be King,> he concluded. The boy laughed and Tommen could not find even a little regret in himself.

***

His legs felt swollen more than usual that day. He sighed. It had been a bad night: he had heard a rustling and had not slept for two hours.

Eventually, he had fallen asleep but when he woke up he still felt tired. He sat up, barely massaging his legs.

<You are supposed to be the former King?> asked a high-pitched voice.

Tommen stifled a shriek. The room was dark and he couldn't see who had spoken. <Who- who are you and how did you get into my rooms?>

He had smoothed out his nightshirt. It wasn't like him to show up right after waking up. He stood up, pulled the curtains and felt the heat of the sun on his chest.

<Oh> said the boy- Rickon Stark, he realized, <You're cute>.

<I'm... huh?>

Rickon moved closer and the light bounced off his red hair. The shades chased each other, highlighted even more by the pale skin and the contrast with the blue eyes. Some locks were braided in small pigtails with metal beads. Most of the curls, however, were gathered in a sort of high ponytail.

It seemed as if the shadows were longer around him. As if he could vanish just by moving. His steps had made no sound.

<I said you're cute. Too bad you're not smart.>

Tommen felt his face grow hot. <I'm smart! I woke up half a minute ago.>

<You should always be on alert.>

<I'm a prince->

<Then where are your guards?>

Tommen sank under Rickon's challenging gaze. <I guess... you're right,> he muttered, looking down.

He heard a laugh. It was crystalline, high, and full-throated. Tommen's heart raced even faster. All Starks had their own beauty, he realized. Less golden than the Lannisters, more like a forest at night.

<You can... get out of here. I shouldn't meet lords in pajamas.>

<Why? It suits you. Aren't red and gold the Lannister colors?>

He said something else, a word in an unknown language.

<What did you say?>

He tilted his head. <Secret,> he said with a screen smile.

Tommen wasn't sure he liked Lord Stark. <What language was that?>

<The language of the Free Folk. The Old Tongue.> He must have read his confusion, because he quickly added, <You call them wildlings.>

<Us? Are you not from Westeros, Lord Stark?>

<I'm Rickon. And I'm not a lord. I was raised as one of the Free Folk. No lord, no lady... no prince.>

Tommen was enraptured by the way his voice articulated the words. Like someone who read and was unsure of how to pronounce it.

<And you? Only prince?>

<I'm Tommen.> He stood up, feeling a little unsteady. <Tommen Baratheon. Teach me the language of the Free Folk.>

Rickon looked at him as if he expected him to laugh or make it clear that it was a joke. He said something in the other language without ever taking his eyes off him.

<Well, I will. If I'm bored. See you, Tommy!>

<Don't->

<Blame your mother if your name can be embarrassingly mangled.> With that, just as Tommen had imagined, he stepped into a shadow and disappeared.

He stared off into space for a moment, feeling as if their conversation had ended too abruptly. Then the kitten meowed and Tommen ran to give him some milk.

***

He was obsessed with Rickon Stark. It wasn’t fair! The boy was moon, nature, and wind. Tommen could barely breathe.

He took Jo for a walk (with three guards in tow) and felt a look on the back of his neck. He turned and found a rope swaying in the opposite direction of the wind.

He talked to Gendry and winced at every rustle.

Margaery had tea with him and Lady Sansa? Shivers, his heart sinking, and he tried to see red curls in the shadows.

It was a treasure hunt on a ship you couldn’t escape.
No one seemed to notice, though. Not Gendry, not the others. In fact, Gendry seemed to have his own moments of crisis.

<Is everything okay?> he asked.

<It’s just weird traveling outside of King’s Landing.>

Tommen didn’t ask if he’d ever left the city before. He knew he had, or he wouldn't be alive. But they didn't talk about that. Or Joffrey. They never talked about it.

***

He didn't find Rickon. Rickon's direwolf found him, though.

The disproportionately large beast approached, snarling. And Brienne drew her sword.

<Wait> Tommen stepped in front of her. <You can't->

The wolf leapt onto his back, knocking him to the ground. He screamed and heard the clang of Brienne's sword hitting the floor.
Then something warm and wet splashed across his cheek.

The wolf was licking him. Tommen's eyes widened as he met the animal's bright green gaze. Another soft growl and a lick. Tommen was confused. He raised a hand, showing his palm, and the wolf licked that too, tickling him.

<Prince Tommen?>

<I'm- ah, come on- I'm fine, Brienne- come on, stop, it tickles- easy.>

She was looking at him strangely. The wolf had moved away a bit and started circling him.

<See? It's okay.>

She hesitated. <Are you sure, my prince?>

<Of course.> He smiled at the wolf and it licked his other cheek. <It's okay. I think he likes me.>

Brienne didn't look calm. <I've never seen you so disheveled.>

<That's right.> said Rickon Stark's voice from the ceiling. He saw movement, then the boy landed right next to them. He sat down and whistled. <Shaggydog, you're making the prince look human. Stop!>

<I look human> Tommen protested.

<Pretty boys aren't human. Only those with blood-stained hands are human.>

He took his wolf - Shaggydog, really? - and walked away.

***

<He keeps doing this,> he told Brienne, feeling like a whiny child. But he couldn't take it anymore. <He shows up, disappears, reappears, says I'm cute, makes me feel like an idiot. If all children are like this, I can see why my mother kept us locked up in the Red Keep.>

Brienne didn't seem impressed by the speech. <So what?>

<I don't understand why he does this!>

He felt Brienne's hand ruffling his hair the way Gendry usually did. <I think he likes you. Be friends.>

<We're already friends! His direwolf likes me! Does he have to act like an idiot?>

She laughed. <Wow, the boy's right. You look human now.>

***

The next day, there was a knock on the door.

<Just a minute,> he said. Then he straightened his hair, checked the buttons and sleeves of his jacket, and opened the door.

<Rickon?>

<I'm not being stupid> he blurted out. He was staring at his toes, and it took Tommen a moment to notice his red cheeks. <Have breakfast with me and Shaggydog.>

He felt that heat in his face again. <Yes... yes, of course.>

Rickon studied him again as if expecting a joke.
<I'll come dressed like this. I won't "straighten" my hair or wear a jacket with a thousand buttons.>

<It's twelve buttons,> Tommen said, pointing to his jacket.

Rickon was wearing a rough-knit blue wool. It went well with the color of his eyes.
<I don't wear anything with twelve buttons!> He ran a hand through his curls. <I won't wear anything that will restrict my movement.>

Tommen looked away. <It's fine. I like the way this blue looks on you.>

<Uh> He felt something brush his hand. Then their fingers intertwined. Rickon stared at his hand as if he wasn't sure what to do with it.
<Your heart is beating funny, you know? Like a wounded animal.>

<Don't->

<Let's go. Shaggydog's waiting.>

Rickon's fingers tightened around his wrist and dragged him away.

Chapter Text

I don't want anyone following me. I'm not a leader. All I ever wanted was to fight for a lord I believed in. But the good lords are dead and the rest are monsters.

Brienne of Tarth

***

Gendry (III)

Even though Lady Sansa might not have agreed, Rickon Stark sitting at breakfast like the rest of the world, almost as if humans had become worthy of his presence, was not the most shocking event in Gendry's life. Even if it did seem like the most absurd thing to have happened to Lady Sansa, judging by her expression.

Gendry, in fact, barely noticed. Tommen was smiling, and gods knew his brother needed friends. The children were the same age, they could play together while Gendry thought about the Problem. In fact, he thought about it, looking at Brienne, at the problem and the Problem.

Here's the thing: Arya Stark had (presumably) killed a good portion of House Frey. The King had called most of them together to discuss it, and he and Tommen had sought a corner from which to eavesdrop. Now everyone knew that Arya had survived the day of her father's execution.

Lady Brienne then asked, <What will become of her?>

King Tyrion sighed. <We don't know for sure that she did it. Nor will she be stupid enough to confess, I hope. She's the Queen's sister. She can live with us or with her brother in Winterfell.>

Brienne nodded and gave Podrick a long look. He and Tommen looked at each other to confirm that they had the same impression.

<What's the matter?> Jamie Lannister asked.

Brienne's hand tightened on Oathkeeper's hilt. <I met Arya after I left King's Landing. She was with the Hound. She wouldn't follow me.>

Sansa looked down slightly. <The same mistake I made. And you said nothing?>

She looked shaken. <I...>

Gendry felt a hole open in his chest as Ser Jamie asked, in a hurt tone, <Why didn't you tell me? I swore an oath, as you did->

<You're a Lannister,> Brienne said. She was as stiff as a board. <You're a Lannister, and I didn't want you to choose between your family and your oath!>

He took a step back. <I would have chosen the oath.>

<Jaime->

<Perhaps you meant "perjury." I thought...> He stopped and took a couple of steadying breaths. <It doesn't matter. You did what you thought was right.>

No one dared interrupt. Gendry couldn't look at Tommen.
He seemed to be seeing a preview of what would happen to him. Arya or Tommen. Stark or Lannister.

Brienne held out a hand. <Please, Jaime, I didn't mean->

<You meant it,> he blurted out. Again, he seemed to be trying to contain his anger. <Brienne, it's fine. I know what they think of me->

<I don't think that of you!>

<You do.> No one could have faked the pain in his voice. He looked away and backed away again, as if he couldn't bear to touch her. <I'm going for a walk. Tell me what you decide about Arya Stark.>

***

There was silence for a while after Ser Jaime left.

Tommen's eyes were downcast. <I thought... she and Uncle Jaime seemed friends,> he said.

<They are,> Gendry said, though he wasn't sure.

Tommen shook his head. <If you trust someone, you should trust them to keep a secret for you.>

Arya had trusted him. And he had kept her secret. But Cersei was still on Arya's list. And what decent brother would fail to mention that someone with the skills to destroy a house wanted your mother's head?
But if he protected Cersei, he would betray Arya.

Gendry almost screamed.

Tommen must have read something in his face because he opened his lips to ask, but Tyrion cut him off.
<So... Brienne, I give you my word that Arya will not be harmed for what happened at the Frey house. Can you tell me more about her?>

Brienne was still staring at the door.
Podrick cleared his throat. <I think I could fill in the blanks.>

***

His first thought was, <I should talk to Brienne about this.> His second thought was, <Absolutely not, you idiot, you'll ruin things between her and Ser Jaime even more.>

Then he thought about telling Sansa. But Sansa Stark spent most of her time in her chambers because of her poor health, and Gendry felt a little apprehensive whenever he saw her. She wore her scars like medals and her eyes looked like those of the disfigured veterans at Flea Bottom. He wasn't sure he trusted her. He didn't know whether to talk to her.

But he had seen the baby boy, yes. He was almost always with his father, or with Ser Jamie, Brienne, or Lord Greyjoy. He had even seen him a couple of times in the arms of Ser Podrick and Lady Margaery.

<I thought princes had wet nurses or something,> he had said to Tommen.

<Uncle Tyrion and Aunt Sansa don't want that. And Theon Greyjoy - he's the godfather - looked like he wanted to die when Margaery proposed it. Maybe there's a story behind it.>

And here's the thing. That was Arya's nephew. And Lady Cersei's. Gendry had no idea how he would feel in her position or what choice he would make.

Finally, there was the anxiety of the trial in Dorne (although, of course, he was almost as happy to see Myrcella again as Tommen was) and the melancholic sighs of Jaime Lannister, his second problem. Since leaving, the man always seemed distressed. And he sighed and tossed in bed. Usually they ignored each other but Gendry wasn't used to sharing a room with legendary knights with broken hearts. And who were in obvious denial about said broken heart.

And then there was Lady Brienne. When she wasn't with Lady Sansa or busy serving the King, she sat with Lady Margaery and pretended not to look at Ser Jaime. Then she would go talk to him with ridiculous excuses like she needed to drink enough and come back to her friend with the face of a beaten puppy when he pushed her away.

Podrick, holy boy, looked at them both as if he felt personally guilty. His eyes were a plea but they both ignored him.

Tyrion, at least, had noticed the problem and on the second day he had placed Prince Jolyon in his uncle's arms. <Do you know why we called him Jolyon?>

It was a sweet story, Gendry himself was almost moved. It made Ser Jamie smile a little and, over the next few days, that smile translated into walks with his new nephew.

It turned out that Jon Snow, the other godfather, had cried when he heard the little boy's name. So Ser Jamie's reaction wasn't so exaggerated after all, Gendry thought. No one had ever named a child after him so he supposed it was a feeling he couldn't understand.

***

Every afternoon, he and Tommen practiced writing, reading, and arithmetic together. Ever since the famous breakfast that had rocked the ship, Rickon and his direwolf had joined them.

The first time, Shaggydog growled a little, then lay down and showed Gendry his belly.

<Strange,> Rickon said. <He only did this with...> and said a word in the other language.

Tommen patted him on the shoulder. <Gendry is still learning to write in the Common Tongue, be gentle.>

Rickon snorted. <He did this with Osha. I don't understand.>

The woman's name alone seemed to hurt. Gendry had no idea who she was or what had happened to her. <Maybe he likes me?>

<He likes Tommen. He trusts you. But I've never met you before.>

<I->

<Relax.> Rickon climbed onto a chair and sat on top of a wardrobe. <He's a good judge of character. And even if it doesn't make sense to me, it does to him. You can't always understand everything. Shaggydog and I are friends. I'll take a leap of faith.>

Then he turned to Tommen and said something in the other language.

A sigh. <Start with shorter sentences, at least.>

***

Things remained in that precarious balance for two more days before Gendry’s patience ran out. When on the third night he heard Ser Jaime sigh for the fifteenth time, he stood up, lit a lantern, and placed it on the small table in the center of the room.

<What’s the matter?> Jaime reached for his sword.

<You!> Gendry snapped. Then he took a deep breath, remembering that he was speaking to the Kingslayer. <I apologize, ser. But you’ve been keeping me and yourself from sleeping for three nights.>

<Oh.> At least he looked embarrassed. He put down his sword and Gendry tried to look away from his moccasin. Staring was rude but he had never really seen him without his golden hand.

<I… am sorry, kid. Go back to bed. I will try->

<You should speak to Lady Brienne.>

Something- a fire burning beneath the surface- crossed Ser Jaime's eyes. <It's none of your business.>

He nodded. <I- You are right. I will go back to bed.>

He could feel the knight's gaze pressing on the back of his neck. He reached for the lantern as Ser Jaime sighed and lay back down.
<Wait a moment,> he stopped him. <I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. Are you... Gendry?>

He nodded. Then, realizing Ser Jaime wasn't looking at him, he said it out loud. <Yes. I work as a blacksmith.>

<That's not how I would have introduced myself,> Jaime said, sounding almost amused. <Tyrion- sorry, I mean King Tyrion- says you're "more or less Tommen's brother.">

<Half-brother, technically.> Gendry sat down, leaving the lantern burning. <Robert Baratheon was probably my father. Lady Cersei... she wasn't my mother.>

A laugh. <Oh, you bet she wasn't!>

He stared at the light, embarrassed. How was he going to get out of this conversation without the subject of "Tommen's fatherhood"?

<Look at me.> Jaime studied his expression. <Well, kid, you certainly look like him.>

It was almost involuntary. The comment made him frown. Cersei's words were etched into his skin.

The man raised an eyebrow, looking all too much like his sister. <You don't look happy about it. Was it my lovely sister?> he asked sarcastically.

<Lady Cersei just wanted->

<She spoke to you? Well, written, I suppose? And you are still breathing?> Ser Jaime looked as surprised as Margaery had been.

<She just wants Tommen's best> Gendry felt compelled to defend her.

Ser Jaime's eyes darkened. <Yes. Maybe.>
He rubbed the bridge of his nose. <Fuck. Well, I guess I asked for it. I'm curious now. What do you know about me, exactly?>

Gendry bit his lip. <You are... Ser Jaime Lannister. The King's brother and leader of the Kingsguard.>

<Okay, yes. That too.> Jaime had looked back at him. <And what about... Lady Brienne?>

<The Queen's sworn sword> Gendry said.

<Do you always choose the nicest thing to say about someone?>

<They're all true.>

Jaime sat back down. <I suppose. So you never lie? That's a naivety that could kill you.>

Gendry hesitated. Should he tell a knight that he would lie when everyone was already suspicious of him because of his origins or be mistaken for a child?

<Ah,> Jaime said at his hesitation. <But you do. Omission, I suppose. You always think it's nobler than a true lie.>

He wasn't talking about him anymore, not really. And yet... <It's not always about honor. Sometimes it's about loyalty.>

Jaime's gaze wasn't poisonous; it was as deadly as fire and metal. Pinpricks on skin. <Who are you loyal to, Gendry?>

A lie of omission. <To Tommen.>

Jaime seemed to believe him. He closed his eyes for a moment. <Brienne is like that. Loyal, I mean.>

Gendry nodded. <Yes, that's why you should talk to her.>

<No one ever told you to shut up, did they?> Jaime snapped. He looked at him for half a minute before waving his hand. <Fine. I suppose from your point of view I'm making a fuss about nothing.>

<I'm not,> Gendry protested. <Ser,> he added vaguely.

<My name is Jaime,> he muttered. <What do you mean?>

<I don't think you make a fuss about nothing,> he explained. <And, um, honored, I suppose?>

<I've never been a fan of etiquette either,> he shrugged. He looked the most intent in the world. <Get back to the point. Brienne?>

His voice went soft just by saying the name. The Seven knew the guy had a crush. Well, it was an improvement on the inbreeding side, he supposed.

Brienne wasn’t beautiful. Gendry, though, always appreciated people who could kick ass as easily as they sipped water.

<First of all: you miss each other, which I, a stranger, understand, and so do all the people on this ship.>

<I don't miss her.>

Gendry gave him the same look he gave Tommen when he exasperated him.

Jaime snorted. <You look at me like that and I hear my father say I’m a disappointment to the family, kid. All right, so let’s say I miss her. The point?>

<Why is it that every time someone mentions Tywin Lannister they talk about disappointing him?> Gendry wondered aloud. <Anyway, you're breaking her heart. Lady Brienne is loyal to people, not causes. She's not loyal to the North or the Starks. She's loyal to Lady Catelyn, Lady Sansa, Lady Arya. And to you.>

<She's not loyal to me, at most she thinks of me as a traveling companion. A colleague or something.>

Gendry thought about it. <Have you ever been loyal to someone by omitting something? For example, Tommen was the King. You were loyal to him. Would you have told him everything?>

Gendry knew the answer was no. There was at least one thing Ser Jaime and Tommen had never spoken about.

Jaime opened his mouth and Gendry spoke first. <If you tell me you've told Tommen Baratheon everything about him, I won't believe you.>

He wondered if Ser Jaime would draw his sword. If he would scream for help. Instead he stared at him for a moment, surprise turning to shock on his face.

<I can't believe you said that out loud. Fuck, kid, have some self-preservation.>

<What did I say?> he asked, sounding false even to his own ears.

Jaime rolled his eyes. This time he was smiling openly. <Nothing, obviously.>
He lay back down. <I suppose I should reward you for your courage. Well, I'll talk to her. Once. And we'll never have this conversation again.>

<Yes, Ser Jaime.> Gendry reached for the lantern as a final thought occurred to him. <Only, ser?>

<Tell me, Gendry.> He looked resigned, like a man on the gallows.

<She's always looking at you. Lady Brienne, I mean. She can't help it.>

Chapter Text

"Tommen is no son of mine, no more than Joffrey was." His voice was hard. "You made them Robert's too."

Jaime to Cersei Lannister

***

Jaime (III)

He found her with Lady Margaery, watching the waves. Lady Tyrell was embroidering a golden rose on a green handkerchief with remarkable skill. Brienne, Oathkeeper in her hands, was sharpening the thread.

<My lady?> he called, feeling foolish. He should have called her "Brienne." Yet Margaery did not move an inch as she looked at him in confusion, her eyes almost moved.

He saw the light of hope held back, her lips pressing into a thin line. <Ser Jaime.>

<I was hoping we could talk->

<I remembered,> said Margaery Tyrell, too loudly, <that I had an absolutely urgent business.>
She met his gaze and twirled the sewing needle in her fingers. <Also, Ser Jaime, I remind you that you have before you one of the purest-hearted women in Westeros. And one who is not so pure.>

She kissed Brienne on the cheek and hurried away, as if on fire under her feet.

Brienne gave him an embarrassed look. <So...>

<I would have kept my oath. For Arya,> Jaime said. His words were too fast, he felt something tighten in his stomach as his heart began to race.

Brienne nodded. <I know, I... I know. I didn't want to ask you to choose. You like your brother better than the other Lannisters.>

<That was an easy result to achieve,> he said. He sat down next to her, on the opposite side of the sword.

She looked away, her fingers drumming nervously on the hilt. <I...> she began, then trailed off. <I can't apologize. I can't lie to you and say I was wrong because I believe I did the right thing. So I won't apologize.>

Jamie smiled. <Yes, I know. That's why I forgive you.>

She whipped her head around to face him. They were so close. Almost like a couple of lovers on the verge of a kiss. It was a stupid thought; neither of them dreamed of love. Only glory, and she was glorious, with the wind in her short hair, her dark clothes, her Valyrian steel sword.

<I forgive you,> he repeated.
He could hear Gendry's voice: "You're breaking her heart". <Someone told me it's not a matter of honor, but of loyalty.>

<I trust your honor,> Brienne said, her voice a little moved. Her face was red but she hadn’t pulled away. Their knees touched. <You are one of the most honorable people I know. But loyalty comes before honor.>

Jaime could and would pretend her words hadn’t affected him. Yet he felt a gigantic weight—years of cruel stares and smirks—slipping away.
“Kingslayer,” Ned Stark said.
“I trust your honor,” Brienne said.

She was his curse. A constant voice that made him chase the dream of a boy who believed in people, in justice, in defending. Of the boy who died when he killed his king. She made him feel like he hadn’t buried that boy.

“He’s still there,” he wanted to tell her. “I’m still the one who will fight for what’s right.”

But he couldn’t. Not on a Stark ship, not when Bran was still out there, still real, still unable to walk. Not when Tommen was just a few cabins away, alive and real and blond.

<Do you ever think the worst thing that can happen to a knight is to be loyal to the wrong person?> he asked.

She nodded. <It's a constant nightmare. But Lady Catelyn was the right one.>

<And Renly?>

<The right one, the wrong one.> Brienne hesitated. <He could be both.>

She must have read something in him, because he changed the subject gracefully. <You know who chose well, I think? Ser Davos. Lady Shireen is a good lady to swear loyalty to.>

***

He saw Gendry walk in with Tommen and the embarrassingly named direwolf at his side. The little Stark was nowhere to be seen.

The moment he realized they were training together, a smile bloomed on Gendry's face.

"She's like Brienne," Jamie said to himself. "A heart as soft as cream and the looks of a warrior. My nephew could do worse."

The mistake in his head nearly made him stumble. She was good at deflecting the blow. <Pause?>

He nodded to her. Gendry moved to the table and poured them water. The direwolf, however, remained near the entrance, lying in the sun.

<Thank you, my lord,> Brienne said.

<Oh, no.> The boy waved a hand as if she had made a joke. <Gendry Waters, m'lady. Just a blacksmith.>

<He's my brother> Tommen sat down and poured himself a glass of water. Joffrey would never do that.

Jamie swallowed the thought.

The truth - cruel truth - was that he didn't think of those kids as his own. They were barely nephews. Cersei didn't want them too close for fear someone would figure out the truth. He hadn't trained Joffrey or Tommen. He didn't accompany Myrcella to tea with the other ladies. He just wasn't there. Even Tyrion had a better relationship with them.

Jolyon, though... of course Tyrion left him with his son. The secret of that child couldn't be revealed by looking at Jamie. And Sansa trusted him, he had already saved that child. Jamie wondered if, for the first time, he would be allowed to be there for a child. He had been there for Tyrion, when they were little. He wished he had another child who liked him.

Brienne had looked from Gendry to Tommen a couple of times, her brow furrowed. Jaime understood the feeling.

<We have the same eyebrows,> Gendry offered. Which, really... Jaime didn’t understand how anyone could think that.

Brienne, however, nodded as if Gendry had just said the smartest thing in the world. <Yes, I can see that.>

Tommen gave a small laugh. <You’re good with a sword. Better than Uncle Jaime, perhaps. Are you two in a relationship?>

<Tommen!> Gendry had raised his voice too much. He lowered it to almost a whisper. <Prince Tommen. Lady Brienne is a maiden and Ser Jaime is of the Kingsguard. You shouldn’t imply such things.>

Jaime blinked, still in disbelief as the words sunk in. He looked at Brienne, then Tommen.

She stood still as a statue, then made a strangled noise and put her face in her hands. <We... what? No! I mean... no.>

He mumbled something incoherent and unintelligible even to his own ears.

<I was just asking,> Tommen whispered to Gendry. Then he looked at Brienne. <I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply anything. I just think you two are a good match.>

Again, Jaime was speechless. This was worse than Tyrion. This was what happened when you entrusted your brother with children: they turned into little shits that tried to give him a heart attack.

"A good match" had made Brienne freeze, too.
<Um, that... I guess... I won't marry anyone who hasn't beaten me, I mean... thanks?>

Gendry faked a cough. <Perhaps we should go over there and leave Ser Jamie and Lady Brienne to their training?>

<I want to watch. You said I could.>

<Then we could do it from that bench over there.> With that, Gendry took Tommen's wrist and dragged him to the edge of the dock.

Jamie and Brienne exchanged a look that was half awkward, half hopeful. Or at least he thought he saw hope. Maybe she was just hoping to get this conversation behind them.

<Shall we go?>

She picked up her sword and nodded. They took a breath and resumed their dance of blades.

***

<And then he said we were "a good match"!> Jamie said. He was sitting on Tyrion's bed. Outside the window, the sun had begun to set.

Tyrion, beside him, stopped humming "The Rains of Castamere" to little Jolyon and gave him a sidelong glance. <At least you know you have your son's blessing on the wedding.>

He gasped. And threw a pillow at his brother.

<Too high, you'll have to try again.>

<I did it on purpose so I wouldn't hit the baby.>

<Do you hear that, Jo?> Tyrion gave a small smile that was almost a sneer. <Your Uncle Jamie spoils you already. He would never have spared me from a pillow hit before.>

***

The rest of the journey was free of arguments. Although Gendry still looked tired. Perhaps he didn’t sleep well at sea.

Tommen and Shaggydog were together most of the time. If Jamie hadn’t known the truth, he might have started to believe the rumors that Starks could become direwolves.

Rickon Stark, on the other hand, had glimpsed him only a handful of times. He’d see him turn a corner or pass outside his room. Once he thought he saw him sitting at the lookout, but the next moment he was gone.

As for Sansa, she was gradually starting to recover. She was present at at least one of the meals and had stopped flinching at every shadow. Still, no one but Theon and, rarely, Margaery, Brienne, or Tyrion could touch her without her freezing and squeezing her eyes shut for a few moments.

She spent little time with the baby. Or rather, she spent little time holding him, usually assigning that task to Theon. But she would let the boy hold one of her fingers in his, sometimes for hours. She would sing to him. Jaime only wished she would choose less sad songs.

One of the ones he heard her hum most often was "Brave Danny Flint," which made Jamie want to scream.

She had seen him listening once. <I must sound sad, don't I?>

That day, her voice was soft and singing "Jenny of Oldstones." Jamie thought it was only slightly better.

<They're not the usual choices for childhood.>

<Actually,> Sansa said. <They're the only songs I remember. By dint of hearing it from Tyrion, however, I think I learned yours too.>

Somehow, that reassured him. <You're a Lannister now. All Lannisters know that song.>
She raised an eyebrow and he smiled. <You don't believe it? Ask anyone who considers themselves a Lannister to sing it. You'll find we don't get a word wrong. And we all know that to say it right, you have to say the lyrics twice.>

She seemed to enjoy the idea. She picked up Jolyon from the cradle and rocked him a little.

<Do you want me to take him?> Jamie offered.

<Only if you sing,> she said.

He took the baby. Memories of childhood parties flooded his mind as he spoke the old words: <"And who are you?" The proud Lord said
"That I must bow so low".
Only a cat of a different coat.
That's all the truth I know.>

***

As Dorne came into view, Gendry’s spirits seemed to lift a little.
Tommen was excited too. <I’ve missed Myrcella so much. I can’t wait to give her the pin and introduce her to Rickon. And I could teach her a few words of the Old Tongue. I can handle it now.>

<Not so much,> a voice muttered from the darkness. Jamie held back his sword.

The boy who came out was clearly related to Sansa, though she would have shuddered to see his hair so knotted. He had tied it up with a pink ribbon with white embroidery. In fact, the clothes themselves resembled a female version of a man’s, something Brienne often wore.

<Rickon Stark?> he asked, looking at him closely for the first time.

<Oh, it’s you,> the boy looked bored. <We’ve seen each other around— Shaggydog! Don't bite!>

The direwolf had jumped as soon as he saw him advance. Both Tommen and Gendry looked surprised and worried.

Jamie backed away, showing his palms. He had seen the wolf growl often but never in such an obviously aggressive position or with his teeth so exposed.

<Shaggydog> Rickon tried again, clearly confused. <What's going on? Danger?>

The wolf growled at Jaime again, this time softer. Then he licked Rickon's knee.
<Bran?> he asked. Jamie saw his life flash before his eyes. <I miss him too. But he's Jamie Lannister. He's Tommen's.>

The wolf seemed to almost understand his words. He looked from him to Tommen and licked the boy's palm a few times. When he knelt down, as if on cue, he licked his shirt, where Jamie knew his heart was, and whimpered as if he were afraid.

Tommen smiled. <It’s okay, Shaggydog. I’m not mad.>
Then he looked up and smiled at him. <It’s okay, Uncle. He was just worried. He’s a little protective of me and Rickon.>

The direwolf let out another whimper. Jamie had no idea what to do. He nodded, unable to articulate the words.

“What the fuck just happened?”

***

He went to Tyrion, as he had become instinctively doing. He found him with Margaery and Sansa, hunched over the trial papers.

<Rickon's direwolf is strange.>

<He's always been the wildest.> Sansa shrugged. <But he's only dangerous if he smells bad intentions.>

Margaery didn't even look up. <Do as the rest of us do and stay away.>

<He's... strange with Tommen,> Jamie added.

Tyrion continued to ignore him. Jamie couldn't blame him; they were arriving in Dorne that afternoon and the trial would begin tomorrow.

<You have a plan, right?>

<Of course,> Tyrion said. <There's nothing to worry about.>

At least he looked confident. Jamie tried to look less worried as he left.

He watched Sansa stand. <I'll open the door for you, Jamie.>

As she passed him, she took his wrist. <Direwolves and Starks have a special bond,> she whispered. <If you think he was trying to communicate something, listen to him.>

Jamie did his best to look impassive. <Of course, Sansa.>

It was always strange to call her by her name. It was even worse when she called him by his name.

The worst part, though, was knowing that the direwolf knew exactly who he was. And what he had done to his master's brother.

Jaime gripped the railing, looking out to sea.

Dorne was just a few feet away.

End of part two

Chapter Text

Part Three
The Giant's Shadow

***

“We're children,” Myrcella declared haughtily. “We're supposed to be childish.”

Myrcella Martell

***

Theon (II)

He was a child of the sea but also of robbery, pillage, violence and salt. Dorne, Theon thought, was like a distant relative: the smell of salt and the sound of the waves called his name but the sand was hot and painful. The sky was too clear. He hadn’t seen anything resembling a cloud for miles.

Even the wind was warm. It made Sansa’s hair move like a campfire.

<It's beautiful,> she said. Their ship was docking and she had felt strong enough to climb onto the bow with him.

The first thing a visitor to Sunspear saw—whether by sea or land—were the two towers, tall, with golden domes.

<My lady?> It was Tyrion. Slowly, Theon was starting to get used to his presence around Sansa. A couple of times, with a bit of general awkwardness, the three of them had slept in the same room, him with Sansa and Tyrion in a separate bed. It happened when they were both low on energy. Losing sight of Jolyon for too long made her nervous, something the maester had said to avoid at all costs. So they had stayed together, the three of them. And they had managed to sleep, somehow.

When he had woken up, with Sansa's hand beside his face and her hair spread like a halo of blood, he had been surprised that everything had gone well. He had not thought he would ever be able to sleep with anyone other than her again—the only one who could understand what screams, nightmares, tears were—but he had.

<Do you know what towers are?> Sansa was asking.

Tyrion nodded and stood between her and him, barely indicating the shortest and widest tower. <That's the Spear Tower. It houses the noble prisoners. The other is the Tower of the Sun, where the prince and his family reside.>

<The first two things you see are the seat of power and the prison?> Sansa looked worried.

<It will be fine,> Tyrion said. <We have a simple plan.>

Theon hadn’t been to many meetings. No one had given him permission to attend, nor had they told him not to. Jamie Lannister would occasionally glance at him in resignation, sigh, and ignore him.

They had been to Pyke together, and Theon was fairly certain that he had kept the knight from sleeping most nights. He would wake screaming, begging, with tears streaming down his cheeks. Plus, every touch would freeze him, or reduce him to something curled up and shaking. His sister had looked sad the whole time, and Theon had wondered if she would end up killing him, sparing him a life that was barely even a life. When they were about to leave, she had said she would go with him. And a part of Theon had been reassured. He often wondered if he would ever be able to trust her, the last piece of family he had left.

When he saw Sansa again, he saw in her eyes the same broken soul he felt in himself. They had held each other for a long time, their fingers intertwined.

Any other husband would have been at least annoyed, Theon had thought. When he had spoken to Sansa—she was the only one he spoke to, really—she had kissed him on the cheek and clasped their hands together. <Tyrion knows,> she had said. <He’s a smart man, maybe the smartest man I’ve ever met. He knows we’re not doing anything but surviving.>

On his bad days, Theon saw Ramsay. On his worst, Robb. But when he was with Sansa, their scars matched. And the dead stayed far away.

When Tyrion’s hair tickled his arm, he didn’t flinch. And from the man’s small smile, he knew he had noticed. <We have to go. It’s almost time.>

Then he saw a hand block his path. Sansa whispered, <See you later,> and vanished downstairs.

<Your Highness?>

<It’s Tyrion,> he muttered. <Anyway. I have a task for you,> he said.

He sounded serious. And Theon looked at him as if he were mad.

<I spoke to Gendry earlier,> he explained. He was looking out to sea, not at him. That was a good thing, because Theon wilted under direct gazes. Every now and then, he had to feel the fabric of his clothes or his own skin to swear to himself that he wasn’t in that kennel. <He says Tommen wants to start practicing with his bow again. He was learning before he left, but he couldn’t do much on the ship.>

Theon nodded. Theon continued. <I remembered something, and Sansa confirmed it. You’re an archer, right?>

He winced. He knew where Tyrion was going with this, but it was a bad idea. <I was.>

Tyrion raised an eyebrow. And Theon bit his lip, forcing himself to explain. <I... was an archer. Then... I don't have any muscles left, I should train again but I can't, I... I can't.>

<Okay. Okay, calm down. You remember the theory, though, right?>

Theon nodded, hesitantly.

<I just wish you'd give him some advice. After the trial, I'll be able to devote more attention to Tommen. I was just hoping to give you a few hours a day.> He must have sounded terrified because Tyrion added, quickly and in the same tone he used to reassure Sansa, <You don't have to if you don't want to. It's not an order. But Sansa will be with us in the courtroom and the loneliness might make everything worse, right? You won't be alone with him, Gendry will be there too. Probably Myrcella. He just wants some advice, really.>

Theon bit the inside of his mouth. He didn't know Tommen well. He always saw him walking with Shaggydog and the dark-haired boy Sansa had told him was Robert's bastard. When we were around, Tommen called him "Lord Greyjoy," picked up things on the floor when they fell, spoke to everyone in a low voice as if he hated shouting.

<I... Fine. I'll do it.>

Tyrion smiled as if he had just given him a wonderful gift. <Thank you, Theon.>

***

By the time he reached the others on the gangplank, the welcoming procession had already gathered down from the ship. Sansa and Tyrion had changed their clothes. He was wearing a black and blue suit. The trim was white. It looked like a Stark suit.

Sansa saw his gaze and leaned over to whisper something. <I sewed this.>

She was wearing a summer dress, red with gold trim. "They sure do their best to look like a happy couple," Theon thought.

Theon had to admit that they were happy, indeed. Despite the scars from Sansa's sun-stained wounds and the gash on Tyrion's nose, the way they looked at each other in secret told him they were happy. Maybe not happily married. But they were a good team.

Margaery Tyrell, the King's Hand, was on the other side of Tyrion from Sansa. Old Theon would have found her attractive. He, on the other hand, was almost afraid of her: she was beautiful, with silky hair pulled back in a simple hairstyle, a dark green dress, and the Hand of the King pinned like a badge of honor.

Brienne almost ran past him, alongside the Queen. The sword called Oathkeeper was sheathed, attached to her hip. She was in full plate, without crests. She had no helmet. She whispered something to Sansa as he looked at her protectively.

Jaime Lannister stood beside him. Also in plate, also without a helmet. His was gold, with the Lannister lion roaring on his chest. <You should step back. We are with the retinue.>

"We?" Theon wanted to ask. Instead he nodded and followed behind. Jaime put him between himself and Tommen.

He didn't comment on the fact that they had given him the place of Sansa's family. It seemed fair. Sansa was his family, even if he hadn’t done much to deserve it.

He studied Tommen, who looked distraught. <Are you… all right?>

<Gendry must stay behind,> the boy said. <Uncle Tyrion told me we must keep his relationship to King Robert secret from being known for now.>

Jamie snorted. <He does this to keep you from dying, boy. Listen to your Uncle Tyrion. He’s wiser than the rest of us.>

Podrick walked past them now. He had Jolyon in his arms. He held him out to Sansa, but Theon could tell from her face that she couldn’t. Not at that moment.
Tyrion took him. The boy gurgled happily, recognizing him, and tried to grab a lock of his hair.

Podrick said something to them, nodded to Brienne, and walked back to stand beside Tommen. <Do you know where Lord Rickon is, my prince? We can't find him.>

<No one ever finds the brat,> Jamie said. <He'll come out. The dog?>

<He's a direwolf,> Tommen protested. <And Rickon thought it best if he stayed with Gendry.>

Theon agreed. The last thing they needed was to accidentally threaten the Martells with the Queen's brother's giant wolf.

<Here we go,> Podrick whispered. He sounded almost as nervous as he did.

The gangplank was lowered. Theon took a deep breath and stepped forward.

***

When he first arrived at Winterfell, a little terrified by all the snow, the hostile stares, and the man who had murdered his brothers, Robb Stark had taken him by the hand—metaphorically and, most of the time, literally—and dragged him around. Usually, Jon Snow was with them, too. Eddard Stark, seeing Robb happy, had relaxed his surveillance a bit. So his meals, previously eaten at a separate table and under the venomous gaze of Catelyn Stark, had been moved to the infamous "children's table". Robb, at least, called it that. It wasn't for all children, though. Rickon Stark, the newborn, was with his mother or his nurse. Bran, who Catelyn thought "too young," sat next to her. Arya and Sansa, however, were there, as was Jon.

When he, Jon, and Robb were moved to the "adult table," Theon thought he had left the complaints about studying and the "talk about adults" behind him.

Years later, when "the adults" were talking to the Martells—Trystane, heir to Sunspear and husband to Myrcella, had come to greet them in person—he was with Tommen, Gendry, and Podrick in a corner, Jamie Lannister standing guard. Even Rickon had shown up, dressed as soberly as he had ever seen him—dark suit, hair tied back, no braids—to meet the Martells. His wolf had been silent, lying at Tommen's feet.

When they were led inside the walls, past the Triple Gate, while "the adults" went to see the terrace, and they were escorted to their rooms to "rest from their journey."

This had prompted protests from the two literal children. Tommen wanted to see the library and the guards, Rickon wanted to explore the city. Even Gendry muttered that he wanted to see Myrcella. Which was absurd, considering he was with them as the prince's "assistant."

<I wanted to see their training ground,> Ser Jamie said, making Theon want to scream.
He looked at Podrick but he looked distraught as well.
<I should be with Lady Brienne. I'm a knight, I don't need to rest.>

Children. Children everywhere around him. Maybe he was cursed; everywhere he went, he was surrounded by children.

Jamie saw something in his face because he gave him an amused look. <It'll get worse with Myrcella, according to Tyrion. Besides, she and Trystane have set up a table for you all. Good luck!>

***

That evening, at dinner, the judges for the trial were announced. Theon, despite Tommen speaking rather enthusiastically about the lavender fields that can be cultivated in the arid climate of Dorne, was desperately trying to hear. At least Podrick and Gendry, who a minute ago had been discussing sword hilts, had started to pay attention too.
Rickon, as always, had disappeared somewhere. Shaggydog was still at Tommen's feet, apparently asleep. Theon, however, had spent enough time with direwolves to know that the animal was awake.

<I will be one of the judges,> Tyrion was announcing. <The other two will be Prince Doran of House Martell and Lady Ellaria Sand. Thank you.>

Shaggydog gave a thin growl at the woman's name. Theon sighed; he was worried about that too.

***

The next morning, while "the adults"—he wished Tommen would stop calling them that—were listening to the first witnesses, Theon and his party met Myrcella and Trystane for tea. Ser Jaime was somewhere else, probably by order of the King.

Myrcella was mature beyond her years and seemed, like her brother, born for royalty. Not a hair out of place, not a raised eyebrow. Even so, she was still an eleven-year-old who put three teaspoons of sugar in her tea because it was too bitter.

Trystane, on the other hand, had clearly made an effort. Theon noticed that one of the buttons was undone, a small oversight that Myrcella immediately corrected.

Rickon suddenly joined them. They had not spoken since leaving the Wall. He, however, was calm when they were near each other. Even Shaggydog no longer growled. He did not sit down or take any tea. He simply petted his dog and exchanged a few words in an unknown tongue with Tommen.

<Let's play tag> Trystane suggested suddenly. Everyone, including Theon, looked at him as if he had just said to jump off a cliff.

"Isn't it sad?" Robb's voice asked, treacherously, in his head. They were at Winterfell, they had been... maybe twelve or a little older. "Arya hates those lessons. And I can't blame her for wanting to run through the grass and climb trees like Bran can still do. She's a child. I still feel so unprepared myself when people ask me my opinion. But we're Lords and Ladies. Childhood isn't meant to last."

<I could show you how to use the bow,> Theon found himself saying aloud. <And after I shoot, the first one to catch the arrow and bring it back wins.<

<Really?> Myrcella asked. Her face was a mixture of excitement and fear.

<Of course. If you can run in that dress,> Theon told her.

The girl’s eyes glittered at the challenge. <I’m a Lannister. I can do anything.>

Chapter Text

I loved your mother more than you could ever know. Given the opportunity, what do we do to those who've hurt the ones we love? In a better world, one where love could overcome strength and duty, you might have been my child. But we don't live in that world. You're more beautiful than she ever was.

Petyr Baelish to Sansa Stark

It's just strange. In his own horrible way, I believe he loved me.

Sansa Stark, speaking of Baelish

***

Sansa (II)

The morning the trial began, she didn't get to say goodbye to Theon.

The sun's rays tickled her face. It was a clear morning. As she rose, Theon beside her made a small groan in his sleep. Sansa sighed. In truth, she hated parting with him, as she had hated leaving Jon.

Tyrion slept a little further away. At first, she had felt guilty assigning him the couch every time her dreams got worse. He had insisted. <And so my watch begins" remember?>

Jolyon had behaved that night. When she had put him in his crib and kissed his forehead, he had squeezed one of his father's fingers and fallen asleep. He was still asleep.

<Tyrion,> she called softly, leaning over him. <The trial. We must go.>

She saw him grimace and open only one eye. <Umh. Sansa. Jo?>

<Still asleep. Theon too.>

He ran a hand over his face. As always, there was a hint of alcohol on his breath. <Okay. Give me a minute.>

***

Tyrion had opened the door for her and she had smiled. In fact, the constant knot of tension from the first days, when she had woken up in Winterfell, had long since vanished. At least with him.

She hated being relaxed even around Jaime Lannister. She should have hated him but her body seemed to remember what he had done for her. Not that Jaime seemed intent on hurting her. She simply hated not hating him. Her brother's name was engraved in her head but she realized with horror that she had forgotten the details of Bran's face.

When that thought had first crossed her mind, a small bird had landed next to her, on the window of her cabin on the ship. It had looked at her with wide eyes and pecked at her nail. Then it had flown away. And Sansa had felt as if she were in a dream, confused by unlikely events.

<Sansa?>

<Yes... I'm sorry. I was thinking.> She took his offered arm and led her to her seat in the gallery.

Tyrion would be with the other judges. Brienne was with her, and that was the only reassuring thought.

<Lady Sansa> Brienne said to her. <Are you okay?>

Not really. Her head was heavy that day. And she didn’t want to see Petyr again for any reason. She could feel his lips kissing her and her stomach hurt at the thought.
She nodded anyway. <It’s just anxiety, Brienne. I couldn’t say goodbye to Theon and I left Jolyon with Jaime. I’ve never done that before.>

<They’re safe, my lady> Brienne reminded her. <Ser Jaime will protect your son as best he can. And they’re out of Sunspear, right?>

She nodded. Tyrion had placed the baby in his brother’s arms as soon as he’d met him. <Go for a walk,> he had said, and it didn’t sound like a suggestion. <A long walk, away from the city. Tommen will take one tomorrow.>

<Did he manage to leave the city?> Sansa had asked Brienne. She had nodded. <I told him to take Podrick with them but he wouldn’t listen. He said Prince Tommen needed protection too.>

Sansa wasn’t sure how much better Jaime had gotten at using his sword with his other hand. She hoped enough.

***

They let him in. Despite his tattered clothes and his frayed body from months on the run, Petyr Baelish still had the same ugly, beautiful smile. The smile that struck down and created kings.

<My Queen> he greeted her with honey in his eyes.

<Did you know about Ramsay?> were Sansa's first words. She thought of Theon, the twin scars on their skin. Each word was an arrow. <If you didn't know, you're an idiot. If you did know, you're my enemy.>

<Sansa->

<Queen Sansa> Brienne reached for the hilt of her sword. <You owe her respect.>

<I was trying to protect you.> Even tied up, Baelish looked at her as if he were in charge. <I'm glad to see you unharmed->

<Unharmed?> Sansa could hear the disbelief in his voice. She was barely aware of the others' stares.

<I tried to protect you,> he repeated. Once, she would have believed him. But too many nights had passed in a bed that was a prison since then.

<I don't need you anymore, you can't protect me. You won't be able to protect yourself if I tell Brienne to kill you.>

There was a flash in her eyes. In her own way, Sansa truly believed he loved her. She also believed he had loved her mother.

"I have only loved one woman, only one, in my entire life." He had told Lysa Arryn. "Your sister."

Yet, Petyr loved power more.

"What do you want?" she had asked him once. "Everything," he had answered.

<You will stand trial for your crimes, Lord Baelish,> she said. <And may the gods have mercy on your soul.>

There was hatred in his eyes, but intelligence too. She saw him look from her to Tyrion. Then he saw Margaery. And he grinned.

<Perhaps Your Grace thinks she has proof. But we all know that the one who now sits on the same throne killed King Joffrey. And who more than he had reason to?>

He looked at her, daring her to speak. She knew what he was thinking: if Sansa revealed their conversation, then her unwitting role would also be exposed.

She smiled. <Once, when I fled King's Landing with you, you told me that Tyrion was not involved in King Joffrey's death. I was sure of that too, I know my husband. But you were quite sure too.>

<Perhaps I was lying to spare your maiden heart, my Queen.> Petyr continued to smile, the smile that haunted his nightmares. <Surely you remember the rest of that conversation, too.>

<Oh,> Tyrion said. <You mean how you admitted to using her as a conduit for murder? Her and Ser Dontos. Of course my wife has already told me about it. No man would judge a woman guilty for wearing a jewel.>

<I could,> Ellaria Sand said. <I am not, in fact, a man.> Her smile was poison. <Queen Sansa, will you come to the witness stand?>

Sansa looked at Tyrion, who nodded. <Don't worry> he had told her several times. <There is a plan.>

She took her seat. Prince Doran gave her an encouraging smile. <Queen Sansa, do you swear, before the gods, to tell the truth?>

<I swear.>

<Lady Ellaria, begin.>

She studied her, and the venom in her gaze seemed to subside slightly.

<Sixteen,> Sansa said, though it was not the start she had expected. <Almost seventeen.>

When she looked at Tyrion, her gaze had become pure fire.
<You are younger than your husband.> She paused. <You wanted to marry him? You were previously betrothed to King Joffrey, if I recall correctly.>

<Girls rarely want to marry men they don't know> Sansa said. <And they rarely have a choice. I didn't choose Joffrey, King Robert chose me, but I longed to marry him. He was a prince and I was a child in love with songs.>

Ellaria's lips were pressed into a thin line.

Sansa continued. <Joffrey was cruel and uncontrolled. I came to fear our wedding. Then the engagement was broken and he was promised to Lady Margaery. And I was promised to Tyrion.>

She was no longer looking at Ellaria. Her eyes were searching for Margaery. Her friend, as treacherous as a snake and yet one of the few people who had tried to make the best of her mess.

<Are you saying that King Joffrey mistreated you?> Prince Doran asked. He looked pained.

For the first time, Sansa felt the old fire. "You're Sansa Stark, eldest surviving child of Ned and Catelyn Stark. Your place is in the North," Baelish had told her. Before he betrayed her. Before he gave her to the Boltons.

<He promised he would be merciful and he cut my father's head off, and he said that was mercy. And he took me up on the walls and made me look at it. I don't think I need say more.>

Margaery smiled, recognizing the phrase she had once said to her grandmother. Sansa smiled at her, too.

<So you had a motive?> Ellaria asked.

<More than one,> she said. <As well as most of those who knew him. But I am not a murderer.>

Ramsay Snow appeared in her head and she pushed him away. "I didn't kill you," she said to the ghost. "You said you would always be with me. You said you're a part of me now. You were right. So this is just an eternal prison, and from your cell in the dead you can no longer touch me. You can only speak."

<And that's just your word.>

<And mine too,> Tyrion said.

Ellaria Sand looked at him. <A Lannister's word is worth nothing to me.> Then she looked back at her. <You have many scars, my Queen. Is Lord Tyrion that ruthless?>

She could hear the whispers in the hall. Words, words, words. <Ramsay Snow is so ruthless. He was. He died for his crimes.>

<Lord Baelish,> Ellaria Sand said. <Why sell a girl to a monster? She was the key to the North. Or rather, the one who would bear the next Lord of Winterfell.>

<My children,> Sansa said, <will be kings, queens, princes, and princesses. My brother is the heir to Winterfell. Though we did not know it then.>

<A small miracle,> Prince Doran said.

<No,> Sansa said. <This was possible because my husband is the King. And also because of your brother Oberyn. The crown owes Dorne a debt. Two, if you count the happiness of my niece Myrcella. She and Trystane have one of the happiest unions I have seen in years, despite their young ages.>

<In truth,> Ellaria mused, <even if we could not verify your role in Joffrey's murder, Lord Baelish, it seems that what you did to this girl is crime enough.>

<I deny everything,> Baelish said. <I acted in Sansa's best interests.>

<Queen Sansa,> Brienne corrected him a second time.

<You deny selling me to the Boltons, Baelish?>

<I brought you home.>

<You freed me from the monsters who murdered my family, and you gave me to other monsters who murdered my family,> she said.

<You are calling->

<Tyrion is not a monster. Tyrion is one of the few people in the world I can truly trust. You know exactly what I meant.>

There was a look between her and Petyr. He was looking for an opening, a sign of weakness on her part.

She saw his eyes turn venomous and linger for a second on Margaery. He looked at her and she knew he had just given up on her. <You are an ungrateful little whore. First you provoke me, making me kiss you and then->

Ellaria stood up, drew a dagger and, under everyone's astonished gaze, approached Baelish. <You say you want to protect her and already you disown her.>

<I did it all for her. For her mother! She is->

Ellaria ran the knife across his throat and threw the knife at Tyrion and Doran's feet. <My vote is guilty. You may go.>

She turned to her, as if she were an unexpected event, an unexpected wall in her path. Then she sighed and walked out, while the room watched the corpse begin to cool.

***

<So...> Doran shifted uncomfortably on his throne. Every now and then, she would meet his eyes and see only sorrow.

Tyrion sighed. <I suppose... my judgment was still guilt.>

Doran nodded.

Tyrion nodded to one of the guards. <Collect the body and arrange the funeral ceremony.>
He turned to Margaery. It was clear that they had both had different plans.
<Will you escort the Queen to her chambers->

<I... I would prefer to go out. I will join Prince Tommen outside.>

<Yes, my Queen.>

***

As soon as they were alone, Brienne immediately began to protest. <That was… absurd. For a moment I feared for you, Lady Sansa, then she approached Baelish…>

<He betrayed my mother,> Sansa reminded her. <He betrayed me.>

<He should have died,> Margaery said. <But that it was Ellaria Sand… I fear for the rest of us. Perhaps… perhaps we should promise Jolyon’s hand to—>

<No.> Sansa was surprised by the strength in her own voice. <Not a year and you’d sell him out? He’ll choose his own wife. I refuse to force a wife on him.>

<He’s a future king, it’s his duty,> Margaery said.

She didn’t know Jo’s true parentage. But considering she’d had no qualms about marrying Joffrey or Tommen, she doubted she’d care.

Sansa sighed. <I want to see my son but I won't be able to until the evening. Let's go see my nephews. We'll talk about it another day.>

***

When they found them, she motioned for the girls to hide with her. God, she hadn't seen Theon or Rickon smile like that in ages. And maybe it was the first time she'd ever seen Myrcella and Tommen without shadows on their faces.

Gendry was himself. A little energetic, a little thoughtful. Pod looked vaguely worried.

They were playing on the lawn. Tommen had a bow in one hand and Myrcella was handing him an arrow. Rickon raised a thumb to indicate he'd set up his target. All three had Rickon's usual braids and flower crowns on their heads.

<Wait until Rickon goes away!> Gendry stopped him before Tommen could nock. He also had a crown but his clothes were strangely the cleanest.

Theon was standing nearby, his clothes also covered in grass and dirt. He was smiling. And he didn't have a crown. Then she noticed Podrick was weaving one right now. He paused often, casting worried glances at the boys.

<They've had a better morning than we did,> Margaery said as she watched Trystane begin the countdown. The boy's shirt was torn and his crown hung slightly to one side.

<Let's join,> Sansa said.

<My Queen?> Brienne asked, a little confused.

<I want a crown,> Sansa said.

<You have the one of the Seven Kingdoms,> Margaery pointed out.

A glance passed between them, then they smiled.

<Fine,> Brienne relented. <I'll go with you, but as a sworn sword.>

<You must tell me about Ser Jaime too!> Margaery said.

<About Ser Jaime?> Sansa asked.

<Let's go,> Brienne was blushing. <You don't want the flower crowns to run out.

Chapter Text

All dwarfs are bastards in their father's eyes.

Tyrion Lannister

***

Tyrion (III)

Jaime found him in the gardens. He had Jo in his arms, wide awake and silent.

<He's an observer,> Tyrion had said once.

<He gets it from his father,> Sansa had said softly, making his heart melt a little.

Jaime approached. <They're expecting you for dinner. Aren't you coming?>

<In a little while, perhaps,> Tyrion said. <Did they tell you about the trial?>

<Good riddance,> his brother said as he handed him the baby. <He slept, he ate, he used a diaper—I changed him with one hand, by the way, and it was embarrassing.>

He almost laughed. <Thank you, Jamie.>

There was something in his eyes. A tenderness. <You're welcome.>

He felt Jamie's hand run through his hair, like when they were kids. <See you later, Tyrion.>

***

He was waiting for her. He had sung to Jo until the little boy closed his eyes. His face was so peaceful that Tyrion had to touch his cheek to make sure he was real, not a dream. After that, he just looked out at the water and waited.

Even so, he didn’t see her coming. He felt only the cold metal against his throat.

<Tyrion Lannister> said Ellaria Sand. <And the little prince.>

<Jolyon,> suggested Tyrion, careful not to move.

He could hear her laughing. <Another Lannister. Even though he doesn’t look like one at all. Not like the two golden lions.>

<They’d be Baratheons.>

“Breathe, Tyrion,” he told himself. “Breathe and think. What does she want? What can you give her? You knew this would happen. Have your lifeline ready.”

<In name, not in fact> Ellaria had a firm grip. <Let me make some introductions.>

Four girls emerged from the shadows. <Obara, Nymeria, Tyene, and Elia Sand. Do you know who they are?>

<The Sand Snakes. Oberyn's daughters. And yours and Oberyn's daughter.>

<They're all mine,> Ellaria growled. <They are mine because you took their father from them. They only have me. And they'll have me forever.>

"Keep your voice low, you'll wake the baby," Tyrion almost said. Thankfully, he managed to stop himself before. Fatherhood had changed his priorities a bit too much.
<Pleased to meet you. I'd shake your hand but I'm slightly unable to.>

<Oh,> Ellaria said. <You can give the little Lannister to me.>

<Jolyon,> Tyrion corrected her again. He couldn't help it. <Are you here to kill me? For Oberyn?>

<You could look more surprised. But if you knew, you're an idiot.>

<I knew. But I might think I owe him. Are you so surprised? A Lannister always pays his debts.>

Ellaria shifted the knife slightly.
Tyrion forced himself not to tremble. <You don't mean to punish an innocent child who wasn't even born then.>

<All Lannisters are guilty,> said Obara, the eldest. There was emptiness in her voice.

<All adult Lannisters? Maybe. Children are just children, girl.>

Ellaria brought the knife back to her throat. <So it's okay if I kill you but not if I touch the brat? You can have more. He's not that much like you, maybe the next one will be luckier.>

<You said they're yours,> Tyrion muttered, a thought slipping from his lips before he could process it. <He's mine, Ellaria. And Sansa’s.>

<Sansa Stark,> she said the name like a curse. <I should save her from you. And from herself. A Lannister child would just be a burden.>

<She can always call him Stark. Jolyon Stark sounds good enough too.>

He saw a tremor run through the blade. "Now or never," he told himself.

"My brother has his sword, and I have my mind," he had once said. For a moment, he didn't know who he had said it to. Then it occurred to him and it was painfully obvious. Jon Snow. Who, even if it wasn't in name, had always been his favorite Stark.

<Oberyn didn't want me dead but that probably doesn't matter that much. Instead, I was thinking about the names of your daughters.>

<Our names?> Nymeria asked. <A strange last thought. I'll give you that, it's original.>

<Your name, original? Nah, you're just another warrior queen. You're not the first woman whose strength can beat me. Most women can beat me. My weapon is not a sword.>
He looked to the back of the group. <I was thinking about her name.>
He paused for a minute. <Elia. I speak of Elia. I cannot point. Now, I was thinking of your name and why you were called that. As your aunt, I presume.>

<So,> Ellaria asked, <now you are going to say that children do not deserve to see their parents killed?>

<I think you already know what a child deserves> Tyrion replied. <And I think you helped Sansa because you know that if Oberyn wanted anything then it would be for no other woman to suffer his sister's fate. Ask me why I know that, go ahead.>

Ellaria sighed. <Go ahead, Imp. Do your worst. Why?>

<Because that's what my brother said for years. Every time Robert threatened a girl with rape, he helped her. Because even the relentless kingslayer would lose sleep and plead, "Not another Elia. Not another woman to die like this." You did not want to impose that fate on Sansa. Not if you let your first daughter be called that.>

Obara snorted. <You think we'll spare you->

<I know you want me dead. Did your father die to save my life? No, he died for revenge. You know it, I know it, lovely Ellaria knows it. I know you want revenge. I'm not speaking for myself.>

<For the children,> Ellaria realized. <Not just yours. Even the two brats born of incest.>

<One is a Martell now.>

<We are Sands,> was the first thing she'd heard Tyene say. <The Martells are none of our business.>

<Then why is it a Martell you want to avenge?>

She could hear Obara growl. <Listen->

<Listen to me, instead. Here you are, the great avengers. Your father wanted revenge on Tywin Lannister, whom I killed. He had a real reason to hate the Lannisters and he saw the difference. If you start out like this, you will never be satisfied. And it is shameful how whiny you are. "Oh, my father is dead, life is so unfair." Yes, it is! We know ours is a horrible world. Everything you are doing is forgivable only because you are immature girls. As for you...>
He turned to Ellaria. <I know you will not kill the child. And I will give you a good reason, if you send the girls away. But know that none of you, no one in the world has more reason to hate my last name than Sansa Stark. But she can still call us family. You, on the other hand, are... how can you let them do that? They are yours! At least do it yourself, damn.>

Ellaria's voice was flat. <You raped her? Your wife?>

<No.> Tyrion wondered if he should provide evidence. He doubted Ellaria would believe him after his eloquent answer.

He felt the dagger move away from his throat and had to fight to keep from crying with relief. He was always putting himself in shitty situations. Why was he always putting himself in shitty situations?

<Girls,> Ellaria said. <Give me a minute with the Imp.>

<Yes, Mother.> Elia, poor girl, looked relieved. Tyrion thought that at least a Lannister had spared an Elia some pain this time.
"See, Jamie? We keep trying."

She still had the dagger in her hands. <I never thought I'd say this, Lannister, but fatherhood suits you. Even if you're a little bloodline obsessed->

<He's not,> Tyrion said. He had made his decision the second he saw Baelish's body hit the floor.

She raised an eyebrow. She looked at the boy, searching for what she couldn't find. He saw the understanding and disbelief on her face. <He's... not yours?>

<He's mine.> Fuck, he had to lower his voice. He was surprised by his own anger.
<He's mine,> he repeated. The anger had become a plea.

Ellaria, for the first time, seemed impressed. She sat down beside him, her eyes fixed on the sea.
<He's not your blood.>

<No,> he confirmed. <Ramsay Snow,> he added.

Ellaria looked up at him, her dagger lying on the grass. The moonlight was on her face but Tyrion couldn't read it.
<You love this boy. You love him more than most parents do their children. I've seen them. They sell them, they humiliate them. I'm a Sand. My sisters and brothers have been crying for centuries.>
She looked at him, then at the baby. <Why?> she asked.

<Why did I keep him? You see, Sansa->

<No,> Ellaria said. <I don't care. I'm sure you have a dozen good reasons to give him your last name. But your love?>

He wondered whether to tell her about the birth, and about Jaime. He could. Instead he found himself saying something else. Something that had always been there, despite himself.
<I always knew I wouldn’t have children. I knew a boy once. He’s a man now, but he was a boy. And a bastard. We’re friends now, but that was our first meeting. He was a little hurt, you know. Bastards are a disgrace in the North. He was offended if anyone called him that. I told him he couldn’t afford that benefit. We can’t forget who we are. Ever. People marked by their very birth have no choice but to know.>

She shrugged. <There’s nothing dishonorable about me or the way I was born.>

<There’s something dishonorable about the way I was born,> Tyrion said. <I’m cursed in shape. And I would never have had children: no child deserves this burden. No woman deserves such a child. I wanted to marry for love, but I didn't want children. That's why I always chose prostitutes, I think. Prostitutes are usually good at preventing pregnancies.>
He paused, his fingers brushing Jo's hair. <My mother died in childbirth, you know. The twins were fine with her. The monster killed her.>

He didn't look at her. He was afraid that looking at her would break everything. He didn't even know why he was telling her all this. Maybe he felt like he was on trial himself, forcing a child on a father who would stop carrying him before anyone else.

<One of my first thoughts about this child was: "He'll be taller than me". It made me feel light. I would have loved a dwarf child. But I know he would have ended up hating me. I wasn't willing to take the risk, even though I think my father would have forced me to eventually. But deep down I was terrified.>

<And him?> Ellaria asked, her voice thin.

<And him,> Tyrion said. <He's such a blessing. Look at him, he's perfect. Even though being his father carries the seeds of ruin for me. I know I will have to tell him the truth, one day. He hasn't called me dad yet, and I'm already terrified of the day he stops.>

For a moment, he returned his gaze to the horizon.
"You should look at her. She could kill you."
He didn't look at her.

<I loved Oberyn,> Ellaria said. Tyrion felt a new sweetness in her words. <Actually, I still do. I know what your little court thinks of me, but he was the love of my life. And I love all his daughters, the ones I bore, the ones I raised, and the ones I knew as adults. I love every part of him, even the ones that are as sharp as blades. Especially those.>

She reached out a hand, and Tyrion watched her stroke the boy's cheek. <The next King,> Ellaria whispered. <A bastard on the Iron Throne.>

Tyrion shook his head. <Do you believe me if I say I care little or nothing who the future King is? If he doesn't want the throne, he can give it to Tommen.>

She laughed. She laughed so hard, so full of life that it was clear why Oberyn had loved her.
<He would have loved this. The hidden dishonor. He loved Rhaenys, his first granddaughter. She looked like us in Dornish. A Martell with a dragon's last name. Now a little Stark with a lion's last name.>

She paused. <Fine. I'll do it. I'll let you prove that you can do better, that you will honor Oberyn. You promised him a place on the Small Council.>

<I did,> Tyrion confirmed, shifting Jo so he had a free hand. Even though a part of him was still holding back tears, he had a duty to fulfill. <Do you want it?>

She nodded. <And one of the girls, the one you prefer, when it's time for me to go.>

He squeezed her hand, praying he wouldn't tremble. <Well... good. Yes, I accept.>

Ellaria laughed at his surprise. <Damn, Imp, weren't you known for your big mouth? Don't tell me I left you speechless.>

Chapter Text

That bit of theater will haunt our family for a generation.

Tyrion Lannister, speaking about the death of Ned Stark

***

Margaery (III)

That night, after the trial, Tyrion skipped dinner. And Margaery went to bed with a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach.

<My lady,> Brienne called when she saw her rise.

<See you tomorrow,> she said. Even though Brienne was clearly worried, she let her go.

As she left, she saw Ser Jamie approach and say something about going for a walk. Honestly, good for them, Margaery thought.

As she passed Sansa's door, it was open.
<Tyrion?> called her friend.

<It's me,> she said. <Do you need anything?>

<Just company.>
Margaery came in and saw her sitting on the bed, sewing.
<The gods know that when I'm alone, there's a crowd around me.>

Margery nodded and sat down beside her. <I can stay. I just needed a break from the chatter.>
She then realized who was truly absent. <Wait, and Theon?>

Sansa shrugged. <He's been gone since before. I'm a little worried but I'm trying not to be stupid. He should be able to go where he wants without telling me. In fact, he asks my permission way too much before he acts. Sometimes I feel like... like I'm his new Ramsay.>

Margaery felt her voice crack. She tried not to be angry with Theon; after all, he had suffered as much if not more than Sansa. He couldn't heal instantly. And some things never healed.

<I could sleep here,> Margaery said, smiling as encouragingly as she could. <Unless you and Tyrion are going back to old habits.>

She wasn't sure how to ask. Tradition dictated that the royal family have at least two sons. One for the throne and one for Dragonstone. Even though Tyrion seemed to want to give it to Shireen.

"It still remains Storm's End," Margaery told herself, almost accidentally thinking of Renly. "Another heir would help. And Sansa's health seems to be improving. In a year, it wouldn't be foolish to try again."

The Queen shook her head. <Not tonight,> Sansa assured her, though something in her smile was strange. <Take a seat.>

As Sansa changed, Margaery stared at the wall. For a moment, she felt Yara's touch on her skin and the strong smell of the sea in her nostrils. She didn't look at Sansa.

And yet, as they lay next to each other, a treacherous part of her wondered if Queens tasted different from Kings.

***

They heard a noise over an hour later. Margaery started to get up but felt Sansa squeeze her wrist. <Tyrion?>

<I have Jo, too,> the King added. <Good night, my lady. And... Theon?>

<No, Margaery,> Sansa replied. <Good night. Give Jolyon a kiss for me.>

***

Not half an hour later, there was another noise. Both Sansa and Tyrion continued to sleep. Jo, from her cradle, made a gurgling sound.

<Shhh,> Theon Greyjoy said. <Let's not wake everyone. It's just me. Night, Jolyon.>

She watched him bend down to kiss the baby's forehead. Then he went to the opposite side of her and lay down next to Sansa. In the cradle, Jo stopped making noise.

***

She awoke at the crack of dawn to the sound of the little prince crying. Theon, she discovered, was already awake and rocking him to sleep, singing "The Sailors of Galway".

Listen to the music flow,
I'm falling for the flow of home,
I'm home to dance till dawning.

<The song is too cheerful,> Tyrion muttered. <Try something sadder.>

<I think he's hungry,> Theon replied. <And I refuse to be like you two. He deserves happy songs.>

Sansa opened one eye. <What time is it?>

<Dawn began half an hour ago,> Tyrion said, handing her the prince. <Jolyon is hungry. And Theon doesn't appreciate my choice of music.>

<Umh.> Sansa nodded and held out her arms. Then, unconcerned that she was not alone, she began to nurse. <Come on, darling. Come on. I loved a maid as fair as Summer, with sunlight in her hair.>

It was "Seasons of My Love." It wasn't necessarily sad, but Margaery had always found it too melancholy.

Sansa sang and she was a nightingale. Margery watched her as she fed her son, thinking that at least this was one of the good days.

I loved a maid as red as Autumn, with sunset in her hair.
I loved a maid as white as Winter, with moonglow in her hair.

"You would have been happy in Highgarden," she thought, not for the first time. Sansa was a girl of winter with the voice of summer.
Margaery closed her eyes and went back to dreamland.

I loved a maid as sweet as Spring, with flowers in her hair.

***

When she woke, only Theon was there. He was at the other end of the bed, away from her, awake. He had a book in his hands, showing it off lazily.

<Hello,> he said.

She ran a hand over her face. <Hello. What time is it?>

<About ten in the morning. Brienne has Tommen and Jolyon, Ser Jaime is training with Podrick; Gendry is with Myrcella. Rickon is... probably out, I have no idea. Sansa and Tyrion are taking a walk with Prince Doran and his wife.>

Margaery nodded. <You are... more informed than I expected.>

<Sansa worries about people disappearing. When I can, I help her keep track of everyone's whereabouts. It makes her feel calmer. By the way, where are you going?>

She had no idea. <I have no plans. I was supposed to testify at the trial but...>

<That slimy piece of shit is dead,> Theon translated. <You could join Brienne. Tommen missed you yesterday.>

They had stood in the meadow for a long time yesterday, until Jamie came to tell them that dinner was half an hour away. They had rushed inside to sort out their clothes.

<How's the bow going?>

<From what I've seen, he's doing well. I'd tell you more if his big brother would even let me breathe in Tommen's living space. Between him, Shaggydog, Myrcella and Rickon, it's practically impossible to get close to that boy.>

She had noticed, as had everyone else, how Rickon was increasingly around the prince. They were a strange contrast, the boy of nature and the boy of golden castles. They spoke their own language, and the direwolf kept snarling at anyone who dared look at them askance.

When he wasn't with Tommen, Rickon vanished. He was the future Lord of Winterfell, if birthright was anything to go by, but the boy refused to take classes or even stand in one place for more than a full minute.

"I guess they'll legitimize Snow and be done with it," Margaery said to herself. She didn't mind much; she hadn't heard anything bad about Jon Snow.

She glanced back at Theon, who was back reading. The book was "The Loves of Queen Nymeria."

Margaery sighed. <I'll go take a bath,> she said. Theon nodded and said nothing more. Between him and Tyrion, Margaery might have thought she'd lost her charm.

***

Soon after, Podrick came looking for her, saying that the King had summoned her. They were in one of the parlors of the Tower of the Sun. Ally even brought biscuits.

When she entered, Tyrion and Ser Jamie were the only ones present.

<Brienne watch the boys,> Tyrion told her. <Jamie, fill her in later.>

<Why me?>

The two brothers shared a look. Ser Jamie rolled his eyes and nodded.

Soon after, Podrick entered, followed by a confused Theon.

Finally, Ellaria Sand, dressed in a tight dark dress, made her triumphant entrance.

<Queen Sansa was unwell,> Tyrion began. <Theon, you have her permission to speak for her. And if we have any votes to take, you will vote for her. Ser Podrick, you stand in for Lady Brienne.>

They both nodded. Tyrion started to continue when Theon spoke up. <Where's the little prince?>

<With Prince Tommen and Princess Myrcella. Gendry and Brienne are watching over them.>

<Isn't there another child?> Ellaria asked. <The Stark boy.>

Tyrion sighed. <Don't worry about him. By the way, this is Lady Ellaria Sand. She'll be joining my Small Council as the new War Mistress.>

<Not as an emissary from Dorne?> the woman asked with a hint of surprise.

<My father invented that position,> Tyrion said. <I prefer you in a clear position, where you can be of service. By the way, you already know Ser Jaime Lannister, Commander of the Kingsguard, and Lady Margaery Tyrell, the Hand of the King. Queen Sansa has special permission to attend meetings.>

<Does she need permission?> Ellaria looked annoyed.

Margaery sighed. <Historically, the King runs the politics. But it has happened before that people particularly close to the King or members of the royal family have been allowed to attend the Council meetings, even without holding a seat. I myself, in fact, am only Hand of the King on an exceptional basis.>

<No, you are permanent now> said Tyrion. <I have been working on the law while we were on the ship. Varys has just written to confirm that everything is in order. It was absurd that I couldn't name you just because you're a woman. Even Sansa agreed.>

Margaery blinked.
She had not expected this. Of course, the King had the power to intervene in the laws and the Hand of the King had to be someone who had the utmost trust of the sovereign. She felt almost flattered: Margaery Tyrell, the Queen of Widows, the first Lady Hand of the Seven Kingdoms.

Ellaria rolled her eyes. <You would be foolish to send her away, she is clearly far too competent. Who are the other members?>

<Varys is my Master of Whispers, Mace Tyrell is Master of Ships. Ser Bronn of the Blackwater is Master of Coin. And, while he should be replaced soon, Pycelle is the grand maester.>

<That carcass...> Ellaria grimaced. <Yes, you should replace him. And you lack a Master of Laws.>

<That was me,> Margery said. <But I can't be if I'm the Hand of the King.>

<That was one of the points I wanted to discuss,> Tyrion confirmed. <But first, I wanted to tell you that my uncle Kevan found Qyburn and delivered him to the citadel. They plan to send him to join the Night's Watch.>

Good, that's one less problem. Tyrion was good at distributing people.

<I received a letter from Ser Bronn,> Jaime said. <Ser Davos, Lady Shireen, and their mother arrived safely in King's Landing.>

They looked at her.
<I'm still waiting to hear from Varys about Essos. I know Queen Sansa wrote to her brother to get an update on the situation in the North, but it may take a while for him to respond.>

Tyrion nodded. <Of course our first priority is to deal with Daenerys Targaryen so that she will keep her dragons away from us, or better yet, agree to use them to solve the problem at the Wall.>

<You want to deal with Daenerys Targaryen?> Ellaria asked. <I could help. The Martells and the Targaryens have been good friends for centuries. Certainly more than the Lannisters.>

Margaery nodded. <The same goes for the Tyrells. Perhaps Lady Ellaria and I could confront Varys when we get back to the capital.>

<Good,> Tyrion agreed. <Jamie, your research?>

<No sign of Arya or Brandon Stark. But I have news from Yara Greyjoy. She’s back home and everything seems under control.>

He handed the letter to Theon, who read it and nodded. <She sends her regards. I'll write to her later.>

Tyrion nodded. <Lastly, we can actually talk about the Master of Laws. Suggestions?>

***

There were several names but none that were particularly convincing. Ser Jaime suggested Jon Snow, who might have been a good choice but Tyrion said he was needed in the North. Margaery had thought of her grandmother. She would have been good. But Tyrion had told her, quite calmly, that he would not put three Tyrells on the council.

In fact, Loras was already Ser Jaime's replacement. They had more power now than they had with her as Queen. Margaery nodded to say she understood.

The best thing would be to take one of the Riverland Lords. Tyrion had consolidated his influence in the Iron Islands through Yara and Margaery was doing her best to secure the loyalty of the Reach. The Lannisters ruled the West and a Stark Queen guaranteed them the support of the North. The Stormland Lords would follow the example of Lady Shireen, Stannis's daughter and Uncle Renly's niece. As for Dorne, it was hoped that Ellaria's presence on the Council and Myrcella's influence would ensure some peace and mutual tolerance.

That left the Vale, where the Lord had become Robin Arryn, cousin of the Queen. He was young and Margaery was sure she could convince him to side with them.

The Riverlands were different. The Tullys might have sided with Sansa but Edmure was still at Casterly Rock with his wife and their son was still far from old enough to rule. With the Freys gone, Olyvar had had to govern too large a territory alone and the small lords had begun to act on their own. "If only the Blackfish had lived," Margaery found herself thinking. "He would have solved the problem."

She would not have minded trusting Olyvar. His reports were precise and punctual. He was loyal to the Queen in Robb's name and as a Frey he had influence over the Twins. But he was young, just a year older than her, and the Master of Laws could be a complex role. And she couldn't take him to the Red Keep to instruct him: it was absolutely necessary for him to stay where he was, at Riverrun, to keep the fragile balance standing.

Even so, Margaery could not help but be impressed: in a few months, Tyrion had truly managed to bring peace to the Seven Kingdoms. The balance of power would never be perfect but no enemy threatened civil war. There were only two great threats: the one on the other side of the Wall and the one to the east.

For the first time in a long time, Margaery felt optimistic. Perhaps, finally, the War of the Five Kings was truly over.

Chapter Text

Some secrets are safer kept hidden. Some secrets are too dangerous to share, even with those you love and trust.

Ned Stark

The winters are hard. But the Starks will endure. We always have.

Ned Stark

***

Jon (II)

<My lord, the new grain shipment has arrived. It is being put into the storehouses.>

Jon thanked the servant with a nod as he headed into his father’s study.

There were three new letters. One was from Castle Black, saying that King Tyrion had sent a hundred new men to the Wall, some to take the black, some just to make up the numbers and help shore up the defenses.

The second was from Yara Greyjoy. At her brother’s request, she had sent half her fleet to help bring the remaining wildlings across the Wall. They had left, and she promised to send updates as soon as she could.

The third was from Sansa. He saved that for last, because her letters always made him emotional. He missed his sister. Even though she was Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, a part of him would always see her as his seven-year-old sister who couldn’t reach the things on the high shelves.

Jon,

Today is one of our last days in Dorne and I write this letter to you from the Water Gardens. They are a beautiful, almost magical place. For the first time in days, I have felt healthy.

Theon seems to be doing better too. He has written to his sister again and it seems they are starting to warm up. I am glad; he deserves someone on that horrible island to understand his worth.

We all miss Robb, but with his naming day approaching, I see Theon fading more and more. Tyrion and I do our best to distract him.

I spoke to Myrcella for the first time in a long time. She wove me a crown of flowers and perhaps I prefer it to the heavy metal that is my real crown. She seems happy here. I have seen her sparring with the Sand Snakes and Podrick. She is becoming more fierce, less submissive. She has always had fire in her, even in King's Landing, but I think her kind of woman thrives nowhere like Dorne.

As for Margaery and I and our kind of woman, we are both enjoying each other's company and the little respite before the next battle. I would like my son to grow up in a world without war, but even with the Targaryen Queen ruling over a peaceful Essos and us ruling over the reunited Seven Kingdoms, a clash between east and west seems inevitable. Yet, upon my honor, I will do anything to preserve the peace. I believe you when you say the real war is in the North.

Every time a girl charges forward with a fierce battle cry, I think of Arya. The Freys, and where she is. Our little sister with mud in her hair. Dad said she had more wolf blood than any of us. Even though what she did scares me, I would give almost anything to see her again. I wonder what she thinks of me, if she feels betrayed. Of all my siblings, you two are the ones who should despise me the most. You have forgiven me, but will she?

I miss you. I miss you so much. Jolyon misses you too. Next time you see him he might call you Uncle Jon.

Things between Tyrion and I are much less awkward than they used to be. We share a room and sometimes a bed and we have found our own balance. In fact, it is almost always a bed for three, but I do not mind being between him and Theon. Since Baelish's death, something in me has lightened. And I think I can say that, now, Tyrion is as much family to me as you are, as much as Theon is. I think Tyrion is the dearest friend I have.

Jamie Lannister goes on walks with Lady Brienne, perhaps because our next stop is Tarth. Tyrion says that, if all goes as planned, in a year he will be able to afford the scandal of a female knight. Brienne deserves it and I would be happy. She is a true friend and is as brave as the heroes in songs.
As for Jaime, I wonder whether or not I should hope that he finds the courage to do something about his feelings: he is certainly not the purest person in the world but Brienne looks at him as if he were Arthur Dayne incarnate, returned from the dead to protect the world from evil. I hope they can find their way.

Tommen seems to suffer from the heat. Some days he seems really tired. Even Shaggydog notices it.
He and Rickon have started disappearing together, sometimes taking Gendry or Myrcella with them. We can't stop them and we are quite worried. Podrick, in particular, seems devastated every time he has to tell us that he lost them. At this point, I don't think even prison cells can stop our brother. When I see their smiles, however, worry seems like an acceptable payment.

I have not heard from Bran. Jamie has sent half the Kingsguard around Westeros to find news of Arya, but there's not much we can do about those on the other side of the Wall. The thought of him being in danger keeps me up at night. My only consolation is Rickon, who says Shaggydog would know if anything happened to Summer.

I hope the days aren't too cold there. Be careful to button your fur coat well; you were always forgetting buttons when you were a kid.

Love,

Sansa

***

Jon always reread Sansa's letters a couple of times before replying. Then he returned to his duties, trying to be worthy of Robb, who had been the last Lord of Winterfell, and of his father, who had spent his life teaching him honor.

In fact, Sansa was still the Warden of the North. She had said, however, that they would not make Rickon Lord of Winterfell for the time being, despite his birthright. Jon understood the problem: Rickon seemed allergic to the very idea of ​​being a Lord. He reminded him of Arya in an almost painful way, so much so that he had agreed to continue in the office without asking too many questions.

He still refused to be recognized. There was this voice in his head that screamed: "You are not a Stark".

***

Jon,

I am writing to you from Tarth. It's an island. So there is sea and sand. Tommen says I could tell you about the beauty of nature but he is the one who sees beauty everywhere. There is a lot of water and it is all salty. It's warm.

I don't really have anything to tell you but I told Tommen I would write to you, and I am writing to you. He says I don't need to write about anything important. I think I just want to know that you are still there. The last time we lost sight of each other, you all disappeared for three years or forever.

He had to take a moment after the last sentence. It was written with such naivety, such childish lightness that it broke his heart.

Tommen also said I could talk about my days. So know that we were on the beach, where it was warm, then I took Tommen and we went to explore the castle. I found some very old weapons, Tommen says they might have belonged to Ser Duncan the Tall. Bran was crazy about that guy, I remember.

I'm writing more in the Common Tongue. Gendry and I are practicing together. By the way, I like Gendry. I really think mom misunderstood something with all that talk about bastards.

He winced. He had almost hoped Rickon wouldn't remember. It was unpleasant to think about Catelyn, especially since he couldn't hate her. In the end, she had been right: he was Lord of Winterfell and not one of the legitimate Stark children. Maybe bastards really were cursed.

He shook his head and went back to reading.

So, I'm actually out of topics. You write something now. Anyway, since Myrcella is gone, Tommen has only me and Gendry to protect him, so I'm going back to him. Today he was walking Sansa's brat, who is cute but screams when he wants something. Tommen likes him but I think he likes anyone who doesn't call him nasty names or hit him.

Bye,

Rickon

P.s. Shaggydog sends his love to Ghost too

Jon reread the last lines, barely holding back tears. He quickly grabbed a pen and paper: the last thing he wanted to do was disappear again.

***

Things changed two months later. A servant knocked fiercely on the study door, saying that a man was urgently seeking to see him.

Jon put down the letter from Ser Davos updating him on what he and Shireen were doing at the Red Keep and headed for the entrance.

It was Sam. An almost childlike joy rose in his chest as he greeted him. Little Sam and Gilly were with him too, and they seemed fine. Maybe one day the boy and Jolyon could play together. Jon promised himself he would write to Sansa and Tyrion about it.

He offered to stay for dinner, and they quickly accepted. Sam said he needed to speak to him, but they decided to put it off until after they had settled in.

There was something in the air. A sense of uneasiness. Jon kept telling himself that everything was perfect, that everyone was fine.

When Sam joined him in his study, Jon was studying the list of servants. <We are short on maids. If you want to leave Gilly and the baby here, I could give her a job. And I wouldn't mind having someone I know at Winterfell.>

Sam nodded but hadn't really listened. Jon knew that expression: trouble.
<Yeah, I guess... Look, that's a good idea but I found out something while we were at the citadel and I don't know what to do.>

<You don't know what to do?>

<You know when you find out one of those secrets that could change someone's life and you want to tell them but you don't know if it's what they want? Because there's no going back. This changes everything.>

Jon raised an eyebrow. Sam was less awkward than a few years ago but the agitation made him regress. <Well, it's real whether you say it or not. Tell me.>

His friend bit his lip. <You don't want to think about it for a moment or->

<Sam!>

<Okay, okay.> He pulled a couple of documents from an old-looking folder. <Here you are.>

Not understanding why his friend was so concerned, Jon took them and read them. Then he read them again. <I don't understand.>

<Raeghar Targaryen never raped Lyanna Stark. They loved each other and ran away together. And they married.>

His first thought was: "So what?" He wasn't sure what to do with this information. In love or not, their irresponsibility had caused the Rebellion and thousands of deaths.

Sam's gaze became wary. His voice was lower but no longer trembling.
<They had a son. Your father found him at the Tower of Joy.>

Suddenly Jon had to sit down. He wasn't even sure why. The meaning of the words hadn't yet reached his heart.

<You are not a Snow. Your father was Raeghar Targaryen, prince and heir to King Aerys Targaryen. Your mother was Lyanna Stark. You are their only son and the true heir to the Iron Throne. You are Aegon Targaryen.>

***

Daenerys (I)

Daenerys Targaryen sat on the throne of Essos.

<My Queen,> Missandei called. <A letter. It is from the Hand of the King of Westeros.>

<Another Baratheon. Burn it.>

<Not Baratheon, my lady. Lannister and Stark. And Tyrell and Martell.>

<They are many great houses,> Ser Barristan Selmy said.

A flash of curiosity crossed the Mother of Dragons' eyes. <Give it to me, then.>

***

Someone (I)

In a distant place, a boy was digging the land. Winter was near and this would be one of the last harvests.

He was about twenty years old, with curly red hair and many scars. No one knew who he was, and he knew less than anyone else.

He had done many jobs since he had arrived in the village. Humble at first, then his good will was noticed. He was a good boy, kind but with a youthful fire burning strong in him. He was always restless and the people around him were a little scared of him. They respected him but he had no friends.

Every now and then, a flash would strike him. Images in his head. His scars itched.

The howl of a wolf. Snow. A boy climbing a tower. A man leaving home and trusting him. A mother's touch in his hair. A red-haired girl. Salt, salt and a boy. That boy again, shooting an arrow and running to get it. The wolf again. Snow again. Blood, a woman's lips, the sound of metal.

He couldn't name any of it. They were just shadows in his aching head.

One day, he found a dirty child at the entrance to the house. He tightened his grip on the hoe. "Hey, little boy. Out of the way.>

But the boy was a girl, he realized. And she looked at him as if he had just stabbed her.

Something about her was familiar. Something about her was different. Something else was broken.

<I am Arya Stark of Winterfell,> she said. <And I think I can help you.>

End of Part Three